16. The Unity and Structure of Luke-Acts

16. The Unity and Structure of Luke-Acts

16

One of the most important insights offered by the past century of scholarship into the interpretation of Luke-Acts is that we should read the two volumes together. Although scholars have been interpreting Luke and Acts together more deliberately in recent decades, earlier interpreters also recognized this historical connection, despite their early separation in the canon.

Sir William Ramsay, frequently cited in connection with the archaeological evidence he collected in support of Luke’s usual historical accuracy, also recognized that Acts “was understood by the author as the Second Book of his history; and the reader will best understand it if he studies it in this way. It was probably at some time in the second century that the Second Book was separated from the First” so that the first could be included among the other approved Gospels. Richard Rackham, still more clearly, spoke of the “architecture” of Luke’s history, finding structural parallels between the two volumes. But it was Cadbury’s work that brought the unity of Luke-Acts most clearly to the attention of scholars.

Most current Luke-Acts scholars build on this insight, emphasizing the literary unity of the two volumes. By telling a single story that includes both the Gospel and Acts, Luke connects the Gentile mission with, and grounds it in, Israel’s heritage. Joseph Verheyden, noting that the vast majority of scholars now read Luke and Acts together, rightly concludes, “This means that the Gospel is the introduction to Acts and the basis upon which Acts is built, but also that the Gospel, in a sense, needs Acts and calls for the continuation in which its message is realized in the world, and consequently that Luke and Acts together constitute one work.”

The vast majority of scholars today recognize and work from the premise of the literary unity of Luke and Acts. In the past some denied even common authorship, but such arguments are rare today. As Arnold Ehrhardt already put it long ago, “It can also be stated that stylistically the Third Gospel and the book of Acts correspond so closely to each other, that we can without reserve ascribe the two books to the same writer.” (Xenophon in Hell. 1.1.1 shows that one historian could pick up where another left off; but this practice was not common, and the differences in style between Xenophon and Thucydides, whose work he continues, are blatant.)

Luke advertises the unity of his work openly. The Gospel and Acts share a common theme and vocabulary. More important, the story line provides a narrative unity. Perhaps most obvious, our finished version of Acts opens with the author pointing the dedicatee to his former book (Acts 1:1) and then picking up with the very story where his first volume left off. Both the recapitulation of the Gospel’s conclusion in Acts’ introduction and the second preface’s mention of the first volume have sufficient ancient analogies (see comments ad loc.) to leave no room for doubt that we should view Luke’s Gospel and Acts as two volumes of a single work.

This claim to unity does not imply that no differences exist between the two works, especially in sources, texture, and emphasis. For example, although Luke uses Hellenistic devices, such as symposia, in the Gospel, one does not write the biography of a Palestinian sage, especially one many of whose sayings remained in wide circulation, in exactly the way one would compose a typical Hellenistic history. Jesus used a Palestinian Jewish teaching style; Paul used Greco-Roman rhetoric, which is distantly related but often quite different.

Some scholars doubt the unity of the two volumes, though more often in terms of purpose than of authorship. Some question even the common style, but while some vocabulary and stylistic features are limited to one or the other volume, these are not the sorts of differences that a common author writing at somewhat different times or on somewhat different subjects could not betray. Some scholars suggest that despite their relationship (Acts 1:1), Luke and Acts tell distinct stories at the discourse level. But while one may grant that Luke’s source material prevents him from offering only detailed parallels, Luke selects and shapes much of this source material toward a common goal. Josephus, some object, clearly tells us to expect more volumes, yet Luke does not. But not all ancient writers announced their future volumes, and 1:1 is a perfectly clear allusion to the previous volume.

Other scholars argue, plausibly, that the early reception history of the Gospel and Acts argues against unity; this division seems especially clear from the interposition of John in the arrangement of the canon and Acts’ textual history, which suggests canonization later than the Gospel. (Some of the second-century evidence, however, could point toward their unity.) But while these factors do suggest that many second-century readers separated the two (a point not easily dismissed, given their mostly shared culture and language with Luke), they do not prove that Luke’s first audience would have shared that conviction.

Even some scholars who emphasize the works’ divergent reception in the second century acknowledge that Luke-Acts itself allows us to infer its authorial design as a unity. Although ideal readers are not the same as real readers, Luke presumably knew his target audience better than we do, a target audience earlier by roughly a century than most voices cited as reading the volumes separately. What factors may account for the shift in the reading approach to Luke?

By the mid-second century (and probably much earlier), “gospels” constituted a distinctive, identifiable genre; for apologetic and other reasons, the church in this century came to focus on its four Gospels as the heart of its post-Tanakh canon (cf. Irenaeus’s emphasis on the fourfold Gospel). Readers rightly distinguished John from the Synoptics; sharing the gospel genre does not mean identity in all characteristics. Yet that Gospel’s shared biographic genre appeared clear enough. Luke’s Gospel was likewise classified by its apparently biographical (and certainly “gospel”) genre, not by its explicit linkage with Acts (Acts 1:1). But Acts 1:1 suggests that Luke’s first audience, which did not find the first volume in a Gospel “canon,” received the works together, or received Acts as the sequel to the Gospel, from the same author; they would have begun with different presuppositions about the unity of the works.

I strongly agree with those who argue that Luke and Acts are more than merely authorially and theologically united; they represent a narrative unity, telling a consistent story. But even those who argue against Luke-Acts as a literary unity find pervasive theological themes in both volumes because of probable authorial unity. And even those who emphasize unity must recognize some differences, differences that Luke’s sources made inevitable.

A clearer objection to one kind of unity is that common authorship, audience, and even a common story would not necessarily demand common genre. The analysis of genre earlier in this introduction lends some support to this question; although I regard the work as a whole as history (following probable cues in the Gospel’s preface), the Gospel, taken by itself, would be read more naturally as biography. While this observation would be true for any biographic volume in a larger history (as noted in above), it seems especially true for a work cognizant of other works focused on Jesus (Luke 1:1).

But it is precisely for this reason that the Gospel must not be taken only by itself but as a biographic segment belonging to a longer history: otherwise, some primarily historical cues in the preface would point only to the second volume. Ancients sometimes mixed genres, and historical biography and history that are focused on significant individuals’ words and actions are closely enough related that distinctions based on our theoretical classifications (and those of ancient writers) may break down in practice at this point. It is, in fact, the blending of these genres that displays Luke’s distinctive genius: Luke grounds his story of Paul and the Gentile mission in the emerging gospel genre, an “audacious move of conjoining a βίος about Jesus and a volume whose dominant concern is the reputation of Paul.” Luke might intend this move partly to rehabilitate Paul for some Christians who viewed his custody and execution as having discredited him (see above).

Some scholars object that ancient readers would not have thought of approaching works with such “modern” premises as literary unity. Although ancient readers may not have emphasized literary unity or authorial style to the extent to which modern biblical scholars do, ancient rhetorical critics regularly commented on ancient writers’ style, even using this criterion to evaluate claims to authorship. While casual readers today may miss the connections, they would not be lost on ancient audiences who heard the oral recitation multiple times and lived in a culture where people listened for such connections. Audiences could hear important works multiple times.

Nor should we suppose that they applied this literary approach only for the sake of observation (and the Greek penchant for classification), to the exclusion of interpretation. Seneca understands fugit with time figuratively in one passage in Virgil (Georg. 3.284) precisely because this was Virgil’s consistent usage elsewhere (Sen. Y. Ep. Lucil. 108.24–25). As to unity, even some ancient genres that were less cohesive than a story demanded careful connections and construction, like a fine robe. Moreover, as should be evident below, ancient “parallel” narratives most certainly did emphasize the sort of narrative parallels that critics explore under the title of “unity.”

Charles Talbert has also defended his earlier thesis on the unity of Luke-Acts by pointing out that the same approach worked with other ancient documents. He in fact borrowed his method of “architecture analysis . . .  from classicist Cedric Whitman of Harvard, who used such detection of large patterns to argue, with success, for the unity of Homer’s work against its detractors.”

Luke and Acts are each roughly the length of the longest standard scroll, between thirty-two and forty feet. By writing two volumes of roughly equal length (the Gospel has roughly 5 percent more words than the standard version of Acts), Luke emphasizes his plan to match the two volumes. Ancient writers by no means demanded symmetry in the size of volumes; in length, one of Sallust’s monographs (which might have consumed two shorter scrolls) is almost double the other (which would have fit on a single scroll). Parallel volumes, however, were usually of roughly equal length—for example, the two volumes of Josephus’s apologetic Against Apion. Although Luke may well have completed the second volume a significant length of time after the first, he may intend even the comparable length of each volume to reinforce his intention that they be read as a pair. Practical considerations such as standard scroll lengths dictated division into books, but such division also served literary purposes.

In view of early Christian commands to imitate Christ (1 Cor 11:1; Eph 5:2, 25) and the culture’s wider expectations of divine imitation, it is not surprising that second-century Christians drew parallels between their heroes and Jesus; thus the captain of the police arresting Polycarp is called Herod (Mart. Pol. 6.2; 8.2; 17.2; 21.1); Polycarp has something of his own triumphal entry (8.1), and his martyrdom explicitly follows Christ’s pattern (19.1). It seems uncontroversial that some first-century writers may have also sought parallels between the lives of Jesus and some of his followers.

In the past, however, a few scholars were reticent to find parallels among characters in Luke-Acts—perhaps for apologetic reasons. The now largely discredited nineteenth-century Tübingen school argued that Acts paralleled Peter’s and Paul’s deeds, creating a reaction against the view in some circles. Yet one need not agree with the speculative aspects of that school’s explanations (grounded in Hegelian dialectic and other perspectives of the era) to appreciate its more objective observation about the parallels.

Thus even some writers justly suspicious about the old Tübingen approach have found the parallels difficult to evade. Harnack, for example, cautiously opines that the comparison between Peter and Paul in Acts “was certainly not created by St. Luke, but by History herself”—a conclusion that, despite being perhaps framed apologetically vis-à-vis the Tübingen school, has some early support in Paul’s own letters (Gal 2:7–9). Certainly, Luke would have agreed: he finds patterns in the way God used individuals earlier in salvation history (see esp. Acts 7:37), and locating similar characters in a new stage of salvation history is a central part of Luke’s agenda.

Today most scholars recognize the parallelism between Luke and Acts and among their various major characters. Most also recognize that Luke uses these parallels in part to underline the unity between Israel’s heritage and the Gentile mission. In addition to providing the narrative with cohesiveness, the selective repetition in these narratives reinforces the repeated themes and conveys to Peter, Paul, and others the authoritative sort of character attached to Jesus, the biblical prophets, and Moses. Given the role of examples in ancient history and biography, the parallels also serve the paraenetic function of showing how all followers of Christ should follow the model of his life, making these followers’ patterns also paradigmatic for others (cf. 1 Cor 11:1).

Granted, most details in Luke lack parallels in Acts, and vice-versa; although Luke unites them in a common plot, they are two different smaller stories, and their material was transmitted in Luke’s sources in two different ways. Luke’s Christology also demands some limitations. Thus, whereas Jesus sends disciples ahead of him (Luke 10:1), Paul does not do so in quite the same way (Acts 19:22 and 20:17 are somewhat analogous yet differ) because Paul is not the object of proclamation (cf. 2 Cor 4:5). But these contrasts do not negate the many clear parallels that exist.

Luke’s opening allusion to his previous work (Acts 1:1) would invite readers to keep that work in mind when reading Acts. Luke introduces us to his method of comparing figures from the start of his two-volume work, by obvious comparisons of Jesus and John the Baptist, the births of both of whom were announced by Gabriel.

Luke 1:12: the vision’s recipient troubled

Luke 1:29: the vision’s recipient troubled

1:13: do not be afraid

1:30: do not be afraid

1:13: reason for miracle

1:30: reason for miracle

1:13: child’s name (John)

1:31: child’s name (Jesus)

1:15: child will be great

1:32: child will be great

1:15: filled with the Holy Spirit from the womb

*

1:16–17: mission

1:32–33: mission

1:18: question

1:34: question

1:19–20: proof or explanation

1:35–37: proof or explanation

1:20: Zechariah muted for unbelief

1:38, 45: Mary praised for faith

1:80: child grows

2:40, 52: child grows†

^*For the contrasting role of the Spirit in John’s and Jesus’s prenatal experience, see Tatum, “Epoch,” 188–89.

^†I have omitted less obvious parallels such as circumcision (Luke 1:59; implicit in 2:21) or “favor” for both Elizabeth (1:25) and Mary (1:30). Flender, Theologian, 29, helpfully views the contrast between Mary and Zechariah in light of a series of contrasts, often between religious insiders and others, in the Gospel (Luke 7:36–50; 10:29–37; 14:15–24; 15:24–32; 18:9–14; 20:45–21:4).

That the narrative portion of this two-volume work opens with such clear parallelism would alert hearers to be sensitive to such parallels later in the work as well. Luke’s literary model here is not merely Hellenistic rhetorical and biographic synkrisis, but also biblical narrative (from the literary canon he particularly shares with his ideal audience). Although the story of Zechariah and Elizabeth echoes that of Abraham and Sarah, the contrast between Zechariah and Mary might evoke to some degree that between Eli and Hannah in 1 Sam 1. This suspicion becomes more likely in view of Mary’s echoes of Hannah in this context:

1 Samuel 2:1–10

Luke 1:46–55

God exalts lowly (2:1, 4–5, 8)

God exalts lowly (1:48, 52–53)

I rejoice in your salvation (2:1)

I have rejoiced in God my savior (1:47)

No one holy like the Lord (2:2)

Holy is his name (1:49)

Proud brought down (2:3–5)

Proud brought down (1:51–53)

Humble exalted, proud brought down (2:4–5)

Humble exalted, proud brought down (1:52–53)

Celebration of God’s sovereignty in such reversals (2:3, 6–9)

Celebration of God’s sovereignty in such reversals (1:51–53)

Barren given children (2:5)

(Context: Elizabeth’s pregnancy)

Poor vs. rich (2:7–8)

Rich empty-handed (1:53)

Hungry vs. full (2:5)

Filled the hungry (1:53)

dunastōn

dunastas

Raises up from death (2:6)

(Implicit Lukan subtext?)

Shift from personal deliverance to God’s anointed king (2:10)

Shift from personal deliverance to Israel’s deliverance

Although other echoes may appear also (Ps 111:9 in Luke 1:49; Ps 89:10 in Luke 1:51; perhaps God doing “great things” in Deut 10:21; 11:7; cf. 34:12), even here one allusion echoes the context of Hannah’s song (1 Sam 1:11 in Luke 1:48). Luke’s use of biblical models for synkrisis at the beginning of his Gospel suggests that these are important in his thinking (one may compare the parallels among biblical characters in Stephen’s speech in Acts 7; on Luke’s speeches, see discussion in our introduction, ).

Luke

Acts

Luke 3:21: Jesus praying before his baptism and the descent of the Spirit

Acts 1:14: the disciples praying before being baptized in the Spirit

3:21–22: Spirit on Jesus

2:1–4: Spirit on church

4:14–21: inaugural mission speech

2:14–39/13:16–41: inaugural mission speeches

4:40; 5:17; 8:46: healing many, power going forth unexpectedly

5:14–16/19:11–12; 28:9: healing many, power going forth unexpectedly

5:17–26: healing a paralytic

3:1–10/14:8–11: healing paralytics

5:29–6:11: opposition from Jewish leaders

4:1–8:3; 12:2–3/23:2, 15: opposition from Jewish leaders

8:40–56: raising the dead

9:36–41/20:9–12: raising the dead

7:1–10: God-fearing centurion

10:1–48: God-fearing centurion (cf. 27:1–3)

7:11–17: widow’s son raised

9:36–43: widow raised (cf. the youth in 20:9–12)

5:30; 7:36–50; 15:2: pious criticism of fellowship with sinners

11:3: pious criticism of fellowship with sinners (cf. Paul’s Gentile mission inviting hostility)

9:51: Jesus’s journey to Jerusalem

19:21: Paul’s journey to Rome

13:33: warned of dangers in Jerusalem

20:23; 21:12: warned of dangers in Jerusalem

19:11, 28: determined to go 20:24; 21:15, 17: determined to go

*

19:45–48: enters temple

21:26: enters temple

20:27–39: hostile Sadducees reject resurrection

4:1–2/23:6–9: hostile Sadducees reject resurrection

†

20:18–35: Paul’s farewell speech

22:66–71: arraigned before the Sanhedrin

6:8–15/22:30–23:10: arraigned before the Sanhedrin

22:69: provocative announcement of Son of Man at God’s right hand

7:56: provocative announcement of Son of Man at God’s right hand

23:34, 46: committing his spirit and praying for forgiveness of the persecutors

7:59–60: committing his spirit and praying for forgiveness of the persecutors

23:47: centurion recognizes God’s attestation of Jesus’s innocence

27:31–32, 43: centurion recognizes God’s attestation of Paul’s innocence

Jesus’s four hearings (before a governor and, only in Luke, Herod)

Paul’s four hearings (before Roman governors and before Herod Agrippa II)

Luke emphasizes the fulfillment of Scripture, pointing to a mission to the nations (24:44–47)

Luke emphasizes the fulfillment of Scripture, continuing a mission to the nations (28:25–28)

^*Some points, including this one, represent my own adaptations.

^†Because the passage includes disciples‘ discussion, scholars may define its boundaries differently.

Luke 6:40 permits us to expect such parallels between Jesus and the church. Likewise, in Acts 20:33–35, Jesus’s teaching (20:35) functions as a basis for Paul’s behavior (20:33–34), suggesting that the church in Acts, when at its best, will exemplify Jesus’s teachings reported in the Gospel of Luke. Jesus models the baptism in the Holy Spirit that he will afterward bestow (Luke 3:16, 21–22). Jesus’s teaching on, and promise of, baptism in the Holy Spirit are also fulfilled in the church, including in Peter (Acts 2:4; 4:8, 31), Stephen (6:5; 7:55), and Paul (9:17; 13:9). It is likewise transmitted through Peter (8:15–17; cf. 10:44), Paul (19:6), and others (9:17), suggesting its continuity (explicit in 2:38–39).

It is therefore not unexpected that many strong parallels among the ministries of Jesus, Peter, and Paul appear. Scholars today point to recognition of the parallels between Peter and Paul at least as early as 1841. In the early twentieth century, F. J. Foakes-Jackson and Kirsopp Lake noted that Luke “obviously schematizes the stories of Jesus, of Peter, and of Paul as to bring out the parallelism between them” for the purpose of rooting the church in the larger history of Israel. The helpful attention that narrative criticism has focused on the text has made such parallels still more obvious today.

Scholars include the parallels listed in the table on , among others.

As will be evident in the commentary, these examples are only some of the more obvious of many likely deliberate parallels among the major characters in Luke-Acts.

On the whole, the parallels drawn by Charles Talbert and Robert Tannehill are well conceived and rarely objectionable. The larger structural parallels that Goulder earlier found in broad units of text are sometimes more subjective, but their very elaborate and extensive character invites special examination here.

Goulder finds four sections of Acts, which each provide parallels with events in Luke’s Gospel. As an example of his occasionally subjective treatment, he sometimes isolates “parallels” that could be found more closely elsewhere and are chosen simply because they appear in the right place in his structure. Some parallels are weak (including those he finds for the resurrection). Nevertheless, his careful attention to many parallel elements of Luke-Acts is, more often than not, illuminating:

Choosing a new minister (Acts 1:15; 6:1; 10:9; 13:1)

Electing and coming of Jesus (Luke 1–2)

Descent of Spirit (2:1; 8:14; 10:44; 19:1)

Baptism of Jesus and descent of Spirit (Luke 3)

Kerygma (2:14 [3:12]; 8:26; 10:34; 13:16 [17:22; 28:17])

Nazareth sermon (4:18–27)

Mighty works (3:1; 6:1; 11:27; 14:8)

Jesus’s mighty works (4:31)

Persecution (4:1; 6:8; 12:1; 14:19)

Persecution (5:17)

Gathering of church (4:31; [8:14]; 11:1; 15:1)

Prayer (5:16)

Confounding of false disciple (1:16; 5:1; 8:18; 12:20; 13:8 [23:1])

Judas (Luke 22)

Passion and death (5:17; 6:11; 12:3; 21:27)

Jesus’s passion and death (Luke 22–23)

Resurrection (9:1, 32, 36)

Jesus’s resurrection (Luke 24)

Presented differently, his thesis appears as seen in the first table on .

Again, some of the links are far-fetched, and even despite his adjustments and selection, Goulder’s sequence does not always work. But his analysis does illustrate that many themes recur in the lives of Jesus and his leading followers.

Gospel

Apostles

“Deacons”

Peter

Paul

Choosing (Luke 1–2)

Acts 1:1, 12

Acts 6:1

Acts 10:9

Acts 13:1

Descent of the Spirit (3:22)

2:1

8:14

10:44

19:1

Kerygma, baptism (4:16)

2:14; 3:11 (Jerusalem)

(8:26)

10:34

13:16

Mighty works (4:33 and passim)

3:1

6:1 [6:8; 8:6–7]

(11:29)

14:8

Persecution (5:21 and passim)

4:1

6:8

12:1

14:19

Gathering of church (6:12)

4:23

(8:14)

11:1

15:1

Confounding of false disciple (22:3;Acts 1:16)

5:1

8:18

12:20

13:8; 23:1

Passion (22–23)

5:17

7:54

12:3

27:1

Resurrection (Luke 24)

5:18

9:1, 32, 36

12:7

Acts 28

Though sometimes pressing minor comparisons too far (while leaving large areas of text unparalleled), Goulder does offer intriguing parallels in different cycles in the book’s sections, parallels that he believes advances cyclically. We may survey as an example his comparisons in Acts 1:1–6:7 (some of which appear strong but others quite tenuous):

Acts 1:1: Christ’s ascension after forty days

3:1: a man crippled for forty years

—

1:12: gathering of the church

—

4:23: gathering of church

2:1: all filled with the Spirit

—

4:31: all filled with the Spirit

2:14: apostle’s sermon

3:11: Solomon’s Portico and Peter’s sermon

5:12: Solomon’s Portico

—

4:1: arrest of Peter and John

5:17: arrest of the Twelve

2:27: 3,000 converted

4:4: many converted, 5,000 strong

—

—

4:5: Trial: Peter’s defense; 4:23: apostles released

5:19: release by angel; 5:39: Gamaliel’s speech

2:42–47: summary, including signs; communal sharing; many added to the church

4:34: communal sharing; 5:1: miraculous death; 5:12: summary with many added

5:42: summary; 6:1: charity; 6:7: summary with the disciples multiplied

Danger escalates as the narrative progresses, heightening suspense. Some elements, such as the gathering of the church, may be coincidence; the number forty probably is. Other elements, such as the parallel trial accounts (again with escalating stakes), are often noted and difficult to doubt, although historical information (selected and arranged to highlight the parallel) is probably also a factor here. Many scholars find Goulder’s observations overly subtle, noting that the recurrence of Luke’s themes need not indicate such intricate structures. Still, though Goulder’s painstaking analysis is not always accurate, it does repay attention for the way it highlights recurrent themes and the key sorts of events (emphasized through their repetition) reported in Acts.

The connections appear somewhat stronger when one compares Jesus’s ministry in Luke as a whole with the church and its agents in Acts as a whole. As Goulder acknowledges, whether Peter, Paul, or the church parallels Christ, the important point is that Christ’s life is shown in his body (cf. Jesus identifying with his church in Acts 9:4). The early parallel between Jesus receiving the Spirit at his baptism (Luke 3:21–22) and the church’s baptism in the Spirit (Acts 1:4–5; 2:4), often noted, is very strong. Goulder lists some of the overarching parallels that he finds as follows:

Gospel of Luke

Acts

Incarnation (Luke 1–2)

Ascension (1:9–11)

Jesus baptized in water (3:21)

Church baptized in Spirit (Acts 2)

πατρίς

Church’s message rejected in Jerusalem; attempt to do away with apostles (Acts 3–5)

Galilean ministry (4:31–39)

(parallels distributed)

Feeding of 5,000 (9:10)

Feeding of widows (6:1)

Three see Jesus in glory (9:28)

Stephen sees Jesus in glory (7:55)

Samaritan village (9:51)

Philip in Samaria (8:5–25)

Mission of seventy (Luke 10)

Mission of seven (Acts 6–8)

First half of journey; condemns Israel (Luke 10–13)

Church leaves Israel behind to turn to Gentiles (Acts 8–13)

Herod intends to kill Jesus (13:31)

Herod attempts to kill Peter (Acts 12)

Second half of journey: gospel to outcasts (Luke 14–18)

Gospel to Gentiles (Acts 13–20)

Jesus’s long journey to Jerusalem (Luke 9–19)

Paul’s journey to Jerusalem (Acts 19–21)

Jesus’s passion and four trials (Luke 20–23)

Paul’s passion and four trials (Acts 21–26)

Jesus’s death (Luke 23)

Paul’s “death” (Acts 27)

Jesus’s resurrection and ascension (Luke 24)

Paul’s “resurrection” and arrival at Rome (Acts 28)

Not all of these parallels are persuasive, but some others are valuable, especially if the link to the sequence is broken. Although Paul certainly does not die and rise at the end of Acts, its conclusion is “comic” (in the sense of an upturn, as opposed to tragic); Paul’s being sent on to Rome is the best “passion” narrative Luke can offer while reporting a happy ending without fabricating Paul’s (historically untrue and implausible) resurrection. On the level of detail, many more parallels can be found if Goulder’s interest in parallel sequence is abandoned.

Some scholars have long contended that, against the misnomer “Acts of the Apostles,” Luke’s second volume instead contains something like “Acts of Peter” and “Acts of Paul” (albeit not to be confused with the later “apocryphal” works by these titles). Scholars have offered a number of parallels between Peter and Paul in Acts, as seen in the first table on .

Paul repeats most miracles cited for Peter earlier in Acts. Although sequence is not a necessary component for the parallels, the sequence is frequently close enough to reinforce the picture. (Only by citing parallels very selectively, however, can one conform the sequences so fully as to argue that Luke was unduly concerned with parallel sequence to the extent of either inventing events or changing his narrative.)

Peter

Paul

Sermon (Acts 2:22–39)

Sermon (Acts 13:26–41)

Healing of paralytic (3:1–10)

Healing of paralytic (14:8–11)

Sermon following healing, denying apostles’ power (3:12–26, esp. 3:12)

Sermon following healing, denying apostles’ power (14:15–17, esp. 14:15)

Filled with the Spirit in ministry (4:8)

Filled with the Spirit in ministry (13:9)

Healings through apostles without direct consent (5:15)

Healings through apostles without direct consent (19:12)

Defended by a Pharisee in the Sanhedrin (5:34–39)

Defended by Pharisees in the Sanhedrin (23:9)

Appoints leaders through laying on hands (6:1–6)

Appoints leaders through laying on hands (14:23)

People receive Spirit through his hands (8:17)

People receive Spirit through his hands (19:6)

Confronting and superseding false prophets (8:18–24)

Confronting and superseding false prophets (13:6–11; 19:13–20)

Raising the dead (9:36–41)

Raising the dead (20:9–12)

Befriends centurion (10:24–48)

Befriends centurion (27:1–44)

Rejects Gentile worship (10:26)

Rejects Gentile worship (14:15; cf. 28:6)

Defends Gentile mission in Jerusalem (11:4–17; 15:7–11)

Defends Gentile mission in Jerusalem (15:4, 12; cf. 21:21–26; 22:21)

Imprisoned at a Jewish festival (12:4–7)

Imprisoned at a Jewish festival (22:24; cf. 20:16)

Miraculous release from prison (5:19; 12:6–11)

Miraculous release from prison (16:25–34)

Other literary patterns also repeat in Acts—for example, cycles of ministry outside the community, followed by both positive and negative reactions, and the peaceful life of the church afterward:

Miracle and preaching

Acts 2:1–39

3:1–26

5:12, 15

6:8

Favorable response

2:40–41

(4:4)

5:13–14, 16

—

Opposition

—

4:1–23

5:17–42

6:9–8:3

Community life

2:42–47

4:32–5:11

6:1–6

—(perhaps 9:31?)

In view of the rhetorical tendency to compare major figures, it is not surprising that comparisons between Peter and Paul persisted (see 1 Clem. 5, especially 5.4–7). These two figures may have already emerged as the leading ones for the wider church (cf. 1 Cor 1:12), or the pairing might reflect early influence from Acts.

Did Luke “adjust” his historical traditions and genre to fit parallels, or did he simply frequently include and highlight whatever traditions proved amenable to making parallels? Biblical scholars traditionally regarded similar reports repeating key features as doublets of the same event. In view of contemporary emphasis on Luke’s deliberate patterning, the idea that such “doublets” reflect different sources’ approaches to identical events or traditions becomes less compelling. But does this mean that Luke lacked sources regarding analogous events?

This question is examined below, but no conclusion to this question of how Luke constructs parallels or narrative unity would necessarily call into question the genre of Acts as ancient historiography. Certainly, when Luke recapitulates the close of his first volume in the introduction to his second or provides obvious parallels between the works, he expects his audience to notice the connection, without supposing that they will, on this basis, reassign the genre of his work. Indeed, some scholars argue that Thucydides, Polybius, and Josephus all employ patterns of historical recurrence as an authenticating technique; Israelite historiography does likewise (e.g., with Moses and Joshua, or Elijah and Elisha).

The more objective literary approach to parallels can suggest its own historical questions. Goulder suggests that (emphasis his) “where there are no types, Acts is intended to be factual”; conversely, “the thicker the types, the less likely is the passage to be factual.” But if Luke is not interested in writing history throughout (see – above), why does he include so much traditional material and not simply engage in parallels throughout? Although we can and do identify numerous parallels, a simple reading through Luke’s Gospel will reveal that most details do not have clear parallels in Acts. For example, Paul tells no story parables; likewise, Acts has no grainfields on the Sabbath, although it does have religious (apparently even apostolic) critics of God’s activity (cf. Acts 11:1–3). The attempt to find parallels for many of these details would require literary gymnastics, and an attempt to find parallels for other details could not be made to appear compelling even with such gymnastics. Rather, given the existing genre of parallel lives, one can consciously look for and select parallel materials from a much larger body of available material.

As one who has also written and spoken in nonacademic genres, I am skeptical of the view that one must choose between historical content and literary arrangement; because my purposes incline my interest toward certain kinds of stories, telling my own or my wife’s “history” would involve selection from a much larger body of information and considerable repetition of particular kinds of elements, a repetition that could become more highly developed as I retold the stories, noticed the most rhetorically suitable elements, and both highlighted and structured them for their greatest evocative impact in my setting. Yet I would certainly bristle at any implication that this process of selection and emphasis required me to fabricate my information!

In his work on Matthew, Goulder rightly observes that in midrashic exposition later material in a source can be glossed onto an earlier, similar account, creating two parallel accounts. But whereas Matthew may employ some forms of midrashic techniques, Luke the Hellenistic historian betrays little interest in them. He does use “types” in his exposition of the OT, but his use of the OT, in fact, illustrates the point that a writer may highlight patterns without fabricating information. Luke never invents new persons nor characteristics nor acts of persons in his rehearsals of OT narratives by attributing the characteristics or acts of others to them. Yet this is precisely what Goulder’s model would demand at this point; and if not with Luke’s typology of the OT, why for more recent sacred history?

Most important, a comparison with parallel lives in other ancient literature (see below) calls Goulder’s skepticism into question: the writer normally demonstrated literary genius by finding parallels among the available traditions, not by simply inventing them. This is, at least, what our extant writers claim, and given the fact that the sources to which they appeal could well have been available to their audiences, I believe that we are wiser to normally take them at their word (i.e., except in cases where concrete evidence provides compelling reason to do otherwise).

Luke does extend his use of narrative parallels further in Acts than in the Gospel. He recounts Cornelius’s and Paul’s conversions three times each in Acts (Acts 9–11; 15:7–9; 22:4–11; 26:9–18) and repeats from the Gospel both the list of disciples (Luke 6:14–16; Acts 1:13, minus Judas Iscariot, of course) and Jesus’s commission and exaltation (Luke 24:47–51; Acts 1:4–11). Whereas the Gospel (where Luke may have had to pare down material that he had) usually avoids parallel scenes, Acts develops repetition for emphasis in the narratives, just as it does in the speeches.

Although scholars offer a wide range of views on Luke’s historical reliability, most do not force one to opt for either literary parallels or historical information at the expense of the other, as if the options were mutually exclusive. Some who view Luke as historian note that he does not invent figures; he does harmonize, mediate, “‘tone down’ conflicts and pass over much that was unattractive,” yet the conflicts remain evident enough. In the same way, Luke can highlight “parallel” features, as Plutarch and others did, by drawing on, rather than replacing, historical tradition.

Luke’s emphasis on the unity of major figures does play down differences, but differences in the early church over circumcision and other controversies do remain. The subject of such controversies was historically not, however, the radical differences about Jesus that some modern scholars discern by reading in unattested controversies and unattested views held by imaginary communities. (Such are the fictions that some radical scholars create by explaining away all extant textual evidence, then creating new “communities” on the basis of silence and speculation.) Paul and his predecessors were united on the basic gospel message (1 Cor 15:1–12); we lack any evidence, except for secondary scholarship reflecting speculation, for “Jesus communities” that did not affirm Jesus as Messiah (and hence King and Lord) or that denied his resurrection. (That such views existed in the spectrum of Jewish opinion is inherently likely, but they are never attested in any extant first-century sources as any part of the earliest Jesus movement, not even in these sources’ polemic against Christian detractors.)

Moreover, historians might adjust details, but only at significant risk to their reputations would they fabricate events; whatever one might propose about Luke’s conforming details of figures to each other, he does not invent parallel events, though he is happy to recognize parallels where they appear available. Thus, for example, Paul is not executed at the end of Acts to parallel Jesus (even though in this instance Luke would not have been inventing, since he probably knows of his execution); the closest parallel for Jesus’s passion that scholars often find at the end of Acts is Paul’s suffering and deliverance at sea. Even there, if Luke were simply creating parallels to fit the Jesus tradition, he missed the opportunity to have Paul still a storm (Luke 8:24). Further, some parallels between Luke and Acts could be explained in terms of persons in Acts deliberately imitating their Lord (e.g., Acts 7:59–60), given the importance of imitation noted above. Some other parallels, such as the mention of an upper room in connection with a corpse in 9:37 (cf. 1 Kgs 17:19), may reflect a not uncommon practice; Luke could make the detail explicit to highlight the parallel, but such a parallel is not in itself particularly unexpected or profound.

Benjamin Williams observes that scholars have approached apparent parallels among Lukan miracles of Jesus, Peter, and Paul in different ways. On account of the parallelism, Gerhard Schneider doubts that the paralleled miracles in Acts derive from sources or any historical (or pre-Lukan) foundation. By contrast, Plümacher suggests that these parallels reflect the sorts of events recounted, doubting that Luke even intended parallels. Williams prefers the latter approach, noting that “certain kinds of stories can be told in only certain ways.” He points out that where the parallelism appears strongest (between Acts 3:1–10 and 14:8–10), Haenchen attributed the similarities to the character of the stories, not to Luke’s agenda. “It is no coincidence,” Williams argues, “that those who argue for Jesus-Peter-Paul parallels have neglected form critical analysis of the stories, and the form critics have usually ignored any supposed ‘parallelism.’”

I believe that the parallels are stronger and indicate Lukan shaping more than Williams’s approach appears to allow; nevertheless, his basic point is well taken. Luke could well have accounts of Jesus, Peter, and Paul healing persons unable to walk (a common and serious disability in their era); he may have selected and shaped the material accordingly, but he need not have invented the basic events in Peter’s or Paul’s ministry simply to parallel that of Jesus. One could simply select reports that did offer parallels; Paul and probably the others would have many stories of healings to choose from (Rom 15:19).

A word of caution is also in order here, relevant not only to the historical question but also to our literary observations about narrative parallels in Luke-Acts more generally. We can test observable parallels in some modern historical works, where the historical data remain available for testing. Noticing parallels and contrasts between two incidents in one modern institutional history, I queried whether the author paralleled them deliberately. To my surprise, the historian replied, “I did not have a conscious intention to make them parallel.” He suspected instead that the similar incidents reflected the kind of occurrences that exhibit similar social dynamics. Likewise, I consulted a friend regarding a set of parallel events in his popular autobiography. In this case the literary parallel was deliberate (and explicit) and in his correspondence with me he described the process that led to this structured narration; he did not, however, invent the details. Undertaking more such comparisons in modern historical works might chasten some of our assumptions about which parallels in ancient works were deliberate and what we should make of those that were. Luke might have even appreciated some of our observations about parallels and contrasts in his work without having had them consciously in mind as he wrote.

Most important, an obvious test case is Luke’s use of a source still extant: he (or his sources) finds parallels among some major characters in Israel’s history in Acts 7—but he does not invent them. It is not difficult to deliberately highlight parallel features in genuine accounts if one’s specific criterion for selecting many features is that they have parallels; this is so easily illustrated that it requires little specific elaboration.

Although it is not our purpose here to highlight non-parallels, purely free composition to fabricate parallels would not explain the numerous events that lack obvious parallels (even, for example, Paul’s failure in Acts 27 to still the storm as Jesus did in Luke 8:24–25); as a historian, Luke is still bound to his subject matter. Anyone skeptical of this point could easily satisfy their skepticism by trying to parallel all the stories in Luke-Acts. Here, however, I draw attention to specific cases where we know that Luke could have offered a parallel yet for some reason did not do so.

In a comparatively small number of cases, Mark or Q provides potential parallels for Acts that are omitted in Luke’s Gospel. Some are as follows:

Clear parallels among figures in Luke-Acts (such as do not appear merely coincidentally in other ancient works) are too numerous proportionately to call into question the approach of seeking parallels. Nevertheless, these omissions appear inconsistent with Luke’s parallelisms elsewhere and invite us to ask why they occur.

Scholars often argue that Luke intended to pick up these omissions in Acts and had them in mind when he wrote his Gospel. This solution is possible; he also omits some information in Acts 22:17–20 that he will retell more fully a few chapters later in Acts 26. What plausible motive, however, distinguishes why Luke in some cases explicitly highlights parallels and in other cases suppresses them? One could speculate that Luke used those completely deferred to Acts (as opposed to those occurring in both places) to invent stories for Acts and that Luke was unwilling to use such material twice when it appeared in his sources only once. This speculation, however, would be no more helpful than other guesses; it would not even explain why Luke would feel compunction about duplicating his material if he did not mind inventing stories based on it. Such free invention of stories based on nuggets in Mark characterizes neither standard Greco-Roman historiography (in contrast to some forms of haggadic elaboration) nor what we characteristically find in Luke’s Gospel pericopes.

If Luke was very familiar with Mark or Q, however, he may have written the second volume with them in mind without remembering in every case whether he had recorded that detail in his Gospel, even if he worked over the Gospel several times. Sometimes writers promised to revisit a topic in detail later and never managed to do so (e.g., Jos. Ant. 20.144, 147); they might also refer back to a reference they thought they had included but that, in fact, they had not (e.g., 18.54). Luke certainly remembered more than most writers today would, and we cannot fault him if he missed a few opportunities: checking each point in a scroll is far more time-consuming than using the “Find” function in one’s word-processing program. Luke knew a great deal more of the Jesus tradition than he could record in his Gospel (cf. Acts 20:35). Moreover, Luke condensed his material so frequently in Acts (as I have repeatedly observed in working through the commentary), omitting elements in the narrative that obscure some of what he reports, that it is entirely plausible to imagine that Luke sometimes condensed out something he thought he had included. Some of these omissions due to oversight might be caught and restored during later public recitations, but Luke may not have caught them all.

Although many scholars have followed Conzelmann’s schema of neatly segmented salvation history for Luke-Acts (see discussion on eschatology in above), the parallels in major characters suggest a greater continuity and development than his model presupposes. Luke’s first audience would likely have recognized the parallels, since comparing characters was standard practice and parallel lives even emerged as a distinctive subgenre of biography. Many recognize that Luke draws on the literary convention of parallel lives used in Hellenistic historiography and biography.

Probably Luke has more in mind in these parallels than a mere literary technique; he may think in terms of succession narratives (as with Moses-Joshua or Elijah-Elisha parallels in the OT; see comment on ). His theology also may motivate this approach to showing that even when he narrates significant works of Peter, Paul, and others, it is Jesus, the protagonist of his first volume, who stands behind them (cf. Acts 9:34). Thus even when Peter or Paul appears heroic, the auditor, remembering the conversion of Peter and Paul by Jesus and Jesus’s model and empowerment for their ministries, recognizes Jesus as the true and ultimate hero. In this respect the separation of Luke’s Gospel and Acts has serious theological consequences. Whatever scholars conclude about the specific reasons for the parallels, it seems clear that Luke does underline some significant parallels and that these are consistent with the paralleling of characters already found in some other ancient biographies and histories.

Long ago Dibelius claimed that in portraying Peter and Paul as “types” of the ideal “Christian missionary,” Luke was “following the practice of historians of antiquity, who did not aim at all at portraying the personal characteristics and special activities of their heroes, but who were more commonly concerned with what was typical and general and ideal.” Dibelius was correct that Luke employs Peter and Paul as models, but he greatly exaggerated the extent of idealization in Greek and Roman historians.

Some ancient writers were satisfied with writing about ideal types (what we would call “flat characters”), but rhetorically educated writers sought to diversify their portrayals (with what we would call “round characters”). Lucian criticizes historians who praise their own side’s leaders while slandering those of the enemy; such behavior belongs properly to panegyric, not to history (Lucian Hist. 7). Most historians did, in fact, seek to “humanize” both sides in a conflict, adding tragic pathos to their narrative.

Some scholars suggest that Luke, like a good rhetorician, would conceal his persuasive artistry by using the narrative itself, rather than asides, to characterize his protagonists. Luke has mixed characters (e.g., Gamaliel and Sergius Paulus), and even his protagonists are “round”: Peter stumbles in the Gospel and even in Acts must learn God’s agenda (Acts 10:14, 28; 11:8). Paul seems generally “flatter” and more uniformly positive after his conversion (though we might find implicit hints of his growth in terms of strategies, e.g., in 19:9), but the account of the division between him and Barnabas (15:39) probably does not flatter either of them. Luke is less interested in developing his characters and, using his limited space, even more focused on using them as models than some of his contemporaries; but they are not “flat” enough to fit Dibelius’s caricature of Greek and Roman historians.

If Dibelius’s model is exaggerated, what models are available? Perhaps for Thucydides, the uniqueness of events provided a gauge for their significance; but most historians were happy to look for parallels. Greco-Roman historians and biographers alike drew attention to patterns that they found in history, patterns that they typically attributed to divine design. For example, Appian, writing a providentialist history of Rome, was happy to note a Roman victory that paralleled, in many details, an earlier Roman defeat, demonstrating (in his view) that God had granted the Romans recompense for their defeat (Appian Hist. rom. 7.8.53). Such historians’ approaches helped define Luke’s task and approach:

An obvious literary function of schemes of correspondence is to unify the composition. A historical function of such schemes is to demonstrate that history itself has a pattern. For both these reasons, ancient historians often sought to elicit patterns of historical recurrence in their narratives. Appian (ca. A.D. 95–165) saw historical parallels between the Roman defeat at Cannae and the defeat of Hasdrubal the Carthaginian.

But “whereas Greco-Roman historians often paused to note the recurring pattern of events” explicitly, Luke is less intrusive, expecting the reader to discern the patterns. Nevertheless, it seems that Luke has made the patterns obvious enough for readers to discern easily the clearest examples. Luke’s biblical models (such as 1 Samuel, noted above) offered parallels among characters, as Luke expects his ideal, biblically informed audience to recognize (as fleshed out in Acts 7; see examples cited there). Even the seminal exodus narrative depends on the irony of narrative connections and contrasts: for example, in retribution for Egypt drowning Israel’s babies in the Nile (Exod 1:22), God turned the Nile to blood (Exod 7:17), slew Egypt’s firstborn (Exod 12:29–30), and drowned Egypt’s army (Exod 14:27–28).

Scholars tracing Luke’s techniques for creating unity in volumes based on sometimes diverse sources often note the effects of redundancy and the rhetorical technique of σύγκρισις, or comparison. Comparison of various figures was a standard narrative technique (Theon Progymn. 2.86–88, commenting on this rhetorical practice in Demosthenes). This technique was too widespread for writers in a Greco-Roman setting not to have known it. In his rhetorical handbook, Theon devotes a chapter to comparison (Περὶ συγκρίσεως, Progymn. 10), noting that though one could compare either characters or subjects (10.3–4), characters can embody virtues and provide opportunity for comparing both (10.4–7).

Rhetoricians recognized contrasts among characters in Homer—for example, the rage of both regal Agamemnon and passionate Achilles versus the wisdom of aged Nestor (Max. Tyre 26.5), and adulterous and cowardly Paris versus the sober hero Hector (26.6). Philo, who often writes about biblical characters, also employs the full range of rhetorical techniques for σύγκρισις. Such comparisons allowed one to teach virtue and admonish vice; rhetors used such examples to teach proper speaking and writing. Comparison was effective in political propaganda; thus Herodian propaganda compared Herod I with David.

That Paul receives more space in Acts probably reflects partly the quality of Luke’s sources, but in view of additional factors, it probably also signifies that Luke compares Paul favorably with Peter, of whom he also thinks highly. The comparison is not, however, unfriendly competition from Luke’s perspective. The Jerusalem apostles, who provide the largest narrative link between Jesus in the Gospel and Paul in the second half of Acts, appear mostly favorably. Although they misunderstand the sequence of kingdom eschatology (Acts 1:6–7) and learn only slowly to approach Gentiles (10:20, 28–29, 34; 11:5–18, esp. 11:18), Luke portrays them positively. A work’s opening typically helped foreshadow its direction, and Luke does not open Acts with Peter’s denial or with disciples sleeping at Gethsemane or debating about greatness during their final meal with Jesus.

Writers could use comparisons to denigrate others, sometimes as part of deliberate invective or self-exaltation at others’ expense; but this was far from comparison’s only use. Comparisons between various characters (whether Peter and Paul in Acts or the beloved disciple and Peter in the Fourth Gospel) need not disparage any of them. In epideictic orations and elsewhere, one might be careful to praise someone in comparison with another without demeaning the latter; comparing an honorable person favorably with another honorable person yielded more praise for the former than would comparing the former with a dishonorable person. One could compare one’s subject with famous people of the past to increase the subject’s status; one could likewise compare cities with great cities.

Though some writers felt that competition was injurious to friendship, ancient texts more commonly allow for competitive comparisons between friends. (Friends sometimes even used rivalry to spur one another on to achievement; see Pliny Ep. 3.7.15.) Later rhetorical handbooks are explicit that comparison can be between equals at times, just as it can be at the expense of one party at other times. One could even compare bride and groom in a wedding speech, to praise each, intending to denigrate neither.

The Greek historian Polybius compared the Roman general Scipio with the Spartan lawgiver Lycurgus, as a means of articulating Scipio’s character more clearly (Polyb. 10.2.8–13). Likewise, the Roman rhetorician Quintilian compared the most famous Greek epic poet, Homer, with Virgil, his Roman analogue (Quint. Inst. 10.1.85). Some writers developed such comparisons between Greek and Roman figures into an entire genre, using the rhetorical technique of comparison to target the ways that they would recount their “lives.”

Even more plainly, Plutarch offers biographies of paired Greek and Roman figures, specifically selected because their stories proved comparable in some ways (allowing Plutarch to demonstrate his skill in σύγκρισις)—the statesman Pericles with Fabius Maximus, the rhetor Demosthenes with Cicero, the conqueror Alexander with Caesar, and so forth. Thus he announces his intention in writing about Theseus, “the founder of lovely and famous Athens the counterpart and parallel to” Romulus, “the father of invincible and glorious Rome” (Plut. Thes. 1.2 [LCL]; cf. Comparison of Theseus and Romulus). As one would expect in light of the emphasis on comparison in rhetoric, Plutarch was not alone in comparing historical figures.

Some works did admittedly bend stories to conform them to each other. Cicero permitted historians to choose (though not to fabricate) traditions according to which ones best fit the parallels that they sought to articulate (e.g., the account of Themistocles’s death that best fit the author’s intended parallel to Coriolanus, regardless of other criteria for evaluating the most likely end for Themistocles; Cic. Brut. 11.42). Pseudo-Plutarch’s Greek and Roman Parallel Stories (Plut. Mor. 305A–316B) presents paired stories so similar that they must either be doublets of the same tradition or be deliberately assimilated by the writer. Plutarch complains that some writers added details missing elsewhere—for example, composing a proper tragic finale for Alexander’s life (Alex. 70.3).

Plutarch himself, however, who provides our strongest extant examples of the genre, generally was more careful (though more flexible than modern historiography). He opines that nature itself supplies sufficient events for observers to find parallels if only they are sufficiently attentive (Sert. 1.1 [LCL]):

It is perhaps not to be wondered at, since fortune is ever changing her course and time is infinite, that the same incidents should occur many times, spontaneously. For, if the multitude of elements is unlimited, fortune has in the abundance of her material an ample provider of coincidences; and if, on the other hand, there is a limited number of elements from which events are interwoven, the same things must happen many times, being brought to pass by the same agencies.

Likewise, he believed that the similarities he was able to find were due to the divine power’s making people alike in many respects (Demosth. 3.2).

Still, Plutarch tells distinctive stories about individuals he compares, noticing contrasts (e.g., Comp. Alc. Cor. 3.1). Even when Plutarch says that two people are so much alike that it is difficult to discern the differences between them (Comp. Arist. Cato 1.1), the claim plainly exaggerates because he does go on to point out differences (5.1, 3–4; 6.1). (Naturally the lives of statesmen will provide some parallels and contrasts with other statesmen, and even modern readers would understand such comparable features as often part of the nature of social reality, though not necessarily finding as many parallels as Plutarch.)

Plutarch did not try to simply invent parallels. He claims that he looked hard for the right people to compare with each other (Cim. 3.1–3). When appropriate, Plutarch sometimes concluded his comparison with a contrast (a sort of antithetic parallel) instead of conforming the subjects to each other: “Sulla won the more successes, while Lysander had the fewer failings”; the one is greater “in self-control and moderation . . .  the other, in generalship and valour” (Comp. Lys. Sull. 5.5). If rhetoricians emphasized the importance of selectivity, available parallels with another notable character could simply provide a criterion for selecting relevant points to record. One did not have to invent parallels to discover them; anyone can find “parallels” among various characters in history (or between two persons conversing and looking for common ground). Limiting such parallels mostly to what one’s sources provided displayed special skill that mere fabrication of such details would not. Many ancient writers were happy to advertise their skill in this genre.

Luke, like Plutarch, seeks to observe some limits, following patterns he believes were already present in history. His sources are recent and his traditions, hence his potential parallels, are limited. Paul is not crucified at the end of Acts; and though Peter may have been crucified historically, Luke neither carries Acts to this point chronologically nor retrojects this later event into an earlier place in his account. (Of course, even had he done so, Jesus’s resurrection would have been more difficult to duplicate.)

The principle of linking characters “typologically” in biblical history is not one that Luke originated; nor would his source for such an approach necessarily be solely Hellenistic. Old Testament literature often structured narratives in parallel patterns as well. “Whereas scholarship of previous generations tended to explain many of these cases as doublets due to the combination of two or more sources, a more recent tendency has been to see such similar patterning as a deliberate authorial strategy which invites the reader to read one incident in the light of the other.” Similarly, the prophets’ picture of a new exodus (e.g., Isa 12:2; 40:3; Jer 31:32–33; Hos 2:15; 11:1, 5, 11) evoked its prototype. Indeed, even the Jordan crossing in Josephus deliberately echoes the sea crossing at the exodus. Later Jewish historians and storytellers also recounted their narratives along patterns from earlier salvation history, believing that God had objectively authored these patterns in history. Jewish eschatological literature even uses the Urzeit as a prototype for the Endzeit (especially Eden). I have mentioned other examples above; Luke’s own interests are evident particularly in Acts 7 (see my discussion there).

Breaking a long work into smaller sections, each with its own openings and conclusions, might retain interest (Pliny Ep. 9.4.1–2). But while Luke certainly does divide his work, contemporary scholarship lacks consensus on the structure of Acts. Although even some kinds of speeches required no particular structure, this is probably not the reason for different possible approaches to Acts. Appropriate arrangement of material was a primary concern for those who were rhetorically sensitive, and the strengths of some divergent yet valuable structural proposals for Acts seem to suggest that Luke provided various structural clues allowing for different related approaches, instead of lacking structure.

Summary statements appear throughout Acts (Acts 2:41, 47; 4:4; 5:14; 6:7; 9:31, 42; 11:21; 12:24; 13:48; 16:5; 19:20; 28:31) and clearly are Luke’s own editorial work. Scholars widely recognize these, though not all believe that Luke intended them as structural indicators. Narrowing these statements to the clearest summaries of the gospel’s expansion (6:7; 9:31; 12:24; 16:5; 19:20) provides many scholars with six “panels” in Luke’s story:

This outline depends on the summary statements, however, whereas some other statements in Acts are analogous (e.g., 2:47; 9:21). It is helpful, like some other outlines, in revealing the narrative progress of the gospel among different groups (though Luke would probably prefer readers to hear all the summary statements that way).

A simple geographic plan follows the four geographic regions explicit in Acts 1:8 (see further comment there): Jerusalem, Judea, Samaria, and the ends of the earth. This is a perspective that would have made sense to the Jerusalem apostles more than to Luke’s audience; virtually the entire Pauline mission and more than half the book of Acts constitute the final category (cf. 13:47), whereas Judea and Samaria (which may constitute a single step in 1:8) together take up only a few chapters. But whether proportional to the book’s contents or not, this outline does show the general geographic direction of the narrative and is explicit in the texts.

James Scott structures the book, even less symmetrically, according to the worldview of ancient Jewish geography: the missions to Shem (2:1–8:25), Ham (8:26–40), and Japheth (9:1–28:31). Although no such divisions are explicit in the text, some passages (esp. 2:5–11; perhaps 1:8) do suggest Luke’s familiarity with the table-of-nations tradition. In Scott’s view, these missions meet in the circle of Stephen and are in varying stages of completion (with the Shem mission mostly completed and the Ham mission only begun). Whatever the particulars, the structure should comport with the work’s plotline, following the gospel’s expansion from Jerusalem to Rome.

Another perspective from which to view the book’s structure, and the one particularly relevant to the discussion on parallelism above, is its penchant for parallels among its primary characters. This parallelism appears most objectively in the twofold division between Acts 1–12 and Acts 13–28 (although the Paul material begins in the first division). Parallels between Peter and Paul and other elements recur between these sections and are undoubtedly deliberate, as was noticed by scholars at least as early as the early nineteenth century. We have explored some of these parallels above.

Because Luke’s story contains overlapping chronological, geographical, and cultural components and markers, we can “outline” Acts in more than one way. Not all of these approaches necessarily point to a conscious structuring of the material by Luke as carefully as we might suppose, but they do reflect objective markers in the text pointing to the progress of the gospel toward Rome, which is the story that he narrates.

We focus on the clearest indicators of structure, that is, those supporting Luke’s purpose for the expansion of the gospel from Jerusalem to Rome. A purely geographical structure (cf. 1:8) does, to be sure, invite overlap (and considerable asymmetry, with Judea and Samaria functioning transitionally in 8:1–11:18, esp. the summary in 8:1). But Luke is not Aristotle, nor can one structure historical works as tightly as an argument; various approaches to structure offer helpful clues to the narrative progress of the book, which is what is most at issue.

Acts lacks clear breaks concluding the preface and at many other points; Luke likes to create smooth transitions. Ancient writers did not always work according to hierarchical outlines, as modern scholars often do. Such an outline therefore is necessarily forced at points, allowing diverse, equally plausible proposals from various commentators. Nevertheless, structure was an important feature of rhetorical and literary composition, and even general outlines from antiquity (often as tables of contents) do exist for some works.

The following is one attempt to reflect something of the work’s narrative structure within the confines of a hierarchical outline. It differs at points from the commentary outline because at numerous points I needed to incorporate more or less information in that outline, depending on how much background was available or necessary for a section. Sometimes I have also sacrificed elements of structure for symmetry; for example, 4:31–5:42, as a whole, parallels the preceding unit (3:1–4:22), but the chronologically later section contains more paragraphs that need to be separated. Likewise, units are often transitional and hence can belong in more than one location; for example, although in many respects the prayer of 4:23–30 belongs more naturally with the following effects of the prayer, I have kept it with the preceding section to highlight some narrative connections. If one builds the outline from individual pericopes, it will come out differently than a top-down outline from major units because the major units (and their subunits) are of very uneven length; in this commentary I have tried to compromise between the two objectives, working from a top-down outline (which produces asymmetry in sections) but including also independent, briefer units for readability. No outline is perfect, and every outline must admit criticisms from those who highlighted different connections. Nevertheless, this sample should illustrate that Luke composed a cohesive work, not simply lumping together disparate material.

I. The First Outpouring of the Spirit (1:1–2:47)

A. Introduction and Recapitulation (Transition from Jesus to the Church; Awaiting the Promise) (1:1–11)

1. Preface (1:1–2)

2. Promise of the Holy Spirit (1:3–8)

3. Ascension (and Promise to Return) (1:9–11)

B. Preparation for Pentecost (1:12–26)

1. Praying Together (1:12–14)

2. Establishing Leaders and Their Testimony for the Future (1:15–26)

C. The Event of Pentecost (2:1–13)

1. Signs of Pentecost (2:1–4)

2. Responses to Signs (2:5–13)

D. Peter’ss Call to Repentance (2:14–40)

1. Response to Drunkenness Charge (2:14–15)

2. Biblical Basis for the Event (2:16–21)

3. Narration about Jesus’s Death and Resurrection (2:22–24)

4. Biblical Explanation for Jesus’s Resurrection (2:25–36)

a. Psalm 16 (2:25–28)

b. Not David (2:29–31)

c. Appeal to Apostolic Witness (2:32) and Their Own Witness (2:33)

d. Not David, Psalm 110 (2:34–35)

e. Conclusion of Argument (2:36)

5. Demanded Response (2:37–40)

E. The Empowered Community (2:41–47)

II. Apostolic Leadership in Jerusalem (3:1–5:42)

A. Healing of the Paralytic and Its Aftermath (3:1–4:31)

1. Power of Jesus’s Name (3:1–10)

2. Offer of Restoring Israel’s Kingdom If Israel Receives Its King (3:11–26)

3. Confronting the Elite (4:1–22)

4. Prayer for More Boldness (4:23–30)

B. Results of Second Outpouring of the Spirit (4:31–5:16)

1. Immediate Impact of Prayer (4:31)

2. Sacrificial Sharing of Believers (4:32–35)

3. Positive Example: Joseph Barnabas (4:36–37)

4. Negative Example: Ananias and Sapphira (5:1–11)

5. Apostles’ Honor and Signs (5:12–16)

C. More Persecution (5:17–42)

1. Arrest, Release, Arrest (5:17–26)

2. Confronting the Elite Again (5:27–33)

3. Gamaliel’s Counsel (5:34–40)

4. Apostles’ Joy (5:41) and Summary Statement of Continuing Ministry (5:42)

III. Hellenist Expansion (6:1–9:31)

A. Hellenist Leaders (6:1–7)

B. Stephen (6:8–8:1a)

1. Ministry and Opposition (6:8–7:1)

2. Stephen’s Countercharge (7:2–53)

a. Abraham the Alien (7:2–8)

b. Joseph the Rejected Deliverer and Alien (7:9–16)

c. Moses the Rejected Deliverer (7:17–28)

d. Moses the Alien (7:29–34)

e. Moses, Prototype of the Rejected Deliverer (7:35–42)

f. God Does Not Need the Temple (7:43–50)

g. Returning Charge of Undermining the Law (7:51–53)

3. Stephen Follows His Martyred Lord (7:54–8:1a)

C. Philip (8:1b–40)

1. Persecution Disperses Jerusalem Church (8:1b–4)

2. Samaria Receives the Word (8:5–25)

a. Philip’s Success versus Simon (8:5–13)

b. God and Jerusalem Confirm the Samaritans’ Conversion (8:14–17)

c. Confronting Simon’s Syncretism (8:18–24)

d. Apostles Continue Ministry There (8:25)

3. An African Royal Treasurer Receives the Word (8:26–40)

a. Divinely Arranged Encounter (8:26–31)

b. Scripture about Jesus the Servant (8:32–33)

c. Eagerly Embracing the Message (8:34–39)

d. Philip’s Continuing Ministry (8:40)

D. Saul Becomes a New Witness (9:1–31)

1. Saul’s Conversion and Call to the Gentiles (9:1–19a)

a. Jesus’s Divine Glory Blinds and Converts Saul (9:1–9)

b. Paired Visions Confirm Saul’s Call (9:10–19a)

2. Saul Begins Ministry and Conflict (9:19b–30)

a. Opposition for Ministry in Damascus (9:19b–25)

b. Opposition for Ministry in Jerusalem (9:26–30)

3. Temporarily Positive Conclusion (9:31)

IV. Peter’s Ministry beyond Jerusalem (9:32–12:24)

A. Healings in Judea (9:32–43)

1. Healing at Lydda (9:32–35)

2. Resuscitation at Joppa (9:36–43)

B. A Roman Officer Welcomed into God’s People (10:1–11:18)

1. A Roman Officer’s Vision (10:1–8)

2. Peter’s Vision: No Longer Unclean (10:9–16)

3. The Apostle and the Roman Officer Meet (10:17–33)

4. Peter Recounts Jesus’s Story (10:34–43)

5. The Spirit Confirms the Gentiles’ Acceptance (10:44–48)

6. Peter Defends the Entrance of Gentiles to the Covenant Community (11:1–18)

C. Antioch Reaches Other Gentiles and Helps Jerusalem (11:19–30)

1. Hellenists Carry the Gospel to Other Gentiles (11:19–26)

2. Relief Mission to Jerusalem (11:27–30)

D. Peter versus Herod (12:1–24)

1. Peter’s Deliverance (12:1–17)

2. Herod’s Pride and Death (12:18–23)

3. Positive Conclusion (12:24)

V. Paul’s Diaspora Missions (12:25–19:41)

A. Paul and Barnabas in Cyprus and Phrygia (12:25–14:28)

1. Consecrated for the New Mission (12:25–13:3)

a. Return from Jerusalem Mission (12:25)

b. The Spirit Sends Barnabas and Saul (13:1–3)

2. Ministry in Cyprus (13:4–12)

3. Ministry in Pisidian Antioch (13:13–52)

a. Journey and Setting (13:13–15)

b. Paul’s Proem and Biblical Narratio (13:16–22)

c. The Narrative about Jesus (13:23–31)

d. Proofs and Peroratio (13:32–41)

e. Response (13:42–52)

4. Ministry in Iconium and Lystra (14:1–23)

a. Mixed Results in Iconium (14:1–7)

b. Miracle, Misunderstanding, and Correction in Lystra (14:8–18)

c. Hostility and Strengthening the Church (14:19–23)

5. Return to Antioch (14:24–28)

B. Ratifying the Gentile Mission (15:1–35)

1. Conflict over Circumcising Gentiles (15:1–6)

2. Peter and Missionaries Invoke God’s Acts (15:7–12)

3. James’s Biblical Proposal (15:13–21)

4. The Consensus Decree (15:22–29)

5. Delivering the Message in Antioch (15:30–35)

C. Paul and Companions in Asia and Achaia (15:36–19:41)

1. New Colleagues, Old Areas (15:36–16:5)

a. Conflict with Barnabas over Mark (15:36–39)

b. With Silas, Strengthening Churches in Syria and Cilicia (15:40–41)

c. Recruiting the Half-Greek Timothy (16:1–3)

d. Strengthening Churches in Phrygia (16:4–5)

2. God’s Leading to Macedonia (16:6–10)

a. The Spirit’s Prohibitions (16:6–7)

b. Divine Invitation to Macedonia (16:8–10)

3. Ministry and Opposition in Philippi (16:11–40)

a. Lydia and Her House Church (16:11–15)

b. Exorcism of a Powerful Spirit (16:16–18)

c. Paul and Silas Beaten, Imprisoned (16:19–24)

d. Deliverance and Jailer’s Conversion (16:25–34)

e. Paul and Silas Vindicated (16:35–40)

4. Ministry in Thessalonica (17:1–9)

5. Ministry in Beroea (17:10–14)

6. Ministry in Athens (17:15–34)

a. Reasoning with Jews and Philosophers (17:15–21)

b. Paul’s Philosophic Discourse (17:22–31)

c. Response to Paul’s Speech (17:32–34)

7. Ministry in Corinth (18:1–17)

a. Settling in Corinth (18:1–3)

b. Ministry in and out of the Synagogue (18:4–8)

c. Jesus’s Promise of Protection (18:9–11)

d. Gallio Refuses Paul’s Case (18:12–17)

8. Ministry in Ephesus (18:18–19:41)

a. Beginning the Work (18:18–19:7)

(1) Paul Begins Work in Ephesus and Leaves for Syria (18:18–23)

(2) Priscilla and Aquila Help Apollos (18:24–28)

(3) Paul Helps Twelve of John’s Disciples (19:1–7)

b. All Asia Hears the Word (19:8–22)

(1) Paul in the Synagogue and a School (19:8–10)

(2) Paul’s Signs (19:11–12)

(3) Magic Inferior to Paul’s Signs (19:13–20)

(4) Plans for Jerusalem and Rome (19:21–22)

c. Hostility in Ephesus (19:23–41)

(1) Demetrius’s Charge (19:23–27)

(2) A Riot for Artemis (19:28–34)

(3) An Official Defends the Disciples (19:35–41)

VI. To Rome via Jerusalem (20:1–28:31)

A. Journey to Jerusalem (20:1–21:16)

1. Summary of Macedonia, Achaia, and Macedonia Again (20:1–5)

2. Resuscitation in Troas (20:6–12)

3. Farewell to the Ephesian Church (20:13–38)

a. Further Travel, Avoiding Ephesus (20:13–16)

b. Setting of Speech (20:17–18a)

c. Paul’s ēthos and (Implicitly) Example (20:18b–21)

d. Paul Expects Danger in Jerusalem (20:22–25)

e. Paul Warns Leaders to Guard the Believers (20:26–32)

f. Paul’s Example of Sacrifice (20:33–35)

g. Tearful Parting (20:36–38)

4. Continuing Voyage, with Warnings in Tyre (21:1–7)

5. Warnings in Philip’s Home in Caesarea (21:8–14)

6. Final Journey to Jerusalem (21:15–16)

B. Dangers in Jerusalem (21:17–23:35)

1. Concerns of the Jerusalem Church (21:17–26)

2. Asian Jews Stir Riot against Paul (21:27–30)

3. Paul Enters Roman Custody (21:31–40)

4. Paul’s Defense in the Temple (22:1–21)

a. Paul’s Zealous and Orthodox Background (22:1–5)

b. Paul’s Encounter with Jesus (22:6–11)

c. An Orthodox Prophet’s Message (22:12–16)

d. Paul’s Call to the Gentiles (22:17–21)

5. Discovering Paul’s Citizenship (22:22–29)

6. The Divided Sanhedrin (22:30–23:10)

7. Paul Escapes Jerusalem by means of Roman Custody (23:11–35)

a. Jesus’s Assurance and Direction (23:11)

b. The Plot to Assassinate Paul (23:12–15)

c. Paul’s Nephew Leaks the Plot (23:16–21)

d. Lysias Sends Paul to Felix (23:22–30)

e. Roman Soldiers Bring Paul to Felix (23:31–35)

C. Paul’s Defense before Authorities (24:1–26:32)

1. Charges against Paul (24:1–9)

2. Paul’s Defense (24:10–21)

3. Felix’s Procrastination (24:22–27)

4. Paul’s Appeal to Caesar (25:1–12)

a. Authorities in Jerusalem Denounce Paul (25:1–5)

b. Paul Defends Himself before Festus (25:6–9)

c. Paul Appeals to Caesar (25:10–12)

5. Festus Discusses the Case with Agrippa (25:13–22)

6. Paul before Agrippa (25:23–26:32)

a. Introducing the Hearing (25:23–26:1a)

b. Proem and Paul’s Background (26:1b–11)

c. Paul’s Divine Commission (26:12–18)

d. Paul’s Gospel (26:19–23)

e. Paul’s Desire to Convert His Audience (26:24–29)

f. The Verdict (26:30–32)

D. Voyage to Rome (27:1–28:15)

1. The Voyage Begins (27:1–8)

2. Ignoring Paul’s Warning (27:9–13)

3. Disaster at Sea (27:14–20)

4. Paul Shares the Angel’s Message (27:21–26)

5. Paul’s Leadership as They Approach Land (27:27–38)

6. Reaching Land Safely (27:39–44)

7. Ministry in Malta (28:1–10)

a. Paul Survives a Snakebite (28:1–6)

b. Healings and Hospitality (28:7–10)

8. Final Voyage to Rome (28:11–15)

E. Continuing Ministry in Rome (28:16–31)

1. Paul Meets Jewish Leaders (28:16–22)

2. Recalcitrance of God’s People Prophesied (28:23–28)

3. Continuing, Unhindered Ministry (28:30–31)

With, e.g., Gasque, Criticism, 308; Pesch, Apostelgeschichte, 1:24–25.

Ramsay, Pictures, xv. Cf. Bruce, Commentary, 15.

Rackham, Acts, xlvii (comparing the waiting period in Luke 1–2 and Acts 1; baptism in the Spirit in Luke 3 and Acts 2; then active ministry and finally suffering; see more fully pp. xlvii–xlix). Shauf, Theology, 1n1, notes that Bacon, Introduction (esp. 218), already spoke of Luke-Acts and treated the works together.

See Cadbury, Making, esp. 10–11 (where he treats Luke and Acts as two volumes of a single work, like Samuel-Kings, which constitutes a multivolume work in the LXX).

See, e.g., Clark, “Role,” 185–89; Marshall, “Theme in Parts”; Richard, “Author,” 25–27; cf. Pervo, “Heritage and Claims,” 142–43. See also our discussion on Luke’s portrayal of Israel’s story and of the Gentile mission in chs. 13 and 14.

Verheyden, “What Are We Up To?,” 56. Verheyden (ibid., 52–53) credits especially the pioneering work of C. H. Talbert, and also W. Radl, G. Muhlack, and F. Neirynck.

E.g., Boismard and Lamouille, Actes, 1:8; Pesch, Apostelgeschichte, 1:24–25; Schneider, “Zweck”; Marguerat, Actes, 17–18; idem, Histoire, 65–92; idem, “Unité”; Green, “Reaffirmation”; Peterson, Acts, 7–8; Tyson, “Source Criticism,” 38–39; Hemer, Acts in History, 3–33; Arrington, Acts, xxxi; Witherington, Acts, 4–8; Marshall, “Theme in Parts”; idem, “Reading”; Bergholz, Aufbau (extensively); Richard, “Author,” 25–27; Mekkattukunnel, “Proof for Unity” (with some detailed comparisons); Pate et al., Story, 177–87; Jervell, Apostelgeschichte, 91; Verheyden, Unity; idem, “Unity of Luke-Acts”; idem, “Unity”; Flichy, Oeuvre de Luc; Rothschild, Rhetoric of History, 115–16 (a table); Borgman, Way; Hamm, Acts, 5–8; Chance, Acts, 19; Puskas and Crump, Introduction, 105, 111–13; cf. some examples of continuity in Maddox, Purpose, 6. Marguerat calls the work “un diptyque” (Histoire, 65, 91; idem, “Unité,” 80). Talbert, Patterns, 96, emphasizes unity through the succession from Jesus to the Twelve (then to Paul and to the Ephesian elders).

Clark, Acts, 408. Even then most favored authorial unity, e.g., Knowling, “Acts,” 3–4; Carter and Earle, Acts, i–ii; R. Williams, Acts, 15. Today, see Walters, Unity, citing stylistic differences (with careful observations on 43–136, 149–89), which she contends exceed what would be expected for a single author (147). (Some features more characteristic of one volume, however, such as archaizing, also appear at appropriate points in the other volume.) She questions the probability of Luke’s extraordinary literary versatility (praised by Cadbury, Talbert, and others) and is not satisfied with Dibelius’s argument (which I find very probable) that Luke depended on more traditional material in his first volume. Possibly editorial help was available for one volume, or Luke’s rhetorical skills improved over time, or (most likely) much of the second volume (freer from tradition and a Judean setting) afforded a setting more conducive to Hellenistic rhetorical techniques.

Ehrhardt, Acts, 1; he notes that others sometimes completed famous works, making stylistic analysis necessary, but here the analysis is conclusive.

Boismard and Lamouille, Actes, 3:14–16.

See esp. the parallels in Goulder, Type and History; Talbert, Patterns; Tannehill, Luke; idem, Acts; for some particularly concise surveys, see Aune, Environment, 119; Perkins, Reading, 265; Dunn, Acts, xiv; Talbert, Acts, xxiv–xxv, xxviii.

See Marshall, “Treatise.”

See, e.g., Marguerat, Histoire, 66–70 (recognizing dissonances); earlier, Dibelius, Studies in Acts, 3–4, 103. Dreams and visions are much less frequent in the Gospel than in Acts (and angelic revelations mute during Jesus’s ministry), presumably because Jesus does not need them (Koet, “Divine Communication,” 756–57). For observations regarding unity and diversity in speeches, miracle counting, and meal reports in Luke’s double work, see Lindemann, “Einheit.” Yet Luke would not be the only writer to take a different approach in different volumes (see, e.g., Hecataeus in Brown, Historians, 11).

The best-known objections appear in Parsons and Pervo, Rethinking. Among others, Litwak, Echoes, 37–47, critiques their skepticism, objecting that they fail to define narrative unity and that they overlook many cues for the narrative’s purpose. For one survey of the current discussion, see Bird, “Unity,” 426–39.

See Dawsey, “Questions of Style.”

The same vocabulary can appear in different ways, e.g., κολλάομαι in Luke 10:11; 15:15; Acts 5:13; 8:29; 10:28; 17:34); cf. καθίστημι in Acts 7:10; 17:15; perhaps λαμίρός in Luke 23:11; Acts 10:30. In the Gospel, προσδοκάω is usually positive and theological, but less so in Acts; ὁμοθυμαδόν is common in Acts, in contrast to the Gospel. Different subject matter, sources, genre, or even mood could account for such differences.

E.g., Josephus’s use of παράδοξος seems broader in his Antiquities than in his War; a more thorough examination could find many other such differences.

Parsons and Pervo, Rethinking, 45–83. Pervo, Acts, 20, though denying that Luke necessarily planned Acts when he wrote the Gospel, does allow that the former may have been written as a “sequel.” Some ancient authors’ views apparently changed in the course of writing longer works (e.g., Livy in Woodman, Rhetoric, 126). For various views on the nature of unity (or disunity) between the works, see Powell, Acts, 6–9.

See Parsons, “Unity: Rethinking,” 41–45.

Parsons, “Unity: Rethinking,” 48–51. Rowe, “Hermeneutics,” 132–48, likewise explores the reception history, though he does not draw from it inferences for Luke’s authorial purpose. For other discussions of this early reception history, see Kany, “Warum”; Mount, “Investigation” (noting that even the separate titles obscure the connection [380], though the prefaces internally “impose a unity” on the volumes [382]); for Acts as a canonical bridge between Gospels and Letters, see Goswell, “Order,” 232–34 (citing also Childs, Canon, 219–25; Wall, “Canonical Context”).

Parsons, “Unity: Rethinking,” 48.

Ibid., 49. Parsons also cites the production of apocryphal acts to show that they were read separately (51).

Gregory, “Reception and Unity,” 461–63, finds clues (such as application of the Gospel’s preface to Acts) that cumulatively convince him that Irenaeus (and [p. 463] the witness of the Muratorian Fragment) read Luke both with Acts and as part of the fourfold Gospel. Later writers could also treat Luke and Acts together (e.g., Bede Comm. Acts pref. [L. Martin, 4–5] cites Luke 1:1, 3 for understanding Luke’s writing in Acts).

Johnson, “Literary Criticism,” 159; Gregory, “Reception and Unity,” 463–66 (esp. 466).

So Rowe, “Reception History,” 451; cf. idem, “Hermeneutics,” 152–53. Unlike Parsons and Pervo, Rowe (“Reception History,” 452) simply contends that such authorial unity does not address how they were read in an ancient context and (in “Hermeneutics,” 153) that the different reading of early Christians allows us other interpretive options (see also here Bockmuehl, “Let Acts Be Acts,” esp. 163). Since I am writing a commentary on Acts (and not on Luke-Acts), I must grant at least some weight to this observation despite my heavy emphasis on the narrative unity of Luke’s work!

Conceded by Gregory, “Reception and Unity,” 466. Like Gregory, Johnson, “Literary Criticism,” 161, emphasizes that Luke’s ideal, intended reader will treat the volumes together. Rowe, “Reception History,” 452, denies that such observations (with which he agrees) address his point about real readers.

The similarity of Luke to the other Gospels shows that he himself followed this category (presumably introduced by Mark or a writer no longer extant), but whereas Luke and his peers were writing proclamatory “lives” of Jesus (identifiable as biographies), their “canonical” status had solidified a distinctive way of reading them by the late second century. Had Irenaeus been alone in his opinions about the fourfold Gospel, it is highly questionable that the opinions of the bishop of Lyons alone would have swayed the “orthodox” writers of the eastern empire, where the church was strongest, and beyond. Tatian’s Diatessaron in Syria is probably earlier evidence than Irenaeus. For the Gospel canon, see Hill, Gospels.

E.g., Tannehill, Luke, xiii.

Parsons and Pervo, Rethinking, 84–114, 123–26.

See Pervo, “Same Genre?”; Parsons, “Unity: Rethinking,” esp. 45–48; see also Bird, “Unity,” 440.

Klutz, Exorcism Stories, 13.

Aune, Dictionary of Rhetoric, 315 (s.v. “Narrative criticism,” 315–17) argues that ancient literary critics were not concerned with narrative unity (following Heath, Unity), which he finds also problematic for modern historical critics (following Merenlahti, Poetics, 25) and not important in nonbiblical literary criticism (Merenlahti and Hakola, “Reconceiving”; Merenlahti, Poetics, 28).

E.g., Dion. Hal. Lysias 11–12.

Hermog. Method 13.428.

See Fronto (Naber, 211; LCL, 1:41, on eulogies and epideictic speeches). Cf. also the repetitive character of “oral” narratives in Dewey, “Oral-Aural Event,” 148–49.

Talbert, “Chance,” 233; idem, Acts, xv; see esp. idem, Patterns, 67–70, for classical analogies and 70ff. for Middle Eastern analogies. As in the broader culture, such patterns served especially aesthetic purposes (120).

Ferguson, Backgrounds, 94; Aune, Environment, 117 (who suggests that, given average dimensions of papyrus sheets, the Gospel may have been 35 ft. long and Acts, 32 ft.).

Palmer, “Monograph (1993),” 5.

Aune, Environment, 117–18, also cites Diod. Sic. 1.29.6; 1.41.10. Admittedly, writers did not always plan the lengths of their volumes well; the first scroll’s ending seems to catch Josephus by surprise (Ag. Ap. 1.320; Mason, Josephus and New Testament, 79).

Aune, Environment, 117: “Ancient historians occasionally published books separately” (Dion. Hal. Ant. rom. 7.70.2), especially if expecting them to be long.

In Philo, cf. Royse, “Philo’s Division.”

Many in antiquity urged imitation of God; see Keener, Matthew, 205. Many Greco-Roman (Xen. Cyr. 6.2.29; Cic. Tusc. 5.25.70; Sen. Y. Dial. 1.1.5; 7.8.4; Mus. Ruf. 8, p. 64.14; 17, p. 108.8–22; frg. 38, p. 136.5; Heraclitus Ep. 5; Dio Chrys. Or. 3.82; Plut. Borr. 7, Mor. 830B [somewhat demurring]; Epict. Diatr. 2.14.12–13; Max. Tyre 35.2; Eunapius Lives 498; cf. Rutenber, Doctrine, chs. 2–3; Russell, “Virtue”), Greco-Jewish and Christian (Let. Aris. 188, 190, 192, 208–10, 254, 281; Philo Creation 139; Spec. Laws 4.73; Alleg. Interp. 1.48; 4.188 [rulers, as often in Letter of Aristeas]; Virt. 168; Decal. 98, 100; Eph 5:1; Matt 5:45, 48; Test. Ash. 4:3; Sent. Sext. 44–45), and later Jewish (Mek. Shir. 3.43–44; Sipra Qed. par. 1.195.1.3; on the rabbinic doctrine of imitating God in Tannaitic and Amoraic texts, see further Vermes, Religion, 201–4; cf. idem, Jesus and Judaism, 52; Shapiro, “Wisdom”; Veghazi, “Imitación”; Meirovich, “Crisis”; in a broad Mediterranean context, Crouzel, “Imitation”) teachers also acknowledged the principle of imitating God. For disciples’ imitating teachers, see also Jos. Life 11; b. Ber. 62a; Kirschner, “Imitatio”; Abrahams, Studies (2), 138–54; Xen. Mem. 1.2.3; Sen. E. Controv. 9.3.12–13; Lucian Peregr. 24; Philost. Vit. Apoll. 5.21; 1 Cor 4:16; Fiore, “Exemplification,” 233–34.

E.g., regarding martyrdom, see Acts 7:56–60. Barrett, “Imitatio,” 262, doubts that imitation of Christ or others plays a central role in Luke-Acts, but ancient auditors accustomed to find models for imitation in historical and biographic works would undoubtedly have thought otherwise (see , above, on historians’ agendas). For Jesus as an ethical model in Luke-Acts, see Buckwalter, Christology.

E.g., Knowling, “Acts,” 15–16.

On Baur’s thesis, see also discussion in Frey, “Fragen,” 4–5. More recently, Tyson, Marcion, 62–63, has used the parallels to support something like Baur’s thesis. Gibert, “Invention,” has argued that Luke invented the genre of hagiographic history, promoting its protagonists as imitators of Christ. Playing Paul off against the other apostles goes back to Marcion (Räisänen, “Marcion,” 302, 304–5).

Cf. C. Williams, Acts, 89 (on Acts 5:15).

Harnack, Acts, xix. For important historical commonalities despite tensions between them, see, e.g., Dillmann, “Begegnungen.”

Narrative criticism has isolated some patterns in the canonical sources on which Acts 7 draws; see comment on Acts 7:9–16, 19, 21.

Ancient historians generally believed that they discovered patterns in history, not that they created them out of whole cloth (see discussion on historians’ “theology” in , above; in the present chapter, see esp. sect. 1.f below).

E.g., Ehrhardt, Acts, 12–13; Boismard and Lamouille, Actes, 2:26; O’Toole, “Parallels between Jesus and Disciples”; Verheyden, “What Are We Up To?”; Malina and Pilch, Acts, 181–84; recently and in significant detail, Clark, Parallel Lives.

E.g., Clark, “Role,” 185–89; Foakes-Jackson and Lake, “Internal Evidence of Acts,” 182. Clark, Parallel Lives, offers particularly detailed comparisons between the Jerusalem apostles (especially Peter) and Paul, underlining (as Gal 2:7–9 does) the unity between the Jewish and the Gentile missions. Tyson, Marcion, 62–63, finds this the very evidence that led to Baur’s thesis, and believes it supports a second-century date, but Galatians shows that the issues existed even during Paul’s lifetime.

Tannehill, Acts, 76; Aune, Environment, 119.

Tannehill, Acts, 74–75. Writers could link skills or miracles of teachers and their disciples; see, e.g., Iambl. V.P. 28.135–36; and comment on succession narratives on Acts 1:9–11.

Cf. O’Toole, “Parallels between Jesus and Disciples”; Karris, Invitation, 15; Syreeni, “Paradigms,” 36 (following Räisänen, Mutter).

Penner, Praise, 151, 185–87, 218, discusses the cohesiveness and “plot” of ancient historical works in connection with Aristotle’s approach to other narrative genres.

On Jesus’s continuing unique role despite the parallels, see, e.g., Kee, Miracle, 190.

For correspondence between Jesus and John, see Goulder, Type and History, 120–24, esp. 120; more fully, Tannehill, Luke, 15–44, esp. 15–20; on John’s temporal priority yet subordination in Luke’s Gospel, cf. Robinson, Problem of History, 70–71. The kinship connection between John and Jesus unique to this Gospel also prevents rivalry (Malina and Neyrey, “Honor and Shame,” 53).

Luke’s contemporaries would not expect verbatim sources for speeches, especially a full generation before Jesus’s public ministry. They would expect him to reconstruct material with sensitivity to the appropriate setting, in this case drawing on the most relevant biblical models to produce what he would regard as the likeliest sort of texture for these birth annunciation scenes in which the God of Israel acts. This observation concerning ancient historical writing does not rule out Luke’s possible use of Mary (cf. Brown, Birth, 33) or her son James as possible sources (see esp. Byrskog, History, 82–91; historical interest in Daniélou, Infancy Narratives), but is simply meant to note that, in general, historians will expect more from recent traditions than older ones. The material in Acts is more recent. The early scenes in the Gospel, however, clearly reveal Luke’s interest in narrative parallels.

The connection already appeared in Mark 1:8–10 (see Keener, Spirit, 49–90) and probably in the Q material that Luke also follows.

Schneckenburger, Apostelgeschichte, 52–58, noted in Brawley, Luke-Acts and Jews, 43n26, and Bruce, Peter, 23–24n24. Praeder, “Parallels,” surveys the past two centuries of approaches to these parallels, showing, however, the diversity of conclusions.

Foakes-Jackson and Lake, “Internal Evidence of Acts,” 182.

Aune, Environment, 119; Perkins, Reading, 265; Dunn, Acts, xiv; Talbert, Acts, xxiv–xxv; for the church in Acts imitating Jesus, see also Varickasseril, “Prayer.” Lane, Gentile Mission, 69–72, provides parallels between Jesus and Peter (69–70), Stephen (70), and Paul (70–72); see also Pervo, Mystery, 75–82.

Powell, Acts, 117, notes that Goulder’s typological approach follows Farrer, Matthew and Luke.

Goulder, Type and History, 72–74. In the Gospel column, I have sometimes included only his primary sample verse or verses whereas Goulder also suggests others.

See ibid., 74.

Ibid., 14–33. Goulder argues (46, not fully persuasively) for three brief cycles under the apostles in Jerusalem (see the table below), then a fuller one running from Stephen through Saul’s conversion, another in which Peter reaches Gentiles, and four concerning Paul.

Ibid., 22.

Powell, Acts, 27 (noting Houlden, “Review”).

Goulder, Type and History, 61–62.

Ibid., 54; widely accepted, e.g., in Karris, Invitation, 15.

Goulder, Type and History, 61. Some, such as the feedings of Luke 9:10 and Acts 6:1, remain quite weak; the graphic asymmetry of parallels between a verse in Luke (e.g., Luke 13:31) and chapters in Acts also stems from Goulder’s desire to keep the parallels in sequence where possible. He admits that some significant events in Acts (e.g., Paul’s conversion; the Jerusalem Council) lack parallels with Luke but insists (wrongly) that anything in Luke which could have a parallel in Acts does (62).

I borrow these categories from ancient drama as applied by Via, Kerygma and Comedy.

Bruce, Peter, 23–24.

E.g., Perkins, Reading, 264; Dunn, Acts, xiv. Cf. also parallels with Stephen: analogous charges in Acts 6:13–14; 21:20–21; 25:8, and stoning expanding the mission in Acts 6:8–8:4 and 14:19–23 (Perkins, Reading, 264).

See Witherington, Acts, 221; Stronstad, Prophethood, 110. Fenton, “Order of Miracles,” even finds six miracles each of Peter and Paul arranged sequentially to form three chiastic structures. Still, one doubts that most ancient readers (like most modern ones) would have recognized this pattern.

Satterthwaite, “Acts,” 363.

Whatever the precise date of 1 Clement, it is noteworthy that 5.1 speaks of Peter and Paul as belonging to the writer’s own “generation” (though opposed to the “ancients,” the language is curious if Peter and Paul are not within living memory of the author).

E.g., Klausner, Jesus to Paul, 215. Sometimes a writer may have forgotten that he already recounted a story, thereby inadvertently creating a doublet (probably in Plut. Alex. 37.4; 56.1; the work is lengthy).

Penner, Praise, 151, 185–87, 218, discusses histories’ cohesiveness and “plot,” noting Aristotle on other narrative genres. Cf. biblical patterning without fictionalizing in Allison, Jesus, 389.

Rothschild, Rhetoric of History, 97 (in rhetoric, see 99–141). She notes that the parallels help pave the way for those appreciating the first volume to hear the second favorably (122), an emphasis that might prove particularly useful if, as some (including myself) think, Paul’s legacy needs any defense among some of Luke’s audience. Further on literary recurrence in ancient historical narratives, see Trompf, Historical Recurrence. Though noting Thucydides’s incompleteness, Hornblower, “Thucydides,” 636, also recognizes his literary, Homeric-like “comparisons” across the span of his history “by using similar phrasing”; cf. also the observation of repetitive patterns in Finley, Thucydides, 301. Note also patterns in Appian’s C.W. 1 (Bucher, “Evaluation,” 458–59).

See, e.g., Hays, Echoes, 101, on Josh 3–4; Cotter, “Miracle,” 102; for Elisha’s miracles evoking Elijah’s, see, e.g., Levine, “Twice.” In a contrasting manner, cf. Ahab in 2 Chr 18:33 with Josiah in 35:23.

Pervo, Mystery, 73, illustrates that novels could parallel characters. This practice appears in various genres, including history and biography, so parallelism in Acts does not by itself specify the work’s genre. The common rhetorical technique of comparison made such interests inevitable in a variety of genres.

Goulder, Type and History, 181 and 182, for the respective quotes. Pervo, Acts, 9–11 (esp. 11), views Luke’s employment of patterns as the main problem for “treating Acts as simple history,” although he concedes that historians do look for patterns and often ignore other data. (One might concede Luke’s work as historiography while questioning whether “simple history” describes any ancient historical work—or perhaps any modern one for that matter.)

Goulder, Midrash, 36. I find his work on Matthew less convincing than his work on Acts, but for other reasons.

If one argues that the more recent traditions remained more fluid than the earlier canonical ones, one is confronted with the closeness of Luke’s story to Mark’s. If one argues that only the post-Jesus traditions in Acts were fluid, one has basically eliminated all comparative evidence, since it is for Acts alone that we lack other sources (though it is likely that Luke did have some more freedom in Acts). Naturally, we do have minor adjustments in both Luke and Acts (such as the centurion’s verdict in Luke 23:47 vs. Mark 15:39), but no wholesale creation of events.

See Cadbury, “Features,” 88–89.

See, e.g., Harnack, Acts, xix.

Hengel and Schwemer, Between Damascus and Antioch, 10. Such an approach is common in movements’ early histories; cf., e.g., the Hutterite Chronicle’s idealized view of that movement’s early unity (Williams, Radical Reformation, 674).

With Bruce, Acts³, 26: Luke draws parallels between Peter and Paul, but “it does not follow, as F. C. Baur and others supposed, that the parallels were invented by the author in order to minimize the difference between the two men; rather, the author selected from the record of events accessible to him those which best subserved the aim he had in view in composing his work.” This was the ideal of parallel biographers, as already noted.

As noted by many, e.g., Peterson, “Extent.” Many support the pre-Pauline character of much of 1 Cor 15:3–5 (e.g., Fuller, Formation, 10; Webber, “Note”; Haacker, Theology, 108–9; Satake, “1Kr 15,3”; Tobin, Rhetoric in Contexts, 163; cf. Wenz, “Fatale Argumentation”).

Possibly excepting the late 1 John 2:22. From 1 Cor 15:12, 2 Thess 2:2, and 2 Tim 2:18, we learn of groups that denied a future resurrection, but even these groups appear (esp. in 1 Cor 15) to have accepted Jesus’s resurrection. Reading later conflicts (such as Petrine Pseudo-Clementine literature vs. a catholic compromise) into first-century sources is fraught with anachronism. It ignores major changes between the eras, such as the Jewish-Gentile schism, the theological division between “Nazarenes” and “Ebionites” in second-century sources, and too many other shifts away from earliest Christianity.

Though either an upper or a lower room would render the other unclean (see comment on Acts 9:39).

Schneider, Apostelgeschichte, 306n7.

Plümacher, “Acta-Forschung,” 144. Williams, Miracle Stories, 4, observes that one has only so many options, even G. Theissen providing “only about eight categories” of miracle stories.

Williams, Miracle Stories, 5.

Citing Haenchen, Acts, 430. Williams, Miracle Stories, 175, argues that most correspondences are “motifs which are characteristic of almost all of Luke’s miracle stories.”

Williams, Miracle Stories, 5.

In fact, Williams, ibid., 176, does allow for deliberate parallelism in “gazing,” “leaping,” faith, and a “pathos-heightening” “from his mother’s womb”; he disallows it for such factors as “a certain man,” rising up, and crowd response. The parallels he does allow are significant; his point is that Luke reshaped, not invented, the basic stories.

For the plausibility of multiple miracle claims associated with particular persons, see briefly , above; more extensively, Keener, Miracles.

Kenneth Kinghorn, personal correspondence, Aug. 17, 2011. I had written concerning incidents in chs. 7 and 17 of Kinghorn, Story.

The parallel appears in Kopaska and Liston, Afterburn, 106. In personal correspondence with me (Sept. 2, 2011), he notes that the events took place, but that he “connected the dots,” noticing the importance of parallel features of them only over time as he shared his story. That is, retelling key features of a story may provide it structure without requiring the teller to invent the details.

For example, I could do it randomly with significant details in my life and that of my wife, despite our different backgrounds; one could isolate connections in almost any substantive biography.

See, e.g., Dunn, Acts, xv.

See, e.g., Lane, Gentile Mission, 72–73.

As noted by Dunn, Acts, xv.

Likewise, Jos. Ant. 20.53 (only a later summary appears in 20.101); if Josephus fulfilled these promises in a later work, it is not extant.

It is barely possible that the corresponding materials in Josephus are simply missing from our surviving manuscript tradition, but if so pressed, one might argue the same for Luke-Acts.

E.g., Kee, Miracle, 190.

Dibelius, Studies in Acts, 132. For an often humorous classification and characterization of various kinds of personality, see especially the thirty character types in Theophr. Char. passim.

Style critics also pointed out weaknesses in good writers (often where a writer fell short of his own standards); they did not assign them binary categories of good and bad (e.g., Dion. Hal. Thuc. 1).

Lucian opines that one must avoid such poetic descriptions in history (Hist. 8) and that although praise is permitted, one should keep it within bounds (Hist. 9).

See, e.g., Dion. Hal. Ant. rom. 3; comments in Keener, John, 216. Luke, writing only two volumes, does not expend space to develop his opponents so sympathetically, but he does portray some groups, such as the Pharisees, with more complexity and ambiguity (see comment on Acts 5:34).

See Satterthwaite, “Acts,” 376, noting the rhetorical admonition of Quint. Inst. 4.1.57; 4.2.58–59; 4.5.5; 9.4.147.

For Peter as a “round” and complex character in Luke-Acts, see Brawley, Centering on God, 139–47.

See my comment ad loc. Brawley, Centering on God, 148–58, finds Paul to be complex and ambiguous, like Peter: he defies easy classification (158). In the narrative logic of Acts, God, rather than other characters, guides the events (see 86–106).

Grene, Political Theory, 83; cf. similarly Polyb. 39.8.7.

On views of divine design in history, see Squires, Plan; for historians seeking patterns or cycles in history, see Trompf, Historical Recurrence, 78ff., 170ff. (cited in Witherington, Acts, 423); in Acts, see also Brawley, Centering on God, 86–106. Nonhistorians also linked events (e.g., Philost. Hrk. 7.6).

Aune, Environment, 119 (citing the same text in Appian as above). Historians today can note ancient historians’ tendencies or reasons for writing without dismissing historical tradition behind their presentation (e.g., Laistner, Historians, 97). Velleius Paterculus uses characteristics of earlier figures to prepare his audience for Tiberius (Gowing, “Republic,” 412–13). On “rhetorical unity” in Plutarch’s biographies, see Stadter, “Biography,” 537). Suetonius arranges Tiberius’s biography meaningfully (Thorburn, “Tiberius”).

Aune, Environment, 119.

E.g., Marguerat, Histoire, 80–82. On Luke’s techniques for achieving unity more generally, see 73–86.

Ibid., 82–83; Rothschild, Rhetoric of History, 118–19.

In practice, see, e.g., Philost. Hrk. 37.2; 38.1; as a rhetorical technique, see generally Marshall, Enmity, 348–53; Anderson, Glossary, 110–11 (citing Quint. Inst. 9.2.100–101 [cf. 2.4.21]; Rhet. Her. 2.45; Theon Progymnasmata (RG 2:112, lines 19ff.); Gärtner, “Synkrisis”; later, Hermog. Progymn. 8, “On Syncrisis,” 18–20; Aphthonius Progymn. 10, “On Syncrisis,” 42–44S, 31–33R; Nicolaus Progymn. 9, “On Syncrisis,” 59–62; Hermog. Inv. 4.14.212. We do not, however, think of a sequential, point-by-point comparison as in Men. Rhet. 2.3, 381.31–32; 386.10–13; 2 Cor 11:21–23. Cf. the use of “detailed discourse” to heighten contrasts (Anderson, Glossary, 70).

With Forbes, “Comparison,” 150, on Paul; for its common use in the NT, see, e.g., 150–60; Aune, Dictionary of Rhetoric, 110. Hock, “Paul and Education,” 213, critiques Malina and Neyrey for assuming that σύγκρισις appears this early in encomium; but even if it was not yet emphasized in encomium, it certainly existed this early.

On the use of antitheses in the rhetorical historian Sallust, cf. Fronto (Ad Ant. imp. 2.6.1), but he speaks only at the sentence level. Some of Homer’s comparisons were intended as good and better, not bad and good (e.g., Il. 22.158; pointed out also in Men. Rhet. 2.10, 417.10–11, which quotes it; interpreting Homer Il. 2.768–69, see Libanius Encomium 3.23 [applying it differently, cf. 1.16; 2.1]).

See Martin, “Philo’s Use.”

See our section above on history and moral lessons (ch. 5, sect. 1.b–d).

E.g., Dion. Hal. Pomp. 1–2, 6.

Ilan, “King David.” By contrast, Matthew compares Herod with Pharaoh (Matt 2:16; Keener, Matthew, 102, 107–8; Allison, Moses, 146), and his intended victim, Jesus, with Moses (see Allison, Moses, passim).

Ancients sometimes used length of “air time” as a clue to someone’s significance (Philost. Hrk. 14.2), relevant to Jesus’s receiving more space than Peter and Paul put together. That matched arguments often finished on the preferred side (e.g., paired declamations in Max. Tyre 15–16; 23–24) is less relevant; chronology determines Luke’s sequence, from Israel through Jesus and Paul’s mission.

The speeches emphasize that Paul carries on Jerusalem’s basic message (cf. Borgen, “Paul to Luke,” 176–78, esp. 178).

See Parsons, Departure, 182.

See, e.g., Cic. Brut. 93.321–22; Phil. 3.6.15; Pis. 22.51; Ag. Caec. 12.37; Tac. Hist. 1.30; Marshall, Enmity, 52–55. On invective, see, e.g., Arena, “Invective.”

See Dion. Hal. Demosth. 33; Fronto Ad Ant. imp. 1.2.4; Men. Rhet. 1.2, 353.9–10; 2.1–2, 376.31–377.2; 2.3, 380.21–22, 30–31; 2.10, 417.5–9, 13–17; Hermog. Progymn. 8, “On Syncrisis,” 19–20; Aphth. Progymn. 10, “On Syncrisis,” 43–44S, 32–33R, pp. 114–15; more fully, Keener, John, 916–17, 966–69, 1183–84; Anderson, Glossary, 121; Gibson, “Notes,” 321. When one did not wish a comparison with a good person to benefit one’s subject, one might say so (Cic. Verr. 2.4.54.121). Contrast the less challenging method of merely competing for honor within a small and less esteemed circle (2 Cor 10:12), though comparing oneself out of one’s league was hubris (cf. Sent. Syr. Men. 340–44; also Hom. Il. 7.111, cited by way of illustration in Nicolaus Progymn. 5, “On Maxim,” 28).

E.g., Men. Rhet. 2.10, 416.2–4. Some even achieved fame by being considered rivals of those who were truly their superiors (Eunapius Lives 493–94). By contrast, one could compare one’s subject with something smaller to magnify it by comparison (Rhet. Alex. 3, 1426a.27–32).

E.g., Men. Rhet. 2.12, 422.11–12; 2.14, 426.30; 2.14, 427.1–4.

Iambl. V.P. 22.101; 33.230.

E.g., Philost. Hrk. 27.3; 13.3–4; cf. Pliny Ep. 10.100. Orators also compared bride, groom, and their families (Men. Rhet. 2.6, 402.26–29; 403.26–32; 404.5–8), and novelists wrote of lovers competing in affection for each other (Xen. Eph. Anthia 1.9); some writers competed with earlier writers to develop skill (Pliny Ep. 7.9.3). One could even compare one’s work favorably with one’s own earlier work (6.33.1; cf. Cic. Fam. 9.14.6).

Hermog. Progymn. 8, “On Syncrisis,” 19.

Men. Rhet. 2.6, 403.26–32; 404.5–8; comparing their families, 2.6, 402.26–29.

He also compares the final leaders of Greece and Carthage who brought their nations to ruin before Rome (Polyb. 38.8.14–15).

After his individual paired biographies (e.g., of Lucullus and Cimon), Plutarch typically provides works that directly compare the two (Comparison of Lucullus and Cimon [Lives, LCL, 2:610–21]).

Cf. the unmerited comparison of Julius Caesar with Alexander in Appian Bell. civ. 2.21.149 (with Vell. Paterc. 2.41.1 even preferring Caesar, for his discipline); cf. paired speeches (in Livy; Laistner, Historians, 96; Laird, “Rhetoric,” 207–8). Some comparisons are rooted in the sources; Caesar is said to have compared himself with Alexander. Likewise, people compared newer figures with earlier ones, e.g., various emperors with Romulus (Vell. Paterc. 2.60.1; Suet. Aug. 7.2; Calig. 16.4; cf. Livy 5.49.7; Plut. Cam. 1.1; Haley, “Hadrian”; cf. Kearsley, “Octavian”); others with Alexander (Men. Rhet. 2.14, 426.23–24); or some later emperors with predecessors (Pliny Ep. 1.5.1; Suet. Tit. 7); and so forth (Cic. Piso 17.39; Lucan C.W. 9.15–18; 1 Cor 15:45; Rev 17:11). There were also impostors claiming the mantles of Alexander (Lucian Book-Coll. 20), Philip (Polyb. 36.10.1–7; Vell. Paterc. 1.11.1; Lucian Book-Coll. 20), or Nero (Tac. Hist. 1.2; 2.8–9; Suet. Nero 57.2; Lucian Book-Coll. 20; Dio Cass. 66.19.3; cf. Dio Chrys. Or. 21.9–10; Sib. Or. 4.137–39; 5.33–34, 137–54, 361–85; 8.68–72, 139–50). Parallel lives comparing Romans with Greeks grew from an emphasis already found during the Roman Republic, including in the first-century B.C.E. biographer Cornelius Nepos (Stadter, “Biography,” 533, though noting that Nepos adds little to our knowledge base). In the epic genre, Virgil’s Aeneas may function as a type for Augustus (Krauter, Epos, 238).

Frank Cole Babbitt, the Loeb translator, thinks this work stylistically inept; it is almost certainly not from the biographer Plutarch. As a rhetorical exercise, this method may have accelerated the transfer of traditions about one person to another (e.g., Philost. Vit. soph. 1.485 with LCL note; Alexander, “IPSE DIXIT,” 121).

His own romantic description of Darius’s death (Plut. Alex. 43.2) is missing in Arrian Alex. 3.21–23 but was evidently not his own invention (Bernadotte Perrin, in Plutarch: Lives, LCL, 7:352n1, cites Quint. Curt. 5.13, 28; Diod. 17.73).

Clark, Parallel Lives, 92–93, does suggest that Plutarch sometimes depended on his imagination for details (though noting that what can be proven is rearrangement of chronology; selection and omission for the sake of parallels; and sometimes even transference of actions to different characters—the sort of characteristics also encountered in midrash). Certainly, some of Ovid’s stories introduce the element of metamorphosis to earlier myths simply to highlight his unifying theme; but Ovid’s Metamorphoses belongs to a different genre. On Plutarch’s likely methods (and their limitations by modern standards), see Pelling, “Plutarch’s Method in Roman Lives.”

Polybius himself believed that his task as a historian was merely to report how Fortune had designed history, observing the causal connections that were her marks (cf. Polyb. 1.4.1–3).

E.g., Men. Rhet. 2.4, 393.25–30; see comment at Acts 24:4 on brevity.

Ancient hearers would also not find repetition of key themes in various parts of a work unexpected (in some kinds of speeches, see, e.g., Men. Rhet. 2.3, 384.25–27).

For historians’ interest in patterns, see again Squires, Plan.

Thus, e.g., Luke can parallel healings of paralytics through Jesus, Peter, and Paul, yet he lacks lepers to be healed in his second volume. Likewise, he uses “sinners” to prepare the way for Gentiles in the second volume but lacks many examples of Gentiles for his Gospel (and omits one available example, that of the Syrophoenician woman, which he possesses from Mark).

At best, Luke could foreshadow it in a proleptic way (cf., e.g., Acts 26:6–8).

Satterthwaite, “Acts,” 363. On such patterns, see discussion regarding Luke and the OT in ; also the discussion at Acts 7. In some cases a writer might rewrite one incident in light of another, without fabricating the incident; compare a detail surrounding Josiah’s death in 2 Chr 35:23 with one surrounding that of Ahab in 18:33, with a parallel in 1–2 Kings only in 1 Kgs 22:34 (not at 2 Kgs 23:29–30; cf. Williamson, Chronicles, 411), though we do not know the Chronicler’s range of sources (cf. 2 Chr 35:26–27; cf. Williamson, Chronicles, 408).

Kugel and Greer, Interpretation, 46–47.

Hays, Echoes, 101.

Jacobson, “Visions of Past,” citing 1 Maccabees, 3 Maccabees, and Judith and Tobit (cf. also Daniel the official as following the model of Joseph). The contrast he draws with Hellenistic historians, however, seems unfortunate.

Kugel and Greer, Interpretation, 47; cf. 4 Ezra 8:52–54; 9:5–6; on the Endzeit and the Urzeit, see discussion at Acts 3:21.

For surveys of views, see Betori, “Ricera”; Witherington, Acts, 74–76.

See Men. Rhet. 2.4, 391.19–28; 392.9–14; 393.23–24.

See esp. Wuellner, “Arrangement,” 51–87.

On structuring devices in Acts, cf. also Longenecker, “Aversion.”

See the excursus on summary statements at Acts 2:41; esp. Acts 6:7. Some question the historical value of the summary statements (Cadbury, “Summaries”); this concern seems reasonable, since Josephus proves least reliable in his summary statements, but see discussion on Acts 2:41–47 (esp. the disputed numbers of 2:41). Luke is a less rhetorical historian than Josephus, and his summaries cohere better with his overall narrative.

Liefeld, Acts, 41–42.

Luke has interest in Roman colonies such as Corinth and Philippi here (but also strategic free cities such as Thessalonica and free cities of symbolic import such as Athens); colonies appeared in Acts 13–14 also, but their status may have been less obvious to Luke’s audience.

E.g., in Witherington, Acts, 74 (who provides other possible analyses, 74–76); also Bruce, Commentary, 131; Arrington, Acts, xliv–xlv; and MacGregor in Morton and MacGregor, Structure, 40–41 (all following C. H. Turner); Hernando, “Function,” 245; similarly but slightly differently, Peterson, Acts, 36. Moody, “Chronology,” 227, develops C. J. Cadoux’s approach in connecting these panels with five-year periods, but ancient historiography did not work this way (Luke does not date events in Acts). O’Neill, Theology, 72, provides five sections, of which only Acts 19:21–28:31 (asymmetrical for any scheme) agrees with the six-section scheme; cf. also five parts in Zeigan, “Wachstumsnotizen.”

Puskas, “Conclusion: Investigation,” 67; Puskas and Crump, Introduction, 125; Morton and MacGregor, Structure, 41 (though finding C. H. Turner’s outline useful).

See comment on . Note further the fivefold division in O’Neill, Theology, largely developing Menoud, “Plan des Actes” (see Powell, Acts, 117).

This asymmetry could reflect Luke’s rhetorical commitment to write appropriately for the situation, or it could suggest that the wording in Acts 1:8 reflects historical tradition.

Scott, “Horizon,” 531.

Ibid., 525–30.

Ibid., 544.

Thus, e.g., Jervell, Apostelgeschichte, 52–55, divides the work into the Jerusalemite mission (Acts 1:1–8:40), the beginning of the Gentile mission (9:1–15:35), the Pauline Diaspora mission (15:36–21:26), and the trial against Paul (21:27–28:31).

Brawley, Luke-Acts and Jews, 43, and Bruce, Peter, 23–24, both citing Schneckenburger, Apostelgeschichte, 52–58 (1841). These parallels are widely accepted today (e.g., Kistemaker, Acts, 30; Arrington, Acts, xliv; Pervo, Acts, 21).

Cf. Arrington, Acts, xliv (arguing that in keeping with the work’s genre, Luke’s primary structure is, whatever else may be added, chronological). For Luke’s use of overlapping models, see rightly Pervo, Acts, 20–21.

Note a similar warning in Stowers, Rereading of Romans, 231, regarding imposing paragraph divisions on Paul.

On the concern for arrangement in rhetoric, see Wuellner, “Arrangement.”

E.g., Pliny E. N.H. pref. 33; N.H. 1 (the entire volume).

Because 4:31 is transitional and the following paragraph is closely connected with what precedes, I mention it here, though treating it more in the next section.

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