11. The Author of Luke-Acts
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Today almost all scholars acknowledge that Luke and Acts share the same author. Although there are differences of language between the two works, these differences by themselves do not require distinct authors, and the similarities are compelling. ( below discusses the narrative unity of Luke-Acts; although narrative unity has been questioned more than common authorship, it also remains the strong consensus.)
Beyond this general agreement, a majority of (but not nearly all) scholars agree that Luke was a Gentile, writing for a largely Gentile (or, perhaps more accurately, mixed Gentile and Jewish) Diaspora audience. A much smaller number, though probably still the majority, argue that the author was at least a short-term companion of Paul. This is the most important of the authorship claims (in terms of Luke’s fulfilling the contract of Acts’ implicit genre), but the bulk of my argument for this observation is deferred until Acts 16:10, at the introduction to the “we” narratives. (Deferral of full discussion until the first textual occurrence of “we” allows this introductory chapter to be more concise than some others.)
Less important, but worthy of investigation, is the question of who this traveling companion may have been. Of possible candidates in Pauline literature who fit this description, Luke the physician (Col 4:14) is the likeliest candidate historically and also the one supported (despite his relative obscurity) by subsequent Christian writers who claimed access to earlier sources no longer available to us. Although nothing within Luke-Acts requires us to suppose that the author was a physician, the evidence is consistent with this tradition, and some knowledge of ancient physicians may thus illumine Luke’s profession for those who (like myself) think him the likeliest candidate for author.
The issue of authorship was among the standard questions ancient critics, as well as modern ones, asked. Ancients recognized that forgery (e.g., of letters and legal documents) occurred and they sometimes suspected it. By contrast, literary pseudepigraphy was more common for literary works; pseudonymity was an established and possibly often acceptable literary practice of the day both in broader Greco-Roman and in some Jewish circles though, when used for some kinds of works, it could be viewed as forgery. Ancient literary critics sometimes sought to distinguish genuine and spurious works attributed to an author (e.g., Aul. Gel. 3.3, on plays of Plautus) or at least make note of which works were disputed. Thus, for example, some attributed the Epigoni to Homer, but Herodotus (Hdt. 4.32) and a scholiast (on Aristophanes, frg. 1) doubted this attribution.
Sometimes even declamations could be “forged” (falsi) within a generation (Sen. E. Controv. 1.pref. 11); thus later rhetoricians would, when other evidence (such as coherence with the period they depict) was lacking, use stylistic criteria to evaluate the authenticity of a speech (Dion. Hal. Lysias 11–12; Demosth. 50). When rejecting speeches’ authenticity (e.g., Dion. Hal. Din. 13), however, one would offer more reasons than when accepting them (Din. 12). Given that works were probably authentic more often than not, this principle is a logical one. Acts claims no author by name, though Theophilus and, presumably, the first ideal audience as a whole knew him, and so pseudepigraphy is irrelevant to Acts, in any case.
The author may have been a Gentile God-fearer who spent time with Paul especially during part or all of his Roman custody.
On the basis of internal evidence, scholars debate whether the author was either a Gentile Christian (for whom the Gentile mission in Acts is a matter of life and death) or a (Diaspora) Jewish Christian who was part of the Hellenist mission to the Gentiles. Plausible arguments have been offered for both positions.
Scholars often opine that the author was a God-fearing Gentile. From his geographical competence and his interpretation of Judaism, it is certain that he was not a Palestinian Jew. Granted, Palestinian Judaism had imbibed much of the Hellenism with which it had interacted for centuries, though typically to a lesser extent than Judaism in eastern Mediterranean cities outside the Holy Land. But Palestinian Judaism also included significant elements with which Luke appears less familiar than, for example, John or Matthew was. He may have been a Diaspora Jew with interests in the Gentile mission, but given his relationship to Judaism and perspectives, many scholars prefer the idea that he was a Gentile. Scholars who, on other grounds, identify the author with the Luke mentioned in Col 4:14 will likely also conclude that he was a Gentile.
Luke’s excellent Greek and presumably Hellenistic education no more require him to be a Gentile than those of Josephus and Philo make them Gentiles; this would be especially the case in the Diaspora. Although the external tradition may be construed as supporting a Gentile (Col 4:11, 14), the internal evidence more easily favors someone immersed in Diaspora synagogue Judaism. This might seem to support someone who was raised in a Jewish home.
On the other hand, if (as shall be argued; see esp. comment on Acts 16:10) Luke traveled with Paul to Jerusalem as a representative of the Gentile churches (Acts 20:4–5; cf. Rom 15:27; 2 Cor 8:23), he was probably ethnically Gentile. If Luke was a Gentile Christian, however, he was probably either a God-fearer—an adherent of a synagogue before becoming a Christian—or a long-standing member of the Hellenistic Jewish Christian movement. Whether Jewish or devout Gentile, he probably traced his spiritual heritage to the Hellenist Jewish Christian movement of Acts 6; he, far more than Paul, would have found himself an outsider in his visit to Judea in Acts 21–26.
If Luke was a Gentile, he was nevertheless one with considerable experience of Judaism. Although he could have acquired much of this knowledge as a Christian, it is reasonable to suggest, as some scholars have, that he may have been a God-fearer with a long-standing knowledge of the Diaspora synagogue. Nevertheless, we should beware of reading too much about the author’s background (or audience) into his use of the OT.
Although we can say that the author was at least probably a God-fearer before becoming a Christian, early Christians continued the Jewish practice of teaching Scriptures at their meetings, which in time would allow Gentile converts to learn the Bible, just as it does today. His immersion in the LXX, however, is considerable; if he did not grow up with it, he must have acquired it long before and thoroughly, for he knows how to write Greek with a “biblical” or “Jewish accent,” so to speak.
Unless we accept the early Christian tradition that he was from Syria, however, we need not assume that he was competent in Aramaic. Some of his variants in handling Q vis-à-vis Matthew may reflect an Aramaic original, but Luke need not have translated the Aramaic himself; immersion in the LXX could explain his heavily Semitic sections (such as most of Luke 1–2), and heavy dependence on urban Hellenists may explain his focus on Hellenists in Acts (perhaps as early as 2:9–11) and his topographic limitations in Judea.
The implied narrator traveled to Rome with Paul (Acts 28:14, 16) and, assuming (on the basis of the argument in this chapter and at Acts 16:10) that our companion of Paul is the Luke mentioned in Paul’s epistles, remained with him (Col 4:14; Phlm 24; cf. 2 Tim 4:11). If Mark wrote to Christians in Rome (or if some Christians migrating to Rome, as many apparently did, brought Mark’s Gospel there), Luke would have had access to Mark’s Gospel there, allowing him to arrange his earlier research around it. (Although he also had other sources [Luke 1:1], he generally follows Mark’s sequence, with two major obvious exceptions.)
It is possible, though by no means certain (and not necessarily probable), that Luke himself was imprisoned and, like Timothy, released about 67–68 C.E. Conversely, Luke may have evaded detention, but in any case he likely would not have published this work during the Neronian persecution; the conditions of that persecution would militate against its circulation, and no internal evidence suggests the kind of apocalyptic mistrust of Rome that one would expect under such circumstances (cf. Mark and Revelation).
Luke may then (as argued in above) have been able to complete and publish Luke-Acts by the early 70s, viewing the destruction of Jerusalem as the tragic (albeit temporary) end that Israel’s rejection of Jesus and his messengers had produced. I offer this suggestion merely as one of the more plausible scenarios from our available evidence, but ultimately any such reconstruction contains an element of historical speculation.
Unfashionable as it is in some circles to come to any conclusions supporting the existence of eyewitness material in the NT, if we treat Acts the way we treat analogous historical works from its era we should accept the work’s eyewitness claims as authentic indications of the author’s presence. Internal evidence points strongly to a Christian who accompanied Paul on a small number of his travels and should have become well acquainted with him especially on the journey to Jerusalem and Rome. Although the external evidence is less important, it strongly points to Luke “the physician” (Col 4:14) as the author, a claim that tradition is not likely to have invented (given Luke’s relative obscurity). The external and the internal evidence are compatible, making Luke the likeliest author.
The primary reason for many scholars treating “we” in Acts differently than they would in most other ancient historical works is the argument that a genuine traveling companion of Paul cannot have so misunderstood him. I do not judge this reason sufficiently plausible to overturn our normal expectation for first-person pronouns in ancient historical literature. Aside from the question of whether most of Paul’s modern interpreters have understood him well enough to pass judgment on some of Luke’s interpretations (see discussion in , esp. , of this introduction), the argument betrays inadequate familiarity with ancient historians. If Luke frames his material about Paul (especially in the speeches) in light of what Luke wants to say, he simply acts like many other ancient historians did. Material from ancient authors sometimes remains extant alongside biographic reports about them, and the range of perspectives between the epistolary and Lukan Pauls is no greater than the presentations in these other sources. When we factor in the popular level of Luke’s historical writing, the assumption that Luke never knew the historical Paul because he uses him for his own rhetorical purposes (influenced by Paul but also by other early Christian sources) becomes untenable.
Although I feel that the evidence strongly points toward a companion of Paul, I recognize that on this question I cannot speak as though there is a consensus even to the extent that I can speak of a fairly strong majority opinion about Acts’ basic genre. Despite firm confidence in the direction in which Luke’s “we” material points, I pause to acknowledge my respect for other positions. As noted regarding questions of Luke’s date, scholars sometimes dismiss other scholars’ work by categorizing them into particular “camps” and remarking, “That is the view one expects for someone in that camp.” An approach that better suits the most open-minded and finest liberal tradition in scholarship is to consider other arguments and disagree respectfully where we cannot agree.
A large number (probably the majority) of English-speaking commentators believe that the author was a companion of Paul, as the “we” narratives suggest. Although there remain some significant detractors to this position, the bulk of the evidence points in this direction, and it is our most secure available observation regarding authorship.
This observation (rather than the specific identification with Luke the physician, which is consistent with, but need not follow from, it) is the most important observation we could make about authorship, but it will not be treated in detail here. Because it follows from the interpretation of the “we” narratives, I reserve the full survey of approaches and extensive comment (as well as responses to objections) for the introduction to those narratives at Acts 16:10, comment on which I depend here. Likewise, discussion of the supposed inconsistencies between Luke and Paul appears in , , above. Nevertheless, a few points are briefly summarized below.
When historians include “we” in their histories, they almost always mean that they were present at those points. Scholars often cite the observation of Harvard classicist Arthur Darby Nock, who noted that, apart from some minor stylistic lapses (excluded in Acts by the geographic consistency of the “we”), “I know only one possible parallel for the emphatic use of a questionable ‘we’ in consecutive narrative outside literature which is palpably fictional. . . . Since on stylistic grounds the hypothesis of a redactor is excluded, I think we must take these statements at their face value.” Examples could be multiplied. For instance, when Philostratus suddenly introduces “we” and “us” (in his Vit. soph. 2.21.604) for students of Proclus of Naucratis, it is because he himself did study with him (2.21.602).
Historians mention their presence to emphasize their historical credentials and because they belonged to the action; Luke was undoubtedly no less present at the points he claims than they were. As Dupont, in his study of Acts’ sources, concluded, “Comparison with ancient texts which present the same peculiarity makes the significance of the procedure clear—the author wishes it to be understood that he has personally taken part in the events he is recounting.” New Testament scholars who deny Acts’ author the same privilege as other ancient historical writers, against all our expectations from ancient sources, do so mainly because of supposed incompatibility with Paul (or the assignment of Acts to a genre other than history), not because it is the most obvious approach to an ancient text. (Despite obvious differences between Paul and Luke, however, the proposal of actual incompatibility with Luke having known him appears strained, as argued in , , above.)
If the author simply wished to insert himself into the narrative, it would be surprising that he does so infrequently and at places of less theological import than one would expect. Instead of claiming to be an eyewitness to most events in Acts, the author merely traveled with Paul on some occasions, especially the final period (which is accordingly recorded in much greater detail than the rest of the work). Further, the first-person narration breaks off in one city and resumes at the same place later, suggesting its authenticity (Acts 16:16; 20:5; cf. similarly 21:18; 27:1). Finally, Luke demonstrates more knowledge in the “we” accounts, which he often treats at greater length. Paul’s comparatively brief sojourn in Philippi seems to warrant more detail than his lengthy stay in Corinth or most of his time in Ephesus; the greatest detail is given for Paul’s voyages to Jerusalem and Rome and for his Roman custody in Acts 21–28.
Scholars offer other solutions, addressed in this commentary at Acts 16:10. For example, some argue for a fictitious literary device; but such devices appear elsewhere almost exclusively in fictitious narratives (where they appear pervasively), not historical ones, and a deliberate deception would not (as noted above) appear only at such minor points in the narrative, with a mere walk-on role. Others suggest that the author borrows the narrator’s “we” from a travel journal; while use of a travel journal is quite possible, Luke does not retain first-person pronouns from his other sources. Would he become an inept editor at this point and only this point? One must take recourse to these or other solutions only if it is implausible for the author to have been Paul’s traveling companion.
As noted above, those who argue against the author’s having been a companion of Paul generally stress the differences between Paul’s letters and the portrayal of Paul in Acts. These differences should not be overemphasized, however, as scholars who think Luke a traveling companion of Paul emphasize. Paul’s letters provide a sample of Paul’s thought when dealing with various issues in particular churches; there is variation even among the undisputed letters (certainly between, e.g., the eschatological depictions in 1 Thessalonians and those in 2 Corinthians). Paul is harsher toward the law in Galatians than in Romans; he touches the issue only briefly and on occasion in 1 Corinthians.
That, according to my view, the author occasionally traveled with Paul and noted carefully Paul’s legal situation does not mean that the author was intimately acquainted with details of Paul’s theology as expressed in the sample letters of Paul today extant. Nor, if he were so acquainted, would he (having a broader sample than we do) necessarily choose to emphasize these aspects of Paul’s life and thought or need to express his own theology in the same terms as Paul’s occasional letters.
Even if Paul were the author’s source for his accounts of Paul’s missions, Acts is not, nor is it intended to be, an autobiography. Other ancient biographies provide the same kinds of challenges when compared with the subject’s extant letters. Correspondences between the Paul of Acts and the Paul of the epistles (not based on the author’s knowledge of Paul’s letters, given the differences) support the possibility that, in fact, the author did know Paul (at the very least, he knew sources close to him). (See further discussion in above.) Arguments that the author was a companion of Paul in the “we” sections seem to me still more compelling (see esp. discussion at Acts 16:10), and given the comparison with first-person claims elsewhere in ancient historiography, I find extremely dubious the arguments against this claim. Paul often was accompanied by coworkers (e.g., Rom 16:21; 2 Cor 8:23; 12:18; Phil 4:3; Phlm 24; Col 4:7–11; perhaps Gal 1:2), and, applying the same approach we apply to other ancient historical works, we have far more reason to accept the author’s claim to have been one of them than to question it.
Both later Christian tradition and the coherency of Pauline evidence with the narrator’s being Paul’s traveling companion en route to Rome support the likelihood of Luke as the author.
Classicists normally start with the external evidence, the most concrete evidence we have. If the author was a companion of Paul, the tradition that this companion was “Luke,” a physician (Col 4:14), is a reasonable one. This tradition appears in the Anti-Marcionite Prologue to Luke, where it is quite specific: Luke, the doctor from Antioch, disciple of the apostles, remained unmarried and died in Boeotia at age eighty-four.
How much of the tradition found in the Prologue is dependable? One of the least likely lapses in early Christian memory would be the name of the author of two major works (Luke and Acts), especially the widely circulated Gospel, but on other details, not all of this tradition is probable. The Antioch connection probably stems from an improbable inference from Acts 13:1 (connecting the author with Lucius of Cyrene; see comment there); Luke’s information about Antioch is also sketchier than his report of Paul’s travels (especially the “we” material), despite its significance for the early Christian mission and for Paul himself. The name of his place of origin could also be a case of a prominent locale claiming a prominent figure for itself.
Other aspects of the Prologue’s tradition are of questionable weight. The author’s occupation in the tradition could be inferred from Col 4:14, given the tradition of his name. That he was a disciple of the apostles could represent a reasonable surmise or apologetic move or even a general statement about his generation; that he remained unmarried might reflect the rising tide of sexual asceticism in the church. The date of this prologue is also uncertain. The Muratorian Canon claims that Luke is author of the Gospel (lines 2–8) and Acts (lines 34ff.), but although traditionally assigned to the late second century, its date is now in dispute. A very minor textual variant at Acts 20:13 appears to support Lukan authorship, but again this source is of uncertain date.
Probably more helpful are some other commonly cited sources. Irenaeus (ca. 180 C.E.) also attributes Acts to Luke (Her. 3.1.1; 3.13.3; 3.14.1). The same tradition appears in Clement of Alexandria (Strom. 5.12), Tertullian (Marc. 4.2), Origen (in Euseb. H.E. 6.25), and others. At least equally important, 𝔓75 (175–225 C.E.) calls the Gospel the “Gospel according to Luke.” Our earliest external evidence unanimously supports Luke’s authorship. Given his relative obscurity, this is probably not coincidence.
Even if the tradition is based on an inference from early Christian evidence, we might make a similar inference ourselves (based on the likely slighter evidence available to us). As Mark Powell notes, “If it could be established that the third gospel and the book of Acts were written by one of Paul’s coworkers, most scholars would agree that Luke is as likely a candidate as any.” Paul names most of his associates during his Roman custody; given the risks they ran in identifying with a prisoner, this honor would have been deemed appropriate. It is unlikely that one who voyaged to Rome with Paul and remained with him for some time there would remain anonymous when Paul seems to name the candidates exhaustively (Col 4:10–14; Phlm 23–24).
Among these named candidates, the author does not seem to be Paul’s fellow prisoner Aristarchus, though he accompanied Paul to Rome (Col 4:10; Phlm 24); Aristarchus is distinguished from the author en route to Rome in Acts 27:2 as well as earlier in 20:4–5 (and by implication in 19:29). Those who argue that the author is a Gentile may rule out several of Paul’s companions, including Aristarchus (Col 4:10–11); the author’s lack of interest in the Lycus Valley might rule out Epaphras (1:7; 4:12). Meanwhile, Demas (4:14; Phlm 24) may not have persevered long enough to write the work (if 2 Tim 4:10 reports accurately).
A more likely proposal is Titus, who was a close companion of Paul yet, surprisingly, does not appear in Acts even when Paul’s epistles indicate his activity (Gal 2:1–3; 2 Cor 2:13; 7:6–8:23; 12:18). But given Titus’s greater prominence in Paul’s letters than Luke, why would the tradition have unanimously settled on Luke? The same might be said if one argues (less plausibly) for Timothy. Yet Luke does, in fact, fit our narrow list of possible candidates. Early sources indicate that Luke was with Paul in Rome (Col 4:14; Phlm 24; cf. 2 Tim 4:11).
Luke was not otherwise prominent in tradition, and so the unanimous support for his authorship in the tradition is noteworthy. We would not expect anyone to have invented a non-apostle and non-eyewitness of Jesus’s ministry; indeed, Irenaeus can be construed as sounding almost defensive about Luke as the author. Moreover, it is unlikely that a work the size of a Gospel would have circulated anonymously in the churches; the oral tradition remained strong in the early second century, and the tradition would likely preserve the author’s name (surely known to the first audience; cf. “I” in the prefaces) more readily than nearly any other detail. Some writers object that the authors of certain works, such as the Epistle to Diognetus, are unknown; but Theophilus surely knew Luke personally, and a work the size of Luke-Acts would not easily lend itself to the same fate as works whose authors were forgotten.
Thus many scholars accept Luke as the author of Acts. For example, renowned classicist Arthur Darby Nock confessed that he had long been unable to view the author as “Paul’s friend, the physician, the beloved. The objections remain formidable, but I am now inclined to agree with Cadbury and Dibelius that he was a companion of Paul and with Dibelius that the traditional name may be used.” Indeed, as one scholar notes (accurately for at least Anglophone scholarship at the time of his writing), this “traditional view of its authorship, unquestioned till the end of the eighteenth century, but seriously challenged in the nineteenth, is once again generally accepted now.” Although such historical judgments lack absolute certainty, the arguments in favor of Luke’s authorship seem to me to outweigh those against it or for alternative figures.
Indeed, some scholars even argue that Luke, who was said to be present with Paul to the end (2 Tim 4:11), wrote the Pastorals for him, on the basis of similarities in style. Stylistic differences are to be expected, of course, when an author composes in different genres. (Thus, for example, if Lucian genuinely authored Gout, the style would nevertheless differ significantly because of its poetic form.) The Pastorals may share more Stoic ethical vocabulary with Luke than with any other specific NT writer outside Pauline literature, so that Luke seems the likeliest candidate we know of (a significant qualification) in Paul’s circle. Still, one does not wish to hang a case for Lukan authorship of Luke-Acts on the mention of Luke’s presence in 2 Tim 4:11; in my opinion, defending common authorship of Acts and the Pastorals requires considerable ingenuity in harmonizing their respective Pauline itineraries. It seems safest not to count Lukan parallels in the Pastorals too heavily in favor of Acts’ authorship.
Some scholars today would be anxious to avoid the association with Luke, since, as Fitzmyer notes, it has become fashionable for scholars to display critical “objectivity” by denying early traditions about authorship. (Dibelius offered a similar complaint when he contended for Lukan authorship in an earlier generation.) As much as I would like to be fashionable, however, I am among those who believe that scholars have a greater responsibility toward seeking to discern and articulate what they genuinely believe is true than remaining innocuous in terms of academic politics. Although I acknowledge that many other scholars deny Lukan authorship for sincere and honorable reasons (especially those who genuinely believe Acts incompatible with a traveling companion of Paul), I honestly believe that this is where the best (though limited) evidence points.
In short, against many NT scholars, I continue to maintain that “we” in Acts as in other ancient historical narratives nearly always constituted a claim that the narrator was present. There is little possibility that the narrator is distinct from the author; distinguishing an unidentified narrator from the author was not normal practice in ancient histories, and nothing in Luke’s narration suggests it. Moreover, Luke would hardly have left a source’s “we” as a deliberately deceptive marker (at least Theophilus and probably a wider circle of hearers already knew his identity) or as an accident (given the compositional unity of his work and the location-specific recurrence of the marker). Once we grant that the author was a traveling companion of Paul during specific periods, several known candidates are possible, but the strongest case is for Luke. In this instance, I believe that the tradition got the attribution correct.
Nothing in the text of Luke-Acts requires us to suppose that the author was a physician. If, however, external evidence leads us to suppose that Luke the physician is in fact the likeliest individual candidate for author, the text of Luke-Acts is consistent with such a premise. Examining evidence for physicians in antiquity may give us a better sense of the sort of background “Luke the physician” may have had.
The language of Luke-Acts is consistent with the tradition that a physician (Col 4:14) wrote it, including the use of language characteristic of scientific treatises. Long ago William Kirk Hobart (as the extreme example) argued for an abundance of medical terminology in Luke, both where this language is missing in parallel passages of Mark and Matthew and where Mark and Matthew omit the accounts altogether.
We should, however, be clear that, apart from the tradition, such language is plainly not sufficient to indicate that the writer is a physician. The same language, for example, also appears in other historians. Matthew and Mark seem no less interested in healings than Luke is, and despite Luke’s sometimes more sophisticated language, Kirsopp Lake and Henry Cadbury long ago showed that his supposed medical terminology actually appears in ancient texts far more broadly than in medical writers. Indeed, more than 80 percent of Hobart’s supposed medical terms appear in the LXX, sometimes frequently; three-quarters also appear in Lucian (and 90 percent in Lucian, Josephus, and Plutarch combined); and the other Gospels sometimes include medical language that Luke lacks. As detractors of the medical-language argument long ago pointed out, “The fact that a word is found in a medical book proves nothing as to the profession of another writer who uses it, if it be also used elsewhere.” Moreover, Luke employs both nautical and legal language without his being a sailor or jurist; the breadth of his vocabulary simply illustrates that he was well educated.
Nevertheless, the language is consistent with that of a physician if we have other reasons to believe this was Luke’s profession. Not all the arguments for this position are compelling. Because Luke claims that the Maltese highly honored “us” (Acts 28:10), for example, some have argued that Luke (i.e., Luke the physician of Col 4:14) practiced his medical art alongside Paul’s supernatural healing. Although we cannot rule out such medical practice, nothing in the text of Acts necessarily suggests it. Better arguments exist for Luke’s familiarity with medicine. Thus Annette Weissenrieder has recently argued, based on a detailed study, that it is certain that the Gospel’s author “had some knowledge of ancient medicine.” Evidence favoring Luke the physician as author (on the basis of inference from Paul’s letters and early Christian tradition) invites us to consider this possibility.
The profession of physician would certainly not count against Luke’s writing as a historian. The ancient world had no “professional historians” but merely politicians, philosophers, orators, and others who wrote histories. Physicians were known among the intelligent professions (Diog. Laert. 6.2.24), and at least some were rhetorically skilled. Certainly, our author is a cultured historical and theological writer comfortable with the LXX and Hellenistic Jewish Christian tradition. Some philosophers concerned themselves with medicine; accounts claim that Pythagoreans had traditions of medical knowledge that they applied.
With his likely good Greek education, Luke as a physician might also be well equipped for other intellectually stimulating tasks. Although moralists were not usually physicians nor physicians moralists, both were respectable professions and one could not complain if compared to the other. Ancient writers regularly compared physical sickness to moral or intellectual sickness, and physical health to that of the soul; some argued for healing for the soul alongside, and as more essential than, healing for the body. Thus physicians became a metaphor for many kinds of help, including rulers who directed the state and (most commonly, at least in moralist literature) teachers and moralists who helped the human soul. Occasionally orators compared orators to physicians, and historians compared historians to physicians. Philosophers were like physicians, opined Dio Chrysostom; the wise advice of both went unheeded (Or. 27.7). Naturally early Christian workers could be compared with physicians as well. Colossians 4:14 is not, however, in a context that would suggest a figurative interpretation.
The idea that Paul sometimes experienced illness (Gal 4:13) might also suggest why a physician might be especially welcome to travel with Paul. Perhaps this, rather than status associations, would explain Paul’s explicit mention of Luke’s profession in Col 4:14. Their friendship might, then, be less than surprising; a prominent person’s physician was often among the person’s closest friends and confidants.
On the view that Luke may have been a physician, it may be useful to explore briefly what could be relevant to Luke in the information we have about physicians in antiquity. This material is in an excursus, however, because I am not confident that much of this information, interesting though I find it, sheds light directly on the text of Acts itself.
Ancient medical knowledge being what it was, we cannot be sure when Luke’s medical training would have helped Paul (and others) and when it could have hurt them. Seneca, a contemporary of Paul, opines that earlier physicians lacked the knowledge available to those of Seneca’s time, having been ignorant of techniques such as bloodletting and bandaging extremities to draw strength from the middle of the body. One parody praises physicians for helping the glutton vomit and draining most of his blood, so preventing his death from his gluttony. Medical malpractice was often dangerous, sometimes fatal.
The profession’s activities in antiquity would have entailed serious risks even if the state of medical knowledge had been more accurate. Although the papyri reveal that medical books were widespread, no structures existed to provide certification or even an examination for physicians. Many would have learned their trade through apprenticeship under physicians or in the urban medical centers. But competing schools of physicians existed—for example, those in the Hippocratic tradition at Cos and the Ctesian tradition at Cnidus. Some rejected “modern” medicine and preferred natural herbs (e.g., Pliny E. N.H. 25; 26.7.12–26.9.20).
Peasants experimented over the centuries, and treatments that coincided with recoveries became traditional, though only some of them were genuinely empirically effective. It was said that Marcus Cato, rejecting Greek physicians, used only home remedies, costing the lives of his wife and child. Sometimes a genuine medical treatment can appear in the context of magical incantations. Superstitious traditions sometimes affected even more empirical forms of medicine, such as Galen’s approach. Some cures, happily, were so difficult to procure that they were not falsifiable! For example, urine from a wild boar’s bladder, placed a bit at a time in one’s drinks, was a reported cure for dropsy. More accessibly, mixing a cow’s brain with one’s food might help one’s eyelashes to grow; binding a frog to the back of a baby’s head as an amulet could cure the baby’s illness.
Some of the rabbis appear to have been familiar with Hippocratic traditions, including those about climate and health; some scholars argue that they sometimes surpassed the best Greek medicine, avoiding excessive reliance on theory. Nevertheless, they still faced the limitations of medical knowledge available in their era. One rabbi who was a physician explained the proper approach to bloodletting. Some concluded, for example, that a suppressed discharge led to dropsy or that holding in urine produced jaundice. The rabbis reported various folk formulas meant to cure ailments; some of the medicine bordered on magic.
Some ancients, however, provided useful empirical observations about anatomy and physiology. Occasional recommendations of exercise were beneficial, as were, undoubtedly, some dietary recommendations. Some medicines worked (or at least coincided with recovery). Some physicians also rejected many of the same remedies that we would consider superstitious; Soranus, for example, claims that the ancients did not realize that their “blood-drawing suppositories” did more harm than good (Gynec. 3.1.12). Whereas some Hippocratic works claimed that one could predict the baby’s gender on the basis of physical phenomena in the mother, Soranus rejected this supposition. Not all physicians felt comfortable doing surgery, but Galen apparently expected most to be able to perform some of the essential, basic operations. Many doctors trained at Asklepieia, where they observed many sick persons firsthand. At the very least, the training would have taught physicians, probably including the Luke whom Paul mentions, to observe sicknesses carefully.
Some scholars have suggested that Luke’s interest in pneumatology might also be consonant with the pneumatic school of thought gaining increasing attention among physicians in this period, but one should not read much into this by itself, since more critical salvation-historical reasons for Luke’s emphasis on the Spirit existed. Although other factors are undoubtedly at work in Luke’s generally positive view of women (see below), a medical profession would be consistent with this; the profession of physician was one that was open to both genders (even if women physicians were often midwives), although women were a minority.
Physicians were frequently slaves. One scholar observes that “it is astonishing how often the name of a doctor shows him to have been a Greek freedman.” In medical matters, masters were known to submit to slave physicians. Whether slave or free, they would be educated and of higher status, in most important respects, than nominally free peasants. A physician lacking local competition could acquire considerable substance (Dio Chrys. Or. 77/78.8). The most reputable physicians could make large salaries; the wealthy might have their own doctors (slave or free) for their estates. Physicians were normally considered honorable, which made a dishonorable one all the more unexpected (Lucian Alex. 60), though some could ridicule physicians as unable to accomplish anything (Athen. Deipn. 15.666A). A physician could argue that everyone needed doctors, one of the most useful professions (Quint. Decl. 268, esp. 268.2).
Some scholars argue that the author of Acts reflects a view of artisans characteristic of artisans themselves (rather than of the upper class), though this suggestion appears difficult to quantify on the basis of our limited evidence in Acts. If “Luke” is a Greek version of the Latin name “Lucius,” it would allow the suggestion that Luke had been a Greek slave for a Roman and received the master’s name when freed. If this were the case, Luke would also be a Roman citizen, perhaps explaining his interest in the synagogue of freedpersons (Acts 6:9) and the privilege accorded him in accompanying a citizen prisoner to Rome (27:2). This is speculation (nothing, for example, indicates that Aristarchus, who also joined that voyage, was a citizen), but we do know that citizenship was a reward occasionally given to physicians (Pliny Ep. 10.5.1) or even to their relatives (10.11.1). As a Latin praenomen, “Lucius” need not imply citizenship, and the contraction Loukas will not appear among cognomina in official documents since it is a nickname.
Luke would have been welcome in Rome. Most physicians in Rome were foreigners, and they were among the most prized foreigners in the city. Thus a century earlier Julius Caesar had granted citizenship to doctors and teachers in Rome to increase the city’s attractiveness to these trades (Suet. Jul. 42.1). Despite positive incentives for competent physicians, however, Roman texts sometimes parody the uncertain attempts of physicians who could offer little certain help.
Many physicians were Greeks; some earlier traditional Romans refused to trust them for this reason, but this mistrust had probably dissipated by the first century. On the whole, Greek physicians from Asia Minor had the best reputation; although we cannot be sure where Luke originated, it might be of interest that he seems to have joined Paul in urban Greek Asia (Acts 16:10).
If Luke learned medical practice in pagan circles, he was likely closely exposed to Asclepius, patron deity of pagan physicians. Cult sanctuaries of Asclepius were not only for the poor; they charged fees, and inscriptions show the mixed background of supplicants. Because no surgical instruments have been recovered from Epidaurus (in contrast to Asclepius’s sanctuary at Cos), some scholars suggest that many people drew help from the power of suggestion together with baths and nourishment. (On the Asclepius cult, see, more extensively, above.)
Jewish people recognized that God was ultimately the healer, and sought God’s help in prayers. Opinions differed on the role that physicians played in healing; a popular ancient sage declared that God’s word, not medicaments, heals, and some Jewish traditions preferred trusting God instead of physicians. By the late second century, R. Judah mentions physicians among socially proscribed professions; although this may be partly a matter of class division, he assigns the best of them to Gehinnom. Were such views widespread, Luke might have done well to keep his professional background to himself when in Jerusalem.
At least some Palestinian Jews with a more cosmopolitan education, however, made use of physicians (Jos. Life 404), and a sage whose wisdom circulated widely in the first century praised physicians and their medicine as instruments of God (Sir 38:1–9). The school of the second-century R. Ishmael held that God could work through physicians; even Galilean physicians could earn a great deal. Some thought that one should not reside in a city lacking a physician.
Medical help was normally sought only as a secondary line of defense, and one who needed to go to a physician was to pray for God’s healing. Given the mixing of magic with scientific elements in some Jewish folk medicine, as noted, this may have been an especially good idea. Although Galilean physicians probably lacked formal Greek training, they adopted some Greek medical practices. As also noted above, Galilean physicians, like Greek ones, mixed genuine medical knowledge with what we would regard today as superstition.
Cf. Powell, Acts, 6: “virtually everyone.”
With, e.g., Beck, “Common Authorship.” Knox, Acts, 100–109, responds to A. C. Clark’s linguistic arguments for different authors and shows that these need not follow. Granted, one author could pick up precisely where another has left off, without providing notification to this effect (Xen. Hell. 1.1.1, starting where Thucydides stopped), but this was hardly the norm (and any stylistic differences between Luke and Acts are minuscule compared with those between Xenophon and Thucydides). Cf. differences between two works of Hecataeus (noted in Brown, Historians, 11).
Some object that those who agree with early Christian tradition on this or other points reflect a bias toward the tradition. The tradition need not always be correct, but Westerners in the age of television underestimate oral memory, and the frequent tendency of NT scholars to distance themselves from the tradition exerts no less a bias, especially tempting to those of us who value being perceived by our peers as critical. I do not accept all traditional authorship claims, but in the case of Luke believe that this ascription is where the evidence points, and am certainly in much good company here. Classicists are more ready to start with external evidence than NT scholars typically are (Kennedy, “Source Criticism,” 147).
For older modern studies of authorship, date, and provenance, see Mattill and Mattill, Bibliography, 147–52, §§1940–2028.
E.g., Arrian Alex. 6.12.3; Livy 40.55.1; Quint. Inst. 5.5.1; Jos. Life 356; Suet. Vesp. 6.4; Philost. Vit. Apoll. 7.35; Iambl. V.P. 1.2; cf. 2 Thess 2:2; 3:17.
E.g., most of the “Cynic Epistles”; cf. Maloney, “Authorship”; discussion in Metzger, “Forgeries.” Sometimes its function (as perhaps in some secondary works of Plato) was mere stylistic imitation for rhetorical practice. In the Byzantine period and later, see, e.g., Cook, Dogma, 51. Some cases may be part of the fiction, and hence relevant only to fiction.
E.g., 1 Enoch; 4 Ezra; 2 Baruch; 4Q537; cf. Jos. Ant. 8.51–55. The Temple Scroll (11QT XLVIII) may have sought to imply its Mosaic authorship (Brin, “Scroll”).
See Carson, “Pseudonymity,” 858–63; Ehrman, Forged (rejecting the frequent modern view that the practice was sometimes accepted); Witherington, Homilies, 29–37; e.g., Jos. Ag. Ap. 1.3.
E.g., Arrian Alex. 5.6.5; Jos. Ag. Ap. 1.221; Dion. Hal. Demosth. 23, 57; Sen. Y. Ep. Lucil. 88.40; Suet. Vergil 19; Gramm. 7; 14.
West, “Introduction,” 10.
Sometimes it was also hard to know if sayings were always correctly attributed, especially after the passage of time (e.g., Pliny Ep. 6.29.5). By definition, declamations were mock speeches (Bloomer, “Declamation,” 298), but even declamations could be misattributed.
Others proved less skeptical than Dionysius of Halicarnassus (Lysias 12), and in some cases probably rightly so. He always held a speech to the rhetor’s highest standards, but the rhetor had fallen short of that standard, especially in his early development. For coherence with the purported author’s time and life, see also Dion. Hal. Din. 11.
One also had to beware of inauthenticity claims motivated by malice (Dion. Hal. Isoc. 18). Usher, “Introduction to Dinarchus,” 246–49, notes that librarians at Alexandria and Pergamon had been most interested in distinguishing authentic from spurious works until Dionysius of Halicarnassus’s time in the first century B.C.E.
To make Luke’s “we” a pseudepigraphic literary device, when the author is not even named, would contend for implicit pseudepigraphy—for which I am aware of no parallels in antiquity (there cannot have been many).
See, e.g., Lieberman, Hellenism; Tcherikover, Civilization; Avi-Yonah, Hellenism; Hengel, Judaism and Hellenism (esp. 1:103ff., 252); idem, “Hellenismus”; Simon, “Synkretismus”; Jacobson, “Kings”; Engberg-Pedersen, “Introduction”; Sterling, Ancestral Philosophy, 11–32; Wallace and Williams, World, 41–70; for Roman law, see Cohen, Law. This is not to say that Palestinian Judaism, especially in all its strata, was completely hellenized (cf. cautions in Sandmel, “Theory”; Feldman, “Hellenism”; Vermes, Jesus and Judaism, 26; Wasserstein, “Non-hellenized Jews”; Chancey and Meyers, “Jewish”; Chancey, “Milieu”); some regions were more hellenized than others (Meyers, “Judaism and Christianity,” 77–78), and Palestine achieved maximum hellenization only in the third century C.E. (Meyers, “Challenge”).
But compare Luke 11:44 with Matt 23:27; Luke 11:42, 45–46 with Matt 23:13–29.
Nevertheless, the grammar of Col 4:11 does not compel all interpreters to view this Luke as a Gentile (see, e.g., Deissmann, Light, 438; Martin, Colossians, 135–36 and sources cited there). Against weighting Rom 16:21 the other way, that passage may refer to a different person. Admittedly, just about 0.3 percent of attested Greeks in antiquity held this name (Richard Fellows, personal correspondence, June 7, 2007); it is, however, one of the most common Latin names (Stambaugh, City, 94; Fellows suggests that 21 percent of Roman citizens held this name), and these names are disproportionately represented among Paul’s companions (especially in a colony such as Corinth, to which Rom 16:21 refers). Moreover, Paul spells the name differently in Rom 16:21 than in Phlm 24 and Col 4:14, which usually leads scholars to differentiate them (e.g., Fitzmyer, Romans, 748; Moo, Romans, 934; Schreiner, Romans, 807; Witherington, Romans, 399; Jewett, Romans, 977; though cf., e.g., Stuhlmacher, Romans, 255; Dunn, Romans, 909; entertaining the possibility, Origen Comm. Rom. on 16:21).
Sterling, Historiography, 327–29.
Sterling, “Legitimation,” 217, suggests a Diaspora Jew able to draw on traditional Diaspora Jewish models justifying life outside the sacred land. Many others concur (e.g., Shillington, Introduction, 10).
Timothy (Acts 20:4) would be viewed as Jewish (16:1–3), but the majority of the delegates are probably Gentiles (see Rom 15:27).
E.g., Pesch, Apostelgeschichte, 1:27 (probably); Hotze, “Zeugen”; Doohan, Acts, 14–15 (noting the “majority”); Pervo, Acts, 7. A later rabbi doubted that names such as “Luke” were used for Jews (b. Giṭ. 11b, cited by Le Cornu, Acts, 5), but some Jews bore it (“Lucius” in CIJ 1:111, §155). “Luke” was sometimes a hellenized variant (Judge, Rank, 36n19) or shortened form (Deissmann, Light, 435; Ramsay, Discovery, 370–84, esp. 384) of “Lucius,” which was a common Roman praenomen (Stambaugh, City, 94); the Lucius in Rom 16:21 is surely Jewish, so that many dispute the identification with Luke in Col 4 (e.g., Danker, New Age, xii).
For a Jewish author, see, e.g., Denova, Things Accomplished, 230–31; Malina and Pilch, Acts, 7; for a Jew or God-fearer, e.g., Jervell, Theology, 5; idem, Apostelgeschichte, 50–51; Sterling, Historiography, 328; for a God-fearer, e.g., Tuckett, Luke, 63; tentatively, Ray, Irony, 165–70.
Perhaps he had somehow become an adherent of the Jesus movement before joining Paul in Acts 16:10; perhaps he migrated from the Christian community in Antioch, though the tradition favoring this may not be accurate.
E.g., Denova, Things Accomplished, 230–31, thinks that Luke was probably “a Jew” seeking “to persuade other Jews.” Assuming that he must have been a God-fearer before his conversion follows the same logic; it seems likelier than not, but we should not underestimate one’s ability to learn Scripture after conversion. For example, I myself acquired all my knowledge of Scripture (though not all my knowledge of Greco-Roman literature) after conversion from my previous condition as a biblically illiterate atheist.
See Alexander, Context, 251–52.
Indeed, even in Antioch he could have been hellenophone.
E.g., Matt 5:48 vs. Luke 6:36; Robinson, Trust, 32.
I am treating the narrator as the work’s author, which some would regard as a conflation. But as argued in the comment at Acts 16:10 (against many scholars), the narrator of the “we” narratives is surely the book’s author, unless the author at this one point becomes inept. One can distinguish authors and narrators, but this was not the usual expectation in antiquity (see Keener, John, 111–12, for further discussion). Du Plooy, “Author,” treats characteristics of the implied author of Luke-Acts.
On my understanding of Timothy’s situation in Heb 13:23. Another reasonable solution, given the viciousness of Nero’s persecution, would be that the author was martyred under Nero, hence Acts’ lack of a suitable conclusion and of finishing rhetorical touches (Rackham, Acts, l–lv); but its conclusion is not as deficient as some claim, and arguments for a completed account after Jerusalem’s fall (unless a later writer redacted the Gospel) work against this solution.
A writer with good notes could publish memoirs years after the events described (e.g., Xenophon’s Anabasis); some (e.g., Sen. E. Controv. passim) published memoirs based on memory. See Rebenich, “Prose,” 313–14, on commentarii, private records, especially as used by Romans.
See the careful study in Hillard, Nobbs, and Winter, “Corpus” (esp. remarks on 211). One must read both Cicero’s self-portrayal and Sallust’s portrayal of him critically, considering the genre and purposes of each source and using the sources together (Hillard in 185–96). Ammianus’s portrait of Julian (composed about events that occurred during the former’s lifetime) complements Julian’s picture of himself (Nobbs in 206–10). The portrayals of Favorinus by Gellius and Philostratus diverge, with the former being less tendentious and more consistent with Favorinus’s orations (Winter in 196–205). On Ammianus’s probable pagan biases, see Kelly, “Ammianus Marcellinus,” esp. 358–60.
E.g., Abbott, Acts, 131–34; Ramsay, Luke the Physician, 26; Rackham, Acts, xvi; Lenski, Acts, 14–15; C. Williams, Acts, 22–30; Arrington, Acts, xxxii; Spencer, Acts, 12–13; Dunn, Acts, x; Fitzmyer, Acts, 50; Le Cornu, Acts, xxvii–xxviii; Chance, Acts, 4; Parsons, Luke, 8; Hemer, Acts in History, 312–34; Peterson, Acts, 1–4, 17 (“most scholars”); also, beyond Anglophone scholarship, cf. Fusco, “Sezioni-noi”; Botermann, “Heidenapostel”; Riesner, “Zuverlässigkeit,” 38–39; Thornton, Zeuge; Jervell, Apostelgeschichte, 66, 82.
E.g., Barrett, “Acts and Corpus”; see further discussion at Acts 16:10. Most accept at least an eyewitness as the source of the “we” material; Boismard and Lamouille, Actes, 1:21, curiously suggest Silas (which would explain the Macedonian connection, 1 Thess 1:1), though he is named both in the “we” narrative (Acts 16:19, 25, 29 though, admittedly, the explicit “we” ends at 16:17) and outside it (15:22, 27, 32, 40; 17:4, 10, 14–15; 18:5).
Nock, Essays, 827–28, skeptical of a fictitious “we.” Cf. discussion in Dupont, Sources, 167–68; Hanson, Acts, 23; as an autobiographic narration technique, see Baum, “Wir und Er-Stellungen.”
See also Cadbury, “We in Luke-Acts”; Fitzmyer, Acts, 103; Dunn, Acts, x; Spencer, Acts, 12–13. For the value placed on historians being present, see, e.g., Dion. Hal. Thuc. 6; cf. Polyb. 29.21.8; Corn. Nep. 25 (Atticus), 13.7; 17.1; Jos. Life 357; Ag. Ap. 1.45–49, 56; Aune, Environment, 81; Meister, “Historiography: Greece,” 421; Byrskog, History, 153–57; cf. Plümacher, Geschichte, 85–108.
Dupont, Sources, 167.
This is to agree with Neil, Acts, 23, against some frequent critical theories, that the author’s presence is the “obvious conclusion” and the alternative solutions “put a premium on critical ingenuity at the expense of common sense.” Cf. Dibelius, Studies in Acts, 136: probably the author introduced “we” to the existing narrative “in order to indicate when he was present” (cf. also p. 105).
Chance, Acts, 16, compares Luke’s only occasional and implicit eyewitness claim to Lucian’s demand that good historians avoid “exaggerated” eyewitness claims (Hist. 28–29). Indeed, among historians, some narrators such as Xenophon intrude less frequently than others, such as Herodotus and Thucydides (Dewald, “Construction,” 98); but Luke does so even less frequently.
With others, e.g., Dibelius, Studies in Acts, 136; Fitzmyer, Theologian, 11–16. Note also the fluctuation in other members of the “we” group (Kurz, Reading Luke-Acts, 114–20).
Riesner, Early Period, 413; Neil, Acts, 22–23.
Against the literary fiction interpretation, see, e.g., Porter, Paul in Acts, 24–27; Porter, “‘We’ Passages,” 560; Fitzmyer, Acts, 100–102. I borrow the phrase “walk-on role” from Plümacher, “Luke as Historian,” 398. One specific suggestion is a convention of “we” in sea voyage narratives (Robbins, “We-Passages and Voyages”; idem, “Land and Sea”), but “we” also appears on land in Acts (16:10, 12–16; 20:7–8; 21:7–17; 28:14–16) and scholars have subjected the alleged convention to heavy criticism (Barrett, “Paul Shipwrecked”; Fitzmyer, Theologian, 16–22; Hemer, “First Person Narrative”; esp. Praeder, “First Person Narration,” 210–18).
The style of these sections appears Lukan (with Fitzmyer, Acts, 99–100; Dibelius, Studies in Acts, 104, 136; Droge, “Anonymously,” 507; contrast, however, Porter, “‘We’ Passages”).
E.g., Barrett, Acts, 2:xxvii–xxx; Windisch, “Tradition”; Marguerat, Actes, 19; see discussion in , . Pervo, Acts, 5, argues from the date of 115 C.E., which he assigns to Acts (against most scholars).
E.g., Fitzmyer, Luke, 47–51; Martin, Foundations, 67–68; D. Williams, Acts, 4–5.
On this point, see esp. Jervell, Theology, 2–3 (citing Räisänen, Paul and Law).
Nock, Essays, 828, indeed suggests that Luke need not have been intimate with Paul, though traveling with him, and if he “failed to understand Paul’s theology, he was not alone in that.” He follows Dibelius in suggesting that Luke may have lacked “literary plans” when he was with Paul; although I would suggest otherwise (why else record his itinerary in the “we” narrative?), if the literary plans arose later, this would demand a greater dependence on memory. Regarding historical details, Paul speaks of companions (including Luke, Phlm 24), not chroniclers per se; thus some propose that Luke could have conceived of the project (apart from his travel notes) afterward (e.g., Chance, Acts, 3).
Against Vielhauer, Fitzmyer, Luke, 47–51, attributes Luke’s presentation of Paul to a lay imprecision of language rather than to ignorance. Luke also lacked Paul’s Jerusalem exegetical training.
See Hillard, Nobbs, and Winter, “Corpus.”
E.g., Emmet, “Tradition.”
Emphasized by Kennedy, “Source Criticism,” 147 (noted even more forcefully in Fuller, “Classics,” 176; acknowledged respectfully by Fuller, “Classics,” 176–78, 183). But Kennedy (“Source Criticism,” 147–51) may accept elements of Papias’s tradition too uncritically (cf. Meeks, “Hypomnēmata,” 170).
For the tradition, see, e.g., Pesch, Apostelgeschichte, 1:25; esp. Fitzmyer, Luke, 35–41. Fitzmyer, Theologian, 1–26, treats Luke as Paul’s occasional companion because of second-century traditions, Luke being in Macedonia, and the Letter to the Philippians. Some attribute the church’s tradition of a Pauline companion to the desire to have an eyewitness (e.g., Langner, Hechos, 34); but the claim to be present is, as we have noted, explicit in the narrative itself.
C. Williams, Acts, 1, also noting the eighty-four years in the sixth- or seventh-century Coptic inscription from Egypt; Witherington, Acts, 56; Eckey, Apostelgeschichte, 9; Arrington, Acts, xxxii.
The titles of the four Gospels each seem to preserve earlier tradition, being themselves early enough and accepted enough to have been unanimous and unchallenged throughout the ancient church (Hengel, Mark, 81–82; cf. Aune, Environment, 18). Since all four titles were probably bestowed simultaneously, given their identical form, they were probably composed to circulate with the collection of four Gospels, presumably before both Irenaeus and Tatian’s late second-century Diatessaron and definitely before the late second-century 𝔓66. Some scholars have doubted that the titles themselves predate 180 C.E. (Sanders, Figure, 64–66), but if this is the case, the unanimity across a wide geographic range seems difficult to explain. Others favor a period much earlier in the second century (Aune, Environment, 18, and Witherington, Wisdom, 11, suggest ca. 125 C.E.). But Acts was early detached from Luke. In Chrysostom’s day, Acts was accepted as Scripture, yet not widely preached on (Chrys. Hom. Acts 1.1).
A significance recognized by Luke and probably also in Gal 2:11. Even if the tradition were accurate, the Greek language in Eusebius may suggest only that Luke was of “an Antiochan family,” not that he hailed from there (Ramsay, Luke the Physician, 66–67, citing analogous language in, e.g., Arrian Ind. 18).
On rising asceticism, see, e.g., Keener, “Marriage, Divorce,” 713–14. Although it appears earlier (e.g., Valantasis, “Musonius”), it especially flourished in the second century and later (Deming, Celibacy; cf. Glenny, “Continence”). On the other hand, some of these traditions may be correct: Luke was, presumably, unmarried for the years he traveled with Paul, and he may give hints of valuing singleness (e.g., Luke 2:37; some interpretations of 20:35). Fitzmyer, Luke, 41–47, argues that Luke was a Semitic Gentile, ethnically Syrian, rather than Greek. I think that Luke’s worldview fits the Hellenism of Achaia, Macedonia, or Asia better, though the external evidence favors Syria.
“The O. Syr. (perhaps representing the original δ text)” (Bruce, Acts1, 374; cf. p. 5 and his comments on an Armenian commentary, following Conybeare’s comments in Ropes, Text, 442); R. Williams, Acts, 17, dates the variant to ca. 120 C.E., but this seems unduly optimistic.
Irenaeus also appeals to the “we” narrative for Luke as Paul’s companion in Her. 3.1.1; 3.14.1.
C. Williams, Acts, 2; some also cite as secondary evidence the Western text of Acts 11:28 (placing the author in Antioch) and the Armenian variant on 20:13. Later, see the consensus in Jerome Vir. ill. 7 (Pelikan, Acts, 30).
Witherington, Acts, 56.
Powell, Acts, 33. (Of course, as Powell notes, not all accept this premise.)
Or, according to some views of Colossians, the Paulinist; but Philemon, which also names Luke (though not his profession), is usually regarded as a genuine Pauline captivity letter.
C. Williams, Acts, 3.
Some argue that Titus remains anonymous because he was Luke’s “brother” in 2 Cor 8:18 (which Ramsay very tentatively suggests might mean “cousin”; cf. Luke the Physician, 18, including n. 1); but this is only one possible guess. “Brother” may be a fictive kinship label (cf. comment on Acts 9:17).
With C. Williams, Acts, 3–4. The proposal of Titius Justus (Acts 18:7) does not solve the lack of Titus’s mention in Acts 20, though the abbreviation of the narrative might. Nor can Titus be the same companion elsewhere named Luke if we accept the tradition in 2 Tim 4:10.
If Timothy composed the Pastorals from memory of Paul’s words and also wrote Acts, this would explain similarities between each type of work; historians might use the first-person but recount their participation in the narrative’s activity in the third person (see comment on Acts 16:10). But apart from Acts 16:1–3, Timothy does not “participate,” and if Timothy were involved in Luke’s “we,” we would expect a “we” at 17:14–15, 18:5, 19:22, and 20:4. Moreover, early Christian tradition would hardly replace well-known Timothy with obscure Luke.
The Lucius of Acts 13:1 (not part of a “we” narrative) is undoubtedly different, as is probably the Lucius of Rom 16:21 (cf. also Danker, New Age, xii), as noted above. “Lucius” was one of the most common Latin names (Stambaugh, City, 94).
E.g., Danker, New Age, xii; Marshall, Acts, 44–45; idem, Luke, 33–34; Longenecker, Acts, 34–36. Cadbury, “Tradition,” notes that the tradition is unanimous but questions whether it may depend on the Muratorian Canon, which may have invented an answer that it lacked.
Witherington, Acts, 56.
Of Aune’s reasons for anonymity claims in ancient documents (Dictionary of Rhetoric, 35), we may rule out fear of recrimination. Luke’s use of personal pronouns probably rules out the document as purely communal property; this leaves his second explanation (that the original recipients know the author’s identity) as most likely here. Anonymity might follow OT models for emphasizing the content over the author (Baum, “Anonymity”). But sometimes, as with Xenophon’s works, authorship was known or even “an open secret” though not specified in the work itself, but available to later generations only through ancient traditions (Brown, Historians, 91).
Cf. C. Williams, Acts, 3.
E.g., Knox, Acts, 1–15; Rackham, Acts, xv–xvii; Emmet, “Tradition”; Knowling, “Acts,” 7; Dibelius, Studies in Acts, 135–37; Delebecque, Actes; Blaiklock, Acts, 13–15; Stagg, Acts, 24; Bruce, Acts1, 1–8; Guthrie, Introduction, 113–25; Fitzmyer, Luke, 35–53; Theologian, 1–26; Acts, 50; Finegan, Apostles, 1–2; Arrington, Acts, xxxii; D. Williams, Acts, 2–5; Hertig and Gallagher, “Introduction,” 4–5; Peterson, Acts, 1–4; Wenham and Walton, Guide, 313–14; apparently also Collins, Mark, 5. Cf. Boismard and Lamouille, Actes, 1:42–43, for the second redactional stage; they also believe him an eyewitness of some of the events he narrates (ibid., 1:17).
Nock, Essays, 827, basing his evaluation especially on the “we” narrative and Luke 1:3.
Hull, Spirit in Acts, 13. If the view that this is “almost unchallenged” (Gangel, Acts, 1) is too optimistic (presumably counting primarily conservative scholarship), the contrary position can likewise probably claim a majority only by emphasizing disproportionately its own advocates.
Most thoroughly, for Luke as full author, Wilson, Pastoral Epistles, marshaling considerable evidence; for Luke as Paul’s amanuensis for the Pastorals, C. F. D. Moule, followed by others (see, e.g., Knight, Sayings, 149–50); quite plausibly, Lukan redaction (Feuillet, “Affinités”). Cf. also others (e.g., Witherington, Homilies, 57–61; idem, Acts, 807n104; noting commonalities, Aune, Dictionary of Rhetoric, 339). Boismard and Lamouille, Actes, 1:42–43, attribute the penultimate redactional stage of Acts to the author of the Pastorals, whom they hold to be Luke. Even if one accepted this view, it still would not need to make the Pastorals anything like a “third volume” for Luke-Acts (pace Quinn, “Volume,” 70–75; see Witherington, Acts, 807n104). , above, also discusses questions of the Pastorals’ authorship.
Cf., e.g., Suet. Rhet. 6; Keener, John, 128–31; Peterson, “Introduction,” 5. History is quite distinct from nonnarrative genres (Pliny Ep. 5.8.7–11), and even within a work, one should vary style at times (3.13.4; 6.33.7–8; 9.29.1–2).
So Macleod, “Introduction to Gout,” 319–20.
The Pastorals also employ some metaphoric medical imagery (see Malherbe, Philosophers, ch. 8, “Medical Imagery in the Pastoral Epistles,” 121–36), though medical metaphors were common (see, e.g., Keener, Matthew, 298, on Matt 9:12) and appear even in earlier Pauline texts (Lohse, Colossians, 121–22, although this is not technical language).
See the excursus at Acts 20:25. Cf. Schröter, “Paulusrezeption,” for a comparison of the reception of Paul in Acts and the Pastorals.
Fitzmyer, Acts, 50 (himself nevertheless maintaining Lukan authorship).
Dibelius, Studies in Acts, 136; his view “is completely opposed to the one which was known to the generation of our teachers (with the exception of Harnack) as the ‘critical’ view,” which complained that Acts “could not have been written by Luke, Paul’s companion.” Dibelius supports Luke’s authorship (Studies in Acts, 104, 135–37).
On potential distinctions between authors and narrators (esp. in modern texts), and my argument against this occurring in the Fourth Gospel, see Keener, John, 111–12, 917–18, 1154–55. The distinction appears in fiction, but not (or at best rarely) in historical narrative; pseudepigraphic devices like unreliable narrators were much less common in antiquity than today (Kurz, Reading Luke-Acts, 169–70).
Cf., e.g., Eckey, Apostelgeschichte, 14–15. Luke’s interest in sickness and healing extends to concepts, not just vocabulary or “word analogies” (see esp. Weissenrieder, Images, esp. concluding observations, 365–66). In the NT, only Luke uses παραχρῆμα (at once, immediately) with reference to health; this ancient pharmacological usage does not, by itself, identify him as a physician, of course (Fabricius, “Παραχρῆμα”).
Alexander, Preface, 176–77. For language resembling technical treatises, see further Alexander, “Preface”; for Luke’s scientific background, see also Padilla, “Παιδεία,” 435–36. Luke-Acts does not fit the genre of scientific treatise, but similarities in prologue language would be consistent with the tradition about Luke’s background (Witherington, Acts, 14–15). Nevertheless, technical treatises involved a range of other topics (including oratory, ethics, mathematics, and ethnography; see Sallmann, “Technical Literature”).
Hobart, Medical Language, 54–85 (conclusion, 85).
Ibid., 86ff.
See Schmidt, “Influences,” 59.
Pace Harnack, Acts, 133 (emphasizing healings in the “we” sections). The claim that Luke, as a physician, had special reason to omit Mark’s judgment in Mark 5:26 is also questionable (as also noted by Pilch, Healing, 95); Matthew likewise omits it, and medical writers themselves admitted that physicians sometimes made sicknesses worse (Hippocr. Aff. 13). Eve, Miracles, 357, suggests that these may be “folk-healers.”
See W. Clarke, “Septuagint,” 83; A. Clark, Acts, 405–6. Admittedly, our corpus for each of these noncanonical sources is substantially larger than for Luke.
Cadbury, Foakes-Jackson, and Lake, “Subsidiary Points,” 355. Most scholars today rightly follow the argument of Cadbury (against specifically medical language) rather than the contrary argument of Hobart, T. Zahn, or Harnack (e.g., Schille, Apostelgeschichte, 28).
Powell, Acts, 24, on Cadbury, Making, 219–20. For Luke’s language betraying some education and rhetorical knowledge, cf., e.g., Langner, Hechos, 34.
Witherington, Acts, 779n129, noting that Horsley, Documents, 2:20ff., §2, favors reopening the case for the author’s being a doctor; also Robertson, Luke, 90ff.; Bruce, Acts1, 29. In the late twentieth century, more scholars have shown appreciation for potential medical language (Roschke, “Healing,” 463–64). Parsons, Luke, 6, also rightly points to Cadbury’s caveat that his argument against using pervasive medical language to prove that the author was a physician was not meant to exclude the claim that the author was a physician.
Ramsay, Luke the Physician, 16.
Weissenrieder, Images, 335 (summarizing an important result of her study).
Rebenich, “Prose,” 289.
See further Watson, “Education,” 311, including comments about the use of Greek (though cf. Galen) and the usual study of texts alongside apprenticeship. Cf. Galen’s philosophic orientation in Gill, “Galen and Stoics.”
Cf. Hippocr. Ep. 23.1 and the comments of Aune, Dictionary of Rhetoric, 323 (s.v. “Novelistic Letters”); Galen Grief 24b–26. One well-known earlier Hellenistic physician, Ctesias, was also a historian, albeit not a very good one (Brown, Historians, 78–79).
Pesch, Apostelgeschichte, 1:27.
Iambl. V.P. 29.163–64; 34.244. In a later period, cf. Christian monks in Arab cultures (Irvin and Sunquist, Earliest Christianity, 201–2).
E.g., Plato Rep. 4.444E; Rhet. Alex. 1, 1422b.33–36; Cic. Tusc. 3.3.5; 3.10.22; 4.13.28; Epict. Diatr. 4.8.29; Pliny Ep. 4.22.7; Max. Tyre 7 passim, esp. 7.7; 25.5–6; 28 passim, esp. 28.4; Diog. Laert. 10.138; Porph. Marc. 31.480–83; Arius Did. Epit. 2.7.10e, pp. 62f.20–21, 27–28; 2.7.11k, pp. 82–83.9–11.
E.g., Plut. Virt. 3, Mor. 101B; Arius Did. Epit. 2.7.5b.4, pp. 16–17.32–35; pp. 18–19.1–14; cf. Rhet. Alex. pref. 1421a.16–17.
E.g., Philost. Ep. Apoll. 23; cf. 3 John 2.
E.g., Aeschines Ctes. 225; Dion. Hal. Ant. rom. 9.53.3; Plut. Cam. 9.2; Philost. Vit. soph. 1.15.500; Iambl. V.P. 30.172; cf. military strategists in Quint. Curt. 5.9.3.
See Xen. Mem. 4.2.5; Cic. Tusc. 4.27.58; Livy 42.40.3; Philo Good Person 12; Sen. Y. Ep. Lucil. 40.5; 72.6; 75.6; 85.36; Mus. Ruf. 1, p. 32.8–12; p. 34.3; 2, p. 36.27–32; 3, p. 42.19–21; 5, p. 50.3–8, with 5, pp. 48.1–50.3; 6, p. 52.10, 27; 8, p. 66.16–18; 16, p. 100.20–21, 27; p. 104.9–10; Epict. Diatr. 2.14.21; Dio Chrys. Or. 1.8; 8.5; 13.32; 32.17–18; 33.44; 34.26; 38.7; Pliny Ep. 5.16.10; Philod. Crit. frgs. 7; 39; 59.9; 63; 64; 69; 86 (= 90 N); column 17 a; also Tablet 12 M; Lucian Phil. Sale 8; Dem. 7; Nigr. 38; Lucian Hipp. 1; Anacharsis Ep. 9; Crates Ep. 17; Diogenes Ep. 49; Diog. Laert. 2.70; 6.1.4; 6.2.30; Diod. Sic. 12.13.4; Philost. Vit. Apoll. 7.26; Ep. Apoll. 1; probably also Mus. Ruf. frg. 36; Philod. Crit. Tablet 12, end; Max. Tyre 1.2–3; 4.2; 22.7; Mark 2:17. Reason itself is a doctor in Max. Tyre 10.3–4. For harsh Cynics claiming to be healers, see Malherbe, Philosophers, 135; for the metaphor for philosophers generally, see Nussbaum, Therapy. In Judaism, see, e.g., ʾAbot R. Nat. 23 A; y. Ketub. 7:7, §3.
Ael. Arist. Def. Or. 247–49, §76D; Tac. Dial. 23, 41.
Polyb. 3.7.5; 12.25d.3–5.
The image often applied to Diogenes the Cynic, who may have been among its early users (e.g., Dio Chrys. Or. 8.7–8; 9.2; Diog. Laert. 6.2.30).
Cf. discussion in Bazzana, “Missionaries as Physicians.”
Cf., e.g., Witherington, Acts, 57; more elaborately, Wagner, Acts, 391 (suggesting that Luke joined him in Galatia when he was ill; this does not fit Acts). Itinerant doctors were not uncommon (Horsley, Documents, 2:19–21, §2), and some teachers regarded them as helpful (e.g., Socratics Ep. 32). It is unlikely, however, that 2 Cor 12:7 refers to sickness (see Keener, Corinthians, 240); Gal 4:13, by contrast, likely does involve sickness, though not of the eyes (see idem, “Eyes”).
E.g., Polyb. 5.56.1–6; Val. Max. 1.7.1; Tac. Ann. 4.3; 15.64, 69.
Medicine could be combined with astrology (Ptolemy Tetrab. 1.3.15). But in this period, Greeks rarely mixed magic with medicine (Yamauchi, “Magic?,” 113–15; he argues this point even in the majority of cases in earlier Egypt [107–10]).
Sen. Y. Ep. Lucil. 95.22.
Alciph. Paras. 4 (Hetoemocossus to Zomecpneon), 3.7 (¶2). Cf. the use of purgatives to remove sickness (Cic. Fam. 16.10.1; cf. Plut. Cam. 9.2). On bloodletting and other “cures,” see Stambaugh, City, 136–37. For cases of fraud, see Paul of Aegina, Appendix to Book 5, On Feigned Diseases and their Detection, as cited in Toner, Culture, 40.
E.g., Xen. Anab. 6.4.11; Heraclitus Ep. 6; Paulus Sent. 5.23.19; cf. Hippocr. Aff. 13; making matters worse, Plut. L. Wealth 2, Mor. 523E. On other occasions, they simply could not help (e.g., Mark 5:26; Tob 2:10; Athen. Deipn. 15.666A; also CIL 2.4314 in Sherk, Empire, 217) and sometimes, because of greater exposure, themselves died in larger percentage (Thucyd. 2.47.4; for the image of the sick physician, see Luke 4:23; Philost. Vit. soph. 1.15.500; Gen. Rab. 23:4; Lev. Rab. 5:6; Babr. 120.6–7; cf. Pliny E. N.H. 7.37.124; Max. Tyre 8.3; Marc. Aur. 3.3.1; 4.48; Nolland, “Parallels to ‘Physician’”; Renehan, “Quotations,” 19). Despite reports of miracle cures at Asklepieia, Koester, Introduction, 1:174, reckons that a larger number of unreported cases went uncured.
Lewis, Life, 153. Indeed, perhaps most learned under fathers or on their own, though a minority traveled to study (Nutton, “Training,” 840).
E.g., Aune, Dictionary of Rhetoric, 323 (s.v. “Novelistic Letters”).
On the medical use of various plants, see Touwaide, “Medicinal plants.”
Lewis, Life, 152. Cf. herbal remedies in Pliny E. N.H. 25 (rejecting the “guesswork” of those who neglected herbs, 26.7.12–26.9.20), even for bad breath (25.110.175). One supposed Ethiopian plant cured dropsy (24.102.163); another induced hallucinations leading to suicide (24.102.163; 27.1.2; 27.3.11–12); some plants from the Asian interior could pacify beasts (24.102.162–63); some soils had healing properties (Philost. Hrk. 28.5). For treatments for snakebites, See comment on Acts 28:5. Novelists could write of herbs resuscitating the dead (Apul. Metam. 2.28).
Plut. M. Cato 23.3–24.1.
E.g., PDM 14.574–85 (using oil in the throat, alongside an incantation, to dislodge a bone). On magical cures, see also Llewelyn, Documents, 6:190–96, §28 (R. A. Kearsley). For ancient Egyptian medicine as a mixture of genuine observation and magic, see also Jordan, Egypt, 157.
Boudon, “Marges.”
E.g., “To produce conception, give, as hot as possible, inkfish roasted over a flame, very hot and half-cooked, to nibble. Grind Egyptian nitre, coriander, and cumin, make small balls and insert in the vagina” (Hippocr. Epid. 2.6.29).
Pliny E. N.H. 28.68.232. Among more magical remedies (30.31.105) was the application of dogs’ vomit to one’s abdomen.
Pliny E. N.H. 29.37.115. Happily, mad cow disease was first reported in 1986.
Pliny E. N.H. 32.48.138.
Newmyer, “Climate.”
Newmyer, “Medicine.”
An Amora in b. Šabb. 129b. For bloodletting, see also Fronto Ad verum imp. 2.6; in the rabbis, y. Ber. 2:7, §3.
B. Bek. 44b, bar.
M. Šabb. 6:9; b. Šabb. 108b; y. Šabb. 6:9, §2. Even scorpions were used for curing some ailments (b. Giṭ. 69a; this apparently worked [Amitai, “Ash”]).
E.g., b. Šabb. 66b–67a; Giṭ. 68b. For magical cures, see further, e.g., Levene, “Heal”; for some that would appear to us as sympathetic magic but not to ancients, see Bar-Ilan, “Magic and Religion.” Most Jewish pietists frowned on genuinely magical medicine (1 En. 7:1; 8:3). Nevertheless, Jewish women often wore an amulet to ward off miscarriages (t. Šabb. 4:2; Safrai, “Home,” 764–65); one could also tie a hen to the mother, though shutting windows to block out demons was forbidden (Safrai, “Home,” 766, citing t. Šabb. 6:4 and other sources). Burying the afterbirth helped warm the newborn (Safrai, “Home,” 766, citing t. Šabb. 15:3).
See discussion in Vallance, “Anatomy.” For earlier forms of medicine, see, e.g., Weeks, “Medicine”; in various regions, see Avalos, “Medicine.” One digested faster lying on one’s right side (Pliny E. N.H. 28.14.54).
See, e.g., Pliny E. N.H. 11.117.283–11.118.283; 28.14.53; Plut. Demosth. 6.2; Soranus Gynec. 1.5.25; 1.7.32; Libanius Invective 5.16; cf. sunshine in Pliny E. N.H. 28.14.53, 55. Exercise was widely valued (e.g., Xen. Cyr. 1.6.17; Lac. 1.4; Isoc. Demon. 14; Plut. Cic. 4.3; 8.3; Table 4.1.3, Mor. 662F; Pliny Ep. 3.1.7–8; Fronto Pr. Hist. 11; Philost. Vit. soph. 2.17.598; Hrk. 12.4; 33.14–18; Char. Chaer. 1.1.5), including by many philosophers (e.g., Xen. Mem. 1.2.4, 19; Symp. 2.17–19; Plato Lach. 182A; Mus. Ruf. 6, p. 54.10–11; 18B, p. 120.2–5; Diog. Laert. 6.2.70; 7.1.123; Iambl. V.P. 21.97; Crates Ep. 20), though it could also double as an analogy for practice in intellect (Sall. Ep. Caes. 10.2), virtue and philosophy (Cic. Or. Brut. 3.14; Sen. Y. Ep. Lucil. 80.3; Dial. 4.15.2; Mus. Ruf. 6 passim, e.g., p. 52.15–17; Diog. Laert. 7.1.8), or oratory (Dio Chrys. Or. 18.6; Eunapius Lives 495). Many valued study over physical exercise but approved both (e.g., Plut. Educ. 11, Mor. 8CD; cf. Isoc. Demon. 40).
E.g., eating in moderation and avoiding gluttony (Pliny E. N.H. 28.14.56); for food, rest, and exercise, see also Plut. Adv. K. Well, Mor. 122B–137E. For the value of milk (despite cultic connections), see Laskaris, “Mothers” (cf. other connotations in Keener, “Milk”). Even some of these recommendations were exaggerated; Pliny the Elder deals with foods used to cure ailments (N.H. 20), e.g., vision and stomachaches (20.39.98). Pythagoreans preferred dietary remedies to medicine (Iambl. V.P. 34.244).
Diod. Sic. 17.31.6.
E.g., Soranus Gynec. 3.4.29.
Temkin, 139. A pregnant woman who was bled might well miscarry (Soranus Gynec. 1.19.65, citing Hippocr. Aph. 5.31). But cf. fasting during a part of the pregnancy (Soranus Gynec. 1.15.48–50; though cf. 1.16.54). Cf. also fasting and purgatives to get rid of sickness (Cic. Fam. 16.10.1).
Hippocr. Aph. 5.42, 48; Epid. 2.6; On Barren Women; On Superfetation.
Soranus Gynec. 1.13.45. He also addressed (1.19.60) the allegedly Hippocratic technique of jumping so as to discharge the seed.
Singer and Nutton, “Surgery,” 1457.
Engels, Roman Corinth, 101.
See Marx, “Physician,” who also notes other correspondences with physicians. They were influenced by Stoicism (Vallance, “Pneumatists”) but remained a less prominent school (idem, “Medicine,” 949), and the use of pneuma in both arteries and nerves goes back several centuries (see Staden, “Erasistratus”; Vallance, “Pneuma”). Another school was the “Methodists” (Touwaide, “Methodists”).
Despite some overlap between Greek and Jewish usage, Luke’s pneumatology is Jewish, especially biblical, not Greek (see Keener, Spirit, 7–8; also the excursus on the background of Luke’s understanding of the Spirit in below).
For women’s equivalent roles, see Flemming, “Women and Medicine”; cf. Reden, “Work,” 743. Some professions, but a minority, were open to both genders (cf., e.g., Lindner, “Frau und Beruf”).
Sherk, Empire, 223–24 (citing ILS 7802–3); Friedländer, Life, 1:171; Gardner, Women, 240. In Jewish Palestine, see, e.g., Jos. Life 185 (Josephus might mention it with a negative slant, but given his misogyny elsewhere this would not surprise us).
See discussion in King, “Gender roles: Medicine,” 745; Flemming, “Women and Medicine.” One list of more than ninety physicians includes only one woman, though Pleket lists five more (Horsley, Documents, 2:16–17, §2). For a more complete listing, see Lefkowitz and Fant, Life, 27, 161–62 (including CIL 6.7581 = ILS 7804; CIL 6.6851; 6.9614, 9615, 9617, 9619); for midwives, 162–64. Twenty-five appear in Corpus inscriptionum latinarum (King, “Midwives”).
E.g., the inscriptions in Sherk, Empire, 150 (FIRA 1.73), 223–24 (ILS 5152; 7812); Friedländer, Life, 1:167–68; Stambaugh, City, 136; Meeks, Urban Christians, 57; Martin, Slavery, 7; cf. Diog. Laert. 6.2.30.
Charlesworth, Trade Routes, 95.
Diog. Laert. 6.2.30.
Thus, e.g., P.Col. 27.1.25–28 specifies among its six witnesses a physician (1.26) alongside a village scribe (1.28).
Friedländer, Life, 1:172 (cf. also Tac. Ann. 4.63); specialists, especially surgeons (Friedländer, Life, 1:171), also existed. It was known that emperors had personal physicians (e.g., Jos. Ant. 19.134); physicians were normally available only to people of means (Malina and Rohrbaugh, Gospels, 84); poor people, by contrast, might obtain medical care simply from their barber (Stambaugh and Balch, Environment, 71). For doctors’ ample income in t. B. Bat. 10:6, see Goodman, State, 60.
Witherington, Acts, 55.
Cf. Judge, Rank, 36n19: “Loukas (‘Luke’) may be a hellenised variation of Lucius.” On the identity of the names, cf. further Ramsay, Discovery, 370–84; Deissmann, Light, 435.
Jeffers, World, 194. Jews could bear this name (e.g., CIJ 1:111, §155).
Though, even as a citizen, he probably would not have been granted the favor apart from the relatively light custody, based on the presumption of Paul’s innocence by those who sent him.
Pliny’s examples include the intervention of the emperor. Other rewards could be given (Dio Chrys. Or. 77/78.11, referring to Darius’s time).
Judge, First Christians, 561, 563.
Friedländer, Life, 1:168.
See esp. Suet. Aug. 42.3, where doctors and teachers were the least dispensable foreigners there. Augustus honored his physicians (Aug. 59).
Cf. Vespasian’s favor toward them in Sherk, Empire, 127–28.
See Stambaugh, City, 136–37, and sources there.
Plut. M. Cato 23.3–4; 24.1. The Greek physician in Dio Chrys. Or. 77/78.10 proves more successful than his Egyptian colleagues (Dio is, not surprisingly, Greek). The argument in Quint. Decl. 350.12 might presume that some persons mistrusted some prescriptions. Trust invested in physicians could make them potentially more dangerous if they wished harm (e.g., Libanius Topics 3).
Charlesworth, Trade Routes, 95. We read of a highly praised one in Corinth, though the patient in question apparently died (Kent, Inscriptions, no. 300, line 7 [p. 117]).
E.g., ILS 2092. Asclepius figures prominently in Galen (Grant, Gods, 60). In larger towns, many physicians would be attached to the local cult of Asclepius (Friedländer, Life, 168–69; traditions associated Hippocrates with these Asclepiads [Kee, “Hippocratic Letters”]); public physicians were common (Horsley, Documents, 2:10–19, §2). For such physicians as “sons of Asclepius,” Ἀσκληίιάδαι, see, e.g., Men. Rhet. 2.1–2, 375.14; Libanius Common Topics 3.5; for the association of medicine with Asclepius, see, e.g., Ach. Tat. 4.17.1; for “the gods” as originators of medicine, see Quint. Decl. 268.21; Libanius Common Topics 3.4.
Klauck, Context, 167.
Ibid., 166.
E.g., Exod 15:26; Wis 16:12; b. Pesaḥ. 68a (Raba). Sickness was often associated with sin (Gen 20:7, 17; Job 42:8; Sir 38:9–10; Jas 5:14–16; Gen. Rab. 97, NV; Lev. Rab. 18:4; Pesiq. Rab. 22:5; cf. 4Q560 in Naveh, “Fragments”). In a possibly first-century document, Raphael is assigned over diseases, wounds, and (apparently) healing (1 En. 40:9); angel invocation could drive away the spirits causing infirmity in Test. Sol. 18.
A prayer in Incant. Text 42.12 of the Aramaic incantation bowls (Isbell, Bowls, 101); Sir 31:17; 38:9; Jas 5:14–15; m. Ber. 5:5; b. Ber. 60b; Gen. Rab. 53:14; cf. synagogue prayers, especially the eighth benediction when applied to physical infirmities (cf. b. Taʿan. 2:2, §7; Song Rab. 7:2, §3). This appears to be a transcultural phenomenon; see Mbiti, Religions, 55.
Wis 16:12.
2 Chr 16:12; Test. Job 38:7–8 (OTP)/38:11–13 (Kraft); cf. Job 13:4. Nevertheless, physicians in ancient Judah probably had more medical knowledge than we often assume (Wright, Archaeology, 171).
M. Qidd. 4:14; cf. ʾAbot R. Nat. 36 A.
This is especially the case if he was a Gentile (m. ʿAbod. Zar. 2:2).
Cf. also Sir 10:10. Sir 38:15 could be directed against physicians, but in context probably is directed only against sickness. For the positive view of physicians in Sirach, see McConvery, “Ancient Physicians”; idem, “Praise.” Kraemer, “Doctor,” treats Sirach as transitional between the usually negative biblical tradition and the more open talmudic approach.
B. Ber. 60a (though many voices in the text attribute healing only to God).
Goodman, State, 60, cites t. B. Bat. 10:6. Negatively, cf. perhaps Mark 5:26, diplomatically omitted by Matthew and Luke.
So y. Qidd. 4:12, §2. “Honor your physician before you are sick” was a proverb for praying before trouble comes (Exod. Rab. 21:7).
Goppelt, Theology, 1:142.
B. Ber. 60a, anonymous opinion.
See Urbach, Sages, 1:101; Safrai, “Home,” 764–66; b. Bek. 44b; Pesaḥ. 111ab; Giṭ. 68b–70b; Šabb. 66b–67a; 108b–111a; cf. perhaps Vermes, Jesus the Jew, 63; 1 En. 7:1; 8:3; Brayer, “Psychosomatics.” The rabbis were, apparently, familiar with and sometimes surpassed some Greek medicine (cf. Newmyer, “Medicine”; idem, “Climate”); many ancient health practices were superstitious, but others, such as food, rest, and exercise (Plut. Adv. K. Well, Mor. 122B–137E), were prudent. Mixing magical and medical counsel was standard in antiquity, e.g., in Egyptian medicine (Jordan, Egypt, 157).
Goodman, State, 60, includes anatomical details (such as “the number of limbs,” m. ʾOhal. 1:8; cf. also t. ʿEd. 2:10; ʾAbot R. Nat. 16 A; Pesiq. Rab Kah. Sup. 3:2; Gen. Rab. 69:1; Lev. Rab. 12:3; Tg. Ps.-J. on Gen 1:27).
Goodman, State, 60, lists b. Pesaḥ. 2; t. Šabb. 12(13):10–11 and cites skilled operations (m. Bek. 8:1; Ker. 3:8; t. B. Qam. 6:20; ʿEd. 1:8; ʾOhal. 2:6).
Goodman, State, 60, lists m. Yoma 8:6; t. Šabb. 4(5):9. See comments above on .