The Nature of the Evidence and the Context of Interpretation

We know a great deal about ancient associations based on the written records that they left. These records exist in documentary papyri, inscriptions, ostraca, and other forms, and they recount such mundane affairs of associations as meeting frequency, membership lists, initiation requirements, fees and fines associated with the group, and regulations for meetings, inter alia. Scholars of Christian origins have made increasingly strong cases that these social forms can help us understand the dynamics of urban Christ groups.Footnote ⁹ Without rehashing the entire debate, which has been made more convincingly by others, I will simply state that the comparison is an analogical one: by studying associations for their social dynamics, we can gain better insight into and generate new questions about Paul's groups. Whether or not Paul intended to found an association that was akin to the hundreds of others for which we have literary evidence, his audiences were no doubt familiar with those social forms, which in turn likely influenced their expectations about what they would experience during their affiliation with the Christ groups.

It is also necessary to comment on the ubiquity of visions, dreams, and other epiphanies and their roles in divine communication, since these phenomena will be the primary point of comparison between associations and Paul's groups in this analysis. As one scholar has noted, “[e]pigraphs record quite frequently that the faithful made their consecration by divine order (ex iussu, ex epitagès in Greek), after a vision (ex uisu) considered as being premonitory (ex monitu), [or] after a dream (kat’ onar).”Footnote ¹⁰ Another scholar emphasizes the frequencies even more bluntly: “virtually all deities ultimately appeared in dreams.”Footnote ¹¹ Such visions were so common that there is a well-documented literary form that the reports of dreams and visions tended to take.Footnote ¹² Indeed, there is an entire genre of “message”Footnote ¹³ dreams and visions, wherein a (usually divine) visitor speaks to the seer and the latter is spurred to some action. Visions and dreams, moreover, were not necessarily even treated as distinct phenomena by ancient Romans.Footnote ¹⁴ Yet, in modern theologically-motivated analyses, Paul's vision of Jesus is regarded as singular, remarkable, and life-changing. The post-resurrection visions of the disciples are treated similarly. Not only are such encounters not unique in the ancient world, they are not even unique cross-culturally. Contemporary research on polyphasic societies documents the routine nature of experiencing visions of deceased people and the blurring of dream states with ordinary time.Footnote ¹⁵ This means that in encountering a deceased person in a vision, then, Paul was simply doing what many others did in his socio-cultural context.Footnote ¹⁶

That these experiences would be used for social currency and embedded in inscriptions and other written sources important to a group is to be expected. The appeal to visions or dreams as forms of legitimation is a particularly common strategy to cultivate authority. Gregor Weber has explored the sociology of dreaming and seeing visions in antiquity and how they translated into social capital for the seer.Footnote ¹⁷ His interest is not in the occurrence of dreams and visions per se, but rather the act of articulating them and the strategies for turning them into cultural resources. A dream or vision told to others, he argues, requires selection and shaping in its articulation, and thus only exists as a kind of discursive product.Footnote ¹⁸ The literary reports of dreams and visions should be treated as “deliberate acts of narration”Footnote ¹⁹ that take their form in relation to social conventions and cultural expectations.

In a similar vein, the next part of this article will examine the “narrative” elements within association evidence,Footnote ²⁰ especially references to visions, dreams, and other origins stories that connect to the identity of the groups. We will be especially concerned with the production of social status and group identifications that such elements make possible. This discussion will set the stage to suggest that, if Paul's audiences were familiar with these sorts of ideas in associations, they would expect them to play a similar role within Paul's groups, which will lead us to explore in a new way how Paul's story of seeing the risen Christ would have been received and interpreted by his groups.

Narratives at Work in Voluntary Associations

The claim to have a vision or dream involving a deity automatically bestowed prestige and authority on the person who professed it. Such authority was especially useful for bolstering political power. Warren Carter explains how Roman emperors often understood their right to rule to stem from divine encounters: “Individual emperors needed to demonstrate that they were recipients of divine favor. Various accounts narrate amazing signs, dreams, and experiences that were understood to show the gods’ election of particular emperors.”Footnote ²¹ To offer one concrete example, consider Suetonius's account of Vespasian's prescient dream:

These dreams, although not explicitly narrating an encounter with a deity, nevertheless create the appearance of bestowing divine sanction on the soon-to-be emperor and his actions. Other famous (though highly Christianized) examples from a slightly later period are Constantine's visions first of the cross in the sky and then of “the Christ of God,”Footnote ²³ which subsequently became the mythic founding story of the Christian Roman Empire. As Juliette Harrisson observes in her cataloguing of dream reports in Roman literature, “The directness and the clarity of the message was important [for rulers]; it was necessary that there be no room for interpretation or questioning, as this would defeat the purpose of the dream, which was to remove any doubt as to the rightfulness of the dreamer's actions.”Footnote ²⁴ Thus, it is a virtual truism that ancient rulers relied on visions, dreams, and other similar divine oracles for divine sanction of their reigns.

But these sorts of claims were meaningful to “ordinary” (non-elite, non-governing) people as well and could be used by them to justify rather commonplace actions, such as founding an association or setting up a dedicatory statue.Footnote ²⁵ Several examples from the inscriptional evidence for associations tap into the authority that stems from divine communication.Footnote ²⁶ Consider SIG ³ 985:

1. 1 ἀγαθῆι τ[ύχηι].

   ἀνεγράφησαν ἐφ’ ὑγιείαι κα[ὶ κοινῆι σωτηρίαι]

   καὶ δόξηι τῆι ἀρίστηι τὰ δοθέ[ντα παραγγέλµα-]

   τα ∆ιονυσίωι καθ’ ὕπνον π[ρόσοδον διδόν-]

2. 5 τ’ εἰς τὸν ἑαυτοῦ οἶκον ἀνδρά[σι καὶ γυναιξὶν]

   ἐλευθέροις καὶ οἰκέταις. ∆ιὸς [γὰρ ἐν τούτωι]

   τοῦ Εὐµενοῦς καὶ Ἑστίας τ[ῆς παρέδρου αὐ-]

   τοῦ καὶ τῶν ἄλλων θεῶν Σωτ[ήρων καὶ Εὐδαι-]

   µονίας καὶ Πλούτου καὶ Ἀρετῆς [καὶ Ὑγιείας]

3. 10 καὶ Τύχης Ἀγαθῆς καὶ Ἀγαθοῦ [∆αίµονος καὶ Μνή-]

   µης καὶ Χαρίτων καὶ Νίκης εἰσὶν ἱδ[ρυµένοι βωµοί.]

   τούτ[ωι] δέδωκεν ὁ Ζεὺς παραγγέλ[µατα τούς τε ἁ-]

   γνισµοὺς καὶ τοὺς καθαρµοὺς κ[αὶ τὰ µυστήρια ἐπι]

   τελεῖν κατά τε τὰ πάτρια καὶ ὡς νῦν [γέγραπται· . . .

In this inscription, a householder known as Dionysios is singled out to receive instructions from a deity in a dream. Within the context of his household, his authority, which probably already existed due to his status as head of the household, is heightened by his encounter with this deity, and it sanctions him to pronounce the regulations of the association. Similarly, in IG X/2.1 255, we find the following:

• 

Here one Xenainetos gains extensive authority from being visited by Sarapis in a dream, to the extent that when he relays the account to his political rival Eurynomos, the latter becomes convinced of its merit and “received Sarapis and Isis.” In SEG 15, 637, another householder Poseidonios receives an oracle from Apollo who decrees that he and his family should honor Zeus Patroos, Apollo, and the Mother of the Gods (i.e., found a household cult honoring them):

1. 1 ἀπο[στ]είλαντος Πο[σ]ειδ[ωνίου καὶ χρ]ησά[σθα]ι

   τῷ Ἀπόλλωνι, τί ἂν αὐτῷ τε καὶ τοῖς ἐξ αὐτοῦ

   γινοµένοις καὶ οὖσιν, ἔκ τε τῶν ἀρσένων καὶ τῶν θ-

   ηλειῶν, εἴη λώϊον καὶ ἄµεινον ποιοῦσιν καὶ πράσ-

2. 5 σουσιν, ἔχρησεν ὁ θεός, ἔσεσθαι λώϊον καὶ ἄµει-

   νον αὐτοῖς ἱλασκοµένοις καὶ τιµῶσιν

Here also, Poseidonios has honor and authority bestowed on him through receiving this oracle and having it publically recorded on an inscription. In IG II² 1365, we learn that one Xanthos was “chosen” by the god and thus consecrates a sanctuary for him (Ξάνθος Λύκιος καθειδρούσατο ἱερὸν τοῦ Μηνὸς Τυράννου αἱρετίσαντος τοῦ θε οῦ: “Xanthos the Lykian consecrated the temple of Mēn—the god having chosen him”Footnote ³⁰ ). The authority to consecrate a sanctuary here depends on this claim to have been singled out by the god. All these examples show that ordinary people, not just elite emperors and rulers, could claim to receive authority to do things based on encountering a deity in a dream or vision. This was an entirely ordinary way for one to establish authority in an association.

The very fact of setting up a dedicatory statue or plaque signals to anyone who sees it the relative wealth of the person responsible for it. In some cases, the social cues are even more complex. In one inscription (IG XIV 1012), a certain Hermes, an imperial freedman, makes a dedication to the goddess Nemesis and lists his gifts to her (an altar, a pedestal, and a mixing vessel). The inscription is in both Greek and Latin. Thus, as Harrisson observes, what Hermes is really doing, in addition to engaging in an honorific practice, is displaying his extensive education and wealth.Footnote ³¹ While we know nothing from such a sparse inscription about the wider association devoted to Nemesis (if there even was one), we can surmise that the social prestige that Hermes cultivated as a benefactor was also valuable to other members. They could claim him as their (educated and wealthy) benefactor who provided specific and valuable cultic objects to Nemesis's temple. Indeed, the patron or founder of the group who experiences the encounter with the deity had access to social capital that the other members would naturally want to share. By entering into the standard patron-client relationship, they would have (some) access to that prestige.

Whether members of an association believed the founder or patron's claim of a divine encounter is not the point. Such claims are rhetorically functional, especially in a written medium. They are literary devices that act as a “good indicator of [a person's] fame and reputation; the more successful [a person] is, the more stories of signs from the gods will grow up around him or her.”Footnote ³² In other words, ancient Romans would have been conditioned to understand these claims not solely for their truth value, but also for what they indicated about a person's social status and value, and where they should place him or her on their social landscape.

In addition to the social capital that such claims generated for patrons/founders and association members, stories of encountering deities also provided a shared sense of identity for the group. Voluntary associations often drew a diverse constituency—this was, in fact, one of the attractions. Since many of them featured a flat or rotating hierarchy, participation in the group gave members access to status and authority that they might have lacked in wider society.Footnote ³³ Yet this diversity meant that the collective group identity could be rather tenuous. In some cases, members might share an occupation or neighborhood, but, in others, their associative activity or devotion to a particular deity was the main feature they had in common. This made it all the more critical to establish a myth of origins that the group could hold in common. In other words, the group's relationship to a foundational myth (their myth of origin) together with the benefits bestowed on them by a deity (often mediated by a patron or founder) provides a common feature that they can all share. I would suggest that nearly every claim among association inscriptions to communication with a deity could (directly or indirectly) relate to a legendary myth of origins for the group or for their distinctive customs.Footnote ³⁴

Association inscriptions often contain these “backstories” that translate into a shared means of expressing belonging. As seen above with SIG ³ 985, Dionysios receives instructions for how to establish his household cult. For those in his household, named in the inscription as including “men, women, free people, and household slaves,” this translates into a foundational moment for them. Zeus visited the head of their household to instruct their association in moral, sacrificial, and other practices. IG X/2.1 255 provides an even more elaborate myth of origins. This time, the deity Sarapis visits Xenainetos in a dream, spurring him to take a written message to his political rival Euronymos. Though he initially hesitates, Euronymos eventually concedes to receiving Sarapis and Isis among his household gods and establishes an association for their devotion. For the members of this group (perhaps only those in his household), this foundational account is almost dramatic and constitutes a great backstory: their association's founding involved the overcoming of a political rivalry to get off the ground.

Indeed, dramatic myths with explicit obstacles seem to work well as memorable, attractive myths of origin. Consider SIG ² 663, which contains a rather complex narrative, only a few excerpts of which are included here:

1. 1 ὁ ἱερεὺς Ἀπολλώνιος ἀνέγραψεν κατὰ

   πρόσταγµα τοῦ θεοῦ· ὁ γὰρ πάππος ἡµῶν

   Ἀπολλώνιος, ὢν Αἰγύπτιος ἐκ τῶν ἱερέων,

   τὸν θεὸν ἔχων παρεγένετο ἐξ Αἰγύπτου

2. 5 θεραπεύων τε διετέλει καθῶς πάτριον ἦν

   ζῶσαί τε δοκεῖ ἔτη ἐνενήκοντα καὶ ἑπτά.

   διαδεξαµένου δὲ τοῦ πατρός µου ∆ηµη-

   τρίου ἀκολούθως τε θεραπεύοντος τοὺς ε[ο]ύς,

   διὰ δὲ τὴν εὐσέβειαν ἐστεφανώθη ὑπὸ

3. 10 τοῦ θεοῦ εἰκόνι χαλκεῖ ἣ ἀνάκειται ἐν τῶι ναῶι

   τοῦ θεοῦ· ἔτη δὲ ἐβίωσεν ἑξήκοντα καὶ ἕν.

   παραλαβόντος δέ µου τὰ ἱερὰ καὶ προσκαθη-

   µένου ταῖς θεραπείαις ἐπιµελῶς, ὁ θεός µοι ἐχρη-

   µάτισεν κατὰ τὸν ὕπνον ὅτι Σαραπιεῖον δεῖ

4. 15 αὐτῶι ἀναδειχθῆναι ἴδιον καὶ µὴ εἶναι ἐν µισ-

   θωτοῖς καθὼς πρότερον, εὑρήσειν τε τόπον

   αὐτὸς οὗ δεῖ ἑδρασθῆναι σηµανεῖν τε τὸν

   τόπον. . . . τοῦ δὲ θεοῦ βουλοµένου συνετελέ-

   σθη ἡ ὠνὴ κατεσσκευάσθη τε τὸ ἱρὸν συντόµως

   ἐν µησὶν ἕξ. ἀνθρώπων δέ τινων ἐπισυνστάντων

   ἡµῖν τε καὶ τῶι θεῶι καὶ ἐπενενκάντων κρίσιν κατὰ τοῦ ἱεροῦ

5. 25 καὶ ἐµοῦ δηµοσίαν, τί χρὴ παθεῖν ἢ ἀποτεῖσαι, ἐπην-

   γείλατο δ’ ἐµοὶ ὁ θεὸς κατὰ τὸν ὕπνον ὅτι νικήσοµεν.

   τοῦ δ’ ἀγῶνος συντελεσθέντος καὶ νικησάντων ἡµῶν

   ἀξίως τοῦ θεοῦ, ἐπαινοῦµεν τοὺς θεοὺς ἀξίαν χάριν ἀποδιδόντες.

The dedicator describes being instructed in a dream that he must build a dedicated temple for Sarapis, since the god is tired of being worshipped in rented rooms. After the temple was built, there was a conspiracy against the group, that perhaps involved a lawsuit and culminated in a public trial, which the Sarapis devotees evidently won. However, there is an even more elaborate backstory here. Before the dedicator describes his dream, he recounts how Sarapis ended up on Delos in the first place: his grandfather Apollonios brought Sarapis from Egypt and established his cult on Delos. Apollonios's son continued to serve Sarapis, as does his son, the dedicator. Thus, we see in this elaborate account the many details of a legendary origin story that the entire group could share. Their god was transported out of Egypt to Delos, where he demanded a new temple, after which there was public resistance involving a lawsuit, and their god ensured the association's success at trial.

Sometimes, however, these narrative details are more implicit, as in IMagnMai 215 (A):

1. 1 Ἀγαθῇ τύχῃ.

   ἐπὶ πρυτάνεως Ἀκροδήµου τοῦ ∆ι–

   οτείµου ὁ δῆµος ὁ Μαγνήτων ἐπερω–

   τᾷ τὸν θεὸν περὶ τοῦ σηµείου τοῦ |

2. 5 γεγονότος ὅτι πλατάνου κατὰ τὴν

   πόλιν κλασθείσης ὑπὸ ἀνέµου εὑ–

   ρέθη ἐν αὐτῇ ἀφείδρυµα ∆ιονύσου,

   . . . ἀλλὰ

   καὶ ὥς, ὦ δῆµε µεγάσθενες, ἵδρυε

   νηοὺς θυρσοχαροῦς· ἱερῆα τίθει

   δὲ εὐάρτιον ἁγνόν· ἐλθέτε δὲ

3. 25 ἐς Θήβης ἱερὸν πέδον, ὄφρα λάβητε

   Μαινάδας, αἳ γενεῆς Εἰνοῦς ἄπο Κα–

   δµηείης· αἳ δ’ ὑµεῖν δώσουσι καὶ

   ὄργια καὶ νόµιµα ἐσθλὰ καὶ θιά–

   σους Βάκχοιο καθειδρύσουσιν

4. 30 ἐν ἄστει. κατὰ τὸν χρησµὸν διὰ

   τῶν θεοπρόπων ἐδόθησαν ἐκ Θηβῶν

   Μαινάδες τρεῖς Κοσκὼ Βαυβὼ

   Θετταλή, καὶ ἡ µὲν Κοσκὼ συνήγαγεν

   θίασον τὸν Πλατανιστηνῶν,

5. 35 ἡ δὲ Βαυβὼ τὸν πρὸ πόλεως, ἡ δὲ

   Θετταλὴ τὸν τῶν Καταιβατῶν·

   θανοῦσαι δὲ αὗται ἐτάφησαν

   ὑπὸ Μαγνήτων, καὶ ἡ µὲν Κοσκὼ

   κεῖται ἐν Κοσκωβούνῳ, ἡ δὲ Βαυ–

6. 40 βὼ ἐν Ταβάρνει, ἡ δὲ Θετταλὴ

   πρὸς τῷ θεάτρῳ.

In this instance, an image of Dionysos is discovered in a tree. After consulting the oracle at Delphi, the Magnesian people learn that they are meant to establish a temple and cult to Dionysos. Thus, the mythic beginning of this cult in Magnesia can be traced to this foundational moment. Furthermore, even if the legendary founding of an association is not present in an inscription, we sometimes find instead the mythic origins of the group's distinct practices. An example of this was already seen in SIG ³ 985, wherein Dionysios received instructions from Zeus himself regarding their association's practices. In IMagnMai 215 (A), it occurs again, because after the oracle stipulates the founding of the temple for Dionysos, it requires the appointment of a priest and the reception of maenads, who will “give to you good rites and customs.” So also, SEG 15, 637, in addition to giving a backstory for the foundation of Poseidonios's household association, decrees that his family show honor to Zeus Patroos, Apollo, the Fates, the Mother goddess, and the family daimons. In all of these cases, members of the group would have an explanatory narrative to justify why their group met in a particular location and engaged in their specific practices—these can be traced all the way back to direct communication with divine sources. In other words, these brief narrative instances become the collective memory for the association's membership.Footnote ³⁷

In addition to providing a common denominator for member identification with the group, such revelatory claims often provide temporal connections beyond the present. That is to say, they articulate experiences relevant to the group in a manner that extends the group's history by connecting it with events in the past. These connections, though often more discursively than sociologically real, also strengthen each individual member's sense of the group's importance, because they project a common group “past” into a time before the group may actually have existed. This is closely related to the group cohesion that was just discussed, and we can see this operating in many of the examples we have already considered.

IG X/2.1 255, which we have seen to narrate the founding of an association after a political rivalry had been overcome, creates a mythic past for the group. The group is linked to a previous historical moment in which Xenainetos encounters Sarapis in a dream. This means that the group's history started not when individual members joined the group, or when they all met together for the first time; rather, the group's supposed existence was initiated in the past and thus precedes all the individual members' histories. SIG ² 663 offers an even deeper temporal connection to the past. The brief narrative extends the association's history both geographically and temporally. Geographically, it links the group on Delos to Egypt, where Sarapis was originally revered. As noted, the inscription provides an explanation for how the god ended up on Delos. Temporally, it extends the group's history back several generations. The inscription reminds members of a series of occupants of a hereditary priesthood, traced back to one Apollonios, who was responsible for bringing Sarapis to Delos. Apollonios's grandson draws out the association's history even further when he describes the group's past meetings in rented rooms and, after a visit from Sarapis in a dream, subsequent meetings in a dedicated Sarapieion.

These are two of the best examples that work to extend the collective experience of the group beyond the transitory present. They link the group to past interactions, events, and locations. Many other inscriptions could be mined for similar strategies of creating a “past” for a group, though sometimes not as explicit as this. After all, any time a group recounts a foundational moment, especially those involving their founder figure or their patron deity, members could understand their common history to extend at least to that moment in time. In other words, such narrative elements allow the group to connect not only horizontally to one another to create relationships, but also vertically through time, to forge broader networks across time and space.

This discussion demonstrates the varieties of “work” that claims to encounter deities accomplish within the context of ancient associations. Given that these claims are common motifs within epigraphic evidence, it seems reasonable to conclude that members would have certain expectations when a founder approached them with such stories. They would automatically correlate the claim with the founder's authority and prestige and situate the claim within their own understanding of what belonging to the group meant. Paul's claims to encounter Jesus, I now suggest, would have fit neatly into this framework.

Contextualizing Paul's Visions of Christ and Heaven

Paul's vision on the road to Damascus has often been interpreted as one of the most significant “events” in Christian history. Whatever happened was regarded by Paul as an axial moment in his life that set the stage for his missionizing activity. Scholars have spilled copious amounts of ink on interpreting Paul's version of this event. Here, I want to decenter that discussion and ask: what would Paul's claims have sounded like to his audiences, especially if they were familiar with the rhetoric of founder figures, foundational visions, and other mythic backstories that were common in other associations? My primary suggestion is that Paul's claims to have seen the risen Jesus function in strikingly similar ways to those found within documents pertaining to associations. This is an argument about the reception of his statements within groups that already had particular sets of social experiences and expectations about how social formation would unfold.

In his own reporting, Paul claims to receive a special communication directly from Christ (Gal 1:12) that initiated his mission to non-Judeans (Gal 1:15–16). The somewhat more vivid version of Acts (Acts 9:3–19) includes a heavenly light, a dialogue with Jesus, and an unfortunate blinding. While we should not conflate the Acts version with Paul's own report,Footnote ³⁸ especially given Luke's proclivities toward the fanciful,Footnote ³⁹ there is no reason to think that Paul did not relay an equally fantastic account to his audiences. What Paul says he “received” (1 Cor 15:3: παρέλαβον; Gal 1:12: παρέλαβον . . . δι’ ἀποκαλύψεως Ἰησοῦ Χριστοῦ) was a body of knowledge about a divinely sent figure (Christ) and about a series of visions that his early followers had (1 Cor 15:3–7); these narrative elements, which are often labeled as the “kerygma,” act as a kind of basis for his preaching. If we append Paul's special visit to the “third heaven” or “paradise” to this moment of reception (2 Cor 12:1–4), the story becomes even more robust. My proposal is that when Paul relayed his miraculous account of seeing the risen Christ and being commissioned to preach to the Gentiles, his audiences, familiar with these sorts of claims in other settings, including associations, would have treated them similarly: as a legendary story recounting the crucial moments in the foundation of their group by Paul, the “founder.”

Like similar accounts in associations, Paul's claims work to establish his authority vis-à-vis his recipients. His authority stems from a number of features of his encounter. First, his story reveals that he had an unambiguous vision sent by a deity (Christ). Christ, he narrates, “appeared to me [or: was seen by me] also” (ὤφθη κἀµοί) (1 Cor 15:8). Elsewhere, he claims that God “was pleased to reveal (εὐδόκησεν ἀποκαλύψαι)” his son to him (Gal 1:16; see also, 2 Cor 12:1). Second, he presents himself as one specially chosen by God for the vision of Jesus, which sets him apart from others. Indeed, in Galatians, he styles himself as having been set apart for the encounter before he was even born (ὁ ἀφορίσας µε ἐκ κοιλίας µητρός µου καὶ καλέσας διὰ τῆς χάριτος αὐτοῦ), and in 1 Corinthians, he emphasizes that it was due to God's “grace” (χάρις) that he received the vision. Moreover, some of the revelations that he receives are so extraordinary that they cannot be shared (2 Cor 12:4). Third, he is at pains to underscore that the message he brings to his recipients came from his special divine encounter, not from anyone else (Gal 1:17–22), and thus carries more authority than what one might learn secondhand. Fourth, Paul also emphasizes the personal effort that he exerted to spread his ideas (Gal 1:17–21; 1 Cor 15:10). In these ways, he establishes a particular reputation of authority within his groups. His strategy was reasonably successful (at least at first), since many of his letters suggest that his recipients were writing to him to ask for clarification on theological matters or practical advice.

The strongest point of comparison between epiphanies in associations and Paul's claims is perhaps 2 Corinthians 12, where Paul famously describes “visions and revelations of the Lord,” and an episode in which he was “caught up into paradise” (ἡρπάγη εἰς τὸν παράδεισον). In the midst of this experience, Paul claims to receive special knowledge, in his words, “things which cannot be told, which man may not utter” (ἄρρητα ῥήµατα ἃ οὐκ ἐξὸν ἀνθρώπῳ λαλῆσαι, 2 Cor 12:4).Footnote ⁴⁰ It is clear that Paul uses this divine encounter to solidify his authority within the group, for it comes in the midst of his discussion of those who are apparently trying to usurp his authority (2 Cor 11:1–15; 12:11–21). Moreover, it appears just after his discussion of his own sufferings (2 Cor 11:16–33), which is itself a common trope in Paul's letters that James A. Kelhoffer has convincingly shown to be a similarly useful strategy to cultivate authority.Footnote ⁴¹ Paul's extraordinary heavenly vision and the special knowledge that he receives during it act to remind his readers of his unique role as their founder and of the remarkable experience that compelled him to travel and share his ideas about Christ—experiences that he no doubt hopes the “superapostles” will lack.

That Paul describes himself in the third person in this critical passage is admittedly odd, especially if one interprets the claims for their authoritative currency, as this analysis does. Yet his dissembling is in keeping with his tendency toward carefully subdued conceit that appears elsewhere in his letters (1 Cor 1:14–17; 14:18–19; Gal 6:11–16; Romans 15:14–21). Indeed, in this passage, Paul walks an awkward line of boasting about “this man” who experienced heavenly visions, while also wanting to give the appearance of humbly refraining from bragging. Nearly all commentators agree that “this man” is, of course, Paul himself.Footnote ⁴² Thus, although 2 Cor 12 is a deliberate rhetorical creation that allows Paul to boast of his own authority that stems from his visionary experiences, it also contains just enough play to allow him to feign appropriate humility.Footnote ⁴³

That he styles himself as a former “persecutor” of the assembly (Gal 1:13; 1 Cor 15:9) only heightens his authority, for it signals to his recipients that in spite of his bad behavior, God nevertheless singled him out for the vision of Christ and for his “grace” (Gal 1:15; 1 Cor 15:10). Lest anyone doubt Paul's chosen status, he reminds his recipients that when all this took place, he was no one special, especially in comparison to the original apostles (1 Cor 15:8–9). He famously refutes the charge that he is any sort of unique leader (1 Cor 1:10–17) in order to project a kind of feigned humility and resist the authority that he had clearly mustered in the group. In 2 Corinthians, moreover, this false humility manifests again when Paul reminds his readers that he was even given some sort of physical obstacleFootnote ⁴⁴ to discourage him from boasting about his visions—though, as noted, the posturing in verses 1–5 do precisely that.Footnote ⁴⁵

Yet these claims alone are not enough to create authority immediately, otherwise many in antiquity would be found doing it. As Heidi Wendt has recently argued, claims to divine revelation are one of the many strategies that “freelance experts” use to establish their authority as religious leaders.Footnote ⁴⁶ Although I have some hesitation in using the terminology of “freelance experts,”Footnote ⁴⁷ Wendt amasses ample data about the ways in which figures of religious authority frequently engaged in competition with each other. Greek, Roman, and Jewish sources all witness to a variety of authoritative claims and rhetorical posturing that religious leaders deployed to market their services, ranging from healings to fertility manipulation to communication with the divine. In associations, we are dealing with something slightly different, because the founder figures and patrons explored above were not always priests or office holders within the association, that is, religious “experts.” Yet her comments are apt when applied to Paul. In the nexus of competitive “experts” that he was vying with (the so-called “superapostles” and “Judaizers,” for instance), his claim to speak personally and directly with the risen Christ, as well as to have had a heavenly journey of some sort, became the authoritative bases by which he justified all of his teaching and traveling. This further suggests, though it is difficult to confirm, that Paul appeared to his groups as a kind of educated “expert” and not as a charlatan. Were he perceived as the latter, his claims and teachings would not have been received well at the outset. Thus, the authority that these claims could engender depends also on the social conditions in which his audiences were embedded.

Paul is thus akin to the founder figures assessed above, such as Dionysios, Xenaitenos, and Apollonios's grandson, who have a special encounter with a deity and then narrate the encounter to an association. Their chosen status signals their authority within the association, which makes them compelling founder figures who are able to influence the beliefs and activities of their members by solving problems, prescribing rituals or special teachings, altering activities, or otherwise affecting the proceedings of the association. Their experience also marks a critical moment in the history of the group, a point to which I will return below.

The authority and prestige that Paul gains from these claims potentially transfers to his groups as well—and many of his recipients seem to expect access to it. The Corinthians are evidently used to aligning with the person who baptized them in order to participate in their social standing (1 Cor 1:10–16). Similarly, the Thessalonians’ prestige and regional status appears to be based on the reputation of Paul and their patron deity (1 Thess 1:7–10).Footnote ⁴⁸ Merely the affiliation of someone who had a direct encounter with a deity, especially if such knowledge could be made public,Footnote ⁴⁹ would have been inherently valuable as social currency for associations. In other words, by treating Paul as the founder of their group, members gained access to his social capital.

Furthermore, just as is the case with association inscriptions explored above, Paul's claims also establish a common past with which members of his multiple groups, like the associations in the inscriptions, could identify. The logic is thus: Paul's legacy and authority, he claims, are connected to (or at least as prestigious as) the “pillars” in Jerusalem, who in turn inherited theirs from Christ. His audiences are subsequently inserted into this legacy and thus inherit a legendary backstory for their group. This allows his groups to participate in the same origin story as the Jesus followers in Galilee and Judaea, and thus to share a temporal connection to them (in 2 Cor 12, he even provides a time frame of fourteen years to further ground the narrative in their shared timeline).

This connection with Judean followers of Jesus is nowhere clearer than in Paul's formulaic statements in 1 Corinthians 15. In this chapter, he describes a chain of recent history starting with Christ's death, his appearance first to Peter, then to 500 others, then to James, and then to the rest of the apostles (15:3–7). Paul associates himself with this extensive tradition (15:8), and then he passes it on to his audiences (15:3; see also, 1 Thess 2:13). Not everyone, of course, was willing to accept his insertion into this lineage, as Galatians 1:11–2:10 demonstrates. But this usage may represent Paul's strategy of incorporation into the legacy of authority enjoyed by the apostles in Judea, deployed in the hopes that it would resonate among the Corinthians. So, though the Corinthian group's collective memory picks up with Paul's experience, he tries to convince them that it began during the lifetime of Jesus. In fact, this sense of connection across time and space with the Judean Christ followers gives a compelling explanation for how Paul could have possibly expected his groups to send money back to people they had never met in Jerusalem.

This series of “historical” connections invites his recipients to define their connections with one another with those axial moments as well. It also gives the backstory for Paul's proselytizing activity. Just as in the account above, when Sarapis visited Xenainetos and convinced him to approach his political rival to establish the cult, Christ's appearance to Paul marks the moment when Paul orients himself to spreading stories of Christ. Paul's claims to encounter Jesus thus provide an explanation for his auditors accepting what he was doing in their cities in the first place.

One could even argue that Paul's rhetorical work establishes an even more distant legacy for his recipients than their connection to the original apostles in Judea. Paul's frequent appeals to key figures in the Israelite tradition, namely Moses and Abraham, also extend the history of the group back through time and connect them to that legacy. For instance, Wendt explains how 1 Cor 10:2–4 acts to style the Israelites as “new ancestors” of the Corinthians.Footnote ⁵⁰ Moreover, “[t]his version of the story about the Israelites’ time in the wilderness forges a mythic precedent”Footnote ⁵¹ for the group, which may have lacked a common one before Paul appeared to convince them of this shared legacy. There are numerous other examples, but especially for non-Judean audiences, Paul's incorporation of authoritative figures from the Hebrew scriptures, which were supposed to have direct bearing on the present salvation of his audiences, acts to append a common “group history” onto a social formation that may have otherwise only come into existence rather recently. This myth-making strategy, we should note, is far more elaborate than the basic claims made in associations, but this is to be expected since Paul has extensive space in his letters to elaborate on his arguments and is not restricted by the size and expense of an inscription or plaque.

Paul's claims to encounter Christ, sparse though they may be, provide a way to construct a shared relationship for the group that is based on a connection to a founder figure (whether understood to be Jesus or Paul himself), Paul's authority and prestige, and the mythic past that they inherit. These are crucial functions, because when Paul writes to his groups, he gives us no sense for why they see themselves as a coherent group. Many of his other letters only provide scant hints of the social connections among the members. Perhaps if there are Judeans, their social networks were in place via a synagogue; there may have also been household networks among Paul's recipients, signaled by his references to husbands and wives, as well as domestic slaves. But this diversity means that the burden was on him to articulate their identity in such a way as to make it depend on their relationship to Christ.Footnote ⁵² These recipients, especially if their collective identity only occasionally manifested or was otherwise weak, needed a vital feature to share in common. For Paul, it was their relationship to him and to Christ that established their “groupness.” Again, by contextualizing Paul's claims within documents from voluntary associations, we see how utterly ordinary his efforts would have been to his audience's ears. Paul's groups came into being through each member's mutual recognition of a relationship to Paul and Jesus and the history of the group as it emerged through Paul's narration.

Despite the utility of this comparison, Paul's vision of Christ does not represent a one-to-one correspondence with the brief narratives in association inscriptions. For one, Paul's language for encountering his vision explicitly adopts sight-based idioms.Footnote ⁵³ In 1 Corinthians, he reminds his audience that Christ “appeared to me also” (ὤφθη κἀμοί, 1 Cor 15:8). In Galatians, he claims that God “was pleased to reveal (ἀποκαλύψαι)” his son to him (Gal 1:16). For another, in epigraphic evidence, usually the language of revelation is not one of direct communication with the recipient, as Paul's claims typically are, but rather it is communicated indirectly through dreams and visions. Association inscriptions tend to narrate events that happen “in a dream” or “in accordance with a dream,” and less emphasis is put on sight-based idioms. It is simply assumed that a personal encounter has taken place between the deity and the reporter.

But we learn something new precisely where this analogy breaks down. In this case, we are reminded that Paul frequently had his authority challenged (2 Cor 11; Gal passim) and that many of his letters are sites to rebuild that authority. Therefore, it is in his interest to emphasize the direct, personal, and sensory aspects of his vision of Jesus in order to authenticate it.Footnote ⁵⁴ This is unlike association inscriptions, which are (semi-) public displays that provide a history for the group and serve honorific functions; while they are argumentative in a sense (in that they are arguing for a certain perspective on the group's founding or activities), they are not actively engaged in defending their claims. More to the point, the association members probably already believed the backstories by the time they had come to be included on public inscriptions. Paul's claims, on the other hand, available as they are only in letters, represent nascent forms of his rhetorical persuasion when he was still “advertising” his origin story.

This way of contextualizing Paul's claims helps explain why such stories are remarkably absent from Romans, a letter in which Paul is often thought to articulate his “fullest” theology but which lacks any reference to his one-on-one encounter with Christ. If, however, we consider the preceding discussion, I would suggest that because the Roman Christ-devotees’ sense of belonging together was already in place when Paul was writing to them, he could not have hoped that his claims to see Jesus would have functioned as they did among the emerging Thessalonian or Corinthian Christ groups. One need only consider the conflict at the beginning of Galatians to realize the rough reception such group formation strategies could have if others questioned his claims. There were even more reasons to resist using his claims among the Roman group, namely, the Romans would have considered someone other than Paul to be their “founder” and would have already had a common origin story that did not require his patronage or his mythic backstory. Thus, he had to establish his authority among the Romans by outlining his theology of salvation as it relates to a diverse ethnic constituency that is already in place. In other words, Paul does not deploy his vision narrative with them, because he does not think it would persuade them.