Table of Contents

Matter

1. Paul and His Tentmaking

2. A Tentmaker by Trade

3. Pauls Life as an Artisan-Missionary

4. Tentmaking and Apostleship: The Debate at Corinth

5. Conclusions

Selected Bibliography

Index of Ancient Sources

THE SOCIAL CONTEXT OF PAUL’S MINISTRY

Tentmaking and Apostleship

RONALD F. HOCK

FORTRESS PRESS • MINNEAPOLIS

THE SOCIAL CONTEXT OF PAUL’S MINISTRY

Tentmaking and Apostleship

Fortress Press ex libris publication 2007

Copyright © 1980 Fortress Press, an imprint of Augsburg Fortress. All rights reserved. Except for brief quotations in critical articles or reviews, no part of this book may be reproduced in any manner without prior written permission from the publisher. Visit http://www.augsburgfortress.org/copyrights/contact.asp or write to Permissions, Augsburg Fortress, Box 1209, Minneapolis, MN 55440.

ISBN 978-0-8006-6204-2

The Library of Congress has catalogued the original publications as follows:

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Hock, Ronald F. 1944–

The social context of Paul’s ministry.

Bibliography: p.

Includes index.

1. Paul, Saint, apostle. 2. Christian saints—Turkey—Tarsus—Biography. 3. Tarsus, Turkey—Biography. 4. Tents. I. Title.

BS2506.H6 225.9′24 79-7381

ISBN 0-8006-0577-2

Contents

Preface

Abbreviations

1. Paul and His Tentmaking

2. A Tentmaker by Trade

3. Paul’s Life as an Artisan-Missionary

4. Tentmaking and Apostleship: The Debate at Corinth

5. Conclusions

Selected Bibliography

Index of Ancient Sources

Preface

The subject of Paul’s tentmaking was first suggested to me in 1971 by one of my professors at Yale, Abraham J. Malherbe. Since that time this subject has been very much a part of my life, serving as the topic of my dissertation, “The Working Apostle: An Examination of Paul’s Means of Livelihood” (1974), as well as of several articles—“Simon the Shoemaker as an Ideal Cynic,” GRBS 17 (1976): 41–53; “Paul’s Tentmaking and the Problem of His Social Class,” JBL 97 (1978); 555–64; and “The Workshop as a Social Setting for Paul’s Missionary Preaching,” CBQ 41 (1979) 438–50—and papers read at several regional and national meetings of the Society of Biblical Literature.

In the course of these studies I have incurred many debts, which I gladly acknowledge. I am especially grateful to Professor Malherbe for his initial guidance and continuing interest in my work, and to David Lull of the School of Theology at Claremont, who has read the entire manuscript and has provided much helpful criticism and stimulation. Portions of the manuscript were also read by colleagues at the Institute for Antiquity and Christianity in Claremont, and so my thanks to Professors Hans-Dieter Betz, now of the University of Chicago; Burton Mack, of the School of Theology at Claremont; and Edward O’Neil, of the University of Southern California.

Thanks of a different sort are due to my students at the University of Southern California and to many friends at the Diamond Bar Congregational Church. Their interest in “the book” is appreciated. My deepest gratitude, however, is reserved for my family: my wife Carol, and my children, Jennifer and David. Their many sacrifices and constant support are deeply appreciated.

Abbreviations

ARW Archiv für Religionswissenschaft

BAG W. Bauer, W. F. Arndt, and F. W. Gingrich, Greek-English Lexicon of the New Testament

BFCT Beiträge zur Förderung christlicher Theologie

BHTh Beiträge zur historischen Theologie

Bib Biblica

BZ Biblische Zeitschrift

CBQ Catholic Biblical Quarterly

CPh Classical Philology

CW The Classical World

EBib Etudes bibliques

EstBib Estudios bíblicos

ExpT Expository Times

FRLANT Forschungen zur Religion und Literatur des Alten und Neuen Testaments

G & R Greece and Rome

GRBS Greek, Roman, and Byzantine Studies

HDB Hastings Dictionary of the Bible

HNT Handbuch zum Neuen Testament

HNTC Harper’s New Testament Commentaries

HTR Harvard Theological Review

ICC International Critical Commentary

JAC Jahrbuch für Antike und Christentum

JBL Journal of Biblical Literature

JHS Journal of Hellenic Studies

JJP The Journal of Juristic Papyrology

JR Journal of Religion

JRS Journal of Roman Studies

KNT Kommentar zum Neuen Testament, ed. T. Zahn

LCL Loeb Classical Library

MeyerK H. A. W. Meyer, Kritisch-exegetischer Kommentar über das Neue Testament

MNTC Moffatt New Testament Commentary

NICNT New International Commentary on the New Testament

NovT Novum Testamentum

NTS New Testament Studies

PCPhS Proceedings of the Cambridge Philological Society

PG Patrologia Graeca, ed. J. Migne

PGM Papyri Graecae Magicae

Phoenix The Phoenix

TAPA Transactions and Proceedings of the American Philological Association

T & C Technology and Culture

TCWA Transactions of the Cumberland and Westmorland Antiquarian and Archaeological Society

TDNT G. Kittel and G. Friedrich (eds.), Theological Dictionary of the New Testament

WMANT Wissenschaftliche Monographien zum Alten und Neuen Testament

ZNW Zeitschrift für die neutestamentliche Wissenschaft

ZPE Zeitschrift für Papyrologie und Epigraphik

ZST Zeitschrift für systematische Theologie

ZWT Zeitschrift für wissenschaftliche Theologie

Hock, R. F. (1980). The social context of Paul’s ministry: Tentmaking and apostleship. Minneapolis, MN: Fortress Press.

Exported from Logos Bible Software 4, 7:53 PM May 30, 2012.

1

Paul and His Tentmaking

PAUL’S TENTMAKING AND NEW SCHOLARSHIP

Paul’s tentmaking has never been the subject of a book-length investigation. Indeed, apart from a few exceptions, those who discuss Paul’s trade—for example, biographers of Paul, commentators on the relevant passages in Acts and in Paul’s letters, and historians of early Christianity—do so only in passing, with the consequence that their statements are derivative and perfunctory. Only the discussion of the nature of tentmaking—whether it involved weaving or leatherworking—has had the semblance of debate. Otherwise, scholars are content to dispose of Paul’s trade with comments that are thoroughly predictable. Thus, we are reminded again and again that Paul’s having a trade was due to his following a rabbinic custom of combining study of Torah with practice of a trade; that Paul’s attitude toward work in general was similarly positive, even to the point of his advocacy of a duty to work; and that Paul’s attitudes are to be explained as deriving from his Jewish upbringing and as differing sharply from attitudes in the Greco-Roman milieu.

Presumably, the reason for scholars simply perpetuating this communis opinio is its assumed truth. In the following pages, however, serious questions will be raised about the adequacy of each aspect of this consensus. The very ease with which this consensus can be criticized—due to its unexamined dependence on deutero-Pauline sources and its facile generalizations about work in Jewish and Greco-Roman sources—suggests that the real reason for repeating the communis opinio is not only its assumed truth but also its fundamental irrelevance.

In other words, the lack of a thorough investigation of Paul’s tentmaking is not merely an inadvertent omission by New Testament scholars but an indication that his tentmaking has only peripheral significance for their fundamental and characteristic conceptions of who Paul was and what he did. Three interpretations of Paul—those by F. C. Baur, W. Bousset, and A. Deissmann—illustrate how far on the periphery Paul’s tentmaking is usually placed.

F. C. Baur’s interpretation of Paul^1 is representative of the nineteenth-century tendency to view the New Testament, and Paul in particular, in the context of the history of early Christianity, especially its doctrinal developments. The perspective is thus diachronic and theological and may be called a history-of-doctrine approach (Dogmengeschichte). Consequently, Baur studied Paul because he was convinced of the apostle’s decisive importance for the history of early Christianity. As Baur put it, an investigation of Paul would provide the answer to the central question of that history, namely, “how Christianity … so closely interwoven with Judaism broke loose … and entered on its sphere of worldwide historical importance” (1:3). The reason for Paul’s importance is that he was responsible for the doctrine of universalism, the offering of salvation to Jew and Gentile alike, that allowed Christianity to break loose from the particularism of Judaism and to become a new and independent religion.

What characterizes Baur’s portrayal of Paul is the conviction that Paul advanced the doctrine of universalism only against the persistent opposition of Jewish Christianity, as represented by Peter and the Jerusalem apostles generally (see esp. 1:308–9). Accordingly, for Baur, Paul was characteristically a man of theological crisis and conflict, as seen in the face-to-face confrontation between Paul and Peter at Antioch (cf. Gal. 2:11–14) and in Paul’s epistolary struggles against Judaizing opponents, who had entered his churches at Galatia and Corinth (1:245–65).

Given this fundamental conception of Paul as a man engaged in theological debate, we should not be surprised to learn that Baur took little notice of Paul’s tentmaking. The trade itself is never mentioned, though it is indirectly brought in when Baur discusses the controversy at Corinth over Paul’s waiving of his right to support (1:269–70). In other words, the only point at which Paul’s trade is even in the background is the point where it becomes relevant to Baur’s conception of Paul, that is, in the context of Paul’s struggle with Judaizing opponents at Corinth. Otherwise, Paul’s tentmaking is of no concern whatever to Baur,2 or to those in the tradition of Dogmengeschichte, such as C. von Weizsäcker.3

A second interpreter of Paul, W. Bousset,4 is representative of another approach to the New Testament and to Paul in particular. This approach, which arose toward the end of the nineteenth century, views Paul and early Christianity as significantly influenced by contemporary religious movements and myths—for example, by mystery religions and gnosticism—and so tries to explain the features of the piety and theology of Paul by discerning the ways that Paul adopted and adapted the religious practices and language of his day. This approach—which is thus synchronic rather than diachronic and which is less concerned with doctrine than with religious experience, especially the experience of communal worship—is known as the history-of-religions approach (Religions-geschichte).

Accordingly, Bousset studied Paul because of his importance for the developing worship life—baptism and eucharist—of the Hellenistic church. Thus it is not theological debate but cultic worship that determines Bousset’s characterization of Paul. Paul’s piety was shaped by his participation in the Kyrios-cult, in which the presence of Christ was experienced, and his theology was largely the product of his reflection on these cultic experiences, expressed in terms borrowed from contemporary mystery cults and gnostic myths (pp. 191, 210). In fact, so thoroughly does Bousset confine Paul to the worship setting that he is seen in no other settings. Consequently, Paul’s tentmaking has no relevance for Bousset’s conception of Paul, nor does it have relevance for others in the tradition of Religionsgeschichte, such as R. Bultmann.5

A third interpreter of Paul, A. Deissmann,6 has not been selected because he represents still another approach to studying Paul, an approach different from those of Baur and Bousset; indeed, Deissmann stands clearly in the tradition of Religionsgeschichte. For him, too, categories like cult and mysticism are fundamental for his understanding of Paul as a homo religiosus, specifically as a Christ-mystic (pp. 79–81 and 113–20). The reason for Deissmann’s selection is that he does not view Paul exclusively in terms of the history of religions. Paul is placed not only in a cultic context but also in his social milieu. For example, Deissmann is interested in Paul’s urban perspective (pp. 71, 213, 227), in his experiences as a traveler (pp. 35–40, 62–65, 88–89, 233–37), and in many other aspects of his life, including the tentmaking which was Paul’s means of financing his mission (pp. 48, 235, 237).

In fact, Deissmann’s interest in Paul’s tentmaking is without parallel among New Testament scholars. This interest shows itself in the suggestions that Paul may have dictated some of his letters while in his workshop and that the large letters of Paul’s own handwriting (cf. Gal. 6:11) may indicate hands deformed by toil (p. 49). More significant is Deissmann’s characterization of Paul as “the tentmaker from Tarsus” (pp. 6, 166), which functions to place Paul socially among the lower classes (pp. 48–49, 74, 224) and specifically in “the artisan class of the imperial age”7 and which also functions to challenge claims that Paul was primarily a theologian and that his message was theological in an abstract and systematic sense (pp. 4–6). For Deissmann, Paul is simply a traveling tentmaker whose movements went unnoticed by the intellectuals of the day (pp. 74, 224) but whose message, expressed in metaphors taken from daily life, found a ready audience among the simple classes of the urban poor (pp. 166–76). Yet, for all his interest in Paul the tentmaker from Tarsus, Deissmann still keeps Paul the homo religiosus at the center of his understanding of the apostle. Pushed to the periphery, Paul’s tentmaking is left uninvestigated in any significant way.

In the years since Deissmann, Paul’s tentmaking has remained uninvestigated, again because New Testament scholarship has continued to be dominated by the concerns of Dogmengeschichte and Religionsgeschichte. There have been changes, of course. Thus, Paul’s theology is placed now almost exclusively in the context of the first-century church, so that Dogmengeschichte is limited to “biblical theology.” Baur’s conception of Paul as a man constantly engaged in theological crisis and debate is, however, still very much with us; this view is evident in the widespread interest in Paul’s theology as it was developed in response to challenges from opponents at Corinth, Galatia, and elsewhere. The concern for theology, though not placed in the setting of a debate, is also apparent in attempts to construe Paul’s life and theology, or Luke’s presentation of Paul in Acts, in terms of Heilsgeschichte, that is, in terms of Paul’s role in God’s plan of salvation.

Religionsgeschichte has gone through even more changes. To be sure, gnosticism remains a history-of-religions option for understanding Paul (or his opponents), due to the influence of Bultmann and the discovery of gnostic texts at Nag Hammadi. Otherwise the synchronic outlook of a Bousset has been sharply reduced, so that the trend has been to look less far afield and increasingly no farther than Judaism, whether in its apocalyptic, rabbinic, or Hellenistic forms. Indeed, significant contacts between Paul and the larger Greco-Roman society, its religions or otherwise, are frequently denied; or, if contacts are acknowledged, they carry the proviso that they had been mediated to Paul through some Jewish institution such as the synagogue.

New Testament scholarship is, of course, too diverse to be so conveniently summarized, but the features of that scholarship identified here—its consuming interest in matters of theology and its restriction of context to the history-of-religions (especially Judaism)—are clearly determinative in two recent and representative studies of Paul, those of G. Bornkamm and F. F. Bruce.8

The point of this brief survey of scholarship has been to explain why there has been no previous book-length investigation of Paul’s tentmaking. Yet there should be such a study, if only to remind us that the apostle Paul can be approached with questions other than those of the theological and history-of-religions disciplines. An investigation of Paul’s tentmaking will also prove to be of intrinsic interest, and, what is more, of considerable importance to those scholars who are now attempting a social description of early Christianity.9

AIMS AND METHOD OF THIS INVESTIGATION

The aims of this investigation of Paul’s tentmaking need to be stated more fully. There are two. The first aim is critical, that is, to discuss and assess what has been said regarding Paul’s tentmaking: whether Paul’s trade involved weaving or leatherworking, whether Paul’s having a trade was due to his following a rabbinic practice, and whether Paul’s views on work were similar to Jewish views and divergent from Greco-Roman ones. The second and more important aim is constructive, that is, to identify and discuss as many aspects of Paul’s trade as possible: his experiences as an apprentice, his skills as a leatherworker, his daily life as a traveling artisan-missionary, to name just a few.

The outcome of these several discussions will be (1) the construction of a clear and detailed portrait of Paul the tentmaker and (2) the arguing of the thesis that Paul’s tentmaking, far from being at the periphery of the apostle’s life, was actually central to it. As we shall see, Paul’s tentmaking to a large extent defined the social context of much of his day-to-day life as an apostle of Christ and played an important part in the crisis at Corinth over his apostleship.

Chapter 2 treats subjects pertaining to Paul’s tentmaking before he was an apostle. These subjects include the nature of Paul’s trade, the reasons for Paul having taken up a trade, and the likely features of his apprenticeship as a craftsman.

The central chapter of the investigation, Chapter 3, treats subjects pertaining to the ways that Paul’s tentmaking typically impinged on his life as an apostle of Christ. Included are Paul’s travels as an artisan; his lodging and means of support; his experiences as a tentmaker, including the hours, workshops, lifestyle, and social world that made up his life as an artisan; his paraenesis regarding work; and his understanding of his trade in terms of his apostleship, at least as this understanding had developed before the criticisms of his trade were made by some people at Corinth.

Chapter 4 deals with the role played by Paul’s tentmaking in the crisis at Corinth over his authority as an apostle. A survey of the means of support of philosophers and other intellectuals will provide the context for discussing Paul’s defense of his tentmaking as his means of support.

Chapter 5, the final chapter, concludes with a brief summary of the features of our emerging portrait of Paul the tentmaker, and with a reiteration of the importance of taking seriously Paul’s trade for any study of his life and mission.

This investigation differs from other approaches to Paul’s tentmaking in two respects. On the one hand, it obviously considers many more aspects of Paul’s life as an artisan-missionary. On the other hand, it discusses Paul’s trade not merely in terms of a Jewish history-of-religions context, as is usually the case,10 nor only in terms of his trade’s theological relevance for the crisis at Corinth over Paul’s apostleship, as is recently popular.11 Rather, this investigation attempts to consider all aspects of Paul’s tentmaking, and to do so by considering them in terms of the social and intellectual milieu of the Greek East of the early Roman Empire.12

One problem in carrying out these aims deserves methodological attention: the problem of evidence. The evidence regarding Paul’s tentmaking is problematic in several ways. For one thing, the distinction between Pauline and deutero-Pauline sources must be maintained, with only seven letters (Romans, 1 and 2 Corinthians, Galatians, Philippians, 1 Thessalonians, and Philemon) assigned to the former category, and Acts and the other letters assigned to the latter. Once this distinction is made, it becomes clear, for example, that evidence for an unqualified positive view of work falls on the deutero-Pauline side (Acts 20:34–35; Eph. 4:28; and 2 Thess. 3:10).13 Thus, evidence for Paul will be drawn only from the seven undisputed letters of Paul.

The evidence of Acts, however, is more complex, sometimes representing only a late or deutero-Pauline viewpoint and sometimes preserving early traditions about Paul’s tentmaking and missionary activity in general.14 Therefore, the evidence of Acts can be used, but only after critical judgment has been exercised in each case.

Another problem of the evidence regarding Paul’s tentmaking is that, even if historically reliable, it is still scattered and sketchy. Consequently, to see Paul’s trade in any clarity and perspective, we must use supplemental evidence. To this end, references to Greco-Roman sources, both literary and nonliterary, will constantly be made and related to Paul. Admittedly, a paucity of strictly contemporary evidence will require us at times to go beyond the limits of the Greek East of the early empire. In addition, scholarly treatments of work in antiquity are organized around different times and places.15 Nevertheless, given the basic continuities in the life and work of ancient artisans, a cautious and tentative use of such evidence and of these scholarly treatments seems justified.

Therefore, the portrait of Paul the tentmaker will be derived as far as possible from New Testament evidence but supplemented with generous amounts of evidence from a wide variety of roughly contemporary, or otherwise applicable, sources. Especially helpful will be the wealth of information for social history provided by such writers as Herondas, Chariton, Lucian, and Achilles Tatius, as well as by such nonliterary documents as the apprentice contracts preserved on papyrus. In addition, we shall depend upon the valuable evidence concerning several artisans: the weaver Tryphon and the shoemakers Simon, Philiscus, Cerdon, and Micyllus. This is not to assume that Paul was simply an artisan, belonging to the working class, as Deissmann argued; rather, it is to suggest that Paul’s experiences as an artisan, as a tentmaker, were often similar to those of other artisans and so can be illumined by them. So far as I know, no one—not even Deissmann—has ever recognized the relevance of artisans like these for understanding Paul and his social context. We shall also depend upon the equally valuable evidence concerning several working philosophers: Simon, Musonius Rufus, Dio Chrysostom, and Demetrius of Sunium. This is to anticipate the importance of Hellenistic moralists, especially those who were Cynics, for illuminating Paul’s career as an artisan-missionary. Accordingly, this investigation tries to build upon the scholarship of A. J. Malherbe and H.-D. Betz,16 who have demonstrated the importance of Cynicism for understanding Paul and his intellectual context.

Finally, given the several new directions taken in this investigation and the many problems associated with the evidence, we need to stress that many of the conclusions reached about Paul the tentmaker will necessarily be preliminary and tentative. In any case, it is hoped that Paul’s tentmaking will never again be given just passing attention by Pauline scholars and that the social and intellectual milieu of the Greek East will become more widely recognized as an important context for understanding the life and work of the apostle.

Hock, R. F. (1980). The social context of Paul’s ministry: Tentmaking and apostleship. Minneapolis, MN: Fortress Press.

Exported from Logos Bible Software 4, 7:53 PM May 30, 2012.

2

A Tentmaker by Trade

THE NATURE OF PAUL’S TRADE

Regarding the nature of his work, Paul said only that he worked with his own hands (1 Cor. 4:12: ἐργάζεσθαι ταῖς ἰδίαις χερσίν), presumably, though not necessarily, at a trade. Luke, as everyone knows, assumed this and even identified Paul as a tentmaker (Acts 18:3: σκηνοποιός). Luke was dependent here on tradition,1 a tradition, moreover, whose historical reliability is not in doubt.2 Still, there are problems, textual and lexical. One textual problem can be resolved easily but needs at least to be mentioned. In a few Western manuscripts (D d gig) the entire clause “For they were tentmakers by trade” is missing, due probably to an oversight.3

The other textual problem involves the versional renderings of σκηνοποιός, but since they are in part the result of the lexical problem, they will be treated in the context of this larger issue.4 That is to say, the meaning of σκηνοποιός (literally, “tentmaker”) is obscure. The word is rare outside this passage and others dependent on it. The versional renderings point out the difficulty. An Old Latin manuscript (h) has lectarius (“maker of bed cushions,” usually of leather), whereas the Peshitta (syrp) has the transliteration of the Latin lorarius (“maker of leather thongs,” such as for bridles). The church fathers make further suggestions. Origen and Rufinus understand σκηνοποιός to mean sutor (“shoemaker”),5 an understanding also found in Theodoret and Chrysostom,6 although the latter, along with Gregory of Nyssa, calls Paul a σκηνορράφος (“stitcher of tents”).7 Later church tradition made Paul a “scenepainter” (σκηνογράφος).8

Modern scholars have made their own suggestions about the nature of Paul’s trade. One is that Paul was a weaver of tentcloth from cilicium (goats’ hair), largely because this material was associated with his home province of Cilicia. This view was popular during the last century, though it has had supporters up to the present day.9 It has been criticized, however, by many other scholars, most notably by T. Zahn.10 He argues that (1) cilicium was used for other things and only seldom for tents, (2) Paul’s connection with Cilicia and its production of cilicium becomes irrelevant if he moved to Jerusalem as a boy (Acts 22:3), or if he did not learn his trade until he was a student of Gamaliel in Jerusalem (Acts 22:3), and (3) a Pharisee like Paul would hardly have chosen weaving, which was a despised trade.11

Having rejected the view that Paul was a weaver, Zahn favors leatherworking, going back to the general thrust of the versional renderings and patristic interpretations.12 Understanding σκηνοποιός as leatherworker does not require us to assume Paul also prepared the leather, that is, that he was a tanner, who was also despised.13 This understanding of Paul’s trade has been accepted by many scholars and is indeed the dominant view today.14

To identify the nature of Paul’s trade as leatherworking is correct, but the difficulties patristic interpreters had in speaking precisely about his trade should keep us from being overly confident about this identification. Nevertheless, Zahn’s reasons, especially the first and third, for rejecting the view of Paul’s trade as weaving are cogent, and so to refrain from making any identification beyond the literal “tentmaker,” as W. Bauer does,15 is to be too cautious. Tents were usually made of leather, and leather goods were associated with Cilicia.16 Leatherworking, then, was Paul’s trade; the specialized title “tentmaker” reflects a widespread tendency among artisans to use specialized titles, even though they made more products than their titles would suggest.17 We may thus picture Paul as making tents and other products from leather.18

PAUL’S APPRENTICESHIP AS A TENTMAKER

Scholarly discussion of the nature of Paul’s trade has usually also raised the related question of when Paul acquired the skills of tentmaking, a question whose answer is more problematic than is often supposed. Scholars answer this question by placing Paul’s learning a trade against a Jewish background. Some say that Paul learned the trade from his father, adding that his father thereby conformed to the rabbinic maxim “Whoever does not teach his son a craft teaches him to be a robber.”19 Most scholars, however, say that Paul did not learn a trade until later, until he was a student of Gamaliel (Acts 22:3), providing as their warrant the later rabbinic ideal of combining study and teaching of Torah with the practice of a trade: “Excellent is the study of Torah together with worldly occupation.”20 This is the communis opinio, represented by scholars from both ends of the critical spectrum. Thus G. Bornkamm says, “With Paul … theological training in Judaism was combined with the learning and practice of an occupation.”21 F. F. Bruce agrees: “Many rabbis practiced a trade … Paul scrupulously maintained this tradition as a Christian preacher.”22

However widely and confidently expressed this view is, it is open to question at three points. First, the historicity of Paul’s being educated by Gamaliel, known only from Acts 22:3, is open to question for a variety of reasons, chief among them the incongruity of a persecuting Paul having been the student of so tolerant a teacher as Gamaliel (cf. 5:34).23 Second, even if we grant Paul’s education under Gamaliel, this fact does not require that Paul’s education was done with a professional goal in mind, which the rabbinic ideal of combining trade and Torah has in view. People studied Torah with teachers like Gamaliel for a variety of reasons, that is, some with professional goals and some not.24 Not even Luke understood Paul’s education as professionally oriented.25 Consequently, the rabbinic ideal would not have been incumbent upon him.

Third, even if Paul were a professional student, the ideal of combining Torah and a trade is difficult to establish much earlier than the middle of the second century A.D., that is, long after Paul. Rabban Gamaliel’s formulation of the ideal (quoted above) expresses a rabbinic self-understanding that arose only in the Usha period (A.D. 140–70), due in large part to the economic crises arising from the Jewish wars.26 To be sure, some rabbis from the Yavnean period (A.D. 70–125) worked—for example, R. Jehoshua as a charcoal burner and Abba Saul as a day laborer^27—and a few pre-70 Pharisees are said to have worked: Abba Hilkiah, Hillel, and Shammai.28 But the work of these Yavnean rabbis seems to have been more a consequence of their economic status than of their rabbinic self-understanding,29 and the traditions about the pre-70 Pharisees working turn out to be late and legendary.30

To sum up, the widespread view that Paul first learned and practiced his trade of tentmaking while a student of Gamaliel and so in conformity with a rabbinic ideal turns out, on examination, to be difficult to maintain. This view is highly problematic in light of several questions: whether Paul ever was a student of Gamaliel, and (if so) whether his education was undertaken for professional reasons, and (if so) whether the ideal of combining Torah and trade can be documented as early as Paul’s day. Since the answer to each of these questions is likely to be negative, we must turn elsewhere to explain when and how Paul learned the trade of tentmaking.

We turn, therefore, to consider the view that Paul learned his trade from his father. As we have seen, those who hold this view also claim that Paul’s father was thereby following Jewish practice. This claim, which can be easily verified,31 should not be taken to mean, however, that the practice was distinctively Jewish. On the contrary, the practice of fathers teaching their sons the family trade was also typical of Greco-Roman society as a whole, as can be shown from the generalizations of Plato and other writers,32 as well as from numerous specific cases. Among the latter we may note the well-known case of Socrates learning the trade of sculpture from his father Sophroniscus^33 and the lesser-known case of Tryphon, a weaver from Oxyrhynchus and a contemporary of Paul, who learned the trade from his father and who in turn taught one of his sons.34 Of course, there were variations on this practice, so that a boy might be taught by an uncle or by a local craftsman.35 Whatever the specifics in any one case, the evidence favors the view that Paul learned his trade in a familial context, most likely from his father, rather than, as is usually assumed, in an educational context, that is, in response to an alleged scribal ideal of combining Torah and trade. And we should view Paul’s learning a trade not solely in terms of a Pharisaic upbringing but also in terms of his larger cultural context. Paul’s family may have acted in accordance with specifically Jewish prescriptions, but we need to realize that the plausibility structure for their action extended far beyond the Jewish community.

By placing Paul’s learning a trade in this larger cultural context, we are able to speak more specifically about his experiences as an apprentice. Especially helpful in this regard are the several apprentices’ contracts preserved on papyrus, whose typical features can be paralleled outside Roman Egypt and whose applicability to first-century Tarsus can thereby be presumed.36 To be sure, if we assume that Paul was taught by his father, a formal apprentice’s contract is not directly relevant, but the information contained therein surely reflected many of the conditions and conventions of the less formal familial apprenticeship.

At the age of thirteen, give or take a year or so, Paul would have begun his apprenticeship^37 and would have spent his days, except for Sabbaths and holidays,38 in his father’s workshop (a shop, incidentally, that may have been responsible for his family’s acquisition of Roman citizenship, if, as has been suggested, the tents made there had proved useful in a Roman military campaign).39 At any rate, Paul’s apprenticeship may have lasted two—perhaps three—years,40 in an atmosphere of strict discipline and demanding standards,41 so that when he finished his training he was as skilled in leatherworking as his father,42 with skills that would have been widely recognized and admired.43

Leatherworking^44 involved two essential tasks: cutting the leather, which required round-edge and straight-edge knives; and sewing the leather, which required various awls.45 These tasks would have been done at a workbench, with the leatherworker sitting on a stool and bent over forward to work.46

With respect to tentmaking,47 an apprentice like Paul would have learned how to cut the leather pieces so that their placement would take advantage of the natural strengths of the leather and thus best withstand strains and pulling.48 An apprentice like Paul would have also learned how to sew these leather pieces together, using either a basting stitch, a seam stitch, or a felling stitch, the latter two being used where seams needed to be waterproof.49

At the conclusion of his apprenticeship Paul might have been given his own set of tools.50 The requisite knives and awls, incidentally, would have made tentmaking an easily portable trade, a fact that helps explain Paul’s eventual use of his trade as his means of support during his travels as a missionary. But to say this is to anticipate the subject of the next chapter.

Hock, R. F. (1980). The social context of Paul’s ministry: Tentmaking and apostleship. Minneapolis, MN: Fortress Press.

Exported from Logos Bible Software 4, 7:53 PM May 30, 2012.

3

Paul’s Life as an Artisan-Missionary

With this chapter our attention is focused on Paul’s tentmaking as it related to his life as an apostle of Christ. The importance of Paul’s having plied a trade during this period is suggested by the fact that tentmaking was his primary means of livelihood in the various cities on his missionary journeys. More specifically, our evidence allows us to picture Paul at work at Thessalonica (1 Thess. 2:9) and at Corinth (1 Cor. 4:12; Acts 18:3), later at Ephesus (1 Cor. 4:12;1 Acts 19:11–12; 20:34), and once again at Corinth (2 Cor. 12:14). These passages cover the so-called second and third missionary journeys (Acts 16:1–18:22 and 18:23–21:16). But another reference, one mentioning Barnabas and Paul working (1 Cor. 9:6), presumably extends the coverage back to the so-called first missionary journey (Acts 13:1–14:25), that is, when Luke has Barnabas as Paul’s missionary companion. Whether Paul worked even earlier—that is, during his first years as a missionary in Arabia and Damascus (Gal. 1:17; cf. Acts 9:19b–25) and in Syria and Cilicia (Gal. 1:21; Acts 9:30; 11:25)—is difficult to determine, due to the paucity of information about this early period, but it is not unlikely. Lastly, Acts 28:30 has been read by some scholars as implying that Luke assumed Paul also to have worked even when in custody in Rome toward the end of his life.2 In any case, even if the facts get obscured at either end of Paul’s missionary career, we are still justified in generalizing, as Paul himself does (1 Cor. 9:15–18), that it was his policy to support his missionary labors by the work of his hands (cf. 1 Cor. 4:12; 1 Thess. 2:9).3 Accordingly, we may picture Paul plying his trade wherever he was preaching the gospel.4

It is the purpose of this chapter, therefore, to discuss in detail Paul’s life as an artisan-missionary, that is, to describe the day-today experience that arose from this kind of life—his travel, his getting settled in a new city, his tentmaking, his missionary use of the workshop, his paraenesis on work, and his reflection on the significance of his tentmaking for his apostolic self-understanding. To be sure, few of these subjects receive more than passing reference in Paul’s letters or in Acts. These few references, however, will provide a factual basis for the following reconstruction of Paul’s daily life, using the parallel experiences of contemporary artisans and philosophic missionaries. Only then will Paul’s daily life be seen in greater clarity and truer perspective.

PAUL THE TRAVELER

On the roads of the early empire could be found a variety of travelers: government officials, traders, pilgrims, the sick, letter-carriers, sightseers, runaway slaves, fugitives, prisoners, athletes, artisans, teachers, and students.5 Conditions for these travelers were, as is often remarked, generally good, especially at this time.6 Hence the mobility of a person like Paul whose travels on land and sea in Acts alone approached ten thousand miles and whose roles as a traveler included, to judge from Acts, those of official (Acts 9:2), pilgrim (20:16), and prisoner (27:1ff.). W. Ramsay has understood Paul’s journey from Pamphylia to Pisdian Antioch (cf. 13:13–14) as undertaken for his health.7 We, however, are especially interested in his travels as an apostle, that is, when he traveled in the roles of missionary and artisan.

In these roles Paul was certainly not alone. Although the evidence suggests that more students traveled to philosophers than philosophers traveled in search of students,8 still many teachers could be found on the road. Some were even more traveled than Paul—for example, Apollonius of Tyana and Dio Chrysostom, to name just two from the early empire.9 Others from this period, though, are quite comparable to Paul—for example, Peregrinus, whose travels covered Asia Minor, Palestine, Egypt, Italy, and Greece.10 Artisans, too, could be found on the road.11 Some artisans, presumably slaves, would be sent from a workshop in one city to another shop in another city.12 Other artisans, like Paul, traveled in hopes of finding a job.13 Still others were often on the road because they followed the army.14

Despite the generally good conditions, travelers like Paul still faced many delays, some because of the time expended to search for a ship, usually a cargo ship, that was headed in the desired direction and would take on passengers (cf. Acts 21:2)15 and some because of long stopovers due to winter weather (cf. Acts 28:11 and 1 Cor. 16:6).16 The difficulties of travel included many of the hardships listed in Paul’s peristasis-catalogs: hunger and thirst, cold and nakedness (cf. 2 Cor. 11:27)17 as well as many problems that were not mentioned, such as mud and dust.18 The dangers encountered by Paul while traveling—for example, the dangers of attacks from brigands and of shipwreck (cf. 2 Cor. 11:25–26)—were quite typical.19

On occasion Paul traveled alone (e.g., Acts 18:1), but more often in a group, sometimes a group made up of other travelers (e.g., Acts 9:7–8) and sometimes a group made up of friends (e.g., Acts 17:14–15) or of associates like Barnabas on the first missionary journey and Silas and Timothy on the second. Even larger travel parties are sometimes to be envisioned (cf. Acts 20:4, 38; 21:16).20

Travel companions obviously provided greater safety,21 but they also may have provided Paul with opportunities to engage in various intellectual pursuits. Neither Paul’s letters nor Acts says so, but the experiences of other travelers, especially philosophers, make this claim thoroughly probable. For example, on a trip to Borysthenes, Dio Chrysostom was greeted some distance outside the city by some of its citizens and was engaged in discussion the rest of the way to the city.22 Similarly, Aulus Gellius’s teacher Taurus conversed with his students as they traveled to the Pythian games.23 Other intellectual activities of travelers include a Sophist who practiced his oratory, a philosopher who wrote a letter, and several teachers who read.24 Conversations and reading were especially frequent on sea voyages,25 so much so that certain subjects became standard on such voyages.26 Given, then, these intellectual pursuits of traveling teachers and students we can make an easy extrapolation to presume that Paul also used the hours and days taken up in travel for similar discussions and study.

PAUL’S LODGING AND MEANS OF SUPPORT

Having completed a journey, Paul would have been faced with a new set of considerations, the first of which was lodging. In some cases—as, say, at Amphipolis and Apollonia (Acts 17:1)—Paul’s stay would have been short, merely a stopover on a journey to a still more distant city. In these cases he and his travel companions might have found lodging at an inn and then traveled on.27 Sometimes, however, these short stays would have been in cities where there were Christian households, and so Paul, like any discriminating traveler, would have preferred the hospitality of a Christian host—for example, that of Gaius in Corinth (Rom. 16:23) or that of Philemon in Colossae (Philem. 22)—to that offered at an inn.28 The hospitality extended to a traveler included not only bath, board, and bed, but also provisions for the next leg of the journey.29 One could stay up to a week without taking advantage of one’s host, though three days were deemed most appropriate,30 a convention scrupulously followed by Paul, at least according to Acts.31

When Paul intended to stay in a city for longer periods of time—that is, when he intended to carry on missionary activity—more permanent lodging needed to be found. Initially, of course, temporary arrangements would have to be made. For example, at Philippi Paul was lodged somewhere before staying at the house of Lydia (Acts 16:15). Precisely where he had been staying we do not know, though an inn is likely,32 but gymnasia,33 temples,34 and synagogues^35 could also accommodate travelers. Wherever Paul stayed initially—and stays in inns could last for several months^36—it seems that Paul preferred to find long-term lodging in the houses of members of his churches: Lydia’s house in Philippi for an indefinite period of time (cf. Acts 16:18), Jason’s house in Thessalonica for what must have been several months (17:5–6),37 Aquila’s and Priscilla’s house in Corinth for a year and a half (18:3, 11),38 and presumably other houses elsewhere.39

This arrangement obviously distinguished Paul from the poorest artisans and unskilled workers of a city; they frequently had to live in the backs of their shops or even in the streets.40 It also distinguished him from those traveling Cynics who chose, as we shall see, to live in public buildings and to support themselves by begging.41 Paul’s practice of living in Christian households should also be distinguished from the institution of hospitality. That was, as we have seen, short-term, a week at most, and Paul was no permanent guest, even though, as an apostle of Christ, he could have imposed himself on a host for extended periods of time (see 1 Thess. 2:7: ἐν βάρει εἶναι; cf. 1 Cor. 9:5–15).

Paul knew that accepting such extended hospitality really meant accepting another household institution, that of attaching oneself to a householder as his resident teacher or intellectual, with the room and board and other gifts amounting to a salary. This was an attractive arrangement, to be sure, given its reputed benefits of handsome accommodations, sumptuous dining, and luxurious travel opportunities,42 but there were drawbacks. For one thing, from the perspective of the householder, the support of the resident teacher might entail a financial burden (βάρος), as Lucian put it in his DE MERCEDE CONDUCTIS.43 Lucian no doubt exaggerated the burden incurred by wealthy Roman householders under this arrangement, but Paul did not. His householders, being of more modest means, could easily have been burdened by an extended stay by Paul and his companions. After all, the stay with Aquila and Priscilla lasted a year and a half (Acts 18:3, 11), and other stays—as at Philippi and Thessalonica—might have been as long or longer, had they not been cut short (cf. 16:35–40 and 17:10). Consequently, Paul, not wanting to burden anyone (1 Thess. 2:9: ἐπιβαρεῖσθαι; cf. 2 Cor. 11:9: ἀβαρής),44 refrained from this arrangement.

Paul was able to avoid being a burden because he had a trade (1 Thess. 2:9; cf. Acts 20:34), though occasionally also by means of gifts from churches he had previously founded (2 Cor. 11:8; Phil. 4:15–18; cf. Acts 18:5).45 Therefore, in addition to finding lodging, Paul also would have to have found work in one of the local tentmaking shops. Sometimes, of course, this latter task would be made easier if Paul could find lodging with someone who shared his trade, as happened at Corinth where Aquila, also a tentmaker,46 took Paul in; together they lived and worked (Acts 18:3).47 Some scholars have argued, on the analogy of Corinth, that Paul’s householder in Thessalonica, Jason (17:6), was also a tentmaker.48 This hypothesis is surely possible but not necessary, for Lydia was a merchant, a dealer in purple cloth (16:14), not a tentmaker.

The earnings from Paul’s tentmaking would have gone for necessities: food, clothing, perhaps even part of his householder’s rent, to judge from contemporary practice in Rome.49 To be sure, Paul was not always able to make ends meet. Despite long hours in the workshop, he was sometimes in want (cf. 2 Cor. 11:9 and Phil. 4:12). But for a traveling teacher Paul was surprisingly self-sufficient (cf. Phil. 4:11).50

PAUL AT WORK

Having discussed what was typically involved in Paul’s traveling to and getting settled in a new city on his missionary journeys, we are now ready to discuss the typical or daily experiences of an artisan plying a trade, experiences that Paul, as a tentmaker, might also have had.

Luke’s description of Paul at work in Corinth using a durative imperfect (Acts 18:3: ἠργάζοντο),51 and Paul’s own statement that he worked “night and day” at Thessalonica (1 Thess. 2:9) and presumably elsewhere,52 remind us how much of Paul’s time was spent at his trade. The expression “night and day” (νυκτὸς καὶ ἡμέρας) does not mean “through the whole night and day,” which would require the accusative, but “during the night and day,” which is the force of the genitive.53 This expression suggests that Paul began working before sunrise and continued working through much of the day.54 Other sources can further clarify and interpret this expression. For example, to judge from apprentices’ contracts and from scattered references elsewhere, the usual workday consisted of the daylight hours only, that is, “from sunrise to sunset,” as the expression went.55 Paul’s working before sunrise, therefore, was unusual; indeed, it was an indication of extraordinary industry, as is clear from the opening scene of Lucian’s Gallus, in which the shoemaker Micyllus, accustomed to working during the day, is advised to start working before sunrise and so be assured of earning his daily bread.56

How much of the daylight hours Paul spent at his workbench is difficult to determine. From the evidence just cited we would expect Paul’s workday to have lasted until around sunset. But according to Acts 19:9, Paul, while in Ephesus, is said to have discoursed daily in the σκολή (usually rendered “lecture hall”) of Tyrannus. Moreover, according to the Western text of Acts, Paul’s lectures are explicitly set between the fifth and tenth hours (that is, between 11 A.M. and 4 P.M.).57 Even if this information is reliable, as is often claimed,58 we still should not generalize beyond Ephesus. Rather, on the basis of 1 Thess. 2:9 we should think of Paul at work from before sunrise until sunset—save, of course, on the Sabbath.

With Paul spending so many hours in the workshop, it becomes necessary for us to know more about it.59 A workshop (ἐργαστήριον) could be located almost anywhere. A room in an artisan’s house could serve as a workshop,60 as could a ground floor room in an apartment building, with the artisan living in an upstairs room, in a back room, or even in the back of the shop itself.61 Or a workshop could be located in a separate building.62 In addition, though workshops might be placed outside the city—some by necessity (e.g., stonecutters’ shops near quarries) and some by popular demand (e.g., foul-smelling tanneries)63—most workshops would be located in or near the agora, or marketplace.64 Finally, workers having the same trade tended to locate their shops in close proximity to one another, so that areas of a city might be known by the trades clustered there, such as a “cabinetmakers’ street” in Athens.65

The size of workshops varied as much as their location. The poor but free artisan who worked alone or with one or two assistants^66 naturally required less space than those operations that employed up to one hundred slaves.67 An average shop, if that is appropriate here, accommodated from six to a dozen or so artisans.68 Thus, for example, Cerdon’s shoemaking shop is depicted as including himself and thirteen slave assistants.69

To return to Paul, we find that nothing is said in Acts or in Paul’s letters about the shops in which he worked on his missionary journeys. But, judging from what is said about the situation in Corinth (Acts 18:3) in light of the above discussion, we might venture to say that Paul worked, on occasion, in tentmaking shops that were part of his householder’s residence (house or apartment) and that were of moderate size, large enough at least to absorb one more worker.

Looking more closely at the workshop, its furnishings and characteristic activities, we may note that some workshops, such as those of smiths and sculptors, were often noisy, dirty, and dangerous.70 Others, such as those of weavers, required large and expensive equipment.71 But a shoemaker’s shop—that is, one quite similar to those in which Paul worked—was relatively quiet. At any rate, the shoemaker Philiscus could be busy stitching and still listen to someone reading aloud.72 Herondas could even depict a slave in Cerdon’s shop as taking frequent naps!73 A shoemaker’s shop had at least a table and stool,74 along with the knives, awls, sharpening stones, and oil and blacking for treating the leather.75 In addition, to judge from Herondas’s description of Cerdon’s shop, there were also benches for customers and cases for storing the shoes that had been made.76 The activities of these shops included not only the work itself but also the related tasks of selling the products to customers and, on occasion, of instructing an apprentice.77 In addition, there were, at least in the quieter shops, the conversations of various people who had simply entered the shop in order to sit down and talk. Thus we can point to Socrates’ many visits to Simon’s workshop for philosophical conversations,78 and the visit of the pirate Theron to a workshop in Miletus to learn of a buyer for the captured Callirhoe.79

The workshops in which Paul plied his trade probably shared many of these various features. In one respect, though, we can be specific. Paul’s customers can be identified. Tents were used, of course, by soldiers,80 but Paul’s customers were more likely to have been civilians—persons whose occupations entailed much travel, such as the oarsmen who pitched tents for several days while their ship was in port;81 or persons who could travel in style, such as Clitophon and his party, who set up tents on a ship bound for Alexandria,82 and the rich who used tents, often deluxe tents, when attending one of the great festivals.83

The life of the artisan was in no way easy, though not as difficult as that of the unskilled worker^84 or that of miners.85 At least artisans—so the prevailing wisdom went—could earn their daily bread, if they worked hard and long enough. Thus Dio Chrysostom, the Didache,86 and Paul himself urge people to earn their own livings (1 Thess. 4:11–12), a sentiment echoed in the deutero-Pauline tradition (cf. Acts 20:34 and 2 Thess. 3:10).87 Many artisans proved the moralists right.88 Some of them (e.g., Tryphon the weaver) even rose to modest affluence and so had money to spend.89 To others, affluence seemed likely enough that magicians could sell them workshop charms promising business, success, and wealth.90

And yet, many artisans were not so fortunate, as is clear, for example, from some of Lucian’s characters. In the Gallus, Micyllus the shoemaker was dreaming of having much gold but was awakened before daylight and prodded to get started on a pair of sandals (1). The seven obols they brought allowed him to go to the baths and to buy a modest supper (22), but his earnings permitted him no more than a shabby cloak (9). In the Cataplus, we see him depicted as usually hungry, poorly clothed, and cold (20). Accordingly, death found him eager to lay down his knife and leather (15).

Death was no solution, however, for an artisan with a family. In the Dialogi Meretricii, the smith Philenus had always earned enough for himself and his family. But death brought tragedy. The sale of his tools by his widow provided for her and her daughter only for two months. After that she turned to weaving but barely made a living at it and so turned her daughter into a prostitute (6.293).

Philenus had been successful at his trade because of his reputation, which brings up the problem of competition. Those who lost out to a Philenus could either go elsewhere^91 or wish that the competition would leave, making them the sole potter, butcher, or dyer in their city.92 In any case, as Lucian summed up the lot of most artisans, they could expect to earn their daily bread—literally that: a little bread and smoked fish—and then only by laboring and toiling from early morning until late in the day.93

We are now in a position to comment on Paul’s life as a tentmaker. Like any artisan Paul would have worked long and hard. Thus his statements that he “worked night and day” and that his work amounted to “exhausting toil” (κόπος καὶ μόχθος: 1 Thess. 2:9; cf. 1 Cor. 4:12; 2 Cor. 11:27)—are no exaggerations. Moreover, being itinerant, Paul would not have been able to establish the reputation of a Philenus, much less the modest affluence of a Tryphon. Consequently, though his work could allow a claim of being self-sufficient (cf. Phil. 4:12), this claim could not be made without accepting considerable deprivations (Phil. 4:12; cf. 2 Cor. 11:9) and poverty (2 Cor. 6:10). Also, the peristasis-catalogs include hardships that were largely due to his life as an artisan: his being hungry and thirsty (1 Cor. 4:11; 2 Cor. 6:5; 11:27), cold (2 Cor. 11:27), “naked” (1 Cor. 4:11; 2 Cor. 11:27), and tired (2 Cor. 6:5; 11:27).94 In short, of the cases cited above, Paul’s life as a tentmaker seems to have been closest to that of Micyllus.

And yet, as hard as the life of a Micyllus or a Paul was, it was made even more difficult by his having to ply his trade in a social world that was highly hostile toward him. To be sure, subworlds existed, largely among the artisans themselves, in which work and workers were more favorably evaluated.95 Nevertheless, artisans generally and Paul in particular could not avoid experiencing the hostility and contempt directed toward them by representatives of the dominant ethos. Indeed, these experiences must have been doubly difficult for Paul, who, though he shared the life of artisans, was by birth a member of the socially elite, the very circles that maintained this social world.

The chief stigma attached to the trades was that they were regarded as slavish. This objection stemmed from the fact that workshops—apart from those occupied by a poor, but free, artisan—employed virtually no one but slaves (recall Cerdon’s shoemaking shop with its thirteen slave assistants).96 In addition, the very position of many artisans, bent over for work, was deemed a slavish position,97 which explains Cicero’s famous remark that no workshop can have anything that befits a free man.98 Consequently, a free man who took up a trade was viewed as having done something humiliating (ταπεινός).99

Another stigma attached to the trades was that they left no time for helping one’s city or friends or for developing one’s own soul.100 Accordingly, artisans were regarded as incapable of achieving virtue,101 or they were viewed as uneducated. The latter is demonstrated by Micyllus’s characterization as uneducated (ἀπαίδευτος),102 by Tryphon’s inability to write his own name,103 by a sculptor’s stuttering and otherwise poor speech,104 and by tanners’ and carpenters’ fitness only for Cynic philosophy, because it had rejected education as a way of providing a shortcut to virtue.105 The trades, moreover, were seen as harmful to the body, sometimes by their very strenuousness and sometimes by the opposite, that is, by their sedentary character.106

Still another stigma was that the trades, or at least many of them, were considered to be unnecessary, useful only to those who lived for luxury and extravagance. Catering to these people, Seneca said, were painters, marble cutters, sculptors, cooks, weavers, and carpenters; Dio Chrysostom added dyers, perfumers, hairdressers, and interior decorators.107 Special censure was reserved for merchants, who scoured land and sea for delicacies for the table and for other costly items.108

Such, then, was the social world within which artisans plied their trades. Stigmatized as slavish, uneducated, and often useless, artisans, to judge from scattered references, were frequently reviled or abused,109 often victimized,110 seldom if ever invited to dinner,111 never accorded status,112 and even excluded from one Stoic Utopia.113 Paul’s own statements accord well this general description. He too not only found his tentmaking to be exhausting and toilsome (1 Thess. 2:9), as we have seen, but also perceived that in taking up his trade he had thereby enslaved himself (1 Cor. 9:19) and humiliated himself (2 Cor. 11:7).114 His trade also is to be seen as at least partially responsible for his being accorded no status (1 Cor. 4:10: ἄτιμος)115 and perhaps also as a cause of his being reviled (4:12).

The position of Paul that has emerged thus far is hardly enviable. As an apostle of Christ, Paul spent much of his time on the road and in the workshop. Traveling and plying a trade were always exhausting and were frequently painful; consequently, he could always summarize his experiences in catalogs of sufferings. Paul’s travels, like those of other itinerant artisans and teachers, were often punctuated by delays, difficulties, and dangers. Once he was in a city there were days, perhaps weeks, of staying in inns before Paul found lodging in a household; and instead of simply becoming its resident intellectual, as was his apostolic right, he refused to be a financial burden and so found work making tents and other leather products in order to be self-sufficient. Making tents meant rising before dawn, toiling until sunset with leather, knives, and awls, and accepting the various social stigmas and humiliations that were part of the artisans’ lot, not to mention the poverty—being cold, hungry, and poorly clothed.

To be sure, Paul’s experiences as an artisan-missionary were not wholly grim. There was the stimulation of discussions with travel companions; there was the hospitality extended by various hosts and hostesses; and there was the friendship of householders who provided not only a room but on occasion also protection (Acts 17:10), work (Acts 18:3), scribes (Rom. 16:22–23), and gifts (Phil. 4:18). Even so, the overall portrait of Paul offered here is intended to contrast with that of E. A. Judge, who has pictured him as moving typically among the urban elite, whose house served as salons for his meetings, and whose means provided him with a free flow of hospitality and gifts.116

PAUL’S MISSIONARY USE OF THE WORKSHOP

The intellectual activity that was a feature of at least some workshops needs to be discussed and related to Paul’s use of the workshop. At first this might seem an unlikely activity for a workshop, given, for example, Xenophon’s dismissal of artisans having any knowledge of what is beautiful and good and just; their only knowledge was their technical expertise.117 To be sure, Xenophon regularly placed the talkative Socrates in the workshops of saddlers, carpenters, smiths, painters, and sculptors,118 but the conversations with artisans tended to cover only subjects related to their respective trades.119 When Socrates discussed justice in a saddler’s shop, his partner was not the saddler but the youth Euthydemus, who had been using the shop as a place to read.120 Yet, according to Diogenes Laertius, Socrates’ visits with Simon the shoemaker did cover subjects such as what is beautiful, good, and just.121

Before proceeding any further on the workshop as a social setting for intellectual activity, we must acknowledge that other social settings were used more often by Socrates, as well as by other philosophers and intellectuals. Socrates, for example, could also be found talking in the stoas and other public buildings, in the gymnasia, and in the houses of friends.122 Of these, the gymnasia were especially important, becoming in fact the sites for several schools—Antisthenes at the Cynosarges, Plato at the Academy, and Aristotle at the Lyceum.123 Zeno and the Stoics preferred the public buildings, especially the stoa,124 whereas Epicurus used his house, known as the Garden.125 One other setting, one avoided by Socrates,126 was the household of the rich and powerful; these households, especially those of kings, attracted philosophers of many labels.127

In other words, intellectual activity—conversing, lecturing, teaching, reading—was carried on in a variety of social settings, with the workshop being only one of them, and a minor one at that. Indeed, apart from Socrates, the only philosophers we find in workshops are Cynics. For example, Crates can be found reading, according to an early tradition, in Philiscus’s shoemaking shop;128 in addition, his student Metrocles is mentioned as being in a smith’s shop, though only to eat.129 By the time of the early empire, Antisthenes is understood as having frequented Simon’s workshop,130 and Lucian can pair his ideal Cynic, Cyniscus, with Micyllus the shoemaker.131 Lucian, moreover, regularly identifies Cynics as former artisans, further suggesting that Cynic philosophers and artisans were in frequent contact, presumably in the artisans’ shops.132 This inference is made likely by the fact that Plutarch was worried about philosophers being found only in workshops.133 Plutarch was surely exaggerating, since philosophers at this time still used the other settings mentioned above—the gymnasia, stoa, and houses of the rich and powerful—though they were also teaching more in their own dwellings.134 Nevertheless, Plutarch’s statements allow us to assume that in Paul’s day the workshop was one conventional social setting for intellectual activity.

An appropriate analogue to Paul, however, requires not merely the presence of philosophers in workshops but also examples of philosophers who were artisans as well and who used their shops for doing philosophy. At first, one might not expect to find any examples, given the widespread tendency among philosophers to despise the trades. Thus, there is Lucian’s generalization that philosophers did not take up a trade.135 There is also Seneca’s attempt to refute the Stoic authority, Posidonius, who had argued that philosophers were responsible for artisans’ technical knowledge and tools; they were developed, Seneca countered, by slaves.136 And there are the numerous examples of artisans who, on taking up philosophy, left their trades.137

Nevertheless, we can still point to a handful of philosophers who were workers—for example, the Stoic Cleanthes, who, at least while a student of Zeno, worked as a water carrier and miller.138 But special attention must be accorded Simon the shoemaker, at least as he was depicted in Cynic traditions of the early empire. For in some of the Cynic epistles Simon is portrayed as regularly discussing philosophy in his workshop, at times with the Cynic Antisthenes^139 and on other occasions with Socrates, Pericles, and numerous youths and public-minded men.140 The importance of Simon, the artisan-philosopher, is that he is presented in these sources as an ideal Cynic, as one whose trade allowed him to embody the Cynic virtue of self-sufficiency (αὐτάρκεια)141 and as one whose artisan life-style—for example, his hunger and thirst^142—allowed him to be the true heir of Socratic-Cynic teaching.143

Though he was an ideal Cynic, Simon should not be assumed to have been widely followed even by Cynics, for on the one hand, in these same Cynic sources are unambiguous traces of ridicule directed toward Simon. For example, Aristippus, whose own hedonistic philosophy and life-style represent a counter-ideal,144 is depicted as pointing out the incongruity of Simon representing a philosophy that advocated going barefoot!145 In short, the figure of Simon was a point of debate among Cynics. As a workshop philosopher he was admired by Antisthenes, who is to be seen as representing so-called strict Cynics, and mocked by Aristippus, representing the so-called hedonistic Cynics.146

On the other hand, Simon, the shoemaking philosopher, should not be assumed to have been widely imitated by Cynics, for their philosophy could easily be articulated in a manner hostile to their plying a trade and to the trades themselves. The simple life advocated by Cynics, for instance, could be understood as making their plying a trade unnecessary. Food, water, and bedding were already provided by the gods in edible plants, springs, and leaf-covered ground. In addition, cities provided baths and temples for washing and living quarters.147 Begging could also furnish their daily bread.148 Consequently, many Cynics were, as Lucian noted, former artisans.149

As to the trades themselves, Cynics could be censorious. A frequent criticism is that the trades catered only to luxury, to expensive and superfluous needs. Perfumers and chefs were easy targets,150 but even shoemakers were included in the Cynic critique, as is clear from Aristippus’s invitation to Simon to leave Athens for Syracuse and Dionysius’s court, where shoes and other leather products would be greatly valued.151 Cynics, then, could stand aloof from the economic life of the city, as shown by the following counsel: “Crates, having entered the marketplace and having seen some people selling and others buying, said: ‘These people, because they do a complementary transaction with one another, deem themselves happy. But I deem myself happy because I have freed myself from both, in that I neither buy nor sell.’ ”152

Not all Cynics were so unalterably opposed to work. The ideal of Simon, the working philosopher, was at least occasionally embodied by Cynics. Demetrius of Sunium, for example, worked at least for a while as a porter.153 More important, and better known, are Dio Chrysostom and Musonius Rufus. Dio, when exiled by Domitian, led the life of a wandering Cynic and, according to Philostratus, worked at several menial jobs, though we are not told that he taught while doing so.154 That is said, however, of Musonius, who when exiled by Nero to Gyara worked with his students on a farm and lectured them in the fields on sound judgment, justice, and perseverance.155 Lastly, Philiscus the poor shoemaker was viewed as an ideal candidate for philosophy because his stitching did not distract him from listening to Crates read Aristotle’s Protrepticus.156

To sum up, then, we can affirm that the workshop, including that of the shoemaker or leatherworker, was recognized as a conventional social setting for intellectual discourse, a setting, though, that was used primarily by Cynic philosophers. On occasion the philosopher was also the artisan, whose shop became known as a place to engage in philosophical discussions.

Is it likely that Paul made a comparable use of the tentmaking shops in which he worked? That is, can we suppose that Paul carried on missionary activity from these workshops? The answer, I submit, is a qualified yes. Such a use is inherently likely. It is difficult to imagine Paul not bringing up the subject of the gospel during discussions with fellow workers, customers, and others who entered the shops—given the relative quiet of a leatherworking shop, given the many hours that Paul spent at work, given the utter commitment of Paul to gain converts for Christ, and given the sympathy that Paul showed in other ways for Cynic traditions.157

Although a few scholars have suggested that Paul used the workshop for missionary purposes,158 it must be admitted that confirming evidence is not readily available. Neither Paul nor Luke explicitly said so. Several passages may be understood, however, as implicity speaking of such missionary activity. In Paul’s only extended discussion of his missionary activity (1 Thess. 2:1–12), he spoke of working and preaching in tandem: “While working night and day in order not to burden any of you, we preached to you the gospel of God” (v. 9). This text does not require us to picture Paul preaching while working, though other interpretations, such as Paul working at night and preaching during the day,159 are clearly contrary to the sense of the text. Paul’s exhorting of the Thessalonians on an individual basis (v. 11) is also an activity that easily fits the setting of the workshop.160

Three passages in Acts are relevant. Paul’s missionary activity in Athens is described as follows: “He discoursed regularly [διελέγετο] in the synagogue to Jews and God-fearers and in the marketplace [ἐν τῇ ἀγορᾷ] every day to all who were there” (17:17). These marketplace conversations, which led eventually to Paul’s speech before the Aereopagus (vv. 19–33), may have taken place in his workshop, which would have been in or near the marketplace. But Luke seems to have had in mind the city’s stoa; there, at any rate, Paul could have engaged the Stoic and Epicurean philosophers (v. 18).161

The second passage is 17:11, where the Beroean Jews, having heard Paul in the synagogue, examined the Scriptures daily to see if Paul had been right. Where the Scriptures were examined is not said, but the workshop is again a possibility, since synagogue-going was probably confined to Sabbaths and feast days^162 and since reading was one of the activities that went on in workshops.163 In 19:12, the third passage, Christians are found in Paul’s Ephesian workshop, though only to carry away his aprons and handkerchiefs for their healing properties.164 In any case, these passages, even if they do not explicitly assign Paul’s missionary activity to the workshop, at least allow for such a use of the workshop and so make plausible the claim that Paul, like some Cynic philosophers, made the workshop a social setting for his missionary efforts.

PAUL’S PARAENESIS REGARDING WORK

We now turn to a subject that is explicitly stated in the text. Paul’s missionary paraenesis included a precept on work, which we learn from 1 Thess. 4:10b–12: “We exhort you, brothers, to abound even more [in love] and to strive to live quietly, to attend to your own affairs, and to work with your hands, just as we had instructed you, in order that you might live in seemly fashion toward outsiders and that you might be in need of nothing” (emphasis added). Discussions of this passage have tended to focus on the issue of whether the exhortation to work was prompted by an actual problem at Thessalonica and, if so, why.165 Few scholars doubt that there was an actual problem; they disagree only on the cause, with the majority claiming that the idleness was due to the Thessalonians’ new belief in the imminence of the kingdom of God.166 And yet this view has its problems. For one thing the appeal to eschatology is not based on the text itself. To be sure, eschatological notes surround this passage (e.g., 4:6 and 4:13–18) and eschatology formed a central theme of Paul’s missionary preaching (so 1:9–10; 2:12). Consequently, some influence of eschatology probably cannot be denied here, but such influence need not be placed in the foreground.167 It is methodologically better to understand the exhortation to work primarily in terms of what the text explicitly says.

Another difficulty with this view, especially if 2 Thessalonians is deutero-Pauline, is that idleness was not so obvious a problem at Thessalonica.168 The precept on work was part of Paul’s missionary instructions (so 1 Thess. 4:11: “just as we had instructed you”); its appearance in this letter, which is primarily paraenetic in function,169 is to be understood as simply a reminder. The rebuttal, that idleness was a problem from the very founding of the church, has no warrant except the phenomenological argument that new religious groups tend to such behavior.170 But with no evidence to confirm this argument for Thessalonica, it seems better to reject this view of the historical situation at Thessalonica and side with M. Dibelius, whose position is as follows: “In this letter … nothing points to a definite occasion for this admonition [to work]. According to 4:11 Paul repeats here earlier precepts which he had given the readers during his missionary stay, perhaps because such questions were always of pressing importance among Christian converts.”171

With no specific occasion for the precept on work, why, it may be asked, did Paul so instruct the Thessalonians and then remind them of it in this letter? Why would this subject be of such pressing importance for Christian converts? A clue to answering these questions is found in the expressed purposes for Paul’s exhortation, namely, that the Thessalonians might thereby conduct themselves in a seemly fashion (εὐσχημόνως) before non-Christians and that they might also thereby be in need (χρείαν ἔχειν) of nothing (v. 12). For Paul’s exhortation and attendant reasons are reminiscent of and similar to traditions current in various Hellenistic moralists, though most notably in Dio Chrysostom.

That Paul’s precept on work should be paralleled in Greco-Roman moralists might be surprising, given the widespread assumption that he was simply expressing here “the Jewish regard for the value of toil,”172 a regard that is deemed impossible among Greeks and Romans.173 Admittedly, some typical statements—for example, Cicero’s idea that all artisans are engaged in vulgar trades, since no workshop can have anything liberal about it^174—are clearly opposed to work. Yet, however typical Cicero’s sentiments were,175 they cannot be allowed to stand without having some important distinctions made about them. For example, when given a choice, a person of substance and status would hardly have chosen to take up a trade; he would have chosen rather to pursue one of the liberal arts or rhetoric or philosophy or politics.176 But there were occasions—exile or financial need—when a trade was an option, as we see from the cases of Agathocles of Samos, who, when sharing the exile of one of his friends worked as a purple-fisher, and of Demetrius of Sunium, who, when caring for a friend in prison, worked as a porter.177 More generally, Epictetus recommended work to those who were in financial need, as did Plutarch, both of them suggesting jobs like drawing water and door-keeping.178

Now if the privileged were, under certain circumstances, encouraged to work, it should not surprise us to hear of moralists encouraging those who were not privileged, that is the urban poor, to work for their living. Indeed, Dio knew of a good deal of investigation into the occupations (ἐργασίαι) and trades (τέχναι) that were or were not fit for ordinary people,179 though, unfortunately, only Dio’s own seventh oration, the Euboicus, preserves much of this theorizing.

This oration, which praises poverty, both rural and urban (cf. 7.9, 81, 103, and 125), is divided into two sections, the first treating the lives of the farmer, hunter, and shepherd (7.10–102), and the second, which is of greater interest to us, the lives of the urban poor (7.103–53).180 At first Dio despaired over the lot of the urban poor, noting the high cost of living in a city (7.105–6) and the many unsuitable occupations found there, most of which derived from the city’s penchant for luxury (7.106, 110). But after rejecting the impractical idea of moving the poor to the country (7.107–8) and after identifying the various kinds of unsuitable occupations and trades—those injuring the body, those catering to luxury, or those effecting unseemliness (ἀσχημοσύνη, 7.110–23)—Dio recommended that the urban poor work with their hands, that is, take up the handicrafts (χειροτέχναι, 7.124). Dio was no more specific regarding suitable occupations and trades, but elsewhere he spoke favorably of smithing, shipbuilding, and construction,181 and, we might add, the occupations he worked at during his exile—planting, digging, and water-drawing.182 At any rate, since working with one’s hands would meet one’s needs (χρεῖαι, 7.124), Dio concluded that there were “many opportunities for making a living that are neither unseemly [ἀσχήμων] nor injurious to men who are willing to work with their hands [αὐτουργεῖν]” (7.125).

When we return to Paul’s precept on work in 1 Thess. 4:11–12, we note how strikingly similar his instruction was to the recommendation of Dio. Like him, Paul recommended working with one’s hands (v. 11), and, like him, Paul argued that such work would allow one to live seemly (εὐσχημόνως) and to be in need (χρείαν ἔχειν) of nothing (v. 12).

Three implications of this background for the exegesis of this passage deserve mention. First, it is now clear that not only the second reason in verse 12—that about need—grounds Paul’s precept on work, as is often claimed.183 The first reason—that about living seemly—is also a warrant, since Paul’s use of εὐσχημόνως is quasitechnical in this context.184 Second, the extended discussion of Dio may give us an idea of what Paul’s own missionary instructions on work included, instructions that were surely more detailed than the epistolary reminder in verses 11–12.

The third implication has to do with the occasions for Paul to advise his converts, who were in many cases (cf. 1 Cor. 1:26–29)185 the urban poor, on suitable occupations and trades. We have already eliminated the specifically Christian occasion of idleness due to eschatological doctrines. Two other occasions are possible. For example, Dio regarded idleness as a problem that demanded the moralist’s constant attention,186 and when admonishing the idle, he wanted to recommend an occupation that would not simply exchange one vice for another (Orat. 7.109). Paul’s precept on work may have been occasioned by a similar stock concern, a suggestion strengthened by the fact that two other concerns of Dio, sexual immorality (ἀκρασία) and greed (πλεονεξία),187 were also part of Paul’s missionary paraenesis (see 1 Thess. 4:3–6).

The other occasion for the moralist’s advice on occupations is suggested by a typical scene in Lucian’s Somnium. Lucian had just finished going to school when his father and friends gathered to consider Lucian’s future. They decided on a trade over further education and discussed the trades, considering not only which ones would supply a living wage but also which ones would be suitable for a free man^188—in other words, the same points as those made by Dio. Since Paul’s congregations included households (cf. e.g., Acts 16:15, 32; 18:8), he may have had occasion to participate in family discussions regarding suitable occupations and to offer the advice now summarized in 1 Thess. 4:11–12. In either case, the importance of Paul’s paraenesis on work is readily apparent—and without our having to suppose that his eschatological message was to blame.

One final point is that the precept on work is coupled with one on standing aloof from public affairs: “to live quietly and to attend to one’s own affairs” (ἡσυχάζειν καἰ πράσσειν τὰ ἴδια, v. 11). Commentators have been hesitant to interpret this precept in political terms, preferring to view Paul’s advice in terms of church affairs.189 The language, however, is unmistakably political,190 as withdrawal from politics is often termed “quietism” (ἡσυχία)191 and taking part in politics is often termed “attending to public affairs” (πράσσειν τὰ κοινά)192—that is, paying special levies, going on embassies to Rome, entertaining the governor, and undertaking public services.193 Withdrawal from public life was especially identified with Epicureans,194 though in the first century this sectarian stance was adopted by many more,195 some of whom even coupled advocacy of retirement with working with one’s hands.196 Therefore, Paul’s missionary instructions—namely, to stand aloof from public life and to work at a suitable occupation—should be regarded, not as expressing a Jewish regard for the value of toil, or as arising from ecclesiological problems due to eschatology or even as representing “workshop morality,”197 but as reflecting Paul’s clear familiarity with the moral traditions of the Greco-Roman philosophers. Indeed, as Paul himself knew, these instructions, directed to the urban poor in the church at Thessalonica and presumably in similar situations elsewhere (cf. 1 Cor. 1:26–29), would have had the approval of many outside the churches, given the social realities of oligarchic policies in public affairs^198 and of economic necessity for all but the wealthiest of Paul’s converts.

TENTMAKING AND PAUL’S APOSTOLIC SELF-UNDERSTANDING

In light of Paul’s policy of plying his trade on his missionary journeys, in light of his sharing the experiences of artisans (their travel, their long and laborious days in the workshop, their struggle to earn a living, their having to live in a largely hostile social world), in light of his likely use of the workshop for missionary activity, and in light of his inclusion of advice on suitable occupations and trades in his missionary teaching—in light of all these ways that Paul’s tentmaking was related to his day-to-day life as an apostle of Christ, it should be readily understandable that Paul also reflected on the significance of his trade for his apostolic self-understanding. To be sure, the detailed and lengthy reflections arose only after his practice of plying a trade had been criticized by converts and rival apostles at Corinth (see 1 Cor. 9:1–19; 2 Cor. 11:7–15; 12:13–16). To these apologetic reflections we shall turn in the following chapter. For now we simply want to point out briefly that Paul’s tentmaking was incorporated in his apostolic self-understanding long before the criticisms raised at Corinth.

From 1 Thessalonians it is apparent that Paul related his tentmaking to his apostleship in several ways. We have already pointed to the missionary use that Paul plausibly made of the workshop. But two other ways can be identified. For example, given Paul’s reference to his own working (2:9) as he reviews his apostleship (2:1–12), and given his reminder about the Thessalonians working with their hands (4:11), we may assume that Paul’s tentmaking served a paradigmatic function for his paraenesis on work.199 This function, which is stated explicitly in the deutero-Pauline writings (see 2 Thess. 3:8–9 and Acts 20:34–35),200 is at least implicit in the paradigmatic function of Paul’s self-description in 2:1–12[201] and in the paraenetic style in which Paul referred to his work—that is, in the phrase, “you remember” (μνημονεύετε, 2:9).202 The paradigmatic function is also suggested by people being able to see Paul at work on their visits to the workshop. In other words, in his work as well as in other respects, Paul was a model for his congregation (cf. 1:6 and 2:14). More specifically, from the reference to work and the precept on work and their contexts, we can say that Paul’s tentmaking certainly exemplified the virtue of not being a burden to others (2:9; cf. 4:12), probably expressed the love (or friendship) that he felt for his converts (2:8; cf. 4:9),203 and perhaps even implied the political quietism that he expected of his churches (cf. 4:11).

The work of philosophers at occupations and trades was similarly paradigmatic. Musonius’s farm work exemplified financial independence, as is clear from his argument that “pupils would seem to me benefitted by seeing [the philosopher] at work in the fields, demonstrating by his own labor the lessons which philosophy inculcates—that one should endure hardships, and suffer the pains of labor with his own body, rather than depend upon another for sustenance.”204

Similarly, the Cynic Demetrius of Sunium worked as a porter in order to care for his friend in prison and thereby showed his friendship,205 whereas Dio’s various odd jobs as an exile may have been a way of keeping a low political profile.206

The second way that Paul understood his tentmaking in terms of his apostleship is suggested by 1 Thess. 2:4–5, where Paul regarded his divine commission to preach (cf. v. 4) as precluding any use of that commission for personal gain (cf. v. 5). As A. J. Malherbe has shown, Paul was not reacting to any accusations directed against himself but rather was dissociating himself, as any serious-minded philosopher had to do, from the many frauds who tried to pass themselves off as philosophers.207 These frauds, stock characters in Lucian’s satires, claimed, for example, to despise money but had really taken up philosophy for the money to be gained from fees or from begging.208 The true philosopher, therefore, would have a self-understanding similar to Paul’s, as is exemplified in a passage in one of the Cynic epistles: “I generally do not regard it right to make money from philosophy, and that goes for me especially, since I have taken up philosophy on account of the command of God.”209

Such, then, are the ways that Paul reflected theologically on his tentmaking, insofar as the evidence prior to the Corinthian epistles permits us to speak.

Hock, R. F. (1980). The social context of Paul’s ministry: Tentmaking and apostleship. Minneapolis, MN: Fortress Press.

Exported from Logos Bible Software 4, 7:54 PM May 30, 2012.

4

Tentmaking and Apostleship:

The Debate at Corinth

On his arrival in Corinth Paul found work with Aquila, whose shop provided Paul with a place to ply his trade for the whole of his eighteen-month missionary sojourn (Acts 18:3, 11; cf. 1 Cor. 4:12). On a subsequent trip to Corinth (cf. 1 Cor. 16:5; 2 Cor. 1:15–16), Paul presumably worked again, since he was proud that he had never been a burden on the church (2 Cor. 11:9). His intentions were the same for his third visit (2 Cor. 11:9; 12:13; 13:1). To be sure, on occasion Paul received provisions from Macedonian Christians (2 Cor. 11:8–9: ὀψώνιον; cf. Acts 18:5). This support, though, should not be understood as amounting to a salary,1 nor as large enough or frequent enough to permit Paul to put down his tools.2 Least of all should it be thought that Paul was secretive about such outside support.3 In the main, then, we must say that Paul supported himself at Corinth, as elsewhere, by the work of his hands.

Paul’s self-support was something about which he could boast (1 Cor. 9:15; 2 Cor. 11:10), since as an apostle he was entitled to be supported (1 Cor. 9:6–14; cf. 1 Thess. 2:7). But others—some from within the Corinthian church as well as some rival missionaries who entered Corinth sometime after Paul’s missionary visit—criticized him for his working to support himself. So sharp were these criticisms that doubt was cast on Paul’s apostleship, prompting him on several occasions to defend his practice of self-support (1 Cor. 9:1–19; 2 Cor. 11:7–15; 12:13–16).

The importance of the debate over the appropriate means of apostolic support has, of course, been recognized by scholars dealing with the many problems and the opposition that Paul confronted in Corinth.4 These scholars, however, have been hampered in their understanding of this debate in several ways, chief among them being the inadequacy of the background against which they view this debate. For example, D. Georgi, H.-D. Betz, and G. Theissen have compared Paul’s (or his opponents’) means of support to the Cynic practice of begging. Since Paul did not beg and since his opponents accepted support from the Corinthians (cf. 2 Cor. 2:17; 11:12, 20), Georgi and Theissen dissociate Paul from Cynics and compare his opponents with them.5 Betz, however, views Cynic begging and its consequent acceptance of poverty as a distinguishing feature of the true philosopher and as a critique of the wealth of false philosophers and charlatans. Since Paul’s work made him poor (cf. 2 Cor. 6:10) and since his opponents accepted support, Betz sees Paul defending himself by adopting a Cynic stance, presenting himself as a poor and therefore true apostle and his opponents as avaricious and therefore false apostles.6

Begging, however, is simply not an adequate background in this context. Paul obviously did not beg, and if begging is taken literally, neither did his opponents. The debate over appropriate means of apostolic support, then, needs to be placed in a broader context. Consequently, one task of this chapter will be to identify the several ways that intellectuals of Paul’s day—philosophers, Sophists, teachers—supported themselves, and to point out the principal features of the debates over these means of support. Paul’s use of his trade to support himself and the controversy his practice engendered will then be placed against this broader background.7

Furthermore, recent treatments of Paul’s defense of his self-support tend to isolate Paul from his cultural context and to view the whole matter too abstractly, that is, exclusively in terms of theology with no consideration of the social realities involved.8 Consequently, a second task of this chapter will be to place Paul within a tradition regarding his means of support and to draw attention to the sociological dimensions of the debate over Paul’s tentmaking.

PHILOSOPHERS AND THEIR MEANS OF SUPPORT

One of the tractates of Musonius Rufus, a younger contemporary of Paul, bears the title “What Means of Support Is Appropriate for a Philosopher?”9 Unfortunately, only a portion of this tractate has survived, so that we do not know the various options discussed by Musonius. Nevertheless, it is still clear that the means of support befitting a philosopher was a matter of debate in Paul’s day. And other sources can be used to identify the various options open to philosophers and other intellectuals. In order to appreciate the variety of options and the debates over the appropriate means of support, we shall discuss four options that were open to philosophers: charging fees, entering the households of the rich and powerful, begging, and working.

The practice of charging fees (μισθοί) was popularized by Sophists, with Protagoras of Abdera credited with taking the lead^10 and with many other Sophists—Gorgias, Hippias, Prodicus, Antiphon, Euthydemus, Evenus, and Isocrates—following suit.11 Fees were charged either by the lecture or for a course of study,12 and given the high fees charged by many Sophists—100 minas for a course of study under Protagoras and Gorgias^13—we should not be surprised that many Sophists became wealthy, with Protagoras’s and Gorgias’s wealth becoming proverbial.14

The practice of charging fees was taken up by most representatives of the second sophistic movement,15 which did not flower until the second century A.D. but whose earliest representatives go back to the time of Paul.16 In any case, charging fees was not limited to Sophists but was also widely adopted by philosophers. Socrates, as we shall see, refused to charge fees, but Socratics like Aeschines did charge fees^17 and presumably others did too.18 With the rise of the various philosophical schools in the fourth century, charging fees was often taken up—especially by Stoics^19 but also by Platonists and Aristotelians.20 This means of support was still popular, therefore, in the early empire.21

The practice of charging fees, as popular as it was, was criticized by others, most notably by Socrates. Widely known for not charging fees,22 Socrates, particularly in the Platonic writings, compared Sophists to traders and merchants (κάπηλοι), the comparison being made to impute to Sophists the motives of deceit and avarice.23 This criticism of Sophists became traditional, but was also extended to philosophers too, if they charged fees or otherwise were perceived as suspect.24

A more substantive criticism of the practice of charging fees was that one’s freedom was thereby jeopardized. As Socrates, particularly in Xenophon’s writings, put it, by not charging fees he was preserving his freedom because had he charged fees he would have been compelled—compulsion being the essence of slavery—to teach anyone who had the fee.25 Hence Socrates could boast: “What man is more free than I, who accepts neither gifts nor fee from anyone?”26 What is more, Socrates did not need the money to be gained from fees, since he was content with little and so was self-sufficient (αὐτάρκης).27 This Socratic argument also became traditional, especially among some Cynics.28

Sophists and others who charged fees defended their practice, on the one hand, by denying the charge of being greedy^29 and by pointing out that Socratic freedom and self-sufficiency really meant taking up a life no slave would endure^30 and, on the other hand, by asserting that their fees simply reflected the worth of their instruction.31

A second means of support—used by philosophers, rhetors, even grammar teachers—was entering the household of a king or simply that of a rich and powerful person. Entering a household, to judge from Lucian’s DE MERCEDE CONDUCTIS, usually involved living in the patron’s house, attending his banquets, and traveling with him. The responsibility of the philosopher, however, was to provide instruction for his patron’s son(s) or simply to give counsel and so serve as the patron’s resident intellectual. In either case, the philosopher, as part of a household, received a salary (μισθός) or gifts from his patron.32

The philosophers who adopted this means of support were legion. Familiar examples are Aristippus, whose stays at Dionysius’s court in Syracuse will be detailed below; Plato, who also left Athens for Dionysius’s court and who received over eighty talents;33 and Aristotle, who entered the household of Philip, king of Macedon, to teach his son Alexander, for which Aristotle is reported to have received large gifts.34 Many Platonists and Aristotelians followed suit, as did a variety of other philosophers, such as Stoics,35 so that by the time of the early empire we can cite a number of instances and generalizations. Augustus’s imperial household, for example, included about a half-dozen Greek philosophers, who acted as teachers, counselors, and diplomats.36 More important for our purposes, however, are the examples of philosophers and other intellectuals in the houses of the well-to-do. Lucian placed the Peripatetic Cleodemus in a household with the task of teaching an eighteen-year-old boy,37 and he depicted Platonists in general as pedagogues in the houses of the wealthy—for two talents.38 Philostratus described the Sophist Apollonius as a member of a Macedonian household.39 And, more generally, Epictetus, Dio Chrysostom, and Lucian depict many philosophers as frequenting the doors of the rich.40

These moralists were highly critical of such “philosophers,” and thus we can see that this means of support was also subject to criticism. Once again we look to Socrates, who refused the invitation of Archelaus, king of Macedon, to go to his royal household.41 This refusal was long remembered,42 though imitated largely only by some Cynics, as is clear from several anecdotes about Diogenes^43 and from several of the Cynic epistles, one of which, ostensibly from Antisthenes to Aristippus, advised, “The philosopher is not to associate with tyrants nor to be in attendance at Sicilian tables.”44 One reason for this advice is therefore clear: entering the household of the rich and powerful meant adopting a hedonistic life-style. Thus Aristippus is depicted as provided by Dionysius with extravagant menus, the most fragrant perfumes, expensive clothes, beautiful women, and much money^45—all for being Dionysius’s resident spokesman for Socratic teaching.46 The more ascetic of the Cynics would obviously object to this hedonism and so to this means of support. Thus Antisthenes’ advice was for Aristippus to leave Dionysius’s court.47

It was not only the hedonism that was objectionable. It was also thought slavish for philosophers to enter the households of the rich and powerful. Thus Aristippus was thought to have enslaved himself on entering Dionysius’s court.48 In DE MERCEDE CONDUCTIS, Lucian’s entire criticism—indeed, indictment—of this means of support is stated in terms of freedom and slavery. The philosopher who entered a household was slavish in two senses. On the one hand, he thereby showed himself to be a slave to superfluity, extravagance, and pleasure (7–8). On the other hand, he subjected himself to countless indignities that no truly free man would endure (cf. 13–31);49 these were especially frequent at banquets: being left out of the seats of honor (15), being served the poorest of food and wine (26), and being spied on by eunuchs who were protecting the patron’s wife and sons (29). But the most slavish indignity was having to line up with the slaves on the first of each month and to reach out for one’s salary (23). Lucian hoped that eventually the philosopher would ask himself, “What does this splendid salary amount to? Was there no other way in which I could have earned more than this and could have kept my freedom?” (30: Harmon’s LCL translation).

The defense of those who supported themselves by entering the households of the rich and powerful was to mock the alleged freedom of those who did not enter a household, pointing out their hunger, cold, and disrepute,50 and to emphasize that they had entered a household only out of the highest motives^51 and out of the deepest friendship and love for their patrons, with whom they could share everything, since friends, as the saying went, had all things in common.52

The third means of support was begging. Never as popular as charging fees or entering a household, begging was in fact closely identified with Cynic philosophers. Diogenes especially was depicted as a beggar; his begging from statues so as to accustom himself to refusal is particularly memorable.53 Other Cynics also were pictured as begging: Diogenes’ followers Monimus and Crates,54 as well as Menippus^55 and many mostly nameless Cynics from the time of the early empire.56

Begging one’s daily bread and other necessities was adopted by Cynics as a way of attacking the greed, as they perceived it, of Sophists and philosophers who became wealthy from charging fees or entering households.57 But begging was also an especially apt means of support for people like themselves who were homeless, who did not live in a house, whether in their own or in that of a rich patron, and so had to eat, sleep, and converse in a variety of public places such as temples, baths, stoa, gymnasia, and workshops.58 Since they were constantly out in public, Cynics could beg from everyone they met,59 demanding a mina from spendthrifts but taking only a triobol from the prudent^60 (though Cynics were always ready to be refused).61

Not only was begging a difficult means of support, but it was also regarded as shameful^62 and was easily abused.63 Consequently, some Cynics developed elaborate apologies for begging, which were usually based on the commonplace “Friends have all thing in common.”64 Other Cynics, however, simply refused to beg.65

The fourth means of support was working, whether at a skilled or unskilled job. We have had occasion to mention working philosophers in another context,66 and so shall simply summarize some of that earlier discussion. Philosophers who worked to support themselves, even for short periods of time, were relatively few, with the Stoic Cleanthes, who worked as a gardener and a miller, the most frequently cited example.67 Lesser known examples were the Platonists Menedemus and Asclepiades, who worked as millers.68 Within their schools, however, these philosophers were clearly exceptions. More important were the Cynics Dio Chrysostom, who worked as a gardener and at other unskilled jobs,69 and Demetrius of Sunium, who worked as a porter.70 To be included here is also the cynicizing Stoic Musonius Rufus, who worked on a farm.71

The importance of these latter examples is that they are to be regarded not as isolated cases but as definite examples of an ideal Cynic philosopher, best exemplified in Socrates’ companion Simon the shoemaker. In the Cynic epistles Simon is portrayed as a philosopher who regularly held philosophical conversations in his workshop, especially with Antisthenes.72 Simon is explicitly praised for his devotion to the teaching of Socrates^73 and is presumably the self-sufficient (αὐτάρκης) philosopher referred to in another letter of this collection.74 In any case, such a Cynic ideal seems to be presupposed in Crates’ decision to write a Protrepticus, or exhortation to philosophy, for Philiscus the shoemaker.75 Other writers, especially Lucian, seem to know of this ideal.76

Musonius’s arguments in the tractate referred to above (“What Means of Support Is Appropriate for a Philosopher?”) can now be considered in some detail. All that remains of the tractate is his discussion of farming as the most suitable means of support.77 Yet there is evidence that Musonius considered at least one other means of support as befitting a philosopher.78 What the occupation was we do not know. But aside from what Musonius said specifically in favor of farming,79 we can identify two principles that must have guided his judgments regarding any means of support. On the one hand, an appropriate means of support would be one in which the philosopher was not financially dependent on anyone. Indeed, Musonius went so far in defense of farming as to say that “one should endure hardships, and suffer the pains of labor with his own body, rather than depend upon another for sustenance.”80 Musonius could speak that way because he, like so many others in this debate, understood the matter of support as touching on an all-important value: the philosopher’s freedom. Thus he raises the rhetorical question, “Is not the one who procures for himself the necessities of life more free (ἐλενθεριώτερος) than the one who receives them from others?”81

An appropriate means of support, on the other hand, would be one in which the philosopher could work and at the same time engage in philosophical instruction of students. Musonius lectured his students in the fields on self-control, justice, and endurance.82 From what has been said it is obvious that Musonius would have rejected entering the households of the rich and powerful as an appropriate means of support for a philosopher.83 It is also clear that farming would not have been the only appropriate form of work. To be sure, not all trades would have been acceptable, but those that allowed one to work and still engage one’s mind on other subjects^84 would presumably have been considered acceptable. What these trades might be is difficult to say, but elsewhere Musonius approved of women philosophers working with their hands, presumably at weaving,85 and we recall what Crates liked about Philiscus the shoemaker, namely, that he could stitch his leather and still listen attentively to Crates reading a book.86 Then, of course, there is Simon holding philosophical discussions in his shoemaking shop.87 In other words, if not the most appropriate means of support, working at a trade like shoemaking would still have been one appropriate means of support for a philosopher, for on Musonius’s own grounds shoemaking, or similar trades, would have allowed the philosopher to be self-sufficient and to engage students and others in philosophical conversation.

Musonius was aware that his views, even on farming, would prompt others to object: “What, perhaps someone might say, is it not preposterous for an educated man who is able to influence the young to the study of philosophy to work the land and to do manual labor just like a peasant?”88 Objections were also raised against Simon the shoemaker. Indeed, to judge from the Socratic epistles, the figure of Simon was caught up in an internal debate between strict and hedonistic Cynics over the proper way to support oneself and, by implication, over the proper way to live.89 We have already pointed to the objections of strict Cynics to Aristippus’s living in extravagant fashion at Dionysius’s court. But Simon was no more acceptable to hedonistic Cynics, as is clear from the ironic sarcasm of Aristippus about Simon’s wisdom. In response to Simon’s proud admission of his being a shoemaker and to his threat of using some leather straps for the purpose of admonishing hedonistic fools like Aristippus,90 Aristippus grants Simon’s wisdom, for a shoemaker at least, and adds with devastating humor that Simon might more profitably ply his “philosophy” by joining Aristippus in Syracuse, where leather products were more highly valued, than in Athens, with its Antisthenes and his barefoot cohorts.91

To sum up, we have seen that from the time of Socrates and the Sophists the subject of the philosopher’s support was a matter of debate. In time four options were debated: charging fees, entering a household as its resident intellectual, begging, and working. And yet agreement on any one option was never achieved, largely because the arguments never were intended to be convincing, being either attacks on others’ motives or rationalizations of one’s own. The one substantive argument, phrased in terms of freedom and slavery, was not convincing either, since the terms were too elastic. Nevertheless, philosophers clearly preferred charging fees or entering a household. Begging appealed only to homeless and shameless Cynics. Working was the least popular option, with examples, apart from an occasional Stoic like Cleanthes, clustering among socalled strict Cynics, who appear to have made Simon the shoemaker their ideal.

With this background we can now see that the debate at Corinth over Paul’s means of support need not be viewed solely in terms of Cynic begging. The options sketched above are clearly a better fit for the Corinthian situation. Paul’s tentmaking corresponds to one of the options, though the least popular one, and his right to be supported, a right exercised by his opponents, would seem to correspond to the option of entering a household.

DEFENDING PAUL’S APOSTLESHIP

Apart from Luke’s statement that Paul worked in Corinth with fellow tentmaker Aquila (Acts 18:3), we are dependent wholly on Paul’s perception of the situation in Corinth with respect to his tentmaking and the criticisms made of this means of apostolic support, first by some Corinthians and then by rival missionaries who were in Corinth. These perceptions are found primarily in three apologetic passages: 1 Cor. 9:1–19; 2 Cor. 11:7–15; and 12:13–16a. Using these passages as our basis, we shall try to reconstruct the relevant features of the Corinthian situation regarding Paul’s tentmaking.

1 Corinthians 9:1–19

In 1 Cor. 2:1–5, Paul described his missionary visit to Corinth. This description is brief and focuses on his preaching; it also mentions his weakness (ἀσθένεια, v. 3). What Paul referred to here is not said, though commentators have perceived a reference to his illness (cf. Gal. 4:13; 2 Cor. 12:7)92 or to his emotional state, shaken, it is said, by the failure and loneliness that he had just experienced at Athens (cf. Acts 17:18, 13; 18:5; 1 Thess. 3:1, 7).93 But, as Betz rightly points out in regard to 2 Cor. 10:10,94 where again weakness and speech are paired, Paul’s weakness refers less to his inner feelings than to his outer appearance in the eyes of others. According to Betz, Paul has in fact described his appearance (σχῆμα) in terms of a Socratic-Cynic topos in which one’s appearance is consciously contrasted with the dignified, privileged, and powerful appearance of Sophists and many philosophers, for the purpose of identifying the latter as charlatans.95

Betz explains Paul’s appropriation of this topos by appealing to its congruence with Paul’s Christology, which in this context would mean being congruent with a Christ crucified (cf. 1 Cor. 2:2).96 The congruence between literary topos and theological doctrine cannot be denied, but surely a congruence also exists between literary topos and Paul’s own appearance. In other words, he must have appeared “weak” to others, as indeed is clear from 1 Cor. 4:10–13, where Paul said, with obvious sarcasm, that he had appeared more foolish, weak, and dishonored than all his Corinthian converts (v. 10). What made Paul appear so is identified in the following peristasis-catalog, which contains an explicit reference to his working at a trade (v. 12) as well as references to work-related experiences like hunger, thirst, and nakedness (v. 11).97 In other words, Paul’s weak appearance was due in part to his plying a trade. In the social world of a city like Corinth, Paul would have been a weak figure, without power, prestige, and privilege. We recall the shoemaker Micyllus, depicted by Lucian as penniless and powerless—poor, hungry, wearing an unsightly cloak, granted no status, and victimized.98 To those of wealth and power, the appearance (σχῆμα) of the artisan was that befitting a slave (δουλοπρεπές).99

It is no wonder then that Paul thought it necessary to defend his practice of supporting himself by his work at a trade (1 Cor. 9:1–27) and that the dominant theme of this defense was whether he was free or slavish (vv. 1, 19). To Corinthians who, relative to Paul, appeared to be rich, wise, powerful, and respected (cf. 4:8, 10), their lowly apostle had seemed to have enslaved himself with his plying a trade (cf. 9:19).100

Paul’s defense of his tentmaking in chapter 9 is part of a larger literary unit (8:1–11:1) in which it has a paradigmatic function: just as Paul had not exercised his right to be supported (cf. 9:6) in order not to hinder the gospel in any way (v. 12), so the Corinthians were encouraged to waive their right to eat meat offered to idols in order not to offend any weaker brothers (see esp. 8:9).101 Nevertheless, Paul’s defense also has an apologetic function, which is our concern here.

The gist of Paul’s argument is as follows: He admitted that he, as an apostle, had every right not to have to work for a living (v. 6) or, more positively stated, to live from the preaching of the gospel (v. 14), that is, to enter the household of one of his converts and receive a salary (cf. v. 17: μισθός). Other apostles in Corinth had done so (v. 12a), and a variety of reasons could be cited to justify this right (vv. 7–14). Nevertheless, Paul had not and would not make use of these arguments^102 and so accept support (v. 15a; cf. v. 12b). The argument at this point (vv. 15b–18) becomes difficult to follow, but its conclusion is clear. By not accepting support Paul could affirm that he was free (ἐλεύθερος)—that is to say, he was economically dependent on no one (v. 19),103 as he would have been had he entered a Corinthian household.

Paul’s affirmation of freedom is thus an unmistakable indication that he understood the issue of apostolic support in terms of the debate among intellectuals generally over the appropriate means of support. Freedom, we recall, was a central consideration in that debate.104 To be sure, Paul could maintain this freedom only paradoxically. He could be economically independent only by plying a slavish trade (v. 19).105 This admission echoes the retort of philosophers who had entered a household: their critics’ claims of freedom were really hollow, since they had made their claims while living in a manner that befitted only slaves.106

We return to verses 15–18, for they show further reflection by Paul on the relation of his tentmaking to his apostolic self-understanding. We have noted the beginnings of such reflection in 1 Thess. 2:1–12,107 but in the face of having to defend his tentmaking to the Corinthians that relation is made more explicit. The relation between Paul’s tentmaking and his self-understanding as an apostle is evident from his reference to the “necessity” (ἀνάγκη) that pressed upon him (v. 16). This was the necessity to preach the gospel (εὐαγγελίζεσθαι, v. 16).108 Paul, however, understood his commission to preach the gospel as not allowing him any boast (καύχησλς)—no matter how long he preached (v. 16).109 What did permit boasting was Paul’s preaching the gospel without exercising his right to live from the gospel (v. 15), which explains the finality of his decision to continue his tentmaking as his means of support (v. 15).110

In other words, in reflecting on the nature of his apostolic commission, Paul brought in the matter of his means of support. Consequently, he formulated his self-understanding as an apostle in such a way that his tentmaking was a constitutive part of it. That is, his trade allowed him to boast that he offered the gospel “free of charge” (ἀδάπανος, v. 18). This boast is both thoroughly Pauline, a boast in his “weakness” as an artisan,111 and very much in terms of the debate over the means of support befitting the philosopher.112 This boast, finally, was sufficient “pay” (μιθός) for Paul (v. 18).113 Indeed, by not accepting pay for his preaching he could even entertain hopes of gaining (κερδαίνειν) more—more converts, that is (v. 19).114

2 Corinthians 11:7–15 and 12:13–16a

The defense of Paul’s tentmaking as his means of support in 1 Corinthians apparently did not convince his critics at Corinth. At any rate, further apologies were required, made more difficult by the arrival in Corinth of certain rival missionaries who criticized Paul at a number of points, including that of his means of support.115

Paul’s apologies—made in 2 Cor. 11:7–15 and, more briefly, in 12:13–16a—imply at least one criticism that was raised specifically by these opponents. In 11:11 and again in 12:15b, Paul had to reaffirm his love for the Corinthians. Why this was necessary is not explicitly said, though each time the reaffirmation follows an unequivocal statement to the effect that he would not accept support from the Corinthians on a forthcoming trip to Corinth (11:9–10; 12:15a). We may find the explanation by recalling the debates over the appropriate means of support for philosophers and other intellectuals. We recall that one justification for entering a household (or for begging) was the bond of friendship between philosopher and patron, with friendship being the reason for having all things in common.116 Perhaps the opponents, basing their having received support from the Corinthians (11:20; cf. 2:17) on friendship, had argued that Paul’s refusal to be supported reflected a lack of friendship, or love, on his part toward them. (That Paul knew of this commonplace is shown by Phil. 4:15, where he speaks of the Philippians sharing [κοινωνεῖν] in his support by means of gifts.) At first Paul simply dismisses the charge with the words “God knows [I love you]” (11:11). But later he seems to respond by emphasizing his role as parent and so displaying a justifiable selflessness (cf. 12:14). His spending and being spent would be analogous to a parent storing up for a child (v. 15a).117

Another way that these apologies seem to respond to criticisms made by Paul’s opponents is the stiffening of his position regarding the appropriate means of support for an apostle. In 1 Corinthians 9 he had in principle allowed missionaries to live from the gospel; he simply took exception to this principle and supported himself. In 2 Corinthians 11, however, it seems that Paul wanted the rival missionaries to conform to his practice of self-support (v. 12).118 If they chose not to, they would be false apostles (v. 13), merchants of the word of God (cf. 2:17: καπηλεύειν), and thus deceitful and avaricious. Paul’s use of καπηλεύειν, is an unambiguous indication of his casting the debate at Corinth over the appropriate means of apostolic support in terms of the larger intellectual context sketched above.119

For the most part, however, Paul’s apologies simply reiterate what he had said earlier in 1 Corinthians 9 (and still earlier in 1 Thess. 2). Thus, whatever the opponents had said or done regarding the matter of support, Paul would remain steadfast in his boast (2 Cor. 11:10—καύχησις; cf. 1 Cor. 9:15) as the apostle who preached the gospel of God “free of charge” (2 Cor. 11:7—δωρεάν; cf. 1 Cor. 9:18). He had not been a financial burden on the Corinthians (2 Cor. 11:9; 12:13, 16a—καταβαρεῖν; cf. 1 Thess. 2:9) and he would not be one during a forthcoming visit (2 Cor. 11:9; 12:14–15).

The costs of Paul’s boast were borne by him. There was, for example, the recognition that his tentmaking, which allowed him to preach without charge, cost him considerable social esteem. His tentmaking, his supporting himself at a trade, meant that he had humiliated himself (11:7—ἐμαυτὸν ταπεινῶν). To be sure, the following verses do not mention Paul’s trade, only his acceptance of “provisions” (v. 8: ὀψώνιον) from Macedonia (vv. 8–9). But, as we argued earlier, these provisions only filled up what lack there was after Paul had plied his trade.120 Thus Paul’s tentmaking must be assumed as largely responsible for his humiliation.121 We note, for example, that Lucian deemed taking up a trade to be humiliating (ταπεινός);122 but, we note too that, because it signified dependence, having to accept help could also be humiliating.123 Thus Paul’s acceptance of the provisions from Macedonia may also be partially responsible for his humiliation. That we are not to regard the acceptance of provisions as alone constituting Paul’s humiliation is further suggested by his general description of himself at Corinth as being humble (ταπεινός, 2 Cor. 10:1; cf. 12:21). In any case, the social cost of Paul’s self-support should not be obscured by explaining Paul’s choice of ταπεινοῦν as derving from its occurrence in the Jesus tradition.124 Paul plied his trade (and accepted occasional gifts) in a social world where, as Paul knew, such work (and acceptance of gifts) meant slavishness and humiliation.

Another cost that Paul had to absorb, if he wanted to keep his boast, was the personal cost. Tentmaking involved wearisome toil (6:5; 11:27);125 sleeplessness, hunger, and thirst (11:27);126 and, in general, a life of having nothing, of being poor (6:10).127 Such is what Paul meant when he said he would gladly spend and be physically spent (ἐκδαπανᾶσθαι) for the sake of the Corinthians’ souls (12:15).128 When the physical exhaustion and the social humiliation that came from Paul’s tentmaking are kept clearly in mind, it is easy to see that his boast of offering the gospel free of charge was truly a boast in his “weakness” as an artisan.

CONCLUSION

Our purposes in this chapter have been limited. We have sought to place the Corinthian controversy over Paul’s tentmaking as his apostolic means of support in the larger cultural context of discussions and debates regarding the appropriate means of support for a philosopher. The options we have discussed—charging fees, entering the households of the rich and powerful, begging, and working—and the inconclusive results reached in these debates help to explain the similar variety and debate over apostolic support in early Christianity and particularly in Corinth. Indeed, as we have seen, the Corinthian situation involved these very options: Paul working to support himself, and his opponents entering the households of well-to-do Corinthians—what E. A. Judge, we recall, assumes to have been Paul’s practice.129 In fairness to Judge, we should say that entering a household, being the more preferable option among philosophers, was probably what the Corinthians expected Paul to do. His decision to ply a trade, an option seldom chosen, was thus likely to prompt resistance or criticism. More specifically, Paul’s apologies of his tentmaking, and the criticisms implied therein, show the influence of the philosophers’ debates over the appropriate means of support, as we have seen in Paul’s choice of language: fee-salary (μισθός, 1 Cor. 9:18), freedom-slavery (9:1, 19), gaining (κερδαίνειν) converts (9:19), merchandizing (καπηλεύειν) the word of God (2 Cor. 2:17), preaching the gospel free of charge (δωρεάν, 11:7), and friendship-love (11:11 and 12:15), to cite a few shared terms.

We have sought, on the other hand, to draw attention to the extent to which sociological, as distinct from literary and theological, factors played a role in this controversy. A social description of Paul’s experiences as a tentmaker—the toils; the hunger, thirst, and exhaustion; the poverty—helps to explain the perception of Paul’s tentmaking, by the Corinthians and by Paul, as involving weakness (1 Cor. 2:3), slavishness (9:19), and humiliation (2 Cor. 11:7)—all key terms in the debate. Paul could appeal to various literary topoi in his apology, and he could articulate a theology of strength in weakness because his life as an artisan made them apt.

Hock, R. F. (1980). The social context of Paul’s ministry: Tentmaking and apostleship. Minneapolis, MN: Fortress Press.

Exported from Logos Bible Software 4, 7:54 PM May 30, 2012.

5

Conclusions

We began this investigation with a summary of the scholarly consensus regarding Paul’s trade of tentmaking: that his having a trade at all was due to his taking up a rabbinic ideal of combining study of Torah with the practice of a trade; that his view of his trade was thereby positive; that he viewed work in general positively, even to the point of advocating a duty to work; and that his views are also to be compared to Jewish views rather than to Greco-Roman ones. Scholars, however, have been divided over whether Paul’s tentmaking skills were those of a weaver or those of a leatherworker.

If the various arguments of this investigation are correct, it should now be clear that this consensus needs major revision in three ways. First, the one point where there has been disagreement—that is, whether Paul made tents by means of weaving or leatherworking—is a point that can be decided with high probability: Paul made tents from leather. The thesis that Paul wove tentcloth from the goats’ hair (cilicium) of his native province should once and for all be dropped.

Secondly, the other points of the consensus have been found, under scrutiny, to be open to serious objections. For example, we have seen how difficult it is to sustain the assumption that Paul’s role as artisan-missionary simply reflects a rabbinic ideal of combining Torah and trade; such a position has problems not only because of doubts about Paul’s rabbinic training but also because of the likelihood that the rabbinic ideal itself arose only after the time of Paul. We have also seen that Paul’s view of his trade and of work in general was not as positive as is often assumed. He was, to be sure, proud of his trade, proud that it allowed him to be economically independent or self-sufficient. Indeed, his trade was responsible for his apostolic boast that he offered the gospel free of charge. Although his trade was taken up into his apostolic self-understanding, it was also the source of much personal hardship and social humiliation. His boast, it turned out, was a boast in his weakness as an artisan. Consequently, Paul viewed his working at a trade none too positively as toil, slavery, and humiliation. Nor was his view of work in general so positive as to amount to a duty to work, once we distinguish between Pauline and deutero-Pauline sources and discover the duty to work only in the latter. Nor was his view of work as Jewish as is often assumed. Indeed, we have argued that Paul’s view—that one’s occupation or trade should be seemly and should meet one’s needs—was the same as the moral reflection of Greco-Roman philosophers like Dio Chrysostom.

The third, and most important, way that the consensus on Paul’s tentmaking needs revision is simply for us to go beyond it, to ask more questions about his trade and how it impinged on his life, both before and especially after his call to preach the gospel. And when we ask these questions—about his apprenticeship, about his skills as a leatherworker, about his typical or day-to-day experiences as an artisan, about the crisis over his tentmaking at Corinth—we begin to realize that, far from being at the periphery of his life, Paul’s tentmaking was actually central to it. More than any of us has supposed, Paul was Paul the Tentmaker. His trade occupied much of his time—from the years of his apprenticeship through the years of his life as a missionary of Christ, from before daylight through most of the day. Consequently, his trade in large measure determined his daily experiences and his social status. His life was very much that of the workshop—of artisan-friends like Aquila, Barnabas, and perhaps Jason; of leather, knives, and awls; of wearying toil; of being bent over a workbench like a slave and of working side by side with slaves; of thereby being perceived by others and by himself as slavish and humiliated; of suffering the artisans’ lack of status and so being reviled and abused.

Paul’s trade also provided him with his principal means of livelihood, though never with enough to make him anything but a poor man and sometimes not even with that much, so that hunger and thirst and cold were at times his lot. His trade also may have served directly in his missionary activities in the sense that workshop conversations with fellow workers, customers, or those who stopped by might easily have turned into occasions for informal evangelization. Finally, his trade was taken up into his apostolic self-understanding, so much so that, when criticized for plying his trade, he came to understand himself as the apostle who offered the gospel free of charge.

In other words, despite our penchant for confining Paul to the history of theology or the history of religions, our investigation of Paul’s tentmaking has made us recognize that he also belongs to social and intellectual history. Socially, Paul’s plying a trade means that he shared many of the experiences of artisans, and so the evidence about Tryphon, Cerdon, Philiscus, Micyllus, and other artisans has helped us to confirm, clarify, and complement our evidence about Paul’s daily life. Intellectually, his plying a trade means that he came into contact with a tradition of philosophy—in large part Cynic—that addressed itself to the question of suitable occupations and trades for the urban poor, that made the workshop one of its settings for doing philosophy, and that in the figure of Simon the shoemaker made the artisan-philosopher the embodiment of its ideals of self-sufficiency and freedom. Consequently, philosophers like Dio Chrysostom are important for Paul’s intellectual background. In sum, by placing Paul in the workshop—that is, by taking seriously the fact that Paul was a tentmaker—we have located him more precisely in the social and intellectual milieu of the urban centers of the Greek East of the early empire.

Hock, R. F. (1980). The social context of Paul’s ministry: Tentmaking and apostleship. Minneapolis, MN: Fortress Press.

Exported from Logos Bible Software 4, 7:54 PM May 30, 2012.

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Frier, B. “The Rental Market in Early Imperial Rome,” JRS 67 (1977) 27–37.

Geoghegan, A. T. The Attitude towards Labor in Early Christianity and Ancient Culture. Washington, D. C.: Catholic University of America, 1945.

Georgi, D. Die Gegner des Paulus im 2. Korintherbrief: Studien zum religiösen Propaganda in der Spätantike. WMANT 11. Neukirchen-Vluyn: Neukirchener, 1964.

Gerhard, G. “Zur Legende vom Kyniker Diogenes,” ARW 15 (1912): 388–408.

Geytenbeek, A. C. van. Musonius Rufus and Greek Diatribe. Assen: Van Gorcum, 1963.

Gigon, O. Kommentar zum ersten Buch von Xenophons Memorabilien. Basel: Reinhardt, 1953.

Hansack, E. “Er lebte … von seinem eigenen Einkommen (Apg. 28:30),” BZ 19 (1975): 249–53.

———. “Nochmals zu Apostelgeschichte 28:30,” BZ 21 (1977): 118–21.

Hauck, F. Die Stellung des Urchristentums zu Arbeit und Geld. BFCT 2, 3. Gütersloh: Bertelsmann, 1921.

Heinrici, G. “Zur Geschichte der Anfänge paulinischer Gemeinden,” ZWT 20 (1877): 89–129.

Herrmann, J. “Vertragsinhalt und Rechtsnatur der διδασκαλικαί,” JJP 11–12 (1957–58): 119–39.

Hock, R. F. “Paul’s Tentmaking and the Problem of His Social Class,” JBL 97 (1978): 555–64.

———. “Simon the Shoemaker as an Ideal Cynic,” GRBS 17 (1976): 41–53.

Holzapfel, H. Die sittliche Wertung der körperlichen Arbeit im christlichen Altertum. Würzburg: Rita, 1941.

Jeremias, J. “Zöllner und Sünder,” ZNW 30 (1931): 293–300.

Jervell, J. Luke and the People of God. Minneapolis: Augsburg, 1972.

Judge, E. A. “St. Paul and Classical Society,” JAC 15 (1972): 19–36.

Kalischer, S. “Die Wertschätzung der Arbeit in Bibel und Talmud,” Judaica: Festschrift zu H. Cohens siebzigstem Geburtstag, pp. 580–98. Berlin: Cassirer, 1912.

Kienast, D. “Ein vernachlässigtes Zeugnis für die Reichpolitik Trajans: Die zweite tarsische Rede des Dion von Prusa,” Historia 20 (1971): 62–80.

Kreissig, H. “Zur sozialen Zusammensetzung der früchristlichen Gemeinde im ersten Jahrhundert u. Z.,” Eirene 6 (1967): 91–100.

Kümmel, W. G. Introduction to the New Testament. Nashville: Abingdon, 1975.

———. The New Testament: The History of the Investigation of Its Problems. Nashville: Abingdon, 1972.

Lau, O. Schuster und Schusterhandwerk in der griechisch-römischen Literatur und Kunst. Dissertation, Bonn, 1967.

Laub, F. Eschatologische Verkündigung und Lebensgestaltung: Eine Untersuchung zum Wirken des Apostels beim Aufbau der Gemeinde in Thessalonike. Regensburg: Pustet, 1973.

Lynch, J. P. Aristotle’s School: A Study of a Greek Educational Institution. Berkeley: University of California, 1972.

McIntyre, J. and Richmond, I. A. “Tents of the Roman Army and Leather from Birdoswald,” TCWA 34 (1934): 62–90.

MacMullen, R. Enemies of the Roman Order: Treason, Unrest and Alienation in the Empire, Cambridge: Harvard, 1966.

———. Roman Social Relations 50 B.C. to A.D. 284. New Haven: Yale, 1974.

MaIherbe, A. J. “Gentle as a Nurse: The Cynic Background of 1 Thess. 2,” NovT 12 (1970): 203–17.

———. “The Inhospitality of Diotrephes,” God’s Christ and His People: Studies in Honour of N. A. Dahl, edited by J. Jervell and W. Meeks, pp. 222–32. Oslo: Universitets-forlaget, 1977.

———. Social Aspects of Early Christianity. Baton Rouge: Louisiana State University, 1977.

Metzger, B. M. A Textual Commentary on the Greek New Testament. London: United Bible Societies, 1971.

Meyer, S. Arbeit und Handwerk im Talmud. Berlin: Benzian, 1878.

Michaelis, W. “Σκηνοποίος,” TDNT 7 (1971): 393–94.

Nestle, E. “The Aprons and Handkerchiefs of St. Paul,” ExpT 13 (1901–1902): 282.

———. “St. Paul’s Handicraft (Acts 18:3),” JBL 11 (1892): 205–6.

Neusner, J. The Rabbinic Traditions about the Pharisees before 70. 3 vols. Leiden: Brill, 1971.

Nock, A. D. St. Paul. New York: Harper & Row, 1963.

Packer, J. “Housing and Population in Imperial Ostia and Rome,” JRS 57 (1967): 80–95.

Plumptre, E. “St. Paul as a Man of Business,” Expositor 1 (1875): 259–66.

Rabinowitz, W. G. Aristotle’s ‘Protrepticus’ and the Sources of Its Reconstruction. Berkeley: University of California, 1957.

Ramsay, W. “Roads and Travel (in the NT),” HDB 5 (1904): 375–402.

———. St. Paul the Traveller and Roman Citizen. New York: Putnam’s Sons, 1904.

Safrai, S. and M. Stern, eds. The Jewish People in the First Century. 2 vols. to date. Philadelphia: Fortress, 1974.

Saum, F. “Apostelgeschichte 28:30,” BZ 20 (1976): 226–29.

Schmithals, W. “Die Korintherbriefe als Briefsammlung,” ZNW 64 (1973): 263–88.

———. Paul and the Gnostics. Nashville: Abingdon, 1972.

Silva, R. “Eran, pues, de oficio, fabricantes de tiendas,” EstBib 24 (1965): 123–34.

Soares, T. G. “Paul’s Missionary Methods,” BW 34 (1909): 326–36.

Sykutris, J. Die Briefe des Sokrates und der Sokratiker. Paderborn: Schönigh, 1933.

Theissen, G. “Legitimation und Lebensunterhalt: Ein Beitrag zu Soziologie urchristlicher Missionare,” NTS 21 (1975): 192–221.

———. “Soziale Schichtung in der korinthischen Gemeinde: Ein Beitrag zur Soziologie des hellenistischen Urchristentums,” ZNW 65 (1974): 232–72.

Thompson, D. B. “The House of Simon the Shoemaker,” Archaeology 13 (1960): 234–40.

Travlos, J. Pictorial Dictionary of Ancient Athens. New York: Prager, 1971.

Urbach, E. E. “Class-Status and Leadership in the World of the Palestinian Sages,” Proceedings of the Israel Academy of Sciences and Humanities, vol. 2, pp. 38–74. Jerusalem: Central, 1968.

Webster, G. The Roman Imperial Army of the First and Second Centuries A.D. New York: Funk & Wagnalls, 1969.

Weizsäcker, C. von. The Apostolic Age of the Christian Church. 2 vols. London: Williams & Norgate, 1897.

Westermann, W. L. “Apprentice Contracts and the Apprentice System in Roman Egypt,” CPh 9 (1914): 295–315.

Williams, C. S. C. Alterations to the Text of the Synoptic Gospels and Acts. Oxford: Blackwell, 1951.

Wycherley, R. E. “The Garden of Epicurus,” Phoenix 13 (1959): 73–77.

———. “The Painted Stoa,” Phoenix 7 (1953): 20–35.

———. “Peripatos: The Athenian Philosophical Scene: Parts I & II,” G & R 8 (1961): 152–63 and 9 (1962): 2–21.

Zambon, A. “Διδασκαλικαί,” Aegyptus 15 (1935): 3–66.

Zeller, E. Die Philosophie der Griechen in ihrer geschichtlichen Entwicklung. 6 vols. 5th ed. Leipzig: Reisland, 1922.

Zuntz, G. The Text of the Epistles. London: Oxford, 1953.

Index of Ancient Sources

NEW TESTAMENT

Luke

10:30—78 n. 19

10:34–35—79 n. 27

Acts

5:34—22

9:2—27

9:7–8—28

9:9—80 n. 31

9:11—79 n. 28

9:17—79 n. 28

9:19—77 n. 4

9:219b–25—26

9:23—77 n. 4

9:30—26

11:25—26

13:1–14:25—26

13:13–14—27

13:49—77 n. 4

14:3—77 n. 4

15:3–4—79 n. 28

16:1–18:22—26

16:2—77 n. 4

16:14—31

16:15—29, 46

16:18—29

16:32—46

16:33–34—79 n. 28

16:35–40—30

17:1—29

17:2—80 n. 37, 89 n. 160

17:5–6—30

17:6—31

17:10—30, 37

17:10–15—80 n. 37

17:11—42

17:13—59

17:14–15—28

17:17—42, 77 n. 4

17:18—42, 59

17:19–33—42

18:1—28

18:1–23—69 n. 2

18:3—29, 26, 30, 31, 33, 37, 50, 59, 69 n. 2, 70 n. 10, 93 n. 3

18:5—31, 50, 59, 88 n. 158, 93 n. 2

18:5–6—93 n. 2

18:7—80 n. 38

18:8—46

18:11—30, 50

18:19—80 n. 39

18:23–21:16—26

19:1—80 n. 39

19:9—32

19:11–12—26

19:12—42

20:4—28

20:6—80 n. 31

20:16—27

20:31—80 n. 39

20:34—26, 30, 34

20:34–35—17, 48

20:38—28

21:2—28

21:3—21, 22

21:4—79 n. 28, 80 n. 31

21:7—79 n. 28, 80 n. 31

21:8—79 n. 28

21:16—28, 79 n. 28

21:17—79 n. 28

27:1ff.—27

28:7—80 n. 31

28:7–10—79 n. 28

28:11—28

28:14—79 n. 28, 80 n. 31

28:30—77 n. 2

Romans

15:23–24—79 n. 28

16:22–23—37

16:23—29

1 Corinthians

1:26–29—45, 47

2:1–5—59

2:2—60

2:3—59, 65

4:8—60

4:10—36, 60

4:10–13—60

4:11—35, 60, 78 n. 17, 84 n. 94

4:12—20, 26, 35, 36, 50, 60, 70 n. 10, 77 n. 1

8:1–11:1—61

8:9—61

9:1—60, 65

9:1–19—47, 50, 59

9:1–27—60, 63, 100 n. 114

9:4–6—99 n. 102

9:5–15—30

9:6—26, 61, 100 n. 113

9:6–14—50

9:7–14—61, 99 n. 102

9:12a—61

9:12—61

9:14—61

9:15a—61, 99 n. 102

9:15—50, 62, 63

9:15–18—26, 61

9:15b–18—61

9:16—61

9:17—61

9:17–18—100 n. 113

9:18—62, 63, 65

9:19—36, 60, 61, 62, 65, 92 n. 204, 99 n. 103

15:10—89 n. 160

16:5—50

16:6—28, 79 n. 28

16:8—77 n. 1

2 Corinthians

1:15–16—50

2:17—51, 63, 65

6:5—35, 64, 78 n. 17, 81 n. 52

6:10—35, 51, 64

10:1—64

10:10—60

11—63

11:7—36, 63, 64, 65

11:7–15—47, 50, 59, 62

11:8—30, 92

11:8–9—50, 64, 80 n. 38

11:9—30, 31, 35, 50, 63, 93 n. 2

11:9–10—62, 88 n. 158, 92 n. 1, 93 n. 2

11:10—50, 63

11:11—62, 63, 65

11:12—51, 63, 100 n. 118

11:13—101 n. 118

11:20—51, 63

11:25–26—28

11:27—28, 35, 64, 81 n. 52, 84 n. 94

12:7—59

12:13—50, 63

12:13–16—47, 50, 59, 62

12:14—26, 63

12:14–15—63

12:15a—62, 63

12:15—64, 65, 92 n. 1

12:15b—62

12:16a—63

12:21—64

13:1—50

Galatians

1:17—26

1:21—26

4:11—89 n. 160

4:13—59

6:11—14

Ephesians

4:28—17

Philippians

2:25–30—92 n. 1

4:10—92 n. 1

4:11—31

4:12—31, 35

4:15—63

4:15–17—92 n. 1

4:15–18—31

4:16—80 n. 37

4:17—92 n. 1

4:18—37

1 Thessalonians

1:6—48

1:9–10—43

2—63

2:1–12—41, 48, 61, 92 n. 201

2:4—48

2:4–5—48

2:5—48

2:7—30, 50, 92 n. 203

2:7–11—100 n. 117

2:8—48, 92 n. 203

2:9—26, 30, 31, 32, 35, 36, 41, 48, 63, 92 n. 203

2:11—42, 92 n. 203

2:12—43

2:14—48

3:1—59

3:5—89 n. 160

3:7—59

4:3–6—46

4:6—43

4:9—48

4:10b–12—42

4:11—43, 48, 70 n. 10

4:11–12—34, 45, 46, 89 n. 168

4:12—44, 48

4:13–18—43

2 Thessalonians

3:6–15—89 n. 168

3:8–9—48

3:10—17, 34, 91 n. 197

Philemon

22—29, 79 n. 28

3 John

5–8—79 n. 28

OTHER ANCIENT SOURCES

(Editions used of authors listed below, unless otherwise specified, are those of the Loeb Classical Library.)

OTHER EARLY CHRISTIAN WRITINGS

John Chrysostom (ed. J. Migne)

In Ep. 1 ad Cor, Hom. 20.5–6—72 n. 7

In Ep. 2 ad Tim, Hom. 4.2—72 n. 6

Didache

11.5—79 n. 30

12.2–3—78 n. 13

12.3—84 n. 86

12.4—83 n. 84

Gregory of Nyssa (ed. J. Migne)

Ep. 17—72 n. 7

Ignatius of Antioch

Eph. 1.2—77 n. 5

Origen (ed. J. Migne)

In Ep. ad Rom, Hom. 16.3—72 n. 5

Theodoret (ed. J. Migne)

De graec. aff. curat. 5—72 n. 6

JEWISH WRITINGS

Mishnah (trans. H. Danby) Abot 2:2—74 n. 20

Talmud Bab. (ed. I. Epstein)

Ber. 28a–b—74 n. 27

Pesah. 34a—74 n. 27

Sabb. 31a—74 n. 28

Ta‘an. 23–b—74 n. 28

Yoma 35b—74 n. 28

Tosepta (ed. G. Kittel) Qidd. 1.11—73 n. 19

GREEK AND ROMAN AUTHORS

Achilles Tatius

2.31.5–6—78 n. 15

2.33.1—83 n. 82

3.1–5—79 n. 19

3.9—78 n. 19

3.23.4—83 n. 80

5.2.3—79 n. 27

5.8.2—80 n. 36

6.9.3—79 n. 28

7.6.6—79 n. 27

8.7.2—80 n. 34

Aelian, Varia hisioria (ed. H. Dilts)

2.1—73 n. 15

4.9—83 n. 83

Aeschines

1.97—83 n. 69

ps.-Anacharsis, epistolae (ed. A. Malherbe)

9—88 n. 150

Apollonius, epistolae

2—100 n. 112

51—95 n. 21

Aristotle

E. N. 1164b 2–6—95 n. 20

Pol. 1319b 28—85 n. 101

Pol. 1337b 12–13—85 n. 97

Pol. 1337b 14–15—101 n. 122

Athenaeus, Deipnosophistae

4.168A—98 n. 68

4.168A–B—87 n. 138

12.512B—101 n. 122

Aulus Gellius, Noctes Atticae

2.2.1–2—87 n. 134

2.21.1–2—79 n. 25

5.3.1–6—87 n. 137

9.2.1–11—97 n. 56

9.4.1–5—79 n. 24

12.5—79 n. 23

12.11.1—87 n. 134

16.6.1—79 n. 23

19.1.14—79 n. 24

Chariton (ed. W. Blake)

1.12.5—82 n. 64, 83 n. 79, 86 n. 118

3.5.1—78 n. 16

3.6.2—83 n. 82

7.2.5—83 n. 80

ps.-Chion, epistolae (ed. 1. Düring)

6—81 n. 50

12—78 n. 16

13.3—90 n. 191

14.5—90 n. 191

16.5–8—90 n. 191

Cicero, De officiis

1.42.150—85 n. 98, 90 n. 174

1.42.151—85 n. 107

ps.-Crates, epistolae (ed. A. Malherbe)

7—85 n. 108

17—97 n. 62

20—87 n. 134

22—97 n. 60

26—97 n. 64

27—96 n. 53

Demosthenes, Orationes

25.52—86 n. 118

27.24–25—82 n. 60

48.12—82 n. 60

Dio Chrysostom, Orationes

1.50–52—78 n. 9

2.79—96 n. 34

3.15—97 n. 65, 100 n. 112

3.124–25—90 n. 181

4.12–13—97 n. 58

4.47—75 n. 32

6.14—97 n. 58

7.2—81 n. 47

7.2–7—78 n. 15

7.2–20—79 n. 28

7.9—44

7.10–102—45

7.11–20—83 n. 84

7.55—78 n. 17

7.55–58—79 n. 28

7.81—44

7.103—44

7.103–53—45

7.104—82 n. 67

7.104–26—90 n. 180

7.105–6—45

7.106—45

7.107–8—45

7.109—46

7.110—45, 85 n. 106

7.110–23—45

7.111—75 n. 32

7.112—84 n. 86

7.114–15—85 n. 109

7.117—85 n. 107

7.124—45

7.125—44, 45

7.127—90 n. 179

8.4–5—97 n. 58

9.4—97 n. 58

9.22—83 n. 83

10.1—79 n. 23

12.18—83 n. 80

13.10—78 n. 9

13.30—96 n. 42

13.31—87 n. 134

15.1—87 n. 134

17.4—90 n. 186

17.6–7—90 n. 187

29.6—77 n. 5

32.9—97 n. 56

34.23—85 n. 109, 91 n. 198

34.52—91 n. 191, 91 n. 195

35.1—100 n. 112

36.1—78 n. 16

36.7–17—79 n. 22

36.25—78 n. 13

40.7—80 n. 44

40.8–9—82 n. 62

40.9—82 n. 65

46.2—78 n. 19

46.9—82 n. 64

47.2—91 n. 192

55.2—75 n. 32

70.5—100 n. 114

71.2–8—76 n. 43

71.4—75 n. 32

77/78.3–14—84 n. 92

77/78.7—79 n. 19

77/78.34–36—87 n. 134, 96 n. 40

Diodorus Siculus

3.12.2–13.2—84 n. 85

3.13.2—84 n. 94

14.109.1—83 n. 83

ps.-Diogenes, epistolae (ed. A. Malherbe)

1—85 n. 108

2—79 n. 23

10—97 n. 53

11—97 n. 53

29.3—100 n. 114

33.3—87 n. 147

34—97 n. 62

37.1–2—80 n. 34

46—96 n. 43

Diogenes Laertius

2.21—86 n. 118

2.25—86 n. 126, 96 n. 41

2.27—95 n. 22

2.62—95 n. 17

2.65—95 n. 17

2.67—96 n. 49

2.72—95 n. 17

2.73—96 n. 49

2.78—96 n. 49

2.122—83 n. 78, 86 n. 121

2.125—87 n. 138, 98 n. 68

2.131—84 n. 94, 87 n. 138

3.9—96 n. 33

3.18—96 n. 49

3.18–22—96 n. 33

4.2—95 n. 20

4.8—95 n. 20

5.1–4—96 n. 34

6.4—97 n. 53

6.6—97 n. 53, 97 n. 61

6.9—97 n. 53

6.22—87 n. 147, 97 n. 58

6.23—97 n. 58

6.25—96 n. 43

6.37—97 n. 64

6.38—96 n. 43, 97 n. 53, 97 n. 57

6.46—97 n. 53

6.49—97 n. 53

6.50—96 n. 52, 97 n. 57

6.56—96 n. 53, 97 n. 61

6.58—87 n. 147, 96 n. 43

6.59—96 n. 53

6.60—96 n. 53

6.62—96 n. 53

6.64—97 n. 58

6.67—96 n. 53, 97 n. 60

6.70—76 n. 43

6.72—97 n. 64

6.82—87 n. 137

6.83—97 n. 54

6.85–86—97 n. 54

6.86—88 n. 150

6.98—81 n. 46

6.99—97 n. 55, 97 n. 63

6.104—87 n. 147

7.6–9—96 n. 51

7.15—101 n. 123

7.17—97 n. 61

7.168–69—87 n. 138

7.168–70—74 n. 30, 98 n. 67

7.177—96 n. 49

9.50–52—94 n. 10

10.119—91 n. 194

10.120—96 n. 35

10.143—91 n. 194

Epictetus, Dissertationes

1.4.3—77 n. 8

1.10.2—91 n. 191

1.10.8—82 n. 58

1.17.16—77 n. 8

1.19.12–23—98 n. 91

1.19.16–23—85 n. 102

1.23.6—91 n. 194

2.5.21—89 n. 160

2.6.20—79 n. 19

2.14.4–5—89 n. 160

2.26.22–23—79 n. 19

2.19.15–16—79 n. 26

2.21.12—77 n. 8

2.21.12–14—81 n. 50

2.23.36—80 n. 32

3.9.3—79 n. 19

3.9.14—78 n. 15

3.16.1—77 n. 8

3.16.14—87 n. 134

3.21.8—77 n. 8

3.22.10—97 n. 56, 97 n. 59

3.22.16—97 n. 58

3.22.45–47—84 n. 94

3.22.50—97 n. 63

3.23.32—77 n. 8

3.24.39—91 n. 194

3.26.1–2—77 n. 5

3.26.6–7—90 n. 178

3.26.23—87 n. 138, 98 n. 67

4.1.91—79 n. 21

4.1.113—87 n. 134

4.1.177—87 n. 134, 96 n. 40, 100 n. 114

4.4.30—77 n. 5

4.6.28—76 n. 43, 89 n. 160

4.8—91 n. 195

4.11.35—96 n. 38

4.12.14—76 n. 43

Herondas (ed. I. Cunningham)

6.63—80 n. 60

7.5—83 n. 76

7.6—83 n. 73

7.6–9—76 n. 41

7.14—83 n. 76

7.14–35—83 n. 77

7.19—83 n. 76

7.40—82 n. 56

7.44—83 n. 69, 85 n. 96

7.49–50—91 n. 197

7.49–63—83 n. 77

7.53—83 n. 76

7.73—84 n. 89

7.83–90—84 n. 89

Isocrates

Antid.

155–56—94 n. 13

157—94 n. 11

224—94 n. 11

Areop. 15—86 n. 118

Demon. 9—92 n. 202

Soph. 3–9—95 n. 13

Juvenal, Saturae

3.293–94—84 n. 93

10.130–32—83 n. 70

10.225–26—84 n. 89

11.69—81 n. 46

14.105–6—76 n. 38

14.267–75—85 n. 108

14.272–74—84 n. 88

14.300–303—84 n. 94

Lucian

Abd.

4—77 n. 8

22—75 n. 32

Alex. 44—78 n. 19

Am.

8—83 n. 81

8–9—79 n. 30

34—85 n. 107

Apol. 9—96 n. 52

Asin.

1–2—79 n. 28

3—79 n. 30

7—79 n. 29

22—78 n. 19

55—78 n.15

Bis Acc. 6—86 n. 132, 87 n. 137, 88 n. 149

Cat.

14–15—99 n. 98

14–29—86 n. 131

15—85 n. 109, 85 n. 112

20—99 n. 98

22—99 n. 98

Cyn. 5—88 n. 150

D. Meretr.

6.293—34, 81 n. 46, 84 n. 88

8.30—84 n. 88

Demon.

4—95 n. 28

8—97 n. 65

35—78 n. 16

63—97 n. 65

Fug.

12–13—86 n. 132, 87 n. 137, 98 n. 91

13–14—84 n. 93

14—97 n. 56

17—81 n. 55, 86 n. 132, 97 n. 56

20—97 n. 63

28—86 n. 132, 88 n. 149

30–31—92 n. 208, 97 n. 63

33—86 n. 132, 88 n. 149

Gall.

1—34, 82 n. 56

2—85 n. 102

9—34

9–11—85 n. 111

14—82 n. 65. 84 n. 94

15—34

20—34, 84 n. 94

22—34, 84 n. 93

Herm.

9—95 n. 21

23—77 n. 8

59—95 n. 24

Herod. 8—83 n. 83

Hist. Conscr.

3—88 n. 152

16—78 n. 14

Icar.

5—95 n. 21

30–31—86 n. 132. 87 n. 135

J. Trag.

4–5—87 n. 134, 89 n. 161

16–18—87 n. 134

27—95 n. 21

35–51—87 n. 134

Merc. Cond.

1—96 n. 52

1–4—96 n. 32

2—78 n. 17

3—80 n. 42, 96 n. 52

6—84 n. 87, 98 n. 76

7—96 n. 52

7–8—55

13–31—55

15—55

20—80 n. 43

22—101 n. 123

23—55, 85 n. 97

24—87 n. 147

26—55

29—55

30—55

37—80 n. 43

Nero 2–3—83 n. 83

Nigr.

1–7—87 n. 134

2—82 n. 58

25—95 n. 24

25–26—95 n. 28, 100 n. 112

Par. 15—75 n. 38

Peregr.

9–19—78 n. 10

30—97 n. 63

Philops.

6—87 n. 134

14—87 n. 134, 96 n. 37

Pisc.

11–13—87 n. 134, 96 n. 40

12–13—86 n. 132

13—82 n. 65

29–37—92 n. 208, 97 n. 63

34—86 n. 132

35—97 n. 56

40—86 n. 132

40–42—92 n. 208, 97 n. 63

45—97 n. 63

47–52—92 n. 208, 97 n. 63

Pseudol. 10—78 n. 10

Sacr. 6—83 n. 70

Salt. 34—90 n. 184

Somn.

1–2—84 n. 87, 90 n. 188

2–3—75 n. 35

3—91 n. 197

3–4—76 n. 41

6—83 n. 70, 84 n. 94

6–9—99 n. 98

7—75 n. 34, 78 n. 11

7–8—84 n. 95

8—85 n. 104

9—76 n. 43, 101 n. 122

10—85 n. 100

13—85 n. 97, 99 n. 95, 99 n. 98, 99 n. 99, 101 n. 122

16—75 n. 37

Symp. 32—95 n. 21

Timon

7—85 n. 97, 98 n. 76

54—82 n. 58

57—97 n. 56

Tox.

18—90 n. 117

27—77 n. 8

31—81 n. 55, 82 n. 58, 88 n. 153, 90 n. 177, 92 n. 205, 98 n. 70

Vit. Auct.

7—85 n. 105, 98 n. 76

9—97 n. 58

11—85 n. 105

12—96 n. 48, 98 n. 76, 98 n. 91

15—87 n. 134, 96 n. 38

18—96 n. 38

24–25—95 n. 21

Lysias, Orationes

12.8–19—82 n. 67

24.19–20—82 n. 64, 86 n. 118

Musonius Rufus, Fragmenta (ed. C. Lutz)

3—98 n. 85

4—81 n. 46, 98 n. 85

8—98 n. 83, 100 n. 112

11—85 n. 106, 88 n. 155, 91 n. 196, 92 n. 204, 94 n. 9, 98 n. 71, 98 n. 77, 98 n. 78, 98 n. 80, 98 n. 81, 98 n. 92, 98 n. 84, 98 n. 88

14—97 n. 58

18B—85 n. 108

19—85 n. 108

Parthenius

18.1—79 n. 28

Philodemus, Oeconomicus (ed. C. Jensen)

col. 23—90 n. 184, 91 n. 196

Philostratus V. Apoll.

1.13—95 n. 24

2.23—79 n. 30

3.23—85 n. 112

4.15—79 n. 26

4.37—79 n. 20

4.39—79 n. 27

4.40—80 n. 34

5.10—79 n. 30

5.20—80 n. 34

6.19—79 n. 25

8.7.3—100 n. 114

8.15—80 n. 34

V. Soph.

482—94 n. 11, 94 n. 12

488—78 n. 9, 79 n. 24, 88 n. 154, 90 n. 182, 92 n. 206, 98 n. 69

494—94 n. 10, 96 n. 31

495—94 n. 11

496—94 n. 11

497—94 n. 11

499—94 n. 11, 95 n. 29

512—95 n. 16

519—95 n. 15, 95 n. 29

520–21—87 n. 134

526—95 n. 24

526–27—95 n. 15

538—95 n. 15

571—78 n. 10

582—78 n. 10

591–92—95 n. 15

600—80 n. 44, 87 n. 134, 95 n. 15, 96 n. 39

603—95 n. 29

604—95 n. 15

605–6—95 n. 15

615—95 n. 15

618—79 n. 24

Plato

Apol.

19D–E—95 n. 22

20B—94 n. 11

31B–C—95 n. 22

33A–B—95 n. 22

Crat. 384B—94 n. 12

Euthyd.

271A—94 n. 11

277B—95 n. 23

Hipp. Major 282F—94 n. 11

Men.

91D—94 n. 10, 96 n. 31

92A—95 n. 23

Protag.

313C–D—95 n. 23

328A—75 n. 32

328B—94 n. 13, 96 n. 31

349A—94 n. 10, 96 n. 31

Resp. 372A—84 n. 94

Plutarch, Moralia

DE POET. AUD. 28D—85 n. 99

Quom. adul. amico internosc. 53B—91 n. 191

Mul. virt. 257D–E—91 n. 193

DE FORT. ROM. 318C—85 n. 99, 101 n. 122

De gen. Socr. 580E—82 n. 65

DE EXIL. 602C—91 n. 193

Consul, ad ux. 609C—87 n. 134

Maxime cum princ. phil. diss. 776B—86 n. 133, 98 n. 76

Praec. ger. reip.

798E—91 n. 192

798F—91 n. 192

De vit. aere al.

830A–B—90 n. 178

830C–D—87 n. 138, 98 n. 67

830E—85 n. 107

Non posse suav. vivi.

1086D—87 n. 134

1100C—91 n. 194

Plutarch, Vitae

Per.

1.6—88 n. 150

2.1—90 n. 176

Quintilian, DE INSTITUTIONE ORATORIA

12.7.9—95 n. 19

Seneca

De ben.

2.17.1–2—97 n. 63

4.11.3—79 n. 28

4.17.4—78 n. 19

4.37.1—79 n. 28

5.6.2–7—96 n. 42

6.15—79 n. 27

De cons. Helv.

6.2—78 n. 13

10.2–5—85 n. 108

10.5—85 n. 107

De const. sap. 14.3—85 n. 109

DE IRA 3.22.2—83 n. 80

DE OTIO 8.4—79 n. 19

De prov. 3.6—85 n. 108

DE TRANQ. ANIMI 17.7—82 n. 58

Ep.

4.10—85 n. 108

8.5—85 n. 107

44.3—87 n. 138, 98 n. 67

45.2—79 n. 19

47.10—101 n. 122

48.1—79 n. 24

56.4—83 n. 70

57.1–2—78 n. 18

60.2–3—85 n. 108

72.2—79 n. 24

76.1—82 n. 58

76.1–4—87 n. 134

88.21—85 n. 107, 90 n. 176

90.7–31—87 n. 136

90.15–19—85 n. 107

95.19—85 n. 108

96.3—78 n. 18

ps.-Socrates, epistolae (ed. A. Malherbe)

1—96 n. 42

1.1–2—92 n. 209

1.2—95 n. 28

6.1–2—95 n. 28

8—87 n. 141, 96 n. 44, 96 n. 47, 96 n. 52, 98 n. 74

9.1—96 n. 45, 96 n. 46

9.2—96 n. 50

9.4—85 n. 102, 86 n. 130, 87 n. 139, 87 n. 145, 98 n. 72, 98 n. 91

11—87 n. 139, 87 n. 145, 98 n. 72

12—87 n. 142, 87 n. 143, 98 n. 90

13.1—73 n. 17, 86 n. 130, 87 n. 139, 87 n. 140, 98 n. 72, 98 n. 87

13.1–2—88 n. 151, 98 n. 91

13.2—87 n. 145

18.2—87 n. 140, 87 n. 143, 98 n. 73

Stobaeus, Florilegium (ed. O. Hense)

3.5.52—88 n. 152

Teles, Fragmenta (ed. E. O’Neil)

II—87 n. 147, 88 n. 150, 97 n. 58

IVA—86 n. 129, 97 n. 58

IVB—83 n. 72, 86 n. 128, 88 n. 156, 89 n. 163, 98 n. 75, 98 n. 86

Xenophon

Anab. 2.6.16—94 n. 11

Apol.

16—95 n. 22, 95 n. 26

26—95 n. 22

Mem.

1.2.1—95 n. 27

1.2.5–6—95 n. 25, 95 n. 27

1.2.6–7—95 n. 22

1.2.7—95 n. 23, 100 n. 114

1.2.14—95 n. 27

1.2.60—95 n. 18

1.2.60–61—100 n. 112

1.2.61—95 n. 22

1.6.1–5—95 n. 22

1.6.2–3—96 n. 30

1.6.5—95 n. 25

1.6.11–12—96 n. 31

1.6.11–14—95 n. 22

3.10.1–15—86 n. 118, 86 n. 119

4.2.1—86 n. 120

4.2.1–39—86 n. 118

4.2.22—86 n. 117

Oec.

4.2—85 n. 106

4.3—85 n. 100, 85 n. 101

6.13—86 n. 118

7.5—81 n. 46

7.14—81 n. 46

10.10—81 n. 46

15.10—76 n. 43

Xenophon of Ephesus (ed. A. Papanikolaou)

5.8.1–4—90 n. 178

5.8.3–4—85 n. 99

NONLITERARY PAPYRI PGM (ed. K. Preisendanz)

4.2437–40—84 n. 90

7.826–27—89 n. 164

8.61–63—84 n. 90

12.103–4—84 n. 90

12.104—82 n. 60

36.269–70—89 n. 164

P. Mich. (ed. C. Edgar et al.)

1.52—78 n. 12, 82 n. 67

8.465—81 n. 55

8.466—81 n. 55

P. Mich. Inv. (ed. H. Youtie)

347—80 n. 44, 82 n. 66

P. Oxy. (ed. B. Grenfell. A. Hunt et al.)

1.39—75 n. 34, 75 n. 35

1.99—84 n. 89

2.251—83 n. 84

2.252—78 n. 13, 84 n. 91

2.262—85 n. 96

2.264—83 n. 71, 84 n. 89, 85 n. 103

2.275—75 n. 34, 75 n. 35

2.284—85 n. 110

2.285—85 n. 110

2.288—75 n. 34

2.310—75 n. 34

2.322—75 n. 34, 76 n. 42

3.487—80 n. 44

3.527—78 n. 12, 82 n. 66

4.725—75 n. 38, 76 n. 41, 81 n. 55

7.1029—75 n. 34

7.1035—83 n. 71

12.1481—80 n. 44

14.1647—75 n. 38, 81 n. 55

17.2153—78 n. 13

18.2190—77 n. 8, 81 n. 50, 81 n. 55

22.2340—82 n. 67

31.2586—76 n. 42, 81 n. 55

33.2669—78 n. 13, 84 n. 91

34.2727—78 n. 12

36.2773—75 n. 34, 83 n. 71

38.2875—76 n. 50

41.2957—85 n. 96

41.2971—76 n. 41, 81 n. 55

P. Tebt. (ed. B. Grenfell et al.)

1.38—82 n. 60

Hock, R. F. (1980). The social context of Paul’s ministry: Tentmaking and apostleship. Minneapolis, MN: Fortress Press.

Exported from Logos Bible Software 4, 7:55 PM May 30, 2012.

Table of Contents

Matter

1. Paul and His Tentmaking

2. A Tentmaker by Trade

3. Pauls Life as an Artisan-Missionary

4. Tentmaking and Apostleship: The Debate at Corinth

5. Conclusions

Selected Bibliography Index of Ancient Sources

Table of Contents

Matter

1. Paul and His Tentmaking

2. A Tentmaker by Trade

3. Pauls Life as an Artisan-Missionary

4. Tentmaking and Apostleship: The Debate at Corinth

5. Conclusions

Selected Bibliography Index of Ancient Sources