5. Historical Perspectives, Tendenz, and Purpose
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Most ancient historiography showed both an interest in information and an interest in pleasing rhetorical presentation (see above). In histories, however, rhetorical presentation was meant not merely to entertain but also to convey particular perspectives. This chapter examines perspectives in ancient historiography and Acts, as a prelude to a discussion of Acts’ purpose and theology (chs. – below). After establishing the importance of perspective, we will return in the next two chapters to the other ancient historiographic issue posed here, namely, Luke’s use of genuine information in Acts.
To contend that Luke wrote ancient historiography (chs. –, –) does not imply that he wrote without particular values or perspectives (chs. –). All historians, ancient and modern, write from systems of values and perspectives, whether these systems reflect the larger culture, conventions of their guild, or minority or idiosyncratic perspectives. More than most historians today, ancient historians generally also wrote for cultural or moral edification (which often included nationalistic themes).
Just as most historical writers today also have particular interests (e.g., women’s history, African-American history, and modern military history), an ancient historical monograph could include a particular focus. After demonstrating the perspectival character of ancient historiography, later in this chapter I will survey one approach to Luke’s own agenda (), in preparation for our later chapters on Luke’s purpose (chs. –) and the related discussion on Luke’s theology ().
Ancient historians could write from particular overt moral or religious perspectives. Indeed, it was an “interpretive superstructure” that distinguished history as a literary work from mere chronicles. Ancient historians themselves recognized that they investigated their subjects according to interpretive grids; for example, Polybius noted that one must have some understanding of the nature of events to be “able to pose the right questions” rather than simply express rambling, random thoughts. Whatever the boundaries between history and novel, modern traditional boundaries between history and theology are far less applicable to ancient texts. And what is true of ancient texts in general proves true also of Luke-Acts in particular. If we define the “theology” of Luke-Acts broadly as the message of the text (not limiting “theology” to its strict etymological definition as the study of God or to traditional medieval theological categories), every passage in Luke-Acts is “theological” in that it contributes to the overall emphasis on pertinent themes.
No historians, including modern ones, are disinterested reporters; historians select the events they report on the basis of what they find to be of greatest interest or of greatest relevance to their focus (which, too, relates to interest). (Interest shapes even journalists’ reports and the editing of these reports for popular consumption.) Ancient historians, however, had less strict peer review pressure in the direction of objectivity or in the direction of consensus within the academic guild than is usual today. No less than biblical historians, Hellenistic historians “selectively reported the past in order to accomplish larger goals.” The exemplary use of history found in ancient authors dominated historiography well into modern times; our modern historicist approach, emphasizing the distinctive social context of past events, did not take full shape until early nineteenth-century German Romanticism.
Though affirming the truth of their own perspectives, ancients also recognized the danger that biases (typically others’ biases) can distort the historical enterprise. Thus Josephus complains about contemporary historians who distort Nero’s reign either from favor, because they benefited from it, or from malice, because they suffered under it (Ant. 20.154). He charges that such historians fail to avoid bias even when reporting earlier eras (20.155), because they do not care about truth (20.156). Because his interest is in truth, he insists, he writes with greater accuracy (20.157). One may well dispute Josephus’s accuracy at points, but this does not negate the ideal that he expects his audience to embrace: that bias should be avoided. That Josephus could appeal to such an ideal while straightforwardly writing with an explicit focus and from a distinct vantage point should caution us not to confuse perspective-shaped history with novels. Perspectives and interests are to be expected, but the prospect of criticism based on ideal historiographic expectations should engender some sense of accountability to fairness regarding the substance of events and set some limits on how much bias is acceptable in a public forum.
Historians often wrote to inculcate “good citizenship,” and so they usually displayed, in varying measures, national or ethnic biases. Polybius, for example, exhibits a pro-Roman Tendenz (e.g., Polyb. 36.9.1–17). Thucydides, though a participant in the Peloponnesian War, proves surprisingly impartial, yet even he has his biases. Livy claims that history teaches a nation’s greatness and what one may imitate (Livy 1.pref. 10); naturally, he has especially the greatness of Rome, his subject, in view. One also thinks of Josephus’s apologetic attempt to whitewash his people of excess complicity in the revolt while he simultaneously appeals to the dignity of his Roman readership.
Historians whose information was largely factual might also include stories that first circulated as imperial propaganda; politics also shaped summary perspectives on when peace and order were restored. Claiming that the emperor was compelled by public demand to accept his position (e.g., Vell. Paterc. 2.89.4–5) is also propaganda, though (importantly for our questions) it reflects the earliest sources (e.g., Res gest. 6.35).
Although most history may be written by the victors, triumph or national loyalties did not always dictate bias even in ancient epic. Historians often reported sympathetically both sides of a conflict. Herodotus, one of the earliest writers, often regards Egyptians and others as superior to his fellow Greeks (e.g., Hdt. 2.4, 32, 50, 58, 77, 82) and describes other peoples fairly objectively; he criticizes Greek failings and praises both Spartan and Athenian virtues. Biographers, too, included both “flat” and “round” characters. Lucian complains that historians who praise their own leaders while they slander the other side are engaging merely in panegyric (Hist. 7). A historian who focuses on what is negative about a character can be accused of malice unless this approach is necessary for the telling of the story (Plut. Mal. Hdt. 3, Mor. 855C).
Political and ethnic agendas were not, however, the only agendas in ancient historiography. In Luke’s case, political interests are probably not his dominant agenda even though he exhibits political perspectives, as in his generally pro-Roman Tendenz (see below) and his occasional contrast between Caesar and Christ (Luke 2:1, 11; cf. Acts 17:7). Historians had moral and theological biases as well as political ones (political, moral, and theological categories indeed sometimes overlapped). Although we cannot draw a clear line between nationalistic and moralistic agendas (patriotism was generally viewed as a moral virtue itself, particularly by other members of one’s own people), broader moral lessons sometimes took precedence over nationalistic agendas. Despite Polybius’s pro-Roman Tendenz, for example, he notes that he often praises both Romans and Carthaginians but only so that he can set before statesmen proper models for conduct. Even if one views the church as a “people,” Luke writes not primarily a history of the early church (although this interest is not altogether absent) but a history of its mission. “Political” interests are among his concerns, but are not his only or most dominant concerns.
Most ancient historians felt answerable to certain standards of historical accuracy (whether or not they achieved them), but they also felt responsible to arrange their histories in such a manner as to provide moral lessons. In general, respectable members of ancient society reflected similar concerns in a variety of genres; for example, in letters about honorable people, writers could praise past figures’ virtues as models inviting imitation (Pliny Ep. 3.5.20, on his late uncle). Morals were characteristic of ancient fables, whether the former were stated explicitly (at the beginning or the end) or they were inferred and added later. Some writers even believed that classical Athenian drama displayed characters’ vices and virtues so that viewers could avoid the former and imitate the latter.
The emphasis on imitating ancestral wisdom and learning from both positive and negative historical examples is at least as old as classical Athenian rhetoric (Aeschines Embassy 75–76; Lysias Or. 2.61, §196) and remained important in Roman rhetoric (Cic. Sest. 68.143). Rhetoricians regularly used examples (including historical examples) and selected them on the basis of which best supported the point concerning which they sought to persuade others. Thus, if one wishes to procure allies, one may provide historical examples of how Athens won by allies (Rhet. Alex. 8, 1429.1–6); if one wishes to demonstrate that small numbers can overpower larger ones, one cites historical examples to this effect (8, 1429b.6–22). Even during the empire, examples were often drawn from fifth-century B.C.E. Greek history (see, e.g., Max. Tyre 6.5); later orators also used Plutarch’s Lives this way (Men. Rhet. 2.4, 392.28–31). As the leading academic discipline preparing for public life, rhetoric naturally affected the presentation of history as well.
In contrast to rhetoricians, the generally connected nature of the events on which historians focused limited their range of examples to those in the period they covered, and they often offered examples that could be used to argue a variety of points. Historians might even feel obligated to reject accounts that suited their moral or political purposes yet seemed to them less plausible than other versions. In most cases, however, they expected lessons to be drawn from the history they recounted.
Contrary to what some modern interpreters suppose, moral agendas characterized ancient historiography far more often than they characterized novels. The moral agenda constituted a paramount element for historians; one taught history not simply to memorize the past but to draw lessons from it. Thus some of them felt that historians should choose a noble subject so that their work would contribute to good moral character as well as provide information (e.g., Dion. Hal. Ant. rom. 1.2.1). No less a careful ancient historian than Polybius begins his multivolume history by observing its utilitarian value: people “have no more ready corrective of conduct than knowledge of the past” (Polyb. 1.1.1 [LCL]). As Fornara points out, Polybius “treasured history as a sound inferential basis for present and future political activity”; his “rationalistic bias” did not obscure for him history’s “hortatory value.”
Likewise, Tacitus, one of our most reliable historical sources for the early empire, emphasizes that the study of history promotes virtue (Agr. 1); without claiming to have invented events, he notes that he freely omitted material not of value to history’s primary, moral objective (Ann. 3.65). Tacitus himself felt no constraint to avoid editorial statements at times (e.g., 4.33); often lamenting the decline of traditional Roman values, he was (like his contemporaries) “a moralist, who regards it as his duty to hold vice up to scorn and to praise virtue.” Lucian, a stickler for historical accuracy, as already noted, allows for history’s edifying value, that is, moral lessons (although not mere entertainment), provided they flow from truth (e.g., Hist. 59).
Valerius Maximus was not the most careful historian, but his perspective on the utility of historical examples is representative: it is helpful to know history “so that a backward look . . . may yield some profit to modern manners” (Val. Max. 2.praef. [LCL]). The intellectual orator Maximus of Tyre opines that history preserves the memories of humanity and so “guards its virtues” (Max. Tyre 22.5 [Trapp]). Historians frequently included even moralizing narrative asides to interpret history’s meaning more directly for their readers, to illustrate the fulfillment of prophetic utterances, or to provide the author’s perspective. Jewish historiography was certainly no less interpretive.
What such historians often meant by the instructive value of history was the positive and negative moral examples provided by other persons’ behavior. Whereas an individual’s life was too short to use his or her own experience to guard against all faults, the collective memory of humanity offered greater wisdom. Historians generally believed that if it was understood why events happened, not merely historians but also statesmen and orators (both of which some of them were) could use these events as precedents (παραδείγματα).
Dionysius of Halicarnassus lists three purposes for writing history: first, that the courageous may gain “immortal glory” that outlives them; second, that their descendants may recognize their own roots and seek to emulate their virtue; and finally, that he may show proper goodwill and gratitude toward those who provided him training and information.
Jewish people understood the Bible’s narratives as providing moral lessons in the same manner: the writers recorded examples of virtue and vice for their successors to emulate or avoid. Writers could likewise employ postbiblical models as examples of virtues (e.g., 4 Macc 1:7–8). Because Josephus repeats so much of the biblical narrative in the Antiquities, one can readily observe the way he adapts biblical characters to accentuate their value as positive (Lot, Isaac, Joseph, Moses, Ruth and Boaz, Samuel, Hezekiah, Jehoshaphat, Josiah, Daniel, Nehemiah), negative (Jeroboam, Ahab), or intermediate moral models.
Historians narrated accounts with a view to praise or blame. Some historians might criticize other historians for getting the mixture wrong, but no one doubted that history provided moral lessons. Thus Polybius, who insists on the appropriate distribution of praise and blame (Polyb. 3.4.1), criticizes some historians for praising Philip, noting that his actions warrant censure (8.8.3–6); he finds it appalling that Theopompus praises Philip while depicting his despicable deeds. Polybius notes that he himself does not praise or blame prominent people in his prefaces but always while recounting their behavior; that, he avers, is the appropriate place to express one’s views (10.26.9). Nor was Polybius alone in viewing praise and blame as important elements in selecting moral examples. History writing preserves for immortality the fame of those who deserve it, Pliny opined (Ep. 5.8.1–2), and hence offers incentive for noble deeds.
Historians’ interest in these matters reflected the broader value assigned to imitating moral examples in antiquity. Thus rhetoricians invited hearers to learn from both positive and negative examples in history. Classical orators, for example, had long praised those who imitated their ancestors’ valor in battle (Lysias Or. 2.61, §196) and summoned their hearers to imitate their ancestors’ wisdom (Aeschines Embassy 75). When reading ancient historians, modern historians can take epideictic factors into account, but we do not, for such reasons, discount the value of their evidence.
Historians’ moral illustrations, social commentary in speeches, and political interests often reveal their distinctive philosophic and theological perspectives. For example, many writers dwelled on violations of temples (see comment on Acts 19:37) and other offenses against the gods that warranted judgments.
Most important for understanding Acts, most ancient historians also sought to interpret the divine will in some patterns in history. Oracles and omens were said to reveal Rome’s divine destiny. Some deity helped the Greeks escape, Xenophon decides (Xen. Anab. 5.2.24). Despite Herodotus’s occasional rationalism, he reports dreams, omens, and other signs of divine activity, his ideal audience’s consensus on the reality of which he seems to assume. Israelite historians also sought to interpret from a divine perspective the events they recited. Although postmodern critics may view history as usable for agendas, the thought that it included objectively recognizable patterns seems odd to both modern and postmodern readers; yet this was the dominant perspective in many other eras (albeit a perspective that could not preclude diverse opinions concerning what constituted those patterns).
From a broader perspective, Hellenistic historians saw providence in history, so that Diodorus could describe “historians as ‘ministers of divine providence’ who arrange their accounts in the light of their understanding of providence in human events.” Dionysius of Halicarnassus includes among history’s lessons the virtue of piety toward the gods (Dion. Hal. Ant. rom. 8.56.1). Luke’s understanding of God’s providential guidance of the early Christian movement closely fits the programmatic role of providence found in Hellenistic historians such as Dionysius and Josephus (see, further, comment on Acts 2:23). Josephus is often explicit about providence in human affairs, sometimes using it to justify reporting apparently supernatural phenomena (Ant. 17.353; cf. 17.350–52). (Hebrew Scripture likewise affirmed God’s providence in all events, even in acts of disobedience to God.)
Thus it should not surprise us that Luke is explicit in presenting his primary protagonists as models for virtue. Just as Jesus provided a model for his followers in his farewell address (Luke 22:27), so does Paul in his farewell address (Acts 20:35). But Luke was not interested in only human models. Like other historians (see above in this section), Luke would not have thought theology incompatible with history. Those who find in Luke’s obviously prosaic work some less accurate “poetic history” because of his depictions of God’s activity ignore the theological perspectives of many ancient historians. They additionally beg several theological questions (if one does not rule out God’s existence and nature a priori, one need not a priori claim that God did not act as Luke claims). Moreover, one can hardly exclude from history all reports of events that cannot be easily disentangled from the theological framework in which eyewitnesses supply the reports, such as Paul’s conversion.
That one could learn theology from history would certainly be assumed by early Christians, who inherited Jewish Scripture; even most Hellenistic Jewish intellectuals viewed most of Scripture as historically as well as theologically true. In the context of a Jewish covenant understanding of history as the framework for God’s revelation, the earliest Christians should have been interested in the history of Jesus. Even apocalypses often provide “historical reviews.” And even the Qumran sect, whose teacher was important but much less central than in the Christian movement, preserved at least some information about its teacher. Interest in history distinguishes the Christian movement from both Mithraism, with its more cosmic emphasis, and earlier mystery cults, but fits the commitment of ancient historians.
Thus, as N. T. Wright contends, the NT writers claimed to use genuine history as their evocative “myth.” They were far more interested in Jesus than in the history of their movement (as the greater emphasis on the canonical Gospels than on Acts in the patristic period illustrates), but this valuing of history as a vehicle for theology would allow some appreciation for Luke’s enterprise as well. Part of Luke’s “theology” is proclamation of God’s acts in history; thus, if some modern readers reject his claim that God acted in history in Jesus of Nazareth and continues to act in the witness to those historical acts, they should be clear that they disagree with Luke’s theology (and not just with his historiography). Whether God acts in history is a theological question impinging on the historical question not normally primarily in terms of the “facticity” of events (except in extraordinary cases implausible apart from supranatural explanations) but in terms of hypotheses about causation.
Luke provides both historical information and theological perspective. If Luke communicates perspectives as well as information, his approach challenges interpretive strategies that mine Acts solely for historical information. More comfortable with description than prescription, some contemporary theologians and exegetes debate whether modern Christians should derive theology from the patterns in Acts, but Luke surely expected his contemporary audience to do so. Reception history certainly confirms that, rightly or wrongly, readers have often approached Acts in precisely this way. Thus, for example, various Christian restoration movements through history have used the patterns in Acts to guide their own movements. This includes, for example, some monastic communities, the Pietists, the Moravians, Wesley, the Churches of Christ, and Pentecostalism. Their derivation of theology from narrative simply continued a practice that had long been available, including in ancient Judaism. Arguing that Luke intended to teach theology, of course, does not settle the question of what theology Luke intended to teach, an important question but one that I defer for – below and especially appropriate points in the commentary.
Modern historians, just like ancient ones, write from various perspectives, as interpreters in postmodern times in particular emphasize. (Dunn points to the varying estimates of Winston Churchill and Margaret Thatcher today as examples.) No historian can escape subjective bias, but a perspective concerning events does not make the information about the events bad history. Similarly, even news outlets in different countries (and sometimes in the same country) select and spin news in different ways, but most (the vast majority of free media) are responsible enough to use genuine data. All authors write from particular perspectives; we in turn tend to evaluate their perspectives (e.g., theodicy, capitalism, or globalism) from our own perspectives (e.g., Enlightenment rationalism, Marxism, or nationalism). Recognizing writers’ perspectives does not, however, require us to assume that they falsified their data; another writer may select and emphasize the data differently without disagreeing, in the main, with the reliability of the specific data presented.
Like all other ancient historians, Luke wrote with specific agendas in mind; we may regard these agendas as much of what he sought to teach. With Luke, these are less often moralistic or nationalistic than was the case among many of his contemporaries, but no less often (and in fact generally more often) theological (in the stricter sense). He was deeply invested in discerning God’s purposes in history and hence, from his perspective, in endorsing the Pauline, Gentile mission that was now enjoying success in his day. Movements often have the most interest in characteristics of their founder that contributed to or produced the movement, and they hence sometimes offer our best historical source regarding the founder, whatever we might say of their biases.
At the same time, Luke, like other ancient historians, executed these agendas by recounting stories that he believed to be true. He was not simply writing an abstract or epideictic theological treatise, which ancient writers did often enough without resorting to the historical genre. As the Jewish scholar Geza Vermes points out, “A theological interest is no more incompatible with a concern for history than is a political or philosophical conviction,” and we can allow for these interests when we interpret these sources. The same is true for apologetic interests (as Josephus demonstrates); thus, for example, Luke has apologetic reasons to stress Paul’s higher-than-average social status, but historically such status and its generally concomitant educational level are not improbable for one with Paul’s obvious argumentative skills. His status also would help explain his longevity in Roman detention (Acts 24:27; 28:30; Phil 1:7) despite the powerful forces arrayed against him (cf. Rom 15:31; 1 Cor 16:9).
When Stephen (Acts 7:2–50) or Paul (13:17–37) preaches from biblical history, his retellings are selective but substantially accurate rehearsals of the tradition; that is, they edit rather than invent their material. If this approach illustrates Luke’s method and theory of history, we should expect Luke to use his sources in his narrative in the same way. Elements of Luke’s narrative traditionally attributed to his “theological agendas” appear commonly as rhetorical authenticating techniques in ancient historiography. This observation does not mean that Luke lacks a theology; it does mean that he communicates his theological message according to the principles that guided the historical genre in which he has chosen to write. As scholars today usually recognize, the traditional modern dichotomy between history and theology is inadequate. Indeed, the very dichotomy is anachronistic, framed from a purely modernist Western perspective; interpreters of Acts through most of history would not have assumed it.
In contrast to the view articulated in the old Tübingen school’s rewriting of early Christian history, Luke does not represent what has traditionally been called “early Catholicism,” whose traits are largely missing in Acts. Luke does not harmonize the problems of the earliest church to make everything look pleasant: one need only remember the need to replace Judas (1:18–20); the greed of Ananias and Sapphira (5:1–10); the conflict between cultural factions in Jerusalem (6:1); the magical associations of those who sought some connection with the church (8:9–13, 18–24; 19:12–13, 18); the division over the nature of Gentile admission into the church (11:3; 15:5); the split between Paul and Barnabas (15:39); and the preacher who knew only John’s baptism (18:25; cf. 19:1–3). Eusebius, not Acts, invented the myth of early Christian uniformity. Luke does reduce descriptions of conflicts that were no longer relevant in his day or part of his church experience, but this different emphasis would not mean that he creates a fiction to conceal the past. Indeed, if Luke sought to provide paraenetic models for his audience (who undoubtedly experienced enough conflicts of their own), it did make sense to stress (rather than conceal) the conflicts as a primary interest.
Luke may write from the perspectives of his generation and for the questions of his generation; but if, as shall be argued, Luke was a sometime companion of Paul, his generation need not have been so far removed from Paul’s as the most skeptical scholars would suggest. And even if Luke wrote as much as a generation after the events he describes toward the end of Acts, we form our evaluations in a much later period, with much less access to information than Luke had. We may often exercise greater critical scrutiny of the sources, but some ancient historians evaluated traditions no less critically (see earlier comments on their critical approaches in , esp. , above), and we do both Luke and ourselves a serious disservice to assume that we can reconstruct the first three decades of the church better than he did. Instead we must endeavor to discover his emphases from how he tells his story, even though we usually (in the absence of information from Paul’s letters) cannot know what details he chose to leave out.
Some specific themes will be mentioned later (see and esp. below). Additionally, I believe that Luke intended Acts as a model, in some respects, for Christian missionaries after Paul, who might likewise use signs, debate, and even awkward legal situations as opportunities for public proclamation. To equip his audience for awkward legal situations, however—especially members of churches in Corinth and Philippi who were Roman citizens—Luke also provides a model for public apologetics. Apologetics could include debating Jewish scribes or Athenian philosophers, but in the cities of the empire (and especially colonies) it especially involved demonstrating that one’s faith did not subvert the Roman order. Luke presents the church and its leaders as a public group, unafraid of debate and certainly not the sort of subversive and secretive sect that the Romans deplored.
Most scholars concur that one of the primary functions of Luke-Acts is apologetic. below, “The Purpose of Acts,” will address this function more fully. This question cannot be considered properly, however, apart from a discussion of apologetic historiography in general, which is best introduced here in this discussion of historiography and its range of agendas. Because apologetic involves an agenda or purpose rather than a specific literary form, it can overlap with various other types of historiography that are classified instead by form or topic. Nevertheless, apologetic historiography was common for works by minority authors about their peoples (or, in this case, an aspect of their movement).
Ancient historians wrote many kinds of histories, with different (though sometimes overlapping) emphases: political history, military history, and so forth. Luke’s many allusions to the earlier biblical story and his frequent emphasis on its fulfillment suggest that he sees himself continuing this biblical story, writing salvation history. Others before him, such as the Chronicler, Josephus, some writers of Qumran scrolls, and possibly the authors of some of the Maccabean literature, had sought to reinterpret or update the biblical story. (See below, which addresses Israel’s story.)
But how would the broader Greco-Roman world hear such a particular story about God’s people? Gregory Sterling has examined the question of ethnographic and apologetic historiography at length, providing a careful analysis of the broader generic framework into which Luke-Acts may fit, and a summary of his conclusions will prove helpful here. Many early Greek historians were ethnographers chronicling “the land, the history, the marvels, and the customs of a people,” but originally from a purely Greek perspective. They became more sympathetic to other peoples in a later period but still worked from Greek categories and perspectives. (Tacitus, a second-century C.E. Roman historian, complained that Greek historians admired only their own culture.) Inevitably, other Near Eastern peoples, especially the priests guarding their sacred traditions, felt a need to respond to Hellenism’s cultural imperialism. To gain a hearing, however, these peoples had to use the Greek language and Greek literary forms; in the process they created a new genre: apologetic historiography.
For this project, the literary elite of these cultures could employ their local traditions, which provided both an antidote to Greek ethnocentrism and evidence of their own antiquity. Often they argued that their own civilizations predated the Greeks and hence that the Greeks borrowed from them. Hellenistic Jewish historians followed this pattern, adapting their stories as well as possible to Greek literary and rhetorical forms to argue that their culture was older and greater than that of the Greeks. Although the apologetic element is not always dominant, all extant ancient Jewish historiography was, to some degree, apologetic historiography, emphasizing especially the antiquity and superiority of Israel’s religion.
Josephus’s retelling of sacred Jewish history in his Antiquities is our most massive and complete example of such Jewish apologetic historiography; Josephus seeks to demonstrate God’s providence in Israel’s history. As Daniel Harrington notes, Josephus “reworks Jewish traditions in categories derived from and comprehensible to a Greco-Roman public.” Although it was particularly in his Antiquities that Josephus sought “to dispel the ridicule and misinformation that characterized literate Roman portrayals of the Jews,” his other works also reveal heavily apologetic emphases (such as the claim in the War that merely a few bandits provoked the entire conflict). He also seeks to vindicate the Jewish God vis-à-vis Roman gods or Fortune, showing after the loss of 70 C.E. (as did the compilers of Kings and Chronicles after the exile) that the defeat belonged to God’s plan. In contrast to Josephus’s multivolume treatise, Jewish writers could also offer briefer monographs of apologetic history; one may argue that Philo’s Flaccus fits this category, though the work is as different from Acts as its author is from Luke.
Gregory Sterling argues that Luke-Acts fits the genre of apologetic historiography, and many scholars now follow him. This proposal makes good sense, although Luke goes about this apologetic historiography in his own way and, like some other ancient Jewish historical works, includes this function as only one part of his objective. Certainly Luke devotes considerable space in his narrative to refuting charges against Paul such as are found in Acts 24:5, and the Lukan purpose that such an observation suggests invites us to look for Lukan apologetic elsewhere. Apologetic historiography is a kind of historiography identified by goal, a sort of classification not identical with classification by rhetorical level (in Luke’s case, more popular than elite) or by specific content (the gospel’s expansion) or form (monograph). As noted earlier, Luke is less rhetorically sophisticated than Josephus and some other extant Jewish apologists. This category is thus compatible with some other suggestions about Luke’s historiography.
Part of Luke’s apologetic is his argument that the Gentile Christian movement, far from being a recent innovation, is an appropriate outgrowth of Israel’s ancient and sacred history. Luke indeed goes beyond other Hellenistic Jewish writers, such as Artapanus, Demetrius, Eupolemus, and Pseudo-Eupolemus, in his overarching promise-fulfillment schema; naturally this approach reflects his theological perspective that the promised messianic era has come. It claims to unify Luke’s story with Israel’s earlier story in a way that these earlier writers did not claim for their own stories, suggesting that he views Luke-Acts itself as a continuation of the biblical story. One embarrassment to Luke’s claim that Jesus and the Gentile mission climax God’s historic dealings with Israel was Israel’s failure to embrace this claim. This embarrassment thus invites not only Luke’s emphasis on promise fulfillment and the continuity of salvation history but also a narrative explanation of why many Jewish people had not yet embraced the message. Luke blames both the abuse of political power (by the Sadducean elite, now discredited after 70) and Judean hostile prejudice against Gentiles (a hostility likewise discredited after 70, especially from the perspective of Gentiles). Luke may well hope that these objects of blame would invite a positive reevaluation of the Jesus movement among fair-minded, God-fearing Jews as well as invite the approval of Gentiles.
Luke’s apologetic (which qualifies his work for the category of apologetic historiography) requires a fuller discussion in , on the purpose of Acts. After a brief discussion of other proposed purposes of Acts, that chapter will return to the theme of Acts as apologetic and then to the related questions of Luke’s relation to Judaism and the OT story of salvation.
More than their modern counterparts, ancient historians had obvious moral and ethnic agendas, and often theological perspectives as well. Luke is no exception to this rule, though like many other minority authors he chooses a subject and theology distinct from the dominant culture. His focus on a particular movement, the theological premises of which he shares, diverges from the mainstream of elite Greco-Roman historians not only theologically (most obviously, he is not a polytheist) but, in a sense, “ethnically” (narrating the story of what Romans often viewed as an “eastern cult,” he has an uphill battle for respectability no matter how ancient the faith’s origins). Although in form Luke’s historical work is a monograph, in purpose it functions in ways analogous to other apologetic histories of peoples outside the culturally dominant Greek and Roman mainstream. This conclusion paves the way for below on the purpose of Acts.
See discussion in, e.g., Frey, “Fragen,” 16–17, 26; Schröter, “Stellung,” 25, 36–41, 47 (concluding that Luke’s movement from Jesus’s witnesses to Paul in Rome remains intelligible in the context of Greco-Roman historiography). Some of this section employs material from Keener, John, 14–16, albeit greatly augmented and rearranged.
As often noted (e.g., Marincola, “Introduction,” 3; Ehrman, Introduction, 133; Enns, Problem, 66). Ancient historians used history to shed light on their own times, as many do today; Aune, Environment, 62, cites esp. Isoc. Nic. 35; Demon. 34; Polyb. 1.1.2; Livy 1.pref. 10–11; Plut. Aem. Paul. 1.1; Lucian Dem. 2.
General textbooks on (human) “world history” would be excluded from this principle of focus, but even introductory textbooks focusing on such broad topics as “Western civilization” or “Asian history” implicitly accept the legitimacy of focusing on a theme or people in historical study.
See at length, e.g., Hemer, Acts in History, 79–85; see also, e.g., Mason, Josephus and New Testament, 63; Grant, “Introduction to Tacitus,” 10, 13.
I borrow the phrase from Penner, Praise, 129 (cf. also the idea, 179).
Byrskog, History, 186–90. The historian’s own participation was thus valuable (188).
Ibid., 187.
Historically, it was existential theology that produced prejudice against Lukan historiography (see Shauf, Theology, 14–17). Some scholars regard Acts as history with theological interpretation or theology grounded in history (Hotze, “Zeugen”); for Luke’s historical and theological agendas, see also Marshall, Historian and Theologian.
The narrower sense of “theology” was the term’s original usage (see, e.g., Men. Rhet. 2.17, 438.14; 443.2; Iambl. V.P. 28.145–47), but I employ the term here in the broader sense used in modern “New Testament theologies.” Nevertheless, the picture of God (whose salvation-historical purposes Luke wishes to unveil) is vital for Luke; see esp. Gaventa, Acts.
Current historians generally associate the denial of historians’ presuppositions with long-outdated approaches; see, e.g., Wigger, Saint, 411; from a more overtly subjective angle, see Hart, Delusions, ix–x.
See, e.g., Marshall, Historian and Theologian, 47, critiquing Perrin for his outdated understanding of historiography. Thus, e.g., Cicero’s depiction of Dionysius (Tusc. 5) probably is shaped partly by his concerns for Caesar’s rise (Verbaal, “End of Liberty”).
Litwak, Echoes, 37 (noting that it is impossible in any era to write history without a perspective). All ancient historiography was interpretive (Byrskog, History, 256–65).
Roller, “Past,” 214–16. Although the historicist approach may sometimes provide access to information more objectively, its reconstructions can also be speculative and erroneous at times (229). This is not to deny ancient interest in historical context (see comments in the ).
When Cicero requested that an author set aside normal historiographic impartiality to narrate Cicero’s story in another genre, he recognizes existing expectations for historiography (Laistner, Historians, 33–35). While Caesar wrote from his own perspective, he did not likely deliberately falsify evidence (ibid., 36–38). Regarding the public forum, Luke’s primary audience is undoubtedly Christian, but his appeals to the public forum suggest that he wishes his history to be at least acceptable to outsiders (cf. Acts 26:26).
Penner, “Discourse,” 73–77.
Cf. Momigliano, Historiography, 71–73. Polybius’s biases may extend beyond Rome; despite his stated ideal of avoiding prejudice for one’s country (1.14.4–5), he later suggests that historians should be partial to their countries (16.14.6; Woodman, Rhetoric, 42). Many suggest that he also shares his peers’ lack of affection for Aetolians (Laistner, Historians, 6, 95; for discussion and nuancing, see Champion, “Aetolia,” esp. 357–62). For Polybius’s appreciation for history’s political value, see Fornara, Nature of History, 113. Determining exact political loyalties is sometimes more difficult. On the ambiguity of some of the evidence, see Connolly, “Virtue,” 192–93; by contrast, Tacitus’s anti-Jewish bias is unquestionable (see Feldherr, “Tacitus’ Jews”).
On those biases, cf. Wade-Gery, “Thucydides,” 1519, adding, “Perhaps no good historian is impartial.” Dion. Hal. Pomp. 3 thinks Thucydides more biased (in his case, against Athens, which had exiled him) than Herodotus was; but he accuses him of focusing on Athens’s failings, not of inventing them.
Often noted, e.g., Mason, Josephus and New Testament, 60–71, 77–81; cf. 196–98; Crossan, Jesus, 93; for Josephus’s pro-Flavian propaganda, see Saulnier, “Josèphe”; but for nuancing, see Chapman, “Josephus,” 323–24, and sources cited there. Partisan agendas were not limited to politics, also appearing among schools of thought; cf., e.g., Eshleman, “Sophists,” on biographies of sophists.
See, e.g., Vell. Paterc. 2.80.3, on a putative event some sixty-six years earlier.
E.g., Vell. Paterc. 2.89.3; see discussion of the Pax Romana at Acts 10:36.
Thus Xenophon, largely accurate in what he reports, proves biased in what he omits of Thebes’s greatness (Brownson, “Introduction to Hellenica,” ix–x; Brown, Historians, 97), though our “best authority” for the period (Brownson, “Introduction to Hellenica,” xi), and for the most part surprisingly neutral on larger questions (Brown, Historians, 93–94). For history “written by the winners” among Roman historians, see, e.g., Feldherr, “Translation,” 390; for Pompeians as negative examples, see Melchior, “Pompey.” But not all in the early empire were positive even about Augustus (see Davis, “Evaluations”); cf. losers in Xen. Anab.; Jos. War.
Cf. the respective roles of Pompey and Caesar in Lucan’s Civil War passim (even Homer portrayed the Trojans appealingly enough for Romans to latch on to the Trojan line as their own).
E.g., Albans in Dion. Hal. Ant. rom. 3; plebeians and patricians in 9.39.1–6; Romans and Carthaginians in Livy 21.1.3; Mithridates in Vell. Paterc. 2.18.1; and (outside history) the evenhandedness of Homer’s portrayal of Greek and Trojan heroism in the Iliad, which allowed such later works as Euripides’s Trojan Women and the Roman adoption of Aeneas (e.g., Virgil’s Aeneid); cf. also the speeches noted in Marincola, “Speeches,” 119. Historians did not always report sympathetically, and Pervo, Acts, 17, seems right to observe that Luke did not usually do so (Padilla, Speeches, 237–40, contrasts Luke’s Jewish approach with Greek historians); but even Luke, though a popular historian, does this sometimes (see, e.g., comment on Acts 5:34 regarding his nuanced portrait of Pharisees; some also detect tragic pathos in Israel’s response).
Meister, “Herodotus,” 268. This approach did not commend him to everyone (cf., e.g., Plut. Mal. Hdt.).
Burridge, Gospels, 182–84. So also characters in history, e.g., Marcius as the greatest general of his era yet with fatal character flaws (Dion. Hal. Ant. rom. 8.60.1–2; 8.61.1–3). Laistner, Historians, 56, however, views Sallust’s characters as too stark.
Such poetic descriptions are inappropriate within history (Lucian Hist. 8), though praise is permissible within careful bounds (Hist. 9). On the genre of prose panegyric, see (for Rome) Rees, “Panegyric.” Callisthenes (though an eyewitness) reported only Alexander’s heroism, and hence was dismissed by posterity as a flatterer (Brown, Historians, 125). For another example of epideictic historiography (though it certainly remains historical narrative), see Velleius Paterculus’s adulation of Tiberius in Gowing, “Republic,” 412–17. Nevertheless, Velleius otherwise fairly consistently unveils tragic weaknesses, errors, or misdeeds in otherwise strong characters (2.1.1–3; 2.3.1–2; 2.4.4; 2.6.1–2; 2.7.1; 2.33.2, 4; 2.46.2; 2.88.2; 2.91.2; cf. 2.98.2–3) and often positive traits in weak characters (2.24.2, 5); or characters changing (Vell. Paterc. 2.18.5; 2.25.3; 2.28.2).
See Gilbert, “Propaganda,” 236. Walaskay argues that Luke defends Rome (cf. Josephus); see below.
See the discussion in Danker, New Age, 24; cf. Flender, Theologian, 58–59; imperial propaganda’s use of “savior” and “peace” in Gilbert, “Propaganda,” 237–42.
Polyb. 9.9.9–10. Statesmen were also a primary audience for Roman historians (Marincola, “Audiences,” 12–13).
In other genres, cf. morals in Aesop’s Fables (e.g., 172); in rabbinic stories, see Pearl, Theology; elsewhere, cf. 3 Macc 2:5; Pindar Encomia frg. 121; Theophr. Char. proem 3; Philost. Vit. soph. 2.1.554; Athen. Deipn. 1.10e, on what could be done with Homer.
E.g., Phaedrus 1.4.1; 1.5.1–2; 1.8.1–3; 1.9.1–2; 1.10.1–3; 1.11.1–2; 1.12.1–2; 1.13.1–2; 1.15.1–3; 1.16.1–2; 1.17.1; 1.18.1; 1.19.1–2; 1.20.1–2; 1.21.1–2; 1.23.1–2; 1.24.1; 1.25.1–2; 1.26.1–2; 1.27.1–2; 1.28.1–2; 1.29.1–3; 1.30.1; 1.31.1–2; 2.2.1–2; 2.5.1–6; 2.6.1–3; 3.1.7; 3.5.1; 3.7.1; 3.8.1; 3.9.1; 3.16.1–2; 4.1.1–3; 4.5.1–2; 4.8.1–2; 4.9.1–2; 4.12.1–2; 4.20.1; 4.23.1; 5.5.1–3; 5.7.1–3.
E.g., Phaedrus 1.1.14–15; 1.7.4–5; 1.14.18–19; 1.22.10–13; 2.1.11–12; 2.3.7; 2.4.25–26; 2.6.14–15; 3.2.1; 3.3.1–3; 3.6.10–11; 3.11.7; 3.12.8; 3.14.12–13; 3.17.13; 4.3.5–6; 4.4.12–13; 4.6.11–13; 4.7.25–26; 4.10.4–5; 4.11.14–21; 4.17.7–8; 4.24.3–4; 4.25.23–25; 5.2.14–15; 5.3.11–13; 5.4.7–12; 5.6.7; 5.8.6–7; 5.9.5; 5.10.10. At the beginning and the end, Phaedrus 3.10.1–8, 51–60; 4.13.
For later redaction, e.g., Phaedrus 2.2.2; 2.3.4; 3.3.14–17; 3.6.10; 3.19.1. Most ancient parables, too, had explicit interpretations, contrary to frequent expectations of NT scholars who read other NT scholars more than ancient sources (see Judg 9:16–20; 2 Sam 12:7–9; Johnston, “Interpretations,” 561–62, 565–67, 637–38; Vermes, Religion, 92–99; Stern, Parables in Midrash, 24; see further discussion in Keener, Matthew, 381–82).
Lucian Anach. 22; this moralizing interpretation may have truth, although tragedies often stress the randomness of fate.
See the treatment of examples in rhetoric in Rhet. Alex. 8, 1429a.21–1430a.13; cf. also Hermog. Inv. 2.2.110; 3.11.161; Anderson, Glossary, 86–88; Kennedy, “Survey of Rhetoric,” 21; Demoen, “Paradigm”; Nicolai, “The Place of History,” 19–20; exempla in Roman declamations in van der Poel, “Use”; historically, see the influence of Isocrates in Laistner, Historians, 9. Pliny cites a report favorable to himself, noting that whether or not true, it is useful for its moral lesson (Ep. 9.13.25). Philosophers, too, used history, though sometimes adapting it for ideological purposes (note Lucretius’s adaptation of Thucyd. 2.47–54, 71–78 in Foster, “Rhetoric”). Some poets also inscribed historical events in the larger social memory (Meban, “Eclogues”).
See our earlier discussion (); and, most extensively, Rothschild, Rhetoric of History, passim (and summary, 291–92). On rhetoric as the key advanced discipline (along with, but more prominent than, philosophy), see, e.g., Townsend, “Education,” 149, 151–52; Porter, “Paul and Letters,” 534–35; Stamps, “Children,” 198.
See Hadas, “Introduction,” xviii–xix, on Tacitus.
On the hortatory value of history in Roman historians, see Judge, First Christians, 249–50; Fornara, Nature of History, 115–16; Woodman, Rhetoric, 42; extensively, Roller, “Past”; for history providing models for living, see fully the thorough work of Lang, Kunst, 7–13, 97–167 (especially note problem-solving strategies in Sallust and Tacitus, 108–37). For moralizing elements in ancient historiography, Marguerat, Histoire, 28–29, cites examples from Dionysius, Livy, Sallust, and Plutarch. See, e.g., Livy’s use of the legendary Romulus as an example (Stem, “Lessons”); also historians’ use of traditions about Alexander to illustrate both positive and negative qualities (Baynham, “Reception,” 290–91), or Greek imperial historians’ use of Camillus (Gowing, “Tradition”).
Fornara, Nature of History, 113, noting (115–16) that Romans emphasized this even more.
Moore, “Introduction,” xiii; cf. similarly Hadas, “Introduction,” xvii–xix (noting the popular model of Livy); Laistner, Historians, 113–14 (citing Ann. 2.65.1; 4.33.2), 123, 131–39 (criticizing his tendentiousness); Williams, “Germanicus” (addressing Tacitus’s perspective in one work). In other cases, the ways Tacitus reports the accounts reveal his opinions as well as explicit asides would have revealed (e.g., Ann. 5.1–2; 14.39).
E.g., Polyb. 1.35.1–10; Diod. Sic. 31.10.2; Dion. Hal. Ant. rom. 7.65.2; Vell. Paterc. 2.75.2; Dio Cass. 1.5.4; Arrian Alex. 4.10.8; Corn. Nep. 16 (Pelopidas), 3.1; Tac. Ann. 16.15; characterizing asides throughout Velleius Paterculus (e.g., 2.41.1–2; 2.66.3–5; 2.72.1–2; 2.91.2–3; 2.98.2–3). For narrative asides in histories and biographies, see Sheeley, Asides, 56–93; for Herodotus’s judgments (e.g., 1.34; 2.123.3; 4.205; 9.120), see Dewald, “Construction,” 95; for Xenophon, ibid., 98; for Tacitus’s (Laistner, Historians, 139, unhappily); for “parenthesis” as a rhetorical technique, see Rowe, “Style,” 147; Black, “Oration at Olivet,” 87, citing Quint. Inst. 9.3.23; Anderson, Glossary, 89–90.
See, e.g., Dobbeler, “Geschichte”; van der Kooij, “Death of Josiah”; Reinmuth, “Zwischen Investitur und Testament”; Bergren, “Nehemiah”; Borgen, “Reviewing and Rewriting.”
See, e.g., Polyb. 2.56.13; 3.32.2. Ancient historians did not, as some scholars contend, ignore lines of cause and effect (Rajak, Josephus, 102).
Dion. Hal. Ant. rom. 5.56.1; Polyb. 3.31.11–13.
For παραδείγματα to make moral points in speeches, see Dion. Hal. Ant. rom. 6.80.1; Rhet. Alex. 8.1429a.21–1430a.13; Cic. Sest. 48.102; cf. also Kennedy, “Survey of Rhetoric,” 21.
On such historical “paradigms,” see also Diod. Sic. 37.4.1; Hdn. 3.13.3. The Roman use of exempla reflects earlier Greek use of paradeigmata (Gowing, “Tradition,” 333–34). Although people most often appealed to the past for examples, Velleius points out that even the present could supply some (Vell. Paterc. 2.92.5).
Dion. Hal. Ant. rom. 1.6.3–5; cf. Diod. Sic. 15.1.1; 37.4.1.
Philo Abr. 4; Jos. Ag. Ap. 2.204; 1 Cor 10:11. On Abraham as exemplum in Philo and Josephus, cf. Reed, “Construction” (contrasting Test. Ab.)
One should perhaps add “normally,” since the direction of adaptations and their reasons are sometimes disputed for individual characters. The general degree of adaptation and its frequent apologetic thrust is not, however, disputable.
See Avioz, “Lot.”
For a more detailed study of Josephus’s adaptation of Isaac, see Feldman, “Isaac.”
See Feldman, “Joseph.”
See Feldman, “Moses.” Hata, “Moses within Anti-Semitism,” emphasizes the apologetic value of Josephus’s portrayal of Moses against anti-Semites.
See Levison, “Ruth.”
See Feldman, “Samuel.”
See Jos. Ant. 10.24–35; Begg, “Illness”; Feldman, “Hezekiah.”
See Jos. Ant. 9.1–17; Begg, “Jehoshaphat”; Feldman, “Jehoshaphat.”
See Begg, “Josiah”; Feldman, “Josiah.”
See Feldman, “Daniel.”
See Feldman, “Nehemiah.”
See Feldman, “Jeroboam.”
See Feldman, “Ahab.”
Noah appears positive, but Feldman, “Noah,” thinks that Josephus reduced his role because he was ancestor of the Gentiles (though Josephus does not transfer Noah traditions to Moses the way later rabbis did). In idealizing characters into various types, Josephus may have also used standard Hellenistic typologies for women characters (Sarah as the good wife, Potiphar’s wife as evil, etc.; Amaru, “Women”).
See, e.g., Trompf, Retributive Justice, 51; Feldherr, “Introduction,” 5 (citing Tac. Ann. 3.65); Marincola, “Audiences,” 19–21 (on 19–20 noting that the practice had continued since the fourth century B.C.E., and on 20–21 that the practice was meant to teach moral values). Explicit editorial comment often appeared in death notices (Marincola, “Audiences,” 20), which do not appear in Luke-Acts, but epideictic factors were not limited to such editorializing. Plümacher thinks the historical monograph ideally suited for propagandistic tasks such as Luke’s. Cicero felt that historical monographs were ideal for glorifying their subjects, and Plümacher includes a work of Cicero’s and 2 Maccabees as examples of monographs fulfilling this function (Plümacher, Geschichte, 15–32; idem, “Cicero und Lukas,” 772–73). Inviting a historian to recount events surrounding Cicero’s exile and return, Cicero emphasizes the historian’s skill in properly assigning praise and blame, implying that the historian will paint Cicero in a positive light (Fam. 5.12.4). Naturally, the practice of praise and blame is also a dominant element in biography (Penner, Praise, 135).
He insists that one may forgive historians who are slightly wrong but not those driven by severe bias (Polyb. 8.8.8–9); fairness is the standard (8.8.7). He sometimes digresses in asides to give lessons related to the events narrated (1.35.1–10). But while Theopompus was one of the major “rhetorical” historians, he did genuine research (Meister, “Theopompus”). The standard of fairness remained in first-century B.C.E. Roman historiography; thus Cicero took seriously the claim in Lucceius’s preface that Lucceius was impervious to bias (Fam. 5.12.3). He also emphasized the moral and epideictic function of proper historiography (De or. 2.63) alongside its impartiality and avoidance of falsehood (2.62).
Aeschines Embassy 75–76. Thus some objected to (Dio Chrys. Or. 7.119; Philost. Vit. Apoll. 4.2) or even censored (Val. Max. 2.6.7b) immoral mimes that could teach wrong values by imitation; most mimes were vulgar (Friedländer, Life, 2:92).
Most scholars take this nuanced approach to Josephus (e.g., Curran, “War”). Historians can offset biases by comparing multiple sources (e.g., Laistner, Historians, 131). One may compare the similar problems encountered in studying nineteenth-century historiography. Suiting biographic standards of their era, the biography of William Wilberforce by his sons selects information that would present their father in the best light (Tomkins, Wilberforce, 15–16), and rewords matters to suit their own high-church preferences (16); nevertheless, it often depends on records (16) and recollections heard from their father and his friends (16–17).
E.g., some Socratic ideas appear in Xenophon’s Cyrus (e.g., Cyr. 3.1.17; Xenophon’s other works reveal his admiration of Socrates), though Cyropaedia is not a true historical work or biographic work in the later sense (Cic. Quint. fratr. 1.1.8.23 argues that Cyropaedia was intended to teach proper government, not primarily to report historical truth). Cf. causation by Fortune or deities in Tacitus in Tac. Ann. 3.18; Hadas, “Introduction,” xvi; Fortune in Polybius in Walbank, “Fortune.”
Cf. Sen. E., historical frg. 1, who divided Rome’s history into ages corresponding to human maturation. Contrary to some modern interpretations of ancient historiography, some ancient historians did think in terms of cause and effect, though not all of these were divine (e.g., Polyb. 2.56.13; 3.6.1–3.7.3; 3.31.11–13; 3.32.2).
E.g., the interpretation of a head found beneath Rome (Dion. Hal. Ant. rom. 4.59.2; 4.61.2; Plut. Cam. 31.4; Dio Cass. frg. in Zonaras 7.11). Perhaps the diggers inadvertently struck part of an old burial site (though our sources claim a freshly severed head), but their interpretation became the dominant memory.
Meister, “Herodotus,” 269. The line between “objective” (Herodotus, Thucydides) and “confessional” (OT; Luke) historiography may often be thinner than one would surmise from Marguerat, Histoire, 42.
With, e.g., Konkel, Kings, 328.
Frei, “Apologetics,” 56, notes that this view was also influential in eighteenth-century England.
Squires, “Plan,” 38, citing Diod. Sic. 1.1.3.
See Squires, Plan, 15–17, on Dionysius; 18–20, on Josephus; and 20–36, on Luke; for the nature of providence in Hellenistic history, see 38–46; in Josephus, 46–51; in Luke-Acts, 52–77 (where see also Brawley, Centering on God, 86–106); for tempering divine determinism with free will, see Squires, Plan, 154–60, on Hellenistic historians; 160–66, on Josephus; and 166–85, on Luke-Acts. See also Marguerat, Histoire, 36–37; for Luke’s interest in providence, 59–61. Hellenistic historiographers of Rome seemed less emphatic about the divine plan for Rome’s destiny and the empire’s benefit to other peoples than were some Romans (Pelling, “Historians of Rome,” 257–58, citing, e.g., Cic. Rep. 3.36; later, Plut. Fort. Rom. 2, Mor. 316E–317C; acknowledging divine protection for Rome in Dionysius, e.g., Ant. rom. 5.54.1).
Eichrodt, “Faith in Providence,” 19–20.
See esp. here Kurz, “Models,” 175–76, who also treats the Hellenistic concern for narrative models to imitate (176–85; in history, 177–82; in biography, 182–83; in other narrative genres, 183–84); cf. Lang, Kunst, 7–13, 97–168; see fuller comment in our .
See Bock, Acts, 4.
Even in an earlier era, Israel’s historical interests contrasted with many surrounding cultures’ “extra-temporal myths” (de Vaux, Israel, 272), but the contrast should not be overdrawn as if only Israelites cared about history (see Frahm, Jansen-Winkeln, and Wiesehöfer, “Historiography: Ancient Orient”; Millard, Hoffmeier, and Baker, Historiography in Context); cf. Van Seters, “Historiography,” for some possible parallels with Greek historiography.
E.g., Philo Creation 1–2: Moses refused to invent fables; cf. also Allison, Jesus, 444. Philo did, however, allegorize embarrassing portions (as not literal, not just in addition to literal), and some did so more liberally than he. But an extreme circle of Alexandrian intellectuals were, undoubtedly, less representative than Josephus and others who treated (albeit flexibly) the biblical narratives as real history. The features that Acts shares with OT historical works confirm that Luke intended to write history (Rosner, “History,” 81).
Wright, People of God, 426.
See, e.g., Venter, “Reviewing History.”
There is some debate whether the “Teacher” refers only to the founder (Brownlee, “Messianic Motifs,” 13–15) or also to his successors in an office (e.g., Aune, Prophecy, 132; later Qumran sources suggest this, Buchanan, “Office”); some scholars have also portrayed him as an eschatological figure (Wacholder, “Teacher” [among Karaites, Siegel, “References”]); as messianic (Allegro, “References,” 175–77; the priestly Messiah, Rosenberg, “Moreh”); as not messianic (Smyth, “Scrolls and Messiah”; Brown, “Messianism,” 72–75); earlier, a particular Zealot figure (Roth, “Teacher”); other particular figures (cf. Murphy-O’Connor, “Judah”); or one whose identity is unknown (Burgmann, “Lehrer”). There is today debate even as to how many other documents at Qumran genuinely derive from this sect. For Jesus’s pervasive centrality in extant early Christian Christology, see Hurtado, One God; Keener, John, 289–310.
The Qumran sect emphasized inspired interpretation yet preserved authentic memory of their founding Teacher (Stuhlmacher, “Theme,” 13; cf. Keener, John, 977–82, on John 14:26), albeit not at length. Historical references tend to be generalized, whether because they did not matter or because their audience understood the referents (Callaway, “Reflections”).
Or most of it; over-Platonized versions had other interests, and Burkitt, Gospel History, 289, aptly titles his ch. 9 “Marcion, or Christianity without History.”
See Martin, “Mithraism”; cf. Mattingly, Christianity, 5.
Metzger, “Considerations,” 15, 19–20.
With Hemer, Acts in History, 63–70.
Wright, People of God, 471. Some argue that the Christian theology of history provided the first serious philosophy of (and teleology for) historiography (Nicolai, “Place of History,” 17–18).
Cf., e.g., the discussions in Fee, Gospel, 83–104; Fee and Stuart, Worth, 105–10.
See, e.g., Haenchen, Acts, passim; Martin, Worship, 202; Bruce, “Apostolic Succession.”
See, e.g., Noll, Rise, 66; McGee, “Hermeneutics,” 97–102, 111. Narratives are important for contemporary theology (see Hauerwas and Jones, Narrative), a point applicable to Acts (e.g., Willimon, Acts, 2–4).
In addition to Israelite historiography (cf. McKenzie, “Historiography,” 420), Jesus communicated by means of parables, Paul derived lessons from biblical narratives (e.g., 1 Cor 10:6, 11), and rabbinic tradition communicated truth through stories (see, e.g., Pearl, Theology, passim; rabbis did not, however, further develop the biblical genre of historiography; see Neusner, “History”).
See, e.g., Michaels, “Evidences,” 203–4.
Dunn, Acts, xvi. Laistner, Historians, 95, points to how it took perhaps a century for British and U.S. historians to be “fair to both sides” regarding “the American Revolution.” For a survey of varied applications of the life of Francis Asbury (some quite one-sided), see Wigger, Saint, 405–18.
As is widely acknowledged, including in studies on Acts; e.g., Marconi, “Interpretation”; Levinskaya, Diaspora Setting, 2; Hemer, Acts in History, 86–90; for the postmodern critique, cf. also Eddy and Boyd, Legend, 398–99. Judge, “Sources,” 280–81, challenges the disengaged, depersonalizing preference of much modern (as opposed to ancient) historiography as unrealistic, because “historical enquiry is inescapably personal.”
E.g., people in the United States can often obtain a more global perspective from the BBC than from U.S. media outlets; one popular and respected U.S. newsmagazine, for example, failed to mention war in the Democratic Republic of the Congo until the estimated death toll passed three million (see my complaint in “Did Not Know”). Such omissions certainly distort perspectives for readers dependent on these sources, yet no one would accuse that newsmagazine of having deliberately fabricated whatever data it did report.
I distinguish agendas from assumptions in that Luke sought to inform and especially persuade about his agendas.
Flusser, “Love,” 154, compares the case of the Jesus movement with the followers of Simon Kimbangu or Joseph Smith. The analogies are, of course, inexact; e.g., unlike Smith, Jesus left no written record, and unlike Jesus, Kimbangu did not train disciples (in the ancient Mediterranean sense). But the examples are sufficient for Flusser’s point.
E.g., Luke’s emphasis on Paul’s going to the Gentiles is hardly a Lukan creation (cf. Botermann, “Heidenapostel”) even if the way he recounts this going creates a characteristic pattern (cf. Rom 1:14; 11:11–14).
Cf. Vermes, Jesus and Judaism, 20. Luke’s epideictic or theological interests need not eliminate his information.
Ibid., 19; cf. Levinskaya, Diaspora Setting, 2; Hemer, Acts in History, 79–90.
See here Scott, “Stephen’s Speech.”
See extensively Rothschild, Rhetoric of History, passim (e.g., 291).
Theology was “integrated in the enterprise of ancient historical composition” (ibid., 59; cf. also 295).
E.g., Strelan, Artemis, 22; Neil, Acts, 18–22; Martin, Foundations, 53–56; Marshall, Historian and Theologian; Jáuregui, “Panorama”; Green, “History/Writing”; Walaskay, Acts, 10–12; Eckey, Apostelgeschichte, passim; Marguerat, Histoire, 91; Rothschild, Rhetoric of History, 59; cf. Yoo, “Sens.” Luke emphasizes providence (Marguerat, Histoire, 59–61) yet writes about beginnings, not the sort of hagiography dominant in the third century (62–63; cf. Allison, Jesus, 447–48; Keener, Miracles, 857–66).
E.g., Erasmus read Acts as historically reliable yet also applied it to his audience (Pabel, “Retelling”). Cf. Malina and Pilch, Acts, 6.
Hengel, Acts and History, 65 (citing, e.g., the lack of magic in the sacraments; archaic Christology; and lack of hierarchical structure); Hays, Moral Vision, 135 (citing the charismatic dimension of Acts). Tübingen scholars, indeed, reacted against Acts partly because it was not theological enough according to their standards of “high” theology (Hengel and Schwemer, Between Damascus and Antioch, 20).
Following Witherington, Acts, 127; Wright, People of God, 454; see also at greater length Thompson, “Unity”; idem, “Idealization” (esp. 541–42).
Wright, People of God, 454. Eusebius himself reports many heresies down to his own period, when he found himself embroiled in the Arian controversy. On the historical setting and consequences of Eusebius and other late antique, ecclesiastical historians, see Croke, “Historiography,” 574–77.
Barrett, Acts, 2:xli; cf. Bruce, “Real Paul?”; Witherington, Acts, 171. From Luke’s work, I believe that his personality is probably also more conciliatory and integrative than some other early Christian voices, but this is a subjective judgment the specific weight of which is difficult to assess.
Hengel, Acts and History, 63.
A gap that modern historians would still regard as small when writing of the previous generation. Even in locations in the world where more concrete documentation would be lacking, oral history about events only a few decades removed is not comparable in quality to traditions centuries old.
For the sermons in Acts as models that could be adapted in Christian preaching, see Bauckham, “Summaries”; cf. Tannehill, Acts, 329.
For Roman concerns about such subversion from Eastern cults, see, e.g., Balch, Wives, 65–80, 118; Keener, Paul, 140–42.
See Hengel, Acts and History, 60. Rome had long been insecure about secret gatherings unapproved by the state (Livy 39.15.11).
See, e.g., the observations of Polybius, who distinguishes his political history from other approaches (Polyb. 9.1.1–6; 9.2.1–5). Until the nineteenth century, elite political and military interests tended to dominate historiography (van der Laan, “Approaches,” 203).
See, e.g., Juel, Promise, 118, who thinks that Luke, like Josephus, had to address the disillusionment, generated by the post-70 C.E. situation, about God’s providence.
Sterling, Historiography, 20–53; quote, 53. Herodotus was said to be the first historian to publish a universal, rather than specific ethnographic, history (Dion. Hal. Thuc. 5).
Sterling, Historiography, 55–102. For negative Greek views of “barbarian” intellect, see, e.g., Dion. Hal. Ant. rom. 5.4.3; Jos. Ant. 18.47; Xen. Eph. Anthia 3.11; Diod. Sic. 1.2.6; Epicurus in Diog. Laert. 10.117; contrast Anacharsis Ep. 2.1–2, to Solon; Diogenes Ep. 28; Jos. Ag. Ap. 1.15–18.
Tac. Ann. 2.88 (admitting some, but lesser, Roman bias). (Though generally positive toward Rome, Hellenistic historians depicting its history clearly did so from a Greek vantage point; see Pelling, “Historians of Rome.”) Nevertheless, most Roman historians similarly focused on Rome; Pompeius Trogus was distinctive in his focus on non-Roman peoples, including (in bks. 11–40) Alexander and his successors (see discussion in Levene, “Roman Historiography,” 287–88). Roman historiographic treatment of other peoples could also promote the ideology of Roman conquest (see, e.g., O’Gorman, “Politics,” 384); the quintessential expression of Roman ethnography appears in Roman triumphs (Dench, “Ethnography,” 502, on 501–2 also noting Caesar’s conquest tracts).
Greek historians were part of Alexander’s conquests from the start, and imposed their understanding on the peoples among whom Greek education was spreading, inviting local responses (Dillery, “Historians,” 221). Some of the best known today, Berossus (authoring the Babylonica [FGH 680]; cf. Kuhrt, “Mesopotamia,” 62–63; Dillery, “Historians,” 222–25), Manetho (Aegyptiaca [FGH 609]; Dillery, “Historians,” 225–28), and eventually Josephus (Antiquities) “were priests who used the records of their own people to write their histories” (Sterling, “Historians,” 502). Even the first history by a Roman, Fabius Pictor, was composed in Greek and fit this tradition (Dillery, “Roman Historians,” 78–84; though some see it as addressing the Roman aristocracy, Gotter, “Origines,” 121).
Sterling, Historiography, 103–36 (though not all scholars explain these minority histories as primarily apologetic; see Dillery, “Historians,” 228–30). For a summary of apologetic literature more generally, see Aune, Dictionary of Rhetoric, 51–54. Greeks had local cult histories (Dillery, “Sacred History”); non-Greeks might write their own local histories with an emphasis on their deity, but a larger-than-local ethnographic history allowed them to assert their value in a more public space.
Sterling, Historiography, 135. For the apologetic argument from antiquity, see below. Greeks themselves, however, could provide apologetic slants on history; Polybius, before writing his history, had to absolve the memory of some earlier Greek leaders to prevent the Romans from destroying their statues (Polyb. 39.3.3–11).
Sterling, Historiography, 136. Greeks themselves recognized that Egyptian culture predated and influenced their own.
Ibid., 137–225; see also idem, “Appropriation,” 234–38. For the idea that Greeks borrowed Jewish wisdom, see this commentary’s comment on Acts 17:22–31. Josephus’s rival Justus probably provides one example no longer extant (see Rajak, “Justus of Tiberias,” 92). For apologetic in Hellenistic Jewish narrative writers, see further Holladay, Theios aner, 234 and passim.
Wandrey, “Literature: Jewish-Hellenistic,” 696.
Sterling, Historiography, 226–310. More generally, others also emphasize Josephus’s apologetic objectives (e.g., Feldman, “Apologist of World”; in defending himself, Vogel, “Vita 64–69”; Lamour, “Organisation”).
Harrington, “Bible,” 245, following H. A. Attridge. For example, Josephus’s story about Moses may challenge Alexandrian anti-Jewish propaganda influential in Rome (see Hata, “Moses within Anti-Semitism”). Whether Josephus was able to gain much of a non-Jewish audience is questionable, given the reluctance of the Greco-Roman world to engage ethnic minority perspectives (cf. Feldman, “Reflections on Jews”); but he does appear to be a source for Tacitus and others.
Mason, Josephus and New Testament, 71 (concluding his discussion of Antiquities, 65–71).
Ibid., 60–61; for the Life as a self-defense against Justus, see 73–76; his fullest apologetic, of course, was the explicit apologetic in Against Apion (see 77–81). Others also note Josephus’s apologetic motifs (e.g., Boccaccini, Judaism, 241–42).
See, e.g., Kelley, “Perspective.”
See Meiser, “Gattung.” The discourses in Flaccus help support this conclusion.
E.g., Flaccus is more rhetorical and focuses on the blame aspect of epideictic, with abundant overt editorializing.
Sterling, Historiography, 311–89; also Mason, Josephus and New Testament, 196–97; Kee, Every Nation, 11–12; Johnson, Acts, xii. (Sterling, “Appropriation,” 242, notes the irony that not rabbinic Judaism but early Christianity developed Jewish apologetic historiography, without the traditional ethnic element.) Tomson, “Counsel,” 603–4, suggests that Josephus and Luke both use Pharisaism to appeal to Roman aristocrats; this is plausible, though most of Luke’s audience is, presumably, on a lower socioeconomic level than Josephus’s. Palmer, “Monograph (1993),” 15–18, compares Josephus Antiquities and critiques Sterling here, but Sterling’s case, on the whole, seems stronger than the critique. For Luke’s apologetic use of outsiders’ speeches in a manner comparable to specifically Jewish historiography, see Padilla, Speeches.
Penner, Praise, 235–47, rightly notes the epideictic element in Hellenistic Jewish apologetic literature presenting the past. This comparison is certainly relevant to Acts, but differences in rhetorical level and function must also be accounted for.
Also an apologetic writer, apparently refuting Manetho’s charges (see Collins, “Artapanus,” 892), though some scholars do question whether Artapanus himself was Jewish (cf. Jacobson, “Artapanus”). On Manetho’s early Hellenistic version of the exodus (lepers driven from Egypt), see discussion in Raspe, “Manetho on Exodus.”
See Holladay, “Acts and Fragments” (also arguing that Acts shares with these works the heroic characterization of the central heroes). See comment below in , on Luke’s use of the OT.
To make such a claim was not to claim canonicity, although canon was apparently an open question among many Jewish groups. See the discussion of such questions in Smith, “Gospels.”
Scholars often see this embarrassment as an invitation to Luke’s apologetic (Nolland, “Salvation-History,” 80; idem, Luke’s Readers, 119–28).
Cf. the discussion in Johnson, Acts, 7–12; cf. Cunningham, Many Tribulations, 340; the problems here comport with those addressed by Paul in, e.g., Rom 3:3; 9:6; 11:17.
As argued earlier ( above), Luke does not write about a “people” in the strict sense but about early Christian mission; this difference, however, qualifies, rather than vitiates, a comparison with typical apologetic historiography.