Chapter 340 of 404

Notes to Chapter 5

1 Stanton, Gospel Truth, 139.

2 Aune, “Biography,” 125.

3 Cf. Shuler, Genre, 25-28; Hirsch, Interpretation, 68-126. Although genre categories cannot be applied rigidly, deconstructionist dismissals of their value are also misplaced (see Eddy and Boyd, Legend, 318-20).

4 E.g., Quint. Inst. 10.1.36; Max. Tyre 26.4; 38.4. Rhetoricians distinguished various categories for literary forms (e.g., Theon Progymn. 2.5-33), and ancient editors divided Pindar’s poems according to their type of hymn and song, thereby arranging them into books (Race, “Introduction,” 1). Of various models for genre criticism in antiquity, Aristotle’s prevailed longest (Burridge, Gospels, 27-29).

5 Technical rhetorical works often defined specific genres of letters and speeches more strictly than the empirical examples allow. See e.g., examples in Malherbe, “Theorists.” Different genres of speeches invited different styles (Dion. Hal. Demosth. 45-46);

6 Aune, Environment, 23. In spite of elaborate classifications, mixed genres were common in the early imperial period; see idem, “Problem,” 10-11, 48; idem, Dictionary of Rhetoric, 307 (“Mixtum compositum”); Burridge, Gospels, 33-34, 56-61; cf. Selden, “Genre,” 39-40; Fuller, “Classics,” 189 (summarizing G. Kennedy).

7 E.g., not only novelists but historians strove to develop internally consistent narrative worlds (see Stibbe, Gospel, 32-34); among historical writers attempts at consistency of plot and character succeed most often among biographers.

8 Quint. Inst. 10.6.1-2. Still, one should also be ready to add improvisations during the speech (10.6.5).

9 Cf. e.g., the opening Virgilic lines of the Aen. removed by the final editors (LCL 1:240-41, especially n. 1).

10 Aune, Environment, 128. Thus Josephus thoroughly revised an earlier draft of the War into better Greek (Jos. Apion 1.49-50); less likely, some think the earlier version was an Aramaic draft, probably for Parthian Jews (cf. Hata, “Version”). One could also adapt earlier works; Josephus seems to have employed the War as his main source for the comparable portion of the Antiquities (Krieger, “Hauptquelle”); 3 and 4 Maccabees adapted material in 2 Maccabees (Gardner, “Mqbym”).

11 Thus allowing such literary techniques as foreshadowing (Arist. Poet. 15.10, 1454ab; Quint. Inst. 10.1.21). Editing provided the writer a chance to craft the material; thus, for example, Epictetus’ Discourses undoubtedly bear less of Arrian’s stamp than the Encheiridion, where he organizes and summarizes Epictetus’ teachings.

12 Burridge, Gospels, 203; Aune, Environment, 82, citing Jos. Apion 1.47-50; Lucian History 16, 48; Demonax. Aristotle recommended sketching the plot in outline, then expanding by inserting episodes, and illustrates this with the Odyssey (Talbert, John, 64, citing Arist. Poetics 17.6-11).

13 Aune, Environment, 139.

14 Aune, Environment, 65; cf. Downing, “Conventions”; idem, “Actuality”; Burridge, Gospels, 204-5.

15 Cic. Ad Att. 13.21a, 23, 48. While the old source theories concerning proto-Mark and proto-Luke are unfashionable, it is likely that proto-Gospels existed temporarily (though unlikely that they were published); cf. Streeter, Gospels, 199-222; Taylor, Formation, 6, and Appendix A; Wenham, “Parable.”

16 Talbert, “Chance,” 230. Some view Acts as a “foundation story” (e.g., Pao, Isaianic Exodus, 3).

17 Stanton, Gospels, 15-17.

18 Talbert, Gospel, 2-3, observing that Strauss, Bultmann (see Bultmann, Tradition, 372; idem, “Message,” 547) and their followers rejected the biographical category because they confused the two.

19 Mack, Myth, 16 n. 6; cf. Marxsen, Mark, 16.

20 For a fuller survey, see Burridge, Gospels, 3-25.

21 Hennecke, Apocrypha, 1:80; Riesenfeld, Tradition, 2; Guelich, “Genre.” The designation “gospels” appears to date from the mid-second century (Aune, Environment, 18, cites Justin Dial. 10.2, 100.1; Iren. Her. 3.1.1; Clem. Alex. Strom. 1.21), though some derive it from Mark’s (Kelber, Story, 15) or Matthew’s usage (Stanton, New People, 14-16) and it probably has antecedents in the LXX use of the term (Stuhlmacher, “Theme,” 19-25; Betz, “Gospel”).

22 Biographies of “divine men” appear only later, and seem to depend on the form of the Gospels; see Dillon and Hershbell, “Introduction,” 25-26.

23 Cf. Robbins, Teacher, 4-5.

24 So rightly Borchert, John, 29-30 (though noting differences between John and the Synoptics, p. 37).

25 Marxsen, Mark, 150, thus objects to applying the term “gospel” to Matthew and Luke as well as to Mark, arguing that Matthew is a collection of “gospels” and sermons (Marxsen, Mark, 150 n. 106; 205-6), and Luke a “life of Jesus” (Marxsen, Mark, 150 n. 106; we would agree regarding Luke). He is uncomfortable with the language of a gospel “genre” (ibid., 25).

26 Aune, Environment, 83, cites Quint. Inst. 2.42; Cicero On Rhetorical Invention 1.27; Sext. Emp. Against the Professors 1.263-64 for the three major categories (history, fiction, and myth or legend), though noting that they overlapped in practice (Strabo Geog. 1.2.17.35); for distinctions between mythography and history proper, see Fornara, Nature of History, 4-12.

27 Luz, Matthew, 1:44-45.

28 This view was proposed by K. L. Schmidt, who provided analogies among later folk literatures of various cultures; he is followed also by Kümmel, Introduction, 37; cf. Hunter, Message, 30; Deissmann, Light, 466.

29 Downing, “Literature”; Aune, Environment, 12, 63; Burridge, Gospels, 11, 153. Rhetorical principles influenced narrative techniques; see e.g., Dowden, “Apuleius.”

30 Koester, Introduction, 1:108; Kodell, Luke, 23; cf. Perry, Sources, 7. This estimation becomes even clearer in view of Luke’s architectonic patterns (for which see Goulder, Type and History; Talbert, Patterns; idem, Luke; Tannehill, Luke; idem, Acts).

31 E.g., contrast the popular “Life of Aesop” with the more literary Agricola.

32 E.g., Socratics Ep. 18, Xenophon to Socrates’ friends; Diogenes Laertius includes compilations of traditions, but from a variety of sources. Greeks employed diaries fairly early (Rüpke, “Ephemeris”); many Roman aristocrats kept personal “memoirs” even in the Republic (Rebenich, “Historical Prose,” 313-14); Greeks also published such “memoirs” (Kennedy, “Source Criticism,” 136- 37). Perhaps “Q” may be understood in such terms; cf. Papias fr. 6 (Euseb. H.E. 3.39), on the hypothesis that Papias’ “Matthew” is our “Q” (cf. Filson, History, 83; rejected by Jeremias, Theology, 38). Downing, “Like Q,” compares Q with a Cynic “Life” (cf. Mack, Lost Gospel, 46); contrast Tuckett, “Cynic Q.”

33 For an example of extant nonelite biography, see Aune, Dictionary of Rhetoric, 433-37, on the “Life of Secundus.”

34 Justin 1 Apol. 66.3; 67.3; Dial. 103.8; 106.3 (as noted earlier, see Stanton, New People, 62-63; Abramowski, “Memoirs,” pace Koester).

35 See Robbins, Teacher, 62-67; Stanton, New People, 62-63. See earlier Kennedy, “Source Criticism,” 128-30, comparing early memoirs about Socrates.

36 This is not to deny the Synoptics’ substantial dependence on tradition, but tradition is not so dominant (as writers sometimes sound as if they are suggesting; e.g., Jones, Parables, 36) as to violate pursuit of literary coherence.

37 Of the necessary six parts Aristotle identifies in tragedy, the Gospels may include plot and character, but lack song (Arist. Poetics 6.9, 1450a), whereas nearly all poets include all these characteristics (Poetics 6.11).

38 Most Greek tragedies reflected and developed earlier tradition; thus in Helen Euripides follows the Recantation of Stesichorus (which violates the natural reading of Homer), yet to harmonize this tradition with Homer must have Menelaus and Helen meet up in Egypt and return to Sparta in time for Telemachus’ arrival in the Odyssey. But such constraints were often much more general than with historical works or biography (cf. how closely Matthew or Luke follows Mark).

39 I treat this question more extensively in my book on miracles intended as a sequel to this one.

40 It coopted something closer to a biographic form (focused on the individual) primarily in later times (e.g., Philostratus’s Heroikos), perhaps as a pagan response to the Gospels.

41 E.g., Apocrit. 2.12-15 (a polemical work, possibly by Porphyry); Mack, Myth, 11, 322-23.

42 I explore the “novel” thesis more fully in my Acts commentary, where I show that Acts includes far too many correspondences with extrinsic history to qualify as any kind of novel.

43 See Burridge, Gospels, 245; Aune, Dictionary of Rhetoric, 285; Porter, “We Passages,” 550-52; Marguerat, Historian, 29; Soards, “Review,” 309. Boyd-Taylor, “Adventure,” argues that the Septuagint’s changes to Esther’s story move it in the direction of a Greek romance.

44 Bowie, “Readership,” 443; Stephens, “Who Read Novels?” 414. Given the relative chronology, Bowersock, Fiction as History, 143, thinks that the Gospels inspired Gentile novels rather than the reverse (but see n. 45 below); more generally, Merkelbach, “Novel and Aretalogy,” 290, suggests that religious aretalogies helped generate the new genre of novel.

45 Although writers like Apuleius and Achilles Tatius are a century or more after our period, the nineteenth century view of Greek novels as late (fifth or sixth centuries) is no longer tenable (Aune, Environment, 150). Thus elements in Char. Chaer., (Ps)Plut. L.S. (Mor. 771E-775E, though all five are brief), earlier Petron. Sat., Jos. Asen., and earlier still Judith and the Ninus Romance suggest that the general genre was already established in the New Testament period.

46 Cf. e.g., Lindenberger, “Ahiqar.” Yet even historical novels from the hellenistic era often exhibited some measure of historical accuracy (cf. Anderson, “3 Maccabees”; Miller, “Introduction,” viii), though it varied considerably (e.g., if Judith reflects this genre at all, Jdt 4:3 reflects a serious anachronism). Even a pure novel like Apul. Metam. may include some autobiographical hints (e.g., 11.30).

47 E.g., Lucian History 12; Plut. Poetry 2, Mor. 16F; see Mosley, “Reporting,” 26; Kany, “Bericht”; cf. Aune, Environment, 79 (who both notes the distinction and recognizes some overlap). As noted earlier, this observation is not to deny some degree of overlap among categories in historical content, but to note that what distinguishes the two genres is the nature of their truth claims (Carson, John, 64- 65, following Sternberg, Poetics, 23-35).

48 See e.g., Aune, Environment, 151-53; Bauckham, “Acts of Paul”; Keylock, “Distinctness,” 210.

49 Some scholars have suggested some overlap in the Gospels, though acknowledging that the degree varies from Gospel to Gospel (e.g., Freyne, Galilee, 11). Bowersock, Fiction as History, 124, notes parallels between novels and the Gospels, which he believes were generated by the latter. But even if one argued for some influence of novels on the form of the Gospels, Paul attests the basic “gospel story” before our extant Gospels, and, as we note above, the Gospels reflect authentic Palestinian Jewish environment.

50 With e.g., Porter, “We Passages,” 550.

51 Most notably Xenophon’s Cyr. and Ps.-Callisth. Alex.; note also two fictitious eyewitness accounts of the Trojan War (Merkle, “True Story,” 183-84; Schmeling, “Spectrum,” 23); the Life of Aesop in Wills, “Aesop Tradition,” 224-25. In contrast to Philost. Vit. soph. (if by the same Philostratus), Philost. Vit. Apoll. is novelistic (with Kee, Miracle, p. 288), though it does reflect accurate geography until leaving the Roman world (Jones, “Apollonius’ Passage,” treating it as a “travel romance”). Many scholars think that Philostratus’ main “source” for Apollonius’ life, Damis, is a fiction of either Philostratus (Jones, “Apollonius’ Passage”; Klauck, Religious Context, 170) or an earlier pseudepigrapher (though cf. Conybeare, “Introduction,” vii). All of these works involve historical or legendary characters centuries earlier, whose eyewitnesses no longer remained in living memory. Jewish examples are more numerous, e.g., L.A.E. or Joseph and Aseneth or, to a lesser extent, Testaments of the Twelve Patriarchs; but despite some apparent dependence on earlier tradition, they do not reflect the massive use of sources evident in Matthew and Luke, nor are they claims about a historical person within living memory of some eyewitnesses, like the Gospels (on genre issues, see also appendix 3).

52 Cf. also Hengel, “Problems,” 212. I might find an exception in Lucian’s and Apuleius’ recycling of a common story line about one Lucius, but neither expects his audience to embrace the work as a true account. Even John, whose sources are difficult to discern, overlaps enough with the Synoptics in some accounts and clearly in purpose to defy the category of novel.

53 Cf. the interesting parallels between Acts and “institutional history” in Cancik, “Historiography.” Cancik (“Historiography,” 673) and others are right to recognize the influence of Acts’ genre on Luke, but the Gospel’s focus on a single person still makes it a “life”; no rule prohibited an overlap between biography and history. See our chapter 6 on Luke-Acts.

54 As in Longus proem 1-2.

55 See Wiersma, “Novel.”

56 Alexander, “Fiction and Genre,” 392-94. Many novels used known centers like Ephesus or Tyre, but much of (later) Heliodorus’ Ethiopian Story and Antonius Diogenes’ Wonders Beyond Thule fit Alexander’s point here. Of course, such exotic claims appear in some widely read histories (e.g., the gold-digging giant ants in Dio Chrys. Or. 35.23-24 probably allude to Hdt 3.102-5). The one possible analogy for an “exotic” location proposed for Luke-Acts, Philip’s encounter with the African court official (Acts 8:26-39), does not fit novelistic expectations (Keener, “Official”).

57 E.g., Longus is a countryman who knows the correct fauna of Lesbos, though much of his knowledge would apply to any eastern Mediterranean setting (and he apparently lacked firsthand acquaintance with trapping techniques; Arnott, “Realism,” 211).

58 E.g., on cities (Saïd, “City,” noting that some that were interested in cities used widely known information).

59 For this plot commonality, see e.g., Fusillo, “Novel,” 838-39; Konstan, “Apollonius and Novel,” 173; see further this emphasis in Konstan, Symmetry. “Romantic” themes included surviving dramatic adventures like shipwrecks (cf. e.g., Whitehouse, “Shipwreck on Nile”).

60 One may compare works such as the Acts of Paul and Thecla or Acts of Jn 53-64, 73-80, where elements of the romance story line are followed, except that the women become devotees of the male teacher in chastity, devoted not to sexual love but to God’s word. See Hofmann, “Novels: Christian,” 847-48; Eddy and Boyd, Legend, 338-39; cf. Aubin, “Reversing Romance,” 260-62 (noting the subversion of conventional gender assumptions); Thomas, “Fluidity,” 277.

61 Talbert, Gospel, 17.

62 Most obviously, Apul. Metam. In contrast to most, Murgatroyd, “Ending,” understands Apul. Metam. 11 as parody.

63 Kee, Miracle, 193, for other propagandistic narratives in the Isis cult. It is hardly true, however, that the genre as a whole was centered around religious propaganda (Kee, Miracle, 193-94). For more Isis aretalogies, see Horsley, Documents, 1:10-21.

64 Dio Cass. 1.1.1-2; Fornara, Nature of History, 120-33; Palmer, “Monograph,” 3, 29, citing e.g., Cic. Fam. 5.12.5; Polyb. 1.4.11; 3.31.13; cf. also Dion. Hal. Demosth. 47. Burridge, Gospels, 149-51 includes entertainment among the function of many biographies. Some fiction did occur at times in ancient biography (Chance, “Fiction”), especially when the subject lived centuries earlier (Lefkowitz, Africa, 82).

65 As we have noted above, most literary characteristics of novels can also be found in ancient historiography (see Burridge, Gospels, 245; Aune, Dictionary of Rhetoric, 285; Marguerat, Historian, 29; Soards, “Review,” 309; cf. Rothschild, Rhetoric of History, 291-92).

66 E.g., Aune, Environment, 36; see further below.

67 So e.g., Aune, Environment, 46-76; idem, Dictionary of Rhetoric, 204; Stanton, Jesus of Nazareth, 117-36; Robbins, Teacher, 10; Burridge, “People,” 121-22; idem, “Biography, Ancient”; Cross, “Genres,” 402-4; Frickenschmidt, Evangelium als Biographie; Ytterbrink, Biography (for Luke); “Gospels: forms,” 948; Perkins, Introduction to Gospels, 2-11; Dunn, “The Tradition,” 173-74; cf. Barr and Wentling, “Biography and Genre”; Berschin, “Biography,” 653; for aretalogical biography, see Wills, Quest. See even Crossan, “Necessary,” 27 (though he does not seem to view them as very reliable). Some of these writers (e.g., Stanton, Gospels, 19) reverse an earlier skepticism toward the biographical proposal (see Stanton, New People, 64, frankly; idem, “Reflection,” 544-49 [in 1972 still affirming the consensus, but critically]; cf. Aune, “Problem,” answered in Talbert, Mediterranean Milieu, 57-63). Cf. Hodgson, “Valerius Maximus.”

68 Robbins, Teacher, 2-3.

69 Stanton, New People, 63; idem, Gospel Truth, 137.

70 One might choose to classify different sorts of biographies based on the nature of their primary characters, but this is a separate issue from classifying the larger literary genre of works about the public “life” (bios) of a particular person. Biographies of a divine man, while closest to the subject matter of the Gospels, seem to begin appearing around the early third century CE, hence by normal standards of historiography are likelier to have been influenced by, than to have influenced, the content of the gospel tradition. The earlier Christian models were widely known by that period.

71 I leave aside the issue of novels, which I address separately (showing their differences from the Gospels). Most such novels were in any case romances about two individuals.

72 See e.g., Culpepper, John, 64-66. Some later examples of this form may borrow the gospel form (see Dillon and Hershbell, “Introduction,” 25). Other followers of ancient teachers were often deeply interested in their lives from soon after their death, writing about them whether or not expressing this interest in biographic form. See Kennedy, “Source Criticism,” 134 (noting that Plato began writing about Socrates within a decade of Socrates’ death).

73 Such as those of Plutarch, Tacitus and Suetonius, and Josephus’ autobiography.

74 Such as Cornelius Nepos in the late second century BCE.

75 For criteria for genre, see Burridge, Gospels, 109-27; for pre-Christian Greco-Roman biographies, 128-53; for later ones, 154-90.

76 Gospels, 191-219 on the Synoptics, and 220-39 on John. Although I am citing from the original Cambridge University Press edition, he interacts more fully with subsequent works in his second edition published by Eerdmans (2004).

77 Burridge, Gospels, 118, 199, 225-26; an ancient “book” was about what one could listen to in a setting, perhaps about two hours (Burridge, “People,” 141). For length in distinguishing genre, see e.g., Arist. Poet. 24.4, 1459b.

78 Talbert, “Review,” 715; cf. also Stanton, New People, 64.

79 See Cancik, “Gattung”; Byrskog, Story as History, 45.

80 Dihle, “Biography,” 381. Eddy and Boyd, Legend, 324-30, point out elements of both biography and historiography. For historical features in John, see Bauckham, Testimony, 93-112 (on 95 noting also my observations in Keener, John, 11-37). Marcus, Mark, 65-66, points to historical characteristics in Mark’s work (still something like a bios).

81 Dihle, “Biography,” 379.

82 Dihle, “Biography,” 383-84. Suetonius does admittedly straddle both genres (Rolfe, “Introduction,” xvii).

83 Only Luke might appear more questionable, because it is paired with Acts, which is increasingly recognized as a historical monograph. See our chapter on Luke-Acts.

84 Burridge, Gospels, 149-52, 185-88. For the divergence see further Barr and Wentling, “Biography and Genre,” 81-88, although I would not regard all their examples as biographies.

85 For substantial overlap between the biography and history (as well as other) genres in antiquity, see Burridge, Gospels, 63-67.

86 E.g., Kennedy, “Source Criticism,” 136.

87 Fornara, Nature of History, 34-36, 116. For history’s focus on notable deeds, see Fornara, Nature of History, 29-46.

88 Fornara, Nature of History, 116.

89 Fornara, Nature of History, 185, distinguishes primarily by noting that biography used only the features of history relevant to expounding character, whereas “characterizing anecdotes . . . were unsuitable to history.” He contends that biography became more like history in early-second-century works like Tacitus’s Agricola and Suetonius’s Lives (Fornara, Nature of History, 186).

90 By the third century CE some philosophic “biographies” included information on lives of a philosopher’s disciples as well as himself, but this may have followed Christian models (Dillon and Hershbell, “Introduction,” 25-26), such as Luke-Acts.

91 Fornara, Nature of History, 36. At times this approach could produce distortion, but it need not do so (Fornara, Nature of History, 64-65).

92 Lucian History 7. Plut. Alex. 1.1-3 suggests that biographies might leave out what histories could include to remain more concise.

93 See Fornara, Nature of History, 185.

94 Plut. Alex. 1.1-3.

95 Hose, “Historiography: Rome,” 423, noting that the boundaries between these genres were fading; cf. Suetonius in Rolfe, “Introduction,” xvii.

96 Aune, “Biography,” 125; cf. 64-65; Witherington, Sage, 339. Shuler, Genre, regards his subject (Matthew) as primarily encomium, or laudatory, biography; but such a specific genre probably did not exist (Burridge, Gospels, 88), since encomiastic elements were common in many biographies. Penner, Praise, 135, argues that encomium now dominated biography; for a brief treatment of encomium, see Aune, Dictionary of Rhetoric, 145-47 (esp. 145).

97 With Kennedy, “Source Criticism,” 139.

98 Kennedy, “Source Criticism,” 139-41.

99 Cf. C. B. R. Pelling, “Plutarch’s method of work in the Roman Lives,” JHS 99 (1979): 74-96; Kaesser, “Tweaking the Real.”

100 Kennedy, “Source Criticism,” 141. Kennedy notes (141) that the Gospels rely on simpler tradition, but nevertheless deems useful this comparison with hard data.

101 Rolfe, “Introduction,” xvii.

102 Theissen and Merz, Historical Jesus, 114.

103 See e.g., Barr and Wentling, “Biography and Genre,” 81-88 (though I would not classify all these works as biographies; all the non-novelistic ones have recollections).

104 Talbert, “Monograph or Bios,” 72. Ps.-Callisthenes mixes both historical and fictitious sources, plus adds his own fictions (e.g., Alex. 1.23), 450-750 years after the supposed events (it must have been completed by the time of its Latin translation in the fourth century; cf. Fusillo, “Pseudo-Callisthenes”). Bowersock’s examples of fictitionalized history (Fiction as History, 21) are also distinctly novelistic.

105 It is more like a historical novel, a relatively rare form of novel in this period (as we have noted).

106 Burridge, Gospels, 246 (citing Diod. Sic. Bk. 17); Balch, “METABO?H ?O?ITEI?N,” 143 (citing Dion. Hal. Ant. rom. 4.41-85).

107 Plut. Alex. 70.3.

108 While acknowledging parallels with biography, Bruggen, Narratives, 75 (writing before Burridge), overplays the differences, but all his contrasts involve modern biography.

109 E.g., Plut. Caesar 1.1-4.

110 Drury, Design, 29.

111 Cf. e.g., the accidental repetition in Plut. Alex. 37.4; 56.1. This contrasts with the more chronological practice of historians (e.g., Thucyd. 2.1.1; 5.26.1), although even most historians tended to follow events to their conclusion and not simply strict chronology (Dion. Hal. Thucyd. 9; Letter to Gnaeus Pompeius 3).

112 E.g., Suet. Aug. 9; Calig. 22.1; Nero 19.3; Görgemanns, “Biography.” When interested in chronology, Suetonius cites not biographers but historians (Calig. 8.3).

113 For examples of these “Peripatetic” biographies, see Aune, Environment, 34, 63-64 (e.g., the lives of Aesop, Homer, Secundus, and Herakles); cf. ibid., 82. The list in 4Q339, col. 1, line 2 is chronological.

114 Aune, Environment, 31-32. Dischronologizing was not problematic to ancient readers; thus the writer of 4 Macc is aware that the mother’s speech should occur at a certain point in his narrative, and says so (12:7; cf. 2 Macc 7), but chooses to recount it later. Cf. the four categories of ancient biography in Ferguson, Backgrounds, 307.

115 Stanton argues that our only actual example of a purely Peripateic biography is not chronological (Stanton, Jesus of Nazareth, 119-21); he contends that of extant biographies, only Tacitus’ Agricola is genuinely chronological. Topical arrangement suited episodic narratives about a person (Hemer, Acts in History, 74). Although historical writing and thus biography (Suetonius, Plutarch, Life of Aesop, etc.) involved some chronology, it was not the most significant feature of any kind of ancient biography.

116 Cf. 4Q158; see Wise, “Introduction to 4Q158”; on events in the Torah more generally, see Kaunfer and Kaunfer, “Time and Torah.”

117 Harmony of the Gospels 21.51.

118 Papias in Eusebius H.E. 3.39. An aged person might recall many events provided he were permitted to recite them randomly rather than in order (Sen. Controv. 1.pref.4).

119 Eddy and Boyd, Legend, 433-35.

120 Stanton, Jesus of Nazareth, 125; idem, Gospel Truth, 139; Burridge, Gospels, 205, 208; in John, see Burridge, Gospels, 229-30. Characterization is in fact central in ancient biographies (Fornara, Nature of History, 185).

121 E.g., Corn. Nep. 4 (Pausanias), 1.1; Suet. Calig. 44. Many elite biographers were rhetoricians, who knew how to describe a person’s character directly to make a case (Rhet. Her. 4.50.63). Josephus adapts some biblical characters, adding virtues (e.g., Feldman, “Jehoram”); Matthew reduces Mark’s unbelief to “little faith” (Matt 6:30; 8:26).

122 Theophrastus even provides, in graphic and often humorous ways, thirty basic character types (such as a flatterer or one overly talkative) that offer various kinds of examples (Char. passim). At other times the storytelling was certainly sufficient. Even in Greece’s ancient epic poetry, the stark character of a wrathful Achilles, proud Agamemnon, or clever Odysseus is impossible to miss. Ancient literature abounds with developed examples of dysfunctional relationships; for example, Dido in Virgil’s Aeneid appeared exceptionally susceptible to Aeneas because she had never recovered from her first lover’s death. In contrast to some later psychologizing approaches, some ancient biographers proved reluctant to speculate concerning their characters’ inner thoughts, but this again is not a rule (see Arrian Alex. 7.1.4).

123 Contrast Xen. Symp. 1.1, who notes that he wants to recount not only the zealous deeds of Socrates, but also those done in more childlike, carefree moments.

124 Burridge, Gospels, 150; cf. Dihle, “Biography,” 367-74.

125 Robbins, Teacher, 110-11.

126 Corn. Nep. 16 (Pelopidas), 1.1.

127 So Polyb. 10.21.8, contrasting depiction of someone in his history with an earlier biography he had written about the same person.

128 Burridge, Gospels, 151, 180; for apologetic autobiography, cf. e.g., Jos. Life 336-67; 2 Cor 11:8- 33; Gal 1:11-24; D Lamour, “L’organisation.” Autobiographic writing in some form appears as early as ancient Egypt (Simpson, Literature, 401-27); on the genre of autobiography, see further Lyons, Autobiography; Aune, Dictionary of Rhetoric, 79-81.

129 Burridge, Gospels, 68-69.

130 Vermes, Jesus and Judaism, 19; cf. Levinskaya, Diaspora Setting, 2; Hemer, Acts in History, 79-90.

131 Polyb. 8.8 (noting a contrast with many writers).

132 Polyb. 3.4.1.

133 E.g., Arrian Alex. 4.7.4; 4.8.1-4.9.6.

134 E.g., Corn. Nep. 11 [Iphicrates], 3.2; Suet. Jul. 52 with 53; 73-75 with 76.1; Dom. 3.2. For Plutarch, see Lavery, “Lucullus”; honoring subjects could but need not produce distortion (Fornara, Nature of History, 64-65). Rhetorical conventions appeared in ancient biography, but more in rhetorical biographers like Isocrates (see Burridge, “Biography”). Forensic speech, where a primary object was legal victory, was naturally another story (e.g., Dion. Hal. Lysias 8).

135 Plut. Cimon 2.4-5. Thus although Plutarch praises Cato extensively in Cato Major, he criticizes his mistreatment of slaves (5.1, 5) and notes that Cato mocked Romans who were too fond of Greek culture and ways (12.4).

136 Philost. Vit. soph. 2.21.602-3. One might be thought biased when writing about close friends (Philost. Vit. soph. 2.33.628), but Tacitus wrote freely of his father-in-law (Agricola; see below). (Compare Pliny’s recommendation in Ep. 3.3.5: “The affection I have for him has not blinded my judgement, as it is in fact based on it.”) One pupil reportedly did omit some of his teacher’s sayings, but because they were rhetorically inappropriate (Philost. Vit. soph. 2.29.621); and omission is not fabrication.

137 Eunapius Lives 461 (on Iamblichus, who is supernatural in 459); Plut. Marcus Cato 5.1, 5; 12.4; for writers’ style, Dion. Hal. Thucyd. 1. One could also disagree with the dominant view of one’s school (e.g., Sen. Ep. Lucil. 117.6).

138 Mem. 4.8.11.

139 Cf. later Iamblichus V.P. passim.

140 See e.g., Sen. Ep. Lucil. 108.17, 20, 22; 110.14, 20; Musonius Rufus 1, 36.6-7 (Pythagoras’s disciples could not disagree, but this was considered noteworthy — Valerius Maximus 8.15. ext. 1). Occasionally pupils could even turn against their teachers (Eunapius Lives 493), but in such a case they would no longer claim the teacher’s authority for the source of their teaching.

141 Eunapius Lives 484.

↑ Back to top