Associations, Christ groups, and their place in the Polis

1.1 Honorific Decrees

The honorific decrees of cultic associations in Athens or the Piraeus adopted exactly the form of decrees of the Athenian boulē or dēmos, with the following elements:

1. invocation formula: θεοί, “gods!”;

2. dating formula: ἐπὶ τοῦ ΝΝ ἄρχοντος, “in the year that NN was eponymous archon;

3. sanction formula: ἔδοξεν τῇ βουλῇ (τῷ δήμῳ) (τῷ κοινῷ);

4. preamble, beginning with ἐπειδή, “whereas,” ἐπεί, “since,” or περὶ ὧν, “concerning those things,” and stating the grounds for the honorific decree, and usually containing a number of adverbs describing the honoree’s good character (e. g., καλῶς, φιλοτίμως, μεγαλοφρόνως, εὐσεβῶς, etc.);

5. hortatory formulae such as ὅπως ἂν εἰδῶσιν πάντες ὅτι, “so that all might know” (that the boulē/koinon honours those who benefact it), or ὅπως ἂν οὖν ἐφάμιλλον ἦι τοῖς βουλομένοις εὐεργετεῖν τὸ κοινόν, “so that there might be a rivalry among those who wish to benefact the association”, or some other hortatory formula;

6. the resolution: ἀγαθεῖ τύχει, δεδόχθαι τῷ βουλῷ (τοῖς θιασῶταις), “for good fortune! It was resolved by the council (the association members to commend NN)”, followed by a restatement of elements from the preamble;

7. the decision, usually with ἐπαινέσαι (“to commend”) or στεφανῶσαι (“crown”), again stating the grounds for the crown (ἀρετῆς ἕνεκα καὶ φιλοτιμίας, “on account of the excellence and zeal” that NN has shown), and authorizing a public announcement, often providing the text of that announcement, and ordering the erection of a stele containing the text of the honorific decree; and finally

8. details indicating who is to be responsible for the erection of the stele, the cost of the stele, and sometimes curses and penalties for anyone who would attempt to alter or nullify the decree, or otherwise interfere with the conferral of the honour.^[11]

A decree of the thiasōtai of Artemis Kallistē conforms to this structure almost exactly:

1       θ ε ο [ί].

ἐπὶ Κίμωνος ἄρχοντος, Θαργηλιῶνος· v [ἔδοξ]εν

τῶι κοινῶι· v ἐπειδὴ Σώφρων καλῶς καὶ φ[ιλ]οτί-

μως συνήγαγε τὸν θίασον, ἐπέδωκεν δὲ καὶ στή-

5λην ὥστε ἀνατεθῆναι εἰς τὸ ἱερὸν βουλόμενο-

ς αὔξειν τὸ κοινὸν ἐκ τῶν ἰδίων· v ὅπως ἂν οὖν ἐ-

φάμιλλον εἶ τοῖς βουλομένοις εὐεργετεῖν τ-

ὸ κοινὸν εἰδόσιν ὅτι κομιοῦνται τὰς χάριτα-

ς· ἀγαθεῖ τύχει, δεδόχθ[α]ι τοῖς θιασώταις στεφ-

10ανῶσαι τὸν ἀρχερα[ν]ιστὴν Σώφρονα θαλλοῦ στε-

φάνωι καὶ λημ[ν]ίσκωι· v ὅπως ἂν καὶ εἰς τὸ λοιπ-

ὸν οἱ γινόμε[ν]οι ἱεροποιοὶ εἰς τὰς θυσίας ἐπ-

ειδὰν τὰ ἱερὰ ἀπαγγείλωσιν καὶ σπονδὰς πο‹ι›ή-

[σ]ω[σ]ι[ν σ]τεφανούτωσαν αὐτὸν καί ἀναγορευέτ-

15[ω]σαν· v «[ο]ἱ θιασῶται στεφανοῦσι τὸν ἀρχερανι-

στὴν Σώφρονα ἀρετῆς ἕνεκεν καὶ εὐσεβείας τ-

ῆς εἰς τὴν θεόν·» ἐὰν δὲ μὴ ἀναγορεύσωσιν, ὀφει-

λέτωσαν τέτταρας δραχμὰς ἱερὰς τῆι θεῶι· v ἀ-

ναγραψάτωσαν δὲ καὶ τὸν στέφανον ἐπὶ τοῦ ἀν-

20αθήματος· v ἀναγράψαι δὲ καὶ τοὺς θιασώτας πά-

ντας χωρὶς τούς τε ἄνδρας καὶ τὰς γυναῖκας. v

<in a crown>:

22οἱ θιασῶται

τὸν ἀρχερανιστὴν

Σώφρονα … (IG II² 1297 = GRA I 24; 236/5 bce)

Gods! In the year that Kimon was the archon, month of Thargelion: (The following) was resolved by the association. Whereas Sophron generously and zealously convoked the thiasos and contributed a stele to be set up in the temple, wishing to enlarge the treasury (koinon) at his own expense; in order that there might be a rivalry among those who wish to be benefactors to the koinon and (that all) might know that they shall receive thanks; for good fortune it has been resolved by the thiasōtai to crown their archeranistēs Sophron with a wreath of olive leaves and a woolen fillet; so that also henceforth those who become the sacrificers (hieropoioi) at the sacrifices, when they announce the rites and perform the libations, shall crown him and announce this publicly: «The thiasōtai crown their archeranistēs Sophron on account of his excellence and the piety he has shown to the Goddess.» If they do not announce this publicly, they will owe four drachmae sacred to the Goddess. And let them also inscribe the crown upon the monument. And they shall inscribe the (names of) all of thiasōtai, the men and the women separately.

<within the crown>

The thiasōtai

(honour) their archeranistēs

Sophron.

<A list of 58 names follows, men in columns 1–2, women in cols. 3–4>

Apart from certain terms peculiar to associations (θιασῶται, ἀρχερανιστής), this is almost indistinguishable from honorific decrees of the Athenian boulē.

The structure of honorific decrees in other locales differs from the Athenian model. Yet in most other locales the honorific decrees of associations still mimicked those of the local councils. For example, a decree of the Aphrodiastai in Ephesus simply clones the standard format of Ionian honorific decrees in composing their decrees (δεδόχθαι τῶι κοινῶι τῶν Ἀφροδισιαστῶν/τῇ βουλῇ … ἐπῃνῆσθαί NN … ἐπὶ τῆι εὐσεβείαι/καλοκαγαθίαι κτλ. καὶ στεφανοῦσθαι αὐτὸν …).^[12] Egyptian associations adopted the practice of honouring civic and imperial officials, employing the same format as civic decrees (ἀγαθῇ τύχηι, ἐπεί introducing the grounds for the honour, and the decree introduced with ἔδοξε + dative). In some instances it is not simply a case of mimicry of the honorific decrees of cities; associations sometimes worked together with cities to confer honours. An inscription from Apameia in Phrygia records that the city voted honours for a civic benefactor and mandated a neighbourhood guild of workers to erect the stele on its behalf (e. g., IGRR IV 791).

1.2 Rosters

The public space of both Greek and Roman cities was filled with a large variety of lists: Athens displayed the names of demesmen, ephebes, public benefactors, public debtors, traitors, persons granted citizenship, deserters, persons tried for homicide, war casualties, magistrates, cleruchs, archons, Panathenaic victors, and so on. Roman towns displayed consular fasti, lists of augurs, senators, and lists of civic events. And lists of civic officials, benefactors, and others are found almost everywhere.

From the earliest periods of Athenian democracy the extant lists mostly concern citizens and males.^[13] But from the beginning of the third century bce rosters of associations begin to appear that included women as well as men, metics as well as demesmen, and slaves as well as free.^[14] It is not that immigrant groups did not exist before that period. Rather, it appears that at the beginning of the third century these associations embraced “epigraphic culture” in order to advertise themselves as part of the life of the polis.^[15]

Baslez has offered a plausible explanation of this shift towards the public appearance of associations. She argues that the appearance of rosters of mixed associations was a response to the political environment of the fourth century bce, when clubs came under attack by Athenian orators for their alleged anti-social behaviour and because they were suspect as subversive of democracy.^[16] Associations that included non-Athenians, women, and slaves would have been special targets for suspicion. Yet by the end of the fourth century and the beginning of the third, associations acted to dispel suspicion about their potentially subversive nature. Not only did they represent themselves publicly with the same epigraphical genres—honorific decrees and rosters—as those used by citizens, but also stressed their cultic and convivial dimensions (ignoring any potentially political aspects). Associations decrees from this period reproduce the moral lexicon of the city, stressing φιλοτιμία, εὔνοια, δικαιοσύνη, and εὐσέβεια, and signalling general adherence to civic norms and practices.^[17] The production and display of alba by associations—both cultic and, later, occupational—can be regarded both as instances of mimicry of polis-practices and as part of a concerted effort to look Athenian and thus to deflect suspicion of subversion.^[18] Of course, these practices were not only advertisements to the polis; they also produced subjects compliant to the values of the city.

1.3 Technical Terminology

Mimicry of civic practices is also seen in the terminology that associations adopted. In Athens, where the decrees of the boulē were dated with the formulae τῆι κυρίαι ἀγορᾶι or τῆι ἐκκλησίαι in the month of NN, Athenian associations adopted the same dating formulae. The trio of ἐπιμελητής, τάμιας, and γραμματεύς typically named as officers in Athenian and Piraean cultic associations mirrored titles of Athenian officials. Elsewhere association inscriptions attest the use of ἀγορανόμος,^[19] ἄρχων, ἐπιστάτης, ἐπίσκοπος, οἰκονόμος, πρόεδρος, προεστῶτες, προστάτης, πρύτανις, στρατηγός, and φροντιστής in Greek and aedile, curator, decurion, quaestor, and quinquenalis in Latin.^[20] The general membership of Latin associations were often called plebs or populi and larger collegia sometimes divided their members into decuriae, mimicking the structure of Roman towns, the army and ancient versions of the Roman Senate.^[21] Of course there are titles that are peculiar to associations such as archeranistēs or archibakchos; but it is nonetheless clear that imitation of civic titles was a very common practice.

The practices of cities can also be seen in the common practice of electing or otherwise choosing ἐπιμεληταί or other leaders yearly, thus imitating the yearly election of eponymous archons in Athens or the yearly appointment of priests. Hence, one finds such formulae as IG II² 1324 = GRA I 32 (Piraeus, ca. 190 bce):

[ἐπειδὴ Στέφανος ἐπιμελητὴς]

[γενόμενος τὸν ἐν]ιαυτ[ὸν τὸν ἐπὶ]

[– – – ἄρχ]οντος

Whereas Stephanos, who became supervisor for the one year that NN was archon …

or an inscription honouring the president of a guild of bread and cake bakers (IGFayum III 212.7–8, Arsinoë, 3 ce):

Ἡρακλείδην Σοχώτου προστ-

άτην τοῦ λβ’ L Καίσαρος …

… Herakleides son of Sochotēs, president for the 32nd year of Caesar …

Although associations mimicked civic offices there were some differences or at least some adaptations. Athenian associations seem to have avoided the term ἄρχων to designate their chief administrative officers, preferring ἐπιμελητής (also a civic officer). While the polis carefully delimited the responsibilities of officers, in associations ἐπιμεληταί might also supervise processions and other cultic activities, taking the role often assigned to the ἱεροποιοί (sacrificers). The γραμματεύς in an association might also assume a role of financial administration along with the ταμίας (treasurer) or in place of the ταμίας.^[22] That is, associations imitated, but they also adapted roles to suit their functions.

Alongside officers elected yearly there were also individuals singled out with the designation διὰ βίου or perpetuus. These are very likely honorary designations recognizing distinguished service or conspicuous benefaction and in most cases it seems unlikely that they were involved in the day-to-day management of the association in question. This practice of recognizing lifetime “officers” also mimics civic practices, especially in the West, where civic patrons were acknowledged prominently in inscriptions, but were distinct from the duumviri elected yearly to manage the municipality.^[23] Imitation of civic fasti is easily seen in the album of the corpus scaphariorum et lenunculariorum traiectus Luculli (CIL 14.246) which, after the emperor and caesar, features the names of ten patroni, all senators and most of consular rank, followed by a quinquennalis perpetuus, then the current quinquennalis, and quinquennales from the years 151–172 ce, each serving between two and seven year, and then the plebs.

1.4 Dispute Settlement

Some associations also assumed a judicial role in dispute settlement among members and prohibited members from resort to public courts when the complaint was about a fellow member, fining those who accused or calumniated members.^[24] This did not prevent members from appealing to civic or in Egypt, nome, officials, especially when the association’s internal decisions did not favour an appellant^[25]; nevertheless these regulations seem on the one hand pragmatic, to mediate disputes among members before they became conflicts that would fragment the association, and on the other, symbolic, to claim a kind of quasi-civic autonomy, even those associations that were not formally constituted as politeumata.^[26]

2.1 A Declining Polis?

An early explanation for the rise of associations begins with the notion of the “destruction of Greek democracy” promoted by de Ste Croix and others, according to which Greek cities experienced a decline in vitality either with the Battle of Chaeronea (338 bce) or with the control of Attica by Alexander and the diadochoi or with the rise of Rome in the wake of the Second Punic War and the battle of Cynoscephalae (197 bce).^[27] On this view, the gradual disintegration of democracy and autonomy can be linked to a parallel narrative of the decline of civic life and the hollowness of Greek cultic experience.^[28] Associations—first cult associations and then presumably other associations—stepped into this breach in order to revitalize religious practices.^[29] Thus Ziebarth argued:

Der fortschreitende Zerfall des bürgerlichen Lebens und die Lockerung des Familienzusammenhangs bewirkten naturgemäss, dass auch der Einzelne sich aus dem religiösen Bande, welches bisher Gau- und Staatgenossen vereinigt hatte, losgelöst fühlte. Man begann in Griechenland allgemein das Bedürfnis nach einer persönlichen Religion zu fühlen. Dem kamen die privaten Kultvereine in schönster Weise entgegen. Wem die Art des Kultus der angestammten Gottheiten nicht gefiel, der vereinigte sich mit Gleichgesinnten zu einem privaten Kultus derselben nach eigenem Gesetz. Wer überhaupt Überdruss an den griechischen Göttern empfand, weil sie doch den Zerfall alles alten Wesens nicht hatten aufhalten können, dem öffneten die kleinen, zunächst von Ausländern begründeten Kultgemeinden fremder Gottheiten, welche immer auf Propaganda bedacht waren, gern den Eintritt in ihr bescheidenes ἱερόν.^[30]

Until recently this compensatory view has been the common understanding of the function of associations, perhaps because of the implicit theological subtext according to which the demise of genuine “religion” in the Hellenistic period laid the groundwork for the successes of Christianity. However, the assumption that the city cults of Hellenistic cities were empty and unappealing finds little empirical support. There is little evidence of a disintegration of either city life or cultic activities. On the contrary, as MacMullen and others have shown, civic cults remained vital, priesthoods continued to be in demand, and festivals attracted a wide swath of the ancient population.^[31] Cultic associations cannot be viewed as compensation for bankrupt civic cults; more likely, they are capitalized on the strength and vitality of civic cults by imitating them.

2.2 Playing at Democracy

A more plausible variant of the “declining city” theory focuses not on the allegedly bankrupt nature of the civic cults but instead on gradual changes in democratic practices and public life. Nicholas Jones argued that citizen associations of the classical period—demes, phylai, phratries, “clubs,” philosophical schools, ὀργεῶνες, and other groups—were already responses to the failures of Athenian democracy. The characteristics of Greek democracy—egalitarianism, direct rule, minority citizen participation, and exclusivity (i. e., participation by citizens alone)—had the effect of excluding many citizens from real participation.^[32] In the fifth and fourth centuries, small citizens associations adopted practices that imitated those of the polis and were in effect “neighbourhood democracies.” Although the focus of Jones’ work is on the function and eventual decline of citizen associations, he suggests that the immigrant associations that began to form in Athens in the fourth and third century bce displayed a similar dynamic:

[…] like their classical predecessors, these cultic orgeones, by rising to the occasion to meet the needs of their members, provide our final example of an association’s response to the Athenian democracy.^[33]

Just as the deme and phratry associations compensated for de facto exclusion from Greek democracy, immigrant associations, which included non-Athenians as well as Athenians, women, and slaves, and which reverenced non-Athenian deities, mimicked the roles of the deme associations and as these declined in the Hellenistic period, began to assume the roles of those deme associations in relation to burial and the social relief of poorer members.^[34]

It is not that democratic practices disappeared in the Hellenistic period, but they did suffer changes.^[35] If the radical form of Athenian democracy did not last, democratic institutions in Athens and other Greek cities survived and still mattered to citizens.^[36] During the Hellenistic period civic politics was marked by an increased oligarchization, with local gentry in practice controlling more and more of the political process and more of the prestigious priesthoods and civic positions. But the citizen assembly remained an important part of the political process which had to be included in governance, even with leadership increasingly in the hands of the powerful. This also meant a subtle shift from the spirit of isonomia (equality among all citizens) to an emphasis on hierarchy, and an accompanying shift from the role of the powerful as protectors of the citizen body to that of being benefactors (εὐεργέται) of the city.^[37]

Even during the Imperial period when, as Plutarch acknowledges, the Greek legislator functioned in the consciousness that the “Roman boot was over his head,”^[38] local assemblies continued to play an important role in manufacturing the appearance of consent.^[39] It was not until the early Mediaeval period that civic assemblies appear to have lost most of their functions.

Without adopting Jones’ view of associations as a compensation for the failures of Athenian democracy, Kosta Vlassopoulos has stressed the importance of “free spaces” in Hellenistic Athens in nurturing new forms of identity. The city included a number of “free spaces”—

spaces that brought together citizens, metics, slaves and women, created common experiences and interactions, and shaped new forms of identity. We can define a number of such spaces: the agora, the workplace, the tavern, the house, the trireme, and the cemetery.^[40]

Although Vlassopoulos does not discuss the mixed cultic associations that became numerous in Athens from the late fourth century bce onward, these could be seen as even better examples of “free spaces” than the agora, taverns, and cemeteries, which created only temporary and fleeting contact between various status categories. As groups with fixed membership and regular meeting times, these mixed cultic associations facilitated the development of networks among persons of varying legal statuses: citizens, metics, and slaves, men and women.

Of course, the existence of such “free spaces” and the new forms of identity that they created does not necessarily imply that there was a widespread disaffection with democratic practices or even a strong consciousness that things had changed since the heyday of democratic Athens. Still less does this imply any expectation that the boundaries of democracy should be extended. Yet Jones offers some indications in Athens of a willingness to imagine alternate forms of democratic practice. Aristophanes’ Ekklesiazousai entertains the possibility of a government managed by women and Plato’s Republic and Laws discusses alternate polities, even though Plato’s own preferences were less than democratic. These data, Jones argues, point to a general politicization of the population of Athens. “It would be wrongheaded to suppose that the matter of nonparticipation was not a live issue on the grounds, say that such ideas had never occurred to anyone or still lay centuries in the future.”^[41] Xenophon, speaking through Socrates laments that fullers, cobblers, builders, bronze smiths, farmers, and merchants made up the assembly (ἡ ἐκκλησία) (Mem 3,7,1–6). He was of course speaking of citizens; but precisely those occupations were also those of various metic groups as well. When citizens and metics, women and slaves were found together in the “free spaces” of associations a new kind of identity was formed, parasitic on civic practices but creating identities that extended the classical imagination of the structure of the city. It seems plausible, then, to interpret the democratic practices of mixed associations as a matter of “playing at democracy”—perhaps a compensation for the perceived loss of isonomia, but even without such a perception, playing at democracy nonetheless.^[42]

Roman associations might be seen in a similar light. As the ideals of republican government gave way to a political system that progressively removed most vestiges of self-determination from the (free) populus,^[43] associations maintained practices that were in contrast to the increasingly oligarchic practices of the city. The creation of a “free space” in Vlassopoulos’ sense also meant that a member, irrespective of his (and sometimes her) legal status or ethnicity, could serve as magister or quiquennalis or pater/mater and all could participate in elections and the approval of motions and decrees.^[44] The cultivation of democratic spaces was likely more common in smaller and less affluent associations; the very large occupational guilds probably engaged in elections of quinquennales and magistri but in practice the choice of candidates was likely decided from the outset. Although associations engaged in widespread imitation of the city, in respect to their “democratic practices”

kann man von den Vereinigungen also von einem in sozialer Hinsicht ausdrücklichen Gegenmodell zur stark hierarchisch organisierten Stadtgesellschaft reden.^[45]

2.3 Integration into the Polis

The notion of associations as “free spaces” leads to what is perhaps the function most commonly posited for associations: the integration of the sub-élite into the polis. Starting in the late fourth century bce associations created social spaces that brought together not only demesmen, but men and women, metics and slaves, and hence offered vehicles to bridge differences in legal status and ethnic identity in the context of engagement in a common cult. Since the administrative terminology, the lexicon of virtues and vices, and the practices of these associations mimicked those of the polis, the effect was to orient the kinds of sociality offered by associations towards the polis rather than away from it. The association reproduced civic values and practices in a space that was conceptually distinct from the polis but which looked like a mini-polis with democratic practices, honorific decrees, rosters of members, and common banquets. Associations became “cities writ small.”

The sociality of associations, though it cut across social boundaries, did not of course erase legal distinctions or social hierarchies or create an unambiguously egalitarian space.^[46] What it did create was a form of connectivity that bridged social barriers of ancient society that were particularly sturdy and enduring, between citizen and foreigner, elite and commoner, and even between free, freedman/woman, and slave.^[47]

Connectivity with the polis was effected in a variety of ways.

a. Patronage by the élite was a strong tool, especially in the Latin West where it is common to find large occupational guilds populated mostly by freedmen and patronized by Roman nobility.^[48] It is impressive just how far the system of patronage reached “downward”: the senatorial and equestrian élite patronized some groups, especially those occupational and professional guilds involved in activities necessary to the feeding and supply of the city as the lenuncularii and frumentarii. But there were many links between patrons of lesser status—town magistrates, minor imperial officials, imperial freedmen, and well-off commoners—who patronized smaller occupational guilds and cultic associations. Since many of these lesser patrons were themselves connected “up the ladder” to civic elites, the integration of even the smaller cultic associations into structures of patronage can be imagined as creating a large web of patronal connections that ultimately included the nobility.

In the Greek East, which was allergic to the notion of personal patronage, connections between persons and groups of unequal status were masked by such terms as philia (“friendship”), even when the relationship in question was probably instrumental.^[49] Associations were able to benefit from the connections with highly placed citizens. For example, when a group of Sarapiastai in Rhamnous wished to build a temple to Sarapis and Isis, they petitioned a wealthy Athenian demesman, Apollodoros son of Sogenes, who was also the στρατηγός, for the right to purchase land he owned. Apollodoros refused to take any money for the land, donating it instead to the association. The Sarapiastai did not refer to Apollodoros as a patron or even εὐεργέτης, but his “friendship” with the Sarapiastai nonetheless earned him an honorific decree. Interestingly the decree does not extol his benefactions to the Sarapiastai but ἡ πρὸς τοὺς θεοὺς εὐσέβεια καὶ τὴν πρὸς τοὺς ἑαυτοῦ πολιτείας εὔνοια καὶ φιλοτιμία.^[50] Largesse to the association is dissolved into civic virtues.

Patronage was a complex and subtle exchange that required careful choreography. At perhaps its most blatant level, some associations shamelessly advertised for and even pursued patrons, promising them honours commensurate with their benefactions. But the relation between associations and the civic élite was a two-way street. In order to maintain their symbolic capital, patrons also needed clients (or in Greek cities, to be seen as benefactors). Hence, it is likely that the powerful and influential routinely engaged in a calculus of how best to offer largesse and to whom, in order to reap the greatest benefit. Yet the entire exchange had to be masked in the make-believe that the patron offered a benefaction simply out of his or her own disinterested generosity and that the association similarly had freely voted to commend the patron for his or her largesse and for displaying the civic virtues of εὔνοια and φιλοτιμία. The supposed fragility of this exchange is underscored, if only rhetorically, in the common formulae at the end of an honorific decree that threatens with penalties anyone who would attempt to nullify the honour or to impede its being proclaimed. Such formulae seem as much designed to alert the patron to the possibility that his gift might not reciprocated as they are to anticipate real obstruction.

Both parties profited by the exchange. The patron gained symbolic capital in the form of an acclamation, perhaps an honorific inscription. If an inscription was erected, the association’s name appeared alongside that of a benefactor, which “offered [them] an opportunity to stake out a claim to public recognition, a chance to carve out a place for themselves in civic memory.”^[51] This, of course, also cemented the relationship between the association and the polis.

b. In addition to participating in networks of patronage and benefactions, associations also performed their loyalty to cities in various ways. A remarkable inscription honouring a metic from Herakleia (Pontus) who served as supervisor of the ὀργεῶνες of Aphrodite states that he “obtained good omens on behalf of the association of ὀργεῶνες and the children and women and the dēmos of the Athenians” thus signaling not only his service to the group, but their loyalty to Athens.^[52] This message of loyalty is reinforced visually by the relief on the monument, which depicts Aphrodite standing with the honoree, but Athena in the background holding a spear in her left hand and a phiale or a crown in the right.

Some associations staged processions and other events that attracted interest in the city at large and that reinforced connectivity with the city. Socrates, speaking through Plato, mentions the civic spectacle of the night-time torch race and procession from Athens to the Piraeus that featured Athenian and Thracian devotees Bendis marching together.^[53] In Rome and other cities of the West, the dendrophores, mostly freedmen associated with the cult of Cybele, staged yearly processions that attracted onlookers and which are memorialized on numerous reliefs.^[54] And in the West, Asia Minor and Egypt, associations participated in honouring the emperor and other civic benefactors.^[55]

Mimicry has been read in certain colonial contexts both as a matter of camouflage and as a strategy that distances the colonial subject from the colonizer’s discourse. It is characterized by ambivalence: mimicry is never complete but always “the same but not quite” and it is this slippage that both normalizes dominant discourses of power (by rendering them contingent rather than absolute) and in doing so creates space for subaltern subjects to create their own subjectivities and agencies.^[56]

Given the available data from associations, it is difficult to discern whether their mimicry of the polis is a matter of camouflage and indeed resistance to the dominant discourse of Greek and Roman civic culture, especially since the available data is only epigraphical and not the kinds of ethnographic data to which field anthropologists have access. On the face of it, it would seem that associations and their members were interested in creating spaces of connectivity, both with other members of the same identity groups and with members of other identity groups as occurred in mixed associations. There is little if any evidence of resistance to the dominant civic discourse; on the contrary, most of the gestures that are visible to us appear to signal efforts to integrate and identify with civic culture rather than to create social spaces that preserved difference and resisted dominant discourses of power. In this sense, we might consider the strategy of sub-élite associations as promoting a “fictive citizenship”—the mimicry of civic culture by those formally excluded from the city and its power structures, but who nonetheless acted in ways to reproduce civic values and norms and thus to demonstrate loyalty to the city and indeed to assert their value to the polis.^[57]

2.4 Responses the Anxiety of Belonging

Greg Woolf, reflecting on “epigraphic culture” and in particular the fact that the volume of inscription increased markedly during the Augustan period, reaching a peak in the second century ce,^[58] argues that monumentalization was driven by anxieties about identity:

The eternity of monuments guaranteed not lasting things, but rather momentary events of lasting significance—treaties, virtuous acts (res gestae), acts of public generosity, acts of religious devotion. Often these events were of lasting significance because they created new relationships, for example of patronage or peace, but always they were important because they had changed the world. As such, monumentalizing was a way of making claims about the world, claims which might be challenged […] but public claims none the less.^[59]

Woolf is concerned with monumentalization in general, not with associations; but since some associations at least participated in the epigraphic culture, it follows that if Woolf is right that epigraphic culture was a response to anxieties about one’s place in the world, associations shared the same concerns. The honorific decrees of associations recorded the achievements of individual members and the offices that they held. Membership lists made visible the connectivity between persons. As Woolf recognizes,

[i]dentities might also be constructed relationally, that is in terms of membership of particular collectivities—collegia, familiae, tribes—or else as friends, fellow-soldiers, children, or parents. All these points apply to non-funerary as much as to funerary epigraphy. Both sorts of identification related to anxieties specific to early imperial society.^[60]

Whether the rosters of associations were inscribed on stone, or on papyrus (as they are in Egypt), or on wooden tablets, the recording of the names of members created and rendered “real” the relations among members and conferred on them a place in the city. Conversely, the practice of erasing names of members for non-payment of dues, or infractions against the bylaws of the association severed those relationships. Much more potent than merely recording the offense of a member, erasing the name evoked the anxiety of oblivion, of never having been there at all.

2.5 Joining a Community of Honour

The mimicry of civic practices is especially evidence in the honorific decrees of associations, as is clear from the comparison (above) of the structure of civic decrees and those of associations. Both the Roman and Greek élite lived in “communities of honor,” to use Lendon’s useful term, where ascribed and inherited honor was the currency of social status, conceptually distinct from wealth and political power. It was advertised inter alia in naming conventions, on clothing, in public monuments honouring achievements and largesse, in funerary monuments, and in the list of magistracies that one could claim.^[61] Members of associations far below the élite imitated many of these honorific practices, not only commending their elite patrons, but approving honorific decrees for their own members, who as commoners, freedmen, and foreigners could not aspire to participation in the civic cursus honorum. These members were honoured with precisely the same formulae that were current for the élite: ἀρετῆς ἕνεκα καὶ ἀνδραγαθίας (δικαιοσύνης, εὔνοιας, εὐσέβειας, φιλοτιμίας, etc.) in Greek, and honoris virtutisque causa in Latin, listed on association rosters prominently as ἐπιμεληταί and quinquennales, singled out as “dues exempt” (ἀσύμβολοι, immunes), named as officials διὰ βίου/perpetuus, or provided with double portions of food and drink at association meals.

These practices of course articulated a hierarchy within associations, mitigated only by the fact that the adoption of rotating offices meant that many or even all members could theoretically aspire to office and to the honours that often attended office. In a culture in which honour was a potent commodity and an index of symbolic capital it is difficult not to see these practices as a matter of associations supplying through imitation the prestige to their members that as individuals they could not achieve.^[62]

2.6 Associations in the Polis

Although the “declining polis” thesis is problematic as an explanation of the role that associations played in the city, each of the other explanations has something to commend it. Whether there was a perceived “failure” of Greek democracy, it does seem clear that associations in the Greek speaking world imitated the democratic practices of the polis and thus asserted a form of autonomy over their affairs, creating themselves as fictive democracies. Ironically perhaps, associations both in Hellenistic Athens and in the early Roman Empire as sub-élite “micro societies” reproduced aristocratic democratic values and elite forms of sociality, stressing equality and autonomy in political contexts that were increasingly characterized by neither equality nor autonomy.

Mimicry also contributed to integration of sub-élite populations into the city insofar as it reproduced civic practices and values in persons who were not citizens. For sub-élite populations that consisted of a heterogeneous mixture of foreign residents from many locales, artisans, slaves and freed slaves, associations and their mimicry of the civic practice of creating lists offered a material and visual marker of belonging, and in the case of associations that embraced citizen members or patrons, a tangible record of connectivity to the city itself. And the mimicry of the honorific practices typical of the civic élite on the one hand created internal hierarchies of honour and on the other, asserted a place for the association in the fabric of the city. Even a modest association of Christian fullers could represent itself as a publicly-minded benefactor. Of course, they did not have the resources available to those of the bouletic classes, but by pooling resources they could still have an impact on the face of the city. They became visible to themselves and to others as benefactors, however modest their resources.

3.1 Methodological Considerations

Recent discussions of Christ groups and associations focus on some of the obvious similarities and some of the apparent differences.^[64] Similarities and differences are sometimes mobilized in support of a claim that Christ groups should be treated as a sub-type of Graeco-Roman association, and in other instances, to provide the basis for a claim that the resemblances are so outweighed by the “overwhelming” differences that any genealogical or even taxonomic claim is implausible—either that Christ groups belong to the same taxon as associations or that they were “influenced” by them.^[65] There is usually a spoken or unspoken theoretical subtext in these efforts: either to “protect” emergent Christ groups from the contamination of pagan world or at least to treat Christ groups as sui generis and incomparable. When “influence” is conceded, it is sometimes seen to be mediated by diasporic Judaism, which Christ groups then happily and swiftly superseded.^[66] Or similarities are acknowledged and differences emphasized in the service of the thesis that Christ groups used but “subverted” the practices and values of their environment (normally Roman patronage or the imperial cult). At other times, comparison serve to de-privilege Christ groups and to consider them as one of the several types of socialities evidenced in the Graeco-Roman world and to treat comparison as a heuristic rather than a genealogical method^[67]; or, as Richard Ascough argues, to “break […] down the scholarly taxonomy that divides groups into three or more distinct categories such as ‘Jews, Christians, and others’ or ‘synagogues, churches, and associations’.”^[68]

My interest in this paper is neither genealogical nor taxonomic but heuristic. Whether Christ groups were “influenced” by associations in their relationship to the polis is hardly provable in any case, even if it is undeniable that Christ groups formed in a context in which occupational guilds and cultic associations were plentiful and indeed part of the furniture of the polis.^[69] Instead, I will employ the data from Hellenistic and early Roman private associations heuristically to interrogate data from Christ groups as a means of discovering the ways in which Christ groups, like associations, might have positioned themselves vis à vis the city. This is not an exercise in genealogy; it only assumes that comparison of the lesser known phenomenon with better known phenomena can be instructive and offer useful ways to interpret the sparse data that we have from Christ groups.

There are several methodological caveats to observe from the outset. First, it should be recognized that neither Christ groups nor “associations” comprise single and unified phenomena but each represents a spectrum of social practices. This means that most of the generalizations about associations that have been used in the past to dissociate associations from Christ groups—that associations were only for the wealthier plebs, that they typically had a homogeneous membership, that they had no ethical regulation, and so forth—are not only misleading since they reify “associations” into a single, consistent set of practices, terminology, and demographic profile and do the same for Christ groups, but empirically are also simply wrong.

Second, in comparing the positionality of associations vis à vis the city with that of Christ groups we are faced with a mismatch in the relevant data sets. We have nothing from Christ groups comparable to the kinds of self-representations that are found in νόμοι or honorific decrees or alba of associations, which would tell us how those groups publicly represented themselves. Conversely, we have nothing comparable to Paul’s letters or those of other early Christian writers, which address issues of conflict and challenge within associations. That is, we have plenty of data about “mixed associations” that included persons of various legal statuses, ethnic identities, and genders, probably not unlike the Pauline groups at Corinth or Philippi. What we lack are the discursive ways in which mixed associations took note of their demographic complexion and created ways to imagine themselves as a unified and coherent social unit. That they had to devise a discourse to rationalize their mixed nature is entirely probable; they might have made claims to themselves analogous to Paul’s discourse of the deity overcoming ethnic, status, and gender differences. But we lack any access to such discourse, because this is not the sort of discourse that one expects in their public (epigraphical) representations.

For Christ groups, by contrast, we lack decrees, membership rosters, and bylaws that would allow us to ascertain the “Selbstverständnis” of the group. What we have are the interventions of early Christian writers, Paul and others, who address invented multiple ways to reduce conflict. It remains unclear whether Paul’s interventions ever became part of the group’s discourse, and even if it did whether these strategies were effective and became part of the self-representation of those groups.^[70]

The point is that for associations, owing to the nature of the data, we have the results of identity formation, or at least the ways in which many associations wanted to be seen in relation to the polis, but lack much insight into the process and discourse of identity formation. For early Christ groups, we have occasional examples of strategies that were proposed to effect a durable identity, but little indication of whether such strategies were effective.

In what follows, I will pay attention to the linguistic choices made by Christ groups and the practices that they appear to have adopted, comparing these to the linguistic choices and practices evidenced by private associations. These comparisons will suggest that Christ groups to a large measure also engaged in a mimicry of the polis. The second section will turn to the overt ways in which (some) Christ groups characterized themselves, as “resident aliens” and as belonging to a different polity, which stands in some tension to their mimicry of the polis.

3.2 The Christ Groups as ἐκκλησία

The most obvious imitation of the polis by early Christ groups is in the use of ἐκκλησία to refer to the local assembly in each city. Scholarship has been divided between those who believe that the term in Pauline usage originated with the LXX^[71] or from Judaean usage of ἐκκλησία,^[72] and those who regard it as borrowed from the standard term for a civic assembly.^[73] The issue of the “source” of Pauline usage—if indeed it is Paul’s coinage—is however less important than how the term ἐκκλησία functioned in the contexts in which it was used: in Greek cities ἐκκλησία meant the political assembly, a central element in city’s claim to autonomy, and a space where civic membership was performed. Even if by the first century ce democratic institutions has suffered some decline, they were still vital in such Greek cities as Athens, Cos, Miletos, and Rhodes.^[74] Moreover, civic ἐκκλησίαι are attested in Thessalonica, and Philippi^[75] and in Corinth,^[76] the location of Paul’s earliest Christ groups.

Private associations did not commonly adopt ἐκκλησία as a designation for their meetings, even though those meetings frequently had legislative functions—approving decrees and bylaws, and conferring honours on benefactors and distinguished members. Ἐκκλησία is attested in only a few private associations, notably a synodos of Tyrian Herakleists on Delos,^[77] a gymnastic association on Samos,^[78] and a family association in Sinuri in Caria.^[79] In Athens, however, cultic associations routinely employed the term ἀγορὰ κυρία to designate their meetings,^[80] mimicking the older Attic term for the legislative assembly, even in the Hellenistic period when the civic assembly had replaced ἀγορὰ κυρία with the more common ἐκκλησία κυρία. The use of ἐκκλησία by Christ groups, then, is an even more direct invocation of the civic assembly of Greek cities than the practice current in Athenian private associations.

Of course the civic ἐκκλησία was a space in which (male) citizens of varying social levels were brought together. In spite of a decline in the sense of isonomia and the increasing hierarchicalization of the assembly, it still levelled some of the power and status differences within the citizen population. The Christ groups at Corinth, Philippi, and Rome, and private associations that included a mixed membership greatly expanded the notion of participation, providing “free spaces” in which “playing at democracy” was possible for citizens as well as metics, foreigners, women, and slaves. And especially among the smaller and poorer groups, the sense of fictive isonomia was likely greater than in the large and wealthy associations, with civic grandees as patrons.^[81]

Paul’s way of speaking about ἐκκλησίαι might also be seen in the context of civic discourse more generally. As is widely recognized, Paul tends to use ἐκκλησία to mean an assembly of Christ devotees in a particular city (which is of course analogous to the use of ἐκκλησία more generally). But he also refers collectively to the ἐκκλησίαι of provinces,^[82] a locution that finds a parallel in the development of κοινά in the Hellenistic period—confederacies of cities in the same regions.^[83] This organization was of course exploited by the Romans in provincial administration. Van Kooten in fact concludes,

[t]his way of referring to the ἐκκλησίαι […] at the provincial or […] sub-provincial level, seems to hint at a conscious paralleling of the Roman provinces which points to an alternative structure of the Roman Empire.^[84]

Thus Paul’s imagination of the Christ groups in the Empire was easily mapped onto the imperial organization of cities.

Finally, van Kooten points out a series of functional parallels between Greek assemblies and the ἐκκλησίαι of Christ groups: both were places of instruction; both were known for factionalism; both were spaces in which μανία was restrained^[85]; and although Greek civic assemblies were ostensibly closed to non-citizens, in practice strangers could attend the assembly, just as Paul imagines strangers entering the assembly of a Christ group.^[86]

Although it is true that the ἐκκλησίαι of Christ groups display some idiosyncracies when compared with the civic assemblies of Greek cities, it is difficult not to conclude that they were indebted to civic assemblies even as the practices of civic assemblies were transformed. The ἐκκλησίαι of Christ groups, no less than private associations, provided a space in which the values of self-determination and autonomy could be displayed, and in where connectivity and network formation mimicking elite networks could be achieved.^[87]

3.3 Civic Practices

The autonomous and self-determining functions of the assembly can be seen in several Pauline and other writings.

First, Pauline groups adopted judicial practices that imitated the polis. In 2Cor 2,5–11 Paul assumes that the disciplining of wrongdoers will be effected by “the majority.”^[88] Likewise in 1Cor 5,1–13 apropos of the incestuous man, Paul imagines an assembly (συναχθέντων ὑμῶν, 1Cor 5,4) at which the matter is considered, with Paul “virtually present” and offering his judgment (ἤδη κέκρικα ὡς παρὼν τὸν οὕτως τοῦτο κατεργασάμενον, 1Cor 5,3), resulting in expulsion of the wrongdoer (1Cor 5,13). The procedure of meting out punishments, including both fines,^[89] temporary banning, and expulsions is paralleled in the practices of many associations, and these in turn mimic the practices of the civic assembly.^[90]

The autonomy of the ἐκκλησία is also expressed in its arrogation of dispute settlement and sanctioning of those who resort to external courts. In 1Cor 6,1–7 Paul expresses dismay at the report of members taking fellow members to court, insisting that disputes be settled in an internal forum. While this practice can be seen as a way to limit internal conflict and avoid the public shaming of one member by another,^[91] it is also an insistence on the right of the group to function as a judicial and legislative body, thus mimicking civic functions. This can also be seen in a wide variety of private associations, which likewise forbade members to resort to the public courts for the settlement of disputes, and in the case of an Egyptian association from the early imperial period, simply stated that “in all other matters [i. e., not specifically named in the bylaws], it will be as the association decides” (τὰ δ’ ἄλλα ἃ ἐὰν τῶι κοινῶι δόξῃ).^[92]

Second, as I have argued in detail elsewhere,^[93] the Pauline collection for “the poor of the saints of Jerusalem” is usefully understood as an instance of a subscription or ἐπίδοσις, a common practice in Hellenistic and Roman cities and private associations for raising funds for extraordinary purposes, for example the repair of a temple or the city walls, or relief of famine, or some other cause that fell outside of the normal fiscal practices of the city. Subscriptions, unlike patronage, relied not on one or two large donors, but on as many small donors as possible, in many instances hundreds of persons each contributing small sums (5–50 drachmae).^[94] Some of these subscriptions attracted not only citizens but metics and foreigners, providing a venue for non-citizens to demonstrate their support of the polis.

Ἐπιδόσεις functioned as “performances of citizenship.” But unlike competitive outlays like patronage where “size mattered,” subscriptions capitalized on the value of φιλοτιμία, zeal for public good in a different way. Since ἐπιδόσεις often set a maximum contribution, large-scale donors were blocked from turning their contributions into theatrical performances. This meant that subscriptions had a levelling effect on participation in the good of the polis. Competitive aspects of subscriptions now resided in being the first to contribute, being the most unlikely to contribute (e. g., a noncitizen contributing first), completion of the full amount promised, and the number of persons participating in the subscription.^[95] Seen through the lens of civic and association ἐπιδόσεις, Paul’s collection aimed at maximizing the number of small contributors. Moreover, his comments in 2Cor 8–9 make plain the competitive aspects of the collection, in particular the spectre he raises of Macedonians with their contributions appearing in Corinth only to find a meagre sum and a shameful level of member participation. Competition to serve public good was the motor of ἐπιδόσεις and in this respect, Paul is racing the engine.

Paul’s subscription of course had its own innovations: instead of collecting funds for the needs of fellow Greeks and for the Thessalonian or Corinthian Christ groups, it was a collection not only for a group in another city—the Jerusalem group—but for Judaeans. In the wake of the events of 41 ce this amounted to a transgressive act, using a civic institution in order to effect a connection between Greeks and groups with whom Greeks had no special affinities or obligations. As Paul’s comments in Rom 15 indicate, he treats the subscription of Gentile ἐκκλησίαι as a kind of performance of citizenship, not citizenship in those Gentile cities, but fictive citizenship in a larger corporate polity of Christ groups.

Third, early Christ groups appear to have observed a version of democratic practice in choosing leaders by election. Although translations and commentaries routinely translate χειροτονεῖν as “to appoint,” this rendering is justified only in Acts 14,23, χειροτονήσαντες δὲ αὐτοῖς κατ’ ἐκκλησίαν πρεσβυτέρους, where the antecedent subjects are Paul and Barnabas. Elsewhere, unless the context demands some other rendering, χειροτονεῖν should be translated as “elect,” consistent with the basic meaning of “to stretch out one’s hand” (to vote). This translations is required in the case of the three occurrences in χειροτονῆσαι in Ignatius (Phil 10,1; Smyrn 11,2; Poly 7,2), since the verb is connected with πρεσβεία/πρεσβεύτης, “embassy/ambassador,” which in Greek usage is always chosen by election.^[96] The Didache (15,1) also advises that supervisors (ἐπίσκοποι) and assistants (διάκονοι) be elected (χειροτονήσατε) after having been vetted (δεδοκιμασμένους). This conforms to the practice of Greek cities, where candidates for office underwent a δοκιμασία (scrutiny) to determine their suitability to stand for election.^[97] The δοκιμασία was also a regular part of admission to private associations.^[98] 2Cor 8,19 indicates that the “brother” was elected “by the ekklēsiai” (presumably in Macedonia) to accompany Titus to Corinth to assist in the collection. The brother is called a συνέκδημος, a term used to designate persons accompanying a delegation to another city.^[99] Peter Arzt-Grabner argues on the basis of several first and second century ce papyri that use the term χειροτονεῖν:

Auf diesem Hintergrund wirft die Bezeichnung des mitgeschickten „Bruders“ [V. 18] als χειροτονηθείς ein Licht auf dessen Wichtigkeit: nach mehr oder weniger demokratischem Prinzip von den Gemeinden wohl aus mehreren ausgewählt (vgl. die ursprüngliche Bedeutung von χειρο-τονέω – „die Hand ausstrecken“), ist er nun beauftragt, Titus zu begleiten.^[100]

Richard Last has made a strong case for rendering 1Cor 11,19, δεῖ γὰρ καὶ αἱρέσεις ἐν ὑμῖν εἶναι, ἵνα [καὶ] οἱ δόκιμοι φανεροὶ γένωνται ἐν ὑμῖν, as “there also need to be elections among you in order that the approved ones become persons of distinction.”^[101] He points out on the one hand that αἱρέσεις is an ordinary term for “election” and on the other, that the standard renderings of αἱρέσεις as “divisions” lead to the counterintuitive result that Paul, who has objected to σχίσματα earlier in 1Corinthians and in 1Cor 11,17–34 is troubled by σχίσματα at the communal meal (11,19), now acquiesces to divisions (or is speaking ironically).^[102]

Whether Last is right in regard to 1Cor 11,19, it remains that the election of leaders and envoys of Christ groups appears to have been a common practice, and in this respect Christ groups mimicked the practices of cities (and private associations). This of course does not mean that election was the only means of selecting leaders; on the contrary, the presence of persons of wealth and influence meant that the “democratic” process in cities as well as private associations was sometimes adjusted to accommodate the desires of those members. An example of such accommodation is presented by IG II² 1328 (Piraeus, 183/2 bce; 175/4 bce), which contains two decrees of the ὀργεῶνες of the Mother of the Gods, the first decreeing that no woman could be appointed twice as attendant (ζάκορος) until all of the women in the association had taken their turn at this honour, and the second, eight years later, deciding that a certain Metrodora should be appointed as attendant for life. It does not take too much imagination to guess why the association agreed to a change in its earlier “egalitarian” policy and what the stakes would have been should they have decided to maintain that policy. Democratic principles were always in tension with the need to satisfy benefactors and patrons. And the practice of yearly rotating leaders practiced by most Greek associations^[103] and probably by Christ groups eventually gave way to permanent office holders.^[104]

Finally, we might ask whether Christ groups mimicked civic honorific practices, as many associations did. The frequent answer of scholars is that a distinctive of Christ groups is that they offered no honours to those who provided them with services.^[105]

From that earliest period, we indeed have no honorific or dedicatory inscriptions comparable to those of the associations mentioned above—or at least, if such inscriptions exist, their “Christian” character would be invisible to us without the paralinguistic marks (e. g., chi-rho monograms, crosses) and onomastic indicators that help us to identify Christian papyri and inscriptions from the third century ce onward.^[106] Moreover, the erection of steles was not the only means of honouring achievement, even for groups that had the resources to have inscriptions cut. As the study of honorific inscriptions shows, the principle honorific acts are the association’s decision to honour, the offer of a crown, and the public announcement of the honour, normally in the next meeting. Obviously, none of these has survived. These absences of evidence have sometimes led to the conclusion that Christ groups did not engage in honorific practices; but is absence of evidence evidence of absence?

Harrison has pointed to 1Cor 12,26b εἴτε δοξάζεται [ἓν] μέλος, συγχαίρει πάντα τὰ μέλη and Rom 12,10b, τῇ φιλαδελφίᾳ εἰς ἀλλήλους φιλόστοργοι, τῇ τιμῇ ἀλλήλους προηγούμενοι, as evidence that Paul “endorsed the appropriateness of honouring fellow Christians”^[107] with the caveat that this should not lead to the dishonouring of weaker members. This of course does not distinguish the practices of Christ groups qualitatively from the honorific practices of other groups: although there as an inevitable competitive aspect to honours, analysis of small group practices by behavioral economists suggests that small face-to-face associations offer attention and testimony to individual members’ merits and performances—which Paul clearly endorses in Rom 12,10—; that associations create a space in which achievement is prioritized and individual members can excel at the relevant activities; and that the effect of reputational pooling is a benefit to all members of the group.^[108] All such groups balance the competitive aspect of honouring individuals and limit its potential for destructive rivalry. Athenian associations often advertised their willingness to honour benefactors with the formula,

ὅπως ἂν οὖν ἐφάμιλλον εἶ τοῖς βουλομένοις εὐεργετεῖν τὸ κοινὸν εἰδόσιν ὅτι κομιοῦνται τὰς χάριτας·

 

in order that there might be a rivalry among those who wish to be benefactors to the koinon and that they might know that they shall receive thanks.^[109]

On the other hand, associations such as the Iobakchoi of Athens (IG II² 1368.125–135) also required members who were honoured by the city to provide wine to the membership, thus allowing all members to participate in the achievements of one. Other associations no doubt adopted other discursive strategies to balance achievement with the nurturing of a common identity, but we should not mislead ourselves into thinking that Christ groups were uniquely competent in managing the competitive aspects of the culture of honour.

In addition to the texts mentioned by Harrison, an indication that Christ groups participated in the culture of honour is Paul’s use of ἐπαίνειν, “to commend,” in 1Cor 11,2.17.22. This is probably the most common verb used in the construction of honorific decrees, appearing thousands of times. In the first case Paul “commends” the Corinthian Christ group for keeping the traditions that Paul has entrusted to them, and in the latter two instances, he withholds his praise.

At the very least, Paul cannot have been ignorant of the use of this term in the practices of cities and associations. He takes for granted that his addressees also understand the allusion, and invokes the vocabulary of commendation precisely at a point where association-like activities—the conduct of meetings and the problem of uncontrolled speech, and conduct of the communal meal—are at issue.^[110]

The supposed absence of honorific practices in Christ groups cannot be used as a wedge to separate those groups either from the polis in general or others associations. As I will suggest apropos of 1Peter and Hermas, Christ groups also participated in the culture of honour, of course with adaptations appropriate to their social level and resources.

In sum, Christ groups display significant elements of normative integration into the polis—that is, the degree to which group conduct can be mapped onto more general cultural standards and values.^[111] These include, first, the use of the term ἐκκλησία to name their periodic assembly, a term that invokes notions of autonomy and self-determination so prized in Greek civic culture. That Christ groups embraced groups not normally a part of the polis merely reflects other contemporary responses to the polis, hardly resistance and still less subversion, but instead the extension of the idea of the city to groups formally excluded. In this sense, we might think of the practice of Christ groups as cultivating a “fictive citizenship.” At the same time, the ἐκκλησίαι of Christ groups did what civic assemblies did: create a space for connectivity and network formation beyond the family.

Second, expression of autonomy was instantiated in several practices that mimicked civic practices: the exercise of judicial functions and dispute settlement; participating in an ἐπίδοσις which had the practical aim of raising funds for the good of distant Christ group, but the symbolic result of a performance of fictive citizenship in a new polity; the use of voting and other democratic practices (“playing at democracy”); and honorific practices which mobilized civic practices, and which served to reproduce general values of generosity, piety, service, and goodwill and to cement the relationship between those with resources to offer and the group that benefited from those resources, reciprocating with praise.

4.1 1Peter

1Peter famously describes his addressees with the rather oxymoronic term, ἐκλεκτοὶ παρεπίδημοι, “chosen visitors” (1,1) and later as πάροικοι καὶ παρεπίδημοι (2,11). John Elliott has argued that at least for 1Peter the terms are not metaphorical but connote the civic statuses of persons who are not citizens but resident non-citizens in one of the cities of Roman Asia or visitors to those cities.^[117] He characterizes the position of such persons as marginal, “vulnerable,” “tenuous” and estranged.

Although Elliott is correct that the terms have to do with legal status vis à vis the polis, they are not necessarily terms of disapprobation.^[118] Of course, πάροικοι καὶ παρεπίδημοι probably sought the status of πολῖται and the various privileges and obligations that accompanied this status. Philo reports the injury suffered by Alexandrian Jews who were demoted from being πολῖται to the status of “foreigners and aliens” (Flacc 54).^[119] There is, however, plenty of evidence that πάροικοι καὶ παρεπίδημοι was used in the more positive sense of persons whose legal status fell short of citizenship, but who were nonetheless expected to contribute to the life of the city.

Elliott claims that the largest number of πάροικοι were found among the rural populace and accordingly supposes that the addressees of 1Peter are mainly rural folk.^[120] Thus for Elliott, πάροικοι tends to slide from being a designation of legal status to one of ethnic dislocation and displacement.^[121] Indeed, according to Stephen Mitchell the rural population of Anatolia was “often described as perioikoi, paroikoi, katoikoi, non-citizen komētai, or simply as the common people, the laos.”^[122] This, however, hardly means that persons who were called πάροικοι were necessarily rural. Greek cities has significant populations of non-citizen traders, craftsmen, and others. The more important feature of the term πάροικος is its legal significance: the term πάροικος, whether in reference to a person in countryside or in a city, did not enjoy the status of a citizen.^[123] But a critical characteristic of πάροικοι was that they were either freeborn, or freed, not slaves. This point can be illustrated by numerous inscriptions that distinguish between citizens, visitors, πάροικοι and slaves as separate and distinct categories. For example:

I.Stratonikeia 172.7–11 (Sanctuary of Zeus Panamaros Stratonikeia, Roman period)

               ἐδείπνισ[εν]

δὶς ἑξῆς ἐν μὲν τῷ Κομυρίωι τοὺς πολείτας πάντας καὶ Ῥ[ωμαί]-

ους καὶ ξένους καὶ παροίκους καὶ δούλους πλείστους, ἐν δ[ὲ τῷι]

ἱερῶι τὰς πολείτιδας πάσας καὶ Ῥωμαίας καὶ ξένας καὶ π[αροί]-

10κους καὶ δούλας πλείστας, ἀποκατέστησεν δὲ καὶ τὰς [ἑστιάσεις]

καὶ δημοθοινίας καταλελυμένας …

… he twice and successively banqueted all of the citizens (of Stratonikeia) and the Romans and visitors and paroikoi and most of the slaves in the Komyrion, and then he also re-established the banquets and the public feasts …^[124]

 

I.AphrodArchive 2.b.1–5 (= SEG 32:1097) (Aphrodisias 88 bce)^[125]

ἐπεὶ Κόϊντος̣ Ὄππιος Κοΐντου υἱὸς στρατηγὸς ἀνθύπατος Ῥω[μαίω]ν πέπομφεν πολιορκεῖσθαι Λαοδίκηάν τε καὶ̣

ἑαυτὸν ὁ δε δῆμος ἔκρεινεν βοηθεῖν κατὰ πλῆθος συνεκπορεύεσθαι δὲ καὶ τοὺς παροίκους καὶ τοὺς δούλους, εἵλατο δὲ ἐπὶ

τῆς ἐκκλησίας καὶ ἄνδρα τὸν ἡγησάμενον v ἀνανκαῖον δέ ἐστιν ἐξαποστεῖλαι καὶ πρεσβευτὰς τοὺς ἐνφανιοῦντας τῷ ἀνθυ-

πάτῳ περί τε τῆς αἱρέσεως ἧς ἔχει ὁ δῆμος ἡμῶν πρὸς Ῥωμαίους ὄντας σωτῆρας καὶ εὐεργέτας καὶ ἐάν τι ὁ στρ‹ατ›ηγὸς ἐπι-

5τάσσῃ καὶ ἕτερον τῇ πόλει, διαταξαμένους ὥστε διασαφηθῆναι καὶ γενέσθαι·

Whereas Quintus Oppius son of Quintus (Oppius), Roman praetor with proconsul power, has sent (a message) that Laodicea and he himself are under siege, and since the People decided that they should help him in force and that the paroikoi and slaves should march out with them and has also chosen in the assembly a man for their leader and it is necessary to dispatch ambassadors too, to inform the proconsul of the policy of our People towards the Roman who are saviours and benefactors, and, if the governor gives any other instruction for the city, to arrange that it is passed on clearly and carried out …^[126]

These inscriptions illustrate three important points: first, πάροικοι in some cities, while not citizens, were intentionally included in certain aspects of civic life and were expected to contribute to civic life.^[127] Second, it is not at all obvious that the term πάροικοι was a term connoting estrangement, a tenuous existence, or disapprobation; on the contrary, there is good reason to think that Hellenistic and early Imperial cities were interested in integrating non-citizen residents into the life of the city.^[128] And third, and more important for an understanding of 1Peter is the fact that πάροικοι and δοῦλοι are distinct categories. Since 1Peter 2,11 addresses the letter’s recipients as πάροικοι καὶ παρεπίδημοι and only seven verses later addresses house-slaves (οἰκέται), the interpreter would be faced with two options: either to suppose, with Elliott, that while most of the letter is addressed to freeborn (or freed) non-citizen residents, 2,18–25 turns to slaves who fell outside this category; or to suppose that πάροικοι καὶ παρεπίδημοι are being used metaphorically in order to construct an identity as “other.” The latter is clearly the less awkward solution.

1Peter surrounds the identity of the πάροικοι καὶ παρεπίδημοι with multiple weighty metaphors: they are chosen through divine foreknowledge and are sanctified by the spirit (1,2); they have been given a new birth (1,3.23) and inheritance (1,4); they are holy (ἅγιοι, 1,15); and constitute an elect stock, a royal residence, a priesthood, and a holy company (γένος ἐκλεκτόν, βασίλειον, ἱεράτευμα, ἔθνος ἅγιον, 2,9).^[129] All of these metaphors contribute to the construction of the addressees as special, privileged, and distinct. At the same time, however, the author encourages technologies of the self that eliminate vice (2,1) and ἐπιθυμία (2,11) comparable to the stoicizing ethics of James and Clement of Alexandria.^[130]

Even more important is the fact that 1Peter 2,12 imagines that onlookers who may have been hostile to Christ-followers will watch (ἐποπτεύοντες) the honourable deeds of Christ-followers and will praise God (δοξάσωσιν τὸν θεόν) on that account, that is, they will honour the honourable deeds of Christ-followers. 1Peter even imagines that civic leaders will also engage in the commendation of benefactors (ἔπαινον δὲ ἀγαθοποιῶν, 2,14), declaring that God’s intention is that being benefactors (ἀγαθοποιοῦντας) will serve to silence critics of the Christ group (2,15).^[131] In short, 1Peter imagines and encourages an open mimicry of the civic practice of benefaction and maintains that this is a means by which Christ-followers will secure their place in the city.

Another aspect of the ambivalence of 1Peter toward civic identity is seen in the tension between assertions of “differentness” and the embrace of rather conventional household ethics. This embrace has been stressed by David Balch, who argued that 1Peter’s use of conventional domestic codes for the management of the household was apologetic, “to reduce the social-political tension between society and the churches.”^[132] This strategy has sometimes been cast as a matter of assimilation and acculturation,^[133] but such a characterization is in sharp contrast to the language of alienness that pervades the letter. Rather than assuming a binary decision between resistance and alienness on the one hand, and assimilation on the other, 1Peter calls for a more nuanced model of mimicry and ambivalence.

A final noteworthy aspect of 1Peter is the injunction to honour the emperor (τὸν βασιλέα τιμᾶτε, 2,17). It is usual for exegetes not to take this imperative at face value and instead seek to mitigate the force of the injunction, usually by arguing that 2,17 subtly relativizes the role of the emperor.^[134] Nevertheless, one should ask, What would honouring the emperor look like? Whatever equivocations the author had in mind, honouring the emperor, like virtually all other honorific activities, had a visual, empirical aspect, as is made clear in the immediate context with the reference to “watching” the honourable deeds of Christ-followers (2,12). Honouring was not a private mental act but a public or semi-public one.

Philip Harland has detailed the range of participation in “honouring the emperor” in Graeco-Roman associations—from direct participation in celebrations of the emperor by hymn-singers and the performance of sacrifices, to less direct forms of participation, including attendance at processions or games, the dedication of buildings to the emperor, decrees of a club that mention the imperial house, or even the naming of the club as a collegium salutare.^[135] Whatever constituted the “honouring” of the emperor for 1Peter, it was undoubtedly a visible practice. Warren Carter has even made a credible case that “honouring the emperor” meant participating in sacrifices to the emperor:

it is surprising that a text that “fairly teems with OT references” […] does not quote any scriptural prohibitions against idolatry. Such a quotation would certainly clinch the writer’s argument—if that were the writer’s point. Is such an obvious rhetorical strategy absent because “everyone knows” that idolatry belongs to a former way of life […] and is forbidden to Christians? Or is it because 1 Peter makes no such prohibition, perhaps because some, including the author, regarded idolatrous practices as meaningless for those who fear God (2.17) and/or perhaps because such an injunction would contradict the letter’s advocacy of Christian social participation?^[136]

We might add that the author in fact saw no reason to treat this practice as “idolatrous.” After all, the Egyptian Judaeans evidently saw no difficulty in including in their dedications of prayer houses the mention of members of the Ptolemaic house, who, they must have known, were represented in royal propaganda as divine. E. g., IJudEg 27 (Athribis [Delta], II/I bce)

Ptolemaios son of Epikydes, the commander of the guards and the Judaeans who are in Athribis (dedicated) this prayer house (προσευχή) to the most high god, on behalf of King Ptolemaios and Queen Kleopatra.

In the early imperial period Philo complains of the destruction of Alexandrian synagogues, which held gilded crowns (ἀσπίδες καὶ στέφανοι ἐπίχρυσοι) and stelai and inscriptions in honour of the emperor (LegGai 133). These data indicate that it is likely a mistake to assume that our view of theologically consistent practices corresponded to ancient Judaean views of consistent and acceptable practices.^[137]

Irrespective of what honorific practices the author of 1Peter had in mind—whether they included sacrifices, participation in processions, or acclamations of the Emperor—the point is that such practices linked the groups addressed by 1Peter to other groups in the city, notwithstanding the rhetoric of differentness that also characterizes the letter.

4.2 Hermas

The author of Hermas does not employ the term πάροικος but instead expresses the “group-as-other” notion by claiming that Christ-followers belong elsewhere:

You know, he said, that as slaves of God you are dwelling in a foreign land (ἐπὶ ξένης κατοικεῖτε); for your city is far from this city. Therefore, if you know, he said, the city in which you are going to dwell, why are you preparing fields here, and making expensive arrangements, and buildings, and pointless rooms? For whoever prepares these for this city is not able to return to his own city. Foolish and double-minded and miserable one! Don’t you know that all of these things are foreign (ἀλλότρια), and under someone else’s control? For the ruler of this city will say, “I do not wish you to live in my city; go away from this city, because you are not living by my laws.” Therefore, you who have fields and houses and many other possessions, when he throws you out, what will you do with the field and house and the other things that you have prepared for yourself? […] So take care: you are dwelling as in a foreign land; do not prepare much except what gives you adequate self-sufficiency (τὴν αὐτάρκειαν τὴν ἀρκετήν), and be prepared so that then the ruler of this city expels you because you have set yourself against his law, you might come out of his city and depart to your city and observe your law, joyfully and suffering no abuse (Hermas, Sim 1,1–3.6).

As Dibelius pointed out, there are affinities with Philo’s sentiments in Her 120 where under Platonic influences he describes the sage as a stranger and resident non-citizen on earth.^[138] Yet Hermas’s characterization of the Christ-follower seems also to imply a social posture. Osiek comments that the “emphasis of [Hermas’s] argument is not on the evil of this city but on the contingency of Christians’ existence in it and the greater allegiance they owe to another city.”^[139] For Hermas this allegiance is not only a matter of imagining oneself as part of an alien polity, but of adopting certain concrete practices:

Instead of fields, therefore, purchase souls that are afflicted, as each is able, and look after widows and orphans and do not overlook them; and expend your wealth and all your arrangements on those “fields” and “houses,” which you have received from God. […] This is extravagance (πολυτέλεια), honourable and gracious (ἱλαρά). Do not be grieved or fearful but have joy. Do not practice the extravagance of the pagans for these are unprofitable for you as slaves of God; but practice your own kind of extravagance (τὴν δὲ ἰδίαν πολυτέλειαν) by which you are able to be happy. […] Do your own work, and you will be saved. (Sim 1,8.10).

Osiek has made a good case that Hermas’ addressees are among the wealthy social-climbing class of Roman freedmen.^[140] Non-participation in the life of the city, for Hermas, amounts to eschewing the acquisitiveness that may have characterized freedmen, who could use their peculia to acquire land.^[141] Instead, what Hermas counsels amounts to mimicry of the euergetic practices of civic elites, who thereby gain visibility within the fabric of the city as καλοὶ καὶ ἀγαθοὶ ἄνδρες. This mimicry is underscored by the parable of the vine and the elm tree in Similitude 2, where the “Shepherd” explains that when the rich (Christ-follower) assist the poor, “the poor, being provided for by the rich person, appeals to God, giving thanks to him for the one who gave to him” (Sim 2,1,6).

Civic munificence, as Zuiderhoek stresses, often took the form of expenditures directed at public games, public banquets, and building projects.^[142] It was not directly intended to alleviate the plight of the poor. Hermas advocates a form of euergetism that directly benefited “the poor.” Yet the euergetism of civic elites was not in fact restricted to building projects. Notwithstanding Peter Brown’s observation that one of the critical transformations of the fourth century ce was the reconfiguration of the ideal of generosity from “love of the city”—civic benefactions, which benefitted citizens, many of whom were far from poor—to “love of the poor” and support of the church in the form of almsgiving,^[143] Hermas’ kind of euergetism in fact finds analogies in the philosophical criticism of the extravagant practices of civic benefactors. Cicero himself disapproved of extravagance (prodigi) directed at the public banquets, distributions of meat, gladiatorial shows, magnificent games, and wild-beast fights (De officiis 2,16,56) on the grounds that such displays were fleeting and appealed mainly to the rabble.^[144] He recommended instead ransoming captives from bandits, paying the debts of friends, assisting with dowries, and helping them acquire property—that is, being of service to one’s friends (2,15,56). Although he admits that on occasion he too underwrote the cost of the games, he preferred benefactions in the form of public works that were of enduring service to the community (2,17,59). But he also insists that distribution of money to the poor (indigentibus) was a worthy means to gain glory (ad gloriam adipiscendam), although he cautions that this must be done with discretion and moderation in order to avoid bankruptcy (De officiis 2,15,54).

By “poor” (indigentes, tenuiores) it is not likely that Cicero was speaking of the poor citizens of Rome in general but of persons in his network of friends and allies who had fallen into poverty. A century later, that is clearly what Pliny meant: he characterized the truly “liberal” man as one who assisted his country, his kin, and his friends, “I mean friends who are poor” (affinibus amicis, sed amicis dico pauperibus) (Ep 9,30,1).^[145] Pliny too engaged in the more extravagant forms of euergetism, underwriting the costs of a public bath, a yearly civic banquet, and funding a library in his home town of Comum. But he also made a gift of land, the rent from which went to support the freeborn boys and girls of his own town, Comum.^[146] Even these kinds of euergetism, it must be said, were not designed to support the poor in general. As Greg Woolf has shown, Pliny’s benefaction should be seen in the context of the alimentary schemes that were promoted in the late first century ce and which were not directed at those who lived near the subsistence level, but instead were part of the system of imperial and elite patronage aimed at children who were deemed eligible by virtue of their legal status or their privileged place of residence.^[147] Such benefaction was routinely recognized and reciprocated with honorific decrees erected by the recipients of this largesse.^[148]

Lower down the ladder of economic achievement, Graeco-Roman associations likewise provide evidence of the practice of wealthier members assisting poorer members in distress. For example, IG II² 1327 = GRA I 35 (Piraeus, 178/7 bce) records an honorific decree for the treasurer of a group of orgeōnes of the Great Mother, who had shown himself to be generous to the group as a whole and to members individually, “generously paying for [the sacrifices], often from his own resources; and also for some who had died, when the treasury had no money, he paid for the tomb so that they might be treated decently even in death” (ll. 9–12).^[149] This is not charity directed at all the urban poor, but only at disadvantaged members of the group. Much later, the νόμος of an Egyptian association required members to assist other members who were “in distress” (τινὰ ἐν ἀηδίᾳ) and imposed fines on those who refused, also insisting that the association was required to stand surety for a member who was arrested on a private debt, for up to 100 drachmae.”^[150]

Seen in this context, Hermas’ advice for Christ-followers to direct their “extravagance” (πολυτέλεια = prodigi) to widows and orphans and to “purchase souls that are afflicted” can be seen as a local version of what, in the public sphere, was embraced as a normal form of euergetism. As Hermas’ Sim 2 makes clear, the extravagance shown to widows and orphans is not meant to include those outside the group, but is directed inward, to members of the group, eligible, presumably, by virtue of their baptism. In exchange, these would give thanks to God for the wealthy benefactor and the piety of the poor recipient would benefit the wealthy (Sim 2,1,6).

Although it is often supposed that Christ groups did not engage in honouring benefactors, that is not in fact far from what Hermas imagines. Hermas promises a reciprocal exchange, in which the poor Christ-follower receives support from the rich, and in turn the poor “gives thanks to God” for that gift (τῷ θεῷ εὐχαριστῶν αὐτῷ ὑπὲρ τοῦ διδόντος αὐτῷ, 2,1,6).^[151] It is important to understand the dynamics of this exchange: “giving thanks” is not a private mental act on the part of the poor; it is a public declaration. Typical of the honorific decrees of associations is that the honoree was publicly honoured and acclaimed in the group. Although a stele was often erected to record the associations’ decree, the initial and critical honorific practice was the public acknowledgement of largesse in the group’s meeting. IG II² 1325.27–30 (Piraeus, 185/4 bce) makes this point clearly:

It was resolved by the orgeōnes to commend (ἐπαινέσαι) Dionysios son of Agathokles of Marathon and to crown him with an ivy wreath in accordance with the law on account of his excellence and benefactions and the goodwill that he has shown to them, and to announce (ἀναγορεῦ]σαι) this wreath after the libations have been made when the sacred rites have been completed by the orgeōnes in their first meeting.^[152]

One need not assume that in Hermas’ group the wealthy donor was crowned or that a formal decree was issued; but Hermas imagines a dynamic whereby the identity of the donor is made known by the thankful recipient, and even though Hermas conceives the reciprocal exchange as indirect—the recipient thanks God for the gift that God has supplied through the rich, and the rich makes use of the resources with which God has furnished him—, there is hardly any doubt that the donor’s reputation as a καλὸς καὶ ἀγαθὸς ἀνήρ would be recognized by all.^[153]

Hence, notwithstanding Hermas’ declarations that membership in a Christ-group entails belonging to an alien polity that observes different “laws” than those of the host city, the practices that Hermas encourages at least in this respect mimic those of civic society.