Conclusion

Conclusion

The broad genre of ancient historiography allows us the flexibility to explain most of the phenomena we find in Luke-Acts. Historians were interested in genuine historical information (and ready to critique rivals whom they accused of misrepresenting this information). At the same time, historians were deeply concerned with how they presented their information; they were not mere chroniclers but narrative writers. In Acts, then, we should expect to find a blending of historical (informational) and literary (rhetorical, moral, and theological) interests. By ancient standards of composition, one could at least in principle accomplish each objective without harm to the other. Writers varied, however, in their amount of rhetorical expansion and adaptation.

The following chapter examines the question of the Tendenz and moral, political, and “theological” agendas of ancient historians (preparing for a later discussion of Luke’s purpose in writing Acts). and offer a preliminary evaluation of the sort of historical information we might expect Luke’s work to preserve and evidence for that information in Luke’s own narratives.

It is to such elements that those who object to the historical value of ancient historians often point. These factors must be (and will be) noted, but they should not be used to ignore evidence for historians’ interest in sources. Neither the historical nor the rhetorical element need exclude the other.

Fitzmyer, Acts, 56–60.

See, e.g., Morgan-Wynne, “Traditionsgrundlage.”

See, e.g., Mosley, “Reporting,” 26; Hemer, Acts in History, 63–70; Byrskog, History, 179–84; see, e.g., Jos. Ant. 20.156–57; cf. Life 336–39. On how history was written, see also Keener, John, 17–25, much of which I have also incorporated into the larger discussion here. Relevant material in my Historical Jesus, –, which overlaps with material in this Acts introduction (chs. –), is adapted from the Acts commentary (the basic draft of which was completed earlier) rather than the reverse.

See Byrskog, History, 213, 223; esp. Rothschild, Rhetoric of History, passim.

Of course, they did not define accuracy at all the points the way modern historians do; they wrote what they thought were probable inferences into their narratives (instead of identifying them as possible reconstructions, as we do today) and allowed rhetorical considerations in composition that are foreign to modern historiography (see, e.g., , , below). But on matters of historical events, they did indeed value such accuracy.

Mosley, “Reporting,” 12–14; on Strabo and Plutarch, 16; for Greek historians in general, see 11–18.

Ibid., 20–22 (cf. Tac. Ann. 4.10–11; 13.20; in Pelling, “Historiography,” 716; cf. also Laistner, Historians, 121); among Romans in general, see Mosley, “Reporting,” 18–22. Roman historians often appear less careful with facts than Greeks (Cary and Haarhoff, Life, 263) and sometimes focused more on “trends” than details (Fornara, Nature of History, 88–89), but Luke, writing Greek in the eastern Mediterranean, undoubtedly is nearer the Greek model.

Hadas, “Introduction,” xvi–xvii. Woodman, Rhetoric, 89, emphasizes that battle descriptions were standard in later rhetorical training. Reflecting a common rhetorical curriculum, battle scenes were similar in most ancient historians, but of course ancient battles did have similar characteristics (Laistner, Historians, 57, 95), and some historians (such as Thucydides, vs. Livy, on the siege of Syracuse; Caesar, vs. average historians; and sometimes Sallust) could get even military details quite accurate (ibid., 58).

Hadas, “Introduction,” xviii. Tacitus normally follows annals and earlier histories (sometimes specified only when they became notorious, e.g., Tac. Ann. 4.34–35), but he also consulted personal memoirs from perhaps half a century earlier (Ann. 4.53). By contrast, Woodman, Rhetoric, challenges the accuracy of both Thucydides (9–47) and Tacitus (160–96), though once inferences are subtracted, the difference is largely a matter of degree (i.e., as to the size of the “core”). Damon, “Rhetoric,” 444–45, notes that even with the limited sources that Woodman allows Tacitus, Tacitus still provides substantial information; fictional elements remain “quite limited” (445).

Cic. De or. 2.62 (elaborating further on proper literary elements of ancient historiography in 2.63–64). Historians traditionally read De or. 2.62–64 as affirming truth value in history (Laird, “Rhetoric,” 200–201, citing among others Grant, Historians; Momigliano, “Rhetoric,” 56–59; Brunt, “Cicero and Historiography,” 313, 318). Woodman, who challenged the usual reading of Cicero among other scholars (e.g., P. G. Walsh and P. A. Brunt in Woodman, Rhetoric, 81, or Brunt and K. J. Dover on 197), treats this as merely avoiding bias (Rhetoric, 82). Others, however, retort that the problem with bias was its departure from facts (see Marincola, “Audiences,” 18), and the lack of Cicero’s explicit use of inventio here might be significant (Laird, “Rhetoric,” 202; pace Woodman, Rhetoric, 93, 199). Many have criticized Woodman’s interpretation, not least for ignoring some of what Cicero claims; see Lendon, “Historiography,” 50–51 (citing many other critics, including Marincola, Authority, 160–62; Blockley, “Truth”; Leeman, “Antieke,” 238; Morgan, “Review,” 35–36; Bosworth, “Historians and sources,” 169). Lendon, “Historiography,” 51–52, argues that Cicero wanted history to belong to oratory, but recognized plainly that it did not (De or. 2.55–58, 62, 64). Modern readers might consider Cicero’s interests interdisciplinary (in De or., Laird, “Rhetoric,” 202, notes Cicero’s interest in orators learning philosophy and law).

Feldherr, “Introduction,” 3n4, cites to this effect also Polyb. 2.56.11–12; Livy praef. 6–7; cf. Marincola, “Audiences,” 18. Feldherr, “Introduction,” 7, notes Woodman’s argument that historians preserved only a “hard core” of facts, but notes (8) that the evidence suggests more than this. Note also the stark distinction between history and fictitious drama in Quint. Inst. 2.4.2 (cited in Collins, Mark, 35).

Lendon, “Historiography,” 54. I have suggested that the reliance of Matthew and Luke on Mark suggests their similar expectation, better informed by contemporary knowledge than our modern guesses could be, that Mark was considered reliable biography (Keener, “Otho,” 354; cf. idem, “Assumptions”).

E.g., Jos. Ag. Ap. 1.26; Dion. Hal. Thuc. 8.

Jos. Life 336–39; Diod. Sic. 21.17.1; Lucian Hist. 24–25; see esp. discussion of Polybius below. Those who claimed the superiority of their own works, however, could risk the charge of impudence from detractors (Jos. Life 359); the charge of falsehood served polemical agendas well.

Diod. Sic. 1.37.4, 6. Some depictions considered errors in ancient accounts are more historically plausible than previously accepted (see, e.g., Jones, “Cocktail,” on Pliny N.H. 9.119–21), but this is not always the case.

So Plut. Mal. Hdt. 3–7, Mor. 855C–856B (though, in defense of Herodotus, Plutarch’s other extant sources may have followed a favorable bias; Plutarch may have his own bias because of Herodotus’s critique of Boeotia, Plutarch’s homeland). Penner, Praise, 169, notes that Plutarch resented Herodotus’s “pro-barbarian” approach. Perhaps more plausibly than Plutarch, cf. Dion. Hal. Pomp. 3, on Thucydides’s grudge against Athens.

Polyb. 10.21.8; but see discussion on biographies in , above.

Arist. Poet. 9.2, 1451b; thus poetry is more philosophical, conveying general truths, whereas history conveys specific facts (9.3, 1451b). See also discussion in Butcher, Theory, 163–64, explaining that for Aristotle, poetry was thus nobler and more universal than mere collections of historical information (also 190–91). Pliny Ep. 9.33.1 notes that historians, unlike poets, care about the authority of their sources. Some (like Lucan) wrote epics on historical subjects, but with much greater freedom than characterized normal historiography. Poets spoke largely through their characters (Vell. Paterc. 1.3.2). Against their accuracy, see, e.g., Libanius Refutation 1.1–3, 12; 2.1; Invec. 7.2; favoring it, on account of inspiration, Confirmation 1.1; 2.1–2.

I am grateful to Andreas Bendlin for bringing this source to my attention. In this passage, Cicero treats his standard for factual content in historiography as higher than that of Herodotus or Theopompus (see discussion in Laird, “Rhetoric,” 199–200). For possible rhetorical reasons for the flow of topics in the context (1.1–5), see discussion in Krebs, “Conversation.”

Dion. Hal. Ant. rom. 1.1.2–4; 1.4.2.

As is clear, e.g., in his correspondence with Suetonius and especially Tacitus.

For the emphasis on facts in ancient historiography, see also Byrskog, History, 179–84.

Even rhetorical historians writing essays on earlier historians’ rhetoric might emphasize the importance of truth-telling (Dion. Hal. Thuc. 55).

Even outside historiography proper and recent history, imperial ideology shaped historical memories (see, e.g., Sumi, “Monuments”).

Likewise, eager to have his own account of Vesuvius in Tacitus’s work, he even writes in historic style in Pliny Ep. 6.16, 20 (so Augoustakis, “Nequaquam”). As it turns out, we know far more about Pliny from his own letters than any other source (except a biography) could have provided.

Fam. 5.12 is LCL letter 22. Pliny’s request could also be independent of Cicero’s, both reflecting a common interest. Love of glory is explicit, especially in Cic. Fam. 5.12.1, 9; elsewhere, as well, Cicero also treats positive figures’ glory (praise) as appropriate to historiography (De or. 2.63). I am grateful to Andreas Bendlin for highlighting the significance of this letter for me.

See Fam. 5.12.6–7 (in 5.12.7 comparing a glorious portrayal of himself with an accurate painting of Alexander). Granted, Cicero also urges Lucceius to do him a favor and show enthusiastic interest in the events even if Lucceius does not view them as very significant (Fam. 5.12.2–3). We should note, however, that Cicero views this as a singular exception to the normal historiographic practice (5.12.3), and also that this is simply feigned modesty to allow another reason for reinforcing the request. In Cicero’s case (unlike Pliny’s), the events proposed for inclusion (“the domestic conspiracy,” 5.12.2 [LCL p. 157]; “from the beginning of the plot down to my return from exile,” 5.12.4 [LCL p. 159]) were in fact politically significant. Where Cicero especially requests a favor (offering supporting reasons) is for the account about him to be set off from the rest of the flow of events (hence given more attention), rather than narrated merely wherever it would appear in the sequence (5.12.6–7). He offers to supply notes narrating the events that Lucceius may then polish into acceptable literary form (see 5.12.10).

Fornara, Nature of History, 116–19. Laistner, Historians, 85–87, argues that Livy was in fact quite critical (citing, e.g., Livy 8.40.4; 37.48.7), even if not consistently so.

Fornara, Nature of History, 135; cf. also Laistner, Historians, 16.

Lendon, “Historiography,” 44; cf. 60. Lendon also notes that Livy’s use of Polybius is our best case (“the sole case where we can see a Latin historian using his sources,” 53).

Lendon, “Historiography,” 44.

Fornara, Nature of History, 138–39, citing Cic. De or. 2.15.62–63. Cf. Laistner, Historians, 33–34, citing Cic. Fam. 5.12; Att. 2.1.2.

Fornara, Nature of History, 72. Others do regard Sallust as biased (e.g., Laistner, Historians, 45–48, 55–56, 63). Xenophon was mostly evenhanded in his history (Brown, Historians, 93–94), except for fully crediting his enemy Epaminondas (ibid., 97).

Fornara, Nature of History, 100. See further discussion below.

Ibid., 104. If a history was too biased, it was probably the weakness of the particular historian (91).

At least insofar as we may infer from the number of copies preserved in Egypt; see Stephens, “Who Read Novels?,” 411, 415–16. Josephus was sufficiently familiar with Thucydides to imitate him in Ant. 17–19 (Kennedy, “Source Criticism,” 145–46).

See, e.g., Cueva, “Longus and Thucydides.”

Woodman, Rhetoric, 23, thinks that Thucydides disclaimed myth to dissociate himself from Herodotus, and (45–47) that Thucydides’s style has misled modern readers into treating his work like modern historiography, an error that Woodman doubts (47) that ancient readers would have made. Although Thucydides was not writing modern historiography, Woodman’s language may overstate the gap between modern scholars and ancient readers like Josephus.

On Herodotus’s method, see Meister, “Herodotus,” 267 (including his personal observation and interviews with informed locals; cf. Hdt. 2.28.1; 125.6; 4.76.6; 8.65.6); for his dependence on oral sources, see, e.g., West, “Rhampsinitos,” 327; Brown, Historians, 40. Herodotus did recognize that historical data were inseparable from the discourses that transmitted them (Byrskog, “History,” 279).

At least as early as Cicero (Leg. 1.1.5), people viewed Herodotus as the first historian and Western narrative writer (Meister, “Herodotus,” 269). The literary influence of Homer on Herodotus (Woodman, Rhetoric, 4) does not change this perception. Some scholars have compared Herodotus to the Pentateuch (Van Seters, “Primeval Histories”; cf. idem, Search); but the differences are considerable (Blenkinsopp, Pentateuch, 39–41; he suggests [42] that Israelite historiography may have anticipated Herodotus), and narratives earlier than 1–2 Kings may have earlier parallels in the Greek heroic tradition.

Rainey, “Herodotus’ Description.” Surprisingly, archaeology has often confirmed Herodotus’s claims regarding Scythians and Persians (Yamauchi, Persia, 77–78, 96, 100, 141, 153, 160–61, 190).

Meister, “Herodotus,” 267–68. On some of Herodotus’s documentary sources, especially inscriptions, see Rhodes, “Documents,” 57–58 (noting also misinterpretations, including in one case where the inscription remains).

Meister, “Herodotus,” 268, notes Herodotus’s “methodological principle”: “I am obligated to report that which is reported, but I am not obligated to believe everything” (Hdt. 7.152); Herodotus often reports conflicting traditions without passing judgment either way; cf. Schepens, “History,” 46; Rhodes, “Documents,” 56 (citing 3.115.2; 3.123.1; 4.195.2; 7.152.3). For the interpretive level of Herodotus’s discourse, see Darbo-Peschanski, “Origin,” 30 (contrasting Thucydides, 32); but for his anchoring in data as accurately as possible, see Schepens, “History,” 42; for his pursuit of the most original sources, see Schepens, “History,” 43–47.

See fully Meister, “Herodotus,” 268–69.

E.g., Val. Max. 1.8.7, which Valerius justifies as believable because it is in his sources (important for our discussion, however, is that he does not invent the story). Some cases of supposed credulity fail to recognize that historians sometimes simply recounted sources without intending to approve them (Schepens, “History,” 46). For the special case of “signs,” see below.

See, e.g., Meister, “Historiography: Greece,” 421. Certainly, Suetonius, who was in many other respects a good historian, failed to sift his sources and includes much gossip (Cary and Haarhoff, Life, 272).

Cf. Lendon, “Historiography,” 53, who notes that historians sometimes paused to correct their predecessors, citing Livy’s corrections of Valerius Antias more than twenty times (citing Oakley, Commentary, 1:89–91) and Tacitus’s correction of sources (citing Mendell, Tacitus, 199–214). Sometimes they remained uncertain about a source even when they lacked alternative accounts (Lendon, “Historiography,” 54, citing Livy 37.48.7; cf. Tac. Hist. 2.37); such statements communicated verisimilitude (cf. Sen. Y. Nat. Q. 4.3.1) only if most presumed them usually sincere (Lendon, “Historiography,” 54). Lendon, “Historiography,” 55, suggests that historians competed with each other not only in style but also in seeking to correctly recount the facts (Livy 1.pref. 2), yet in this period considered their accounts close enough to received tradition that they wrote with confidence that they would be believed. Had historical writing contained defenses of each point, it would have read much more like forensic rhetoric than it does; a writer was expected to narrate history rather than demonstrate it (Quint. Inst. 10.1.31). Of course, critical historians with poor sources could be less accurate than less critical historians with better sources (cf. the observation in Woodman, Rhetoric, 205–6, that critical attitudes need not mean historical reliability, citing Tac. Hist. 1.1.2 against Tacitus).

Cf. also Philost. Vit. soph. 1.21.516.

Damon, “Rhetoric,” 443; the discounted source is Licinius Macer. She also notes (ibid.) that Livy doubts a rumor that he cannot confirm, though he includes it because he does not find a clear motive for its creation (Livy 37.48.1–7).

Despite disapproval of Tacitus’s biases, Laistner, Historians, 132–34, commends his “candor” for often including information contrary to his own biases.

Paus. 1.3.3 (LCL, 1:15, 17).

Dionysius could regard as inauthentic speeches that reflected conditions that did not fit the alleged author’s time (here, “before his prime”)—e.g., Dion. Hal. Din. 11. He used stylistic criteria to evaluate authenticity when other factors were not compelling (Lysias 11; cf. Demosth. 57).

E.g., that Thucydides fails to evoke the full horror of war at points (Dion. Hal. Thuc. 15), in contrast to the more rhetorical historians. But Dio Chrys. Or. 18.10 rates Thucydides first, above Theopompus and far beyond Ephorus.

Dion. Hal. Thuc. 19 (LCL, 1:512f); see Thucyd. 1.1.1–2; 1.21.2; 1.23.1–2. For some other cases of hyperbole in historical writing, see Thucyd. 8.96.1 (cf. 2.94.1); Polyb. 1.4.5; Tac. Hist. 1.2; cf. also, less surprisingly for us, in epic treatments of history (Sil. It. 9.183; cf. Josh 10:14), in prosecutorial rhetoric (Cic. Verr. 2.5.72.189), and in fiction (Xen. Eph. Anthia 1.1; Philost. Hrk. 24.2). Dionysius elsewhere notes that where it is clear that the author was not present, one may examine whether a speech fits the speaker and setting (Thuc. 41; Damon, “Rhetoric,” 446), presumably at least for rhetorical plausibility. For rhetoricians judging historians according to standards of factual accuracy, see Lendon, “Historiography,” 53–54 (citing Cic. Rep. 2.27; Off. 3.113; Brut. 42–43; Leg. 1.5; Quint. Inst. 10.1.75; and others).

Likewise, Homer does not speak of “barbarians” because Greeks had not yet distinguished themselves from others in this manner (Thucyd. 1.3.3). Velleius recognizes anachronistic language in earlier writers regarding the names of Thessaly (Vell. Paterc. 1.3.2) and Corinth (Vell. Paterc. 1.3.3, noting Homer Il. 2.570; 13.664). Theopompus rejected the authenticity of a treaty because it used the Ionian rather than the earlier local Athenian alphabet appropriate to its era (Rhodes, “Documents,” 62).

Rulers also favored property claims that could appeal to ancient inscriptions and poetry (Tac. Ann. 4.43).

E.g., Diog. Laert. 1.23: “But according to others”; 6.1.13; 8.2.67–72; Vell. Paterc. 2.4.6; 2.27.5; 2.48.4; Plut. Lyc. 1.1; Tac. Ann. 2.67; 3.16, 18; 4.10; 14.51 (though happy to report negative views of Nero), 58–59; 15.38, 54; 16.3, 6 (though expressing his view); Philost. Vit. soph. 1.21.516; 2.5.576; b. Soṭah 9:13, §2. Thucydides comes across as more of an expert, however, by omitting interpretations divergent from his own, opinions that have not survived (Brown, Historians, 49).

E.g., Sall. Jug. 67.3; Tac. Ann. 4.57. Certainly, one could admit ignorance of motives (e.g., Tac. Ann. 15.36).

See Meister, “Herodotus,” 268, on Hdt. 7.152.

Lucian Hist. 60 (LCL, 6:71).

Sophists made a pastime out of noting logical and chronological problems in Homer (e.g., Maclean and Aitken, Heroikos, l–li, citing Philost. Hrk. 23.5–6; 25.10–13). Saïd, “Myth,” 85, notes Polybius’s refusal to recount myth (see, e.g., Polyb. 2.16.13–15; 4.40.2; 9.2.1; 12.24.5), though he reports critically some local legends connected with myth (4.43.6) and accepts some historical basis behind legends (34.2.4, 9–11). Many spoke pejoratively of myths (or particular myths) as untrue, e.g., Plato Rep. 2.377C–383C; Cic. Nat. d. 2.28.70 (a Stoic); Val. Max. 4.7.4; Lucian Amber 3, 5–6; Sacr. 5; Philost. Vit. soph. 2.1.554; Hrk. 34.4; 50.1–2; Iambl. V.P. 32.218; Libanius Anecdote 3.27; Syncellus p. 73 (discussing Manetho Aeg. frg. 2.3). For others, myths communicated truth in pleasurable ways (Diod. Sic. 1.2.2; Max. Tyre 4.5–6). Early Jewish apologists condemned associating their biblical narratives with mythology (see comment in , ; also Philo in Feldman, “Death of Moses”).

Dion. Hal. Thuc. 8 (LCL, 1:478–79); this is an ideal, not the writer’s exceptionless practice.

My point is not that Herodian achieved this ideal (certainly, he did not strive for chronological precision; see Whittaker, “Introduction,” xxxix–xl) but that it was in fact the ideal.

E.g., Philost. Vit. soph. 2.21.603 (of his own teacher, 2.21.602); the biographer Eunapius Lives 461 (of Iamblichus, whom Eunapius considered supernatural, 459–61).

E.g., Livy 3.8.10.

Aul. Gel. 10.12.8–10. Some could also caution readers not to be too skeptical of something that otherwise appeared implausible (Sall. Catil. 3.2; Plut. Cam. 6.4).

Polybius’s moralistic agenda (emphasized, e.g., in Penner, Praise, 145; see below on historians’ Tendenz) need not require fabricating events. Penner (157) shows how Timaeus’s critique of Aristotle, who is useful as a positive moral model, invites Polybius’s enmity (noting Polyb. 12.7.2–6; 12.8.1–2).

Cf. Penner, Praise, 118, who notes, “If every historian who accuses another of being a dramatic and rhetorical historian is doing so to garner support for his or her own version of events, then the line dividing a Polybius from an Ephorus, Theopompus, Ctesias, or Phylarchus is much thinner than one might be led to believe from the initial comments.” Polybius “condemns tragic history but then resorts to it himself.” Still, we should note that even in our extant sources, the level of rhetorical embellishment appears to be a matter of degree (as Penner [p. 179] also acknowledges). Polybius does what Timaeus does, but he apparently does not do it nearly as much as Timaeus. As Marincola, “Audiences,” 22, observes, concern for stimulating emotion was widespread in ancient historiography; only some employed it in excess.

Fornara, Nature of History, 48; see even more fully the defenses of Timaeus’s scholarship in Schepens, “History,” 51–54; Vattuone, “Historiography,” 196–99; cf. Marincola, “Speeches,” 124–26; Brown, Historians, 151, 164. Others suggest that Timaeus defended Western Greeks’ contributions to Greek civilization, providing an “apologetic edge” that Polybius felt compelled to challenge (Sterling, “Historians,” 502). Note problems with Timaeus’s chronology in Dillery, “Roman Historians,” 87.

Likewise, when Josephus thinks the perspective of some other historians distorted, he criticizes them for failing in their objective to write history properly (War 1.7); they undoubtedly responded polemically in kind. Vell. Paterc. 2.53.4 criticizes predecessors for being five years off on Pompey’s age—precisely because he wants to forestall criticism of himself for erring on this minor detail.

These rhetorical techniques are certainly in common use by Luke’s era, although (again) even orators could use such techniques without inventing “facts.” Penner, Praise, 235–47, argues that epideictic techniques were common in Jewish apologetic historiography.

He reports graphic bloodshed (Polyb. 15.33) but claims that unlike some other writers, he avoids amplifying it for sensationalism (15.34). By Luke’s day, both Polybius’s “critical” approach and the “sensational” approach had left a mark on historiographic practices (see Rothschild, Rhetoric of History, 93–95).

Cf. Davidson, “Polybius,” 129 (following Marincola, Authority; Walker, “Enargeia”), who argues that Polybius’s standards largely followed those of Hellenistic intellectual culture, though most of it has not survived. He also finds some of these features in the Roman historiographic tradition preceding Polybius (Davidson, “Polybius,” 129–30, following Marincola, Authority, 188–95, esp. 192).

A number of other historians also insisted on avoiding bias, a claim that their contemporaries understood seriously (see Cic. Fam. 5.12.3, on a preface in one of Lucceius’s histories).

Penner, Praise, 153–55, complains that Polybius uses an ethnic plausibility criterion against Phylarchus: by evoking sympathy for the dishonorable Mantineans against the honorable Achaians, Phylarchus violates probability. Sympathetic portrayal of opponents appears commonly in ancient epics (the Trojans in the Iliad; Dido in the Aeneid), and rhetorical historians use it to heighten tragic pathos (cf., e.g., Dion. Hal. Ant. rom. 3; 9.39.1–6; Livy 21.1.3; cf. discussion in Keener, John, 216–17); indeed, Lucian criticizes historians who praise their own leaders while slandering the other side as engaging merely in panegyric (Hist. 7). But it is clear that Polybius has his ethnic biases; cf. similarly Plutarch’s Malice of Herodotus. Ancient and modern judicial rhetoric do infer probability based on past behavior; ancient and modern historians do the same, except that modern historians would be explicit about their inferences instead of simply writing them into their narratives. We would agree with Polybius that historical reconstruction necessarily includes inferred probabilities; we might prove more critical of the ethnographic basis for some of his assumptions, but this is why we must take into account ancient (or modern, whether with ethnographic, political, military, or other historiography) historians’ perspectives. It is not inference from probability that differs but the way we narrate those inferences and the particular assumptions (based on differing perspectives) that inform those inferences.

Cicero recognized that readers of histories enjoyed the feeling of pitying others’ past sufferings (Fam. 5.12.5), yet he writes in a context that involves actual and not imagined sufferings (5.12.4–5).

No one, however, will ensure that Polybius’s own speeches are verbatim recollections.

The entire digression against Phylarchus starts in Polyb. 2.56.1–16 (including criticism for excess accommodation of tragic conventions, 2.56.1–11), followed by examples of his sensationalism in the matter at hand in 2.57.1–2.63.6. Poetic treatments of historical events (e.g., Silius Italicus; Lucan) enjoyed more freedom of expression (cf. Pliny Ep. 8.4.1). Even generally reliable rhetorical historians, however, could infuse scenes with pathos when the events they reported allowed this (e.g., Tac. Ann. 3.1; 4.62–63; 5.9; 16.30–32); for pathos in Acts, See comment on Acts 20:37–38. Seeking to communicate the spirit of the times as well as the specific events, Velleius complains that “no one has even been able to deplore the fortunes of this whole period with such tears as the theme deserves” (Vell. Paterc. 2.67.1). On the propriety in ancient historiography of generating emotion, provided it was appropriate and helped readers better share the experience of the events depicted, see Marincola, “Audiences,” 21–22 (citing Cic. Fam. 5.12.4–5; Sempronius Asellio in FRH 12 F 2).

Cf. similarly Jos. Ant. 20.154, criticizing some of his contemporaries. Hellenistic historians may have rarely met Polybius’s standard, but most of our surviving examples remain rooted in genuine events. Moreover, Thucydides (also a careful historian by our standards) remained a primary model (see Marincola, “Speeches,” 123–27; Croke, “Historiography,” 567–68).

Ecclesiastical pressures were, presumably, not a major factor; he portrays the Jerusalem church mostly favorably (despite Acts 20:21), yet in his location and probably in his era, the Jerusalem church could not exert ecclesiastical pressure (or could exert, at most, the pressure of heroic memories). Dio Cassius later faced much more severe constraints about the present of his era (Hose, “Cassius Dio,” 462–63).

Perhaps the long-reigning Augustus offers an exception; but later Suetonius and Tacitus are critical even regarding Augustus, and rival views did survive. Acknowledging that he goes against the usual standard of historiography, Josephus justifies his passion and lamentation in his work (see Chapman, “Josephus,” 324, noting War 1.9, 11); but Josephus’s account was plainly controversial vis-à-vis those of his rivals.

E.g., Tac. Ann. 15.73 (citing sources of the time described). Historical distance multiplied the possibility of gratuitous errors, such as 4 Macc 4:15 (Antiochus Epiphanes was Seleucus’s younger brother rather than his son, though the mistake is readily understandable). Of course, modern historians also prefer reports closer in time to the events recounted (e.g., Robeck, Mission, 293–94, 296).

Indeed, even Luke’s first volume is fairly soon after most events it narrates; as W. D. Davies points out (Invitation, 115–16), probably only a single life span “separates Jesus from the last New Testament document” (cf. similarly Sanders, Tendencies, 28; Benoit, Jesus, 1:33).

E.g., Xen. Apol. 2; Ages. 3.1; Dion. Hal. Thuc. 7; Plut. Demosth. 11.1; Arrian Alex. 1.pref. 2–3; 6.11.8; Corn. Nep. 23 (Hannibal), 13.3; 25 (Atticus), 13.7; 17.1; cf. Philost. Hrk. 7.9; 8.2, 6–7; Sen. Y. Nat. Q. 3.25.8; 4.3.1. Cf. Xen. Hell. 6.2.31 (refusing to believe a report until an eyewitness was available); Tac. Ann. 3.16 (reporting an unlikely account, though not committed to it, because he received it from the previous generation). Aune, Environment, 81, cites for this also Hdt. 2.99; Polyb. 12.27.1–6; 20.12.8; Lucian Hist. 47 (and Polybius’s somewhat self-serving view that participants made the best historians, 3.4.13; 12.25g.1; 12.28.1–5); Alexander, Preface, 34, notes that one recurrent claim was “that the best history was written on the basis of personal experience.” Historians today are apt to trust eyewitness knowledge even in otherwise questionable ancient historians (e.g., Brown, Historians, 142, 146; in more recent history, see, e.g., Wigger, Saint, 363).

Jervell, “Future,” 118.

Byrskog, History, 153–57. Although some earlier modern historians treated personal involvement as permitting bias (19–22; less today, cf. 23–26), oral historiography allows greater appreciation for participation (153; for its wider use today, see, e.g., Moniot, “Historiography,” 50). To exclude such sources could undermine any historical reports by eyewitnesses in any traumatic or otherwise emotionally invested situation in history (wars, the Holocaust, etc.; see Eddy and Boyd, Legend, 397–98; despite limitations of war testimony noted in Woodman, Rhetoric, 18–22). On the use of, and methodologies for, oral history in historiography, see Byrskog, History, 26–33; on its use in NT scholarship, see 33–40. Whereas modern oral history focuses on “low people” excluded from traditional Western history, ancient historians focused on whatever sources gave them best access to the events important to them (305).

See Jos. Life 357; Ag. Ap. 1.45–49, 56; War 1.2–3. Romans also valued narrating events from one’s era, including those in which one participated and those that could honor a friend (see Cic. Leg. 1.8).

Byrskog, History, 176–79, notes that ancient historians were aware that eyewitnesses could be biased, and tried to take this into account (sometimes through the grid of their own biases).

Cf., more recently, e.g., divergent versions of the same event in 1980 (differing in details while communicating the basic substance) evaluated in Jackson, Quest, 72–74.

Thucyd. 1.22.3. For gist generally being reliable in memory even where details are not, see Bauckham, Eyewitnesses, 333–34 (citing memory studies); cf. also Woodman, Rhetoric, 11–12 (although on 12 he also uses the weakness of one witness to question even the gist, but this witness may be more questionable than usual, even if he did not confuse different occasions). Historians themselves often quoted their sources from memory, and hence could get correct the gist while being confused on some details (Marincola, “Introduction,” 2). Although interchanges likely occurred, two individuals’ memories of events that both persons experienced, recalled over the span of six decades, can overlap considerably in substance (cf., e.g., Braun, Way, with Braun, Here; or informally, family recollections); many points are forgotten and shaded, but events perceived as significant, and often associated feelings, especially when the events generated intense feelings or are often recalled, can persist without deliberate intention for decades. Those responsible for retelling the information will tend to recall it in the usually retold form, but it becomes part of long-range memory.

In a forensic setting, see, e.g., Lysias Or. 20.22, §160.

Fornara, Nature of History, 48. For accuracy in certain kinds of ancient Mediterranean oral traditioning over the span of one or two generations, see Keener, Matthew, 27–30; idem, John, 54–65; idem, Historical Jesus, 139–61; but for failure to learn accurately from purported travels, see Strabo 2.5.10; Hengel, “Geography of Palestine,” 31.

Eunapius Lives 460. Suetonius depends more heavily on older written records than on interviews of more recent persons (Rolfe, “Introduction,” xviii). The Greek method preferred interviews, but even Romans could write about contemporary figures (e.g., Pliny Ep. 9.19.5); even some Greek writers like Ephorus and Timaeus critically emphasized written sources, though Polybius appreciated the former and attacked the latter (Schepens, “History,” 50–51).

Xen. Hell. 3.1.2; those who attribute the Gospel of Matthew to one of the Twelve yet accept its dependence on Mark (e.g., R. Gundry; see his Matthew, 609–22) could adduce that case as a further example.

Eunapius Lives 453; for anthropological confirmation, see Lord, Singer, 138.

E.g., Xen. Symp. 1.1; Jos. Ag. Ap. 1.45–47. Todd, “Introduction,” 376, is skeptical about Xenophon’s claim because Xenophon nowhere places himself in the narrative (Kennedy, “Source Criticism,” 135, notes that most scholars are skeptical), but this argument is questionable; Todd concurs that the characters and discussion match external evidence (“Introduction,” 376–78). This is also Xenophon’s style, since he does not report his presence in the Anabasis until it is relevant to the narrative).

Criticizing someone should best be done while they remain alive or, if they have died, only shortly afterward (Pliny Ep. 9.1.3–4). Bede Comm. Acts pref. (L. Martin, 5) contends that Luke wrote while eyewitnesses remained alive.

This also suggests that if Josephus embellished his story with some details, the eyewitnesses accepted that embellishment as relatively minor, fitting acceptable historical canons. Undoubtedly, the portrayal was also not to their detriment; Josephus was careful to praise surviving political figures such as Agrippa and any member of the Flavian dynasty.

Naturally, Josephus would be happy to enforce a criterion that excluded his competitors but not himself. Yet Josephus hardly invented this criterion, useful as it proved in his case.

Josephus is not above depicting a scene, such as the suicide of the Sicarii at Masada, where he lacks potential eyewitnesses (unless we think of the two women who escaped), but he might have protested that this represented a special scene rather than a consistent pattern.

See, e.g., Mosley, “Reporting,” 26.

E.g., Diod. Sic. 1.6.2; Cic. Leg. 1.4. See further Kennedy, “Source Criticism,” 139, on the mythical character of “early history,” citing Quint. Inst. 2.4.18–19 and Livy’s repeated qualifications in his first ten books. Note also Marincola, “Audiences,” 19, on the higher ideals for historians writing concerning events of their own time.

Pliny Ep. 5.8.12–13 (considering earlier times more praiseworthy); Tac. Ann. 4.33. Thus some, like Callisthenes, composed excessively encomiastic tributes—which posterity condemned as flattery (Brown, Historians, 125). Obviously Tacitus and Suetonius could not have portrayed Nero or Domitian so negatively during their reigns (often observed, e.g., Vout, “Emperor,” 261).

E.g., Livy 7.6.6; 25.11.20; Plut. Mal. Hdt. 20, Mor. 859B. This is true in spite of the fact that “modern insights” (such as bloodletting!) might be preferred to ancient ones (Sen. Y. Ep. Lucil. 95.22).

E.g., Thucyd. 1.21.1; Livy 6.1.2–3; 7.6.6; Diod. Sic. 1.6.2; 1.9.2; 4.1.1; 4.8.3–5; Dion. Hal. Ant. rom. 1.12.3; Thuc. 5; Paus. 9.31.7; Jos. Ag. Ap. 1.15, 24–25, 58; cf. Bowersock, Fiction as History, 1–2. Some ancients also considered the earlier period qualitatively different because of divine activities (Hesiod W.D. 158–60, 165; Arrian Alex. 5.1.2); by contrast, others mistrusted its reports precisely because of such unusual events (Thucyd. 1.23.3).

Dion. Hal. Thuc. 5–7; cf. Plut. Thes. 1.3; Keener, John, 20. At least, the early period was regarded as unusual (Thucyd. 1.23.3).

E.g., Thucyd. 1.21.1 (complaining in 1.21.2 that people make ancient events greater than they were); again, see Keener, John, 20.

They often tried to distinguish between accurate and inaccurate sources when a consensus view was available (cf. Livy 1.1.1). Interestingly, archaeology occasionally and incidentally confirms even some information behind etiological explanations once deemed mythical; see, e.g., Egelhaaf-Gaiser, “Sites,” 212.

Historians might recognize exaggerations in an account, while averring that genuine historical tradition stood behind it (Livy 3.8.10), or might regard an account as too implausible altogether (Aul. Gel. 10.12.8–10). Some sources, such as the Life of Aesop, may simply string together all available popular traditions into a narrative; these traditions had grown over six centuries (see Drury, Design, 28–29).

E.g., Livy 4.29.5–6; 23.47.8; cf. (more skeptically) Lucian Hist. 60.

See, e.g., Thucyd. 1.21.1–2; Dion. Hal. Ant. rom. 1.39.1; 1.41.1 (cf. 1.84.4); Thuc. 6; Philost. Vit. soph. 2.1.554. See also examples in Saïd, “Myth,” 81–88.

Plut. Thes. 1.3. Arrian accepts, but explains on rationalistic grounds, some old legends (Alex. 2.16.6).

See Dio Cass. 62.11.3–4; Aune, Environment, 83; Fornara, Nature of History, 134–36; Woodman, Rhetoric, 26–28.

Ancients noticed tensions in regularly read sources just as we do; even mythographers might note chronological and other tensions within a text (Maclean and Aitken, Heroikos, xlix–l, citing Philostratus Hrk. 23.5–6; 25.10–13).

Polyb. 3.32.4.

Dion. Hal. Ant. rom. 9.22.1–5.

Polyb. 3.20.1–5; 3.32.5. Polybius insisted on providing the longest-range historical context possible, both early (3.6.1–3.7.3, e.g., 3.6.10) and subsequent (9.2.5).

Plut. Themist. 27.1, though admitting uncertainty. Thucydides sought to take into account the relative dates of his sources (Thucyd. 1.3.2–3); with some sense of relative chronology, Tac. Dial. 16 dates Ulysses and Nestor (purportedly early thirteenth century B.C.E.) about a millennium before Alexander and Demosthenes (fourth century B.C.E.).

Polyb. 3.33.18; Plut. Alex. 46.2; Demosth. 5.5; Philost. Vit. soph. 2.1.562–63.

Arrian Alex. 7.14.4–6; Dio Cass. 62.11.3–4; cf. Athen. Deipn. 5.215–16, 219ab. The same criterion could apply, however, in fictitious composition or historical reconstruction based on plausibility (cf. Arist. Poet. 15.4–5, 1454a; Theon Progymn. 1.46–52; 2.79–81; 8.2–3); in myth viewed as history, Libanius Confirmation 2.18–20.

Thucyd. 1.10.1–2, evaluating the Iliad.

Dion. Hal. Ant. rom. 4.6.1. Cf. also Tac. Ann. 15.53; 16.6; Paus. 9.31.7; Plut. Isis 8, Mor. 353F; and Theon’s reasons for thinking the account of Medea murdering her children implausible (Progymn. 5.487–501; cf. 3.241–76, 4.112–16, 126–34).

Arrian Alex. 6.28.2. Hearsay without eyewitness testimony is much less credible (Arrian Ind. 15.7). Arrian does exhibit pro-Alexander bias (Bosworth, “Pursuit,” 447; Baynham, “Quintus Curtius,” 428), though it can be overstated (Bosworth, “Pursuit,” 452–53).

Woodman, who criticizes even relatively contemporary writers (and has been criticized for it; note the summary in Damon, “Rhetoric,” 439–40), himself recognizes the principle that contemporary sources are more reliable (or less unreliable) than later ones (Woodman, Rhetoric, 204).

Some estimate that barely 2 percent of Greek histories have survived, apart from fragments and summaries (Schepens, “History,” 54, citing Strasburger, “Umblick”). Because he writes at a more popular level, Luke may have less polished rhetoric and more adventure. Again, this is not to suggest that Luke or his contemporaries fabricated events, but the narrative tastes of Luke’s audience were, no doubt, an important factor in his selection and presentation of events.

See, e.g., Laird, “Rhetoric,” 211–12. Feldherr, “Introduction,” 7–8, suggests that now that interest in rhetorical presentation is more widely accepted, newer approaches should return to ancient historians’ stated interest in representing the past accurately. Such representation is always a matter of degree. Biblical scholarship has experienced the same fruitful synthesis of historical and literary approaches, after passing through a period of mutual polemic (see, e.g., McKnight and Malbon, “Introduction,” 18; Donahue, “Redaction Criticism,” 45–48; Byrskog, “History,” 258–59, 283; Peterson, Acts, 41; Padilla, Speeches, 10–11).

See Rothschild, Rhetoric of History, passim, esp. her conclusion, 291. Penner, Praise, 137, observes the influence of the narratio on all prose writing. Laistner, Historians, 8–9, shows the historical influence of rhetoric on all prose narrative, including historiography.

Laird, “Rhetoric,” 198–99, naming “Ephorus, Theopompus, and Philistus.” Theopompus appears as a student of Isocrates in Cic. De or. 2.57, 94; Orat. 157.

Laird, “Rhetoric,” 199, citing Polyb. 8.8.10–11.13.3.

Marincola, “Audiences,” 13 (citing, e.g., Cic. Fin. 5.51); Laird, “Rhetoric,” 206–7, 209. Marincola, “Audiences,” 14, notes that many rhetorical curricula included histories and that rhetoricians urged the knowledge of history (Cic. De or. 1.158; Orat. 120; Quint. 10.1.34; 12.4.1–2), sometimes for style (suggested in Quint. 10.1.101–4) as well as examples.

Rothschild, Rhetoric of History, 65–66, arguing that they treated their histories as cases to be defended, though not as actual defense speeches.

Observed, e.g., by Meister, “Historiography: Greece,” 421; Laistner, Historians, 3, 8, 30–31, 44.

See most fully Rebenich, “Historical Prose.” Roman historiography varied stylistically (312).

Winterbottom, “Rhetoric.”

Penner, Praise, 129.

History was a form of discourse distinct from others (e.g., forensic rhetoric or philosophy; e.g., Philost. Ep. Apoll. 19).

Rothschild, Rhetoric of History, 62; cf. Penner, Praise, 217.

Rothschild, Rhetoric of History, 62–64.

Ibid., 69. One should observe, however, that there is a difference in degree, as already noted (see, e.g., Pliny Ep. 7.17.3; 8.4.1).

Rothschild, Rhetoric of History, 69–70; cf. similarly Nicolai, “Place of History,” 21.

Rothschild, Rhetoric of History, 88–91.

Witherington, “Addendum,” 29–31; idem, Acts, 41–42.

LCL, 1:418–19. Let. Aris. 322 claims that it should provide greater pleasure than “mythographers” do.

For Thucydides, the uniqueness of events established their significance (Grene, Political Theory, 83).

See Burridge, “Biography.” But biographies were rarely as partisan as forensic speech, where a primary object was legal victory (e.g., Dion. Hal. Lysias 8).

Rothschild, Rhetoric of History, 93.

Ibid., 95; for Herodotean echoes in Arrian, see in Bosworth, “Pursuit,” 447. The function of audience is significant here: Luke’s audience did not expect extensive rhetorical elaboration and pathos to the degree one finds in more dramatic historians (see discussion below), although his audience was apparently more comfortable with abundant signs claims than the audiences of many elite historians were (see below). Many prefer eclectic approaches to ancient historiography in understanding Luke’s work: Dormeyer, “Gatung,” 475, views Acts as a pathetic, biographic universal history in rhetorical style with a great variety of critical-pragmatic sympathies, particularly in the speeches (my paraphrase).

Even Theopompus’s weaknesses should not be exaggerated; he performed genuine research (Meister, “Theopompus”; Laistner, Historians, 4–5). Because views diverged concerning him already in antiquity and his work is no longer extant, forming solid judgments on his work today is difficult (Brown, Historians, 115). On the rhetoric of Theopompus, see Flower, Theopompus. More questionable among early figures is Cleitarchus in the third century B.C.E. (Laistner, Historians, 7).

For Tacitus’s general accuracy, see, e.g., Laistner, Historians, 129 (noting archaeological corroborations, despite his own annoyance with Tacitus’s biases on 131–39); Mosley, “Reporting,” 20–22. Tacitus complained of the decline in imperial historiography but ranked himself with the earlier, superior historians (Marincola, “Tacitus’ Prefaces”); for annotated bibliographies on Tacitus, see, e.g., Benario, “Recent Works” (688 sources between 1974 and 1983); Benario, “Work” (709 sources between 1994 and 2003).

Witherington, “Addendum,” 29–31; cf. also 23–32.

Rothschild, Rhetoric of History, 81; cf. Lendon, “Historians,” 41.

Dion. Hal. Ant. rom. 1.1.2–4; 1.4.2.

Litwak, Echoes, 37, noting what he is not implying.

Lendon, “Historiography,” 52; Laird, “Historiography,” 202. Lendon, “Historiography,” 53, notes that Quintilian treated the rules of history and oratory as significantly “different in purpose and style (Inst. 10.1.31–34; cf. 2.4.2).” But cf. observations concerning different sorts of rhetorical strategies in Laird, “Rhetoric,” 209.

E.g., Jos. Ag. Ap. 1.24–25; see discussion of Polybius’s standard in .

We should, of course, take into account that Lucian is writing satire (Rothschild, Rhetoric of History, 81–86, esp. 81; Rothschild, “Irony”). But while Lucian’s essay may have often been ironic (Rothschild, “Irony,” e.g., 281), and he may have regarded historiography’s ideals as now debased (289), need this mean that he regarded truth as elusive in history (290)? Or may not the heart of Lucian’s irony be satirical exaggeration of some contemporary excesses? From examining ancient historians themselves, Rothschild herself questions the overemphasis on a “decline” from classical Greek models, noting that despite sensational elements, Hellenistic and Roman historians also retained the critical ideal (291).

Lucian does not rule out praise and blame or moral evaluation; rather (Hist. 59 [LCL]), “eulogy and censure will be careful and considered, free from slander, supported by evidence, cursory”—“not in court” (and hence not forensic exaggerations). The rhetorical historian Theopompus, by contrast, “impeached nearly everybody in a quarrelsome spirit,” so “that he was a prosecutor rather than a recorder of events.” For deliberate exaggeration in encomia, see, e.g., Libanius Anecdote 1.10.

LCL, 6:13.

LCL, 6:55.

One must, Lucian emphasizes, tell the truth, no matter how offensive to one’s own contemporaries; thus one would win praise in future generations (Hist. 61–62).

LCL, 6:15. Rejecting history’s entertainment value altogether—contrary to most of his own (nonhistorical) works—is a stringent standard not shared by all historians (as their pleasant readability suggests), but Lucian affirms history’s edifying value, i.e., moral lessons, which flow from truth (e.g., Hist. 59). Usefulness and pleasure were not mutually exclusive objectives.

See Fox, “Dionysius.” Xenophon appears less critical than Thucydides, writing history in a different way (Rhodes, “Documents,” 60; cf. Dewald, “Construction,” 95–96).

Cf. Botha, “Rhetoric and Josephus.” Even Josephus’s War may contain Greek tragic allusions (see Forte, “Echoes Revisited”), e.g., in maternal cannibalism during the siege of Jerusalem (see Chapman, “Cannibalism,” 422–24, on War 6.199–219). As we have noted, tragedy did influence the writing of history (for discussion of the complex relationship, see esp. Rutherford, “Tragedy”), as it influenced many genres (Rutherford, “Tragedy,” 513). Poetry and prose each affected the other (see Hutchinson, “Instructions”).

Kennedy, “Source Criticism,” 145 (noting that Dionysius also uses twenty books). Still, Josephus seems to follow the model of Thucydides at points in Ant. 17–19 (Kennedy, “Source Criticism,” 145–46).

While usually maintaining the biblical story line, he occasionally augments it with subsequent traditions and often reshapes it for apologetic purposes.

Penner, Praise, 220; cf. Moessner, “Poetics,” 97–112. Earlier writers like Bultmann, Dibelius, and Schmidt, who treated the Gospels and Acts as low-class literature, underestimated their rhetorical level (Padilla, “Παιδεία,” 416, seeing the approach of Blass and Debrunner as much more balanced).

Padilla, “Παιδεία” (suggesting on 417 that Parsons, Rothschild, and some writers in Penner and Vander Stichele’s volume overestimate Luke’s rhetorical abilities).

Padilla, “Παιδεία,” 421–24 (addressing knowledge of the classics on 421–22; Atticism on 422–23; and elaborate speeches on 423–24). Progymnasmata were relevant at the tertiary level (417). On Luke’s speeches, see of this introduction. Some debate currently continues as to the degree to which Atticism dominated in speeches in various locations in this period.

Padilla, “Παιδεία,” 424–34. Luke’s few possible classical allusions (see further comment ad loc. in the commentary) reflect a more basic level of education (425–30).

Padilla, “Παιδεία,” 417–18.

Dion. Hal. Lysias 7; Cic. De or. 2.45.189; Hermog. Inv. 3.15.166–68. On vividness (esp. ἐνάργεια and the more specific ἔκφρασις) and related forms, see also Anderson, Glossary, 34–35, 40, 43, 72–73; Hermog. Progymn. 10, “On Ecphrasis,” 22–23; Aphth. Progymn. 12, “On Ecphrasis,” 46–49S, 37–41R; Nicolaus Progymn. 11, “On Ecphrasis,” 67–71; and classicists cited in Maclean and Aitken, Heroikos, 1:xiii, n. 86.

Woodman, Rhetoric, 27, notes the vividness of one of Thucydides’s battle scenes, although he attributes this vividness especially to Thucydides’s literary construction (while allowing for some eyewitness information).

Arist. Rhet. 2.8.14, 1386a; 3.11.1–2, 1411b; Rhet. Her. 4.55.68; Cic. Or. Brut. 40.139; Quint. Inst. 9.2.40; Theon. Progymn. 7.53–55; Longin. Subl. 15.2; Hermog. Progymn. 10, “On Ecphrasis,” 22–23; Aphth. Progymn. 12, “On Ecphrasis,” 46S, 36–37R; Nicolaus Progymn. 7, “On Commonplace,” 45; Progymn. 11, “On Ecphrasis,” 68; Anderson, Rhetorical Theory, 162; Gibson, “Notes,” 141, 143, 427; in speeches, Cic. Sull. 26.72; Sen. E. rhetorical frg. 1; Controv. 1.6.12; Quint. Inst. 8.3.65; Jos. Ant. 20.123; Mus. Ruf. frg. 48, p. 140.19; Quint. Decl. 281.3; 291.7–8; 306.15; 314.20; 329.14, 17; 337.7; 347.9; Libanius Topics 1.8–11, 31; 2.11, 23; 3.14; 5.13; Descr. 1.2; 2; Hermog. Method 15.432 (on Demosth. Fals. leg. 192–95); in a letter, Pliny Ep. 5.6.40 (cf. 2.18.3); Fronto Ad Ant. imp. 1.4; in history, Polyb. 2.56.8 (critiquing the practice; but cf. Dion. Hal. Lit. Comp. 18; Lysias 7). Matters “passing before the eyes” could apply to imagining them (Cic. Fam. 14.3.2; Quint. Inst. 6.1.31; Sil. It. 10.584–86; 11.114–16; 12.547–49; Plut. Demosth. 18.2; Tac. Dial. 16; Lucian Dance 63; Philost. Hrk. 10.5; Xen. Eph. Anthia 1.5; 3.5; cf. Symm. Ep. 1.84).

Ekphrasis (with sorts of set-piece descriptions nowhere found in Luke) does appear in narrative works (Rusten, “Ekphrasis”; Bowie, “Second Sophistic,” 1377).

Dio Chrys. Or. 32.37–38.

Lucian Hist. 20; cf. 56. He ridicules an extensive, Homer-like description of the emperor’s shield (Hist. 19) and other such “tasteless” flaunting of rhetoric (Hist. 57). Anderson, “Second Sophistic,” 341–42, observes that some ekphrasis simply recycles commonplaces useful for extemporaneous delivery.

Aphth. Progymn. 12, “On Ecphrasis,” 46S, 36–37R (Kennedy, 117). Ekphrasis may appear in Jewish works as early as Ezekiel the Tragedian (Heath, “Visuality,” on Ezek. Trag. Exag. 243–69); it often appears in ancient fiction (see, e.g., Shea, “Stage,” 70). On ekphrasis, see further, e.g., Cunningham, “Ekphrasis”; Rifkin, “Ekphrasis”; other articles in the same issue as Cunningham and Rifken (Classical Philology 102 [1, 2007]); Chinn, “Eyes”; Francis, “Maidens”; a late example in Gibson, “Tychaion” (allowing a work’s dating).

Hermog. Progymn. 10, “On Ecphrasis,” 22 (Kennedy, 86).

A standard practice; see, e.g., Aphth. Progymn. 12, “On Ecphrasis,” 47–49S, 39–41R. Chance, Acts, 16, notes that Luke accords with Lucian’s advice (Hist. 19, 56–57) by avoiding elaborate depictions of locations.

See the discussion of Paul’s putative appearance in below.

But appropriateness was important; flowery subjects merited flowery speech whereas “dry” topics invited “dry” speech (Hermog. Progymn. 10, “On Ecphrasis,” 23).

Fantuzzi, “Ekphrasis,” 873; e.g., Lucian Hipp. 8.

Reitz, “Ekphrasis”; for Virgil Aen. 1.441–94 following Hom. Od. 8, see Beck, “Ecphrasis.”

Dion. Hal. Lit. Comp. 18. Dion. Hal. Thuc. 15 complains that Thucydides often portrays successfully the abject cruelty and sufferings of war but at other times fails to evoke the appropriate horror. In art, cf., e.g., Mart. Epig. 3.35.

Polyb. 15.34.1.

Dion. Hal. Demosth. 18. That Dionysius was a historian as well as a rhetorical critic is significant in weighing his testimony here.

Gowing, “Tradition,” 332–33.

With Parsons, “Progymnasmata,” 53–55. On the ancient appreciation for conciseness, see this commentary’s comment on Acts 24:4; Keener, John, 19; in narratives, see, e.g., Theon Progymn. 5.39–43, 52–53; Phaedrus 2.prol. 12–13; 3, 2.epil. 8–9; 4.epil. 7–9; Philost. Hrk. 29.6. Of course, some writers (such as Sallust) deployed considerable rhetoric even in monographs.

This is not to deny any kind of dramatic elements; for a comparison of dramatic episodes in Acts with those in Livy, Cleitarchus, Duris (Douris), and Curtius Rufus, see Plümacher, Lukas, 80–136. But Livy is the supreme extant example of the rhetorically lavish historian (Byrskog, History, 207). Laistner, Historians, 14–16, argues that criticism of third-century B.C.E. tragic/dramatic historians has been overplayed, since it is a matter of degree; on 18 he also questions the association of this approach with Peripatetics, who did careful research.

Probably partly because of his subject matter: he writes partly about miracle workers (such as Jesus and Paul). Scholars often include both the dramatization of events and the “enriching” of them with miraculous elements in Hellenistic and Roman historiography (e.g., Krasser, “Reading,” 554, though drawing the genre a bit more widely than I would). “Signs” certainly do appear in histories (Plümacher, Geschichte, 33–84).

Plümacher, Geschichte, 33–84. See discussion on this thesis in Dormeyer, “Gatung,” 452–56 (incorporating its insights on 475); in idem, “Historii,” he notes that the preponderance of signs aligns Luke more closely with Israelite than Hellenistic historiography on this point.

Pathos does appear; see, e.g., comments on Acts 20:19, 31, 37; some scholars also argue that Israel’s failure to respond is viewed as tragic (so Tannehill, “Rejection,” esp. 98–99, 101; cf. idem, “Tragic Story”). But such occasions are minor compared with sources more steeped in Greek tragic conventions (even some descriptions in Tacitus are more “tragic-pathetic,” e.g., Ann. 5.9; 12.47; cf. Rutherford, “Tragedy,” 512; Vell. Paterc. 2.53.3) and come nowhere close, e.g., to a Phylarchus. Although tragic elements predominate more in some historians than others, there was no specific “school” of tragic historiography (see Rutherford, “Tragedy,” 513–14, following Walbank, “Tragedy” = Papers, 241; Hornblower, “Introduction,” 44; Marincola, “Audiences,” 22).

Penner, Praise, 134.

Dion. Hal. Lit. Comp. 2–4. See discussion of expansion and abridgment, sect. c, below.

Dion. Hal. Pomp. 3.

On the distinction between rhetoric and history in Cicero, see Nicolai, “Place of History,” 21. Pure rhetoric, not bound by historical or other truth-telling conventions, can employ fabrications (Gorg. Hel. 11, 13).

Of course, even orators praising the emperor claimed objectivity; e.g., Fronto Ad Ant. imp. 2.2 declares that it was not his praise of the emperor but the emperor’s virtues that had produced admiration. Nor is Polybius always objective in his history. But the point is that Polybius sought to be substantially more objective in history than in pure epideictic. Indeed, historians often praised both sides in a war, thereby amplifying pathos and the credit due the victor.

Rolfe, “Introduction,” xix.

See, e.g., Suet. Rhet. passim. Penner, Praise, 137, contrasts the epiphany in Suetonius’s account of Caesar crossing the Rubicon with Caesar’s own account; but more than a century and a half (from 49 B.C.E. to the early second century C.E.) is sufficient time for legends to grow (perhaps as much as four times the period we estimate between the opening scene of Acts and its composition), and Suetonius’s dependence on such sources does not require his own fabrication. Thus in an earlier version (ca. 30 C.E.) Vell. Paterc. 2.49.4, while making the Rubicon the boundary, allows its crossing without fanfare; for discussion of possibly the earliest version, see Rondholz, “Rubicon.” Most writers subsequent to Caesar seem to have preferred the account of his contemporary Asinius Pollio to Caesar’s (see Damon, “Rhetoric,” 442); Pollio is earlier than Velleius, but while Pollio is cited in Suet. Jul. 30, it is not clear that his account remains in view in 32, where the report of the apparition (attributed to multiple but unnamed witnesses) appears.

On Tacitus’s rhetorical prowess, see Moore, “Introduction,” ix (citing Pliny Ep. 2.1.6; 2.11.17). Tacitus certainly does develop dramatic scenes and dialogues (see Hadas, “Introduction,” xx–xxi).

Woodman, Rhetoric, 204, preferring Velleius Paterculus on this point. In general, scholars have been more ready to accept T. P. Wiseman’s skepticism about the early Republic than A. J. Woodman’s skepticism toward “authors of contemporary or near-contemporary history” (Damon, “Rhetoric,” 439–40), but Woodman himself apparently recognizes that likelihood increases with proximity.

See Keener, “Otho”; if Tacitus is the source for Suetonius and Plutarch (despite their omission of his added speeches), at the least we can say that they believed Tacitus to be accurate.

See Byrskog, History, ch. 5, “History Entering into Story: Autopsy Narrativized,” 199–253.

Ibid., 203–13.

Ibid., 213. Byrskog’s conclusions resemble those of Rothschild, noted above (e.g., Rothschild, Rhetoric of History, 88–91); and Nicolai, “Place of History,” 21.

Byrskog, History, 223; emphasis his.

Ibid., 223. Byrskog means “core” in a much fuller sense than A. J. Woodman (see p. 184), believing that ancient historians cared about facts (179–84). Others have also expressed concern that Woodman’s “core” is too narrow (Feldherr, “Introduction,” 8; cf. Marincola, “Audiences,” 18; Lendon, “Historiography,” esp. 45–46, 50–61). Cf. similarly Eddy and Boyd, Legend, 330–34. The extensive overlap in ancient reports (see, e.g., Keener, “Otho”) underlines the extent to which even historians with differing perspectives depended on what they believed to be prior information.

Byrskog, History, 253. The criticisms of Matthews, “Review,” concern not so much Byrskog’s analysis of ancient historiography (which I cite here) but his application of this category to the Gospels. Yet as I have argued, Luke was writing ancient historiography.

Rothschild, Rhetoric of History, 93, 95.

Satterthwaite, “Acts,” 337 (summarizing the conclusions of his chapter). Cf. also the positive evaluation in Bultmann, Tradition, 366; Parsons, Acts, 9 (on Luke’s speeches).

Pervo, Profit, 6, citing Julian Letter 36.423d, who lists Luke with Matthew as inferior.

Cf. similarly Barrett, Acts, 2:xxxv (with Plümacher): Acts is a popular kind of history, using biographic and episodic narration. Most early Christians were probably “urban, lower middle class,” lacking much formal education but familiar with pervasive rhetorical conventions (Fuller, “Classics,” 185, summarizing Kennedy’s remarks).

Rebenich, “Historical Prose,” 289.

See ibid., 288. Polybius, in fact, opined (presumably against his competition) that most historians lacked proper qualifications (Polyb. 12.25e.2). (On historical investigation as distinct from mere compositional interest in Polyb. 12, cf. Siegert, “Vérité.”)

Alexander, Context, 41. For Luke’s scientific background, see also Padilla, “Παιδεία,” 435–36.

See here Judge, First Christians, 711, 713. Most educated Greeks found first-century Christian writings in general vulgar (Townsend, “Education,” 148–49, citing late second-century C.E. Tatian Or. Gks. 26–30). This would create a problem for those for whom inspiration demanded also good rhetoric (Dion. Hal. Thuc. 34, though acknowledging that Thucydides was a good historian; cf. Philost. Hrk. 25.4, 8, who praises Homer’s inspiration yet critiques his accuracy [24.1–2; 25.10–17]).

Padilla, “Παιδεία,” 436 (suggesting instead Luke’s “scientific” training). Fernández-Garrido, “Stasis-theory,” suggests that major novelists had rhetorical training.

See, e.g., Keener, Corinthians, passim (e.g., 24–28, 32, 131, 234). Still, though Paul wrote well, he did not seek to write elegantly (see Caragounis, “Dionysios Halikarnasseus”).

Admittedly, the rhetorical strategies become more recognizable with Paul addressing Gentiles than with his predecessors addressing Judeans (a rhetorically appropriate distinction); the legal strategies in Acts 22–26 are significant but could reflect the “we” narrative’s closer dependence on the speaker’s own forensic rhetoric (on 24:10–21, see, e.g., Keener, “Rhetorical Techniques”).

Cadbury, Foakes-Jackson, and Lake, “Writing History,” 13.

On the grand style, see, e.g., Dion. Hal. Demosth. 15; Cic. Or. Brut. 5.20–6.21; Pliny Ep. 3.13.4; 6.33.7–8; 7.12.4; 9.26.1; 9.26.10; Aul. Gel. 6.14; Longinus Sublime; Fronto Ad M. Caes. 3.16.2; Men. Rhet. 1.1, 335.21–22; 2.1–2, 368.9; 2.1–2, 369.8–9; 2.6, 399.21–22; 400.7–9; Keener, John, 48–49; Cronjé, “Περὶ ὕψους.” In Latin, use of the grand style for historiography continues as late as Ammianus Marcellinus (Kelly, “Forge Tongues,” 474).

Bowie, “Second Sophistic,” 1377; idem, “Sophistic,” dates it to the period ca. 60–230 C.E., though some scholars begin it later and some of its initial influence may precede this period as well.

See, e.g., Kennedy, “Survey of Rhetoric,” 18; Rowe, “Style,” 156.

E.g., Cic. Att. 1.19; Sest. 2.4; Aul. Gel. 11.8.3 (though Cato suggested simply avoiding Greek composition, 11.8.4); Sir prol.; Jos. Ant. 1.7; 20.263; Ag. Ap. 1.27, 50; cf. (as a literary fiction) Anacharsis Ep. 1.1–6. In some cases, this disclaimer aimed at lowering audience expectations (for this rhetorical strategy, see, e.g., Lysias Or. 2.1, §190; 12.3, §120; 19.1–2, §152; Isaeus Astyph. 35; Aristarch. 1; Isoc. Panath. 3; Rhet. Alex. 29, 1436b.33–34; Cic. Quinct. 1.1–4; 24.77; 26.80–27.85; Sall. Jug. 85.31; Sp. G. Cotta 4; Quint. Inst. 4.1.8–9, 11; cf. Suet. Titus 7.1; Tac. Hist. 4.73), used often enough by Dio Chrysostom (Or. 1.9; 32.39; 46.7; 47.1, 8; cf. also 42.1, if that is from Dio).

The vast majority of extant ancient historians wrote especially for elite audiences; see, e.g., Marincola, “Audiences,” 12–13 (though noting on 13 that they expected other auditors as well).

Witherington, Acts, 44–45. Clearly, Luke does provide moral exempla (e.g., the contrast between Barnabas and the Ananias family in Acts 4:36–5:11) and theological speeches, but he employs most overt rhetorical features with restraint.

For a brief discussion of the style so characterized (including, in Latin, Cicero), see esp. Calboli, “Asianism”; cf. idem, “Atticism,” 325; Aune, Dictionary of Rhetoric, 68.

Blass, Debrunner, and Funk, Grammar, §464; Aune, Dictionary of Rhetoric, 347; cf. Cadbury, “Commentary on Preface”; see further comment on Acts 15:24–26. Luke 1:1–2 also includes five π-words, like Plutarch, who employs seven of them in Dinner pref. 146C (Aune, Dictionary of Rhetoric, 33); divided in two parts, Luke’s prologue employs “three matching phrases” (idem, Environment, 116–17). For another long-sentence prologue, cf. Sirach.

See Rothschild, Rhetoric of History, passim.

E.g., Pliny Ep. 2.5.7; 3.13.4; 4.14.3; 6.33.7–8; 7.9.7; 8.21.1; 9.29.1–2; Cic. Or. Brut. 46.156; 47.157; Fam. 13.27.1.

Aul. Gel. 1.4; Max. Tyre 21.4; Lee, “Translations: Greek,” 776–77; Anderson, Glossary, 53–54, 71, 114; see further Keener, John, 325.

Parsons, “Progymnasmata,” 56–61 (esp. 61, citing the much later Nicolaus Progymn. 4, “On Chreia,” 18–19).

Aune, Dictionary of Rhetoric, 382 (noting that Aug. De doctrina christiana 4.41 also observes its rareness in the NT). On prose rhythm, see briefly Dihle, “Prose Rhythm.”

Parsons, “Progymnasmata,” 43–44, further arguing (44–63) that Luke probably had learned from the sort of rhetorical exercises preserved for us in the handbooks. Cf. further the high evaluation of Luke’s rhetorical skill in Asso, “Raconter.”

Alexander, Context, 250. Scholars employ similar methods for determining the academic training of other ancient authors (see Hock, “Curriculum”).

Witherington, Acts, 43, listing as exceptions only the optative (Acts 8:31; 17:18, 26, 29) and 17:22–31 (43n155). Even during and after the Second Sophistic, critics derided excessive (Lucian Hist. 21) or inappropriate (Philost. Vit. Apoll. 8.6) Atticism. Alexander, Context, 18, points out that Luke’s level is the high Koine that is characteristic of technical treatises, rather than the Atticism characteristic of histories; this apparent genre difference, however, may be resolved if we admit (with Aune, Barrett, and others) that Acts is popular historiography.

Even Cicero used common language when writing letters (though, presumably, not for a history; Fam. 9.21.1). Simple, unadorned language could also be preferable (Dion. Hal. Demosth. 5–6), although this varied according to one’s rhetorical school (the so-called Asiatic style was portrayed as bombastic) and period (Atticism dominated by the early second century).

See Hanson, Acts, 52–53. Steyn, “LXX-Sitate,” finds a particularly Semitic form of the LXX; in any event, all recensions of the LXX retain many Semitisms (though some parts, such as the Pentateuch, are more literal than others). Of course, some parts even of the LXX reflect some Greek rhetorical conventions (cf. Aitken, “Rhetoric”; Lee, “Translations: Greek”).

Alexander, Context, 250–52, suggesting that “biblicism” functioned as a prestige dialect among many Jews and Christians (also idem, “Septuaginta,” 21); Padilla, “Παιδεία,” 436–37; Aune, Environment, 117; Witherington, Acts, 44. Alexander, “Septuaginta,” 17–19, treats this as a sort of intensive “intertextuality” (17), a living “Jewish Greek” (19) that exceeded mere LXX imitation. This is not “low register” (17) but a social dialect (23), providing cultural cohesiveness (26). Others also observe Luke’s pervasive LXX language (e.g., Mielcarek, “Język”).

Shiell, Reading Acts, 45–46, 169–70 (noting, 170, that even the most exciting scenes in Acts could be delivered in middle style).

See Alexander, Context, 18, 250 (noting as an exception Luke’s archaizing, “biblicist” style at points). Shiell, Reading Acts, 170, notes that Luke uses mostly good Greek grammar, lacking many unusual constructions. Most strongly, Judge, First Christians, 710–11, emphasizes that the Greek of the NT is not that of the papyri, but rather “the professional prose used by technical writers of the time,” “the contemporary Greek of educated people.” He notes (711) that Atticism was only coming again into widespread vogue.

Witherington, Acts, 44–45.

Rowe, “Style,” 155–56; cf. also more conversational types of speeches (Men. Rhet. 2.4, 393.21–22).

A loose style, e.g., was most appropriate to informal conversation (Rowe, “Style,” 151).

That Luke is of higher literary quality than the other extant first-century Gospels is generally recognized (e.g., Dibelius, Tradition, 161; Witherington, “Editing,” 326, 328; Burridge, “Gospels and Acts,” 526–27; Kilpatrick, “Style”). Luke includes even a few classical references (some suggest Acts 5:39; 9:5, 12; 19:35; 26:14; see Renehan, “Quotations,” 22–23), though too few to satisfy an elite audience.

Aune, Environment, 77 (though I would doubt that Luke’s “credentials” included tertiary training in rhetoric). That advanced education focused on rhetoric rather than on history, as he goes on to note, does not imply that historians would not learn techniques from reading other historians. For Acts as a “popular” history, see also Barrett, Acts, 2:xxxv; Verheyden, “What Are We Up To?,” 55 (citing also Barrett, “First Testament,” 101; Acts, 2:li); Pervo, Acts, 18 (though defining history loosely).

See Sanders, Tendencies, 19, 46–87, 88–189, 272; cf. Stein, “‘Criteria,’” 238–40.

In Jewish sources, cf., e.g., ʾAbot R. Nat. 7, §21 B (for a pseudonymous claim to have personally witnessed something that earlier tradition simply reports). For a halakic example, cf. Hoenig, “Kinds of Labor.” Amplification and embellishment are thus more characteristic of the apocryphal gospels than of the earlier, canonical ones (Carmignac, “Pré-pascal”).

Cf. Blomberg, “Thomas,” 195, esp. on the Gospel of Thomas (whose additions primarily reflect apparently gnostic themes); it was especially abbreviated to streamline. (Cf. different discussions by DeConick, Recovering; Perrin, Tatian.) Likewise, Matthew frequently abbreviates Markan pericopes.

Theon Progymn. 4.37–42.

Theon Progymn. 4.80–82. Even oracles, which were considered divine utterances, could be expanded; see Aune, Prophecy, 58.

Theon Progymn. 3.224–40. In 2.115–23, Theon compares elaborations in earlier historical sources. Elaboration (ἐργασία) was especially useful for rebuttal (1.172–75).

Longin. Subl. 11.1; cf. Men. Rhet. 2.3, 379.2–4. For a more detailed discussion of amplification, see Anderson, Glossary, 26–29 (with full reference to the sources); briefly, Gibson, “Notes,” 43. For developing sample narratives in rhetorical exercises, see Hermog. Inv. 2.1.108–9; 2.7.120–24; examples typically involve rewording, not fabrication (2.7.120–21). Hypothetical declamations could invent new situations in history (e.g., Hermog. Inv. 2.4.115), but this is not the setting relevant for Acts, since Luke was not working from hypothetical exercises, since everyone knew that the exercises were hypothetical, and since declamations usually used classical (not recent) history.

Hermog. Progymn. 3, “On Chreia,” 7; Aphth. Progymn. 3, “On Chreia,” 23S, 4R; 4, “On Maxim,” 9–10.

E.g., Begg, “Blanks,” on Jos. Ant. 9.29–43 and 2 Kgs 3:4–27.

Theon Progymn. 5.39–43, 52–53; Phaedrus 2.prol. 12–13; 3.epil. 8–9; 4.epil. 7–9; Philost. Hrk. 29.6; in speeches, e.g., Diog. Laert. 7.1.20; Dion. Hal. Thuc. 55; Demosth. 18, 20, 24; Lysias 5; Philost. Vit. soph. 2.4.569. One could, however, be too brief at times (Phaedrus 3.10.59–60; Dion. Hal. 2 Amm. 2).

Cf., e.g., Dion. Hal. Lit. Comp. 2–4. For one clear example of rearrangement in the Gospels, cf. Matt 21:12–13, 19–22; Mark 11:13–25. For stylistic as well as halakic and ideological editing in the compilation of the Mishnah, see Kulp, “Patterns.”

Theon Progymn. 4.73–79, on adding narrative to a fable or the reverse (although the narrative is added as a parallel, not as a setting, for the fable). Maxims could be added to narratives (5.388–425), or preexisting narratives could be combined to relate two or more of them at once (5.427–41). The alternative to such arrangement was to simply recite narrative episodically; most readers found it acceptable, though it did not conform to more elite fashions (Drury, Design, 30; cf. Smith, Magician, 109).

Quint. Inst. 9.2.60–61. Cf. the discussion of catchwords in Gerhardsson, Memory, 145–49, 153; in the Gospels, cf. Bultmann, Tradition, 325–26.

See esp. Lyons, Autobiography, 29–32. Lyons advises reading such texts critically rather than completely rejecting their historical value (66).

Often later biographers simply repeat what earlier biographers said (e.g., Dion. Hal. Lysias 1).

Aune, Environment, 82. Even with regard to human memory in general, details are not always reliable, although the gist tends to be (see Bauckham, Eyewitnesses, 333–34, citing memory studies); Bauckham applies this to the consistency of the gist of Peter’s denial among varying Gospel accounts despite “variation in inessential detail” (344–45).

E.g., Cic. De or. 2.45.189; Dion. Hal. Lysias 7.

Dunn, Perspective, 112; Eddy and Boyd, Legend, 429–30.

Suet. Jul. 56.4, with comment by Damon, “Rhetoric,” 442.

Damon, “Rhetoric,” 444, notes that most or all clear fictions that T. J. Wiseman found in ancient historiography appear in or derive from speeches or orators rather than historical narratives.

Shuler, Genre, 11–12; cf. Bowersock, Fiction as History, 1–27. See esp. Lucian Hist. 7–13; in True Story 1.4, he complains that novelizers failed to recognize how obvious their “lies” were.

Cf. Whittaker, “Introduction,” xxxviii–xxxix.

Cf. Philost. Hrk. 24.1–2.

Such haggadic adaptation appears in both midrash and folk literature (Wright, “Midrash,” 129). Penner, Praise, 247–60, contends that Jewish historians rewrote the past, as may be seen in their treatment of the exodus tradition.

Cf. Greek elaboration of sacred stories in Maclean and Aitken, Heroikos, li–lii.

See discussion in sect. . Nevertheless, Hellenistic historians such as Josephus remain closer to the biographic literary model even for older figures, while nevertheless incorporating old legends and expansive techniques. Polyb. 34.4.1–3 argues that the Odyssey mixed history and myth, but notes (34.4.2) that the goal of history, unlike myth, is truth.

Some scholars argue that even scribes adapted texts they copied, considering the needs of their audience with an oral mentality (Person, “Scribe as Performer,” noting 1QIsa^a).

E.g., Demetrius the Chronographer (third century B.C.E.) frg. 5 (Euseb. P.E. 9.29.16); Jub. 4:1, 9; 12:14; 13:11; 27:1, 4–5 (Esau and Jacob vs. Isaac and Jacob); y. Ketub. 12:4, §8 (fanciful midrash).

2 Macc 2:1–8 (expanding Jeremiah’s mission); Jub. 29:14–20 (rhetorically contrasts Jacob’s respect for his parents with Esau’s disrespect); Test. Job 9–15 (see OTP 1:832); Test. Jos. 3:1; cf. Josephus’s expansion of Philistine casualties (Ant. 6.203; cf. 1 Sam 18:27, though the LXX reduced them). Cf. Jael in L.A.B. 31 (Burnette-Bletsch, “Jael”).

Pesiq. Rab Kah. 4:3 (“the rabbis” on Solomon); Gen. Rab. 43:3; Exod. Rab. 10:4; Pesiq. Rab. 49:5; cf. Artapanus on Pharaoh’s behavior toward Moses in light of 1 Sam 18:17, 21–25 (Euseb. P.E. 9.27.7). Genre conventions also could dictate amplifications; Joseph and Aseneth, a Hellenistic romance, incorporates features ideal in such romances.

Jub. 11:14–15; 13:18, 22; possibly 4Q160 3–5, 7; Tg. Ps.-J. on Gen 50:26; on Exod 13:19.

Jub. 11:14–15; Liv. Pr. 19 (Joad) (§30 in Schermann’s Greek text); Jos. Ant. 8.231; L.A.B. 40:1 (in L.A.B. in general, cf. Bauckham, “Liber antiquitatum,” 67; in Jewish sources more generally, Pilch, “Naming”); cf. Plut. Alex. 20.4–5 (questioning Chares’s report).

See Rook, “Names,” on patriarchal wives in Jubilees. (Names are sometimes, however, the elements of tradition most resistant to change; cf., e.g., the observation of Bernal, Athena, 2:337.)

As L.A.B. does in its polemic against idolatry (Murphy, “Idolatry”).

L.A.B. 12:2–3 (Aaron’s sin with the golden calf). Test. Job 39:12–13 (OTP)/39:9–10 (Kraft) and 40:3/40:4 seem concerned to soften God’s letting Job’s children die for his test.

Jub. 13:17–18 (conflict between Lot’s and Abram’s servants); 14:21–16:22 (omitting Sarah’s problems with Hagar, though they surface in 17:4–14); 29:13 (omits Jacob’s fear); Test. Zeb. 1:5–7 (Zebulon did not act against Joseph). In Jubilees (e.g., Abram passing off his sister as his wife), see Wintermute, “Introduction,” 35–36; in Josephus, cf. Aune, Environment, 108; in Greco-Roman literature, see Shuler, Genre, 50 (following Cic. Part. or. 22). The same tendency of tradition may be noted in the Chronicler’s omission of David’s and Solomon’s sins reported in Samuel-Kings (cf., e.g., Williamson, Chronicles, 236). On the golden calf in Josephus, see comment on Acts 7:41–43.

CD IV, 20–V, 3 (David’s polygamy, behavior that the Qumran community otherwise disapproved; also 11QT LVI, 18); Jub. 19:15–16 (Rebekah, in light of current morality); 27:6–7 (how Jacob could leave his father); 28:6–7 (Jacob’s sororal polygyny); 30:2–17 (Simeon and Levi), 41 (Judah and Tamar both made more innocent, especially Judah); 1Qap Gen^ar XX, 10–11 (Sarah, rather than Abraham, proposes the pretense that she is his sister); Jos. Asen. 23 (Levi and Simeon); Test. Jud. 8–12 (whitewashing Judah and, to a lesser extent, Tamar, though Judah confesses it as a lesser sin; cf. the improvement of both in Tg. Neof. 1 on Gen 38:25; Tg. Ps.-J. on Gen 38:25–26); Test. Iss. 3:1 (cf. Gen 49:15); Tg. Ps.-J. on Gen 49:28 (all twelve patriarchs were equally righteous).

Cf., e.g., Charles, Jubilees, lxxxv; Lock, Pastoral Epistles, 8–9; Scott, Pastoral Epistles, 8 (though others see a mixture of Jewish and gnostic elements, e.g., Kelly, Pastoral Epistles, 44–45; Dibelius and Conzelmann, Pastoral Epistles, 17). Naturally, Greeks also used myths in oratory (Gangloff, “Mythes”) and had mythical genealogies (Meister, “Genealogy”; Men. Rhet. 1.1, 333.18–21, 27–29; 334.11–12; 340.1–30; 2.6, 400.32–401.19); these could invite critique as well both from Gentile sages (Plato Rep. 2.377C–383C; Cic. Nat. d. 2.28.70; Philost. Vit. soph. 2.1.554; Iambl. V.P. 32.218; cf. Val. Max. 4.7.4) and from Jews (Let. Aris. 137).

See Anderson, “4 Maccabees,” 555; though even here Luke is not writing philosophy the way the writer of 4 Maccabees is. Scholars differ whether 2 Maccabees is a novel or dramatized history (Penner, Praise, 136–37, noting that all agree that 1 Maccabees is history); I believe it belongs closer to the latter, at least insofar as the intention of the author (who was abridging another source; 2 Macc 2:24–25) is concerned. Parker, “Campaigns,” even argues that 2 Maccabees is more plausible than 1 Maccabees at points, meriting more respect.

Even this parallel is imperfect; while Josephus’s interests were less philosophic than Philo’s or 4 Maccabees’, he had obligations to elite rhetorical and literary interests that Luke, for the most part, lacked.

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