Iv . “W E” Passages (16:10) [500]
IV. “WE” PASSAGES (16:10)[500]
On several occasions, the narrator indicates his presence with the group by using the first person plural (16:10–17; 20:5–21:18; 27:1–28:16).[501] These appearances of the narrator are hardly random; although they do not represent the most “important” or exotic scenes (where a fictitious witness would be expected to insert himself), they exhibit geographic continuity (as one would expect for a genuine witness) from Troas to Philippi (16:10–16),[502] Philippi to Jerusalem (20:6–21:18), and Judea to Rome (27:1–28:16).[503] Because the action focuses on Paul but not his companions in 21:19–26:32, but the “we” resumes when his companions in the same region are again described, there is reason to believe that the person included in the “we” remains in Judea throughout the up to two-year interim period (especially given the likely uncertainty of Paul’s departure schedule and unexpectedness of its repeated delay).[504] It is no coincidence that the “we” narratives provide the most detailed accounts in Acts (the missionaries’ brief time in Philippi receives more detailed attention than eighteen months in Corinth and as much as two years in Asia [18:11; 19:10]);[505] that scholars often attribute the many accurate details of travel in 21:1–3, 7–8 to a diary; and that Paul’s two years in Judea (21:17–27:1) are the most detailed portion of the book.[506]
Scholars have raised questions, however, as to how the “we” should be interpreted: is the narrator the book’s author or his source? (That the “we” represents either the author or his source remains the majority position,[507] but it is not the only one.) Further, if the narrator claims presence, does the “we” imply that the narrator was historically present, or is it merely a literary device?[508] Although readers would not normally pause to question the meaning of a “we” claim in other historical texts, many scholars find this necessary in Luke’s case because they doubt, for various reasons, that Luke was, in fact, Paul’s traveling companion. Lüdemann, for example, questions whether a companion of Paul would recount “Paul’s early days” so sparingly.[509] But modern scholars criticize the sparseness of Luke’s detail on many other points as well, criticism that Luke could hardly have forestalled in his one-volume monograph. Paul (whose knowledge of his own ministry is naturally unquestioned) recounts very little of his early ministry in his letters, apart from his conversion (1 Cor 15:9; Gal 1:13), his time in Arabia (Gal 1:17), and his escape from Damascus (2 Cor 11:32–33), most of which experiences do appear in Acts. Moreover, Luke reports in most detail the events where he claims to be present, and he does not claim to have known or traveled with Paul in the early period.
Others doubt that Luke or his historical “we” narrator could have traveled with Paul, given the differences from Paul’s letters; but a traveling companion need not have known intimately all aspects of Paul’s mind most familiar to Pauline scholars,[510] nor is he further from the epistolary Paul than eyewitnesses of other ancient historical figures often were from extant epistolary sources for their subjects.[511] No one argues that Paul wrote the “we” sections.[512] Surveyed below are the most prominent scholarly views concerning Luke’s “we.”
(1) A Fictitious Literary Device
Some have argued that the “we” narratives are a literary fiction.[513] Some who make this claim argue that other ancient literature sometimes employed the first person pseudonymously.[514] On this view, mentioning “we” might draw the readers into the narrative, identifying them more closely with Paul or his traveling companions,[515] or might provide the narrator historical authority because it sounds like firsthand testimony.[516] Some think that the “we” points to Silas and Timothy[517] (which would render Luke at least inconsistent in Acts 17:14–15; 18:5; 19:22) or to Paul himself, with whom the narrator, sure of his traditions, has identified.[518] That “we” occurs alongside mention of Paul and appears only in certain locations during Paul’s ministry (not wherever Paul or these named companions are present) should put such grasping at straws to rest.
A literary convention of pseudonymous presence for entire works can be documented,[519] but most often in works that everyone recognized as pseudonymous.[520] Sometimes a writer consistently assumes the role of a fictitious narrator, but normally pervasively throughout the narrative, as in Apuleius’s Metamorphoses or Petronius’s Satyricon.[521] Novelists preferred first-person narration, but in a way that keeps the protagonist narrator central to the action, through most of the work.[522] By contrast, Luke intrudes his presence only rarely,[523] and he is not writing a novel.[524] Like Luke, other historians introduced themselves more sporadically—and only when present. Most pseudepigraphic works selected narrators centuries before their own time.[525]
We do have examples of fictitious “we” claims in antiquity, such as in Lucius’s narration in Apuleius’s Metamorphoses, some of Lucian’s parodies, and the post-Pauline Pseudo-Clementines; these are fictitious, however, only because the narrative as a whole is fictitious.[526] The author was clearly present in the narrative world; it is the genre that determines whether a “we,” like other elements in a narrative, is fictitious or factual.[527] Further, pseudepigraphy was normally thoroughgoing, rather than sporadic through a narrative.[528] Since Acts does not name its author or the narrator of the “we” narratives, the ancient convention of pseudonymity is not, in any case, relevant; we do not know of “implicit pseudonymity” in ancient sources.[529] The “lack of suitable parallels in the novel accounts” can more easily be counted against the classification of Acts as a novel.[530]
Plümacher, who views Acts as a historical monograph, has suggested that the valuing of eyewitness experience in Hellenistic historiography led to a literary convention of the historian introducing himself fictitiously into the narrative. Given this convention, Luke’s “we” could be fictitious.[531] It turns out, however, that no evidence exists for such a convention in ancient historiography, “a weakness that Plümacher has acknowledged.”[532]
A majority of scholars reject the literary-fiction approach.[533] As Porter notes, the literary-fiction interpretation is probably “the least satisfactory and least probable of the proposed solutions.”[534] The narrator rarely intrudes in the narrative; the first person refers to Luke himself in Luke 1:3 and Acts 1:1, with no reason to believe that this first-person usage is fabricated (especially since he does not place himself among the major witnesses, Luke 1:2–3).[535] Further, if Luke were simply inventing the narrator’s presence, we would expect it throughout the book and on more consequential matters than, for instance, a voyage from Troas to Philippi (Acts 16:11–12). The first-person novels to which Acts is compared use the first person pervasively; if Luke were following a supposed novelistic convention, why would he add “we” so rarely, and often in less controversial sections rather than where an eyewitness might prove most helpful?[536] Haenchen replies that Luke uses the fictitious “we” sparingly lest his work of history become fiction;[537] but as we shall see, we lack examples of clear works of history that include such fictitious devices, especially in this period.
We lack real evidence for much use of, much less any convention of, novelistic “we” claims in the historical genre.[538] Thus Arthur Darby Nock, one of the most outstanding classicists of the twentieth century, found at most a single use of a fictitious “we” in continuous narrative except in obvious fiction; he concluded that the “we” narratives were genuine eyewitness reminiscences.[539]
Now nos, as it occurs twice in the narrative of Bellum Alexandrinum, which was possibly not written by an eyewitness, may well mean “the Romans,” and occasionally in Polybius there is a “we” which might represent an oversight in using a source.[540] Nevertheless I know only one possible parallel for the emphatic use of a questionable “we” in consecutive narrative outside literature which is palpably fictional. . . . Since on stylistic grounds the hypothesis of a redactor is excluded, I think we must take these statements at their face value.[541]
Likewise Martin Hengel, one of the NT scholars most conversant with Greco-Roman sources, insists:
The remarks in the first person plural refer to the author himself. . . . From the beginning, this is the only way in which readers—and first of all Theophilus, to whom the two-volume work was dedicated and who must have known the author personally—could have understood the “we” passages. “We” therefore appears in travel accounts because Luke simply wanted to indicate that he was there.[542]
This is not to suggest that historians included their presence in narratives with first-person more than third-person references; they did not.[543] It is to suggest that where first-person reference occurs in works that purport to be primarily factual, the first-person claim also purports to be factual. Historical works did not fabricate the narrator’s consistent (and, still less, sporadic) presence for the sake of reader identification; reader identification might be a result, but readers would assume that “we” included the author. (Nor is it logical to assume at these points an internal narrator distinct from the author, given first-person use in Luke 1:3 and Acts 1:1 and especially the first person’s sporadic appearance.[544] See further comment on the “travel journal” hypothesis, below.) Any ancient writers inserting themselves into the story world in a work of history invited vicious critique on the charge of writing bad history.[545]
Further, the appearance of “we” is, as observed above, geographically consistent, rather than introduced randomly or (most telling against a fiction claim) pervasively.[546] The “we” group expands and contracts,[547] and it varies even within the same narrative.[548] Granted, novels could employ documentary techniques and subvert factual markers for their own purposes,[549] but this genre category is not at all where the rest of Luke-Acts points.[550] Biblical histories included examples of transitions from use of the third to that of the first person (Ezra 8:23–31; 8:35–9:15);[551] those familiar with these works in Luke’s era considered them genuine history and the first-person usage, consequently, historically authentic.
Luke does derive apologetic value from the places where his claimed eyewitness testimony is available; Luke was nearby during Paul’s abuse at Philippi and in Jerusalem and is intimately aware of how corruption prevented his swift vindication in Roman custody. Such points are helpful to Luke’s apologetic for Paul[552] and make the “we” narrator an ideal person to have written the book. Nevertheless, had Luke been fictitiously claiming his presence wherever it could be useful, he should have been a witness of Paul’s innocence also in Thessalonica, Corinth, and especially Ephesus (see comment on Acts 24:5). He is not present even in the temple’s outer court to witness Paul’s “rescue” by the Romans.
(2) Sea-Voyage Category of Fictitious Narratives?
One specific approach has been the claim that a fictitious “we” was conventional in Greek sea-voyage narratives.[553] It is, however, problematic. Aside from the questionable relevance of this convention to the portions where the missionaries are not at sea (Acts 16:10, 12–16; 20:7–8; 21:7–17; 28:14–16),[554] there simply was no such convention; first-person narration, like third-person narration, appears in all sorts of narratives, whether historical or fictitious, whether on land or at sea, and the historical nature of their claims nearly always comports with the genre of the works containing them.[555] Unless one first demonstrates that Acts is a novel (which flies in the face of most of the evidence),[556] one cannot argue that the “we” is fictitious or, still less, use its alleged fictitious character to (circularly) support the work’s fictitious character.
Even among the purported parallels in sea voyages in antiquity, the first-person occurrences are normally singular rather than plural.[557] By itself, such an observation need not weaken the view’s essential point. More problematic, however, is that if Luke were using a fictitious “we” as a convention in sea voyages, it is curious that “we” is missing in a considerable number of Acts’ sea voyages (13:4–5, 13; 14:20b–28; 15:39; 17:14; 18:18, 21–22).[558] (Many other ancient sea voyages also lack this allegedly conventional feature of “we.”)[559] The implied author, at least, makes a claim to have been present, and the reader would have assumed this presence.[560] In short, even if there were a sea-voyage convention, it could not explain these narratives’ anonymity, the group’s plurality, or the narratives’ limitation to three sections.[561] Most scholars have thus not found this approach persuasive.[562] (See also comment on Acts 27.)
(3) Travel Journal
Others have suggested that the “we” narratives reflect notes on a travel itinerary;[563] its journal style suggests to some that it is an early source.[564] Whether this putative journal derived from the author of Luke-Acts or from someone else, however, is a different question from whether such a journal existed. A number of scholars believe that Luke (meaning the volume’s author) was not the source of the “we” material but that in it he drew on authentic material from a companion of Paul.[565] A century ago Foakes-Jackson and Lake could claim that nearly all scholars viewed the “we” sections as the diary of a companion of Paul, though the view appeared in four main forms: (1) the diarist was also the compiler of Acts (i.e., basically Luke); (2) the compiler used the diarist’s material as his primary source for Acts 16–28; (3) the compiler found the “we” narratives already joined with other material in Acts 16–28; (4) the compiler added everything else from other sources to the diarist’s material.[566] With source criticism generally more suspect today, scholars are more reserved about offering definitive views, but they still differ as to whether the author of Acts and author of the “we” narratives are one and the same.
That a historical writer would make use of private notes or reminiscences is not unlikely, though since the time of Caesar Roman writers often published their own reminiscences directly.[567] Some have argued that Ezra and Nehemiah, each primarily a biographic rather than autobiographic work, include first-person memoir sections (Ezra 7:11–9:5; Neh 1:1–7:5; Neh 12–13).[568] If the writer was a named companion of Paul’s, the travel journal might then belong to Timothy or some other traveler.[569] These cases do not, however, provide very good parallels, since the primary characters’ names in these earlier documents’ contexts leave no question about the first-person narrators’ identity.[570] If we simply went by the primary character in the “we” narratives’ context in Acts, we would be driven to the position that Paul authored the “we” material[571]—a position impossible to defend, since Paul also appears throughout this material in the third person.[572]
The style and vocabulary of these sections, however, are Lukan (the itinerary being comparable especially to other itinerary material in Acts), suggesting that if a diary is in view, it is the author’s own.[573] Some have endeavored to argue for these sections’ stylistic distinctiveness or at least to blunt the claim that they are stylistically Lukan. Stanley Porter, who provides the most thorough modern argument for this position, is a thorough scholar with whom I do not disagree lightly, but his arguments for a source separate from the author here seem open to question. Porter himself concedes Harnack’s argument for lexical and syntactical unity with Luke’s style but doubts that the corpus is sufficient for genuine stylistic analysis.[574]
Porter contends that Harnack’s estimated 111 hapax legomena in these sections are roughly two and a half times what appear in the rest of Acts.[575] Many of these, however, are nautical terms in Acts 27, which Luke lacks occasion to use elsewhere.[576] Once these terms are taken into account, the argument from vocabulary cuts better the other direction: twenty-one terms in the “we” material appear elsewhere in Acts but nowhere else in the NT (with seventeen further words only in the Gospel), and twenty-eight others barely occur elsewhere in the NT.[577]
Porter argues that these sections depict divine guidance in an understated way, that their visions do not directly include God or Christ speaking (16:9 vs. 18:9–10), and that Agabus’s prophecy in 21:11–14 differs from his portrayal in 11:27–28.[578] He argues that they also portray Paul as a miracle worker (16:18; 20:9–12; 28:3–6, 8–9) but not in a flashy way as in some other accounts in Acts, such as 19:11–12.
New Testament scholars, however, too often frame as contrasts what classicists or ordinary readers would frame as comparisons, and this danger of exclusive framing seems likely the case here. If 16:9 and 18:9–10 both depict divine guidance, is it not nitpicking to argue for different sources on the basis of their differences in detail?[579] When miracle reports appear both inside and outside “we” sections, we can make any sort of distinction by narrowing the range of evidence too closely.[580] Is the viper hanging from Paul’s hand in 28:3–5 not flashy? The miracle summary in 19:11–12 is probably not eyewitness testimony, yet it summarizes many miracles; 28:8–9 (in the “we” material) provides another miracle summary. If “we” did not leave Philippi immediately after 16:17, “we” would have known of the rather dramatic earthquake as well (16:26). Since Paul reports that miracles occurred in Corinth (2 Cor 12:12) but Luke omits them there (Acts 18:1–18), should we argue that, in contrast to Porter’s suggestion, Luke outside the “we” sections plays down miracles? We simply lack sufficient material for such comparisons to carry significant weight.
Porter’s other theological contrasts display the same weakness. He argues that this special source minimizes any special importance of the Jewish people;[581] this claim probably would not hold true, however, if we counted not just verses that specify “we” but all those where the “we” is indicated as present (see 21:21–26, in light of 21:17–18).[582] Porter contends that Paul speaks only nine verses in this material,[583] but this claim is possible only because he excludes the speech to the Ephesian elders in 20:18–35 despite the presence of the “we” on that occasion (20:15; 21:1).[584]
Ultimately these theological contrasts are questionable even on a theoretic level; these are the sorts of contrasts one could raise between any randomly selected brief texts in Luke-Acts and the rest of the work by selecting details according to one’s planned scheme. If the passages are too brief to allow statistical analysis of style, as Porter claims,[585] how can his selected eighty-two-verse version of the “we” narratives be used for theological contrasts? One might more easily argue that 1 Thessalonians and 2 Corinthians cannot stem from the same author, given serious differences in their portraits of eschatology.[586]
A stronger claim could be offered based on the form-critical pattern Porter finds here: each “we” section reports “at least one sea voyage” and usually includes narrative on land as well. Each also “arrives at a destination that is the point of departure for the next ‘we’ section.”[587] Yet this form naturally fits the travel circumstances described. The sea voyages naturally appear because the narrator is a fellow traveler who is otherwise not part of the action; if anything, he plays down his presence (when they are not moving) to keep the focus on Paul, as Xenophon minimizes his own presence when (as in the early part of the Anabasis and perhaps in his memoirs of Socrates) he was at most a minor actor.[588] Likewise, Seneca the Elder is far more interested in reporting the orations he heard than in recounting his own role in the Controversiae; his role as a narrator with an excellent memory is more critical. The shift in locations suits Luke the author as well as any other historical personage waiting at these sites.
Another stronger claim that Luke could employ a source here is the fact that Luke rewrites Mark in his own style and hence could do the same for a source here.[589] But an argument that Luke has conformed material to his own style undercuts here the very point it hopes to prove: if Luke is such a careful editor of his sources (and he is), why would he allow another’s “we” to stand in his work, which his audience would naturally assume included himself as the author (as “we” normally did and does in works)?[590]
Luke employs LXX style (e.g., in most of Luke 1–2) or rhetorical sophistication (e.g., the period in his Gospel’s preface) where he finds it suitable; he also cleans up Mark’s grammar. Would such a frequent master of his style rework his other sources so thoroughly yet retain a “we” from one source, which would surely confuse his audience, if it did not include himself? Sometimes a writer did apparently copy from a source something inappropriate in his work,[591] but this was not common and, more important, is not a plausible explanation of “we” in Acts, which occurs throughout sections that are geographically connected. That is, Luke’s “we” is no accident, and hence it cannot accidentally reflect a source that excludes him. One former classicist puts it bluntly:
Why should the writer have preserved mechanically the inappropriate pronouns from a narrative by a different, unidentified person? It is a phenomenon oddly out of step with the smooth “Lukan” unity we have observed, and is hard to square with arguments for redaction. And how could the reader understand it, if not as a claim, true or false, to authorial participation?[592]
Likewise, another scholar complains about the unlikelihood that Luke would not simply change the source’s pronoun, which assumes Luke “so immature and unskilled as to incorporate a source without making this editorial change.”[593]
No ancient reader without prior information would take “we” as simply designating some eyewitness source; on the basis of the usage of nearly every historical source in antiquity, readers would assume that it meant authorial participation.[594] For example, when Philostratus suddenly introduces “we” and “us” (in Vit. soph. 2.21.604) for students of Proclus of Naucratis, it is because he himself did study with him (2.21.602). As Dupont, in his study of Acts’ sources, concludes, “Comparison with ancient texts which present the same peculiarity makes the significance of the procedure clear—the author wishes it to be understood that he has personally taken part in the events he is recounting.”[595] Nor does Luke treat any of his other sources the way critics have supposed that he treated his “we” source; otherwise, we might expect “we” in the Gospel as well, where he claims to have eyewitness sources (Luke 1:2). “We” signals not simply any eyewitness source but the author’s presence.
Given many scholars’ concern that Luke’s account deviates too much from the epistolary Paul, it is not surprising that many would work for solutions that separate the apparent eyewitness testimony in these sections from the author of Acts, by one explanation or another. As argued earlier, however, this concern is likely misplaced, since companions and friends did not necessarily replicate perspectives or interests, especially when those writers also were influenced by other teachers.[596] Without that starting prejudice, it seems more natural to read the “we” in the straightforward way we would read it in other sources.
(4) Luke as Paul’s Traveling Companion
If Luke used a written source, it was likeliest his own notes.[597] The one internal problem with this view is the probable loss of any papyrus material in the shipwreck in Acts 27:43–44, but this problem is hardly insurmountable. If Luke had recounted the story enough times, he might recall the details he reports with reasonable accuracy; nor is it impossible that the notes survived, at least sufficiently for him to be able to retranscribe them. Moreover, given custom and the vagaries of sea voyages, before the voyage he almost certainly would have left in Caesarea copies of the most critical notes covering events until that point. See comment on Acts 27:43–44.
As already noted, ancient parallels do not support a specific convention of fictitious presence in historical works. Other sources, in fact, demonstrate that the use of “we,” in all or at least the vast majority of cases, signifies that the author claims to have participated in the events narrated.[598] In most such cases, when dealing with history rather than novels, we are ready to grant that the writer was present on the occasions claimed. It is natural to read Luke here the way that we read other ancient sources and hence to assume that Luke claims to have participated in the events narrated in these sections.[599]
Thus, if Luke claims his presence falsely to gain historical credibility, as some suppose, then he would be viewed as gaining such “legitimacy” illegitimately, since other historians normally were present when they claim that they were (or risked scandalous exposure for a significantly falsified claim). Why should NT scholars be more suspicious (almost uniquely suspicious) of Luke than of most other ancient historians’ claims? This commentary’s introductory chapter on “Acts and Paul” (ch. 7) argued that Luke’s vision of Paul is not as divergent from Paul’s own as some have contended.[600] (In the same chapter I also pointed out that a sometime companion of Paul need no more write narratives full of “Paulinisms” than most of our friends or acquaintances would write accounts of us that sound like our correspondence or even teaching.)[601] Scholars who reasonably claim that Luke’s use of “we” here is a historical legitimating technique ought to also embrace the corollary that follows in most historical sources: the historian seeking to gain such legitimation, in the vast majority of cases, could do so because the historian was present on the occasions claimed.
Historians and writers of memoirs often named eyewitnesses who provided some of their information.[602] They were most impressed, however, with other historians who participated in some of the events they reported and could gain other information from trustworthy informants.[603] Firsthand testimony was the most valuable (see comment on Acts 1:8), and historians and biographers were especially eager to mention their own direct knowledge of events in the (generally) few places where they possessed it.[604] Thus, for example, Philostratus cannot mention his presence when referring to earlier sophists but mentions his interviews with the aged Damianus of Ephesus (Vit. soph. 2.23.606). Sometimes participants employed first-person language when noting their eyewitness testimony; some used third-person designations when they acted as primary characters in their narratives.[605] Even when employing the third person, however, writers who inserted themselves into narratives were claiming their presence and direct knowledge of events or reports (e.g., Eunapius Lives 494). Unlike ancient Near Eastern historians, many Greek historians were more willing to speak in their own voice.[606]
Of course, even eyewitness informants often interpreted events according to their bias for one side or another (Thucyd. 1.22.2–3), and “altogether faithful” eyewitness accounts could diverge on public details that all the witnesses knew about (Arrian Alex. 4.14.3; cf. the Gospels’ Easter accounts). As in other historical documents, we should assume that the reporter of Acts’ “we” material was present, but as Plümacher notes, the reporter claims only “a walk-on role,” revealing only that he traveled with Paul.[607]
Many scholars have thus concluded that the “we” sections reflect Luke’s own memories or notes of his experiences with Paul.[608] If Paul often was accompanied by coworkers (e.g., Rom 16:21; 2 Cor 8:23; 12:18; Phil 4:3; Col 4:7–11; Phlm 24; perhaps Gal 1:2), it is reasonable to surmise “that Luke had been from time to time in his youth a relatively junior member of this circle.”[609]
Excursus: Acts and First-Person Usage in Some Ancient Historians[610]
Use of third- and first-person designations for authors or narrators varied somewhat among historians and within individual works themselves.[611] One recent study offers a convenient survey of some of this usage. William Sanger Campbell offers the general and correct observation that ancient writings, in contrast to most modern ones, “refer to their narrators in first (singular and plural) and third person for both event- and narrator-level narration.”[612] Focusing on usage in some key Hellenistic historians, Campbell helpfully surveys the diverse use of third- and first-person designations for authors or narrators in three ancient historians—namely, Thucydides, Polybius, and Josephus.[613]
Although this survey is helpful, I believe, and argue below, that its reservations concerning Luke’s first-person usage for eyewitness testimony must be qualified.
1. Historians’ Use of Third and First Person
No uniform rule existed for the use of the first and third person in histories, but dominant patterns emerge, rightly highlighted by Campbell.
Not all historian/narrators were also actors within their narratives, and most who were did not appear throughout them (as Luke’s “we” does not). When they did, however, they more often appeared in the third person.
Campbell notes that when describing themselves as actors in narratives, Polybius normally, and Thucydides always, designate themselves in the third person.[614] Unlike some later historians, Thucydides usually uses the third person even when referring to himself as narrator.[615] When he is an actor in his narrative, Josephus usually designates himself by the third person in his War; by contrast, he identifies himself exclusively in the first person singular in his later autobiography (Life).[616] Campbell’s proposal that the use of the third person in most of the sources may be designed to “increase the narrative’s sense of historical objectivity” seems a plausible explanation.[617]
Although Xenophon is not among Campbell’s examples, it may be noted that one of his works also depicts him only in the third person.[618] Writers varied in usage on some points, however; he intrudes even as narrator only fairly rarely.[619] Similarly, Julius Caesar also preferred to depict himself in the third person,[620] although in ways that drew attention to himself far more than did other writers noted here. The pattern is thus a frequent one, even if it is not universal or complete.
Understanding use of the first person in most of these sources appears more complex. When historians used the first person, they did so most often, although not exclusively, at the narratorial level. Although not the subject of Campbell’s article, Herodotus frequently used the first person, especially as narrator.[621] Thucydides, by contrast, distances himself from what he regards as Herodotus’s inappropriate editorial comments by mostly avoiding self-reference.[622] Thucydides does use the first person singular a number of times for himself as narrator, but not as an actor in the narrative.[623]
The reason for the distinction between singular and plural forms of the first person in Thucydides is not as clear, although it fits a general pattern. Thucydides uses the first person plural only on the narrative level and only five times, and 80 percent of the time uses it with reference to “a grammatically superlative statement.”[624] Campbell believes that Thucydides uses the first person singular especially to affirm the accuracy of his information[625] and shifts to plural at times to prevent accusations that he exaggerates, especially in his superlative claims.[626] Campbell’s explanation here is not certain and is somewhat less convincing than his explanation for third-person usage, but it remains plausible and may well be correct.
Polybius’s usage is more diverse than that of Thucydides. Polybius consistently uses the first person singular when speaking as narrator;[627] he uses the first person plural throughout the preface (1.1.1–1.5.5) and twice during events within his narrative.[628] The first of these (36.11.1–4) begins in the third person, then shifts to “we” for the duration of the mission narrated.[629] The epilogue also moves from the third to the first person when Polybius returns from exile (39.8.1).[630] Why do such shifts occur? Careful to guard against critics, Polybius specifically explains the shifts as stylistic:[631] first, excessive repetition of the same usage would bore the readers (36.12.2); second, it was inappropriate to speak about oneself too much (36.12.3), but sometimes there was no other way to represent the matter (36.12.4–5).[632] In support of Polybius’s explanation, Campbell notes that Polybius mixes grammatical person, for example in 31.23.1–31.25.1.[633]
In the War, Josephus employs the first person “only sporadically,” except in the preface (1.1–30; see esp. 1.3).[634] On the narratorial level he shifts to the plural only in phrases such as “as we said,” for which the “War never uses the first person singular . . . even in passages that otherwise employ first person singular of the narrator (e.g., J.W. 2.114).”[635] Josephus occasionally mixes the first person singular and plural (War 7.454–55), and he mixes both with the third person in War 1.9–12.[636] Rather than “literary aesthetics,” as in Polybius, Josephus’s War uses the third person when Josephus acts within the narrative and first person when he is speaking as the narrator. Campbell believes that the War, “generally speaking,” uses the “first person singular in passages dealing with factuality of the history and first person plural for conventional and other comments concerning the act of narrating.”[637]
Although the dominant association of first person with the narratorial level is evident in many sources, it is clear that Luke does not employ the same approach, since the “we” narrative’s first-person-plural verbs are never verbs of narration but instead only of action.[638] This is an important distinction that affects how we should evaluate Campbell’s treatment of Luke’s first-person usage, below.
2. “We” as a First-Person Historical Claim?
No less a scholar of classical sources than Arthur Darby Nock opined that Luke’s “we” should be read like “we” in other ancient historians—a claim that included the author himself.[639] By contrast, whereas Campbell’s survey of the data is helpful, one of the chief conclusions for which some will cite his article is problematic and of particular relevance for our discussion of the point of Luke’s historiographic use of “we.”
a. Questioning “We” as a Historical Claim
Although recognizing that the majority of scholars view Luke’s “we” as an eyewitness claim (whether from the author or his source),[640] Campbell seeks to neutralize the traditional argument that “we” reflects eyewitness presence.[641] He recognizes that, based on Polybius’s usage, Luke’s “we” passages “place the narrator character at the scene, an eyewitness to and a participant in the events narrated”; yet Campbell abruptly balks at the expected conclusion, protesting that Acts’ anonymity means that the “we” simply establishes characterization, not historical information.[642]
The evidence that he marshals, however, does not support this case, which depends instead on some illegitimate inferences not directly related to the data he cites. Campbell argues that the narrator does not emphasize his presence, claiming that he “does not say that at these points he has entered events personally, nor does the story itself suggest that this is the case.”[643] Yet, as we have noted, Campbell himself recognizes that ancient writers could shift from third to first person or first person singular to plural at times without warning.[644] An ancient writer who attributes action in the narrative to an actor identified in the first person normally does by that very attribution claim to enter events personally. The writer does not normally need to offer a further level of affirmation to insist that he means what readers would normally take his words to mean.
The primary reasons for denying that Acts’ narrator claims to be present rest not on Campbell’s conclusions from analyzing other ancient historians but on his belief that Luke differs from these historians. That the narrator traveled with Paul is problematic, Campbell believes, because the narrator’s perspectives differ significantly from those in Paul’s letters.[645] As noted in the introduction to this commentary, however, the differences are no more significant than we should expect for an author for Acts that was not Paul himself.[646]
Much more central and explicit for Campbell’s argument against the author claiming to be present is his repeated suggestion that Luke differs from the other historians by his anonymity; his first-person usage therefore does not refer to an identity claim earlier in the narrative.[647] Although the authors of three of the four works that Campbell examines do name themselves in the beginning of their works, such naming was hardly the exclusive, and certainly not the necessary, practice of ancient sources, including histories[648] and biographies.[649] In fact, Campbell himself expressly acknowledges that in one of the four works he investigates, Josephus’s Antiquities, the author does not name himself within the work.[650] Works did not always explicitly identify their authors.[651]
That is, a work might remain anonymous so far as explicit intrinsic claims are concerned and yet not be anonymous at the assumed level of the real audience’s knowledge. As studies supporting relevance theory have demonstrated, some information in communication is implicit or assumed;[652] readers of the Antiquities knew that Josephus was the author, and Luke’s ideal audience (including Theophilus) certainly knew who the “I” of his preface was.[653] Although modern scholars do not know with certainty who Acts’ author was, Luke’s original audience probably did not suffer from the same predicament. Indeed, if we profess ignorance of the author’s identity, then for all we know Luke could name himself in the third person at points in the narrative (if, say, he was Silas or Timothy), though it seems more likely that he identifies his presence only in the first person plural.
c. What Historians Meant by “We”
For the questions of historiography, however, what matters most is the person to whom ancient historians’ first-person usage refers (to paraphrase a question about a different genre, “to himself or someone else?”; see Acts 8:34). As noted, historians varied somewhat as to whether they ever included themselves in the narrative in the first person.[654] Luke’s inclusion of himself in the first person therefore does not break historiographic protocol, even if, as is suggested below, he minimizes his role as actor more than many other authors minimized their own. It is important to notice authors’ differences in usage for the level of the narrator and presence within the narrative, but these differences affect only frequency of first-person usage within the narrative, not whom the first-person usage identifies.
Campbell emphasizes that first person dominates at the narrator level and is rarer at the event level.[655] This observation is true, but the primary issue from a historiographic standpoint (the nature of Luke’s historiographic claim) is not how often the author uses the first person within the narrative but what he means when he uses it. What is critical when asking who is included in Luke’s first-person usage is whether historians meant or did not mean themselves when they used the first person. Here the resounding answer of Campbell’s own evidence is that they did intend themselves, whether individually (in the first person singular) or as part of a group (in the first person plural).
Thus one may note Josephus’s use of the first person plural in Antiquities: “The first person singular in Antiquities often serves to distinguish the author/narrator individually from first person plural references close at hand that associate him with the Jewish people.”[656] That is, he speaks in his “we” passages as part of a group.[657] Campbell concludes that in Luke-Acts, as in other works, first-person-plural usage shows the “narrator’s personal knowledge as eyewitness or researcher and, therefore, his credentials for telling the story accurately as Luke claims in Luke 1:3–4.”[658]
Authors employ the first person plural in various ways, sometimes including the addressees and sometimes excluding them, and occasionally as a collective or authoritative replacement for the first person singular;[659] yet “we” nearly always includes the speaker. On a literary level, it states the obvious to point out that in Luke’s usage, the first person includes the speaker, just as other writers’ usage did; that was the point of using the first person plural. Whatever the genre of Luke’s work, speakers within his narratives include themselves in first-person-plural claims.[660] Why should we suddenly interpret the expression differently when the narrator is the one speaking?
That is, it is not the case that only the first-person usage (and still more narrowly, first-person-plural usage) for an actor within the narrative is relevant to Luke’s usage. Dividing narratorial and narrated uses of the first person effectively reduces the amount of evidence admitted, but on the point in question (that is, whether the first-person usage is self-referential) there is no significant difference in the material.[661] Campbell does not claim that any of his examples involve a fictitious “we”; rather, he argues that first person dominates the narratorial level. This observation does not help one construe Luke’s “we” as narratorial, however, since it always occurs with verbs at the event level. If the “we” is not fictitious, it must be taken as a claim to participation, just as it is taken where it occurs, on whatever level, in primarily factual writings.
Likewise, whether in the singular or the plural, the historian’s first-person usage in these cases does include himself.[662] (That is, the plural usage normally includes the historian, even though it is not usually limited to the historian.) Some historians, such as Diodorus Siculus, often use first-person-plural narration, perhaps even preferring it to the singular.[663] Dividing the first-person evidence into singular and plural at most suggests some patterns of usage distinctive to particular authors, but a distinction in usage is not clear for all authors noted. The division effectively minimizes the evidence at hand, allowing one to speak of less evidence.
Yet Luke has a very clear reason for preferring the plural of the first person: he identifies his presence only as part of a larger group, not as a primary actor within the narrative. A singular pronoun would require a statement of action distinct from one concerning the group. That is, Luke uses the plural because he belongs to a group, just as Josephus sometimes uses the plural because he belongs to a group.
3. Use of “We” instead of Author’s Name
An important question separate from what Luke means by “we” is why he uses it. The narrator’s mention of himself within the narrative, using the first person plural, contrasts with the frequent historiographic practice of naming oneself as a participant only in the third person. Thucydides occasionally, and Polybius and Josephus usually, use first person at the narrator level.[664] In Acts, however, the narrator’s first-person-plural verbs appear not at the narrator level but within the narrative (16:10–13, 16; 20:6–8, 13–15; 21:1–8, 10, 12, 14–17; 27:1–5, 7–8, 15–16, 18, 27, 29; 28:1, 10–14, 16).
a. Other Meanings of the First Person Plural?
Campbell suggests that if Luke wished to communicate his presence, he should have followed the example of Thucydides, Polybius, and Josephus in using the third person.[665] Yet the setting in which Luke uses the first person is what determines what he communicates with it.
First-person-plural usage, Campbell suggests, need not mean presence. He notes that Josephus’s first-person identification with his ancestors “assuredly is not meant to signal Josephus’s historical presence among his Jewish ancestors.”[666] But although Josephus is not making a claim of historical presence, he is identifying himself as part of the people, a claim that virtually no one disputes. Luke, by contrast, does make a claim of presence, but the distinction is based on the action or identification described, not on the use of the first person, which in both cases includes the author.
Campbell may be right to conclude,
In the histories analyzed, referring to the author/narrator as “we” gives a sense of corroboration to the narrative eyewitness’s version of the story. . . . Similarly, the effect of first person plural grammatical style in Acts is to cast the narrator character as a narrative eyewitness and participant in Paul’s mission and, in so doing, to emphasize his version of events.[667]
At the same time, Campbell argues, this usage “qualifies the narrator’s involvement by characterizing him as part of a broader eyewitness group.”[668] As I argue below, this is indeed true on one level. His suggestion that the author appeals to the “we” to broaden corroboration for the account,[669] though, seems questionable if we read the narrative as history; Paul, at least, has (on our dating of Acts) died, and it is not clear that the other witnesses would be locally available for consultation. His argument that Luke’s first person plural invites his audience into the narrative[670] is possible but not certain, and here Campbell’s own distinctions become significant: an editorial or narratorial “we” may invite audience participation, but does a narrative “we” at the event level necessarily do so, if the audience recognizes most members of the group in question?[671] Whether Campbell is correct here, however, is not germane to the historiographic question about the narrator’s presence, since a narrator’s claim to be present historically is not in principle incompatible with an additional literary purpose such as reader identification.[672]
Returning to the question of historical presence, what is more critical here is to note that we have no reason to believe (and Campbell does not specifically claim) that ancient historians introduced such an invitation to audience participation fictitiously. Since the actions Luke’s “we” depicts involve participation in the narrative’s events rather than narration, it remains a claim of genuine presence, for which the interpretive options are that it is either accurate or fictitious.
This observation in a sense holds true not only for ancient historiography but also for ancient writings in general: if a writer claims to have been present, the claim is either true or false. If we deem it false, it is either because we expect it to be so, based on its presence in a work the genre of which does not make many historical claims (such as fiction), or because we have sufficient reason to believe that the author in question is lying in this case.[673] There is not sufficient reason to believe that Luke is lying, given his relatively rare, inconspicuous, and geographically consistent use of the first person, and given the consistency with the epistolary Paul on the points one would expect for a writer other than Paul.[674]
Why would Luke use first person within the narrative when most historians used third person there? First, we may note that the practice of identifying oneself only in the third person was not followed invariably, even in some of the works on which Campbell’s study focused; there was some room for author variation (in contrast to the absence of a fictitious “we” claim).[675] Campbell’s own evidence shows that occasionally Polybius used the first person at the event level.[676] Some other historians, such as Velleius Paterculus, could mention themselves directly.[677]
Further, the majority of historians who did not directly participate in events could not mention themselves within the story’s events per se, but they could mention their acting in terms of their own research, inquiries, or eyewitness testimony of monuments and so forth. In these cases, they speak not simply as narrators but as those who acted in a way that is briefly narrated. This was already true of Herodotus, for example;[678] when acting in concert with others, he could also speak of what “we” did in the first person plural.[679] Dionysius of Halicarnassus notes that he acquired some information orally from learned men, “with whom I associated.”[680] Occasionally Diodorus Siculus could also mention himself at the level of presence and research.[681]
Josephus’s Life, a work that covers some of the same historical ground as his War, employs the first person lavishly;[682] other forms of biographic works also did not object to it.[683] Suetonius, for example, casually includes self-reference in the first person where it explains a source for his information.[684] When Philostratus uses “we” or “us” (in his Vit. soph. 2.21.604) for students of Proclus of Naucratis, it is because he himself was among the students (2.21.602). Many other factually oriented works also seem to have lacked reticence to employ the first person.[685]
Most biblical historians do not claim their presence in the narrative, but exceptions appear in Ezra (chs. 8–9, alongside third-person usage in chs. 7 and 10)[686] and Nehemiah (1:1–6 and passim, alongside third person in 1:1; 8:9; 10:1; 12:26, 47); these writers can shift to the plural “we” when traveling as part of a group (Ezra 8:31–32) or doing some other group activities (e.g., Neh 2:17–20; 4:1, 4, 6, 9). First-century Jews viewed Deuteronomy, one of the most widely cited works at Qumran and in early Christianity, as Mosaic, and its usage is interesting. It introduces Moses speaking in the third person (Deut 1:5), as we might expect from sources sampled above, but then allows him to elaborate a lengthy historical prologue in the first person singular (1:6–3:29); where the plural occurs, it is not limited to Moses but includes him as part of a group,[687] including his participation on journeys (Deut 1:19; 2:1, 8, 13–14; 3:1, 29).
Isaiah is introduced in the third person (Isa 1:1) and thereafter appears in both the first and third person;[688] whatever this prophetic work’s editorial history, it was read in Luke’s day as a unified work. Likewise, Jeremiah is introduced in the third person (Jer 1:1–3) and thereafter appears in both the first and third person;[689] Ezekiel appears in the first person, except once in Ezek 1:3.[690] Other Jewish literature sometimes uses the first person for a narrator’s involvement in narrative, whether pseudonymously (in pseudonymous literature)[691] or in the name of the genuine author. This is the case, for example, in 1 Enoch[692] and also in the Christian book Revelation, where the narrator participates on the level of events.[693]
It is thus plausible that Luke, writing at a fairly popular level to a biblically literate audience, would have seen no problem including first-person factual narration.
More important for the narrator’s appearance solely in a group, however, is how this allows Luke to avoid entirely the risk of self-commendation (one of Polybius’s concerns, 36.12.3, noted above).[694] If some writers used the third person to evade charges of drawing undue attention to themselves, even though readers knew that the authors spoke of themselves, Luke actually shifts attention away from any personal activity on his part even more by using the first person plural. Luke does not use first-person narration often;[695] when he does use it, although he is present as an actor, he never contributes individually to the narrative action.[696] He thus would have no need to highlight or name himself, and describing his individual activity separately would have drawn attention to his activity rather than his historical function as a (limited) witness.
Whereas some authors may have avoided the first person to avoid the appearance of self-promotion (sometimes even while obviously promoting themselves, as in Caesar’s case), Luke avoids self-promotion even more fully by blending his presence into the group of which he was at times a part. Luke is not using a conventional literary plural distinct from the singular only on the level of the convention; he has to use plural because he is part of a group.
The reason that he does not depict himself as an actor in the narrative individually is that he is writing not about himself but about (primarily, in these sections) Paul and his mission.[697] Luke minimizes mentioning himself more by including himself in “we” sections than by mentioning himself even in third person; he is present but never the focus of action. To mention himself more explicitly in the third person would require narrating an action of which he was the sole subject, unless he were to simply name each member of the group. As it is, he both indicates his eyewitness presence at some key events, particularly involving Paul’s controversial Roman custody, and keeps himself from the focus of activity. In this way, he affirms his role as reliable narrator without detracting from his focus.[698]
The simplest solution is often the best, and the most obvious solution is sometimes the simplest. Historians most frequently depicted their participation within narratives in the third person, but when first person claims occur, on whatever level, they do include the author. Luke does not restrict (or, beyond his prefaces, use) the first person for his narratorial voice; the verbs in the “we” narratives explicitly depict the narrator within the narrative.
Although Luke includes notice of his participation, however, his use of the first person plural minimizes focus on it far more than even third-person usage would have. He avoids needing to mention himself separately (by name, title, or first-person-singular pronoun) by simply including himself in group actions. The narrator reports no separate actions of his own, even though he apparently did share in the ministry (16:10, 17). His focus remains on Paul and, to a lesser extent, Silas, with a few other named characters.
3. Ministry and Opposition in Philippi (16:11–40)
Ministry in Philippi represents a new stage in Paul’s mission. Since leaving Antioch, Paul and his companions on this journey have ministered merely among churches earlier founded by Paul and Barnabas (perhaps through prior contacts, as suggested earlier), afterward facing closed doors in new regions. (They may have founded a church in Troas, but Luke is silent about this or any other new mission successes on this journey so far.) Now Paul’s dream has led them to minister in Macedonia; they will need the strength of remembering that calling when, after an outwardly small success with a handful of marginal converts, they quickly face public judicial persecution.
This passage develops a number of themes in which Luke also shows interest elsewhere. These include ministry to the socially marginal (Acts 16:13), a spiritual power encounter (16:16–18) challenging vested economic interests (16:19–21), and persecution for preaching the gospel (16:22–23).[699] In this case Luke reports vindication following the persecution, especially in the earthquake of 16:26 (which leads to a new household conversion) and in the personal entreaties of officials in 16:39 (which leads to public reduction of shame, a positive and comic climax for Luke’s account of their stay in Philippi).
It is clear from Paul’s letters that he faced unusual hostility in Macedonia, in both Philippi and Thessalonica, in contrast to Achaia. It is also clear that he was abused in Philippi (1 Thess 2:2); thus where we can most explicitly test Luke’s account, it passes the test. On many points, of course, we lack external corroboration, which is the case for most narrations of history from the past. Consistency suggests that we tend to give Luke the benefit of the doubt where we cannot test him if he passes the test adequately where we can.[700] Nevertheless, some scholars, instead of assuming that Luke drew on solid information where we cannot test him the way he did where we can, are skeptical where we cannot corroborate him, and not simply on minor details (the sort that ancient writers seem to have welcomed divergence over).
Scholars thus argue for different views on the reliability of this narrative. Some have argued that Luke had an anecdote about Paul’s beating, a legend about his miraculous release, and an account of Lydia’s conversion.[701] More likely, however, Luke was an eyewitness to much of what is reported here, and received first- or secondhand reports of the rest immediately after it happened (see comment on Acts 16:10; cf. 16:40).[702] Paul himself mentions miracles as well as beatings in his missionary work (Rom 15:18–19; 2 Cor 12:13; cf. Gal 3:5); a beating with rods (2 Cor 11:25); and public humiliation in Philippi (1 Thess 2:2). This was probably the account that “the Philippian church told about its own foundation.”[703]
An additional factor may support this verdict if my less-than-certain reconstruction of Luke’s audience is adopted. If my hypothesis that the church in Philippi was a central part of Luke’s ideal audience is correct, Luke would not have dared fabricate its foundation story (whatever perspectives he might have contributed). Nevertheless, it remains possible that, focusing on narrative action, Luke might condense the events of Paul’s sojourn (cf. “a given number of days,” 16:12; sojourn in a home, 16:15).
a. Lydia and Her House Church (16:11–15)
The first reported convert of the Macedonian mission (and hence Paul’s first reported convert in ancient “Europe,” if Luke has this geographic category in mind; see comment on Acts 16:8–9) was from Asia and already feared the God of Israel (Acts 16:14). Starting where the missionaries had points of contact was, however, good sense and would have been viewed as providential (as in 8:30). Ironically, it is persecution that will create the setting for Paul’s first reported Macedonian convert (16:28–34).
I. FROM TROAS TO NEAPOLIS (16:11)
Once certain of their new direction (16:10), the team sails to the island of Samothrace and on to Neapolis in Macedonia. Educated ancient audiences familiar with such sites and their rich historical and cultural associations may have appreciated Luke’s geographic details more than most modern audiences do.
(1) Voyage to Macedonia
The geographical details would not be lost on the most informed elements of Luke’s audience.[704] Whereas Luke mentions locations in passing, more detailed historians expanded on such locations and the light they shed on their account. Polybius recommended geographic digressions to prevent the narrative from being obscure to readers (Polyb. 1.41.6, introducing a digression in 1.42.1–7). Only such concrete “local descriptions,” including “landmarks, harbours, seas, and islands, . . . temples, mountains, and local names of districts, and finally differences of climate” (5.21.7–8 [LCL, 3:55]), could sufficiently acquaint hearers with locations mentioned (5.21.9).
As noted, ancient readers may have found such travel reports, even in their more concise form, more interesting than would many modern readers. Letter writers remarked about their travels. Thus, for example, Cicero summarizes his recent travels, including the number of days spent in each location; he complains about being unable to sail one day because of contrary winds (Att. 5.12).[705] Travel was easier and more popular in the empire than in the centuries before or after it.[706] Excepting winter (see comment on Acts 27:9), one could travel farther faster, hence less expensively, by ship than on land; the optimum speed by ship was a hundred miles per day whereas even mounted travelers by land traversed at most thirty miles in a normal day. Those who walked or who needed arrangements to rent means of transport might make fifteen to twenty miles a day.[707] We can imagine that those who traveled would have much time for discussion; for Jews, this discussion would often involve Scripture.[708] From a narrative perspective, however, Luke’s reports of earlier voyages may also foreshadow Paul’s fateful voyage in Acts 27;[709] frequent travelers ran into storms sooner or later, and in Acts 27 Paul’s travel experience could not prevent his participation in a dangerous voyage.
Why would the group sail from Troas? North of Cape Lectum, the Troad lacks a “good natural harbour” south of Troas. From an early period, the island of Tenedos, controlling the Dardanelles, proved strategic despite its poor harbor, but a sailor might have to wait there “for days or weeks” until winds changed. Tenedos is north of Alexandria Troas (though south of ancient Ilium).[710]
Alexandria Troas became prosperous in the centuries before Paul’s visit; its excellent artificial harbor offered the first adequate harbor close to the southern edge of the Hellespont—a secure shelter within a few miles of the mouth of the Hellespont.[711] Ancient seafarers and other regular travelers had a highly sophisticated network of routes, organized according to season and weather. Two strategic routes crossed through Troas: the route from the region of Pontus on the Black Sea to Troas and then by sea to the west, and the imperial courier route from the west across Macedonia and then by sea to Troas. The sea route between Neapolis and Troas would have been among the busiest.[712] If Troas was difficult for Paul’s companions to reach from Phrygia, their coming here may have suggested an interest from the start in moving westward, once they could have divine guidance (Acts 16:9–10).
The travel time Luke reports in 16:11 is exceptional, probably suggesting a favorable wind and perhaps indicating that the time was now autumn.[713] It was widely known that no ship from the Troad could reach southern Greece in a single night (Aeschylus Ag. 279–81); more relevantly, sailing directly across the Aegean (from Athens to Ephesus) took Cicero more than two weeks (Att. 5.12–13). The two days’ voyage to Macedonia in Acts 16:11 contrasts favorably with the five days’ voyage in the opposite direction in 20:6, when the spring winds were against the travelers.[714] Readers understood that seasonal conditions and prevailing winds affected transport time; under the best sailing conditions, news could reach Alexandria from Rome in nine to twenty-five days, but poor weather could extend the trip to forty-five days, and news could take up to sixty-five days in winter.[715]
(2) Samothrace
The voyage from Troas to Neapolis was more than 150 miles. The island of Samothrace was the natural rest stop between Troas and Neapolis, being halfway between them.[716] This location made its relationship with Troas a matter of occasional comment.[717] Since passenger ships did not exist, passengers boarded any ships heading their direction;[718] if Paul’s ship had business in Samothrace, his team might have switched ships in that busy harbor. But ships would more commonly have business in either the Troad or Macedonia, and so this ship probably merely harbored for the night; it was safer to anchor for the night than to remain at sea.[719]
Although the island of Imbros[720] was nearer than Samothrace on the voyage, the latter was much more visible with its landmark high mountain toward the island’s center, Mount Fengari, also known as Mount Saos, well over five thousand feet (more than 1,600 m.) high, the Aegean’s highest peak.[721] Those in Luke’s audience who had heard of the island probably knew something of the mountain’s high elevation (cf. Strabo 7, frg. 50a). Samothrace was well known, as was its proximity to Macedonia and Thrace (2.5.21; 7, frg. 47). It was also known for its wealth; in earlier times, Cilician pirates stole more than a thousand talents from its temple (2.7, frg. 50a).[722] The island comprises sixty-nine square miles (178 sq. km.), with agricultural land but also many hills bearing more shrubs than trees.[723]
The city of Samothrace, on the northern coast of the island that shared its name, was a free city.[724] Its site is now called Palaeopolis, the “old city.”[725] Ancients would not have used the modern harbor; ruins show that the old harbor was near the ancient sanctuary.[726] Paul’s ship would thus have harbored on the north of the island, facing Macedonia. Harbors often included religious monuments,[727] and given the proximity to the temple, some signs of veneration may have been visible in the harbor when Paul visited, although he may have arrived late in the day. Paul would have been voyaging before winter, when Samothrace endured heavy rain and snowfall, and hence he could have been visiting when the famous Mysteries were at their height.[728]
Samothrace was especially and widely known as a “sacred” island (Livy 45.5.3–8, 11–12), discussed for its famous sacrifices to Demeter and Core (Strabo 4.4.6) and especially its Mysteries.[729] The cult of the Cabiri offered its initiates “protection, moral improvement, and the promise of immortality.”[730] The precise identity of the Cabiri was debated, some identifying them with the Corybantes and Curetes and others (Strabo 7, frg. 50), though the Corybantes were most common (10.3.19, 21).[731] Others associated them with Dionysiac frenzy, given their shared titles for cult attendants (10.3.7).
The cult had two stages of initiation and conducted its activities at night.[732] Although some scholars doubt whether we can know if Paul’s companions went ashore that night,[733] it seems likelier that the group slept in the harbor during their probable nocturnal visit.[734] If passengers were allowed to go ashore and if it was not already too late, some others might have desired to visit the sanctuary. The rites attracted many visitors and were conducted at various times of the year, though probably no major festival was occurring at a given time of the ship’s passage. The sanctuary was close to the northern coast[735] and, as already noted, close to the harbor.[736] Those who argue that the Cabiri of Samothrace (unlike elsewhere) protected only sailors tend to identify them with the Dioscuri[737] (on which see comment on Acts 28:11). Initiation lists, however, reveal a number of slaves[738] as well as citizens and freedpersons.[739] Unlike some other Mysteries, these could be attended by anyone.[740]
Probably most of Luke’s informed audience, and Luke himself, knew of Samothrace in connection with the famous mystery cult of the Cabiri. As Judean residents for much of their lives, Paul and Silas would be less likely to know of the cult than Luke, but given the voyage’s length, they may well have heard observations about it from fellow voyagers; even sages and their disciples might make the various renowned islands on their itinerary a common topic of conversation on the voyage (Philost. Vit. Apoll. 4.15). Even for Luke, however, the known cults on the island are beside the point; the group had simply undertaken the standard route for their voyage.
(3) Neapolis
As commentators regularly point out, Neapolis stood on the Via Egnatia, a road built during the Roman Republic (starting in 146 B.C.E.). This road proceeded westward through Philippi to Apollonia, and then (following the older route from Apollonia) to Dyrrhachium (modern Durrës or Durazzo, in what is now Albania) on the eastern coast of the Adriatic, from which travelers could voyage by ship to Rome.[741] (The paved road from Troas northward to Lampsacus[742] became the eastern end of the Via Egnatia, connecting across the Hellespont with Thrace.[743] The sea voyage to Neapolis, however, abbreviated the journey.) Although it began as a local road, it became a major link between Italy and Asia Minor in the Roman period.[744]
Many scholars believe that by starting on the Via Egnatia, Paul was already signaling his interest in Rome.[745] Certainly most of Paul’s subsequent journey as far as Thessalonica remains on this road: Philippi (Acts 16:12, 40), Amphipolis and Apollonia (17:1), and Thessalonica (17:1). Only at Beroea does Paul depart from it.[746] It was the best westward land route from Philippi available, and so even if he had planned to head south into Achaia afterward (instead of heading toward Rome), the route makes sense. Ancient itineraries provide distances between stops along the Via Egnatia, which correspond well with descriptions in Acts; from Neapolis to Philippi, it was twelve miles, and from Philippi to Amphipolis, it was thirty-three miles.[747] Parts of the gate on this road through which the missionaries must have entered Philippi from Neapolis remain.[748]
Neapolis (more accurately, Nea Polis),[749] or modern Kavalla, existed by the sixth century B.C.E., losing its autonomy to become Philippi’s port under Macedonian rule.[750] It was apparently a frequent destination from Troas,[751] presumably especially because it afforded an overland journey toward Rome (Ign. Poly. 8.1).[752] It marked the end of the Strymonic Gulf, on the north of the Aegean Sea (Strabo 7, frg. 32), and lay along the seaboard of the Strymon (7, frg. 36). Kavalla remains the best port on Macedonia’s southern coast today next to Thessaloníki (Thessalonica) and is safer even than Thessaloníki “for sailing boats.”[753] Although the city lay on the shipping route between Asia Minor and the significant Macedonian port of Thessalonica (see comment on Acts 17:1)[754] and hence sea transport to Thessalonica would have been simple to find, the group heads inland to Philippi instead (and only afterward to Thessalonica, by land). This suggests that Philippi was a destination of choice; they probably did not choose it just to save travel fare.
II. PHILIPPI (16:12)
The vision specified only Macedonia (Acts 16:9), but the first strategic location in Macedonia was Philippi, which, like Troas, was a Roman colony and hence a visible part of the empire in whose heart the book of Acts will conclude. But Philippi, unlike other colonies in Acts, is specifically labeled a “colony” (16:12), underlining local patriotism and setting the stage for the debate over Roman identity that will follow (16:20–21, 37–38).[755]
(1) Philippi’s Prosperity and Past
Paul focused on the most influential urban centers on his route, of which Philippi was one. The city was on a hill, with woods to the north, marsh on the south as far as the sea, gorges on the east, and fertile plain on the west, with the river Strymon about 350 stadia distant across the plain (Appian Bell. civ. 4.13.105).[756] Philippi proper, with a wall circumference of just two miles (3.4 km.), covered “only 167 acres (68 hectares),” with five to ten thousand residents;[757] unlike other towns Paul targeted, Philippi was a center more of agriculture than of commerce.[758] Nevertheless, many argue that it was the most prosperous city of the district, surpassing even Amphipolis, the district’s capital since 167 B.C.E.[759] Some suggest that Amphipolis (Acts 17:1), a Macedonian city once in decline but now flourishing again, would have proved more strategic, and that it was in fact the destination of Paul’s ship that determined Paul’s prior mission in Philippi.[760] In any case, Philippi, too, would be useful, not least (at least from the standpoint of Luke’s Tendenz) as a preparation for Rome.
Gold mines near Mount Pangaeum also contributed to the city’s wealth (Strabo 7, frg. 34); Philippi’s gold mines also produced gems (Pliny E. N.H. 37.15.57).[761] Apart from a few individuals, however (cf. Lydia in Acts 16:14), the Macedonian church was relatively poor (2 Cor 8:2).[762] Although this might stem partly from public intimidation, particularly effective on members of society concerned about their status (Phil 1:28; 1 Thess 2:2), poverty was widespread in Macedonia.[763] As in most urban settings, the disparity between the wealthiest and the poorest residents would have been significant.
Although less ancient than cities such as Troas or even Athens, Philippi was rich with pagan religious connections.[764] In one version of mythology, Hades raped Persephone in the plain west of the city (Appian Bell. civ. 4.13.105); a hill near Philippi was named the Hill of Dionysus (4.13.106). Associations there included groups devoted not only to the emperor but also to Asiatic Cybele and Dionysus and to a Thracian deity.[765]
(2) Philippi and Rome
Philippi was more commonly known, however, for the decisive battle there where Cassius (Val. Max. 1.8.8) and Brutus (1.7.1; Suet. Aug. 13.1) were defeated in 42 B.C.E. (i.e., less than a century before Paul’s first visit); poets of the Augustan era remembered it as the place where Julius Caesar’s murder was avenged (Ovid Fasti 3.707–8).[766] Philippi had been a smaller settlement, but after the battle of 42 B.C.E., Rome enlarged it (Strabo 7, frg. 41).[767] Its strategic significance in the history of the empire made it a natural evangelistic step for one being prepared to reach Rome.[768]
Philippi was a Roman colony (Acts 16:12). Three towns in Macedonia were “free cities” (Thessalonica, Amphipolis, and Scotusa), but four held the even more extensive privilege of being Roman colonies—namely, Philippi, Cassandreia, Dion, and Pella.[769] Marc Antony had founded a colony of veterans in Philippi after 42 B.C.E., but Octavian settled more there in 31 B.C.E., along with Antony’s supporters now excluded from Italy; Octavian named it Colonia Iulia Augusta Philippensis.[770] Its “freedom” included both self-government and exemption from poll and land taxes.[771] Colonies were legal extensions of Rome itself; more common in the western empire than in the east, in the latter they originally consisted especially of veteran settlements in the early empire.[772]
That Luke mentions specifically that Philippi was a colony (16:12) seems significant for his understanding of the city’s identity; he does not provide this explicit note for other colonies in his narrative, such as Pisidian Antioch. The term appears only here in the NT and is rare in Greek literature, being a transliteration of the Latin colonia.[773] This information may appear because of his special interest in this city (16:12–40), where he himself apparently remained for the better part of a decade (20:6).[774] It may, however, invite mention because of Philippi’s notable romanization. Their citizenship was a matter of central importance to the local Christians who were Philippian, hence Roman, citizens; Paul’s fate thus had implications for theirs (Phil 1:7, 29–30), and they understood what it meant to be citizens of a place where they had never lived (3:20).[775] For Luke, it is relevant to the treatment accorded Paul and Silas: as officials of a Roman colony concerned with Roman citizenship (Acts 16:21), the magistrates will be horrified to discover that the missionaries are, indeed, Roman citizens (16:37–38).
Many Romans settled there after Rome defeated Macedon in 167 B.C.E.[776] Its epigraphy is primarily Latin; less than 15 percent of the more than four hundred inscriptions studied there are in Greek, and some of these may date from before its founding as a colony.[777] By contrast, only 41 percent of Pisidian Antioch’s inscriptions are in Latin, roughly half the percentage in Philippi.[778] Coins also were in Latin, and political and juridical systems followed the Roman model. Nevertheless, the architecture and art included many more Greek elements, and many Greeks lived there.[779] Paul thus probably appeals especially to the Greek-speaking elements (such as, presumably, Lydia from Greek-speaking urban Asia);[780] moreover, the jailer and the officials undoubtedly knew Greek whereas Paul was probably not yet strong in Latin despite his citizenship.
(3) A “First” City
Luke’s description of the city as a “first” of the “district” has generated some confusion and considerable comment. Amphipolis was technically the first city of the district in which Philippi was situated,[781] as presumably even Philippians recognized. To the well-attested reading “first city of the district” (the feminine adjective can refer to “city”), many scholars prefer to read conjecturally, “a city of the first district” (also feminine).[782] Philippi did belong to the eastern, “first,” of Macedonia’s four μερίδες, or districts.[783] The textual evidence, however, seems to render this reading questionable unless we think that either Luke wrote it wrongly (unlikely given his apparent continued association with Philippi) or early scribes misunderstood and “corrected” him. Some argue that this was simply the “first” city of Macedonia to which the missionaries came; this interpretation is possible if we count Neapolis as Thracian[784] but seems too forced.
Finally and more significantly, Luke omits the definite article (hence possibly “a first city”), and “first” was an honorary title, applied more broadly than to capitals alone.[785] Thus Dio Chrysostom speaks of “leading” (πρώταις) cities (Or. 43.1).[786] (In this case, we might also read μερίδος more broadly as simply “part” rather than technically “district.”)[787] It is readily conceivable that Luke felt that Philippi warranted such a title, and he may have even appealed to its civic pride (cf. Acts 21:39), especially if, as suggested in the introduction,[788] Luke not only lived for several years in Philippi but viewed the still mainly Greek-speaking church there as the heart of his ideal audience.[789] As Dio told Apamea in Phrygia, your city “is inferior to none of the first rank [τῶν πρώτων]” (Or. 35.13). As a colony, Philippi was automatically superior in rank to Amphipolis, regardless of size.[790] On the narrative level, highlighting Philippi’s distinctive status (since it is the only Roman colony that Acts specifically calls a colony) prepares for the patriotic backlash against Paul and Silas in Acts 16:20–21.[791]
III. FINDING THE SABBATH MEETING (16:13)
If Paul and his colleagues were to start with the Jewish community as previously (Acts 13:5, 14), they would have to find it first. They would quickly learn that no synagogue existed in the city, but they may have heard that some people practiced Jewish customs outside the city (apparently not common here; cf. 16:20–21). The most natural day for Jews or God-fearers to congregate was the Sabbath. Josephus claims that Moses commanded people to assemble every Sabbath to hear and learn the law (Ag. Ap. 2.175). The missionaries’ teaching on the Sabbath was for strategic reasons, but Luke may record it also for the parallel with Jesus, who often taught on Sabbaths (Luke 4:16, 31; 6:6; 13:10).[792]
(1) Locating the Gathering
In addition to knowing when to find God-fearers gathering, Paul and his companions also had some idea where to look for a gathering. Foreign cults that lacked critical mass to be established in a locale often were excluded from the city proper; thus, if the missionaries heard nothing of Jewish meetings inside the city, it made sense to look “outside the gate.”[793] The Via Egnatia led from Neapolis, on the sea, across Mount Symbolum and through Philippi, crossing the river Gangites just more than a mile west of the city. It exited Philippi through a “colonial archway,” probably the “gate” to which Luke refers.[794]
Perhaps local restrictions or anti-Judaism (Acts 16:20–21) made any attempt at organized Jewish practice within the city, or any systematic settlement large enough to support orthodox practice, “not worth their while.”[795] Many Judean teachers would have considered a town with such little Jewish practice (and hence insufficient critical mass to sustain orthodox food customs and so forth) inappropriate for Jewish settlers. Some Tannaim, for example, emphasized living where the law was studied (m. ʾAb. 6:9) or where at least ten male household heads lived.[796] Later rabbis debated how many Jews needed to be present for God’s presence to be among them; for prayer, many supported a minyan of ten, though God’s presence was available for smaller numbers studying Torah (b. Ber. 6a).[797]
Even if the arrangement was not completely orthodox, even Tannaim would allow some tolerance for proselytes living in the Diaspora (t. Šabb. 8:5), and Jews would naturally allow still more for God-fearers. Archaeological evidence does show an increase in foreign (especially Egyptian) cults, which may have provoked some resentment among local Roman citizens, proud of and eager to assert the colony’s Roman identity (see comment on Acts 16:20–21); most of the deities worshiped locally were Roman, including the emperor.[798]
Probably because there was no conventional synagogue in Philippi, whether as a special building or in a house (see comment below),[799] the missionaries heard or (as the language here might support) surmised that if any people were practicing Jewish ways, the best place to discover them would be near a body of flowing water.[800] Some Diaspora synagogues were near water;[801] archaeologists found a large basin at the synagogue in Priene and a fountain in the massive Sardis synagogue’s forecourt.[802] Josephus reports that synagogues near a seaside fit ancestral custom (Ant. 14.258). Some rabbis opined that God spoke in the Diaspora only in pure places near water (Mek. Pisha 1.64). (For a discussion of ancient holy-site theology, see the introduction, above, to Acts 7 [Keener, Acts, 2:1346–50].) Records reveal that two synagogues at Arsinoë in Egypt consumed about double the amount of water that the local baths did (CPJ 2:220–24, §434).[803] When lacking access to their prayerhouses, Egyptian Jews met at the shore at dawn (Philo Flacc. 122). Pagans also often preferred well-watered sites for their shrines,[804] especially when ritual baths would be necessary.[805]
Water was important for rituals. Diaspora Judaism expected handwashing before prayer: “when they had washed their hands in the sea, as is the custom of all Jews, and had offered prayer to God” (Let. Aris. 305 [Hadas, 219]).[806] Aseneth washed hands and feet when converting to Judaism (Jos. Asen. 14:12, 15); Judas and the army purified themselves before the Sabbath according to custom (2 Macc 12:38); Judith washed herself in a spring before prayer each night (Jdt 12:7–8).[807]
Pagan practices may have influenced Diaspora, and after it Palestinian, Judaism in this regard. Handwashing before meals was a widespread custom (Mark 7:2–4; Sen. E. Controv. 9.2.3);[808] Gentiles washed hands with water before prayer (Hom. Il. 9.171) and could also use river water for libations (Philost. Hrk. 53.9).[809] Before sacrifices the participants washed their hands with spring or river water.[810] The superstitious person might wash hands and sprinkle himself or herself before going out (Theophr. Char. 16.2); handwashing could not wash away bloodguilt (Plut. Sulla 32.3; Matt 27:34). One could wash hands by having someone pour water over them.[811]
(2) Which River?
Commentators most often identify the river with the Gangites (also Angites), a tributary of the Strymon River. The Gangites was about one and a quarter miles, or 2.4 kilometers, west of the city, near a gate marking the pomerium’s boundary.[812] The larger but more distant Strymon was better known, but on the view taken here of Luke’s ideal audience, a large number of his hearers may be in this area and thus may also be familiar with the Gangites (or whatever body of water is in view). According to one myth, Heracles made the river Strymon unnavigable to punish it for lack of cooperation (Apollod. Bib. 2.5.10); in another, the Strymon was where Orpheus mourned his wife, Eurydice, in Thrace (Statius Silv. 5.1.3).[813]
Scholars have proposed three major locations. First, Paul Collart suggests the Gangites riverbank, “just west of a colonial arch,”[814] which could sound like Luke’s “gate.” The arch was 10.77 meters high, and its opening 4.95 meters in width.[815] Travelers could reach this site by the main road, since Appian (Hist. rom. 4.13.106) claimed that the Via Egnatia passed “through this arch near where the road forded the Gangites.”[816] The major objection to this location is that the Gangites is approximately 1.5 miles (2.5 km.) from the city (3 km. = 1.9 mi. west of the forum)[817]—more than a Sabbath day’s journey from the city (i.e., beyond 2,000 cubits, or 880 m.; m. ʿErub. 4:3). This objection is far from fatal,[818] but it has led to other proposals.
Thus A. J. Festugière and Paul Lemerle propose the nearer “creek,” the Krenides, though it hardly qualifies as a “river.”[819] In support of this site, the cool water of the Krenides flows near “the Krenides Gate in the city’s west wall,”[820] easy walking distance from the middle of town.[821] The pavement of a Roman road reaches the edge of the stream, and some Roman officials’ tomb monuments lay there, suggesting much use.[822] Still, one might expect the women to select a site less in use (no one else observed their Sabbath), farther from public view. In favor of the site, locally the Krenides is called “the River of Lydia”[823] (though this tradition could easily date to Philippi’s Christian period and stem from inference). Once reaching the Krenides, the Via Egnatia turns north and runs by the stream’s east side until passing a swamp, then crosses the stream to proceed west through Philippi’s plain to the large Gangites River.[824]
Third, some scholars propose a location to the east of the city, through the Neapolis Gate. Just outside this gate stands the bed of an older stream with a fourth-century church; just inside the gate stood another fourth-century church, dedicated to Paul. These churches may suggest recollection, in Constantine’s period, of Paul’s ministry here.[825] Because Paul’s visit led immediately to the start of a church, the memory of the site may well have been preserved continuously if the first generation cared about preserving these details. But given our current limitations of evidence, the choice among these three alternatives is not a simple one. If forced to choose today, I would prefer the first alternative, the Gangites, but, given the breadth of the semantic range of ποταμός, only tentatively (with the Krenides as a second choice).
A place of “prayer” (also in 16:16) could, as often in ancient sources, be a title for a synagogue (see extensive comment on Acts 1:14). That the missionaries expected to find a “place of prayer” (προσευχήν, Acts 16:13, 16; see comment on Acts 1:14) thus could mean that they anticipated finding a “synagogue.”[826] This is not Luke’s usual term for synagogues, and Luke avoids his usual term for a synagogue (6:9; 9:2; 17:1, 10, 17),[827] perhaps because those gathered and their setting might not constitute what one normally expected in a synagogue (e.g., apparently only women were gathered, 16:13). We would hardly expect to find a formal synagogue this far from the city proper (especially if we think of the Gangites) and belonging to a city that hosted only a few women practicing Judaism.[828] Luke may use προσευχή to imply a regular gathering without specifying that they owned a building here.[829] Whatever the term means, the group continues to start with Jewish gatherings (which again apparently influences where they will stop in 17:1) for both strategic and theological reasons (see comment on 13:5). Further, whatever the term means, it may be that the missionaries found less than what they had anticipated, given the use of νομίζω here (which in all other instances in Luke-Acts refers to a false supposition; Luke 2:44; 3:23; Acts 7:25; 8:20; 14:19; 16:27; 17:29; 21:39).[830] It remained a meeting place, however, even after some of the women became believers (Acts 16:16).
If they chose a more distant site (e.g., the Gangites), the walk to the site was likely at least pleasant. Athenaeus reported the natural beauty around Philippi; most areas in the empire had five- or twelve-petaled roses, but Philippi was said to have hundred-petaled roses, which Philippians acquired from Mount Pangaeus for their gardens (Deipn. 15.682B).
IV. SPEAKING TO WOMEN (16:13)
Although the visionary invitation to Macedonia featured a Macedonian man (16:9), Paul and his colleagues find their first hearing among women, and the specified example among them is not Macedonian.[831] Nevertheless, in faith the missionaries know what to do. When they found the place of prayer, Paul and Silas “sat down.” This was the appropriate posture for teachers, at least in Palestine (Luke 4:20),[832] though perhaps also natural for the dynamics of a small group. Speaking with the women in a group would not have been considered inappropriate; women certainly attended synagogues,[833] and we currently lack evidence that synagogues segregated them in this period.[834] The verb λαλέω does not imply that the speakers were not evangelizing; it includes this sense in Acts, although it extends beyond it.[835] In small groups, the discussion would be informal; even in large lectures, appropriate questions were accepted.[836] Since “we” spoke, the interchange here was probably fairly conversational, the sort of dialogue one might expect in something like a smaller household setting.[837]
Although only Lydia is named, it is possible that one of Paul’s letters provides the names of two other women, who were co-laborers from early in his ministry there: Euodia and Syntyche (Phil 4:2).[838] Luke rarely reports names of converts (even the Philippian jailer remains anonymous), and he might have additional reason to avoid their names, even if the Philippian church is central to his ideal audience, if serious conflicts later arose among them (Phil 4:2–3) and persisted.
(1) Women’s Status in Religion
For a much more thorough treatment—presupposed here—of women in antiquity, including on their valued roles in religion, see discussion in the introduction.[839] The women would normally be discussing Scripture together; it is likely that if a more trained Jewish teacher was present, they would defer to him (as a synagogue does in Acts 13:15). This might be all the more so because of gender, though even in more restrictive circles women could instruct other women.[840] In mixed company, most ancients preferred men as teachers.[841]
Later rabbis thought that women should not read Torah[842] (although we cannot know whether this reflects local or general practice).[843] A later rabbi prohibited even hearing a woman’s voice (y. Ḥal. 2:1, §10), though his view was certainly not representative. The cult of Isis allowed for women’s involvement, but even there men may have held higher roles and, outside Athens and Rome, typically outnumbered them.[844]
Prejudice against women’s participation was not at all thoroughgoing; different sectors of urban society held different views, and degrees of prejudice also differed according to the roles assigned.[845] In Stoic ideals, daughters should receive the same education as sons (Mus. Ruf. 3–4).[846] Thus the first-century Stoic Musonius Rufus points out that both genders have reason (3, p. 38.26–27) and that women and men both need to learn to live well (p. 40.6–7) and require management skills for their respective affairs (p. 40.10–12).[847] He argues from nature that animal trainers train both male and female dogs and horses (4, p. 44.1–4) and opines that most work can be done by either men or women (p. 46.27–31),[848] with virtue needed for all (3, pp. 40.17–42.11; 4, p. 46.31–37; 48.1–26).[849] Women were apparently prominent in Pythagorean communities.[850]
Greek religion also praised women’s piety (Iambl. V.P. 11.55–56), and women’s petitions to the gods in troublesome times were noteworthy (Dion. Hal. Ant. rom. 8.39.1).[851] Some rites, including in Rome, were specifically limited to women.[852] Women also sometimes held priesthoods, since, like men, they could sometimes afford to pay for them,[853] though in this period these offices often provided honor for the benefactor and patronage to local communities rather than executive authority.[854]
Asian Jewish women[855] sometimes held titles such as “ruler of the synagogue” (e.g., CIJ 2:10, §741, in Smyrna; 2:20, §756, in Caria).[856] A wealthy proselyte sponsor could become “mother of a synagogue” (1:384, §523, in Rome). In some locations, we even read of women Jewish elders, though they were the minority (notably one woman each from Thrace and Crete, and several inscriptions from Venosa in Italy);[857] some women were also synagogue rulers.[858] Mishnaic restrictions on public religious activity[859] do not reflect the social reality of all ancient Judaism. Early Judaism, like paganism and early Christianity, included a mixture of tendencies regarding gender.[860]
Women’s freedoms varied geographically,[861] and in Macedonia they traditionally exercised more independence than in much of the empire, certainly more than in Greece;[862] for example, Olympias, Alexander’s mother, was famous for her wit (e.g., Aul. Gel. 13.4). This must have been even more the case in Philippi with its Roman, as opposed to Greek, influence, since Roman women had been advancing in social and economic power in the early empire.[863] This was also likely true in Macedonian religion.[864] Women played a prominent role, including as priestesses, in the cult of Diana in Philippi[865] (though this point is less significant, since Greek women in general often played prominent roles in cult).[866] That Luke mentions women specifically in Philippi, Thessalonica, and Beroea (Acts 17:4, 12) probably also points to their relative freedom and prominence in Macedonian religion.[867]
(2) Women and Judaism
Luke portrays Lydia and presumably the other women gathered on the Sabbath as at least interested in Judaism.[868] In general, Roman women found non-Roman religion more attractive than did Roman men,[869] and Gentile women proved more attracted to Judaism than men were.[870] This was, presumably, partly because women did not have to undergo circumcision[871] but also because they were less bound by status obligations of household and civic cults. Thus Josephus claims that most Gentile women in Damascus were Jewish sympathizers (War 2.560–61).[872] Josephus reports that a Jewish merchant eager to make converts in Adiabene started among women of King Izates’s household (Ant. 20.34) and only through them came to know the king and that another Jewish man had led the king’s mother into Judaism (20.35).
Nero’s wife Poppaea was an influential Jewish sympathizer;[873] Agrippa II also procured favor for the Jewish people through Nero’s mother, Agrippina.[874] Five of seven proselytes in early Roman inscriptions are women;[875] other locations, though not as dramatic, reflect the same trend. Whereas only 40 percent of tomb inscriptions concern women, they constitute 50 percent of the proselytes and 80 percent of the God-fearers in these inscriptions.[876] On God-fearing women, see also comment on Acts 13:50; on God-fearers in general, see comment on Acts 10:2.
It is only reasonable to suppose that the Christian message spread widely through women as well; although Celsus writes polemic,[877] his accusation that Christianity spread through women is likely.[878] Women, while going about their business, could talk in shops and homes to other women and children with probably very little interference from those who purported to control the culture.[879]
(3) Focusing on Women
Not everyone would have viewed favorably this practice of targeting women, at least if those winning converts belonged to a competing religion (cf. 2 Tim 3:6–7). Juvenal complains about women attracted to Eastern cults, including the Egyptian cult of Isis (Sat. 6.511–29) and Judaism (6.542–47).[880] Opposition to women’s participation in Dionysiac Mysteries in republican Rome,[881] to their susceptibility to a Jewish scam artist during Tiberius’s reign,[882] and to their potential exploitation through the Isis cult in the mid-first century[883] made Romans wary of such cults undermining traditional Roman family values.[884] (Romans had their own cults specially designed for women;[885] it was not women’s involvement in religion as such but their participation in non-Roman religion that was problematic.)
Some scholars suggest that a few women converts would not represent an impressive token of success for a first-century Jewish preacher.[886] Although this may be true regarding the typical, expected ancient perception, Luke seems to delight in mentioning women converts (Acts 16:13; 17:4, 12)—again an acceptable practice if he wrote especially for Christians in the more gender-progressive region of Macedonia. Teaching women eager to learn appears also in Luke 10:38–42 (cf. 8:2–3; 23:49, 55).[887]
This is the more noteworthy when we consider the reaction against such “successes” in much high-status society. One element in Juvenal’s assault on Eastern cults was his suspicion that women proved particularly susceptible to them (Sat. 6.540–41, 548–50);[888] a major element in Roman anti-Semitism was resentment over the success of Jewish proselytism, especially among Roman women.[889] Women’s support of Pharisaism invited criticism of that movement.[890] That popular preachers apparently appealed to women did not seem to bother these movements’ adherents (e.g., Paul Thec. 3.7), but it became a significant tool of criticism for their opponents (e.g., 2 Tim 3:6; Iren. Her. 1.13.1, 3–6), especially when the women were of high status (Iren. Her. 1.13.3).[891] That apologists could positively cite high-status women supporters as favorable propaganda[892] may suggest that whether they employed women’s support for or against a movement depended primarily on the prior perspective of those evaluating it!
The message of the historical Paul might well have proved appealing to relatively independent women of status. Paul’s letters show that, despite some conservative social tendencies (especially where others’ sensitivities might be involved, 1 Cor 11:4–6, 16; 14:34–35),[893] he was among the more progressive voices of his era in encouraging women’s vocal participation in religious discourse (Rom 16:1–7; 1 Cor 11:5; Phil 4:2). That is, on the range of views publicly articulated in his day, Paul was among the more progressive, though he does not articulate a modern egalitarian position (or, by definition, any modern position), and women were prominent in his churches.[894] He also agreed in principle with the philosophers who (again in principle) affirmed gender equality on matters that transcended traditional roles (Gal 3:28). Given the unabashed mention of women coworkers in Paul’s letters, including Philippians (Phil 4:2), and the movement’s susceptibility to external critique for appealing to women, Luke’s report about Lydia here is surely historical.[895] The first named convert of Paul’s first missionary journey was a Roman governor; although Luke likes to balance male and female figures in his narrative, were he simply inventing converts he could have invented someone of higher rank as the first named convert of this second narrated journey.
V. LYDIA’S RESPONSE (16:14)
As a “God-fearer,” Lydia was probably a Gentile adherent less than a full convert;[896] although we cannot specify the ethnic status of the other women gathered, such a small group would have likely been happy to welcome a fairly prosperous inquirer even if most of them were ethnically Jewish.[897] Given the group’s gender composition, however, the proportion of Gentile sympathizers might be fairly high (see comment on Acts 16:13). A higher proportion of the evidence relates to Gentile women of status as God-fearers than as proselytes.[898] Whereas high-status women sympathetic to Judaism opposed Paul in Antioch (Acts 13:50), he proves more appealing to this class of women in Macedonia (16:14; 17:4, 12).[899]
(1) Lydia’s Conversion
Whereas Paul’s first named convert on the first missionary journey Luke narrates is a Roman governor, the first named on this journey is, as noted above, Lydia.[900] Luke claims that the Lord “opened Lydia’s heart,” as he elsewhere credits God with giving the ability to believe (13:48);[901] “opening” was also used to express the idea of enabling understanding by explanation or supernatural intervention (Luke 24:31–32, 45; Acts 17:3; cf. the cognate in Acts 14:27; 26:18).[902] Jewish people could use the phrase for God’s opening hearts to his law.[903] Paul himself affirmed that encountering the Spirit (1 Cor 2:4–5; Gal 3:2; 1 Thess 1:6; 2 Thess 2:13) and the gospel (1 Thess 2:13; 2 Thess 2:14) was part of saving faith.[904]
Wives were expected to adopt their husbands’ religion,[905] though it often happened otherwise, including with Jews (Jos. War 2.560) and Christians (1 Cor 7:12–16; Phlm 10; 1 Pet 3:1).[906] As suggested below, Lydia might have been a widow, but this remains only an educated guess. (Luke does not, after all, name her as such despite his emphasis on widows elsewhere; but elsewhere he employs widows as examples of the marginalized whereas here Lydia fits his theme of more prominent women.)
(2) Lydia’s Freed Status?
Some scholars think that Lydia’s name suggests that she was a freedwoman.[907] The name is hardly restricted to servants: a Sardian named Julia Lydia and an Ephesian named Julia Lydia Laterane (I. Eph. 424a) were of high station.[908] “Lydia” was a common name in Rome.[909] That Luke’s Lydia was a freedwoman, however, is at least a reasonable guess, not at all implausible (though compare below for discussion of her possible status instead as a widow). Many purple-dye merchants in Rome were freedwomen in this period;[910] freedwomen in the East also frequently sold luxury items such as purple dye.[911]
Less securely, the temporarily attempted imperial monopoly on purple soon after this period suggests to some that she may have been an imperial freedwoman.[912] This proposal, however, is speculative, especially if the Thyatiran industry used not Tyrian murex but the less expensive dye from the roots of the madder plant.[913] It is also by no means clear that the monopoly existed at this time.
(3) Lydia’s City
More important is that Lydia is from Thyatira,[914] a Lydian city.[915] Perhaps, then, her name functioned even as a nickname for her once she left the region of her origin (“an ethnic cognomen, ‘the Lydian woman’ ”),[916] though its commonness as a name (including in Lydia) prohibits us from elevating this speculation to a high level of probability.[917] Slaves often were given names related to their geographic provenance, and so this view would accord well with the position that Lydia is a freedwoman.[918]
Since Roman women normally were called by their father’s cognomen, many scholars argue that she was a Greek, part of the class of “Greek-speaking merchants who have settled in Philippi alongside the Italian, agrarian colonists.”[919] In many Roman colonies, Greeks and others living there probably outnumbered Roman citizens;[920] many lived in Corinth, Antioch, and Lystra, and probably a smaller but significant percentage lived in Philippi. Since Greco-Roman writers rarely used a woman’s personal name unless she held significant status, Lydia probably held some social status.[921] Certainly a foreign merchant would lack high status with the aristocracy (though we probably have a known exception even for this trade in Philippi, as noted below), but she might have more wealth and status (by the standards of the empire as a whole) than the average resident of Philippi.[922]
Thyatira shared many elements of the broader religious culture;[923] for example, it had its own imperial cult.[924] Coins depicted the local tutelary deity, Apollo Tyrimnos (also Tyrimnus, Tryimnaeus), holding the emperor’s hand.[925] Thyatira had a Jewish community.[926] Thyatira was also known for its craftspeople and merchants, with their strong guilds.[927] Such guilds would have worshiped the emperor, just as in Asia’s other associations.[928] Bordering Lydia and Mysia, Thyatira was strategically located for trade.[929] It was known for dyes and dyer guilds, attested by at least seven inscriptions (e.g., CIG 3496–98).[930] Although the number of inscriptions preserved is not dramatic, “more trade-guilds are known in Thyatira than in any other Asian city.”[931]
Purple couch covers were a famous product in another Lydian city, prosperous Sardis.[932] Thyatiran purple, however, was imitation purple (now called “Turkey red,” still used there today), from the root of the local madder plant rather than the murex shellfish.[933] Other evidence indicates that Thyatira’s dyes made their way to Macedonia. A second-century stela in Thessalonica attests another purple dealer from Thyatira in Macedonia (IG 10.2.1.291).[934] Philippi itself apparently honored a purple dyer[935] from Thyatira as a benefactor and citizen of Philippi (CIL 3.664.1).[936] Thyatira also had ancient ties with Macedonia; Strabo, identifying the city Thyatira that is near Sardis and Pergamum, notes that it was said to be founded by Macedonians (13.4.4). Jewish sympathizers from Asia Minor might well have learned of Judaism through contact with other purple dyers there, since at least in Hierapolis (in Phrygia, near Lydia) Jewish members of that profession seem to have been abundant; many Jews there belonged to its associations of purple dyers and tapestry makers. So many Jews were members of these guilds that they “were made responsible for memorial ceremonies for deceased Jewish members on Passover and Pentecost!”[937] That these guilds also contained Gentiles demonstrates that Jews were well integrated into, and welcomed into, the city’s economic life in that region at least.[938]
(4) Lydia’s Occupation
It was common to name people by their occupation; tombstones often listed their honoree’s profession[939]—for example, a “worker in wool and maker of felt” (ILS 7558, from Rome) or “dealer in cloaks and skins” (ILS 7580, from Milan).[940] It is thus not surprising that Luke identifies Lydia by her profession as a seller of purple or of purple cloth (cf. Acts 9:43; 10:1). Like embroiderers and fullers, who also decorated cloth, dyers were among the common professions in this period;[941] some cities, however, were better known for this craft. In Palestine, weaving wool was mostly restricted to women at home, but even there dyeing was relegated to specialists.[942] (On artisans more generally, see comment on Acts 18:3, regarding the work of Paul, Priscilla, and Aquila.)
Most textiles were produced in homes, but more-precious ones could be produced in factories and exported.[943] Most business in the empire was purely local,[944] but large businesses also had trade agents abroad. Given the emphasis on textiles in Thyatira, some scholars see Lydia as the local “business agent for the luxury textile industry based in Thyatira in Asia Minor.”[945] Whether slave or free, one could work as another’s agent.[946]
Views regarding women keeping shops and regarding their activity in the market varied from one part of the empire to another (see Men. Rhet. 1.3, 364.2–5), but many women were engaged in business.[947] Many were merchants in the eastern empire, including some Jewish women.[948] Slave women (and, of course, freedwomen) could act as managers just as slave men could.[949] On the manufacturing side, women as purple dyers appear in the region of Lydia as early as Hom. Il. 4.141–42,[950] and textile work employed especially women.[951]
More relevant for Lydia as a seller of purple or purple cloth, the feminine form for purple dealers appears in CIG 2519, confirming that women were involved in this trade.[952] Inscriptions from late republican and early imperial Rome indicate that both men and women of freed families were retail traders in purple; some of the women may have begun as slaves and continued after achieving freedom. The extant evidence is not sufficient to determine if they competed with the patrons who established them.[953]
Some women mentioned in Paul’s letters have been thought to be businesswomen (Rom 16:1–2; 1 Cor 1:11).[954] Certainly we may infer some women of at least moderate means in first-century Diaspora churches (1 Tim 2:9; 1 Pet 3:3);[955] the mixture of women from different social strata probably also helped feed the conflict over head coverings in Corinth (1 Cor 11:2–16).[956]
(5) Lydia’s Economic and Social Status
Philippi’s Roman citizens, proud of their status, would regard foreign traders as part of the plebs urbana.[957] But status inconsistency was common, and merchants often achieved a different kind of status due to wealth (when they achieved wealth).[958]
How well-to-do would Lydia have been? This depends partly on the nature of the purple she was selling (see excursus below) but partly also on the nature of her work. Many scholars argue that Lydia must have been a person of means as a seller of purple.[959] Others, however, object that though purple could be expensive, its sellers would not necessarily share the status of its buyers. Spencer, for example, warns, “Textile work—traditionally a woman’s domain—might bring a measure of profit but was not typically regarded as a prestigious profession in the ancient world. Purple dyeing was particularly stigmatized as a smelly, ‘dirty’ process involving the use of animal urine.” Dye houses usually were restricted to “remote zones outside the city.”[960] In his view, Lydia probably manufactures the cloth as well as sells it, so that she probably “lives and works as well as worships outside the city gate” and hence is among the lower classes.[961] John Chrysostom notes that Paul was not ashamed of her status, paralleling Paul’s stay with her with Peter’s stay with a tanner in Acts 9:43.[962]
The text, however, identifies Lydia only as a seller, not a dyer herself; the dyes or dyed fabrics could be shipped to Philippi for her business to sell.[963] Wholesalers, like dyers, were not of high status; often they were slaves and freedpersons.[964] But they were part of an upwardly mobile urban class;[965] further, as early as the late republic, slaves could wield considerable power as business agents.[966] And sellers of purple would probably have higher status and income than many others. Purple dealers often became members of civic councils[967] (though this was most likely in their own cities). For Luke and his audience steeped in the Septuagint, purple was associated with luxury (Luke 16:19) and hence likely evokes significant status, one of Luke’s interests.[968]
Granted, she would not be wealthy as a mere business agent or seller of fabric, but merchants of fine goods would be perceived by most as of higher status (and income) than ordinary artisans (cf. 18:3) would be. One could be financially secure without belonging to the extremely rich elite (the true elite would not be engaged in trade but have leisure for politics).[969] The overhead expenses of trading in purple (or any substance not locally produced) required some means, whether the means were hers directly or those of owners in Thyatira.[970] Presumably, she owns a home large enough to host the missionaries (apparently including Timothy and Luke; cf. “us” in 16:15) without displacing her “household” (16:15), which may well include servants.[971]
The debate on Lydia’s status is partly semantic. Lydia was not elite, and she would be despised by the elite; but the truly elite were a small fraction of the empire (albeit larger in Philippi than in, e.g., rural Galilee), and most of the empire consisted of rural peasants.[972] By some estimates, 20–30 percent of Philippi’s population consisted of peasant colonists commuting to the countryside, 20 percent further were slaves, 15–30 percent further belonged to the urban poor, and only 1.5–5 percent belonged to the elite. Lydia belonged instead to the estimated 30–45 percent of the population employed in services; of these, the majority were Greek, like her.[973] From an aristocratic standpoint, virtually all trades were despised.[974] Reimer, who emphasizes that Lydia’s trade was despised, allows that she may have even had some servants.[975] By the standards of average urban dwellers, Lydia probably had ample financial means, even if being a foreigner affected her perceived social status among more long-standing residents of Philippi.
This portrayal best suits Luke’s consistent interest in persons with occupations of relatively high status. Though Luke emphasizes that the rich cannot be saved (Luke 18:24–25; cf. 3:11; 12:33; 14:33) without divine intervention (18:26–27), he frequently reports the conversion of people of means, who sometimes sacrificed or risked much for their conversion (19:8–9; 23:50–52; cf. Acts 8:27–39; 13:12).[976] All four of Luke’s accounts of “household” conversions (Acts 10:2, 24, 44–48; 11:14; 16:15, 34; 18:8) probably concern households of ample means (by the standards of most of the population),[977] with at least one of the “households” explicitly including servants (10:7).[978]
Because purple was associated with Dionysus, whose cult Euripides centers in Lydia, MacDonald argues that Lydia was a Christian maenad (cf. 16:16) and that Luke made her nonecstatic for his audience.[980] Given the wide spectrum of information about purple in antiquity, however, using this minor association of purple as a focus for interpreting the passage seems unwarranted.[981]
Because Lydia was from Thyatira, it is possible that her dye is from the madder plant in Asia Minor rather than from the murex shellfish.[982] As a cheaper, “imitation” dye, this product would have provided less income than the Tyrian variety, though it would have remained a luxury product (i.e., unavailable to the poor).[983] (Some ancients observed that dyers could sell to women dyes “of whatever quality” provided there was no competition.)[984] Whatever the case with Lydia historically, however, Luke’s audience will probably assume, unless very knowledgeable in the Lydian dye industry,[985] that Luke means here by “purple” what he means elsewhere: he deliberately uses it to characterize the wealthy (Luke 16:19).
Purple had a long history as a status symbol in the ancient Near East and Mediterranean worlds.[986] Archaeological evidence attests work in purple dye in Phoenicia as early as 1700 B.C.E.;[987] its use continued in the Christian era (e.g., purple dyers in 602 C.E., P.Grenf. 2.87). Most educated ancients were aware that Tyrian purple came from the sea[988] and from shellfish.[989] It came especially “from the Mediterranean whelks Murex brandaris, Murex trunculus, and Purpura haemostoma, which were crushed to release the dye fluid for the vat.”[990] Some of these murex shellfish were up to a foot long and 4 inches wide (Pliny E. N.H. 9.41.80); ancients identified different varieties of purple shellfish (9.52.102–3).[991] Because these shellfish secrete purple only when alive, they were often captured while alive, or crushed while alive (9.60.126). After workers collected the shells, they used iron tools to break them up, forcing out a purple liquid that dries rapidly unless honey is mixed with it (Vitruv. Arch. 7.13.3). It takes an enormous amount of shellfish to produce even a gram of the dye.[992] In addition to Tyre proper, the old Phoenician city of Sarepta, a port in the Roman period, was known for its purple-dye industry.[993]
Although Tyrian purple was the best and most famous kind, some forms of purple were produced in other locations,[994] including Lydia, Phrygia, Egypt, and even Macedonia’s Philippi and Thessalonica.[995] Nearly half the residents of Bulis (in Phocis, near Corinth) were purple-fishers for the dyeing carried out in Corinth.[996] Further, “lichens and bedstraws also gave purple, and a cheap version was commonly achieved by overdyeing woad (blue) with madder (red).”[997] Pliny the Elder opined that the best purple in Asia came from Tyre, the best in Africa from the Libyan island Meninx and on the ocean’s Gaetulian coast, and the best in Europe from around Sparta in Achaia (N.H. 9.60.127).[998] In Macedonia, the purple-dyeing industry flourished in nearby Thessalonica, “supplied with dye-bearing mollusks by the fisheries of the district.”[999] The wealthy may have preferred more distant imports (though more from Phoenicia than from Thyatira), but Lydia would certainly have competition from other sellers.
Ancient literature associates purple especially with Tyre[1000] and Phoenicia.[1001] Phoenician traders earned a reputation for greed in business (e.g., Hom. Od. 14.288–90; Philost. Hrk. 1.3); purple dye was a significant element of their luxury trade. Poets could also speak of purple from Punic dye (Prop. Eleg. 4.3.51), given Carthage’s Phoenician associations. Long after Tyre’s fortunes as a great mercantile city declined, Pliny the Elder complained that “the entire renown of Tyre now consists in a shell-fish and a purple dye!” (N.H. 5.17.76 [LCL, 2:279]).
It was common knowledge that purple (like blue in earlier times)[1002] was expensive, rare, and highly valued.[1003] Purple symbolized great wealth[1004] and, for some writers, excessive extravagance.[1005] The wealthy paid more than a thousand denarii for a pound of the finest Tyrian wool doubly stained (though just more than a third of that price for less valuable purple hues).[1006] An entertainer might steal a purple-dyed napkin to sell it for much money.[1007] In Diocletian’s later maximum-price edict, purple silk sold for more than twelve times the price of white silk, and roughly two thousand times the price of wool from Tarentum.[1008] Martial mocks a buyer who acquired a “Tyrian cloak” “cheaply” for ten thousand sesterces—because the buyer will not pay up (Epig. 8.10). Purple often appears together with gold as a sign of wealth.[1009] A wealthy wedding might lead to a golden couch with purple sheets (Xen. Eph. Anthia 1.8);[1010] a wealthy young man might wear a purple garment with a gold fringe (Athen. Deipn. 4.159d); a king might send as bribes a purple robe with a gold crown (1 Macc 10:20); a member of the nouveau riche might wear a Tyrian cloak and a gold ring (Juv. Sat. 1.27–28).[1011] Walking on purple cloth (Char. Chaer. 3.2.17) or purple stones (Jos. Asen. 2:2/3) was a sign of great extravagance. Purple was also valued for wall decorations (Vitruv. Arch. 7.13.1).
In this period the use of purple to signify status or wealth was clearly widespread. Thus Artemis might be expected to wear a purple tunic (Xen. Eph. Anthia 1.2); the semidivine Protesilaus, a specially divine hue of purple (Philost. Hrk. 10.5). Senators wore purple stripes on their togas (e.g., Juv. Sat. 1.106);[1012] Roman knights wore purple coats on the Ides of July (Val. Max. 2.3.9a); a general could wear purple (1.8.8). Juvenal complains of freedpersons who advanced to a higher class and wore Tyrian cloaks (Sat. 1.27). A wealthy courtesan likewise would typically dress in purple (Rev 17:4; cf. 18:16).[1013] Those with Cynic sympathies opined that purple or gold-and-purple garments were appropriate only for hetaerae (high-class prostitutes).[1014]
Rulers typically were viewed as wearing purple (e.g., Hor. Odes 1.35.12), including in Homeric Achaia (Hom. Il. 8.221),[1015] Macedonia (Polyb. 10.26.1),[1016] Persia,[1017] Egypt,[1018] and Judea (1 Macc 10:62, 64; 14:43)[1019] and in rabbinic parables.[1020] One born in the imperial palace might have purple “swaddling clothes” (Men. Rhet. 2.1–2, 371.19), and ancients often spoke of royal or imperial purple.[1021]
Naturally, the emperor wore purple.[1022] Shortly after Paul’s ministry in Philippi, the emperor Nero tried to restrict purple dye for imperial use but failed (Suet. Nero 32.3).[1023] The purple trade finally became a state monopoly only during the reign of Alexander Severus in the early third century C.E.[1024] When a guest suggested that his host had enough purple to make an imperial robe, the host was punished under the suspicion of imperial ambitions.[1025] Because of its great cost, some other locations, such as Thessaly in northeastern Greece, later tried unsuccessfully to procure the dye themselves in defiance of the imperial monopoly (Philost. Hrk. 53.22).[1026] The monopoly ultimately brought one of the eastern Mediterranean’s most ancient mercantile traditions to an end; the knowledge of extracting genuine purple vanished with Constantinople’s demise in 1453; Pope Paul II then “decreed that the robes of cardinals would henceforth be dyed in the imitation purple derived from the insect cochineal.”[1027]
Some philosophers critiqued and others accepted the use of purple; a purple robe signified Empedocles’s wealth (Diog. Laert. 8.2.73). Seneca criticizes the extravagance of purple (Dial. 12.11.2) and uses a purple robe and applause to symbolize what ambition wrongly seeks (Ep. Lucil. 69.4). Purple robes and anointing with myrrh could symbolize luxury contrasted with the simplicity of the Cynic lifestyle;[1028] a Stoic philosopher could protest that a simple cloak was no worse than a purple or crimson one (Mus. Ruf. 20, p. 124.15).[1029] A Cynic might go further, complaining that purple dyers ought to eat the shellfish instead of exploiting them for dye (Lucian Cynic 11). Someone renouncing Stoic philosophy could demonstrate it by wearing purple (Lucian Hermot. 86). Given the foul odor and texture associated with many purple dyes,[1030] wealthy desire for purple could be driven only by concern for status.
VI. LYDIA’S HOSPITALITY (16:15)
It is not clear from Acts 16:14–15 that any of the other women in the group immediately embraced Paul’s message at this time, but this may simply represent Luke’s technique of focusing on specific individuals in narratives (as opposed to his more general summary statements). In any case, it is Lydia’s converted household (16:15a) that provides the foundation for the church in Philippi (following Jesus’s instructions in Luke 10:5–7).
That she was “faithful” might connect her as a Gentile convert with Timothy’s Jewish mother, recently mentioned (Acts 16:1), underlining the observation that common faith unites Jewish and Gentile believers (15:9–11). That she “urges” the group to stay with her household reflects hospitality conventions and the honor of displaying hospitality (see the excursus on hospitality below) to those esteemed in one’s circle, but it also reflects her appreciation for the new message she has received (cf. παρεκάλουν in 13:42).
(1) A Property Owner
Lydia’s “home” could be simply a mezzanine apartment (see comment on Acts 18:3) or belong to an apartment building more generally (see comment on Acts 28:16). Given Luke’s usual usage and his apparent portrayal of her means, however, many think it likelier that she owned her own domus—that is, house—probably a Roman house with an atrium.[1031] As someone owning a home, Lydia had probably been in Philippi for some time.[1032] Given the poor housing accommodations of most urban people in the Roman world, given the size of Paul’s party (at least four), and especially given the gender most often associated with ancient homeowners, Lydia’s property ownership is significant. (For her economic status, see discussion above.)
Many “financially solvent home owners . . . were ripe for conversion”[1033] and would certainly be welcome in a movement that grew especially through what resembled associations meeting in households (see comment on Acts 2:42).[1034] Perhaps because on average they tended to be less educated (hence less suspicious) than men, wealthy women were sometimes favored targets of unscrupulous teachers seeking to expand their revenue.[1035] Members of foreign cults might not be unscrupulous, but they would be no less grateful for financially stable patrons, male or female;[1036] and as noted above, women seemed more socially inclined or free to support such cults.
We frequently learn of women engaged in financial dealings.[1037] Women could own property, and this was the case not only if they were divorced or widowed. Though they were a minority, many held property,[1038] and the new marriage arrangements in the early empire allowed wives to retain their own property excepting the dowry.[1039] We read of an estate belonging to the wife of a living wealthy man (Cic. Verr. 2.3.22.55), and of a mother’s will that divided property equally among her children and left money for her husband that exceeded the dowry (CIL 6.10230).[1040] Nearly a third of houses recorded were at least partly owned by women.[1041] (Aristocratic men also regarded some wives as capable partners in managing households in a manner that yielded profit.)[1042]
Lydia’s home was ample enough to provide hospitality and hence would provide the initial base for evangelizing Philippi (according to Jesus’s instructions in Luke 10:5–7).[1043] In contrast to, for example, many one-room Galilean homes or Roman tenements, Lydia’s ample home would surely include separate quarters for men and women.[1044] Women who acquired wealth, whether by inheritance or by business dealings, achieved social influence despite the generally subordinate social power of their gender in antiquity.[1045]
How Lydia came to own property is a matter of dispute. If she was married and her husband simply is not mentioned, the missionaries’ stay in her home would cause little scandal,[1046] but her invitation to them to stay in her home is unusual, since by cultural expectations the husband should have offered (or at least joined in offering) it (Acts 16:15). Moreover, one would expect Luke, given his apologetic emphasis, to mention the husband’s role if he could; though Luke could have gender-progressive interests (cf. Luke 8:2; 10:38–42), he can also mention supporters’ husbands (8:3). More unusual still is the exclusive focus on Lydia (again in 16:40) if her husband was part of the household that was baptized. Especially if the “household” includes only workers or servants,[1047] she could be single and either a freedwoman or separated from her father (by distance or his decease).
Often it is suggested that Lydia was a widow, which could leave her as head of a household.[1048] Widowhood would not necessarily provide abundant resources; many argue that Roman law normally permitted (Roman) widows to inherit no more than 10 percent of their husbands’ fortunes,[1049] though some women did achieve wealth this way.[1050] But such limitations were less relevant in this period.[1051] Moreover, widowhood did provide a greater degree of independence, so that what a woman controlled was her own.[1052] A woman was permitted to act without a guardian if she was freeborn and the mother of three children (or freed and the mother of four).[1053]
Of the 32 percent of homes at least partly owned by women, more than half were owned by a woman without a husband; of these, some were widowed but the majority were divorced.[1054] For this reason, some scholars suggest that Lydia was divorced.[1055] A woman divorced without suspicion of serious personal fault might return to her father’s house, retaining her dowry; when her father died, she “might . . . become an almost free woman” and eventually undertake business dealings herself.[1056] If she was freeborn, ultimately the best we can offer are guesses with varying degrees of probability, her possibly divorced status commanding merely a higher degree than some other guesses.[1057] If she was a freedwoman acting for patrons in Thyatira, she could also exercise independence and control resources (on freedpersons and their status and access to resources, see the excursus on freedpersons at Acts 6:9).[1058]
(2) Scandalous Hospitality?
Despite cultural inhibitions, accepting hospitality in a woman’s house would not appear scandalous under all conditions (particularly if she was much older[1059] or if her household included family members who could be trusted to prevent any misbehavior). Paul does not, after all, come alone, but he comes with companions. That Carneades the philosopher had a woman caring for his needs seems to have generated no scandal (Val. Max. 8.7.ext. 5); they were both unmarried,[1060] and Carneades was not being slandered. That Luke notes Lydia’s initiative (cf. 28:14) and grounds her insistence in trusting her faithfulness to the Lord, and that other invitations seem lacking, should mitigate criticism; her request that they accept hospitality fits some cultural conventions (see, e.g., Luke 24:29). Such intergender hospitality could, however, prove scandalous for anyone looking for grounds to criticize the new movement.
First, it could prove scandalous because teachers who drew too many women followers were generally criticized on the suspicion of sexual indecency.[1061] A man could not be convicted of adultery even if caught in a home alone with an unmarried woman (he could be prosecuted only if she was married), but she could be slandered as a prostitute (Cic. Cael. 20.49).[1062] A man’s occasional visits and then meals with a woman could be believed to lead ultimately to an open affair (Isaeus Philoct. 21). Honorable women were to avoid the grounds for such accusations.[1063] Given the presence of the “household” and that at least four men are boarding at the same time (Paul, Silas, Timothy, and Luke), the charge could be refuted. But even orators in courts slandered when they could get away with it, and gossip outside a court does not even permit an answer; the group would thus presumably need to be careful to remain together (including the at least two remaining missionaries[1064] after Paul and Silas’s arrest).
Very conservative circles might consider it offensive for a man even to speak with a woman under most circumstances.[1065] Some warned of the moral dangers of women’s presence (Sir 42:12–14; cf. 25:24); even to sit with another’s wife could lead to desire and destruction (9:9). Sharing gossip with women—according to some, even one’s wife—could lead to destruction (m. ʾAb. 1:5).[1066] Any married woman who was in private with a man other than her husband would be suspect.[1067] Probably most people would not be this conservative (especially given the importance of genuinely hospitable local accommodations), but given the importance of avoiding unnecessary offense (1 Cor 10:32; 2 Cor 6:3), such choices could involve risk.
Second, those thought to depend on women’s support could be criticized on these grounds; as noted above, this happened to the Pharisees in Judea[1068] and to the Jewish movement as a whole in the Diaspora. Given the number of respectable women patrons in this period, however, this view cannot have been pervasive. Luke has already noted that Jesus had women followers who supported his ministry (Luke 8:2–3),[1069] a matter confirmed by earlier tradition (Mark 15:40–41) despite the risks such claims posed for a minority movement.[1070] There was also significant biblical precedent (cf. 1 Kgs 17:13–24; esp. 2 Kgs 4:8–11). Some scholars view this behavior as an example of Paul’s progressive behavior on gender.[1071] Although I find this approach appealing, it is possible that a primary motivation here is simply that accepting such hospitality was much better than the alternative. Given the frequent identifications of inns as brothels (see comment below), this may have been the best arrangement available.[1072]
Women’s participation in patronage and benefaction was well known (including in Luke’s account of the Christian movement; cf. Acts 9:39; Luke 8:3).[1073] Women are rarely, if ever, attested as members of professional guilds (collegia), perhaps because of their small numbers, but they are known as patrons of guilds.[1074] Various dedicatory inscriptions attest to the prevalence of benefactresses in Roman Greece.[1075] Perhaps most relevant, they were at least sometimes patronesses of synagogues.[1076] As noted above, Nero’s wife Poppaea was an influential Jewish sympathizer;[1077] Agrippa II also procured favor for the Jewish people through Nero’s mother, Agrippina.[1078]