8.4. Conclusion
Most scholars see Luke’s first volume as biography; most scholars see his second volume as a historical monograph; and most scholars see the two volumes as intimately connected. To many observers, these three mostly consensus views do not fit well together, and they therefore demur on one or more points.
Yet, in spite of elaborate classifications, mixed genres were common in the early imperial period.1 As noted in chapters 6 and especially 7, the genres of biography and historiography (or the subgenre of biography with the rest of historiography) overlapped considerably in the early empire.2 Among the Gospels, it is with Luke’s Gospel that the line between biography and historiography most fully blurs.3
8.1. A Special Case: Is Luke’s Gospel Historical Monograph or Historical Biography?
Although I have been approaching the Gospels generally as biographies, one Gospel invites a somewhat different approach, an approach that illustrates the often fine line between biography and history. Luke’s Gospel is indeed biographic, but it belongs to a two-volume work (Luke-Acts) that when taken as a whole is more easily defined as historiography more generally. As part of Luke’s two-volume work the Gospel becomes a biographic component in a larger history. Ancient auditors would not find such a combination difficult to comprehend; authors of multivolume histories could devote an entire volume or section to a particularly prominent character.4 Josephus’s autobiography apparently originally was part of his historical work, the Jewish Antiquities.5
Although majority positions change from time to time, the majority of current scholars view the Gospels and Acts as belonging to the genres of ancient biography and history, respectively, with the Gospel of Luke possibly straddling both.6 Just as most scholars today recognize the Gospels as biographies, the dominant view concerning Acts today, earlier argued by Lukan scholars such as Martin Dibelius and Henry Cadbury,7 is that it is a work of ancient historiography.8 Writing in the Anchor Bible Dictionary, Luke Timothy Johnson notes that most scholars today accept this assignment of genre for Luke-Acts as a whole.9 Indeed, Hengel and Schwemer contend that those who deny Luke-Acts as acceptable first-century historiography need to read more ancient historiography.10
The complication is that, as Chris Forbes puts it, “Whatever Acts is, it is the sequel to Luke’s Gospel.”11 Granted, Luke and Acts need not belong to the same genre,12 although it is virtually certain that they were meant to be read together.13 Some scholars identify biographic elements in Acts,14 although, as noted in chapters 6–7, history could be written with a biographic focus.15 In the case of Luke-Acts, many scholars retain Luke as biography16 but speak of a biographic-historiographic double work,17 in which the first volume is biography but the larger work is historiographic.18 This would not be the only case of individual volumes in a larger series fulfilling somewhat different genre functions than the series.19 Overlapping biographies appear in Plutarch’s Galba and Otho, or in the biography of Crates extended to elaborate on two of his disciples.20 Others point to the indisputable pervasiveness of biographies in collections21 or more narrowly to parallel biographies22 and OT succession narratives.23
Luke’s claim to investigate or have close acquaintance with his information (Luke 1:3) is consistent with claims in historical works,24 and many scholars contend that his other occasional uses of the first person (e.g., Acts 16:10) could fit the involvement considered ideal for a good Hellenistic historian.25 Unlike histories, biographies were not constrained by chronological sequence.26 That Luke usually follows Mark’s sequence need not require, but supports, the contention that Luke views his biography of Jesus as part of his larger project of writing a history.
Other aspects of Luke-Acts fit the historical genre. Luke’s extensive use of public monologues in Acts fits the conventions of ancient histories better than those of biographies or novels.27 (Indeed, in Acts they may cumulatively consume a larger proportion of the work than in Thucydides or Sallust, though Luke’s speeches are individually typically shorter than in the multivolume histories.)28 Some other historiographic features include or are more specific to the Gospel.
The preface to a two-volume work could cover both volumes,29 which is probably the case for Luke 1:1–4.30 In contrast to novels,31 Luke includes a preface very similar to those in histories.32 Although some features may resemble features in prefaces of ancient scientific treatises,33 no one contends that this is the genre of either volume of Luke-Acts.34 Rather, these features may suggest that Luke’s history comes closer to the scholarly rather than the more rhetorical mode of writing.35 Genuine technical treatises did seek to deal in information, not fiction.36
A good introduction should summarize what is to follow;37 and Luke’s summary of what will follow is explicitly historical: “an orderly narrative of the things fulfilled among us” (Luke 1:1, 3). Likewise, his explicit purpose is to confirm what Theophilus has learned about such events (1:4). “Given this statement of the question,” Terrance Callan notes, “it is almost obvious that the preface of Luke-Acts most resembles the prefaces of histories.”38 Luke focuses on “a narrative of events.”39 That Luke’s purpose is explicitly to confirm truth (Luke 1:4) fits expectations for historiography.40 That Luke also sees his work as useful (Luke 1:4) would not conflict with this goal.41
Luke’s language also fits known historical prefaces in other respects, such as close correspondences of vocabulary, as numerous scholars point out.42 Where we can check Luke against extrinsic data, he fits expectations for histories, not for novels about historical figures.43 Some even suggest that Luke imitates not only the Septuagint but also the style of eastern Mediterranean historians from Polybius forward.44
Comparison with OT historiography also points to historical intention.45 Some scholars even argue that Luke sought to write salvation history as he knew it from the Old Testament,46 although, like contemporary Jewish historians, he combined this approach with Hellenistic conventions.47 Luke’s first volume includes Jesus’s deeds and teachings (Acts 1:1; cf. Luke 24:19), which is both a biographic and a historical interest.48
8.1c. Luke’s Claim of “Thorough Familiarity” (Luke 1:3)
Luke’s claim of “thorough familiarity” (Luke 1:3) probably implies his participation in Jesus’s movement or even in some events that Luke narrates. Translations often render παρακολουθέω (parakoloutheō) in 1:3 as “investigate,”49 but it may refer, even more relevantly, to “participation.” This verb indicates thorough acquaintance50 or “informed familiarity.”51 Because the sort of familiarity expressed by the semantic domain often comes partly “through personal involvement,” David Moessner concludes that it refers to Luke’s involvement in the movement and prior knowledge of the tradition, possibly even anticipating Luke’s “we” passages.52
Scholars offer various interpretations of Luke’s “we” material.53 Some view the “we” as a fictitious literary device, but this device is not attested in ancient historiography54 or biography.55 I have elsewhere presented my own conviction and case that if Luke’s “we” (Acts 16:10–28:16) had appeared in virtually any other ancient historical work, we would take for granted that the author was present. A majority of scholars do hold that the “we” represents genuine eyewitness material;56 at least a slight majority of Acts scholars also hold that Luke himself authored the “we” source.57 If, as we would assume in another historical work, the first-person reference includes the author, then the author of Luke-Acts spent up to two years in Judea, within three decades of most of the events described in Luke’s Gospel (Acts 24:27 with 21:15; 27:1).58
First-person narration in Acts is consistent with authorial involvement. “We” appears only sporadically in Acts, whereas the fictitious “we” normally pervaded the ancient novels that use one. Without comment (as if the audience knows the identity of the narrator), the first person appears incidentally in Troas, leaves off in Philippi (Acts 16:10–16), and resumes years later, again in Philippi (20:6–21:18; 27:1–28:16). It does not appear at more theologically pregnant points where it would be most useful (say in Acts 1–2, 10, or 15, or in the Gospel).59 Far from the author depicting himself as a Peter or Paul, he narrates his own participation as minimally as any participant could. As one might expect for eyewitness material, the “we” sections tend to be among Luke’s most detailed material.60 (Detractors often cite differences from Paul;61 at least some of the more significant of these, however, may reflect a traditional Protestant misunderstanding of Paul.)62
By ἄνωθεν (anōthen, “from the top, from the beginning”), Luke also claims that his acquaintance began much earlier than the time of his writing.63 Luke’s claim to “accuracy” (ἀκριβῶς [akribōs], Luke 1:3) appears in historiography and usually designates contemporary history-writing, dependent on direct experience, as opposed to writing about the past.64 Josephus thus employs the term and its cognates sparingly in his Antiquities but more consistently in his War.65
Whether or not one agrees with this briefly summarized argument for the eyewitness character of the “we” material, Luke’s wording, in view of other ancient prologues using the same language, at least suggests thorough familiarity with reports and his belief that he is able to evaluate their accuracy.66 One would use such language to display one’s “impeccable credentials” for writing reliably.67
Luke believes that his firsthand acquaintance is sufficient for him to be able to evaluate and confirm many of the oral traditions circulating (Luke 1:2), traditions already known to his audience (1:4). Presumably this confirmation would have at least included interviewing some Judean followers of Jesus who could confirm and augment the stories circulating among Diaspora Christians.68 Luke’s appeal to “eyewitnesses” (αὐτόπται, autoptai; Luke 1:2) fits the widespread convention of appeal to eyewitness sources,69 emphasized by both Greek70 and Roman71 historians.
Like modern scholars, ancient prefaces treated their predecessors in different ways: some berated them,72 whereas others, more charitably, simply distinguished their respective spheres of activity.73 The former approach could be deemed rude, and some writers therefore specifically disavow this intention.74 Luke’s only stated cause of dissatisfaction with his predecessors’ work is a matter of rhetorical arrangement (Luke 1:3), not of information; he has already expressed appreciation for “their eyewitness sources.”75
As Moessner notes, Luke’s “mention of eyewitness tradents and attendants and organizers who are responsible for the content and resulting forms of the traditions” (1:2–4) “makes it clear that, as a historian, Luke is treating matters he believes are more or less factual—affairs that have happened.”76 The ideal for ancient historians was to have seen events themselves;77 since such direct experience of events is not always possible, whether for ancient historians or even modern journalists, historical authors often had to depend on oral sources.78 Historians from Polybius through first-century authors often defended their work by underlining their reliance on oral sources and eyewitnesses.79 When on occasion ancient historians use the precise term αὐτοψία (autopsia), cognate to Luke’s term for eyewitnesses in 1:2, they generally refer to “those with personal/first-hand experience: those who know the facts at first hand.”80 Luke emphasizes eyewitness attestation not only in his preface but commonly enough to reinforce the preface’s claim.81
Biographers of public figures often filled out biographic material from multiple sources,82 so it is not surprising that Matthew and Luke fill out Mark’s outline with other information. On the dominant hypothesis of gospel formation, this information includes the shared material that we call Q; Luke, however, has a further body of tradition available, as we see, for example, from the distinctly Lukan parables.83 We would expect Luke to follow roughly the same method where we cannot test him as where we can.
Luke’s primary stated purpose is to confirm already-circulating knowledge (1:4),84 which suggests that he ultimately arrives at conclusions reasonably consistent with his sources. Thus many stories that Luke includes in his Gospel were probably widely disseminated among many churches. Such dissemination is all the likelier on the recognition that early churches throughout the empire were already informally networked long before Luke wrote. In Mediterranean antiquity in general, travelers regularly carried news from one location to another;85 whenever one learned of someone traveling near a place where one had friends, one might prepare and send a letter.86
Clearly already in the third decade of the Christian movement, many churches knew what was happening with churches in other cities (Rom 1:8; 1 Cor 11:16; 14:33; 1 Thess 1:7–9), and even shared letters (Col 4:16).87 Missionaries could speak about some churches to others (Rom 15:26; 2 Cor 8:1–5; 9:2–4; Phil 4:16; 1 Thess 2:14–16) and send personal news by other workers (Eph 6:21–22; Col 4:7–9). Some urban Christians traveled (1 Cor 16:10, 12, 17; Phil 2:30; 4:18), carrying letters (Rom 16:1–2; Phil 2:25). They also relocated to other places (Rom 16:3, 5; perhaps 16:6–15 passim) and sent greetings to other churches (Rom 16:21–23; 1 Cor 16:19; Phil 4:22; Col 4:10–15). While different locations had their own struggles or theological emphases, the idea that the early, geographically distinct Christian communities were theologically and socially isolated from one another88 is simply a fiction created by modern scholarship.
The reading of these earlier texts probably standardized the forms of many of the accounts; communal reading (or reading to the communities) was common in synagogues, churches, and the wider culture.89 While such a “quality control”90 may not have been relevant in the composition of Mark, it would likely be relevant to his successors, such as Matthew and Luke, who made use of Mark.
8.2. Luke’s History and Rhetoric
Luke arranges his material in a manner pleasing to his ideal audience, especially drawing parallels among figures in his narratives. He also has apologetic and other agendas. These observations do not, however, undercut ancient expectations for Luke’s work as historiography. Such features also appear in other ancient histories and are not necessarily incompatible with historical information.
8.2a. Luke’s Rhetorical Level?
Although Luke demonstrates literary skill far beyond that of the average urban resident, he does not produce a work amenable to society’s elite. Granted, Luke is more sophisticated than Mark,91 and rhetorical conventions influenced Luke’s literary techniques (cf. his emphasis on an “orderly” account, Luke 1:3).92 Nevertheless, the literary level of Luke-Acts is far below that of elite Hellenistic histories.93 Luke was no rhetorical historian like Theopompus; he was certainly not even as rhetorically trained as Tacitus or Suetonius. Although Luke provides excellent Greek where he needs to (e.g., Luke 1:1–4),94 not even the speeches in Acts are extraordinarily sophisticated.95 Although there were no “professional historians” in his day,96 Luke writes for a more popular audience than did most elite historians.97
In contrast to more rhetorical historians, Luke declines to elaborate scenes rhetorically. One goal in rhetoric was to make hearers feel as if they witnessed events with their very eyes,98 and historians often sought to achieve this goal.99 Second Sophistic orators appreciated earlier rhetorical historians like Sallust painting a vivid picture of details and feelings,100 and they thought that historians ought to describe the countryside.101 The technique of ekphrasis, involving detailed descriptions, does appear in narrative works,102 including in historical biographies such as those of Suetonius.103 Rhetors demanded more graphic scenes providing visual horror;104 but some historians protested if narration of such scenes exceeded necessary details of history.105
Luke, however, never comes close to such detailed elaboration, even in his “we” material. Luke lacks even the briefest sort of example of ekphrasis (such as Homer’s Thersites being “bandy-legged, lame in one foot”).106 He avoids gore even in recounting martyrdoms. I thus differ from the scholars who see Acts as “dramatic” history in terms of such elaborations.107 Aune offers a balanced conclusion: “Luke-Acts is a popular ‘general history’ written by an amateur Hellenistic historian with credentials in Greek rhetoric.”108
Whereas Matthew’s organization can fit modern hierarchical outlines fairly well, Luke prefers to demonstrate his skill in arrangement more by comparing parallel figures. Luke introduces this strategy already in his opening scenes, providing multiple parallels between Zechariah and Mary (Luke 1:5–25, 26–38).109 Note the careful structuring:
1:11: an angel (Gabriel, 1:19) appears
1:26: the angel Gabriel appears
1:12: the vision’s recipient troubled
1:29: the vision’s recipient troubled
1:13: do not be afraid
1:30: do not be afraid
1:13: reason for miracle
1:30: reason for miracle
1:13: child’s name (John)
1:31: child’s name (Jesus)
1:15: child will be great
1:32: child will be great
1:15: filled with the Holy Spirit from the womb
110
1:16–17: mission
1:32–33: mission
1:18: question
1:34: question
1:19–20: proof or explanation
1:35–37: proof or explanation
1:20: Zechariah muted for unbelief
1:38, 45: Mary praised for faith
1:80: child grows
111
Luke’s two volumes frequently parallel figures, as literary critics have lavishly demonstrated.112 Although some scholars view as fictionalization such internal parallelisms in ancient sources, for example Plutarch’s biography of Artaxerxes,113 ancient biographers often treated such devices as simply rhetorical arrangement to present information in a more pleasing way. Writers sometimes reuse earlier plots and motifs to fill details in scenes where they lack information.114
Although this practice of drawing parallels necessarily involved interpretation, and some stories that historians found useful for this purpose may have been inauthentic, such parallel construction did not require historians to invent new material.115 Indeed, factual writers today can evoke earlier accounts without inventing their material.116 It seemed natural, and thus was common, for ancient authors to compare newer figures with earlier ones, for example, various emperors with Romulus,117 others with Alexander,118 or some later emperors with predecessors,119 and so forth.120 Some figures directly compared themselves with or even impersonated others.121 The Greek historian Polybius compared the Roman general Scipio with the Spartan lawgiver Lycurgus, as a means of articulating Scipio’s character more clearly.122 Historians continued to parallel figures in late antiquity.123
Some works did admittedly bend stories to conform them to each other. Cicero permitted historians to choose (though not to fabricate) traditions according to which ones best fit the parallels they sought to articulate.124 Ps.-Plutarch’s work Greek and Roman Parallel Stories presents paired stories so similar that they must be either doublets of the same tradition or be deliberately assimilated by the writer.125 Plutarch complains that some writers added details missing elsewhere, for example, composing a proper tragic finale for Alexander’s life.126
But Plutarch himself, who provides our strongest extant examples of the subgenre, generally was more careful (though more flexible than modern historiography). One scholar who suggests that Plutarch sometimes depended on his imagination for details notes that what can be proven is that he rearranges chronology, selects and omits some material for the sake of parallels, and sometimes even transfers actions to different characters.127
While this much is true, Plutarch claims that he looked hard for the right people to compare with each other.128 For those who valued selectivity,129 available parallels with another notable character could simply provide a criterion for selecting relevant points to record. One does not need to invent parallels to discover them; reading backward, one can easily find some “parallels” among various characters in history (or among two persons conversing and looking for common ground). Modern readers might consider these parallels contrived, cherry-picked among many events; they are in the eyes of the beholder. Nevertheless, the writer noting the parallels need only select, not fabricate, the events.
Plutarch thus opines that nature itself supplies sufficient events for observers to find parallels if only the observers are sufficiently attentive. On a naturalistic view, he contends, potential elements for comparison are infinite, whereas on a providential view, the same agents would repeat patterns often.130 Other writers even collected such accounts of accidents that appeared designed,131 to which Plutarch added another: the most crafty, skillful. and warlike generals “have been one-eyed men,—Philip, Antigonus, Hannibal, and . . . Sertorius.”132 Plutarch himself believed that the similarities he was able to find were due to the divine power making people alike in many respects.133
Yet when his historical material required it, Plutarch sometimes highlighted a contrast (a sort of antithetic parallel) rather than conforming the subjects to each other.134 Even when he says that two people are so much alike that it is difficult to discern the differences between them,135 he goes on to point out differences.136 (Naturally, the lives of statesmen will provide some parallels and contrasts with other statesmen, and even modern readers would understand such comparable features as part of the nature of social reality, though not necessarily finding as many parallels as Plutarch.)
Moreover, although we usually lack means to evaluate the sources of Luke’s second volume, when we have them we can sometimes show that Luke finds parallels among figures in clearly preexisting material—such as the Septuagint (see Acts 7:9, 25, 35, 37).137 That is, patterning can reflect interpretive structuring of information and not simply its fabrication.138 In social memory, sacred texts frequently become a lens for contemporary events, and vice versa.139 In fact, Luke may sometimes adopt interpretative structures already latent or blatant in his sources, which themselves structured their own material. In their current literary form, the Genesis-Exodus narratives themselves include some rather conspicuous parallels and contrasts among figures.140 Many doublets once viewed as source indicators are now often viewed as deliberate patterning to invite reading one scene “in light of the other.”141 For example, the Jordan crossing in Josephus deliberately echoes the sea crossing at the exodus,142 and the prophets’ picture of a new exodus evoked its prototype.143 Later Jewish historians and storytellers also recounted their narratives along patterns from earlier salvation history, believing that God had objectively authored these patterns in history.144 Jewish eschatological literature even uses the Urzeit as a prototype for the Endzeit (especially Eden).145
8.3. Apologetic Historiography
Luke, like other writers, had agendas. Most scholars concur that one of the primary functions of Luke-Acts is apologetic (i.e., defending the faith) and many argue that the work fits the actual genre of apologetic historiography.146 This purpose fits quite well into a well-known line of ancient historiography.
Although the apologetic element is not always dominant, all extant ancient Jewish historiography to some degree emphasized the antiquity and superiority of Israel’s religion.147 The most complete example of Jewish apologetic historiography is Josephus’s twenty-volume retelling of sacred Jewish history in his Jewish Antiquities. There Josephus emphasizes God’s special providence in Israel’s history.148
Along with other characteristics, Luke’s preface suggests that he envisions his work as a work of history. He claims thorough familiarity with his subject, and perhaps even some participation in it. He also claims that he has corroborated material that he has taken over from his predecessors, material that he believes goes back to the original eyewitnesses. Luke did for history what no one at a subsequent remove could: he consulted and engaged what was still in his day living memory.
Although Luke does not elaborate like more rhetorical historians, he does arrange his material more suitably for his audience. This arrangement includes drawing parallels among figures, a common practice among ancient historians. This practice did not necessarily require historians to invent stories; Luke found such parallels even in clearly preexisting Scripture. Nevertheless, Luke develops these narrative patterns in his material, especially in his opening chapters. Luke also has apologetic and other agendas. Like historical writers addressed in the previous chapter, Luke tells an old story in a fresh way.
Martin Hengel rightly noted that Luke’s adaptations and use of information both fit what we expect of ancient historiography. “His account always remains within the limits of what was considered reliable by the standards of antiquity.”149
1. See Aune, “Problem,” 10–11, 48; Aune, Dictionary, 307; Burridge, Comparison, 33–34, 56–61; Smith and Kostopoulos, “Biography,” 394; cf. Selden, “Genre,” 39–40; Fuller, “Classics,” 189 (summarizing G. Kennedy). On the possibility of mixed genres for Luke and/or Acts, cf. Spencer, Acts, 13–14; Barrett, Acts, lxxviii–lxxix; Smith and Kostopoulos, “Biography.”
2. See esp. Pelling, “History.”
3. I adapt material here from Keener, Acts, 1:54–62; Keener, Historical Jesus, 85–94; and Keener, “Luke-Acts.”
4. Burridge, Gospels, 239 (citing Diodorus Siculus, Library of History 17); Balch, “ΜΕΤΑΒΟΛΗ ΠΟΛΙΤΕΙΩΝ,” 143 (citing Dionysius of Halicarnassus, Roman Antiquities 4.41–85). Talbert, Acts, 251, helpfully cites Polybius, Histories 9.22; 10.2.2; Dionysius of Halicarnassus, Roman Antiquities 5.48.1; Diodorus Siculus, Library of History 17; Josephus, Jewish Antiquities bks. 14–17; Dio Cassius, Roman History 45–56; 73.11.2–4; Eusebius, Ecclesiastical History 6.
5. Smith and Kostopoulos, “Biography,” 404–5.
6. Cf., e.g., Keener, “Luke-Acts”; Barrett, Acts, 2:lxxviii–lxxix; Verheyden, “Unity,” 47; Marshall, “Treatise,” 180; Hemer, Acts, 33–43, 63–100; Dormeyer and Galindo, Apostelgeschichte, 19; on the possibility of mixed genres, cf. Spencer, Acts, 13–14; Barrett, Acts, 2:lxxviii–lxxix; for mixed genres being common in the early imperial period, see Aune, “Problem,” 10–11, 48; Aune, Dictionary, 307; Burridge, Comparison, 33–34, 56–61.
7. Dibelius, Studies, 123–37; Cadbury, Acts in History, throughout.
8. For the latter, see several works by Plümacher (“Cicero und Lukas,” 772–73; Geschichte, 1–32; “Historiker”; Lukas, 33–38 [comparing mission speeches], 137–39; “Luke as Historian,” 398; “Monographie”); also Palmer, “Monograph” (1992); Palmer, “Monograph” (1993); Schmidt, “Influences,” 59; Fuller, “Classics,” 189 (regarding G. Kennedy’s comments); Stagg, Acts, 17; Petersen, “Genre”; Bovon, Theologian, 5; Johnson, Acts, 3–7; Johnson, “Luke-Acts,” 406; Fitzmyer, Acts, 127; Barnett, Birth, 195–96; Cross, “Genres,” 404–6; Tuckett, Luke, 29; Ehrman, Introduction, 133–35; deSilva, Introduction, 349–51; Balch, “ΜΕΤΑΒΟΛΗ ΠΟΛΙΤΕΙΩΝ,” 141–42, 149–54; Balch, “Genre,” throughout, esp. 11–19; Balch, “Gospels (forms),” 948–49; Marguerat, Histoire, 49 (although noting overlap with biography); Marguerat, “Pionnier”; Eckey, Apostelgeschichte, 20–31; Jervell, Apostelgeschichte, 77–78; Flichy, Oeuvre; Flichy, “État,” 28–32 (reviewing recent research); Litwak, Echoes, 36; Kisau, “Acts,” 1297; Rothschild, Rhetoric, 296; Guijarro Oporto, “Articulación literaria”; Riesner, “Zuverlässigkeit,” 39; Sterling, Historiography, 318n39, lists also as supporters Conzelmann, Acts, xl; Hengel, Acts and History, 14, 36–37; Schneider, Apostelgeschichte, 1:122; Pesch, Apostelgeschichte, 1:23; see also now Uytanlet, Historiography; Odor, “Families”; Schnabel, Jesus, Paul, and Church, 290. See further discussion in Keener, Acts, 1:90–115.
9. Johnson, “Luke-Acts,” 406. Penner, Praise, 4, likewise summarizes that most scholars hold “the most obvious generic identification for” Acts, namely “ancient historiographical writing.” Even in 1985, Callan could write that “It has long been almost taken for granted that Luke-Acts is a historical work” (“Preface,” 576, noting that Talbert’s biography proposal had reopened the question).
10. Hengel and Schwemer, Damascus, 11.
11. Forbes, “Acts as Source,” 11, in the context of genre.
12. Cf. Palmer, “Monograph” (1993), 3; Parsons, “Unity,” esp. 45–48; Pervo, “Same Genre?”; Parsons and Pervo, Rethinking, 20–44 (though overstating the case).
13. See Acts 1:1; and, e.g., Goulder, Type; Talbert, Patterns; Tannehill, Luke; Tannehill, Acts; Verheyden, “Unity”; Verheyden, Unity; Verheyden, “Unity of Luke-Acts”; Bergholz, Aufbau.
14. Taylor, “Acts as Biography,” esp. 84; Alexander, “Biography,” 56; cf. Alexander, Context, 43–68; see esp. Adams, Genre, 116–71; also discussion in Keener, Acts, 1:54–62.
15. Cf. Fornara, Nature, 29–46 (esp. 34–36), 116, 185; for Luke-Acts, see, e.g., Dormeyer, “Gattung,” 461–65, 475; Barrett, Acts, 2:xxxv; Keener, Acts, 1:111–13. For complications with assigning Acts to the biographic genre, see, e.g., Plümacher, Geschichte, 1–4; Aune, Environment, 77; Keener, Acts, 1:59–60. Biographic material does not make a work biography per se (Stadter, “Biography,” 528–29).
16. Frickenschmidt, Evangelium, 478–97.
17. Frickenschmidt, Evangelium, 498–500.
18. Frickenschmidt, Evangelium, 500.
19. In ch. 8 of Negotiating Genre, Sean Adams notes biographic components (Abraham and Joseph) in Philo’s larger Exposition, thus drawing on biographic conventions while also providing philosophic textual commentary.
20. Frickenschmidt, Evangelium, 500.
21. Adams, Genre, 92–109; for Acts, 116–71.
22. On which, see, e.g., Keener, Acts, 1:568, 571–73.
23. On which, see, e.g., Keener, Acts, 1:712–13. See Small, “Review,” esp. with interest in the cohesive Deuteronomistic History.
24. Thucydides, History 1.22.2; see ch. 7.
25. See esp. Plümacher, “Luke as Historian,” 398; see ch. 7; further discussion in Keener, Acts, 3:2353–55.
26. See ch. 5.
27. See Plümacher, “Mission Speeches,” 251–66; as in Plümacher, “Missionsreden”; Plümacher, “Luke as Historian,” 398; Horsley, “Speeches,” 613.
28. See discussions in, e.g., Horsley, “Speeches”; Soards, Speeches, 183; Aune, Environment, 124–25.
29. E.g., Philostratus, Lives of the Sophists pref.479.
30. A secondary preface, as in Acts 1:1, could be briefer (see, e.g., Josephus, Against Apion 2.1; with Johnson, Acts, 28; Witherington, Acts, 105). My remarks about Luke’s preface draw from Keener, Acts, 1:93–96, 174–76, 658–60 (and more generally 649–60).
31. Though occasionally a novel could include a preface explaining how an author invented the story (as in Longus, Daphnis and Chloe, proem 1–2).
32. On Luke’s prologue as fitting for historical works, see, e.g., Callan, “Preface”; van Unnik, “Once More Prologue”; Johnson, “Luke-Acts,” 406, 407; Schmidt, “Influences”; Moessner, “Arrangement,” 158–63; Moessner, “Synergy”; Porter, “We Narratives,” 550; Aune, Environment, 80, 121 (cf. 89–90, 120–21); Aune, “Prooimion”; Penner, Praise, 219–22; Rothschild, Rhetoric, 93–94. For historiographic prefaces, see also Earl, “Prologue-form.” For comparison of biographic and historiographic prefaces, see Smith, βίος, 231.
33. Alexander, Preface, 42–101 (though cf. 147); Alexander, “Preface.” But cf. Callan, “Preface,” 577; Aune, Dictionary, 371, and Aune, “Prooimion”; Adams, “Preface,” 181–83.
34. Aune, Dictionary, 370. Alexander, Context, 12–13, clarifies that she never denied that Luke intended his work as “history” and suggests (17–18) that the preface might suggest the kind of history Luke intends.
35. Alexander, Context, 16, 41–42, suggesting also that Luke’s “preface shows a strong interest both in ‘reliability’ and in the preservation of authentic tradition,” despite some fictionalization (12–13).
36. Cf. Alexander, “Formal Elements,” 23–24.
37. This is a conventional expectation; see Quintilian, Orator’s Education 4.1.34; also Rhetoric to Alexander 29, 1436a, lines 33–39; Polybius, Histories 3.1.3–3.5.9 (esp. 3.1.7); 11.1.1–5; Dionysius of Halicarnassus, Lysias 24; Thucydides 19; Cicero, Orator ad M. Brutum 40.137; Virgil, Aeneid 1.1–6; Seneca the Elder, Controversiae 1.pref.21; Dio Chrysostom, Orations 38.8; Aulus Gellius, Attic Nights pref.25; Soranus, Gynecology 1.intro.2; 1.1.3; Philostratus, Life of Apollonius 7.1; 8.1.
38. Callan, “Preface,” 577; cf. similarly Hemer, “Alexandria Troas,” 98.
39. Callan, “Preface,” 577, citing Herodotus, Histories 1.1; Lucian, How to Write History 7–14 (also 39–40).
40. Callan, “Preface,” 578; cf. Aune, Environment, 136; Adams, “Preface,” 186.
41. See Lucian, How to Write History 9, 53. For multiple objectives, see, e.g., Josephus, Jewish Antiquities 1.4; for both pleasure and benefit, see 2 Macc 2:24–25.
42. Downing, “Redaction Criticism 2,” 30–31; Moessner, “Arrangement,” 158; Rothschild, Rhetoric, 67–69; Penner, Praise, 219–21; Becker, Birth, 103–4.
43. See, e.g., Talbert, Mediterranean Milieu, 203–8; Hemer, Acts, 108–220 (see esp. 108–58); Campbell, “Journeys”; Harnack, Acts, 264–74. I treat the question much more thoroughly than here in Keener, Acts, 1:62–83, 166–257.
44. See Mealand, “Historians.” Although Luke shares some LXX verbs, the stylistic level of his verbs falls between a high level of Koine and Dionysius’s atticizing (Mealand, “Verbs”).
45. Rosner, “Biblical History,” 81, after noting the common features on 65–81; cf. further Uytanlet, Historiography.
46. Jervell, “Future,” 110–11; Johnson, Acts, 12; Smith, “Gospels,” 8–14; Litwak, Echoes, 32, 206. Some earlier Greek historians (such as Thucydides and Xenophon) also envisioned their narratives as picking up where their predecessors left off (Darbo-Peschanski, “Origin,” 33–34; Brown, Historians, 91–92).
47. Jewish historical writing by this period employed Hellenistic conventions (Cohen, Maccabees, 194; cf. in general Attridge, “Historiography,” 326; Eisman, “Dio and Josephus”).
48. For history, see Polybius, Histories 2.56.11; deeds in Aristotle, Rhetoric 1.1360 a.35; Valerius Maximus, Memorable Doings and Sayings 1.pref.; Quintilian, Orator’s Education 2.4.2; Fornara, Nature of History, 1–2, 116, 185.
49. Cf. Becker, Birth, 105, on Luke “as the investigator of traditions.”
50. See Alexander, Preface, 128–30.
51. Moessner, Historian, 68–107 (prior knowledge vs. investigation).
52. Moessner, Historian, 106–7, 328; cf. Moessner, “Tradent.” An informed participant in a movement will normally know it better than even an outsider doing research for a year, although the kinds of knowledge may also be different. This principle can be amply illustrated in publications about Pentecostals, Mormons, Ahmadiyya Muslims, etc.
53. For my fuller discussion, see Keener, Acts, 3:2350–74.
54. See Nock, Essays, 828; Porter, Paul in Acts, 24–27; Keener, “Claims”; cf., e.g., Herodotus, Histories 1.20; 1.51.3–4; 1.92.2; 1.105.3; 2.29; 2.99.1; 2.104.1; 2.127.1–2; 2.147.1; 2.148.1; 3.55.2; 4.81.2; 4.195.2; 5.59; 6.47.1; 7.114.2; Polybius, Histories 1.1.1–1.5.5; 36.11.1–4; 39.8.1; Diodorus Siculus, Library of History 17.52.6; Dionysius of Halicarnassus, Roman Antiquities 1.7.3; Ezra 8:15–32; 9:3–5. Polybius uses first-person claims when he was an observer (e.g., 29.21.8) but prefers third-person when he is an active participant in the narrative (31.23.1–31.24.12; 38.19.1; 38.21.1; 38.22.3; cf. 39.2.2). This is esp. frequent at the narratorial level: e.g., Herodotus, Histories 1.5.3; 1.15; 1.18.2; 1.22.2; 1.57.1; 1.75.1, 3, 6; 1.92.1; 1.95.1; 1.106.2; 1.130.3; 1.131.1; 1.137.1; 1.140.1–3; 1.169.2; 1.170.1; 1.171.2; 2.18.1; 4.197.2; 5.4.1; 5.9.1, 3; 5.22.1; 5.35.3; 5.36.4; 5.54.1; 5.62.1; 5.65.5; 5.66.1; 5.86.3; 6.19.2–3; 6.39.1; 6.43.3; 6.53.1–2; 6.55; 9.95; 9.101.1; Dionysius of Halicarnassus, Roman Antiquities 1.1; 1.5.1; 1.6.5; 1.7.1; 1.8.1; 1.90.2; 2.47.3; 9.60.1; 9.71.4; Josephus, Jewish War 2.114; Tacitus, Histories 1.51, 59; 2.8, 17, 27; 5.2, 10, 19. For other factually oriented works, see, e.g., Aulus Gellius, Attic Nights 1.4, 11, 13, 15, 18, 21–23, 26; 2.2, 6–7, 12–13, 15–16, 19–21; 8.sum.10; 14.sum.2; 15.sum.25.
55. See, e.g., Josephus, Life 1–3, 5–6, 8–17, 19–21, 27, 30–31, 41, 62–65, 68–70, 322, 329, 393; Suetonius, Augustus 7; Caligula 19.3; Nero 57.2; Otho 10.1; Vespasian 1; Domitian 12.2; Philostratus, Lives of the Sophists 2.21.602–4; Neh 1:1–6, 11; 2:17–20, and throughout; Baum, “Wir- und Er-Stellungen”; see discussion of historians’ first- and third-person narration in Keener, John, 918. Fictional stories of course use a fictitious first person (see, e.g., Pervo, “Losers,” 130; Sigmon, “Brothers”), but this usage is not relevant to historical works such as Acts, which, like other historical works, corresponds to external information far more often than not (see Talbert, Mediterranean Milieu, 201–8; Keener, Acts, 1:166–250 [esp. 203–6, 237–50]; Hemer, Acts).
56. E.g., Cadbury, “We”; Dibelius, Studies, 135–37; Dupont, Sources, 164–65; Packer, Acts, 3; Munck, Acts, xliii; Hanson, Acts, 21–24; Neil, Acts, 22–23; Dunn, Acts, x; Spencer, Acts, 12–13; Fitzmyer, Acts, 103; Pixner, Paths, 423–31; Wolter, Luke, 1:8–10.
57. E.g., Abbott, Acts, 131–4; Ramsay, Luke the Physician, 26; Rackham, Acts, xvi; C. Williams, Acts, 22–30; Spencer, Acts, 12–13; Dunn, Acts, x; Fitzmyer, Acts, 50; Le Cornu, Acts, xxvii–xxviii; Chance, Acts, 4; Parsons, Luke, 8; Fusco, “Sezioni-noi”; Botermann, “Heidenapostel”; Riesner, “Zuverlässigkeit,” 38–39; Jervell, Apostelgeschichte, 66, 82; Wolter, Luke, 1:8–10. Many detractors nevertheless are significant (e.g., Barrett, “Acts and Corpus”).
58. On the value of participation in ancient historiography, see, e.g., Byrskog, Story, 58–64, 153–57.
59. See, e.g., Dibelius, Studies, 136; Fitzmyer, Theologian, 11–16; Kurz, Reading Luke-Acts, 112–13.
60. With, e.g., Hengel and Schwemer, Damascus, 7; Neil, Acts, 22–23.
61. See esp. Vielhauer, “Paulinism” (note esp. his older approach to Paul and the law).
62. See critiques in Borgen, “Paul to Luke”; Donfried, Thessalonica, 90–96; Porter, Paul in Acts, 189–206; Thompson, “Paul in Acts.”
63. See Bauckham, Eyewitnesses, 119–23.
64. Becker, Birth, 103–4, citing esp. Thucydides, History 1.22; Dionysius of Halicarnassus, Roman Antiquities 3.18.1; 7.66.1–5; 11.1.
65. Becker, Birth, 104, citing Jewish War 1.9, 17, 22, 26; 7.454 (and cf. 3.138); Life 412, though acknowledging also the less pervasive use in Jewish Antiquities 1.214; 9.208; 14.3; 19.15; 20.147, 260–62.
66. Moessner, “Poetics,” 85–97. Cf. also Hemer, Acts, 322 (noting that Cadbury thought this wording involved even participation, a reasonable surmise only in Acts and not the Gospel).
67. Moessner, “Poetics,” 97; Moessner, “Prologues,” 413; cf. Josephus, Against Apion 1.54, 213ff.
68. As Bruggen, Narratives, 65–66, notes, it does not require Luke to have been an eyewitness for the events of the Gospel. On my view of the “we” material, Luke had ample opportunity in Judea in Acts 21:17; 24:27; 27:1.
69. Alexander, Preface, 34–36.
70. Byrskog, Story, 49–53, addresses Heraclitus and others; 53–57, Herodotus, 58–59, Thucydides; 59–62, Polybius (note esp. Histories 4.2.1–2 on p. 60); 62–63, Josephus (noting Against Apion 1.47).
71. Byrskog, Story, 63, noting Livy as the exception, most following the Greek preference. He notes (63) that Dionysius of Halicarnassus, Roman Antiquities 1.6.2, “praises Fabius Pictor and Cincius Alimentus . . . for relating with great exactness only the events at which they themselves had been present.”
72. E.g., Rhetoric to Alexander, pref., opening, lines 1–12; Artemidorus, Interpretation of Dreams 1.pref.; 3.pref.; Longinus, On the Sublime 1.1; among historians, see Anaximenes and Theopompus (according to Dionysius of Halicarnassus, Roman Antiquities 1.1.1); Polybius, Histories 3.32.4–5; Josephus, Jewish War 1.1–2, 7 (cf. Jewish Antiquities 20.154–57); Justus (according to Josephus, Life 357–59); Dio Cassius, Roman History 1.1.1–2; Herodian, History 1.1.1–2; implicitly Arrian, Alexander 1. pref.3. Wardle, Valerius Maximus, 67, cites Livy, History pref.2; Sallust, Histories frag. 3, 7; Tacitus, Histories 1.1.2–3; Annals 1.1.2.
73. Diodorus Siculus, Library of History 1.3.1–2; Vitruvius, Architecture 7.pref.10–18; Quintilian, Orator’s Education 1.pref.1–2, 4–5; Aelius Aristides, Panathenaic Oration 4, 152D.
74. Valerius Maximus, Memorable Doings and Sayings 1.pref.; cf. Pliny, Natural History 3.1.1–2; Quintilian, Orator’s Education 3.1.22.
75. Moessner, Historian, 109–23, here esp. 122.
76. Moessner, Historian, 317. The witnesses and servants in Luke 1:2 probably are the same group (with, e.g., Green, Luke, 41; Culy, Parsons, and Stigall, Luke, 3; Ytterbrink, Gospel, 123).
77. Byrskog, Story, 93–94.
78. Byrskog, Story, 94–99, esp. 94 (cf. also 149–53). See further ch. 9.
79. Byrskog, Story, 122 (excepting Livy); on Tacitus, see 63–64. For apologetic use of autopsy (as in Josephus), see Byrskog, Story, 214–22.
80. Alexander, Preface, 120. Historians considered firsthand experience the best evidence (Aune, Environment, 81, citing Herodotus, Histories 2.99; Polybius, Histories 12.27.1–6; 20.12.8; Lucian, How to Write History 47).
81. Most extensively, see Rothschild, Rhetoric, 213–90, noting this authenticating technique; see further comments above.
82. Frickenschmidt, Evangelium, 208–9.
83. Cf. Tan-Gatue, “Coherence”; though for the possibility that some of this material was in Q, cf. Sloan, “Similitudes.”
84. With, e.g., Maddox, Purpose, 21, 186.
85. E.g., Euripides, Electra 361–62; Demosthenes, Letter 5.1; Cicero, Letters to Atticus 2.11; Seneca, To Lucilius 47.1; P.Oxy. 32; Apuleius, Metamorphoses 1.26.
86. E.g., Cicero, Letters to Atticus 1.10, 13; 4.1; 8.14.
87. I draw here from Keener, Acts, 1:187–88; note also Willis, “Networking.”
88. Perhaps most idiosyncratically, a distinct Q community with a nonmessianic, Cynic Jesus.
89. See Wright, Reading, esp. the extensive treatment of non-Christian sources in 61–115 (cf. also 211–30).
90. I borrow the term from Wright, Reading, e.g., 8, 169, 207–9.
91. See, e.g., Dibelius, Tradition, 161; Witherington, “Editing,” 326, 328; Burridge, “Gospels and Acts,” 526–27; Kilpatrick, “Style”; he includes even a few classical references (see Renehan, “Quotations,” 22–23).
92. Satterthwaite, “Acts,” 337; Penner, Praise, 220; cf. Moessner, “Poetics,” 97–112. Cf. also the positive evaluation in Bultmann, Tradition, 366; Parsons, Acts, 9 (on Luke’s speeches).
93. Pervo, Profit, 6, citing Julian, Letter 36.423d; on the NT generally, Townsend, “Education,” 148–49.
94. See Blass, Debrunner, and Funk, Grammar, §464; Aune, Dictionary, 347.
95. Cf. more rhetorical strategies in the later speeches, e.g., in Keener, “Rhetorical Techniques.”
96. Rebenich, “Prose,” 289.
97. Cf. similarly Barrett, Acts, xxxv (with Plümacher).
98. See, e.g., Aristotle, Rhetoric 2.8.14, 1386a; 3.11.1–2, 1411b; Rhetorica ad Herennium 4.55.68; Cicero, Orator ad M. Brutum 40.139; Quintilian, Orator’s Education 9.2.40; Theon, Progymnasmata 7.53–55; Longinus, On the Sublime 15.2; further sources in Keener, Galatians (Cambridge), 120; Keener, Galatians (Baker), 212–13; Keener, Acts, 1:135.
99. E.g., Dionysius of Halicarnassus, On Literary Composition 18; Velleius Paterculus, History 2.89.5–6.
100. Fronto, To Antoninus 2.6.4–15.
101. Fronto, To Antoninus 2.6.6.
102. Rusten, “Ekphrasis”; Bowie, “Second Sophistic,” 1377.
103. Edwards, “Introduction,” xxvii, suggesting the sort of technique noted in Quintilian, Orator’s Education 4.2.123.
104. Dionysius of Halicarnassus, On Literary Composition 18. Dionysius of Halicarnassus, Thucydides 15, complains that Thucydides often portrays successfully the abject cruelty and sufferings involved in war but at other times fails to evoke the appropriate horror involved. In art, cf., e.g., Martial, Epigrams 3.35.
105. Polybius, Histories 15.34.1.
106. In Hermogenes, Progymnasmata 10. On Ekphrasis 22 (trans. Kennedy, 86). See fuller discussion in Keener, Acts, 1:135–37.
107. This is not to deny any kind of dramatic elements; see Plümacher, Lukas, 80–136. They are a matter of degree even in the third century BCE (Laistner, Historians, 14–16); later, Livy is the supreme extant example of the rhetorically lavish historian (Byrskog, Story, 207; cf. Quintilian, Orator’s Education 10.1.32).
108. Aune, Environment, 77 (though I would doubt that Luke’s “credentials” included tertiary training in rhetoric). Advanced education focused on rhetoric rather than history, as he goes on to note, which does not imply that historians would not learn techniques from reading other historians. For Acts as a “popular” history, see also Barrett, Acts, xxxv; Verheyden, “Unity,” 55 (citing also Barrett, “First Testament,” 101; Acts, 2:li); Pervo, Acts, 18 (though defining history loosely).
109. See Keener, Acts, 1:556–57; Edwards, Luke, 30, 41.
110. For the contrasting role of the Spirit in John’s and Jesus’s prenatal experience, see Tatum, “Epoch,” 188–89.
111. I have omitted less obvious parallels such as circumcision (Luke 1:59; implicit in 2:21) and “favor” for both Elizabeth (1:25) and Mary (1:30). Flender, Theologian, 29, helpfully views the contrast between Mary and Zechariah in light of a series of contrasts, often between religious insiders and others, in the Gospel (Luke 7:36–50; 10:29–37; 14:15–24; 15:24–32; 18:9–14; 20:45–21:4).
112. See, e.g., Goulder, Type; Talbert, Patterns; Tannehill, Luke; Tannehill, Acts; Edwards, “Parallels”; Keener, Acts, 1:550–74.
113. Almagor, “Narratives,” 70–78. Repetition of key themes in various parts of a work was good rhetoric (see, e.g., Rhetoric to Alexander 22, 1434b.5–8; 36, 1444b.23; Menander Rhetor, Epideictic Treatises 2.3, 384.25–27).
114. De Temmerman, “Formalities,” 24; Becker, Birth, 90.
115. See further Keener, Acts, 1:562–66.
116. Allison, Constructing Jesus, 389; Gray, Letters, 34; examples in Keener, Acts, 1:566; one could even use for examples (cf. 1:563) incidents in Keener and Keener, Impossible Love, e.g., 73–74, 207.
117. Velleius Paterculus, History 2.60.1; Suetonius, Augustus 7.2; Caligula 16.4; cf. Livy, History 5.49.7; Plutarch, Camillus 1.1; Haley, “Hadrian.”
118. Menander Rhetor, Epideictic Treatises 2.14, 426.23–24. Cf. the comparison of Caesar with Alexander in Velleius Paterculus, History 2.41.1; Appian, Civil Wars 2.21.149.
119. Pliny, Letters 1.5.1; Suetonius, Titus 7.
120. Cicero, Against Piso 17.39; Lucan, Civil War 9.15–18; 1 Cor 15:45; Rev 17:11.
121. E.g., impostors claiming the mantles of Alexander (Lucian, Book Collector 20), Philip (Polybius, Histories 36.10.1–7; Velleius Paterculus, History 1.11.1; Lucian, Book Collector 20), or Nero (Tacitus, Histories 1.2; 2.8–9; Suetonius, Nero 57.2; Lucian, Book Collector 20; Dio Cassius, Roman History 66.19.3; cf. Dio Chrysostom, Orations 21.9–10; Sib. Or. 4.137–39; 5.33–34, 137–54, 361–85; 8.68–72, 139–50).
122. Polybius, Histories 10.2.8–13. He also compares with each other the final leaders of Greece and Carthage, who brought their nations to ruin before Rome (Polybius, Histories 38.8.14–15).
123. See, e.g., Ramelli, “Origen and Hypatia”; Pervo, “Introduction,” 3–4. Paralleling figures would be natural for any biographers who had learned synkrisis, or comparison, in the basic progymnasmata (Aletti, Birth, 20).
124. For example, the account of Themistocles’s death that best fit the author’s intended parallel to Coriolanus, regardless of other criteria for evaluating the most likely end for Themistocles (Cicero, Brutus 11.42).
125. Moralia 305A–316B. As a rhetorical exercise, this method may have accelerated the transfer of traditions about one person to another (e.g., Philostratus, Lives of the Sophists 1.485, with LCL note; Alexander, “IPSE DIXIT,” 121).
126. Plutarch, Alexander 70.3. His own romantic description of Darius’s death (Plutarch, Alexander 43.2) is missing in Arrian (Alexander 3.21–23) but was evidently not his own invention (in the LCL note, 7:352n1, P. A. Brunt cites Quintus Curtius Rufus, History 5.13, 28; Diod. 17.73).
127. Clark, Parallel Lives, 92–93; see further discussion of Plutarch’s methods in ch. 11 and Pelling, “Method.” Analogous transfer appears in midrash.
128. Plutarch, Cimon 3.1–3.
129. E.g., Polybius, Histories 2.56.4; Plutarch, Alexander 1.1, 3; Aulus Gellius, Attic Nights pref.11–12; Menander Rhetor, Epideictic Treatises 2.4, 393.25–30; cf. 2 Macc 2:24–25; on conciseness, see, e.g., Dionysius of Halicarnassus, Demosthenes 18, 20, 46; On Literary Composition 11; Valerius Maximus, Memorable Doings and Sayings 1. pref.; 2.7.5; 3.7.ext.5; 3.8.ext.1; Velleius Paterculus, History 2.29.2; 2.46.1; 2.89.1, 5–6; Josephus, Against Apion 1.251; Tacitus, Dialogue on Oratory 23, 31; Philostratus, Lives of the Sophists 2.17.597; Keener, Acts, 4:3367–69.
130. Plutarch, Sertorius 1.1.
131. Plutarch, Sertorius 1.2.
132. Plutarch, Sertorius 1.4.
133. Plutarch, Demosthenes 3.2. Even Polybius believed that his task as a historian was merely to report how Fortune had designed history, observing the causal connections that were her marks (cf. Histories 1.4.1–3).
134. Comparison of Lysander and Sulla 5.5; Comparison of Alcibiades and Coriolanus 3.1.
135. Comparison of Aristides with Marcus Cato 1.1.
136. Comparison of Aristides with Marcus Cato 5.1, 3–4; 6.1.
137. See discussion in Keener, Acts, 1:573–74; see further Hays, Echoes, 101; Kugel and Greer, Interpretation, 46–47; Satterthwaite, “Acts,” 363.
138. Against simply presuming a dichotomy between history and typology, as an older generation of modern interpreters did; see, e.g., Le Donne, Historiographical Jesus, 2–5.
139. See Le Donne, Historiographical Jesus, 58.
140. See discussion in Keener, Acts, 2:1363–64.
141. Satterthwaite, “Acts,” 363. On such patterns, see, e.g., Keener, Acts, 1:557–58, 573–74; 2:1363–64.
142. Hays, Echoes, 101. Cf. also, e.g., parallels between Elijah and Elisha, naturally between the teacher-model and his successor.
143. E.g., Isa 12:2; 40:3; Jer 31:32–33; Hos 2:15; 11:1, 5, 11; Kugel and Greer, Interpretation, 46–47.
144. Jacobson, “Visions.”
145. Kugel and Greer, Interpretation, 47; cf. 4 Ezra 8:52–54; 9:5–6; Rev 22:1–3; T. Levi 18:10–12; T. Dan 5:12; 2 En. 8:3; m. ʾAbot 5:20; Keener, Acts, 2:1111–12.
146. See esp. Sterling, Historiography, 311–89; cf. also, e.g., Mason, Josephus and New Testament, 196–97; Kee, Every Nation, 11–12; Johnson, Acts, xii; discussion in Keener, Acts, 1:161–66, 441–57.
147. Wandrey, “Literature,” 696; cf. Ferguson, Backgrounds, 349; for Philo’s Flaccus, cf. Meiser, “Gattung.”
148. Sterling, Historiography, 226–310. For Josephus’s apologetic objectives, see also, e.g., Feldman, “Apologist”; in defending himself, see Vogel, “Vita”; Lamour, “Organisation.”
149. Hengel, Acts and History, 61.