Paul's Political Strategy in 1 Corinthians 1-4 - Volume 163. Constitution and Covenant

PAUL’S POLITICAL STRATEGY IN 1 CORINTHIANS 1–4
Constitution and Covenant

Volume 163
This volume examines 1 Corinthians 1–4 within first-century politics,

demonstrating the significance of Corinth’s constitution to the inter-
pretation of Paul’s letter. Bradley J. Bitner shows that Paul carefully
considered the Roman colonial context of Corinth, which underlay
numerous ecclesial conflicts. Roman politics, however, cannot account
for the entire shape of Paul’s response. Bridging the Hellenism-
Judaism divide that has characterized much of Pauline scholarship,
Bitner argues that Paul also appropriated Jewish biblical notions of
covenant. Epigraphical and papyrological evidence indicates that his
chosen content and manner are best understood with reference to an
ecclesial politeia informed by a distinctively Christ-centered political
theology. This emerges as a “politics of thanksgiving” in 1 Corinthians
1:4–9 and as a “politics of construction” in 3:5–4:5, where Paul
redirects gratitude and glory to God in Christ. This innovative account
of Paul’s political theology offers fresh insight into his pastoral strat-
egy among nascent Gentile-Jewish assemblies.
b r a d l e y j . b i t n e r is Tutor in New Testament and Greek at Oak

Hill Theological College in London. He is the coeditor, with James
R. Harrison, of New Documents Illustrating Early Christianity, Vol. 11
(forthcoming).
SO C I ETY F O R N E W T E S T A M E N T S T U D I ES
MONOGRAPH SERIES
General Editor: Paul Trebilco
163
PAUL ’ S PO L I T I CA L S T R AT E G Y I N 1 C OR I N T HI A NS 1– 4
S O C IE T Y F O R NE W T E S T A M EN T S T U D I E S
MONOGRAPH SERIES
Recent titles in the series:
140. Discerning the Spirits
andré munzinger
141. The Sheep of the Fold
edward w. klink iii
142. The Psalms of Lament in Mark’s Passion
stephen p. aherne-kroll
143. Cosmology and Eschatology in Hebrews
kenneth l. schenck
144. The Speeches of Outsiders in Acts
osvaldo padilla
145. The Assumed Authorial Unity of Luke and Acts
patricia walters
146. Geography and the Ascension Narrative in Acts
matthew sleeman
147. The Ituraeans and the Roman Near East
e. a. myers
148. The Politics of Inheritance in Romans
mark forman
149. The Doctrine of Salvation in the First Letter of Peter
martin williams
150. Jesus and the Forgiveness of Sins
tobias hägerland
151. The Composition of the Gospel of Thomas
simon gathercole
152. Paul as an Administrator of God in 1 Corinthians
john k. goodrich
153. Affirming the Resurrection of the Incarnate Christ
matthew d. jensen
154. Riches, Poverty, and the Faithful
mark d. mathews
155. Paul and the Rhetoric of Reversal in 1 Corinthians
matthew r. malcolm
156. The Genre of Acts and Collected Biographies
sean a. adams
157. The Eschatology of 1 Peter
kelly d. liebengood
158. The Hermeneutics of Christological Psalmody in Paul
matthew scott
159. Corinthian Wisdom, Stoic Philosophy, and the Ancient Economy
timothy a. brookins
160. Faith and the Faithfulness of Jesus in Hebrews
matthew c. easter
161. Covenant Renewal and the Consecration of the Gentiles in Romans
sarah whittle
162. The Role of Jewish Feasts in John’s Gospel
gerry wheaton
Paul’s Political Strategy in
1 Corinthians 1–4
Constitution and Covenant
Volume 163
BRADLEY J. BITNER
32 Avenue of the Americas, New York, NY 10013-2473, USA
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© Bradley J. Bitner 2015
This publication is in copyright. Subject to statutory exception
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no reproduction of any part may take place without the written
permission of Cambridge University Press.
First published 2015
Printed in the United States of America
A catalog record for this publication is available from the British Library.
Library of Congress Cataloging in Publication Data
Bitner, Bradley J.
Paul’s political strategy in 1 Corinthians 1–4 : constitution and
covenant / Bradley J. Bitner, Oak Hill Theological College.
pages cm. – (Society for New Testament Studies Monograph series ; 163)
Revision of the author’s thesis (Ph.D.) – Macquarie University, 2013.
Includes bibliographical references and index.
ISBN 978-1-107-08848-1 (hardback)
1. Bible. Corinthians, 1st, I–IV – Criticism, interpretation, etc. 2. Christianity
and politics – History of doctrines – Early church, ca. 30–600.
3. Political theology – Biblical teaching. I. Title.
BS2675.6.P6B57 2015
2270 .2067–dc23 2015004551
ISBN 978-1-107-08848-1 Hardback
Cambridge University Press has no responsibility for the persistence or accuracy of
URLs for external or third-party Internet Web sites referred to in this publication
and does not guarantee that any content on such Web sites is, or will remain,
accurate or appropriate.
CONTENTS
List of figures page ix

Acknowledgments xi
List of abbreviations xiii
Introduction: constituting the argument 1
Part I Constitution and covenant in Corinth 11
1 Paul and politics 13
1.1 Noster Paulus: ancient perspectives on the political Paul 15
1.2 Recent scholarship and the politics of Pauline interpretation 18
1.3 Paul and politeia: the pattern of inquiry 33
1.4 Approaches to Paul and politics in Corinth 39
2 Law and life 44

2.1 Law’s Leben 44
2.2 Crook’s challenge 46
2.3 Crook’s challengers 47
2.4 Crook’s conditions 49
3 The Corinthian constitution 52

3.1 Sources for first-century Roman civic constitutions 53
3.2 Physical features of extant civic constitutions 56
3.3 Display and function of constitutions 61
3.4 Structure and content of constitutions 65
3.5 The validity of applying the constitutions to Corinth 72
3.6 Plausible contexts for display in Corinth 74
3.7 Constitution and the Corinthian politeia 79
3.8 Conclusion 82
4 Traces of covenant in Corinth 84

4.1 The Jewish community in first-century Corinth 85
4.2 The synagogue inscription in Corinth 91
4.3 New covenant community in Corinth 100
4.4 Conclusion 103
vii
viii Contents
5 Constituting Corinth, Paul, and the assembly 106

5.1 Rendering 1 Corinthians 106
5.2 Comparative method 107
5.3 Communication and metaphor 122
5.4 Corinthian portraiture: Corinth, Paul, and the assembly 129
5.5 Conclusion 134
Part II Constitution and covenant in 1 Corinthians 1:1–4:6 135
6 1 Corinthians 1:4–9 and the politics of thanksgiving 137
6.1 History of scholarship on 1 Corinthians 1:4–9 139
6.2 The politics of thanksgiving in Graeco-Roman and Jewish
settings 148
6.3 Politeia and the constitution of community 170
6.4 The mediation of communal privileges in first-century
communities 175
6.5 Promise and the confirmation of privileges in community 186
6.6 Conclusion 187
Excursus: μαρτύριον and the text of 1 Corinthians 2:1 189
7 1 Corinthians 3:5–4:5 and the politics of construction 197

7.1 History of scholarship on 1 Corinthians 3:5–4:5 200
7.2 The politics of construction 212
7.3 The politics of construction and Greek temple building 216
7.4 The politics of construction in Roman Corinth 224
7.5 Jeremiah and the Pauline politics of covenantal
construction 242
7.6 Architecture in 1 Corinthians 3:5–4:5 252
7.7 Authority in 1 Corinthians 3:5–4:5 260
7.8 Approval in 1 Corinthians 3:5–4:5 271
7.9 Acclamation in 1 Corinthians 3:5–4:5 275
7.10 Conclusion 285
Excursus: 1 Corinthians 4:6 and the rhetoric of reconstruction 289
Conclusion: comparison of constitutions 302

Bibliography 309
Index locorum 335
Subject index 343
Modern author index 350
FIGURES
1 Map with Corinth, Carthage, and Urso page 54

2 Reconstruction of the lex Ursonensis 59
3 Julian Basilica at Corinth 76
4 Detail of Corinth synagogue inscription 92
5 Two views of inscribed synagogue block 94
6 Architect relief from Terracina 233
7 Babbius inscription 238
ix
ACKNOW L E D G ME N T S
This is a revision of my PhD thesis, accepted by Macquarie University in

2013. The project began in 2006 at a beachside café in New Corinth during
a week spent with inscriptions in Old Corinth. Dr. Bruce Winter postponed
his own plans to reconstruct Corinth’s constitution and encouraged my
research. I hope the result approximates what he might have achieved.
Professor Alanna Nobbs invited me to the Ancient History Department
at Macquarie where in 2009 I took up the iMQRES scholarship that
facilitated this study. Professor Larry Welborn provided expert supervi-
sion. Larry’s creative and rigorous scholarship, his ability to press gently
for greater depth and precision, and his mastery of the sources and litera-
ture are inspiring and humbling. I am grateful to be one of his students.
Drs. Peter Keegan and Chris Forbes offered further assistance and
Emeritus Prof. E. A. Judge kindly shared his erudition. Drs. Jim and
Elisabeth Harrison provided generous academic and material support.
The careful proofreading efforts of the Reverend Dr. John Davies saved
me from many errors. Drs. Ben Millis and Paul Iversen responded to my
treatment of the Corinthian synagogue inscription in Chapter 4. Drs. Don
Barker, Dirk Jongkind, and Brent Nongbri read and commented on the
Excursus to Chapter 6. Colleagues at the Macquarie New Testament and
Early Christianity lunches, particularly Dr. Julien Ogereau and James
Unwin, discussed the unfolding argument.
At a late stage, Jeff Cayzer shared drafts of his forthcoming translation
of Johannes Weiss’s 1910 commentary. Simon Harris drew Figure 2 and
Scott Spuler rendered Figures 4 and 5.
I wish to thank Professor Paul Trebilco for accepting the manuscript
for the SNTS series. Laura Morris, Alexandra Poreda, and others at
Cambridge University Press helped steer the process toward publication,
and Kate Mertes expertly handled the indexing. Macquarie’s Ancient
History Department and the Society for the Study of Early Christianity
provided grants in support of my research, critical portions of which
were conducted at Tyndale House (Cambridge, UK) in January 2012.
xi
xii Acknowledgments
Additionally, the Society for the Study of Early Christianity contributed

generously toward the costs of indexing this volume.
Finally, I am grateful to friends at Macquarie Anglican and Epping
Presbyterian Reformed Churches, especially to Dr. Trevor and Pauline
Green for their love and care. Jeanette and Brian Swan’s benefaction to
our family overflowed. Our parents, Jim and Carol Bitner and Dr. John
and Ruth Ann Mansell offered constant support. James, John, Samuel,
Adam, Anna, and Elisabeth wrestled with me, prayed for me, and made
me laugh. Kathi alone knows the extent of her loving encouragement.
A BB R EV I A T I O N S
Abbreviations of ancient literary sources conform to conventions in The

SBL Handbook of Style (P. H. Alexander et al. [eds.]; Peabody, MA: 1999)
or The Oxford Classical Dictionary (S. Hornblower and A. J. S. Spawforth
[eds.]; 4th ed.). Unless otherwise noted, editions and translations of
Greek and Latin authors are from the Loeb Classical Library.
Inscriptions are abbreviated, when possible, according to Guide
de l’épigraphiste (F. Bérard [ed.], 2010) or to G. H. R. Horsley and
J. A. L. Lee, “A Preliminary Checklist of Abbreviations of Greek
Epigraphic Volumes,” Epigraphica 66 (1994): 129–70. Papyri are
cited according to J. F. Oates et al. (eds.), Checklist of Editions of
Greek, Latin, Demotic and Coptic Papyri, Ostraca, and Tablets Web
Edition (http://scriptorium.lib.duke.edu/papyrus/texts/clist.html).
ABSA The Annual of the British School at Athens
AE L’Année Épigraphique
AJA American Journal of Archaeology
Amandry Amandry, M., Le monnayage des duovirs corinthiens.
Paris, 1988
BAGD Bauer, W., Arndt, W. F., Gingrich, F. W., Danker, F. W.
(eds.), A Greek-English Lexicon of the New Testament
and Other Early Christian Literature. 2nd rev. ed.
Chicago, 1979
BDAG Bauer, W., Danker, F. W., Arndt, W. F., Gingrich, F. W.
(eds.), A Greek-English Lexicon of the New Testament
and Other Early Christian Literature. 3rd ed. Chicago,
2000
BDF Blass, F., Debrunner, A., Funk, R. W. (eds.), A Greek
Grammar of the New Testament and Other Early
Christian Literature. Chicago, 1961
BICSSup Bulletin of the Institute of Classical Studies of the
University of London Supplement
xiii
xiv List of abbreviations
CBQ Catholic Biblical Quarterly

CIG Corpus inscriptionum graecarum
CIJ Corpus inscriptionum Judaicarum
CIL Corpus inscriptionum latinarum
Corinth I.3 Scranton, R. L., Corinth, Volume I, Part III: Monuments
in the Lower Agora and North of the Archaic Temple.
Princeton, 1951
Corinth I.5 Weinberg, S. S., Corinth, Volume I, Part V: The
Southeast Building, the Twin Basilicas, the Mosaic
House. Princeton, 1960
Corinth IX.3 Sturgeon, M. C., Corinth, Volume IX, Part 3: Sculpture,
the Assemblage from the Theater. Princeton, 2004
Corinth XVI Scranton, R. L., Corinth, Volume XVI: Mediaeval
Architecture. Princeton, 1957
Corinth XX Williams II, C. K., Bookidis, N. (eds.), Corinth, the
Centenary: 1896–1996, Volume XX. Princeton, 2003
CSEL Corpus scriptorum ecclesiasticorum latinorum
DE Ruggiero, E. de (ed.), Dizionario epigrafico di antichità
romane. Roma, 1895–1997
Dig. Mommsen, Th., Krüger, P., Watson, A. (eds.), Digesta.
The Digest of Justinian. Philadelphia, 1985
FIRA III Riccobono, S. (ed.), Fontes Iuris Romani Ante-
justiniani, vol. 3, 2nd ed. Florence, 1943
GRBS Greek, Roman, and Byzantine Studies
IG Incriptiones Graecae
IGR Inscriptiones Graecae ad res Romanas pertinentes
IJO Inscriptiones Judaicae Orientis
Inst. Iust. Thomas, J. A. C. Institutiones. The Institutes of
Justinian. Cape Town, 1975
Iversen Iversen, P., Corinth, Volume VIII, Part IV: The
Inscriptions. Forthcoming
JBL Journal of Biblical Literature
JRA Journal of Roman Archaeology
JRS Journal of Roman Studies
JSNT Journal for the Study of the New Testament
JTS Journal of Theological Studies
Kent Kent, J. H., Corinth, Volume VIII, Part III: The
Inscriptions 1926–1950. Princeton, 1966
Lampe Lampe, G. W. H., A Patristic Greek Lexicon. Oxford,
1961
List of abbreviations xv
lex Irn. González, J., Crawford, M.C., “The Lex Irnitana: A New
Copy of the Flavian Municipal Law,” JRS 76 (1986):
147–243
lex Urs. Crawford, M. C. (ed.), Roman Statutes I, no. 25.
BICSSup 64; London, 1996
LHR Law and History Review
LSJ Liddell, H. G., Scott, R., Jones, H. S., A Greek-English
Lexicon. With rev. suppl., Oxford, 1996
Meritt Meritt, B. D., Corinth, Volume VIII, Part I: Greek
Inscriptions 1896–1927. Cambridge, 1931
M-M Moulton, J. H., Milligan, G. (eds.), The Vocabulary of
the Greek Testament Illustrated from the Papyri and
Other Non-Literary Sources. London, 1930, repr.,
Peabody, MA, 1997
Muraoka Muraoka, T., A Greek-English Lexicon of the Septuagint.
Louvain, 2009
NovT Novum Testamentum
NPNF1 A select library of the Nicene and post-Nicene Fathers of
the Christian Church: first series: vol. 10 –
Saint Chrysostom: homilies on the Gospel of Saint
Matthew (ed. Philip Schaff; Grand Rapids: Eerdmans,
1978)
NTS New Testament Studies
OCD Hornblower, S., Spawforth, A. J. S. (eds.), The Oxford
Classical Dictionary. 4th ed. Oxford, 2012
OGIS Orientis Graeci Inscriptiones Selectae
OLD Glare, P. G. W. (ed.), Oxford Latin Dictionary. Oxford,
1968–
PG Migne, J.-P. (ed.), Patrologiae cursus completus . . .
Series graeca. Paris, 1857–83
PDubl Greek Papyri from Dublin
PIR Klebs, E., et al. (eds.), Prosopographia Imperii Romani.
Berlin, 1897–
PLond Greek Papyri in the British Museum
POxy Oxyrhnchus Papyri
PSchøyen Papyri graecae Schøyen
PYadin The Documents from the Bar Kochba Period in the Cave
of Letters
RE Pauly, A. F. (ed.), Paulys Realencyclopädie der clas-
sischen Altertumswissenchaft. 1893–. New ed.
G. Wissowa, 49 vols. Munich, 1908–
xvi List of abbreviations
REA Revue des études anciennes

REB Revue des études byzantines
REG Revue des études grecques
RP I Rizakis, A. D., Zoumbaki, S. B., Kantiréa, M. (eds.),
Roman Pelopponese I. Roman Personal Names in Their
Social Context (Achaia, Arcadia, Argolis, Corinthia and
Eleia). Meletēmata 31. Paris, 2001
RPC I Amandry, M., Burnett, A., Ripollès, P. P. (eds.), Roman
Provincial Coinage, 1.1. From the Death of Caesar to
the Death of Vitellius (44 BC–AD 69). London, 1998
RS I Crawford, M. C. (ed.), Roman Statutes I, Bulletin of the
Institute of Classical Studies suppl. 64. London, 1996
SB Sammelbuch griechischer Urkunden aus Ägypten
SEG Supplementum epigraphicum Graecum
SIG Sylloge inscriptionum graecarum
TDNT Kittel, G. (ed.), Theological Dictionary of the New
Testament. Translated by G. W. Bromiley. 10 vols.
Grand Rapids, 1964–1976
TWNT Kittel, G. (ed.), Theologisches Wörterbuch zum Neuen
Testament 10 vols. Stuttgart, 1932–1979
TynBul Tyndale Bulletin
West West, A. B., Corinth, Volume VIII, Part II: Latin
Inscriptions 1896–1926. Cambridge, 1931
ZNW Zeitschrift für die neutestamentliche Wissenschaft und
die Kunde der älteren Kirche
ZPE Zeitschrift für Papyrologie und Epigraphik
INTROD U C T I O N : CO N S T I T U T I N G
THE ARG U ME N T
Constituted Colony
In the aftermath of Julius Caesar’s violent death, in his name and in
accordance with his drafted plans, several transmarine colonies were
founded de novo. Among them were Corinth in Achaia, Carthage in
Africa Proconsularis, and Urso in Baetica (Spain).1 The founding of a
Roman colony required a constitution. Caesar, at Rome, appointed the
constitution that formed these three colonies.2 Their charters linked them
firmly to Rome and its law and erected a framework for public life within
which local and regional traditions were adapted.3 Graeco-Roman histor-
ians refer to the foundation of Colonia Laus Iulia Corinthiensis in 44 BC
as a “restoration.”4 Some hold up Corinth as a paradigm of Caesarian
colonial foundation.5 Corinth’s constitution – publicly granted, and later
physically displayed on bronze tablets – was a crucial element in the
ritual foundation that called the community into existence.6
More than a symbol, the Corinthian constitution continued to shape the
form of civic life. Law and life were interrelated in complex and far-
reaching ways: privilege and status, land use, construction and labor,
commerce, litigation, and inheritance were among the constitutionally
framed aspects of colonial life. More than a century after Roman
Corinth’s foundation, an official letter penned on behalf of neighboring
Argos complains that Corinth was wielding its colonial (i.e., constitutional)
status invidiously in the region.7 In this and other evidence, we see the
ongoing effects of the constitution on notions of civic and individual identity
1
These three are consistently grouped in Roman (and modern) historiography.
2
For Caesar as οἰκιστής of Roman Corinth, see Paus., 2.3.1; cf. 2.1.2. For Caesar’s
interest in law, see Suet., Iul. 44.2.
3
On the charter and public life in Carthage, see Rives (1995).
4
Strabo 8.6.23; Diod. Sic. 32.27.1.
5
Plut., Caesar 57.5; Paus. 2.1.2. Cf. Appian, Pun. 136; Dio Cass. 43.50.3.
6
Walbank (1997: 95–130); Gargola (1995: 80–2).
7
Ps.-Julian, Letters 198, 409c–d.
1
2 Introduction: constituting the argument
and praxis in the first two centuries AD. Within this constitutional frame-
work, Roman law – applied and adapted to different domains of life, both in
Latin and Greek – shaped attitudes and assumptions about rights and
obligations across a variety of social groups. Magistrates and slaves;
itinerant merchants and agricultural laborers in the surrounding terri-
torium; participants in public banquets; suppliants of Asklepios,
Demeter, and Kore; visiting spectators and competitors in the
Isthmian Games – all came into vital contact in a variety of ways with
the dynamic form of life, the politeia, generated by the Corinthian
constitution. Birthed from Caesar’s unsystematic and privately com-
posed memoranda,8 the lex coloniae therefore provides an indispensa-
ble frame of reference for understanding life in early Roman Corinth,
the colony named in his honor. For this reason, it is also crucial for the
interpretation of the Pauline epistle known as 1 Corinthians.
Covenanted Community
In the wake of Jesus’s violent death and resurrection, in his name and in
accordance with his wishes, a “minister of the new covenant” arrived in
Corinth and planted a new community.9 That minister, the apostle Paul,
described the ekklēsia’s structure and life in legal-political terms: it was
an assembly,10 a temple,11 an irruption of the divine kingdom,12 its
members individually new foundations.13 Among its reasons for gather-
ing were quasi-judicial matters,14 covenant meals,15 and the collection of
funds.16 In his correspondence, Paul presupposes certain covenantal
regulations as normative for the community,17 and he paradigmatically
8
Cic., Phil. 2.39.100 records the confirmation, championed by Antony, of Caesar’s
acta. Cf. Frederiksen (1965); Scarano Ussani (1992: 29–31).
9
Paul as minister of the new covenant: 2 Cor 3:6; as planter-builder of the ekklēsia: 1 Cor
3:6, 10; 2 Cor 12:19; 13:10; as commissioned apostle and ambassador of Jesus: 1 Cor 1:1–3,
16; 2:1–2; 9:1–2; 11:23–26; 15:1–11; 2 Cor 1:1–2, 18–22; 2:17–3:6; 5:11–21; 13:3–4.
10
1 Cor 1:2, passim. Important contributions on ekklēsia include Judge (2008); Miller
(2008); Trebilco (2011); Van Kooten (2012). To evoke the political resonances of the term
in a diaspora, Graeco-Roman context, we translate ekklēsia as “assembly” throughout.
11
1 Cor 3:16–17; cf. 6:19; 2 Cor 6:16.
12
1 Cor 4:20; 6:9, 11.
13
2 Cor 5:17.
14
1 Cor 5:1–13; 6:1–9; cf. 14:24–25; 2 Cor 13:1–10.
15
1 Cor 10:1–22; 11:17–34.
16
1 Cor 16:1–4; 2 Cor 8:1–24; 9:1–15.
17
E.g., Deut 19:15 in 2 Cor 13:1.
aligns the Corinthian assembly with the Israelite covenant community.18

Thus, although the term appears only infrequently in the Corinthian
correspondence, we are justified in taking “covenant” as the operative
name for such a pattern of Pauline communal construction.
Within a century of its founding, the ekklēsia was again addressed in
civic terms as “that most confirmed and ancient assembly of the
Corinthians.” Its members were called on to prove themselves as
“those who live as citizens the unwavering politeia of God.”19 Paul’s
initial testimony to the merits of the crucified and risen Jesus as patron
and lord of the assembly called the community into political existence.
To that foundational teaching were added his subsequent epistles, the
entire complex forming an incomplete charter concerning vital aspects of
the community’s form of life.20 According to the Pauline evidence, by
audacious and asymmetrical analogy, the Corinthian assembly was
formed with reference to its larger colonial setting. It too was a kind of
constituted-covenanted community.
Argument and Aims

This investigation contributes to scholarship on both Roman Corinth and
1 Corinthians; however, its principal focus is the interface of two distinct
politeiai in the text of the epistle. In introducing our argument earlier, we
have juxtaposed the political notions of constitution and covenant in the
early Roman colony and its early Christian assembly. Our hypothesis is
that both constitution and covenant are necessary categories for the
interpretation of Paul’s letter. Although a series of steps is involved in
testing this hypothesis, the essence of the entire argument may be stated
simply: in 1 Corinthians 1:1–4:6, we witness a collision of constitutions.
This clash is the result of Paul contending for a specifically ecclesial
politeia with reference to the larger colonial politeia.21
In 1992, John Barclay argued that highly permeable social boundaries
between the assembly and the larger colony at Corinth were a major
factor in shaping the ways the Corinthians heard and responded to (or
resisted) Paul’s teaching. This meant, according to Barclay, that the
18
E.g., 1 Cor 10:1–22.
19
1 Clem. 47.6 (cf. pr.); 54.4. Translations adapted from Ehrman (2003).
20
Cf. 1 Clem. 47.1.
21
The exigence of 1 Corinthians was related to “weak” boundaries between the ecclesial
and colonial communities; see Barclay (1992); repr. in Barclay (2011: 181–203). Cf.
Horrell (1996); De Vos (1999); Adams (2000).
“correlation between the harmony of the Corinthians’ social context and

their particular theology is evident at a number of levels.”22 Among the
levels Barclay did not explore in detail were the legal and political
notions and practices underlying the “religious ethos” of some in the
colony and assembly.23 Others have pursued the influence of colonial
politics on members of the community. A number of studies have
fruitfully investigated the letter as a species of deliberative discourse,
both with reference to ancient rhetorical conventions24 and modern
feminist-rhetorical theory.25 However, for the most part, these have
made use of literary sources that attest principally to elite ideology and
social conventions. Few have drawn significantly on the epigraphy
relevant to Roman Corinth.26 Many of these “political” studies assume
a closer correlation with a Graeco-Roman rhetorical genre than the
evidence of 1 Corinthians perhaps warrants, particularly given the
many ways in which Paul appeals to the Jewish scriptures at key points
in his argument.27
This latter issue draws us into the larger question of the Judaism/
Hellenism divide that persists in Pauline scholarship. In many cases,
this seems to be driven not only by the necessity of scholarly focus but
also by assumptions about Paul, his “allegiances,” and the interpretive
stance one takes with respect to his letters and communities.28 What is
clear is that Paul’s letters must be interpreted at the intersection of
Jewish, Greek, and Roman influences. The challenge, of course, is in
getting the balance just right. An appeal to the Corinthian constitution is
necessary but not sufficient for the interpretation of the Pauline text and
community. Covenant is the Jewish analog underlying Paul’s discourse
and animating the social and theological collision that is inscribed in
1 Corinthians.29 Constitution and covenant, with their attendant political
22
Barclay (1992: 67; 2011: 199).
23
Cf. Winter (2003).
24
See esp. Welborn (1987: 109–11); Mitchell (1991); Litfin (1994); Winter (1997);
Dutch (2005).
25
Many in the “Harvard school” have built on Schüssler Fiorenza (1987). See, e.g.,
Miller (2008); Kim (2010).
26
Notable exceptions are the works of Winter and the recent study by Concannon
(2014). For the use of inscriptions in this manner for 2 Corinthians, see Welborn (2011).
27
See, e.g., Lampe and Sampley (2010); Malcolm (2013).
28
On the so-called divide, see Engberg-Pedersen (2001). For more recent challenges to
traditional author- or text-centered interpretations, see Macdonald (2004); Cameron and
Miller (2011).
29
Cf. Rosner (1994); Christiansen (1995); Blanton (2007); Metso (2008).
theologies30 or politeiai,31 move us closer to understanding the exigence,

structure, and force of Paul’s argument.
When we come to Paul’s text with both constitution and covenant in
view, we see that in 1 Cor 1:4–9 his testimony to the new covenant
Messiah (τὸ μαρτύριον τοῦ Χριστοῦ, 1:6) bears within itself the blueprint
of a distinctive politics and ethics for the nascent Corinthian community
(κοινωνία, 1:9). To grasp the shape of that design, we must attend to the
text of 1 Corinthians within the framework of ancient comparative
politics. This, in itself, is not a novel approach for investigating Paul’s
pastoral strategy.32 Nevertheless, our aim, and what has not been
attempted before, is to give an account, with reference to both constitu-
tion and covenant, of those elements of political theology that character-
ize Paul’s pastoral and rhetorical strategy in 1 Cor 1:1–4:6.
To do so requires preparatory work, especially on the constitutional
side. A growing number of studies in recent decades have suggested that
the use of extant colonial and municipal charters is productive for reading
1 Corinthians.33 Extant evidence from these constitutional documents has
been applied to Paul’s response to litigation in 1 Cor 6:1–8 (Winter) and to
the structure of magisterial authority and status in 1 Cor 1–6 (Clarke,
Goodrich) and 11:17–31 (Walters), with illuminating results. However,
these studies have assumed, rather than proven, that such a use is warranted.
B. W. Winter argued in 2001 that on the basis of the available evidence, the
Corinthian constitution might be effectively “reconstructed” as a fruitful
context for reading Paul’s letters to Corinth. That the evidence from two
constitutions from first-century Roman Spain has become more readily
available than ever in recent years means that the time is ripe for us to go
30
Political theology broadly signifies a vision of privileges, obligations, and social
relations emerging from assumptions about the basis and exercise of sovereignty. In this
sense, the phrase closely approximates politeia, the Greek term used for a constitution
and for the form of public life it engendered. We argue that 1 Corinthians marks the site
where the political theologies of the Corinthian colony and the Pauline assembly collide.
On political theology in relation to Pauline studies, see Taubes (2004). See further
Chapter 1.
31
Politeia as a primary category for the analysis of early Christianity: Judge (1960: 18–
29); Winter (1994: 2). For politeia as “citizenship,” “civic activity,” “civic duty,” or even
“territory,” see Robert and Robert, Bulletin épigraphique 1960.202; 1966.238; 1968.325;
cf. 1971.621. On the Jewish politeia, see Rajak (1984); Troiani (1994).
32
Cf. Barclay (2011: 81–106) who argues that political philosophy, civic constitutions,
and the “elastic” term/concept politeia may be “useful analytical tools.”
33
Notably Winter (1991); Clarke (1993); Winter (2001); Walters (2010); Goodrich
(2012: 64–9).
beyond previous studies.34 This study applies the contours of a well-known

Julio-Claudian constitutional template to Roman Corinth and then relates
this evidence to 1 Cor 1:1–4:6. In doing so, it lays the foundation for a new
and significant line of research into the Corinthian correspondence and its
colonial context.
As we have ventured into largely uncharted territory, we proceed
carefully. For our appeal to the constitution for the interpretation of
Paul’s letter to set up a convincing comparison, we must contend with
the methodological questions involved in the combined use of such
ancient texts and related evidence. This preparatory work of restoring
the constitution to Corinth lies at the heart of Part One. Moreover, for our
appeal to covenant as a category in counterpoint to constitution to be
persuasive, we have had to examine the evidence for the Jewish synago-
gue experience in Corinth and the traces of new covenantal discourse in
the epistle. Only after constructing such a comparative framework do we
turn to the primary task and object of inquiry: the exegesis of the Pauline
text, particularly 1 Cor 1:4–9 and 3:5–4:5.
Methodology
As with most contemporary studies, this is an eclectic methodology
shaped by necessity and by the evidence we handle. Each chapter in
Part One is methodological at its core. Here, it suffices to give a brief
account of the full articulation and bibliography that we defer until we
reach those successive chapters. Because we are engaging in a compara-
tive analysis, we must establish an analytical category and stance. We do
so in Chapter 1, establishing the integrative category of politeia and
situating the present study in an established stream of social-historical
investigations. Since we draw heavily on “legal” inscriptions, we argue
in Chapter 2 for a critical use of Roman law to illumine first-century life.
Chapters 3 and 4 draw on a range of epigraphical, archaeological, and
literary sources to anchor constitution and covenant in Roman Corinth.
Chapter 5 deals with important hermeneutical issues by describing our
differential comparative method and the positive communicative
assumptions that bind Paul to the Corinthian community. This includes
a case study on βεβαιόω in 1 Cor 1:6, 8 illustrating semantic and social
conventions preparatory for Chapter 6; it also delineates a theory of
34
The publication of the lex Irnitana by González with Crawford (1986) and the critical
edition of the lex Ursonensis by Crawford in RS I 25 (1996) form the basis for our template
in Chapter 3.
metaphor adequate for our exegesis of Paul’s building metaphor in

Chapter 7.
Scope and Structure

If an understanding of the collision of politeiai in Paul’s text is the aim of
our argument, how do we set about constructing an adequate framework
for the exegesis we wish to undertake? We approach the problem in two
major movements, reflected in the two parts of the study. In Part One, we
address the methodological issues at stake in constituting such a compar-
ison. Then, in Part Two, we turn to the text of 1 Corinthians. Because of
the work required to lay out the method and the critical textual basis of
our comparison in Part One, and patiently to infer as much as possible
from exegesis, we have limited our scope in Part Two to a focus on two
rhetorical units within 1 Cor 1:1–4:6.
Part One (“Constitution and Covenant in Corinth”) begins, in
Chapter 1, to situate our constitutional comparison in the larger stream
of antecedent studies of Paul and politics. We demonstrate that our
interest in attending to the shape of Paul’s political theology in
1 Corinthians is not merely a contemporary concern but one that has
ancient precedent. We also trace the various and somewhat conflicting
political interpretive approaches to Paul in contemporary scholarship –
according to their methods and aims – to establish our own pattern of
inquiry and to connect it with the underdeveloped intuition concerning
the use of the Corinthian constitution by scholars of early Christianity. As
the contextualization of the extant Spanish charters for Corinth raises
questions about the fit of legal evidence and everyday life, we argue
briefly in Chapter 2 for the validity of such a use of evidence and outline
the conditions for its effectiveness. In Chapter 3, we come to the matter of
the Corinthian charter itself in light of the relevant comparanda. By a
close examination of the features, contents, and function of the Spanish
charters, we offer two hypotheses for where the Corinthian constitution
may have been displayed in the first-century colony. More importantly,
we trace its effect, by means of a case study, on the lives and labor of a
variety of figures in early Roman Corinth to demonstrate decisively the
nexus between law and life for many of those who may have participated
in the Pauline assembly.
In Chapter 4, we begin to pivot toward Paul’s text through a consid-
eration of the evidence for a Jewish synagogue community in Corinth. In
considering the elements comprising Second Temple covenantal dis-
course, particularly in its Deuteronomic forms, we trace the marks that
Paul’s conception of his new covenant ministry left on the Corinthian

correspondence. Finally, in Chapter 5, we complete our turn toward
1 Corinthians by outlining our comparative methodology and commu-
nicative assumptions, concluding with an impressionistic portrait – of the
colony, the apostle, and the community – that serves as a backdrop to our
exegetical explorations in the following chapters.
Part Two (“Constitution and Covenant in 1 Cor 1:1–4:6”) consists of
two exegetical chapters in which we begin to apply the comparative
framework of Part One. Our work in detailing the contents and relevance
of the charter evidence to Roman Corinth is repaid in these chapters.
Each exegetical investigation draws on the Corinthian constitution as,
alternately, an anchor, a frame, a filter, and a foil. That is, the constitu-
tional evidence allows us to anchor certain social and political categories
and to frame certain questions in first-century Corinth that are suggested
by the language of Paul’s text. Furthermore, the constitution acts as a
filter through which other evidence from Graeco-Roman and Jewish
sources must pass if it is to be convincingly connected to Paul’s
Corinthian epistle and its auditors. Moreover, the constitution fulfills
the role of a foil in terms of the political theology emerging in 1 Cor
1:1–4:6, allowing us to perceive more clearly the dynamics of the colli-
sion between colony and assembly.
In Chapter 6, we begin with a selective history of scholarship on Paul’s
opening thanksgiving in 1:4–9. This directs us to legal and political
features that interpreters have perceived in Paul’s text. It also reveals
neglected epigraphical evidence that provides critical insight into social
conventions relevant to Paul’s thanksgiving. With the help of the con-
stitution, we discover that Paul’s politics of thanksgiving, centered on the
logic of the testimonial, has both resonance and dissonance with a
broader social pattern observable in Roman Corinth. Within this pattern
sit competing conceptions of community and privilege that rest on a
sovereign oath. Because our interpretation takes its cue, in part, from the
meaning of μαρτύριον in 1 Cor 1:6 and interprets that term in light of
1 Cor 2:1, we deal, in the Excursus to Chapter 6, with the difficult textual
variant of 2:1 (μαρτύριον vs. μυστήριον) to argue that μαρτύριον is the
preferred reading.
In Chapter 7, we turn to the central, integrative rhetorical unit of 1 Cor
1–4, namely, Paul’s argument related to himself, Apollos, and the com-
munity in 3:5–4:5. Because Paul’s formulation in 1:4–9 raises questions
that it does not answer about the shape that authority, loyalty, and glory
might take in such an ecclesial politeia, we follow the intuitions of those
who have connected 1:4–9 to 3:5–4:5 to take the measure of his
unfolding political theology. Once again, a selective history of scholar-

ship on 3:5–4:5 leads us to insights that suggest it is a carefully con-
structed unit that focuses on the matter of a properly wise evaluation of
ministers, ministry, and the assembly. Again, too, we see that certain
epigraphical sources, surfacing momentarily in earlier scholarship, have
been subsequently ignored. We give them full attention to uncover the
relevant social pattern they reveal. Within a category opened and
anchored in Roman Corinth by the constitution, we perceive Paul’s
strategy as he reconstructs the politics of public building, centered on
the logic of evaluation, to cast a new vision for the assembly. We argue
that constitution and covenant (particularly with reference to Jeremiah’s
covenantal commission in Jer 1:10) provide Paul with the metaphorical
materials for his rhetorical reconstruction of the nature of authority, the
message and manner of ministry, the eschatological nature of evaluation,
and the proper focus of glory. Because 1 Cor 4:6 reveals much that is
important for our understanding of 3:5–4:5, and because it is beset with
exegetical difficulties, we apply, in the Excursus to Chapter 7, the para-
digm of the rhetoric of reconstruction to offer a new interpretation of its
meaning.
In the Conclusion, we draw together the findings of our investigation
and highlight the strength and productivity of our comparative method.
We contend that constitution and covenant further our understanding of
Paul’s culturally accommodating pastoral strategy, his interaction with
Roman law, and the resulting collision of political theologies visible in
the text of 1 Corinthians. Finally, we suggest directions for future
research that might build on the groundwork laid in the study.
PART I
Constitution and covenant in Corinth

1
PA UL AN D P OLITIC S
In constitutional adjudication arguments may be based not only

on precedent, but also on other conventional modes of constitu-
tional discourse – text, original meaning, structure, moral rea-
soning, and consequences. Gerhardt (2008: 97)
Roman law had sufficiently established itself in the Greek East by the
time of Augustus that its statutes and categories could be appealed
to, even wielded, not only in colonies such as Roman Corinth but
even by non-Roman communities. In a conflict between Chios and
certain Romans resident among them early in the first century AD,
L. Antistius Vetus, the previous provincial governor, rendered a deci-
sion in favor of the Romans. However, the Chians refused to acquiesce
and when the next governor entered the province, they approached him
and reopened their case. The governor invited arguments and both
sides submitted their best documentary evidence. In the end, the
Chians prevailed against the Romans, startlingly, on the basis of
Roman constitutional evidence. They were able to produce a sealed
copy of an eighty-year-old Sullan senatus consultum guaranteeing and
confirming their rights and privileges.1 Roman legal text overturned
precedent.
Much like a court case (ancient or modern), any interpretation of a text
is an agōn, a struggle to establish meaning persuasively. This is espe-
cially true of constitutional texts with long histories of interpretation and
many interested parties. In this sense, the hermeneutics of historical texts
shares much in common with that of legal texts; thus also do the
rhetorical strategies of historians and biblical scholars often mirror
those of jurists and advocates. In the courtroom of the academy or the
church, the historian and exegete – like the lawyer – must adduce
1
Cf. Bitner (2014b).
13
14 Constitution and covenant in Corinth
evidence, establish its relevance to the matter at hand, and situate the case
within the larger stream of precedent.2
Scholarship often lauds those who overturn precedent; however, the
situation in a court of law is somewhat different. There, one’s case
advances with the aid of invoked precedents. Text and precedent
combine to persuade others of the validity and coherence of the argu-
ment. As in the Chian episode described in the first paragraph, textual
evidence frequently trumps precedent, weighty though the precedent
may be.3
In what follows, we begin to situate the framework for our argument
within the history of scholarship, with regard to Paul and politics gener-
ally, and Paul and politics in Corinth in particular.4 As we make our case,
we appeal to and analyze certain precedents while pointing out the weak-
nesses of others. We do this in four stages. First, the opening argument
demonstrates that ancient interpreters of Paul and 1 Corinthians provide
an important precedent for the kind of political interpretation we under-
take. These early fathers we call as witnesses lend support to our consti-
tutional comparison. Second, we divide recent interpretations of the
“political Paul” into four streams according to method of engagement
with the Pauline text and three categories according to interpretive aim.
While we have sympathies across these streams and categories, the
method adopted here tends most toward social history and the aim toward
understanding Paul’s text. Third, having established our own approach
within the broader field of Paul and politics, we highlight three scho-
larly precedents for the appropriation of politeia as an overarching
pattern of inquiry that gives shape to what we mean by the “political.”
Finally, we examine recent approaches to Paul and politics in Roman
Corinth and uncover a significant constitutional lacuna, one that the
following chapters begin to fill as we adduce textual and archaeological
evidence for conceptualizing the Corinthian constitution. Thus, we lay
out the lines of precedent, each having its own value; however, we aim
to confirm or overturn certain of them on the basis of textual evidence in
Chapters 6 and 7.
2
See Gadamer (1984: 289–305). Cf. Thiselton (1992: 32).
3
Technically, classical Roman law had no formal theory of precedent; see Wolff (1951:
80–2); Metzger (2004: 243–75).
4
My “reasoned eclecticism” foregrounds methodological presuppositions and aims
entailed in our constitutional comparison. Each chapter in Part Two begins by rehearsing
the relevant specific history of scholarship.
Paul and politics 15
1.1 Noster Paulus: ancient perspectives on the political Paul

We open by appealing briefly to three patristic witnesses, each with his
own historical context and concerns. However, together they offer an
ancient precedent for a political, even a constitutional, reading of Paul’s
Corinthian correspondence. As we follow the trail backward from
Jerome, through John Chrysostom, to 1 Clement, an increasing plausi-
bility emerges for interpreting 1 Cor 1:1–4:6 in the framework of a
constitutional comparison.
1.1.1 Jerome’s Paul: Iurisconsultus Dei

In AD 399, Jerome paused in his translation of the Hebrew scriptures. He
had been asked by his friend Oceanus in Rome to pen an epistolary eulogy
for Fabiola, the late Christian benefactress. In the course of extolling her
virtuous life, Jerome articulated a constitutional contrast: “The laws of
Caesar are different, it is true, from the laws of Christ: Papinianus com-
mands one thing; our own Paul (noster Paulus) another.”5
Although Jerome was not the only writer to invoke such a comparison
between Roman law and Christian law, his formulation is fascinating in
several ways. First, he explicitly differentiated two constitutional systems:
the “laws of Caesar” and “the laws of Christ.” These were, for Jerome, two
legal systems deriving from two supreme magistrates. An opposition
emerged not only in terms of the lord of each law, nor merely in the
content of the commands, but, most importantly, in the authorized inter-
preters of the respective constitutions. On the one hand, the late second- to
early third-century jurist Papinian stood for the venerable tradition of
Roman legal interpretation. Juristic opinion on legal matters, particularly
of jurists granted the ius respondendi by the emperors, became enshrined
in the living tradition of Roman law.6 By contrast, Jerome positioned Paul
as the jurist of Christ, likening him to a Roman lawyer.7 For the Christians,
in Jerome’s view, Paul of Tarsus was the iurisconsultus Dei, the author-
itative interpreter of the Church’s divinely granted constitution.8
We point to this constitutional contrast framed by Jerome to emphasize
the plausibility of our investigation on the basis of ancient interpreters of
5
Jerome, Ep. 77.3 (CSEL 55:39).
6
See Inst. Iust. 1.2.8; Pomponius, Dig. 1.2.2.48–50; and Gaius, Inst. 1.7. Cf. MacCormack
(1998: 11–14); Frier (1996: 962–3).
7
With the emphatic “noster Paulus,” Jerome compares the apostle to the great third-
century jurist Julius Paulus.
8
Jerome, Ep. 77.2 (CSEL 55:38).
Paul. And Jerome was not alone among them. Other evidence from the late
second through fourth centuries demonstrates that conflict with regard to
Christ and Caesar is not simply a concern of modern scholarship.9 Early
Christian writers participated in a larger political discourse in which
Roman law figured prominently, particularly in terms of self-definition,
self-presentation, and legitimization.10 Within this discourse, Jerome’s
focus on Paul as a key figure in the early Christian formulation of ecclesial
law and life provides prima facie evidence for our central concern, namely,
to interpret Paul’s argument in 1 Cor 1:1–4:6 in its Roman constitutional
setting.
1.1.2 Chrysostom’s Paul: Philosopher of Politeia

Reading Paul’s argument in terms of Roman law in Corinth finds further
justification in earlier patristic authors. Prior to Jerome, John Chrysostom
often read Paul in political terms. Chrysostom’s sensitivity to the legal
and political agonistics in Paul, particularly in his Corinthian correspon-
dence, has been recognized.11 For Chrysostom, writing late in the fourth
century, Paul was (among other things12) a legal interpreter who applies
God’s commands to his people.13 Furthermore, Chrysostom utilized the
philosophical and constitutional category of politeia to understand Paul’s
teaching and authority with regard to the early churches and the properly
Christian way of life.14 Chrysostom’s use of the term politeia is nuanced;
however, it sketches a Paul who stands between Israel’s Mosaic covenant
(the “old politeia”) and the constitutional contours of the early Christian
communities (the “new politeia”). In comparing John the Baptist to Paul,
Chrysostom’s view of the latter as a philosopher of politeia emerges
clearly:
[B]ut [John] dwelt in the wilderness as in Heaven, showing forth
all strictness of self-restraint. And from there, like some angel
from Heaven, he went down unto the cities, being a champion of
9
Best known: Augustine de Civ. D., e.g. 19.17; 22.6. Cf. Markus (1970: 154–86); Van
Oort (1991: 18–163).
10
Jacobs (2006: 86–7).
11
Mitchell (1991); Mitchell (2002); Mitchell (2010), esp. ch. 2 “The agōn of Pauline
Interpretation.”
12
Mitchell (2002: 432) notes that in Chrysostom “[t]here is a Paul for everyone to be
had, or rather carefully constructed.”
13
Mitchell (2010: 28).
14
E.g., Hom. 1 Cor. 4:16 (NPNF1 12:74): politeia as Paul’s manner of life held up for
imitation. See further Chrysostom’s Adv. Jud, passim.
godliness, and a crowned victor over the world, and a philosopher

of that philosophy which is worthy of the heavens. And these
things were, when sin was not yet put away, when the law had not
yet ceased, when death was not yet bound, when the brazen gates
were not yet broken up, but while the ancient polity still was in
force (ἀλλ’ ἔτι τῆς παλαιᾶς κρατούσης πολιτείας). Such is the
nature of a noble and thoroughly vigilant soul, for it is every-
where springing forward, and passing beyond the limits set to it;
as Paul also did with respect to the new polity (καθάπερ καὶ ὁ
Παῦλος ἐπὶ τῆς καινῆς ἐποίει πολιτείας).15
Among Chrysostom’s variegated portraits of Paul, here is one of the
apostle as philosopher-founder of a new politeia, a heavenly constitution
that issues in a new manner of life (of which Paul, for Chrysostom, was
the paragon). We add Chrysostom’s testimony to that of Jerome as
evidence for early views of the political Paul that provide a precedent
for our political comparison.
1.1.3 1 Clement: The Pauline Assembly as Divinely

Confirmed Politeia
The plausibility of our endeavor to read 1 Cor 1:1–4:6 in constitutional
comparison is strengthened yet again by the language and categories
invoked by an even earlier interpreter, one who wrote within the space of
a few generations of Paul’s ministry in Corinth.16 In his epistle to the
Corinthians, the author of 1 Clement corroborated and expanded on the
political dimensions of Paul’s letter.17 1 Clement addressed the church in
Pauline and political terms as “that most confirmed and ancient assembly of
the Corinthians” (τὴν βεβαιοτάτην καὶ ἀρχαίαν Κορινθίων ἐκκλησίαν).18
Formerly, they heeded the word of Christ, received his Spirit, and were
unwavering (ἀμεταμέλητοι) in their way of life (πολιτεία).19 Since they
had fallen into strife and schism, Clement enjoined the members of the
assembly to recall Paul’s instruction and to perform Christ’s commands.20
In doing so, they would prove themselves to be “those who live as citizens
15
Hom. Matt. 3:4 (NPNF1 10:65).
16
Ehrman (2003: vol. 1, 23–5); cf. Welborn (2004).
17
See Welborn (2003).
18
1 Clem. 47.6.
19
1 Clem. 2.7–8.
20
1 Clem. 47.1; 49.1.
the unwavering way of life from God” (οἱ πολιτευόμενοι τὴν ἀμεταμέλητον
πολιτείαν τοῦ θεοῦ).21
The presence in 1 Clement of constitutional language and categories
is palpable. The writer offers us our earliest “political” commentary on
1 Corinthians even if he combines Pauline terminology and arguments
with his own political rhetoric in a bid to admonish the assembly of his
own day.22
1.1.4 Summary: Paul and Politeia according to Ancient Testimony

The testimony of Jerome, Chrysostom, and 1 Clement thus provides us
with early patristic layers of interpretation that bear witness to a funda-
mentally political framework operative in the reception and argument of
1 Corinthians, a framework that lends itself to a constitutional compar-
ison. Our opening argument has demonstrated that these ancient inter-
preters provide a preamble to our project by their reading of Paul – in
Clement’s case particularly in connection with Corinth – as the apostle of
politeia, the early Christian constitutional philosopher and exemplar.23
We turn now to a two-stage taxonomy of recent political interpretations
of Paul, differentiated first according to their methods and then according
to their aims.
1.2 Recent scholarship and the politics of Pauline

interpretation
Our next set of witnesses is more selective and varied. Some are known
for their challenges to the court of scholarly consensus. In their variety,
they highlight the diversity of approaches to Paul and politics and what is
at stake in the political and theological agonistics of Pauline interpreta-
tion. They are largely contemporary scholars, not at all because the fifth
through nineteenth centuries were devoid of political interpretations of
Paul and 1 Corinthians.24 Rather, the methods and aims of these more
21
1 Clem. 54.4; translations differ slightly from Ehrman’s 2003 Loeb edition; for
ἀμεταμέλητος of political stability in public inscriptions, see IPriene 114.6–8; SEG
39.1243.IV.5–9.
22
Welborn (1987a). Repr. in Welborn (1997: 1–42).
23
Jacobs (2006) and Beck (1930). Cf. Humfress (2007: 173–5), with up-to-date
bibliography.
24
Earlier interpreters and interaction with the “political” in Paul and 1 Corinthians:
Heinrici (1880).
recent interpreters adequately represent, and in fact epitomize, important

impulses in earlier scholarship.25
To situate our approach to 1 Corinthians in relation to the precedents
these interpreters exemplify, they are classified in two ways: by method
and by aim. First, we examine four overriding approaches or methods.
These we call philosophical, empire-critical, feminist, and social-
historical studies. Second, we analyze these same interpretive approaches
according to their primary interpretive aims or goals. Here, we employ the
categories of applying, resisting, and understanding Paul’s politics.26
These taxonomies and the analysis in this section show that our approach
finds its strongest precedents in social-historical studies having as their
main goal the understanding of Paul’s politics accomplished through a
careful and contextual exegesis of his text. Nevertheless, it also appears
that we are sympathetic to various aspects of other approaches and will
occasionally use conceptual tools they offer as controls on our argument.
1.2.1 Four Methodological Approaches

From contemporary atheistic philosophers to confessional exegetes, a
wide spectrum of interpreters has attended to the political aspects of
Pauline texts. It is a spectrum that we divide into four approaches,
broadly considered. These are not intended as hermetically sealed cate-
gories, since individual scholars often exhibit eclectic methodologies.
Nevertheless, we may helpfully consider observable tendencies. Before
engaging with representatives in each group, it is helpful to describe each
method briefly.
Philosophical approaches to Paul reflect theoretically on concepts and
structures in his thought, often without much regard for first-century
context or the entire evidence of the corpus Paulinum. Such readings
treat Paul as a “contemporary” and emphasize his political thought, often
in neo-Marxist terms.
Empire-critical interpreters value Paul’s historical context (especially
his Roman context) and take a “big picture” approach that reads his texts
25
Many history-of-religion approaches to 1 Corinthians take the unstable category of
“religion” as their framework and often erase (by an overemphasis on similarity) the
distinctiveness of Paul’s text. The mode of political theology, rather than religion, con-
textualizes, rather than eclipses, the theological ideas in Paul’s text within Corinth’s
colonial context.
26
Neither taxonomy comprises mutually exclusive categories. We call attention to
certain family resemblances among methods and aims; other classifications could be help-
ful in emphasizing a different set of priorities.
in broadly (counter-)imperial terms. These scholars engage a wide range

of evidence and frequently borrow from interdisciplinary theoretical
approaches in framing the questions they bring to the Pauline texts.
Feminist approaches to Paul insist on considering his historical con-
text, often emphasize the particularities of local settings, and frequently
seek to shift the interpreter’s “gaze” from Paul to other groups of
historical figures at the margins of Pauline texts and communities.
They insist on reading Paul’s letters rhetorically, and on resisting them
as power plays, that is, as attempts to assert his authority over and impose
his theology on communities.
Social-historical interpreters approach Paul’s texts with attention to
the nuance offered by local evidence. They share a conviction that
Pauline words and concepts legitimately testify to first-century concep-
tual categories, concerns, and structures found in the ancient settings of
his letters, thereby providing critical evidence for his communities.
These methods and interpretive emphases share some aspects in com-
mon. More importantly, however, they approach Paul’s text with differ-
ent questions and go about the task of interrelating diverse sets of
evidence quite distinctly. By surveying key representatives of these
four methodological approaches and relating their emphases to our
own, the approach taken in this study to the interpretation of 1 Cor
1:1–4:6 becomes clearer.
1.2.1.1 Paul and the Philosophers

Gravely ill in early 1987, Berlin Professor of Hermeneutics Jacob Taubes
gave a series of lectures in Heidelberg on Paul’s political theology.27
Speaking about the epistle to the Romans rather than, as he had originally
planned, on 1 Corinthians, this German Jewish critic of legal theorist Carl
Schmitt presented a political vision of Paul, the Jewish apostle of the
Messiah, and of Paul’s political theology.28 In its meandering course
(partly because of his deteriorating health), the first half of the argument
offers Taubes’s treatment of Rom 9–11. It concludes that Paul, seeing
himself as a second Moses, mounts a Jewish political critique of Roman
law and empire.
Although most scholars of NT and early Christianity have been
unpersuaded by the details of Taubes’s interpretation, it has nonetheless
been influential in drawing the attention of other Continental
27
Taubes (2004).
28
Cf. Geréby (2008).
philosophers to the political dimensions of the apostle Paul’s writings.29

Prominent among them are Alain Badiou30 and Giorgio Agamben,31
both of whom also approach Paul not as historians or theologians, but
as philosophers.32 As such, their interest in Paul’s politics is unabashedly
contemporary; they see him as a resource for social and political con-
sciousness in the modern world.
Of these philosophers, Agamben returns repeatedly to Paul in his
writings. Partway through his “commentary” on Romans, Agamben
marks what he terms “the messianic concept of the remnant” in Rom
11:11–26:
If I had to mark out a political legacy in Paul’s letters that was
immediately traceable, I believe that the concept of the remnant
would have to play a part. More specifically, it allows for a new
perspective that dislodges our antiquated notions of a people
and a democracy, however impossible it may be to completely
renounce them. . . . The remnant is the figure, or the substanti-
ality assumed by a people in a decisive moment, and as such is
the only real political subject.33
Clearly, Agamben’s primary interest here is in contemporizing the notion
of the remnant in Paul, as opposed to drawing out its first-century political
resonances. Nonetheless, he rightly sees the political (even covenantal)
element in Paul’s thought.34 In a recent work, with more attentiveness to
Paul’s first-century context, Agamben has written of the specifically eco-
nomic (household) shape of the apostle’s politics. Following an examina-
tion of the “Pauline lexicon” of oikonomia, Agamben declares,
The strongly domestic tone of the Christian community is
obviously not a Pauline invention; it rather reflects a process of
semantic mutation that involves the entire political vocabulary of
Paul’s times. . . . Portraying the ekklēsia in domestic rather than
political terms, Paul was merely following a process that was
already taking place; however, he further accelerates this process
in a way that involves the entire metaphorological register of the
29
Schmidt (2007). A more sympathetic exegesis of Taubes’s work: Welborn (2013b).
30
Badiou (1997).
31
Agamben (2005).
32
See Kroeker (2011). Badiou’s disavowal of a historical-theological approach to Paul
is explicit, Agamben’s much less so.
33
Agamben (2005: 57–9).
34
Cf. Paul and covenants: Agamben (2005: 121–2).
Christian lexicon. . . . The implications for the history of Western

politics of the fact that the messianic community is represented
from the beginning in terms of an oikonomia – not in terms of a
politics – have yet to be appreciated.35
Although he refers in passing to texts from 1 Corinthians, Agamben is not
engaging in traditional exegesis or in ancient comparative politics.
Rather, he is attempting to trace the genealogy of two opposed political
paradigms in the history of Western civilization. However, despite this
larger frame of his ongoing investigation into “a properly human and
political praxis,”36 Agamben coincides with certain social historians we
examine later insofar as he recognizes the importance of hearing Paul’s
letters as political discourse that distinctively interweaves ancient civic
and household languages.
In their pursuit of the political Paul, these philosophers often sidestep
questions of historical setting in the interests of appropriating the apostle
as a theoretical resource. Nevertheless, their insistence on attending
carefully to Paul’s discourse to catch the shape of his political theology
offers a confirmation of our politeia pattern of inquiry.
1.2.1.2 Paul and the Critics of Empire

In the same year as Taubes’s Heidelberg lectures, NT scholar Dieter
Georgi published the German essay that became Theocracy in Paul’s
Praxis and Theology.37 Through a historical and philological analysis of
key Pauline terms such as “gospel,” “faith,” and “salvation,” Georgi
argues that “Paul’s gospel must be understood as competing with the
gospel of the Caesars.”38 Georgi’s thesis, formulated in the broad terms
of “imperial discourse,” remains controversial in a discipline still
haunted by the Judaism-Hellenism divide; however, it has spurred
further generations of scholars to investigate the “counter-imperial”
resonances of Paul’s letters.39
Among those interpreters who have taken up the counter-imperial
framework are Richard Horsley,40 Neil Elliott,41 and Davina Lopez.42
35
Agamben (2011: 24–5).
36
Agamben (2011: xiii).
37
Georgi (1991). German original: Georgi (1987).
38
Georgi (1991: 87).
39
E.g., Harrison (2011: 2–46).
40
See the three edited volumes: Horsley (1997b); Horsley (2000); Horsley (2004).
41
Elliott (2006); Elliott (2008).
42
Lopez (2008).
The emergence of these readings of Pauline texts in the context of Roman

imperial ideology was driven on the one hand by seminal studies from
Roman historians43 and on the other by a desire to critique contemporary
claims to empire and hegemony, whether national or ecclesiastical.44
Although there are important variations in these approaches, the common
thread running through each is the empire-critical perspective they bring
to Paul.
These scholars propose a Paul whose Graeco-Roman setting and
experiences of civic culture lead him to an ideological engagement
with political values and structures of the Roman Empire. They paint
broad strokes with their interpretive brushes, utilizing conceptual cate-
gories such as rule, justice, mercy, sin, faith, lord, and world in their
analyses of Pauline texts.45 Lopez, who builds on and critiques the work
of Horsley and Elliott, provides a useful reflection on the empire-critical
approaches on offer:
There are sustained methodological inadequacies to recent work
on Paul in his Roman imperial context. . . . Too often an empire-
critical focus on Paul positions him as a Jewish cultural critic
and/or political opponent to the Roman imperial cult or social
order, yet still maintains [traditional] theological categor[ies].46
In her own work, Lopez advocates further “re-imaginings” of Pauline
categories and focuses on “visual and literary representations” of peoples
conquered by the Romans.47 Lopez is not alone among these critics of
empire in focusing on iconographic as well as (or sometimes instead of)
textual evidence. Such methods that read for codes of cultural conflict
against which to interpret Paul’s letters result in a bold use of iconogra-
phy. Furthermore, the empire-critical framework has increasingly been
applied by scholars not only to “empire” generally but also to specific
local settings of Pauline communities such as Rome,48 Galatia,49
Thessalonica,50 and Corinth.51 This nuanced approach to local politics
43
E.g., Price (1984); Zanker (1988).
44
See Elliott (2006: ix–x), for his “explicitly [contemporary] political agenda.”
45
See, e.g., Elliott (2008) and the rubrics of imperium, iustitia, clementia, pietas, virtus.
46
Lopez (2008: 123).
47
Lopez (2008: 124); cf. Kahl (2010). Both studies also share affinities with feminist
approaches.
48
Elliott (2008); Lopez (2008); Harrison (2011).
49
Kahl (2010).
50
Koester (1997); Donfried (1997).
51
E.g., Horsley (1997a).
and variation in the expression of “imperial cult” has advanced the claims
of the empire-critical scholars against some of their strongest critics.52
In their reconstructions of Paul’s gospel, the critics of empire attend to
important Graeco-Roman political resonances and dissonances in his
texts. In addition, the best studies organize their analyses according to
first-century conceptual categories. Nevertheless, several leading scho-
lars, with their contemporary political concerns, continue to assume a
Paul whose politics seems too pointedly directed at Rome and the
Caesars.53 More and more, however, local controls are being established
in the attempt to discern whether, and to what extent, Paul was truly a
critic of empire.
1.2.1.3 Paul and the Feminists

Elizabeth Schüssler Fiorenza’s presidential address at the annual Society
of Biblical Literature meeting in 1987 – the same year as Taubes’s
Pauline overture and Georgi’s publication on Paul’s theocratic political
praxis – proves to be a fountain from which a growing stream of feminist
approaches to Pauline rhetoric and politics has flowed.54 Her central
methodological proposal is a call for a “de-centering” and “re-centering”
in biblical studies. She urges biblical scholars to engage self-critically in
a discourse and praxis that reflects the “ethics of [contemporary] recep-
tion” and not only an “ethics of [textual] reading.”55 In short, Schüssler
Fiorenza argues that it is not enough to engage in what she decries as a
scientistic-positivistic-antiquarian mode of descriptive analysis when
exegeting Paul’s texts (or politics). Rather, scholars should also reflect
on their own social-political (and ecclesial) locations and the potential
ethical-political effects of their interpretations of Pauline letters.56 The
paradigm involved in such an approach, Schüssler Fiorenza argues, is
both critical and integrative:
The reconceptualization of biblical studies in rhetorical rather
than scientist terms would provide a research framework not only
for integrating historical, archaeological, sociological, literary,
and theological approaches as perspectival readings of texts but
52
Caution regarding local and terminological differences: Harrison (2011: 17, 336).
53
Critique in Barclay (2011).
54
Schüssler Fiorenza (1988).
55
Schüssler Fiorenza (1988: 5).
56
Schüssler Fiorenza (1988: 13–17).
also for raising ethical-political and religious-theological ques-

tions as constitutive of the interpretive process.57
Many have heeded Schüssler Fiorenza’s call for a “double ethics” of
historical reading.58 One recent interpreter to apply the feminist approach
to Thessalonica and 1 Thessalonians is Melanie Johnson-DeBaufre.59
Building on the work of scholars such as Helmut Koester, she notes that
just as in Paul’s letter, so for the city:
The archaeological finds for first-century-C.E. Thessalonikē are
equally sparse and do not provide easy access to the ancient city
in the time of the [Pauline] ἐκκλησία. Observing how we fill
such textual and material lacunae can be instructive for practi-
cing critical reflection on the assumptions and procedures of
biblical scholarship and early Christian historiography.60
In response to the growth of empire-critical interpretations of
1 Thessalonians, Johnson-DeBaufre reflects on the “challenges of histor-
ical reconstruction raised by the unrelenting androcentrism of the text.”61
Johnson-DeBaufre makes at least two interesting maneuvers in the
course of her reflection – both of which exemplify the feminist approach.
The first is to demonstrate how scholars can be tempted to go beyond the
available evidence in their imaginative reconstructions of the Sitzen im
Leben of Pauline texts. In reviewing the work of Donfried, Jewett, and
Ascough on 1 Thessalonians, Johnson-DeBaufre reserves her greatest
criticism for what she describes as a tendency to privilege the Pauline text
over the archaeological and epigraphic evidence, particularly in terms of
the categories of inquiry and the resulting reconstructions of the ekklēsia.
She argues that the continued invisibility of wo/men is simply “the
collateral damage of approaching questions of origin and identity of
the Thessalonian community in a way that privileges certain aspects of
the language of 1 Thessalonians.”62 In making this criticism, Johnson-
DeBaufre rightly underlines the difficult and tentative nature of historical
reconstruction of the settings of Pauline epistles and ekklēsiai from
nonliterary and other material evidence. Apart from the normal chal-
lenges of writing history from fragmentary sources, there is the
57
Schüssler Fiorenza (1988: 13).
58
Besides Lopez and Kahl mentioned earlier, cf. Marchal (2008) on Philippians.
59
Johnson-DeBaufre (2010); cf. Canavan (2012).
60
Johnson-DeBaufre (2010: 74–5).
61
Johnson-DeBaufre (2010: 75).
62
Johnson-DeBaufre (2010: 90), italics mine.
additional question of interpretive stance and which set of evidence the

exegete privileges.
The second and related methodological strategy employed by
Johnson-DeBaufre is her use of the hermeneutical figure she calls “shift-
ing the gaze.” Appealing to a photographic metaphor, she argues that
where one points the camera in taking a picture makes all the
difference.63 To avoid privileging Paul’s androcentric perspective, she
contends, interpreters need to shift their gaze away from the rhetoric of his
epistle to the “empty” spaces on the liminal edges of epistolary and civic
space. Re-populating these spaces with the women, slaves, and those
ignored and marginalized by the letter allows scholars to imagine
“responses to Paul’s rhetoric.”64 In the work of Johnson-DeBaufre and
other recent feminist interpreters of Paul, these reimagined responses to
Paul are most often couched as “resistance” to a hegemonizing and
manipulative rhetoric.65 Paul’s politics and ethics are reconstructed and
resisted with the aid of archaeological and epigraphical evidence.
1.2.1.4 Paul and the Social Historians

When we come to applications of the social-historical approach to Paul’s
Corinthian correspondence, we will see that 1987 was again an important
year. At this point in our survey, however, we note the critical moment
marked by the publication in 1983 of The First Urban Christians by
Wayne Meeks.66 In concluding his introductory description of method,
Meeks remarked,
It has become customary among some scholars to speak of the
“social world of early Christianity,” and that term usefully
describes the object of this inquiry. It has a double meaning,
referring not only to the environment of the early Christian
groups but also to the world as they perceived it and to which
they gave form and significance through their special language
and other meaningful actions. One is the world they shared with
other people who lived in the Roman Empire; the other, the
world they constructed.67
63
Johnson-DeBaufre (2010: 77).
64
Johnson-DeBaufre (2010: 97–8).
65
See Schüssler Fiorenza (2000: 57).
66
Meeks (1983).
67
Meeks (1983: 8).
Many scholars have followed this “outside-in” tactic to interpreting

Paul’s texts, attempting to listen to his arguments within the recon-
structed civic worlds of the first century. In focusing on urban settings,
these students of Paul also point to the political (in the broad sense of
polis) as a fruitful category for exegesis.68 Progress has been made in the
“city-by-city” approach,69 as interpreters have brought documentary and
archaeological evidence into constellation with the texts and commu-
nities of the corpus Paulinum.70
Three key emphases emerge from a survey of such interpreters. First,
the best practitioners have moved beyond the “parallels” preoccupation
of the Religionsgeschichtliche Schule. Instead of backgrounds to Paul’s
texts, they speak of contexts or cultural settings. Their emphasis on the
“social world” has broadened the question from one of genealogy or lines
of influence detectable in Paul’s language and thought – a focus that has
often led to the impasses of Hellenism and Judaism – to the question of
the complex intertwining of Paul and those in the ekklēsiai with their
civic environments. This shift in focus has been appreciated and appro-
priated by many among the critics of empire and the feminists.
A second emphasis that has emerged from social-historical approaches
is the sustained attempt to think with first-century categories. This focus
on social patterns of organization and thought assumes that social reality
is constructed in fundamentally linguistic ways and is accessible through
careful, old-fashioned philological spadework. Social historians are gen-
erally keen to avoid anachronism and therefore take the language of texts
as primary for interpreting first-century forms of thought, whether of
Paul or his auditors. This leads them to be suspicious of approaches to
Paul and his communities that seem to privilege theory or imagination
over (especially textual) evidence. Despite serious disagreements over
how to construe sets of evidence, and especially over the aim of inter-
pretation, both critics of empire and feminist interpreters of Paul often
agree in practice with this emphasis on social patterns and checking
theory against evidence.
If social world and social patterns are two important categories utilized
by social historians, a third is “social location.” The city-by-city
approach emphasizes not only the general particularities of first-century
Mediterranean culture but also the local differentials of geographical and
68
See Still and Horrell (2010).
69
Phrase coined by Judge (1980).
70
Philippi: Pilhofer (1995); Oakes (2001); Pilhofer (2000); Thessalonica: Harrison
(2011); Ephesus: Tellbe (2009); Galatia: Hardin (2008); Rome: Jewett (2007); Oakes
(2009); Harrison (2011).
physical space. This is just another way of saying that such a method
takes the occasional nature of Paul’s letters seriously and assumes that
greater clarity of interpretation may come with greater attention to locally
nuanced evidence. Again, this is actually an emphasis in method that
feminist and empire-critical scholars often agree with in principle.
1.2.1.5 Summary of Four Methodological Approaches

As we pause in sketching the four broad methodological approaches to
Paul and politics, we see among them commonalities as well as differ-
ences. Philosophers, critics of empire, feminists, and social historians all
agree that approaching the Pauline epistles with the category of politics is
illuminating. And apart from many of the philosophers, they are all
convinced of the need to read Paul within the social context of the first
century. In these respects, there is significant, although often unrecog-
nized, methodological overlap among them.
What divides these four approaches more than method is their respec-
tive aims. It is their hermeneutical telos – that which they hope to find in,
and the uses to which they hope to put, their interpretations – that most
significantly separates these interpreters. On reflection, most political
readings of Paul may be correlated with three aims.
1.2.2 Three Interpretive Aims

Generally speaking, those scholars who offer some kind of political
precedent for understanding Pauline texts have foremost in mind one of
three interpretive aims: they aim primarily to apply Paul to contemporary
politics, to resist Paul’s politics, or to understand the kind of politics Paul
constructs and with which he engages.
1.2.2.1 Applying Paul

Despite their differences of method, philosophical and empire-critical
approaches to Paul coincide to a significant degree in their interpretive
aim of applying Paul to contemporary (civil, more often than ecclesial)
politics. And while it is highly unlikely that any interpreter interested in
Paul and his epistles is completely uninterested in the question of con-
temporary application (whether ecclesial or otherwise), these two groups
of scholars in particular often fall prey, in different ways, to the tempta-
tion to smooth the apostle’s rough edges in their elision of historical
distance or selective attention to the Pauline data.
In the interest of destabilizing contemporary political discourse,

Continental philosophers lose or disregard the sense of historical distance
between their own horizon and the first-century setting and fail to
put proper historical and philological controls in place. P. Fredriksen,71
D. B. Martin,72 and L. L. Welborn73 – all of whom are oriented (strongly,
if not exclusively) toward social history – have each made this point with
regard to Badiou’s ahistorical reading of Paul, although in divergent
manners and not without appreciation. G. Ward has recently offered a
similar critique of Badiou and Agamben (as well as Slavoj Žižek) from a
theological angle:
Unfortunately, none of these thinkers are in dialogue with an
important reconsideration of Paul and the political arising from
New Testament scholarship (see, for example, Blumenfeld
2001; Elliott 2005). I say “unfortunately” because this work,
emphasizing the transcendent rather than the immanent con-
cerns of St. Paul and the close relation between St. Paul’s
writing, his cultural and historical context, and the faith
communities he was speaking to, point out the reductive and
self-serving ways in which St. Paul is being read by these
postmodern thinkers.74
If the aim of applying Paul in these philosophical overtures falls short
methodologically on historical and exegetical grounds, so too, for the
same reasons, do some of the counter-imperial interpretations. Although
he hails Elliott’s Arrogance of Nations as a “passionate and provocative
new reading of Romans,” J. M. G. Barclay critiques its methodological
“ambiguities and instabilities,” concluding,
[I]f one wishes to reorient Pauline theology in a political direction
(as one could and should), it will not help the people who are most
likely to take Paul seriously (the churches) to move explicitly out
of theological discourse into another domain with its own ideo-
logical commitments (and weaknesses: Marxism is hardly our
salvation). A theological-political reading that develops Pauline
radicalism is still an option, but it will have to be more subtle and,
ironically, more theological than that offered here.75
71
Fredriksen (2009).
72
Martin (2009a).
73
Welborn (2009).
74
Ward (2012: 477).
75
Barclay (2010: 87).
What Barclay’s criticism points to in Elliott’s work is true of many (but

not all) counter-imperial approaches to Paul, namely, that the method and
data are overdetermined by the interpretive aim. In their zeal to apply
Paul as a contemporary critic of (usually the American) empire, some
interpreters seem to force Paul in a direction that renders him palatable to
a certain kind of twenty-first-century political activism. Feminist critics
often agree with this assessment, a fact that leads many of them to a
different kind of application of Paul’s texts, namely, one that resists Paul.
1.2.2.2 Resisting Paul

If the primary aim in many philosophical and empire-critical readings of
Paul is to harness aspects of the apostle’s thought to resist or deconstruct
contemporary politics, then a kind of inverse aim is present in many
feminist approaches to Pauline texts. Common to the feminist approach,
as we saw earlier, is the attempt to de-center Paul and his rhetorical
stance to recover the lives and voices of women by opening spaces at the
seams of Paul’s texts. Earlier feminist interpretations often tried to
reconcile what they perceived as apparent contradictions between
Paul’s androcentric, hierarchical discourse and feminist concerns.
Increasingly, however, feminist scholars have disavowed such interpre-
tive gymnastics and have focused instead on resisting Paul’s discourse by
reimagining responses from various kinds of people (not only women)
who may have questioned, critiqued, or denied Paul’s authority in the
early ekklēsiai.76
As noted earlier, many such scholars offer important challenges to the
ways Pauline interpreters bring together diverse sets of evidence in their
attempts to reconstruct plausible settings for understanding his texts. And
they rightly draw attention to the interested stance of the interpreter and
its hermeneutical implications. However, despite these welcome spurs
to methodological reflection, as M. Y. MacDonald has noted, “The
issue of what is actually warranted by the sources does . . . offer an
important historical challenge to feminist work that often results in
highly plausible but ultimately hypothetical reconstructions.”77 This
could also be said, however, of all the approaches canvassed here,
including the sociohistorical, given the unavoidability of reconstruc-
tion and redescription in historical writing. In this respect, our own
approach is not so different in that it attempts carefully to combine a
76
Økland (2004: 6–30); Macdonald (2004: 291–4).
77
Macdonald (2004: 293).
variety of evidence in constructing a constitutionally comparative read-

ing of 1 Cor 1:1–4:6.
Where our approach does differ, however, is that it is not interested in
reconstructing Paul and his opponents to resist the apostle. Such an aim
may be legitimate, as it seeks to give voice to liminal figures in and
around Paul’s discourse. However, it may also tend to privilege local
evidence over Pauline comparanda in its insistence on de-centering both
author and text. The results are stimulating reconstructions of local
communities and figures, some stridently opposed to Paul’s apostolic
claims of authority. However, the particularities of both apostle and text
can sometimes be eclipsed by such readings that aim at resistance. In
what follows, our primary concern is self-critically to engage the evi-
dence in an attempt at understanding Paul’s text.
1.2.2.3 Understanding Paul

What sets social-historical exegeses apart from the approaches already
mentioned is the very thing that has drawn the ire of some feminist critics
and the more theoretically oriented critics of empire, namely, the hand-
ling of evidence in relation to theory and the primary aim of under-
standing Paul. The former, exemplified by E. A. Judge’s much-maligned
insistence on “the proto-sociological work of description,”78 presumes to
take philological data in Paul’s texts as indicative of first-century cate-
gories of thought and even of social reality. In other words, social
historians of various stripes read Paul’s letters as more (though not
less) than mere rhetoric. Carefully correlated with other sets of evidence,
particularly textual records, the Pauline text itself is viewed as admissible
(though not transparent) social-historical evidence. While certainly not
all reflect explicitly on their hermeneutical commitments, very few, if
any, interpreters in this group are as theoretically naïve as their detractors
paint them. Rather, for a variety of reasons, they have little interest in
resisting Paul; and before applying his ideas, whether in ecclesial or civil
politics, they are most concerned with understanding Paul’s texts. It is in
this stream of precedent that the present study fits most comfortably.
1.2.3 Summary: Political Precedents for Paul

There is strong precedent, from the early fathers to contemporary scho-
larship, for approaching Paul as a political thinker. Not all of these
78
This phrase summarizes Judge (1980); see Clarke (1993: 5).
streams of precedent agree on what is meant by “the political” in Paul,

however, nor on how and for what purpose we ought to approach the
interpretation of his texts.
We have argued that those who approach Pauline texts with an eye to
the political generally fall into four categories methodologically. Several
Continental philosophers are interested in Pauline texts as a resource for
destabilizing contemporary civil politics. Many historians and biblical
scholars read Paul as a critic of empire, both ancient and modern.
Feminist scholars approach Pauline texts as rhetoric to be critiqued;
they question the ways in which other sets of evidence are correlated
with those texts and emphasize the role, interests, and responsibility of
the interpreter in exegesis. Social-historical interpreters acknowledge the
role of the exegete in generating perspective and heuristic questions but
insist that evidence and self-critical attempts at historical description can
and must act as controls on theoretical constructs and redescription.
Among these four ways of approaching Paul, one can discern in any
given study a primary aim of applying, resisting, or understanding his
text. Moving too quickly to application has often resulted in a lack of
historical care in handling Pauline texts and related evidence. An impulse
to resist Paul, primarily among feminist scholars, has increasingly
prompted important questions of method and stimulated creative recon-
structions of contexts for reading his letters. However, the urge to resist
the apostle’s authority or ideas can too easily devolve into risky reima-
ginings and may tend to drown out the voice of the apostle inscribed in
his text. Our own concern is instead to understand Paul’s text before
responding to it in a contemporary setting.79 In doing so, we openly
acknowledge the eclecticism of the present approach. We appropriate
certain theoretical emphases and concepts from the philosophers and
critics of empire but seek to avoid collapsing or ignoring historical
distance. We have strong sympathies with feminist approaches that
recognize the importance of the rhetorical aspects of Pauline texts and
the location of the interpreter, especially those that reflect carefully on
how evidence is brought into productive constellation. However, we
maintain the central role of Paul’s text in our interpretive reconstruction.
Our case for a certain kind of political interpretation of 1 Cor 1:1–4:6
therefore has a strong, but not uniform, precedent in the history of
79
Cf. Dahl (1967: 335), “For the historian, the chief task must be, not to express
sympathy or antipathy or to evaluate virtues or shortcomings, but to try to understand
Paul as he wants to be understood, as an apostle of Jesus Christ.” Dahl’s apparent naïveté
remains a salutary corrective to post-Foucauldian interpretations.
interpretation. Beyond a generally sociohistorical approach aimed at

understanding, it will be helpful in moving forward to outline the parti-
cular political pattern of inquiry we undertake, to state how it differs from
similar approaches, and to restate our case for the necessity of consider-
ing constitution and covenant in 1 Corinthians.
1.3 Paul and politeia: the pattern of inquiry

Congruent with that of several ancient interpreters, the approach adopted
in this book for the interpretation of 1 Cor 1:1–4:6 is a kind of compara-
tive ancient politics. The pattern of inquiry embraced throughout is
characterized by three important elements: the broad first-century cate-
gory of politeia, an understanding of 1 Corinthians as political discourse,
and the notion of alternative civic ideology. Together these elements
comprise for us “the political” in Paul’s Corinthian correspondence and
offer a productive way to study the interface of constitution and covenant
in Paul’s letter.
If patristic interpreters help us see the constitutional aspect of this
comparison, Paul’s Jewishness and Gospel aid us in perceiving its other
aspect. Constitution is balanced by covenant; both involve instruments
and discourses of first-century politics. The apostle to the Gentiles was
first a Jew, trained in the categories of the Hebrew scriptures, and familiar
with the concerns reflected in the covenantal discourses of Second
Temple Judaism.80 Whether in the diaspora, in Jerusalem, or the arid
wadis of the Dead Sea region, political conversations among first-century
Jews never strayed far from the narrative of Israel’s constitution in the
divine covenants with Abraham, Moses, and David. Matters of commu-
nal structure, confirmation, authority, exclusion, and internal jurisdiction
were just as common to Jewish groups as they were to other political
associations and civic communities in the Graeco-Roman world. If con-
stitution serves as a Corinthian frame in the foreground, then covenant
must never fade very far into the background of a political interpretation
of the Pauline epistle, 1 Corinthians.
Whether Roman, Greek, or Jewish in accentuation, these were debates
conducted in Hebrew, Aramaic, Greek, and Latin in first-century com-
munities of Paul’s world. It was a world in which local forms of law and
administration were increasingly coming to terms with Roman rule and
presence.81 Diverse groups of people at various social levels engaged in
80
Metso (2008).
81
Cotton (2003).
political conversations that may be best described as sitting within the

discourse of politeia. A Greek term capable of denoting a constitution
itself as well as the form of life and civic participation within a con-
stituted community, politeia is the category contemporary with Paul that
most aptly describes the aspects of law and life taken up in these first-
century conversations. It is no surprise then that several modern inter-
preters have approached the study of Paul and the Pauline ekklēsiai from
the standpoint of politeia. A brief summary of three such scholars
emphasizes important elements of our pattern of inquiry and guides us
in demarcating the political in our investigation.
1.3.1 E. A. Judge and Politeia

In an important 1960 essay, E. A. Judge argues for the value of studying
NT texts and early Christianity generally through contemporary first-
century social and cultural categories.82 His aim is to trace the contours
of social institutions reflected in the NT documents themselves, but with
reference to the ideas and assumptions of the broader Graeco-Roman
world.83 The first and broadest category Judge delineates is that of
politeia.84 The term politeia has a classical pedigree, shaped by discus-
sions relating individuals to larger communities. These discussions,
Judge emphasizes, “worked equally from the assumption that humanity
was only given its proper expression through the association of indivi-
duals in a republican community.”85 Communal structures varied
through time and across the Mediterranean; however, legal privilege,
obligation, and disability were constants in the social experience of
Graeco-Roman communities at large and therefore in the experience of
the early Christians.
Thus, it is not surprising that the NT texts reflect at many points an
awareness and engagement with local cultural and political forms from
the standpoint of new commitments and ideas deriving from the gospel.
Many such texts, Judge notes, interact with the language and categories
supplied by larger political structures and debates while also arguing for
“a deflection of loyalty to other institutions.” For the early Christians, this
included both the Pauline constitutional reorientation of Phil 3:20 (“our
82
Judge (1960). Judge notes in his preface, p. iii, that “it became apparent that the
contemporary writers were thinking in terms of a series of overlapping but not system-
atically related circles.”
83
Judge (1960: 17).
84
Judge (1960: 18–29).
85
Judge (1960: 18).
politeia is in heaven”) and a turning to other institutional models such as

the household (oikonomia) for self-understanding at the social level.86
The early Christian assemblies were described by the NT writers in
political and household language as communities constituted on a new
basis and with a new organization and orientation.87
Comparative politics in first-century local settings, Judge suggests,
was a fruitful lens through which to approach the interpretation of the NT
documents. Judge is among a generation of scholars who stimulated
multiple trajectories of social-historical research into the local political
settings of the early ekklēsiai, with some of his own students extending
his insights to Paul and the Corinthian correspondence.88 Nearly a half
century later, Judge would reiterate with regard to the Pauline commu-
nities, “An essentially different manner of life was being created, that
was to provide an alternative structure and a potential conflict of obliga-
tion in each dimension of the social order, whether oikonomia, koinonia,
or politeia.”89 Judge’s work connecting the category of politeia to the
Pauline communities offers a valuable example to those studying such
communities within their local settings. As Judge employs the category,
politeia suggests a fruitful way of thinking about the structures and
discourses of early Christian communities within their larger civic set-
tings. He exemplifies an approach to patterns of politeia in the NT
documents. Despite Judge’s field-shaping work, no one has yet applied
the category of politeia systematically to 1 Cor 1:1–4:6 with particular
reference to the Corinthian constitution.90
1.3.2 B. Blumenfeld and the Political Paul

Others have insisted on interpreting Paul in his ancient political context.
In 2001, B. Blumenfeld applied the category of politeia to the apostle’s
writings and thought.91 In The Political Paul, Blumenfeld argues that by
his use of political language and concepts, Paul placed himself within the
stream of Hellenistic political reflection. Dealing primarily with Romans
86
Judge (1960: 28–9).
87
Judge (1960: 72).
88
Yale school, represented by Malherbe (1977); Meeks (1983); Macquarie school,
represented by Marshall (1987); Winter (1994); Forbes (1995); Winter (1997); Winter
(2001); Winter (2003); Harrison (2003); Harrison (2011). The two schools mingle in the
work of Hock (1980); Welborn (2011).
89
Judge (2008: 649).
90
Winter’s works, discussed later, come closest.
91
Blumenfeld (2001).
and Philippians, Blumenfeld demonstrates the extent to which the nexus

of politics and ethics (and of the polis and the oikos) was reflected in the
interaction of Paul and his communities. Although he acknowledges the
potential of the epigraphic record for illuminating political structures and
relations, Blumenfeld deals only with the literary sources related to
Hellenistic Pythagoreanism.92 In discussing this background to Paul’s
conception of the Christian ekklēsia, he remarks,
Borrowing amply from current popular philosophy, Paul con-
structs a political theory for Christianity. He conceives it as a
two-tiered system, the first level based on the oikos-polis blend,
politics proper, and a basileia level, which places a transcen-
dental being atop the political structure. . . . He elaborates a
political philosophy that makes a new type of polis, the
Christian polis, the basis of his system. Christ, the master
(κύριος, kyrios), has also been one of the ruled, himself knew
the condition of the slave. He is Paul’s solution to the demand of
reciprocity in Aristotle’s political construct. Christ saves the
political game as well.93
Blumenfeld’s study presents a Paul who was heir to many concepts of
ancient political philosophy, some of which he embraced and others of
which he modified in his letters. Although he probably overplayed the
direct relevance of Hellenistic Pythagoreanism to Paul’s thought and
communities, Blumenfeld’s work is an important contribution in its
insistence on the interpretive context of ancient comparative politics
for Paul’s letters. Popular philosophy played a role in shaping the
discourse of politeia. And Paul draws distinctively on the language and
structures of polis, oikos, and basileia. It is the first of these – politeia –
that plays the guiding role in our investigation of constitution and
covenant in Roman Corinth and 1 Cor 1:1–4:6.
1.3.3 Y. M. Gillihan and Alternative Civic Ideology

If Judge proposes politeia as a category and Blumenfeld insists on the
political Paul, a recent study by Y. M. Gillihan demonstrates a keen
awareness of the political in its comparison of Qumran texts and
Hellenistic associations.94 Gillihan accomplishes his comparative study
92
Blumenfeld (2001: 13–24).
93
Blumenfeld (2001: 88).
94
Gillihan (2011).
of these diverse groups, on the basis of their texts, within larger civic
settings. What sets Gillihan’s study apart from the many previous com-
parisons of early Christian or Jewish groups and contemporary associa-
tions is the manner in which he constructs the political framework for
comparison. The key is the notion of “alternative civic ideology,” vari-
eties of which were espoused by the Epicureans, Cynics, Stoics, Paul and
his ekklēsiai, and the Covenanters associated with Qumran. According to
Gillihan, an alternative civic ideology is
a critical response to the state that includes, in various forms,
rejection of claims about state authority and legitimacy . . . a
comprehensive description of a different, ideal political author-
ity, organization, law, and citizenship, all of which are superior
to that of the prevailing order . . . [it] enables members of
associations to imagine themselves as citizens of a superior
commonwealth, which is typically coextensive with, or at
least includes, the association itself.95
These groups held in common the conviction that their members were
“subjects of a state different from and superior to that of the status quo.”96
As a result, they cultivated both an alternative civic discourse and alter-
native civic structures. By the former, these alternative politeiai offered
critiques of larger patterns of civic life; in developing the latter, they
borrowed and adapted forms from surrounding political cultures. In a
variety of ways, these groups “instructed members on how to interact
with the status quo: alternative civic ideologies include practical strate-
gies for negotiating the reality of life as subjects under the authority of a
polis or empire.”97
Although Gillihan focuses on texts and groups from Qumran, he
nonetheless briefly treats the Pauline version of alternative civic ideol-
ogy. He rightly observes that Paul’s occasional letters, driven by specific,
practical concerns within local communities, do not amount to a literary
politeia. However, from these “scattered disclosures,” we can reconstruct
significant aspects of the alternative commonwealth of which Paul saw
himself and the early Christians to be members.98 In Gillihan’s view, this
entails “a critique of contemporary society aimed more at personal
morality and piety than at political institutions and laws.”99
95
Gillihan (2011: 73).
96
Gillihan (2011: 79).
97
Gillihan (2011: 73–4, 79–80).
98
Gillihan (2011: 120–6, 131–2, 507–8).
99
Gillihan (2011: 120).
One immediately sees the political connections with the approaches

that Judge, Blumenfeld, and others have taken toward interpreting Paul
and his assemblies. One sees, too, the strong analogy between what
Gillihan refers to as “alternative civic ideology” and the more philoso-
phical category of “political theology.” In terms of the first-century
discourse of politeia, Paul’s letters may be fruitfully investigated for
the alternative civic discourse and structures they propose and the theo-
logical basis on which that proposal rests. Gillihan’s conclusions con-
cerning the Qumran texts are suggestive at several points for the present
study. First, he notes that those texts often reformulate “conventional
political practices in the language of the Torah”100 and, when performing
such adaptions, attempt to anchor with a scriptural citation those con-
temporary civic practices without an obvious scriptural precedent.101
From the perspective of this investigation, this is an interface between
constitution and covenant. Thus, what is true of the alternative civic
strategy in covenant communities such as Qumran may have certain
analogues in Paul’s Corinthian text. Second, Gillihan rightly notes not
only similarities but also differences among the various first-century
groups and their texts, both in their discourses and structures. We do
well to emulate this attention to contrast in our study of constitution and
covenant in Corinth and Paul’s letter.
1.3.4 Summary: Politeia and Ancient Comparative

Political Discourse
This brief review demonstrates three important elements of the pattern of
inquiry adopted in this study. With Judge, we take politeia to be a broad,
first-century category that connects the Pauline assemblies to their local
contexts. In the case of Corinth, we argue that this nexus is particularly
tangible at several points in 1 Cor 1:1–4:6 as Paul engages with localized
elements of Roman law and colonial politics. With Blumenfeld, we
believe Paul’s discourse to be a species of practical political philosophy,
although the total shape of his politics is elusive. The applied expression
of his political theology in 1 Cor 1:1–4:6 emerges, as the exegetical
chapters show, from the interface of constituted colony and covenanted
assembly.102 And finally, to borrow Gillihan’s language, we see in Paul’s
100
Gillihan (2011: 5).
101
Gillihan (2011: 514).
102
For Paul’s rhetoric, the phrase “theological” or “ecclesial” politics might be prefer-
able to “political theology” given the history of the latter phrase traced by Geréby (2008).
text both an alternative civic-like discourse as well as alternative civic-

like structures. Traces of colonial constitution and its impress on life in
Corinth surface noticeably at several points in Paul’s letter; the sources of
Jewish covenant, refracted through the word of the cross, guide many of
the modifications Paul makes to colonial forms. The features of ancient
comparative politics exemplified in the work of these scholars provide a
pattern for the specific constitutional comparison undertaken here.
Comparative politeia is the pattern of inquiry we employ as we investi-
gate the interaction of colonial and ecclesial political theologies.
1.4 Approaches to Paul and politics in Corinth

Several studies of 1 Corinthians have adopted elements of this heuristic
pattern of comparative politeia. Among them we find emphases on
political rhetoric and philosophy, law, civic administration, and cult,
and even a few direct appeals to the Corinthian constitution. A summary
of these narrows the field of precedents directly relevant to this
investigation.103 The precedents we review demonstrate not only the
plausibility of the current project; they strengthen our case that an exeg-
esis of 1 Corinthians with reference to the Corinthian constitution is
overdue.
1.4.1 Political Rhetoric and Philosophy

An important advance in the political interpretation of the epistle came
in 1987 with L. L. Welborn’s essay “On the Discord in Corinth: 1
Corinthians 1–4 and Ancient Politics.”104 Welborn contends,
“[H]owever strong the aversion may be to the presence of political
elements in the Corinthian epistles, it is impossible to resist the impres-
sion that Paul describes the situation in the church in terms such as
those used to characterize conflicts within city-states by Greco-Roman
historians.”105 In laying out an agenda that stimulates subsequent
interpreters,106 Welborn applies the paradigm of first-century
103
See Adams and Horrell (2004), who acknowledge Baur’s watershed study (1831).
Cf. the latter’s review of Schenkel: Baur (1839).
104
Welborn (1987a: 109–11); repr. in Welborn (1997: 1–42). Subsequent citations to
the latter.
105
Welborn (1997: 3).
106
Noteworthy by their absence are the concepts of ancient politics and rhetoric from
the influential commentary, published in the same year, by Fee (1987: 47–51).
comparative politics to Paul’s letter, situating its language firmly

within the discourse of civic political debate. He concludes,
The author of 1 Corinthians 1–4 . . . was devoted to the great
politics: the proclamation of the word of the cross. Dissension
and party spirit belonged to the life he had left behind (Gal 5:20).
Then came the discord at Corinth. 1 Corinthians 1–4 embodies
the shock with which Paul discovered that in the supposedly
peaceful assemblies of the Christians there had appeared “billow-
ing forms and patterns like waves of the sea.”107
Other studies follow the path charted by Welborn, variously emphasizing
the importance of political rhetoric, philosophy, and patronage for the
interpretation of Paul’s language and argument in 1 Cor 1–4.108 What
most of these studies have in common is a focus on the sources and social
dynamics of Pauline topoi, or rhetorical and political commonplaces. As
such, they tend to emphasize literary (and some documentary) texts from
the larger Mediterranean world in their reconstructions of the conflicted
exigence provoking Paul’s response. These studies have undeniably cast
great light on certain passages, especially in 1 Cor 1–4, and represent an
important precedent to the present study; however, by the nature of their
focus and the sources adduced, they have left other important areas of the
Corinthian politeia unexplored.
1.4.2 Law, Administration, and Cult

In the slipstream of these political-rhetorical interpretations came a series
of studies in the 1990s dealing with aspects of law, administration, and cult
in Roman Corinth and Paul’s epistle. J. D. M. Derrett,109 B. W. Winter,110
and A. C. Mitchell111 each applied aspects of Roman civil litigation,
colonial administration, and social status to 1 Cor 6. H. A. Stansbury
gathered literary, epigraphical, and numismatic evidence for colonial
administration, politics, and social dynamics as an important context
for Paul’s epistles and ekklēsia.112 A. D. Clarke reconstructed an ideology
107
Welborn (1997: 42), citing Posidonius.
108
Among which are Watson (1989); Mitchell (1991); Chow (1992); Litfin (1994);
Winter (1997); Grant (2001); Mihaila (2009).
109
Derrett (1991).
110
Winter (1991).
111
Mitchell (1993).
112
Stansbury (1990).
of “secular leadership” in the colony for a comparison with 1 Cor 1–6.113

T. Schmeller examined the politics and structure of the Corinthian assem-
bly as part of larger comparisons with civic associations.114 J. R. Lanci
combined rhetorical and archaeological evidence for the functions of
temples as a political context for interpreting the temple and body meta-
phors in 1 Corinthians.115
Furthermore, the past decade has seen several colloquia of archaeol-
ogists, historians, and scholars of religion gathering to treat political and
cultic aspects of Roman Corinth and the Pauline ekklēsia.116 This inter-
disciplinary trend has spurred recent studies that reconstruct political
structures and discourses of household, identity, and ethnicity in Corinth
and the Corinthian epistles.117 It is particularly among investigations
drawing on these various aspects of political life in Roman Corinth that
there have begun to appear with increasing frequency overtures to the
Corinthian constitution as a relevant framework.
1.4.3 Constitutional Precedent

It is a commonplace in studies of Paul’s Corinthian correspondence to
mention the colonial status of Roman Corinth. However, it is only rela-
tively recently that exegetes have connected this fact with the evidence of
extant first-century Roman colonial charters. Those who have referred to
the lex Ursonensis and the lex Irnitana in relation to 1 Corinthians note
three areas of emphases: disputes and litigation, status, and politically
oriented meals. First, Winter makes reference to the constitution in framing
his interpretations of litigious disputes in 1 Cor 6.118 Together with Clarke,
Winter also appeals to the constitution for establishing status ideology.119
Finally, J. C. Walters utilizes the constitutional evidence to reconstruct a
setting for the politics of public and private meals in 1 Cor 11.120
Despite the fruitfulness of these passing constitutional comparisons,
neither an articulated basis for the comparison nor a systematic applica-
tion of the constitutional evidence to the issues raised in 1 Corinthians
113
Clarke (1993). Cf. Clarke (2000); Dutch (2005).
114
Schmeller (1995).
115
Lanci (1997); Cf. Kim (2008).
116
Schowalter and Friesen (2005); Friesen et al. (2010); Friesen (2014).
117
Miller (2008); Kim (2010); Goodrich (2012); Concannon (2014).
118
Winter (1991); Winter (2001: 21).
119
Clarke (1993); Winter (2001); Winter (2003); Goodrich (2012: 64–9).
120
Walters (2010).
has been undertaken. In 2010, Walters wrote simply, “It is widely

assumed that the Colonia Laus Iulia Corinthiensis was founded on
the basis of a similar charter [to that of Urso].”121 A decade earlier,
B. W. Winter had suggested, “The reconstruction of parts of the consti-
tution of Corinth would be possible on the basis of extant [Spanish]
constitutions from other Roman colonies.”122 This study attempts not a
reconstruction strictly speaking but an application and adaptation of the
charter evidence from comparable Julio-Claudian colonies to Roman
Corinth. On this basis, we are able to articulate the warrant for these
precedents of constitutional intuition and apply constitutional categories
in the exegesis of Paul’s argument in the early chapters of 1 Corinthians.
1.4.4 Summary: Precedents for Constituting Corinth

and the Pauline Assembly
In this opening argument for our constitutional case, we have demon-
strated ample precedent for reading Paul’s texts as political discourse.
Early patristic commentators represented Paul, and even the Corinthian
community, in political (and sometimes constitutional) terms. The apos-
tle and the Corinthian ekklēsia – likened respectively to a jurist, a
philosopher of politeia, and a constituted community – were remembered
in political and legal language.
However, the fathers were not alone in reading Paul’s texts politically.
The past decades have witnessed a resurgence of political approaches to
Paul. Philosophers, critics of empire, feminists, and social historians all
agree on the political Paul even if they disagree on the politics of Pauline
interpretation. These approaches are valuable methodologically; how-
ever, each differs in its aims, some endeavoring principally to apply,
some to resist, and others to understand Paul’s text. Among these streams
of political precedent, the present study fits most comfortably with socio-
historical approaches that aim for understanding.
Three such approaches supply helpful conceptual resources for the
pattern of inquiry that characterizes this study. Judge’s emphasis on the
first-century domain of politeia, Blumenfeld’s insistence on reading Paul
in the context of Graeco-Roman political-philosophical discourse, and
Gillihan’s conception of alternative civic ideology each point us to
ancient categories appropriate to the constitutional comparison under-
taken here.
121
Walters (2010: 343).
122
Winter (2001).
Certain aspects of this political pattern of inquiry have surfaced in

recent interpretations of 1 Corinthians. Welborn’s study on politics and
rhetoric and various investigations of the colonial administrative, legal,
and cultic structures of Roman Corinth have provided valuable tools for
reconstructing the setting and occasion for passages in Paul’s first epistle.
Some of these studies have even referred to the Spanish charters, assum-
ing the relevance of their laws to life in Roman Corinth and the Pauline
assembly. What no study has yet done, however, is to establish securely
that constitutional link between law and life and to demonstrate the ways
in which it opens up new interpretive possibilities for 1 Corinthians.
Having argued from precedent in this opening chapter, we now turn to
evidence and comparative method. In Chapters 2 to 4, we introduce new
texts and arguments to contend for the interface between law and life, and
the Auseinandersetzung between constitution and covenant, in Roman
Corinth and 1 Cor 1:1–4:6.
2
LAW A ND LI FE
[T]he complications of Roman law were not just professional

“overkill”; by and large, the whole system, as we learn of it, was
a living and practised one and – and this is the important point
for the general historian – can therefore be used to illustrate
Roman society. Crook (1996: 34)
2.1 Law’s Leben

Viewed only in a legal perspective, constitution and covenant are bare
institutional concepts, too easily dismissed as symbolic instruments
constructed by elites for the expression of ideal norms and the exercise
of power. Potentially serious objections to our argument arise precisely
from the nature of the Roman legal sources adduced and, further, from
the comparative application of Spanish charters from the Roman West to
Corinth, a city in the Greek East. On the basis of these considerations,
one may wonder if it is possible to move in any meaningful way from law
to life, if by “life” we mean the day-to-day experience of Paul or the
people to whom he is writing in 1 Corinthians. In this brief chapter, we
argue that one can, in fact, connect law to life – and particularly the
evidence of the extant Spanish civic charters to Roman Corinth – in the
first century, and that the key concept in establishing this nexus is
politeia, the political category delineated in the previous chapter.
In Roman Corinth, constituted community was the framework of colo-
nial politeia, the site where lex and public life met in vital conjunction. For
Paul and his communities, shaped in part by Second Temple Jewish
discourses, covenant was an important correlated concept that structured
communities in relation to the divine presence. In 1 Corinthians, constitu-
tion and covenant intersect as Paul constructs a particular kind of politeia
that he invites his Corinthian auditors to inhabit. Therefore, if we knew
more about the Corinthian constitution and the ways it connected to aspects
44
Law and life 45
of colonial life, we would be able better to probe the sources of Paul’s

language, the provocations stirring his responses, and the purpose of the
politeia he proposes.
Our opening argument in the previous chapter appealed to a variety of
political precedents for the interpretation of Paul’s letters, and particu-
larly of 1 Corinthians. We placed our own interpretive approach to 1 Cor
1:1–4:6 among those streams of political precedent, identifying most
closely with interpreters who aim at understanding Paul’s argument in its
Roman Corinthian setting. Some important conceptual categories we
borrowed were politeia (as an ancient heuristic and analytic category),
political discourse (as an ancient register within which to evaluate
linguistic comparanda), and alternative civic ideology (as describing
the ancient rhetorical goal of a variety of documents). Together, these
categories direct us toward aspects of “the political” in Paul’s epistle.
In Chapters 2 through 4, we use those categories to extend the largely
undeveloped intuition among scholars that the Corinthian constitution
holds promise for the interpretation of Paul’s epistle. By laying out the
contours of Corinth’s charter, locating it within the fabric of urban
space, and linking it to public life, we lay the foundation for the
exegetical arguments in Part Two. Specifically, we work in this chapter
and the following two to substantiate three claims. First, a vital and
demonstrable nexus1 exists between law and life; politeia accurately
describes in first-century terms the dynamic site formed by this bond.
The work of J. A. Crook helps us test this claim in this chapter. Second,
the constitutional evidence from the Spanish civic charters is highly
relevant to Roman Corinth. The application and adaptation of the
charters to the first city of Achaia deepens our understanding of colonial
life as we see in Chapter 3. Third, the concept of covenant, mediated
especially through Deuteronomy and the Jewish community in Corinth
(in both synagogue and ekklēsia), intersects explicitly with the
Corinthian constitution in the text of 1 Corinthians at the levels of
political discourse and alternative civic ideology. Demonstrating this
in Chapter 4 helps us set covenant as the counterpoint to constitution
and to glimpse the outline of the Pauline politeia in 1 Cor 1:1–4:6. To
the degree that these three claims fuse persuasively in this and the next
two chapters, the historical and exegetical arguments of Part Two rest
on a firm foundation.
1
Nexus appropriately describes the conjunction between Roman law and life, expres-
sing nuances of bond, legal obligation, or connected group; see OLD s.v. nexus, nectere;
RE Sup. 7, col. 407 s.v. nexum (Berger).
2.2 Crook’s challenge

Perhaps no one has argued more strongly for the legitimacy of linking
Roman law and life than the late Cambridge ancient historian John Crook.
In a methodological reflection toward the end of his career, Crook returned
to his lifelong theme.2 He reiterated that his instrumental use of Roman
legal evidence involved an important shift in interpretive stance: “The
general historian, I insisted, was not looking at the Sitz im Leben of the
legal institutions – that is done all the time by the legal historians – but
looking at the Leben in which the legal institutions have their Sitz, and for
the sake of the Leben.”3 This claim regarding law’s Leben is our point of
departure in establishing decisively the relevance of the constitutional
evidence for colonial and ecclesial life in Roman Corinth.
Crook’s Law and Life of Rome,4 published three decades earlier,
argues for the special value of non-juristic Roman legal sources, parti-
cularly the documentary texts, because of the perspective they offer on
“daily legal relationships”:
[T]here survive in remarkable richness, on stone and bronze and
papyrus and wooden tablets, actual documents of day-to-day
legal business – instrumenta and negotia. We can read the
humble man’s will, the auctioneer’s receipt, the sale of a
horse, the miner’s contract of service. Not only does this take
us down into the middle-class world of Pompeii, of
Trimalchio’s Dinner Party, and further down still to the bar-
maids and common soldiers and apprentices, and out into the
countryside and the provincial towns; it also enables us to judge,
a little, how far this lower world did order its lives according to
the rules made by the great men in Rome.5
These documentary sources – a category that includes the constitutional
charters, other inscriptions, and papyri that form the overwhelming basis
of this study – contributed to what Crook describes as “a vast network of
legal rules” in which first-century people were “enmeshed,” often to a
more conscious degree than in many other societies.6 Legal language and
categories, he reminds us, “could be used for literary metaphor, could be
the foundation of stage jokes or [could] furnish analogy in philosophical
2
Crook (1996: 32–6).
3
Crook (1996: 32).
4
Crook (1967).
5
Crook (1967: 11–12).
6
Crook (1967: 7–8).
Law and life 47
discussion.”7 The law not only prescribed but also reflected cultural and
practical values;8 litigation itself was a public spectacle, observed even
by those whose lack of status excluded them from legal protections and
privilege.9
Crook challenges ancient historians (among them scholars of NT and
Early Christianity) to draw on the legal evidence in framing both their
questions and their interpretations. In his methodological essay of 1996,
he poses the challenge most sharply, and in two parts. On the one hand, the
legal historians, he notes, devote their energies to tracing over time the
evolution of Roman law under the influence of the politics and philosophy
of diverse eras. What if, Crook asks, we reverse that direction and look
instead for the influence of the law on political and philosophical conversa-
tions, concepts, and conflicts?10 On the other hand, if we take seriously the
cliché that “the Romans constitute a paradigm of legal thinking,” how
would an awareness of the Roman characteristic of “thinking like a lawyer”
affect our historical investigations? Crook offers a considered provocation:
Not everyone has the characteristic of “Thinking like a Lawyer,”
not all individuals, nor, it seems, all peoples, not even all demo-
cratic peoples. . . . So the question arises: What is the relationship,
in a given society, between this “Thinking like a Lawyer” and the
nature of the society? And it has to be looked at two ways, not
only the influence of the society on the legal thought, but also the
influence of the legal thought on the society . . . [a goal] only to be
obtained by a collaborative effort. . . . I offer it as a challenge to
the younger generation.11
“Thinking like a [Roman] Lawyer” captures Crook’s challenge to those
who would risk the operation of uncovering the delicate web of ligaments
binding law and life in such a place and time as Roman Corinth in the first
century.
2.3 Crook’s challengers

Although many in the “younger generation” have enthusiastically taken
up Crook’s challenge,12 not all are so positive about the prospects for
7
Crook (1967: 8).
8
Crook (1967: 9).
9
Crook (1967: 33).
10
See Johnston (1999).
11
Crook (1996: 36).
12
See, e.g., McKechnie (2002).
Roman law and life. Some argue that there is a fundamental disconnect, a
lack of fit, between the legal evidence and lived experience, particularly
in a colony such as Corinth. To answer the objections voiced by the most
thoughtful of Crook’s challengers, it is necessary to meet them directly.13
Only so may we suspend the disbelief of those skeptical about the vital
connection between law and life in Roman Corinth in particular.
One central thread among the objections to Crook’s connectivist view
of Roman law and life is the contention regarding the nature of the legal
sources, whether literary or documentary. In its basic form, this objection
typically runs something like this: legal documents and sources are
formal, jurisprudential, and normative texts that prescribe certain social
norms but do not describe social reality. That is to say, texts such as
colonial constitutions are elitist, legible only to the highly literate; avail-
able only to the rich and powerful; and, most damningly in the present
case, understandable only as formulaic and rhetorical constructions of
politicians and advocates. To borrow Lessing’s metaphor, well known to
NT scholars, we might say that, in this view, there is an ugly and
unbridgeable ditch between Roman law and life in Roman social con-
texts. Such a chasm opens up because of the legal character of legal texts.
Law and life simply do not connect at very many points and certainly not
across enough of the social spectrum to warrant the interpretive trajectory
charted in this study from colonial constitution to 1 Corinthians.
As if this challenge emphasizing the nature of the legal sources were
not enough, some of those who know Roman Corinth may offer yet
another, this one emphasizing the Greek milieu of the colony’s regional
setting. They are skeptical of the possibility of connecting law and life on
the ground that the colonia Corinthiensis, though Roman in political
structure and its administrative epigraphy, is demonstrably hybrid in the
composition of its colonial life. On this view, the present project founders
on the Graeco-Roman rocks of the Isthmus because of the complex
intermingling of “Greek,” “Roman,” and other ethnic identities and
modes of interaction.14 If we take the particularities of local and regional
evidence into consideration, as we must, this objection forces any who
would undertake such a constitutional comparison to anchor the evidence
as much as possible in a regional setting, rather than naïvely assuming the
“Romanness” of life in the social domains and at the social levels
involving Paul and his Corinthian auditors. On this objection, it is the
13
Inter alia, A. Watson in Cairns and Du Plessis (2007).
14
“Greek” and “Roman” were mingling in complex ways in Rome itself in the same
period. See Wallace-Hadrill (2008); Spawforth (2012).
Law and life 49
Roman nature of Roman law that calls into question the fit between
constitutional and colonial (or ecclesial) life. Law and life remain uncon-
nected because the Roman status of Roman Corinth is like a veneer;
when one scratches at it, the grain of Greek identity and practice under-
neath is revealed. Corinth’s colonial Roman persona is therefore alleged
to be an unreliable, or at least irrelevant, basis on which to construct a
constitutionally comparative interpretation of Paul’s epistle.
These challenges to the Crookean view are serious but not indefeasi-
ble. Crook himself was aware of certain aspects of these objections, and
his own methodological cautions are the best starting point for formulat-
ing an answer to each.
2.4 Crook’s conditions

If we can demonstrate that the legal nature of our primary evidence does
connect to a cross section of life in early Roman Corinth, and that it is in
fact appropriate to speak of the Roman nature of first-century Corinth in
ways that evidence nuanced interaction with regional Greek culture, then
there is, at the very least, no a priori objection standing in the way of this
study. On the contrary, such a demonstration would indicate that there is
every reason to bring the Corinthian constitution and 1 Corinthians into
careful comparative conjunction. To do so, it is imperative to heed three
cautions that Crook urges on those who would take up his challenge.15
First, Crook cautions that documentary evidence must function criti-
cally in our thinking about the question of fit between law and society. As
an example, he refers to the question of the Roman law of sale. This
category of law, discussed as emptio venditio in the juristic sources, has
been discounted by many social historians as failing to grant access to the
economic affairs of most people in most Roman social contexts because
it is seen as idealizing and suspect from the vantage point of modern
Weberian economic theory. But Crook rightly points to the tabulae
(wooden waxed tablets) discovered in Pompeii and Puteoli over the
past century as a challenge to this theory-driven skepticism. The docu-
ments, which grant access to what some real people in these places were
doing, do in fact confirm that legal and economic categories found in
Roman law had traction on the ground in the first century.16 What such
15
Crook (1996: 33–6): “conditions under which my enterprise – to use Roman law to
illustrate Roman society – has to be conducted.” I combine and condense many of Crook’s
conditions.
16
Crook (1996: 35–6).
texts demonstrate is, indeed, a level of fit, albeit with nuance, between
elite juristic categories and everyday practices in Roman colonies such as
Pompeii. The constitutional texts from Roman coloniae and municipia in
first-century Spain that form the evidentiary basis for this study are
themselves documentary and may be checked against local and regional
documentary and archaeological evidence in a way that takes into
account Crook’s caution.
Second, Crook advises avoiding the straitjacket of the internal bound-
aries of formal Roman law. The Roman jurists and the modern legal
historians who study their texts work with the legal categories of persons,
things, obligations, and actions. Each category is then further subdi-
vided, and custom, opinion, and precedent are applied to typical as well
as problematic cases that nest within the larger set.17 But, argues Crook,
historians have good reasons to disregard the traditional legal bound-
aries, reasons both ancient and modern. Indeed, the network of social
relations in a colony such as Corinth (or in the ekklēsia Paul addresses)
often necessitates the blurring of such categories if we are to trace legal
and economic relations and effects among diverse actors. In addition, it is
appropriate to bring contemporary legal and social questions to the
ancient evidence, questions stimulated by our own concerns, but only,
insists Crook, “with the proviso that if there turns out to be little or
nothing to say it mustn’t be invented.”18 This is highly relevant for the
present study as we link the constitutional categories laid out Chapter 3 to
regional Corinthian evidence and the text of 1 Corinthians in Part Two.
Third, Crook warns historians to consider carefully the nature of legal
language, the normative character of the legal sources, and the multi-
valence of the law in its relation to society. Roman legal language, as we
see in the constitutional charters, is often redundant and elaborately
specific. As Crook reminds us, “the refinements of the law are, up to a
point that may be very difficult to estimate, professional over-
elaboration.”19 Furthermore, the normativity of official legal texts such
as colonial charters demands that we ask “to what extent the laws were
obeyed and what practical effect they actually had . . . without at the same
time forgetting that parts of the law are self-fulfilling.”20 Finally, the
multivalent relationship of law and life in the Roman world requires an
acknowledgment that the law is “not only a set of rules that people are
17
See the inexorable juristic logic in Gaius: Zulueta (1946), e.g., G. 1.8–12.
18
Crook (1996: 33).
19
Crook (1996: 34).
20
Crook (1996: 34).
Law and life 51
supposed to obey; it is also, with equal importance, a system of enabling

people to settle their disputes.”21 These issues of legal language, legal
normativity, and multivalence must inform our investigation of how the
constitutional evidence can be connected first to Roman Corinth and then
to 1 Corinthians.
With Crook’s cautionary conditions in mind, we now turn to the task of
restoring the constitution to Corinth in a way that seeks both to take up his
challenge and to bear in mind his cautions. We must establish a vital link
between Roman law and life in the colony, and we must defeat the
objections to the legal nature of constitutional texts and to the Roman
nature of first-century Corinth. E. A. Meyer, another who has followed
Crook’s lead in her recent study of Roman tabulae, characterizes her
attempt as throwing “a rope bridge across the chasm between the study
of Roman history and the study of Roman law, a crevasse that has been
growing broader and more forbidding for nearly a century.” Among her
motivations is this conviction: “the law cannot safely be left out of a vision
of [the Roman] world . . . because it was anchored fathoms deep in Roman
culture.”22 We might well replace “Roman” in that statement with
“Corinthian” according to evidence adduced in the following chapter.
21
Crook (1996: 34).
22
Meyer (2004: 3).
3
T H E CO R I N T H I A N CO N S T I T U T I O N
Rather than take the purpose and form of colonies for

granted, we need to test precisely whether they did, in fact,
“have all the laws and institutions of the Roman people.”
Ando (2007: 432)
Corinth’s oft-mentioned refounding in 44 BC marks it as a colony

constituted on a Roman model and places it at the start of the third and
final chapter of the story of Roman colonization.1 Kornemann’s formula –
“Die Geschichte der römischen Kolonisation ist die Geschichte des
römische Staates”2 – continues to remind us that the founding of colonies
must always be situated in the larger narrative of Roman political and
cultural history. It is therefore important to set the evidence for compar-
able Julio-Claudian colonial constitutions in historical perspective before
detailing the sources of that evidence, its features, and its relevance to life
in first-century Roman Corinth. The epigraphical and archaeological
work necessary to do so will be valuable for NT interpretation, a fact
presaged by the increasing overtures to colonial charters by scholars of
1 Corinthians.
Prior to the second century BC, most colonies were small and within
striking distance from the city of Rome.3 With the Gracchan scheme of
the late second century, a new era of transmarine colonization gradually
gained momentum, culminating in the colonial foundations of Caesar
1
Corinth’s colonial status and refoundation is de rigeur in the commentaries, as is Aulus
Gellius’s description of colonies as “small effigies and replicas” of the Roman people
(Noct. att. 16.13.8–9). But see Ando (2007: 432).
2
E. Kornemann, RE IV (1901) s.v. coloniae, col. 560. Cf. H. Galsterer, Neue Pauly s.v.
coloniae. Valuable, though dated, is Levick (1967: 1–5). A recent synopsis with theoretical
considerations is Woolf (2011). See also Vittinghoff (1952); Jones (1967: 61–4); Salmon
(1969: 76–95); Sherwin-White (1973); Keppie (1983); Alcock (1993); Lintott (1993);
Gargola (1995); Spawforth (2012: 45–58).
3
Levick (1967: 1–3).
52
The Corinthian constitution 53
and Augustus. It was at a key moment in this late phase of overseas

settlement that Corinth and Carthage were birthed from the travail of
brutal power politics at Rome in 44 BC,4 both becoming epitomes of
coloniae transmarinae5 and subsequently figuring as icons of Roman
imperial thought.6 Caesar’s choice of Corinth as a site for a colonial
foundation was strategic in a variety of ways. By the end of the first
century, Corinth stood as a political and economic crossroads in Greece,
located symbolically and mathematically at the center of the Roman
province of Achaia.7 Displayed prominently in the monumental Roman
center of Corinth, from early in its first century of existence, was its
colonial constitution.
3.1 Sources for first-century Roman civic constitutions

We have at our disposal rich sources for modeling Corinth’s missing
constitution. Evidence for colonial and municipal charters – some of it
quite recently discovered – comes to us primarily on bronze tablets from
first-century Roman Spain. It is helpful at this point to lay out the primary
source material. The two extensive charters most relevant for Corinth are
the lex colonia Genetivae Iuliae of Urso (hereafter lex Urs.) and the lex
Flavia municipalis attested at Salpensa, Malaca, and Irni (hereafter lex
Flavia).
Urso, in the public province of Hispania Ulterior Baetica, was
founded contemporaneously with Corinth and Carthage in 44 BC.8 It
4
Neither the problem of the precise date of Corinth’s foundation nor the associated
problem of the relation between Caesar’s acta and the lex Antonia de actis Caesaris
confirmandis needs concern us here, primarily because of the Julio-Claudian/Flavian date
of the extant leges (see Section 3.2) and the apostle Paul’s mid–first-century visit to
Corinth). On the foundation date, see Amandry (1988: 13); Walbank (1997); for
Antony’s and Caesar’s commentarii in relation to leges coloniae et municipiae, see
Frederiksen (1965: 194–5).
5
Plut., Caesar 57.5; Paus. 2.1.2; Appian, Pun. 136; Dio Cass. 43.50.3.
6
Vittinghoff (1952: 86–7), at 87: “Die Römerkolonien Karthago und Korinth . . . sind
Sinnbilder caesarischen Reichsdenkens.” Cf. Levick (1967: 4).
7
See, e.g., the estimate of the current director of excavations at Corinth in Sanders
(2005: 15): “The historical communications network of southern Greece has recently been
treated purely as a problem in graph theory. . . . Corinth was unsurprisingly found to be at
the mathematical and geographical center of the Roman province of Achaia.” Cf. Sanders
and Whitbread (1990); Williams (1993); Spawforth (2012: 47–8).
8
Kornemann, RE IV (1901) s.v. coloniae, col. 527, no. 84; cf. col. 573 for features
linking the three. In the application and adaptation of the charter evidence to Corinth that
follows, there are certain similarities with Rives (1995: 17–99).
Co
r
in
t h
o
Urs
e
thag
Car
Figure 1 Corinth, Carthage, and Urso in the First-Century Mediterranean World.

Artist: Scott Spuler, One Hat Design Studio, LLC.
is an irony of history that the bronze charter of this relatively unim-

portant Spanish city has survived to such a significant degree, whereas
the constitutions of the famous colonies in Achaia and Africa have
perished (see map in Figure 1). Although the first record of bronze
tablets from Urso (modern Osuna in Andalucía) dates from 1608,9 it
was not until the discovery of four bronzes in 1870–71 that our under-
standing of colonial administration in late Republican and early
imperial Roman foundations was set on an entirely new footing. In
1925, twelve additional fragments, two joining, added modestly to our
knowledge of the lex.10 Since then, two more supplements have been
found: one small fragment – possibly part of the preamble to the
constitution – was acquired on the antiquities market and first pub-
lished in 1991;11 the other – a substantial tablet in its own right – was
unearthed during preparation for a suburban construction project in
1999 and only published in full in 2006.12
9
Recorded by Antonio García de Córdoba in his 1746 essay Historia, Antigüedad y
excelencias de la villa de Osuna. See Caballos Rufino (2006: 21).
10
Primary bibliography for the 1870–71 and 1925 discoveries in RS I 25, 393–4.
Periodically updated bibliography may be found at The Roman Law Library site (http://
webu2.upmf-grenoble.fr/Haiti/Cours/Ak/, accessed November 5, 2013).
11
Fernández Gómez (1991: 127); Caballos Rufino (2004); Caballos Rufino (2006:
26–7). See further Crawford (1998: 42), esp. Appendix 3 (“A Possible Reference to a
Lex Iulia municipalis?”).
12
Caballos Rufino (2006: 35–45 [provenance], 49–101 [physical features and restora-
tion], 105–304 [text, translation, and commentary]).
Altogether, the fragments of the lex Urs. attest some 62 of approxi-

mately 144 chapters that spanned nine tablets.13 As we will see later, the
physical features of these bronze tablets and the content of the extant
chapters provide us with important information concerning the applica-
tion and adaptation of Roman law to colonies such as Urso, Corinth, and
Carthage. This data allows us to outline the contours of Corinth’s charter,
to place it within the physical and symbolic life of the colony, and to
bring it to bear on the interpretation of the Pauline text.
In addition to the lex Urs., and even more impressive in terms of scale,
nearly two-thirds of the lex Flavia survives. To the fragments of the
so-called leges Malacitana and Salpensana, both discovered in 1851 near
the Spanish city of Málaga on the Costa del Sol of Andalucía,14 was
added in 1981 the extensive and partially overlapping text preserved on
the six bronze tablets and associated fragments of the lex Irnitana (here-
after lex Irn.).15 In the same 1986 issue of the Journal of Roman Studies
in which the text and an English translation were published, Joyce
Reynolds hails the discovery of the lex Irn., considering it to be “in a
class of its own” on account of the detailed insight it gives us into civic
constitutions.16 Subsequent pieces purchased on the antiquities market
have not added substantially to our knowledge of the lex Flavia,17
although it is unclear whether there remain unpublished fragments.18
13
These figures apply if we accept the identification of fragment MAS REP 1990/85 as
forming part of the preamble and Mallon’s reconstruction of Tablet d (or something like it);
Caballos Rufino (2006: 26–7). See Crawford’s comments, RS I 25, 394, 410–14. It should
be noted that some chapters are barely preserved (e.g., Ch. XX: Quicumque comitia id[ – ]),
while others are quite extensive (e.g., Ch. XCV: 36 lines of text running over two columns,
dealing with judgment by recuperatores for civil proceedings). All fragments are now in
the Museo Arqueológico Nacional, Madrid.
14
Texts, translations, and important bibliography: Rodriguez De Berlanga (1853);
Mommsen (1965: 265–382); Spitzl (1984).
15
Text and translations: González (1986); D’Ors (1986); AE 1986.33 (text only);
excellent diplomatic text and images in Fernandez Gomez and Del Amo Y De La Hera
(1990); references here are to the widely available text in González (1986). Crawford, who
judges the time to be “unripe” for a new (but desirable) critical edition, supplies corrections
to the text in Crawford (2008). Mourgues (1987); Galsterer (1988); Lamberti (1993);
Metzger (1997) are significant.
16
Reynolds et al. (1986: 134, cf. 125).
17
Fernández Gómez (1991); Caballos Rufino and Fernández Gómez (2002); Tomlin
(2002).
18
The promise of further publication of fragments by González (1986: 147); Galsterer
(1988: 78 n.3); Fernandez Gomez and Del Amo y De La Hera (1990: 35–8), i.e., Ch. 18,
partially preserved on Tablet II, included in Lamberti (1993). It is unclear if this comprises
all the fragments originally referred to by González.
Irni was one of several towns in Spain to receive the legal status and
administrative structure of a Latin municipium under the Flavians. Such
municipia, legally distinct from Roman coloniae, were preexisting cities
raised to municipal status by the granting of a charter. Thus, the chapters
of the extant tablets served to reconstitute the forms of civic life in these
late first-century Spanish communities.19 Despite the nuance between the
legal status of municipia and coloniae, the lex Flavia, in its composite
form, overlaps to a significant degree with the lex Urs. in its contents and
concerns and is therefore of great value for modeling the Corinthian
constitution.20 The text of the lex Irn. is particularly valuable because it
preserves evidence of Augustan legislation and Julio-Claudian influence
on civic constitutions over the course of the first century; it even provides
a window into the manner in which elements of such charters were
clarified and amended after their initial drafting and publication.21 In
sum, the lex Flavia is an important companion to the lex Urs. Both, to a
certain degree, were living documents exerting an ongoing influence in
their respective communities over the course of the Julio-Claudian and
into the Flavian periods. By analogy, the Corinthian constitution would
also have been a dynamic monumental text in the first century – present,
pertinent, and perhaps expanding along with the colony it chartered.
Other important legal documents certainly have implications for layers
of public life in Corinth and other first-century Roman communities of
both the Latin West and Greek East – some very recent discoveries, and
some that will in fact feature as supplementary evidence in later
chapters.22 But the lex Urs. and the lex Irn. from Roman Spain provide
the template by which we evoke Corinthian constitutional categories and
colonial politeia as a setting for the interpretation of 1 Corinthians.
3.2 Physical features of extant civic constitutions

Before considering either the manner of display or the contents of these
charters, it is vital to note their diplomatic features. When epigraphists
19
This difference is observable in the internal perspectives of the lex Urs. and lex Irn.
themselves; Barja De Quiroga (1997: 47–61).
20
See Crawford, RS I, 25, 398–99. On the close association of municipia and coloniae,
see also Garnsey and Saller (1987: 27–8).
21
González (1986: 150); Mourgues (1987); Lamberti (1993: 220–27); Crawford (1995).
22
Others include the lex Tarentina (RS I, 15); Tabula Heracleensis (RS I, 24); lex
municipii Compsani: Folcando (1996); sc de Cn. Pisone patre: Eck et al. (1996); Tabula
Siarensis: Sánchez-Ostiz Gutiérrez (1999); Caesarian treaty of Rome with Lycia of 46 BC
(PSchøyen I 25); lex rivi Hiberiensis: Lloris (2006); lex portorii Asiae: Cottier (2008).
speak of the diplomatics of texts such as the lex Urs. and lex Irn., they are
referring to the physical characteristics and layout of the text as it appears
on (in this case) bronze tablets. Features such as letter size and style,
arrangement of paragraphs and columns, and overall use of space and
formatting are important to mention briefly because they provide a
window for us into various aspects of the life of the charter in relation
to the city it constitutes. In considering the diplomatics of the bronze
charters, we begin to understand them not simply as abstract legal texts
but also as physical, functional, and symbolic elements of communal life
over time. We therefore focus on the diplomatic features of the lex Urs.23
before summarizing their implications for three phases in the nexus of
charter and city: drafting and publication, layout and consultation, and
additions and emendations.
As Emil Kießling noted in 1921, “Die Hauptschwierigkeit, die die lex
Ursonensis bietet, ist die Frage nach ihrer Entstehung.”24 Happily, we
have important data for approaching this problem of the formation of the
lex Urs., as well as that of the final form and ongoing function of civic
constitutions generally. This data comes as a result of careful attention to
the physical details and letter-forms of the bronze charter tablets by
epigraphists and paleographers, especially those who have built on the
work of Kießling (and Hübner before him).25 Of these, none has had
more influence than the French paleographer Jean Mallon, whose pub-
lications on the diplomatics of the bronzes continue to influence all
attempts at reconstructing the textual history and contexts of display
for both the lex Urs. and the lex Irn.26 Although important recent studies,
23
The focus here is solely on the diplomatics of the lex Urs. for two reasons. First, the
physical features of the lex Irn. have occasioned less scholarly discussion. Second, while
the tablets of the lex Flavia are datable to the Flavian era and apply to preexisting
municipia, those of the lex Urs. may date from the Julio-Claudian era and present the
closest model for coloniae such as Urso and Corinth. For diplomatics of the lex Irn., see
González (1986: 147–9); Fernandez Gomez and Del Amo Y De La Hera (1990: 31–3).
24
Kießling (1921: 258).
25
Kießling (1921). Kießling’s great insight was that the engraver of Fragment E (Tablet IX)
of the lex Urs. initially jumped in column II from the end of Ch. 128 to the beginning of Ch. 131
by an error of haplography because of the almost identical Schlußsätzen of Chs. 128 and 130.
Having proceeded to the end of the lex before noticing his error, he solved the problem by
hammering out just enough space to cram Chs. 129–131 into columns II and III. This proves
that the final extant chapters are not a supplement added by a later hand, but a self-correction by
the same scribe responsible for the rest of the lex, the entirety of which was thus engraved at one
time. See also E. Hübner’s observations in Mommsen (1965: 194–239).
26
Especially the two essays transl. and repr. in Mallon (1982: 47–54, 55–73).
particularly by Spanish epigraphists, update Mallon’s conclusions, our

discussion must begin with him.
Five rectangular bronze tablets were known to Mallon, each measur-
ing 59 cm high by 90–93 cm wide, and designated by him fragments
A–E.27 By careful observation of these dimensions, the layout of col-
umns, and what remains of framing edges and peripheral holes, Mallon
argues for a new reconstruction of the lex according to which it consisted
of nine tablets joined in one horizontal band of 13.1 m (= 2 × 40 Roman
feet), its 42 columns symmetrically arranged.28 Mallon further suggested
that the entire bronze display was modeled on the papyrus volumen on
which the text of the lex was originally brought from Rome, thus evoking
in its final form the original exemplar on which it was based.29 When the
newer fragments published in 2006 are added to Mallon’s reconstruction,
we arrive at the overall schematic shown in Figure 2.30
In the late 1990s, A. Stylow conducted a more thorough autopsy than
Mallon had been able to do of the gathered and (largely) cleaned tablets,
now in the Museo Arqueológico Nacional de Madrid, with important
new results. Stylow’s conclusions are of the utmost significance for our
comparison of the lex Urs. and Paul’s Corinthian letter because they
emphasize the Julio-Claudian contents and context of the former. While
he agrees with Mallon’s general reconstruction of the lex, Stylow chal-
lenges the paleographer on two key points, to which we return in the next
section, regarding the fabrication and display of the bronzes. First,
whereas Mallon suggests that each of the tablets was mounted so as
to be removable, thereby facilitating changes or additions within the
lex, Stylow argues otherwise. On the basis of holes and border elements
visible to him, Stylow concludes that the tablets, once mounted, were
soldered at the edges in such a way as to emphasize and secure the
unity and permanence of the lex.31 Second, although Mallon had
risked a further hypothesis that the bronzes may have been cast – text
27
Mallon (1982: 47). Updated description of these fragments: Caballos Rufino (2006:
79–82).
28
Symmetry of the columns spread over the nine tablets: 2+3 (Tablet I), 2+3 (Tablet II),
2+3 (Tablet III), 3 (Tablet 4), 3+3 (Tablet V), 3 (Tablet VI), 3+2 (Tablet VII), 3+2 (Tablet
VIII), 3+2 (Tablet IX). Columns vary in the amount of text (from 32 to 52 lines) but average
around 38–9 lines per column.
29
Mallon (1982: 48–53). This suggestion has gained universal acceptance; but see the
general cautions vis-à-vis Mallon’s paleographical approach to the processes of epigraphi-
cal production: Susini (1973: 31–4); Stylow (1997: 39–42).
30
A newer reconstruction, adding two tablets: Caballos Rufino (2006: 172–5).
31
Stylow (1997: 39–40); cf. Meyer (2004: 35).
13.1 m (= 2 × 40 Roman feet)
(F’ E’) (T’ S’) (D’ C’) (R’) A B (R) C D (S T) E (F)
1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28 29 30 31 32 33 34 35 36 37 38 39 40 41 42
I II III IV V VI VII VIII IX
Figure 2 Reconstruction of the lex Ursonensis. Showing tablets, column distribution, extant sections, and total length
(modified from Mallon, Les bronzes d’Osuna, fig. 5).
Artist: Simon Harris.
and all – by the method of cire perdue,32 Stylow disproves this conjec-
ture, demonstrating instead that the lettering was indeed engraved after
the tablets were cast. What Stylow makes of these observations is critical
for the dating of the lex Urs.
According to the communis opinio, the lex Urs. was engraved and
displayed in the Flavian era. The reasons for this dating are twofold, both
deriving from nineteenth-century analysis. Hübner compares the letter-
forms of the lex Urs. to the only other Spanish bronzes known at the time,
the leges Malacitana and Salpensana. As the latter were datable on
internal grounds to the Flavian era, Hübner used them to date the former.
He also advanced an argument from orthographic variants and apparent
interpolations within the lex Urs., again concluding that it dated to
Flavian times. Stylow, however, argues that both lines of Hübner’s
argumentation, supported by Mallon and others, are now demonstrably
invalid on the basis of the evidence of newer bronze inscriptions from
Roman Spain. Stylow contends that not only the letter-forms of the lex
Urs. but also the manner in which its respective tablets were soldered to
one another are much closer by comparison to the Tabula Siarensis and
the senatus consultum de Cn. Pisone Patre, both of Tiberian date, than to
the bronzes of the lex Flavia known to Hübner.33
We may now summarize the implications of Stylow’s findings for the
relationship of lex to colonia in the Julio-Claudian period. First, Stylow
concludes that there is no diplomatic or paleographic evidence for phases
of engraving or additions to the lex. The lex as we have it on bronze is a
unitary work, probably executed by a single engraver, and is free from
interpolation.34 Second, on the basis of letter-forms and traces of careful
soldering, Stylow contends that the extant copy of the lex Urs. was
composed, inscribed, and displayed sometime in the second quarter of
the first century, that is, between the time of Tiberius and Claudius.35
Third, Stylow goes on to postulate that this new publication of the lex,
some seventy to eighty years after the foundation of the colony in 44 BC,
was occasioned by a need to update substantially the original text of the
charter. Finally, Stylow concludes that this revised chronology for the
drafting and publication of the extant bronzes of the lex Urs. opens for us
a new diachronic vision of the development and relevance of the colonial
32
Mallon (1982: 53). Cire perdue, or “lost wax” casting, is one ancient (and modern)
method of casting bronze. Cf., e.g., Pliny NH 34.97–9.
33
Stylow (1997: 42–3). See Sánchez-Ostiz Gutiérrez (1999); Eck et al. (1996).
34
Stylow (1997: 42–5).
35
Stylow (1997: 43).
constitution between the time of Caesar and Augustus and that of the lex
Flavia.36
What the observations of scholars such as Mallon and Stylow demon-
strate is that the physical features of the lex Urs. in particular grant us a
window into the life of the constitution and, by extension, the life of the
community it constituted. Arriving from Rome on an officially sanc-
tioned papyrus volumen, the charter was carefully engraved on purpose-
cast bronze tablets and monumentally displayed. Once engraved and
mounted, the tablets were permanent and no interpolations were made.
When substantial changes or additions became warranted in the form of
new and relevant legislation, new tablets were apparently cast and
inscribed with the updated text. The evidence of the extant bronzes
from Roman Spain suggests at least two moments in the first century
when such updates may have occurred for legislative and political rea-
sons, one Julio-Claudian and one Flavian. These diplomatic features of
the bronzes offer, as we have glimpsed, a further window into the life of
the constitution in its colonial and monumental setting, and it is to these
aspects of display and function that we now turn.
3.3 Display and function of constitutions

We have seen that civic constitutions such as the lex Urs. and the lex Irn.
were impressively large inscriptions composed of multiple bronze tablets
with several columns of small text each. With this basic image in mind,
we must now ask further questions to situate the constitutions in both
civic space and time. Where would such inscriptions be displayed? And
once displayed, what function would they play in the life of the city? In
this section, we discern a pattern of monumental display and ongoing
function emerging from the evidence of the Spanish charters, especially
when set beside the supporting evidence of the agrimensores, Roman
surveyors whose tasks frequently brought them into contact with civic
charters. This pattern of display and function provides us with a basis for
reconstructing a plausible physical and functional setting in Roman
Corinth.
Bronze tablets engraved with the texts of leges coloniae and munici-
piorum would have been displayed prominently on public monuments in
the evolving civic forum. As Crawford has acknowledged:
36
Stylow (1997: 45).
The mere acquisition of a municipal statute, of the rules by

which the community was to live, is itself in the Roman world
an essential part of becoming a city. But it is additionally the
case that communities often went through the two processes, of
acquiring a charter and a monumental urban centre, at the same
time or in the same period. . . . Nor should we forget that these
statutes normally contained chapters which dealt with the urban
framework itself.37
Although the tablets of the lex Urs. were recovered from the area of
Urso’s urban center, there is no way to link them to any monumental
structure.38 Nevertheless, the 13.1 m total length of the lex and the
evidence of rivets, upper and lower frame, and holes for mounting
suggest a major civic monument, such as a Capitolium, amphitheater,
or some other grand public building.39 The same holds true for the nearly
9 m length of the lex Irn.,40 which preserves holes and traces that suggest
9 mm diameter nails or rivets helped hold it in place.41 When the weight
of the bronze tablets is taken into consideration, the most likely scenario
for display would involve a recessed monumental niche with a ledge
supporting the base of the tablets and hooks affixing their upper portion
to the wall.42 We should also take seriously the evidence of the constitu-
tions themselves when they dictate the condition of their own visible
display with the formula u(nde) d(e) p(lano) r(ecte) l(egi) p(ossit): “so
37
Crawford (1995: 421).
38
Caballos Rufino (2006: 80–2).
39
See Tacitus, Ann. 3.60–63: bronze tablets in civic temples in the Greek East (in
templis figere aera sacrandam ad memoriam). Caballos Rufino (2006: 82) points to
analogous technology and display setting at the amphitheater of Itálica (Spain), albeit for
inscribed plaques of marble.
40
González (1986: 147–8): “The height of the tablets is 57–8 cm, their width 90–1 cm;
each tablet bears three columns; the whole law will have covered the walls of a public
building for a distance of some nine metres, like an unrolled volumen. The height of the
letters varies between 4 and 6 mm. The text is framed above and below by a simple
moulding. Each tablet has three holes at the top and three at the bottom, for fixing it to
the wall. . . . The Lex Irnitana, then, when complete, will have consisted of 10 tablets,
containing 30 columns and about 1,500 lines altogether; since we possess 6 tablets and the
equivalent of about 2 columns of Tablet VI from the Lex Malacitana, we know the content
of 20 columns or 2/3 of the total.” (Note Mallon’s influence.)
41
Despite a disappointing archaeological context for the lex Irn., see the comments
related to these features by Fernandez Gomez and Del Amo Y De La Hera (1990: 33); all
tablets are now reunited in the Museo Arqeológico de Sevilla, see Lamberti (1993: 7).
42
Variants on this reconstructed context of display: Mallon (1982: 53); Stylow (1997:
39–42); Caballos Rufino (2006: 80–82). Cf. Corbier (1987: 27–60).
that it is able to be read from ground level.”43 It is further possible that a

form of lead carbonate may have been applied to highlight in white the
letters of the inscription.44 Among the many inscriptions, monuments,
and statues in a colonial forum, a burnished bronze constitution,45 – with
text visible and accessible to passersby, scrolled across a major public
building – is the vision we ought to have of the display of leges
coloniarum.
But what role would such striking bronze tablets play in the ongoing
life of a colony? Before answering that question directly, it is necessary
to draw attention to a companion piece to the lex coloniae, another large
inscribed text with which it would have been associated in display, and
which provides a bridge to the question of functionality. In the extended
process of colonial foundation, the publication of the lex coloniae was
joined by the forma coloniae, the map of the colonial territory with its
limites and internal land divisions. Together, the publication of lex and
forma marked the legal and ritual birth of the colony and constituted its
administrative structure and lived spaces.46 Recognizing the link
between lex and forma brings us into contact with real people, in this
case the agrimensores or land surveyors who were involved in the
formation of and ongoing consultation about constitutions at various
points in colonial life.47
In the foundation of a new colony, land surveyors were deployed
ahead of the body of colonists to carry out the centuriation, or territorial
division, of the colony. Once the surveyors had completed their initial
work, the colonial commissioners – those authorized to lead the colonists
to the site and to conduct the rituals of foundation – were able to perform
two important enactments (among others) that constituted the colony.
First, they read out and published the colonial constitution. Second, they
divided the land assignments among the colonists by the process of
sortitio (drawing lots) and recorded assignments on the colonial map.
Formally enacted and published in this manner, both lex and forma were
43
lex Irn. Ch. 95.
44
Caballos Rufino (2006: 72), notes the absence of chemical traces on the new fragment
of the lex Urs. but points to the presence of lead carbonate on the bronzes of the lex
Tarentina and the Tabula Heracleensis.
45
See Pliny NH 34.99 for the care of public bronzes.
46
Gargola (1995: 39–50, 71–101). For Corinth, see Walbank (1997); Romano (2003).
47
Also called the gromatici veteres, a name taken from the groma, or surveying
instrument. See Campbell (2000), who uses the Latin text of Thulin (1971). I refer to
texts by ancient author, work, and the page and line number in Campbell.
documents available to future surveyors who were often called on to help

in the adjudication or arbitration of public and private land disputes.48
One early agrimensor, Hyginus 1, active at the end of the first century,
commented on the importance of the colonial constitutions. He insists
that a colonial charter was of more than symbolic importance when he
writes, “Therefore we must always pay attention to the laws of all the
colonies and municipia, and we must also enquire if, after the law was
issued, anything was added or removed in commentaries, letters, or
edicts.”49 Referring to specific clauses in leges coloniarum that find
their match in the lex Urs. and lex Irn.,50 Hyginus 1 details scenarios of
disputes a surveyor may face and urges him to know and consult both lex
and forma. He concludes,
So, as I have said, the laws must always be carefully scrutinized
and interpreted word by word. . . . Disputes often arise about
public roads, right of way for driving cattle, right of passage,
right of way round buildings, right of access, streams, valleys,
ditches, and fountains. All these situations require not our
services but the intervention of the legal process, that is, the
civil law. We take part in these (disputes) when something has
either to be demarcated by investigation [in the field], or recov-
ered, if something is discovered written on a map.51
This excerpt reprises a major theme in the writings of the agrimensores
who were occupied extensively with land disputes; a key concern was
therefore the location and correct interpretation of colonial laws and
maps.52 Such disputes – some visible in the epigraphic record53 –
might embroil entire communities, wealthy landowners, contractors,
and their laborers.54
48
For the full ritual process, including lex and forma, see Gargola (1995: 9–10, 80–98);
cf. Keppie (1983: 96–7). Both link between the evidence of the agrimensores, the lex Urs.,
and a variety of colonies. See also Walbank (1997: 98–9).
49
Campbell (2000: xxxv, 78–90, 84.31–3).
50
Campbell (2000: 84.35–8, 86.6–17, 364).
51
Campbell (2000: 98.34, 37–100.3). De generibus controversiam.
52
Campbell (2000: 475–77), “Appendix 6. Surveyors and the law.”
53
Campbell (2000: 454–67), “Appendix 3: Epigraphic evidence for the settlement of
land boundaries and disputes” provides an annotated collection of inscriptions, organized
regionally; Baetica at 456, Achaia at 461.
54
Cf. Lloris (2006). The new evidence of the Hadrianic bronze lex rivi Hiberiensis
shows three rural communities (two pagi and one district) belonging to two separate
territoria (one colonial, one municipal) working within a legal framework of a single
“irrigation community” to manage a conflicted water supply and adjudicate disputes,
It was not, however, only in such cases that a colonial constitution,

mounted prominently in the forum, extended its reach through territorial
space and civic time. Other moments in the first-century internal life of
colonies such as Urso, Carthage, and Corinth included annual elections
of magistrates, the business of the decurional council, arrangements for
public contracts, festivals or public spectacles, adjudication, and other
forms of everyday business.55 Visible in the monumental heart of the
colony from its earliest days, the lex coloniae was a presence exerting an
ongoing influence in the life of the colony over the course of the first
century. To argue otherwise is to deny, at the very least, the important
manner in which the constitution knit together and undergirded the
physical space and multiple domains of colonial life. This presence and
wide influence were a function of the structure and content of the con-
stitution, which we now outline.
3.4 Structure and content of constitutions

Both the lex Urs. and the lex Flavia borrow from earlier Roman law, both
with discernible layers of late Republican and Augustan legislation.
These layers, together with the template-like nature of the constitutions,
result in a less than tidy flow of thought from chapter to chapter.
Nevertheless, according to Crawford, a “coherent and intelligible” struc-
ture unfolds, applying Roman law to areas of public life and adapting it at
points to the local setting of a Roman colony.56 The contents of those
chapters show just how comprehensively the constitutions framed civic
life. Here, we outline the chapters of each charter to demonstrate the
varied domains of politeia to which they relate. Certain constitutional
chapters are discussed in more depth in our later exegetical chapters
(Chapters 6 and 7).
offering a fascinating window into the practical function of Roman law in the coherence of
rural life and urban nodes.
55
For Corinth, see later in this chapter. For Carthage, see Rives (1995: 28–76).
C. Umbrius Eudrastus, a municipal magistrate in Italy, executed a monumental benefaction
in accordance with his civic constitution (CIL IX, 980.3: lege civitatis), discussed in light of
other similar texts by Folcando (1996). For attention to the leges civitatum of Bithynia, see
Pliny Ep. 10.114, sequendam cuiusque civitatis legem puto (Trajan’s reply). Prof. Michael
Peachin kindly pointed me to the Folcando reference.
56
Layers of late Republican and Augustan legislation: Crawford (1995: 423–9), Urso
and Irni; D’Ors (1997), Urso; González (1986: 150), Flavian charters; local adaptation
and amendment: Frederiksen (1965: 197–8); González (1986: 149); but see Crawford, RS
I 25, 397.
Altogether, the lex Urs. would have contained some 144 chapters,
framed by a preface (praescriptio)57 and a concluding clause (sanctio).58
Table 1 summarizes the structure by tablet and chapter.
Table 1 The lex Ursonensis
Tablet Chaptersa
Tablet Ib 2+3 cols., largely lost: praescriptio;c Chs. 1–24?d
Chs. 1–12: religious matters?e
Ch. 13: securities required of elected magistrates
Ch. 14: colonial property requirement of elected
magistrates in first two years of the colony
Ch. 15: names and voting procedure for colonial tribes
(curiae)f
Ch. 16: assignment (adscriptio) of colonists to curiae
Ch. 17: election of colonial senators (decuriones)
Ch. 18: process for electing magistrates and investment
with imperium
Ch. 19: posting candidates for election on public tablets
(alba)
Ch. 20: elections?
Tablet II 2+3 cols., lost Chs. 24?–61
Tablet III 2+3 cols., lost
Tablet IV 3 cols., lost
Tablet V 3 + 3 cols., Chs. 61–82
[=Mallon A+B] Ch. 61: laying on of hands, guarantors, and use of force in
debt cases
Ch. 62: rights, powers, and staff (apparitores) of
magistrates (duoviri and aediles)
Ch. 63: pro rata payment of duoviral apparitores
Ch. 64: setting festival days (dies festos) and public
sacrifices (sacra publicae)
Ch. 65: proper uses of public penalty monies
Ch. 66: status and exemptions of priests, augurs, and their
families
Ch. 67: replacement of priests and augurs
Ch. 68: assembly to elect priests and augurs
57
Crawford, RS I, 15, notes the partial model of a praescriptio in Cicero, Phil. 1.26.
Such prescripts recorded details such as those who proposed the statute.
58
The sanctio of the lex Urs. may or may not have mirrored that preserved in the lex Irn.
Ch. 96; for other late Republican models, see Crawford, RS I, 20–24. It probably concluded
the lex with a closing formula relating to the scope and validity of the statute, prescribing a
penalty for contravening or evading its provisions.
Table 1 (cont.)
Tablet Chaptersa
Ch. 69: duoviri responsibility for payment of public
contract work
Ch. 70: duoviri responsibility for dramatic shows (ludi
scaenici) and spectacles (munus)
Ch. 71: aediles responsibility for shows (ludi and munus)
Ch. 72: restrictions on expenditures for sacra
Ch. 73: corpses and burials outside civic boundaries
Ch. 74: regulations for crematoria
Ch. 75: regulations for demolition and reconstruction of
buildings
Ch. 76: limit on capacity of tile-works
Ch. 77: aediles and management of public works
Ch. 78: right of way and public access
Ch. 79: public access and control of water
Ch. 80: rendering accounts for public business
Ch. 81: administration of oath to public scribes (scribae)
Ch. 82: use of public lands
Tablet VI 3 cols., lost, Chs. 82–91
Tablet VII 3+2 cols., Chs. 91–106
[=Mallon C+D] Ch. 91: domicile requirements for magistrates
Ch. 92: regulations for sending embassies
Ch. 93: limits on magistrates’ acceptance of gifts
Ch. 94: jurisdiction and administration of justice
Ch. 95: procedures for appointment and judgment by a
panel of judges in a civil trial (recuperatores)
Ch. 96: initiation of a senatorial court (quaestio) to
investigate corruption
Ch. 97: adopting a colonial patron (patronus)
Ch. 98: public works construction
Ch. 99: public water works
Ch. 100: private use of overflow water
Ch. 101: assembly to elect or replace magistrates
Ch. 102: public trials (quaestiones) conducted by duoviri
Ch. 103: putting colonists under arms
Ch. 104: boundary ditch maintenance
Ch. 105: accusation or condemnation of a senator
(decurion)
Ch. 106: forbidding of unlawful assembly
Tablet VIII 3+2 cols., lost, Chs. 106–123 g
[=Mallon D]
Tablet IX 3+2 cols., Chs. 123–144?, sanctio
[=Mallon E] Ch. 123: accusation and acquittal
Ch. 124: condemnation of a senator
Ch. 125: seating of senators at ludi
Ch. 126: assigning seats at ludi
Table 1 (cont.)
Tablet Chaptersa
Ch. 127: seating in the orchestra at ludi
Ch. 128: appointment and management of masters of
temples (magistri fanorum)
Ch. 129: senatorial oversight of magistrates
Ch. 130: adoption of a Roman senator as a colonial patron
(patronus)
Ch. 131: adoption of a Roman senator as a formal guest
(hospes)
Ch. 132: benefaction limits for magisterial candidates
Ch. 133: wives of colonists subject to laws
Ch. 134: restrictions on public funds with respect to
magistrates
a
In the lex Urs., Roman numerals are inscribed “just below the outspaced first
line” of the chapter they number. See Crawford, RS I, 400; Caballos Rufino
(2006: 105–27).
b
I follow the general model of Mallon and Stylow, inserting the new fragments
published by Caballos Rufino (2006: 171–5), who offers a novel reconstruction
with eleven total tablets.
c
Possibly preserved in the fragment published by Caballos Rufino (2004).
d
See chapters 13–24 in Caballos Rufino (2006: 181–304).
e
A possibility suggested by Crawford, RS I, 397.
f
See Crawford, RS I, 401.
g
See RS I, pp. 410–13 for fragments of Ch. 108 and other chapters of uncertain
number.
Even a cursory glance at the chapters of the lex Urs. demonstrates

just how comprehensively the constitution regulated the primary
aspects of public life in a Caesarian colony such as Corinth. Colonial
life in many of its facets – the organization of the citizen body; the
election, rights, and privileges of magistrates; the administration of
public space; contracts, cult, and spectacle; and the adjudication of
disputes relating to citizen and noncitizen residents – is structured
and directed by the constitution.
The lex Flavia contained fewer (but not necessarily shorter) chapters,59
and their content overlapped to a certain degree with that of the lex Urs.,60
as Table 2 demonstrates.
59
González (1986: 148) argues that the 96 chapters of the lex Irn. (composed of 1,500
lines) spread across ten tablets of three columns each.
60
See Crawford’s comparison of the lex Urs. and the lex Flavia, RS I, pp. 398–9.
Table 2 The lex Flavia
Tablet Chapters
Tablet I 3 cols.?, lost, Chs.1–?
praescriptio, citizen body, religious affairs?a
Tablet II 3 cols.?, lost, Chs. ?
Tablet III 3 cols., Chs. 19–31
Ch. 19: rights and powers of aediles
Ch. 20: rights and powers of quaestores
Ch. 21: magistrates (and families) who may acquire Roman
citizenship
Ch. 22: those acquiring citizenship remain in power of the same
persons
Ch. 23: those acquiring citizenship retain rights over freedmen
Ch. 24: honorary imperial duovirate and imperial praefectus
Ch. 25: rights of a magisterial praefectus
Ch. 26: oath taken by magistrates
Ch. 27: vetoes and appeals among magistrates
Ch. 28: manumission of slaves before duoviri
Ch. 29: granting of guardians (tutoris nominatio)
Ch. 30: rights and status of senators (decuriones) and others in
the senate
Ch. 31: summoning senators by edict to choose replacement
senators
Tablet IV 3 cols.?, lost, Chs. ?
Tablet V 3 cols., Chs. A–Lb
Ch. A: how a magistrate is to raise a matter for consideration
Ch. B: voting order
Ch. C: reading out and archiving of municipal decrees
Ch. D: annulment of decrees
Ch. E: proper dismissal of senators
Ch. F: senators divided into three decuriae for the performance
of embassies
Ch. G: sending ambassadors and accepting excuses
Ch. H: per diem assignment for ambassadors
Ch. I: proper way to undertake an embassy
Ch. J: eligibility for public contracts
Ch. K: postponement of business
Ch. L: establishment of curiae by duoviri
Tablet VI 3 cols., the first lost, Chs. 51–9 (from the lex Malacitana)
Ch. 51: nomination of candidates
Ch. 52: holding the election
Ch. 53: in which curiae incolae may cast votes
Ch. 54: eligibility for election
Ch. 55: casting votes
Ch. 56: breaking a tie
Table 2 (cont.)
Tablet Chapters
Ch. 57: checking votes by curiae
Ch. 58: elections not to be prevented
Ch. 59: oath administered to the one elected
Tablet VII 3 cols., Chs. 59–68
Ch. 60: security given by candidates into the municipal account
Ch. 61: co-opting a patronus
Ch. 62: lawful demolition of buildings
Ch. 63: public display and recording of public contracts
Ch. 64: giving of securities for public contracts
Ch. 65: administration of justice regarding securities
Ch. 66: imposition of public fines
Ch. 67: management of municipal funds
Ch. 68: appointment of advocates in cases of public finances
Tablet VIII 3 cols., Chs. 68–79
Ch. 69: trials over public finances
Ch. 70: appointment of a public legal representative and his fee
Ch. 71: right of public legal representative to summon witnesses
Ch. 72: manumission of public slaves
Ch. 73: oath for public scribes and payment to apparitores
Ch. 74: illegal gatherings, societies, and colleges
Ch. 75: prohibition against hoarding
Ch. 76: visiting and inspecting of municipal territories and
revenues
Ch. 77: expenses for sacra, games, and public dinners
Ch. 78: senators have discretion over the roles of public slaves
Ch. 79: quorum of senators for public expenditure
Tablet IX 3 cols., Chs. 79–87
Ch. 80: raising a public loan
Ch. 81: seating arrangement at games
Ch. 82: oversight of roads, ways, rivers, ditches, and drains
Ch. 83: building projects and compulsory public labor
Ch. 84: matters and monetary limits for municipal jurisdiction
Ch. 85: display of the album of the provincial governor
Ch. 86: choosing and publishing single judges (iudices)
Ch. 87: rejecting and granting iudices
Tablet X 3 cols., Chs. 87–97 + appended letter of Domitian
Ch. 88: rejecting, choosing, and granting a panel of judges
(recuperatores)
Ch. 89: appropriate cases for iudices and for recuperatores
Ch. 90: granting notice for the third day (intertium)
Ch. 91: postponement of trial and intertium
Ch. 92: appropriate days for judgment and for intertium
Ch. 93: matters not covered by the lex should be dealt with
according to Roman law
Table 2 (cont.)
Tablet Chapters
Ch. 94: incolae subject to the lex in the same way as municipal
citizens (municipes)
Ch. 95: lex to be inscribed on bronze
Ch. 96: sanctio
Ch. 97: patrons retain same rights as before over freedmen who
obtain Roman citizenship after serving municipal magistrates
Letter of Domitian: indulgence for irregular marriages
a
González (1986: 148, 200).
b
González (1986: 148), “The chapters of the Lex Irnitana are not numbered; but
since the Lex Salpensana and the Lex Malacitana do number the chapters, we
now know that the Flavian municipal law contained 96 chapters, including a
Sanctio. . . . But there is a gap of the equivalent of about one column between the
end of Tablet V and the beginning of the text of the Lex Malacitana; we cannot
therefore at the moment know the chapter numbers of this part of the law and
they are here numbered Chs. A to L.” Cf. fig. I, Pl. XXIII.
The lex Flavia overlaps at many points with the lex Urs., demonstrat-
ing continuity in the content of civic constitutions from the death of
Caesar through to the end of the first century, but it also adds signifi-
cantly to our understanding of provincial communities constituted by
Roman charters. González draws our attention to two important points:
(1) the two-thirds of the law that we have allows us to see the structure
and arrangement of municipal charters as they had developed by the
end of the first century, and (2) the new section on jurisdiction
(Chs. 84–93) orients the community in a thoroughly Roman way in
matters of civil law.61
Taken together, the lex Urs. and lex Flavia provide a robust portrait of
first-century civic life. Four important observations relating the constitu-
tions to civic politeia are warranted at this point. First of all, the con-
stitution plays an important role in the structuring of the physical space of
the colony. From the monumental forum, to the network of roads, on to
the boundaries of the colonial territory, magistrates and slaves alike
moved through spaces that were constructed by the dynamic contact
between lex, topography, and local culture. Second, various chapters of
the lex connect to the economic life of the colony. Those involved, for
61
González (1986: 148–9), calls this “perhaps the most dramatic section of the new
material.” On Corinth’s Roman “identity” in this period, see Chapter 5.
instance, with public contracts for public works construction, mainte-

nance, and the necessities of sacra – from contractors to craftsmen and
manual laborers – carried out their work within a framework established
by the colonial charter. Third, ritual time and spectacle spaces were
regulated by the constitution. For colonial festivals, games, and gladia-
torial shows, the charter underwrote important aspects of the way colo-
nial time was marked and spectacle space was constructed. Finally, the
constitution prescribes the forms, procedures, penalties, and jurisdiction
relevant to the administration of justice and resolution of disputes.
Magistrates, citizens, and incolae all find places in these legal scenarios
structured by the constitution. In these ways, we see that the extant
chapters of colonial constitutions touched on a network of spaces,
experiences, and concerns of daily public life.
We have begun to see how constitutional content and concerns meant
that in first-century colonial communities, lex and politeia would inter-
sect in a variety of significant ways. That this was true for Roman Corinth
just as for the Spanish cities whose bronze charters have come down to us
is confirmed by three modes of argument, discussed in the following
section.
3.5 The validity of applying the constitutions to Corinth

It is a valid enterprise to apply the evidence of the Spanish colonial and
municipal constitutions to Roman Corinth. This validity may be demon-
strated in three ways, all of which combine to undergird the argumenta-
tion throughout the course of this study.
First, it is a priori valid, given Corinth’s acknowledged status as a
Roman colony, to use the constitutional evidence from other contem-
poraneous Roman colonies for evoking the pattern of Corinthian politeia.
In its simplest form, this is the argument that we know with certainty
that Corinth, as a Roman colony, had a Roman constitution. Since we
have constitutions from other colonial and municipal foundations of
exactly the same period, they may safely be applied to Corinth. It is
not without good reason that Aulus Gellius’s dictum is so frequently
invoked by Corinthian scholars: Roman colonies considered as a cate-
gory were “little images and replicas” (effigies parvae simulacraque) of
Rome, her people, and her legal institutions.62 In constitutional terms, a
62
Aulus Gellius, Noct. att. 16.13.8–9.
recognizable template63 underlay the legal and political forms realized in

Caesarian and Augustan colonies.
And yet, as Clifford Ando and Greg Woolf have separately pointed out,
we must be cautious with the “generalizing and normalizing discourse” of
Roman colonization.64 Colonial life did in fact vary from place to place.
Research linking civic and landscape archaeology has shown the need for
moving beyond a reified pattern of “Roman colony” in our study of
particular colonies.65 It is therefore important to work in a careful analo-
gical mode when comparing and evaluating evidence among colonies.
This leads to the second reason for the validity of our use of the
Spanish comparanda. A close analogy can reasonably be made in the
case of the constitutional forms of Corinth and Urso (as well as
Carthage), colonial foundations connected by political circumstance to
Caesar and therefore so often linked in modern scholarship. These are
colonies from a specific and well-documented period of Roman history;
even in the absence of evidence in one location, it is worth considering
the carefully calibrated application and adaptation of certain political
features of one to the other. The care taken in such calibration must, of
course, be coordinated with the evidence we do have, and this leads to our
third argument for the cogency of utilizing the Spanish charters for
reconstructing the Corinthian politeia.
This third reason is the existence of evidentiary traces – epigraphical;
archaeological; and even, as we will argue, traces in Paul’s letter itself –
that Corinth’s political form of life was to a significant degree generated
by and rested within a constitutional framework of the type we see in the
Spanish evidence. This is an inductive argument from the Corinthian
evidence itself that allows us to apply and adapt the data from the Spanish
charters. Woolf recommends that to test properly our colonial template
against the larger picture of urban and landscape archaeology “absolutely
requires that the [colonial] foundations themselves be set within complex
patterns of land-holding and occupation, whether reconstructed from
ancient texts . . . or inscriptions . . . or else modern maps generated by
aerial photography and surface survey.” This is exactly what many
63
Despite variation, especially in our period, Roman colonies were “eine einheitliche
Städteform”: Vittinghoff (1952: 22).
64
Ando (2007: 432) critiques modern scholars’ (over)reliance on Gellius; cf. Woolf
(2011: 151–2). See also Bispham (2006: 78–85).
65
The critiques of Bispham and Woolf pertain less to constitutional structure and more
to the unfounded assumptions in scholarship about the urban archaeology and “identity” of
Roman colonies. But see Bispham (2006: 75).
studies in the past several decades have done, and in doing so most of
them apply the Spanish constitutions to Corinth.66
In summary, there are good reasons a priori, on the basis of considered
analogy and in light of local evidence, to bring the Spanish constitutions
to bear on first-century Roman Corinth and its early Christian commu-
nity. The validity of this crucial basis for our comparative endeavor is
further strengthened by the following discussion that seeks to locate the
Corinthian constitution in the physical space and lived experience of
early Roman Corinth.
3.6 Plausible contexts for display in Corinth

Giancarlo Susini, the great Latin epigraphist of the previous century,
reminds us that “to read an inscription, we must go to the place where it is
located.”67 To do this in the case of the inscribed lex coloniae of Roman
Corinth presents us with a difficult, but not insurmountable, challenge.
Since we are alluding to a text no longer extant at Corinth,68 we must
combine our knowledge of the physical features of the Spanish evidence
with the Julio-Claudian archaeological data from Corinth to propose
plausible contexts for display that are both physically possible and
inherently probable.
A colonial constitution would be displayed in association with an
important monument in the civic center. Before attempting to describe
such a monument, it must be acknowledged that the Corinthian charter
may have remained un-inscribed for the first several decades of the
colony’s existence, awaiting the first major phase of monumental con-
struction that appears to have come in Augustan and Tiberian times.69
Nevertheless, in the Roman forum of Corinth the combination of evi-
dence suggests at least two strong possibilities for display. It is likely that
the Corinthian constitution was mounted prominently in the first century
on either the Julian Basilica in the southeast of the forum or as part of the
Temple E complex at the elevated west end of the forum. Both scenarios
are sketched briefly in what follows.
66
For NT studies, see Chapter 1.
67
Susini (1973: 62).
68
H. S. Robinson, former director of excavations at Corinth, suggested in 1975 that a
(marble) fragment of Corinth’s colonial charter had been recovered. Subsequent analyses of
the text, however, have demonstrated the “charter-like” language more likely commemor-
ates public business related to or governed by the Corinthian constitution. See discussion of
this and associated fragments to be published by P. Iversen in Chapter 7.
69
Stansbury (1990: 212–27, 313–27); Walbank (1997); D’Hautcourt (2001).
Construction work on the Julian Basilica,70 the seat of the provincial

governor’s tribunal71 and possible site of the colonial tabularium
(archive),72 began no earlier than the reign of Tiberius.73 During a
second building phase in the time of Claudius or Nero,74 multiple
benefactors financed a marble revetment, most likely for the inner-
facing walls of the large rectangular structure.75 With its westward,
stuccoed wall facing the lower Roman forum, the Julian Basilica
provided the architectural anchor for the eastern edge of Corinth’s
urban core.76 This west wall measured approximately 38.45 m (130
Roman feet)77 and may have had one or two doors by which one could
enter the interior cryptoporticus, a space composed of four colonnaded
aisles in the Julio-Claudian era.78 As the only one of Roman Corinth’s
three basilicas with wall-space facing the forum,79 the Julian Basilica
was in many ways ideally suited for the display of the inscribed colonial
constitution.80
By analogy with the Spanish evidence, three major conditions were
necessary for any constitutional locus of display. Inscribed bronze tablets
bearing the lex coloniae would have required approximately 13 m (43 ft)
70
Scotton (1997) reviews and builds on the earlier work of Weinberg (1960).
71
Scotton (1997: 261–6).
72
Scotton (1997: 262–3); cf. Kent (1966: #327). Others prefer to see the SE Building as
a tabularium. See Weinberg (1960: 11–12).
73
Scotton (1997: 109–10, 188–91).
74
Scotton (1997: 110–15, 190–92).
75
Scotton (1997: 190); West (1941: #130), SA[–]T[–] | [–marmoribu]s [–] | in[cru]
staver | [ – et ornaver]unt [ – ] | [ – eid]em [ – ] | [ – de s]uo [ – ].
76
Scotton (1997: 50–1, 165, 227–8).
77
Scotton (1997: 34, 109, 153).
78
Scotton (1997: 34–5, 153–60).
79
Corinth also had the Lechaion Road Basilica flanking the cardo maximus (Lechaion
Road) on the west as it entered the Roman forum and the South Basilica, to the east of the
road from Kenchreai just as it entered the South Stoa. Work remains to be done on the
precise form and function of these other two Roman Corinthian basilicas; see Scotton
(1997: 261–6).
80
Sanders (2005: 11–24). Current director of excavations Guy Sanders gives the
following summary of the structure, at 23: “On the east side of the forum stood the Julian
Basilica. At forum level this was a cryptoporticus basement. The first story, approached by
a staircase of fourteen steps leading up to a porch, was an open rectangular space measuring
38 × 24 m, with Corinthian columns supporting a clerestory and a marble dado. Inside were
sculptures of the imperial family, including Augustus in Pentelic marble, dressed in a toga
with a fold draped over his head, and portrayed engaged in sacrifice. He was flanked by his
adopted sons Caius and Lucius Caesar, each portrayed in heroic nudity with a chlamys over
the shoulder, perhaps as the Dioscuroi. Clearly, this building had some high civic function.”
0 5 10 15 20 25 30 35 40
Figure 3 Julian Basilica West Elevation, Augustan Period.

Artist: Paul D. Scotton. permission.
of linear wall-space81 sufficient weight-bearing walls and would need to

be visible and readable from ground level. Each of these conditions was
well met by the physical structure of the Julian Basilica.82 As Figure 3
demonstrates, the forum-level west wall, and not the main-story wall
(which was interrupted visually and materially by pilasters), would
provide more than adequate space (more than 15 m [49 ft] on either
side of the stairs leading to the main story) for an uninterrupted inscribed
charter of the description we saw earlier for the lex Urs.
Apart from suitable physical conditions, several other features of the
Julian Basilica would have rendered it an attractive context of display for
the constitution. As the law court dedicated to litigation and arbitration
involving the provincial governor, it was a powerful and visible symbol
of Corinth’s Roman connections and uncontested regional status as a
provincial assize center. In connection with this function, and in addition
to being a potential repository for colonial legal documents, the Julian
Basilica also housed the highest known concentration of imperial statu-
ary and the second highest of dedicatory imperial inscriptions uncovered
by more than a century of Corinthian excavations.83
81
This need not necessarily be uninterrupted linear space. It is possible to envision the
constitution variously laid out. For one well-examined pattern of display related to a sizable
legal inscription on a public building in Aphrodisias, see Crawford (2002: 145–63).
82
Unfortunately, we cannot know whether there were any clamp marks or remnants of
metal implements in the blocks of the West Wall where a large inscription may have been
affixed because the blocks in situ do not rise above the first few courses. For a visual
delineation, see Scotton (1997: 405).
83
Scotton (1997: 244–66); cf. Kantiréa (2007: 144–7).
This combination of architectural, sculptural, and epigraphical evi-

dence renders it highly plausible that the west wall of the Julian Basilica
presented itself to the magistrates of Julio-Claudian Corinth as an ideal
space to display their lex coloniae as a crowning jewel of their political
status within Achaia and in relation to Rome. Paul Scotton concludes his
thorough examination of the Basilica evidence by noting that its spatial
and iconographical coordinates may well have contributed to an imperial
discourse wherein the Augusti both dominated and underwrote the pre-
sence and power of provincial and colonial magistrates.84 As a burnished
symbol of colonial status, the inscribed Corinthian constitution would
have spoken comfortably within the grammar of this Roman public
space.85
Another possibility for display is the imposing architectural complex
of Temple E at the opposite end of the east-west axis of the Roman
forum.86 Current director of excavations Guy Sanders offers a useful
basic orientation:
To the west of the forum stood Temple E, a 6 × 11–column
peripteral temple on a low base with long stoas flanking it to the
north and south. The identification of the temple has been hotly
debated. Some think that it was dedicated to Jove or Zeus based
on its size and location, while others regard it as the temple of
Octavia. In front of the temple was a range of more typically
Roman temples and monuments.87
Key archaeological issues involved in the debate over the function of
Temple E to which Sanders refers are beyond the present author’s
expertise. But the Temple’s identification does bear on the possible
location of display for the Corinthian constitution. Former director of
excavations C. K. Williams II has contended that Temple E developed
from the mid–first century as an imperial cult temple.88 Mary Walbank,
however, has presented compelling arguments for seeing Temple E as an
important element in the earliest Roman planning of the forum area. She
84
Scotton (1997: 264–5).
85
For the Roman grammar of public space and inscribed legal documents pertaining to
civic life, see Wallace-Hadrill (2011).
86
Laird (2010) notes the Augustales base in the lower forum is orientated to connect the
Julian Basilica with Temple E, allowing a viewer in the shadow of the Augustales monu-
ment excellent sightlines toward both; cf. Romano (2005: 32–8).
87
Sanders (2005: 23).
88
Williams (1989); Williams and Zervos (1990).
interprets the temple as the Capitolium of Roman Corinth, the focal point
of official colonial religion.89
If Temple E was indeed the Roman Corinthian Capitolium, it becomes,
by analogy with the Capitolium at Rome, another strong competitor for
the display of the colonial constitution. As a central space for public
religion, with Jupiter at the center of the divine Roman triad, Temple E
may have presented the colonists with a natural option for the divine
oversight and guarantee of the constitutional privileges etched in
Corinth’s charter.90 Provided the three conditions for physical display
enumerated here could be met, such a celeberrimus locus91 would offer a
practical and symbolic context for mounting an inscribed lex coloniae.92
But were the physical and material conditions of display met in the
structural space of Temple E? Walbank envisions an early phase in which
a simple altar and temenos (sacred precinct) adequately supplied the
needs of the colonial sacra publica, followed by the erection of the first
structure of Temple E from the Augustan period.93 In its first phase,
Temple E probably stood until an earthquake in AD 76/77 led to its
complete demolition and the subsequent reconstruction of a larger temple
and temenos on the same site.
On a foundation measuring 44 × 23.5 m (144 ft × 77 ft), the first
Temple E stood within a temenos entered by stairs leading from the
terrace that lay between the west edge of the forum and the structures
referred to as the West Shops. Unfortunately, as a result of the thorough-
ness of the demolition of Temple E in its first phase, next to nothing of the
superstructure remains by which to reconstruct its surfaces or elevations.
It is possible, however, that Temple E, either on its north or south wall or
89
Walbank (1989); Walbank (1997); and, with slight modification, Walbank (2010).
Walbank’s observations in the latter on the implications of the temple image on the reverse
of a Domitianic Corinthian coin have not, to my knowledge, been responded to in published
form. Her identification builds on the earlier conclusions of Stillwell et al. (1941: 234–6);
Torelli (2001: 161–4) prefers Walbank’s argumentation. See also Rives (1995: 39–42, 170)
for the Capitolium and forum context of Carthage and his use of the charter evidence.
90
Williamson (1987) collects ancient testimonies and scholarship since Mommsen for
the symbolic display of legal bronzes on the Capitoline area in Rome; cf. Meyer (2004). On
Jupiter Capitolinus as the guarantor of (Roman) oaths and treaties in the Greek East, see
Mellor (1975: 130).
91
lex Irn. Ch. 95: Qui IIviri in eo municipio iure d(icundo) p(raerit), facito uti haec lex
primo quoque tempore in aes incidatur et in loco celeberrimo eius municipii figatur ita ut
d(e) p(lano) r(ecte) [l(egi) p(ossit)].
92
Corbier (2006: 35–7, 60–71).
93
Walbank (1989: 363–6); Walbank (1997: 122); cf. Williams (1989: 160–62).
on the wall-space leading to the pronaos or entryway into the temple,

might have borne the inscribed Corinthian charter.94
Both of these scenarios for the display of the inscribed Corinthian
constitution are exercises in informed, contextual speculation. There
are certainly other possibilities.95 Indeed, it is possible that at certain
points over the first century of the colony, the charter may have been
re-inscribed and repositioned at different locations around the forum.
Nevertheless, we have seen that the archaeology of early Roman Corinth
provides multiple plausible options for restoring the lex coloniae to its
context of monumental display. On either hypothesis advanced – the
Julian Basilica or the Temple E complex – we may envision the charter
inscribed and displayed at a central, functional, and symbolic node of the
colony. And though the text, once inscribed on bronze96 and affixed to a
monumental wall, became a reasonably static symbol of colonial status,
rights, and obligations, it exercised a dynamic presence, with lines of
politeia emanating outward in many directions throughout the territor-
ium of Roman Corinth. Indeed, with the help of a recent archaeological
report, we may trace that emanation in one direction and thereby exem-
plify the connection between Corinthian law and life.
3.7 Constitution and the Corinthian politeia

Pausanias’s description of his walk through Corinth in the second century
has generated both insights and intractable problems for scholars of
Roman Corinth.97 As a periegete interested in the sacred and the
94
Cf. Cooley (2009: 1–22) for the display of the inscribed Res Gestae of Augustus on
the temple in Ancyra.
95
Also worth considering are two other locations: the face of the rostra (bēma) podium
was highly visible as crowds would gather in the forum for elections, public oratory, and
proclamations. Scranton (1951: 91–109), Plan F; Walbank (1997: 120–21). The Southeast
Building, adjacent to the Julian Basilica and next to what was likely the curia (council
meeting hall) at the easternmost end of the South Stoa, may have functioned as a tabularium
early in the life of the colony. It had the advantage of proximity to spaces for public
administration since the rooms directly west of the curia were likely the offices for colonial
magistrates. See Weinberg (1960: 1–13); Walbank (1997: 119–20). From the physical
descriptions and restored plans, both structures appear suitable for the display of the
inscribed charter. Wallace-Hadrill (2011: 121, 151–6) cautions us against pushing such
identifications too strongly on the basis of incomplete evidence.
96
Corinth was known in antiquity for its bronze production; see Mattusch (1977).
Although marble is possible, the availability and symbolic value of bronze make it a far
more likely medium for the inscribed constitution. Cf. Williamson (1987: 179–82); Meyer
(2004).
97
Torelli (2001).
sensational, Pausanias left a literary trail of statues, monuments, and

occasional inscriptions.98 Modern scholarship has tended to follow his
lead and mirror his interests.99 But recent excavations outside the forum
and off Pausanias’s well-worn track have uncovered a road that offers a
less monumental space through which to approach the colonial center
and by which to demonstrate the pertinence of the constitution for a
cross-section of people in the early Roman politeia of Corinth.
Results from excavations southeast of the forum from 1995 to 2004 on
a section of road in the Panayia Field were published in 2011.100 This
controlled study uncovered the detailed and complete stratigraphy for six
(Roman) centuries of varied use, the earliest of which are relevant to our
investigation. It is the intersection of law and life – of constitution and the
construction of civic space outside the forum – that makes the research of
Palinkas and Herbst so important for our purposes.
Contextualizing the significance of their study, the authors remark,
At the urban scale, roads are a principal component in the
structure and organization of a city, and at a human scale, they
are a significant urban spatial component, whose edges often
link interior and exterior, private and public, personal and civic.
Roads link points, or nodes, in a network of streets: concep-
tually and physically they allow people to navigate space to get
from place to place. . . . Technologically, roads were not only
conduits for people, goods, and wheeled traffic, but they were
also arteries for facilitating the transport of water and waste via
underground utility networks.101
In its initial phase (44 BC–mid-AD I), the Panayia Field road was a
thoroughfare passing amid modest structures.102 Its unpaved surface
accommodated pedestrians and two-way wheeled traffic, allowing
users to skirt the forum.103 Sometime later, domestic assemblages, a
porch covering a portion of road, and drainage channels were added in
98
See Tzifopoulos (1991).
99
On difficulties in following Pausanias’s route into Corinth: Hutton (2005: 146–57).
100
Palinkas and Herbst (2011).
101
Palinkas and Herbst (2011: 290).
102
Palinkas and Herbst (2011: 292–5). Structures include the so-called Early Colony
Building, the Building with Wall Painting, and the Late Augustan Building. The authors are
not able to describe the precise function of the first or the third but refer to the second as
having a “residential-type” Roman wall painting.
103
Phase 2 (mid-late AD I–mid-AD II).104 At this point, the presence of

insulae and large walls cut off surrounding views for pedestrians as those
in the neighborhood altered and developed the space to suit their needs.
Demand for clean water and the need to manage waste and runoff
brought in groups of contracted laborers to undertake the construction
work.105 As the excavators summarize,
Throughout its history the road in the Panayia Field was an
important utilitarian route. Its excavation has shifted our focus
from the broad, colonnaded, paved avenues of the city, where
change occurred slowly, to the changing urban character of the
everyday, ordinary, neighborhood street.106
It is precisely in this “everyday, ordinary, neighborhood street” that we
glimpse an often unseen aspect of the nexus between law and life.
Although the excavators refer in passing to modes of urban planning
and contracted labor for domestic structures and public services,107 they
nowhere make the connection to the constituting legal framework of the
colonial charter. But such connections are writ large in the vivid urban
streetscape they have revealed. Laws underlying the changing fabric and
experience of space in the Panayia Road – from construction and demoli-
tion of structures,108 regulation of drains and ditches,109 limits on hours
that wheeled traffic was permitted,110 to the process of letting public
works contracts111 – were inscribed in Corinth’s constitution. There
were some who skirted the forum by means of the road, who never
noticed, or if they did, could not read the charter so proudly and promi-
nently displayed in the civic center. And yet, even for them, the politeia
generated by the lex coloniae extended to touch their domestic, pedes-
trian, and economic experience. Whether as residents, laborers, passers
through, or colonial officials providing oversight, the law of Corinth’s
constitution impinged in variegated and mundane ways on the lives
of many.
104
Palinkas and Herbst (2011: 296–302).
105
Palinkas and Herbst (2011: 311–12).
106
107
Palinkas and Herbst (2011: 289, 302, 323–4).
108
lex Urs. Ch. 75.
109
lex Urs. Chs. 79, 99, 100. lex Flavia Chs. 82.
110
Cf. the Tabula Heracleensis, RS I, 24, ll. 56–61.
111
lex Urs. Chs. 69, 77, 80, 98. lex Flavia Chs. J, 63, 64.
3.8 Conclusion
In this chapter, we have traced the contours of the inscribed lex coloniae
of Roman Corinth and restored it to the first-century colonial forum.
Authors ancient and contemporary have held up Corinth as an exemplar
of a Caesarian colonial foundation constituted on the basis of a legal
charter. These same scholars have frequently and rightly associated
Corinth with the contemporaneously founded colonies of Roman
Carthage and Urso in Spain. Thanks to the discoveries of the Spanish
charters, especially the lex Urs. and the overlapping copies of the lex
Flavia, our knowledge of the constitutional template for a Roman colony
in the period from Julius Caesar to the Flavians has increased enormously
in recent years. NT scholars have begun in the past decade to draw on the
rich data from Spain to make very limited colonial comparisons with
Corinth. What we have tried to do here for the first time is demonstrate a
sound theoretical and material basis for these, and many more such,
comparisons.
In articulating this basis for comparison, we have drawn attention to
the physical features, contents, and functions of inscribed constitutions.
Close study of the diplomatics of the Spanish bronzes has provided
evidence for the diachronic development of first-century colonial char-
ters and for possibilities of display. Stylow’s work in particular allows us
to locate an important phase in the updating, engraving, and publication
of the charters in the Tiberian or Claudian period. That this was so for the
Urso charter suggests that in the same period, Corinth’s constitution may
have also been modified, re-inscribed, and freshly displayed. The
Spanish evidence also allows us to envision a prominent, monumental
context of display in Corinth’s Roman forum.
We have proposed two such plausible contexts in the forum of first-
century Corinth. Both the Julian Basilica and Temple E offer a combina-
tion of physical space, symbolism, and practical associations suitable for
displaying the lex coloniae. If mounted on the former, Corinth’s consti-
tution would have been visible and immediately accessible at the south-
east end of the forum where nearly all the legal and administrative
colonial spaces appear to have been. If associated with the architectural
complex of the latter, the charter would have been at the heart of public
religion in Corinth, partaking in the elevated display of early Corinth’s
Roman political identity and orientation.
No matter which location(s) in the forum accommodated the
Corinthian constitution, its presence and force extended well beyond
the monumental colonial center. There was a dynamic relationship
between its display and the development of the colony. As the contents of
the lex Urs. and lex Flavia show, the charter regulated an expansive array
of public life. And as reflection on the case study of the Panayia Field
road reveals, the nexus of law and life was not only a matter of magis-
tracies and literate elites in the forum. Rather, the archaeology demon-
strates that lex and politeia were interconnected in the noisy
neighborhoods and unpaved streets, the sewers and the sidewalks of a
more pedestrian Roman Corinth.
We may therefore conclude this chapter by noting the secure founda-
tion on which the first half of our comparative framework is erected.
Given the Spanish evidence and the political circumstances of Caesarian
colonial foundations, the Corinthian constitution certainly deserves to be
restored to Roman Corinth. Furthermore, in light of its content and the
archaeological context of Corinth, we have seen that constitutional law
categorically intersects with colonial life. Our constitutional frame is
now in place for an examination of colonial and ecclesial life in first-
century Corinth. What remains, however, is to do the same in the next
chapter for the other half of the comparative framework. There, we
attempt to locate covenant in the life of the Corinthian Jewish community
and in Paul’s Corinthian correspondence. Only then may we demonstrate
that both instruments function in analogous ways in the creation
and regulation of communal politeiai. As we will see, constitution and
covenant, in 1 Corinthians, fund competing political discourses and
alternative civic ideologies.
4
T RA CE S O F C O VE N ANT I N C O R IN T H
Not that we are competent of ourselves to claim anything as

coming from us; our competence is from God, who has made us
competent to be ministers of a new covenant, not in a written
code but in the Spirit; for the written code kills, but the Spirit
gives life. 2 Cor 3:6
Roman Corinth had its constitution. In writing to the Corinthian assem-

bly, Paul speaks of a new covenant.1 Juxtaposing constitution and
covenant in our investigative framework holds out the promise of
avoiding some of the perennial pitfalls of the scholarly construct
known as the Hellenism/Judaism divide (or, in this case, the Roman/
Jewish-Christian divide) in relation to the study of Paul. It allows us to
formulate a structural comparison that takes seriously important vec-
tors of culture, influence, and exigence that converge in 1 Corinthians.
From the outsider view of first-century Roman Corinth, the compara-
tive framework thus constructed is admittedly asymmetrical. Notions
of covenant and covenantal community were present in the lives and on
the lips of a distinct minority in the Roman colony. And yet a study of
the Corinthian correspondence presses such covenantal concerns on the
interpreter.2 Paul’s presuppositions concerning the relevant template of
Israel’s covenant charter (i.e., Deut 6:4 in 1 Cor 8:4–6; Deut 19:15 in 2
Cor 13:1) and the adaptive application of the paradigm of Israel’s
covenant community to the assembly in Corinth (1 Cor 10:1–22)
bring the political discourse of the new covenant to the fore and suggest
the fruitfulness of this comparative approach. We are justified in mov-
ing inductively from Paul’s premises and the political/ethical rhetorical
1
1 Cor 11:25; 2 Cor 3:6.
2
In contrast to either Philo or Josephus, see Barclay (1996: 175, 359, 443).
84
Traces of covenant in Corinth 85
pattern with which he operates in the Corinthian correspondence to the

comparative category of “covenant.”3
If we roughly follow the pattern of argument elaborated in the previous
chapter for constitution, where in Corinth are we able to locate this notion
of covenant? Does the legal notion of covenant, with its physical or
embodied features or practices, intersect with life in Roman Corinth at
any point? How are constitution and covenant analogous in their respective
communal spheres? Two anchor points provide a beginning to ground the
complex of covenantal discourse and praxis in first-century Corinth. The
first is the Jewish community within the colony, known to us in outline by
unmistakable traces. Second is Paul’s Corinthian correspondence itself, in
its argument, allusions, and tone. In what follows, we present the evidence
for both and begin to draw out the implications for Paul’s construction of a
distinctive vision of covenantal politeia for the ekklēsia.
4.1 The Jewish community in first-century Corinth

One natural place to begin our search for a community impinging on the
Pauline assembly is among those Jews resident in Corinth. Establishing the
presence and character of the Jewish community in first-century Roman
Corinth, however, is a matter of handling the available evidence with a
careful touch.4 Literary evidence comes to us from Philo, the NT docu-
ments generally, and Paul’s use of Deuteronomy in 1 Corinthians. We
examine the data in that order.
4.1.1 Philo
In the Legatio ad Gaium, Philo’s Agrippa refers to the Jewish colonies
sent out from Jerusalem to the cities of Asia, Africa, and Europe. Among
them were groups of Jews settled in “Argos and Corinth and all the most
fertile and wealthiest districts of Peloponnesus.”5 Philo’s testimony,
corroborated it would seem by Strabo, appears to confirm the presence
of Jews in early Roman Corinth.6 There certainly was a sizable Jewish
3
This is an inductive argument for taking covenant as an apposite interpretive category
for the political/ethical discourse observable in 1 Corinthians, not a deduction based on any
set of necessary attributes of “covenant” in Second Temple Judaism. Cf. Christiansen
(1995); Metso (2008).
4
The extreme pessimism of some is unwarranted, e.g., Rothaus (2000: 31 n.79): “The
evidence will not allow a discussion of Jews in the Korinthia.”
5
Philo, Legat. 281–2. Cf. Barclay (1996: 10 n.3, 260, 422); Millis (2010: 13–35, at 30).
6
Josephus, AJ 14.110–18 (citing Strabo).
population on the Isthmus by the Flavian period.7 The combined testi-

monies of Strabo, Philo, and Josephus create a strong presumption in
favor of a Jewish population in Roman Corinth over the course of the first
century. And where there were Jews in diaspora communities, there
tended to be synagogues. Furthermore, in such synagogue communities
there was bound to be covenantal discourse emanating particularly from
the language and influence of Deuteronomy,8 a discourse adapted by
various speakers, authors, and communities.9
4.1.2 Acts and 1 Corinthians

More specific data on the Jewish presence in first-century Corinth comes
from the testimony of Acts. In Acts 18:1–19:1, we hear of at least one
synagogue10 by the mid–first century AD and of six figures associated
with the Jewish community. Aquila and Priscilla, who became Paul’s
coworkers in Corinth and Ephesus,11 are the first Jews whom Paul
“found”12 on his arrival in Corinth. After some opposed Paul in the
synagogue, he relocated to the home of the Gentile God-fearer Titius
Justus, owner of the structure adjacent to the synagogue.13 Luke informs
us of two “synagogue rulers”: Crispus, who, together with his entire
household, “trusted in the Lord,”14 and Sosthenes, who was beaten
7
Josephus, BJ 3.540, mentions 6,000 Jewish slaves sent by Vespasian to work on the
canal crossing the Isthmus. Cf. Millis (2010: 30).
8
See now Lincicum (2010).
9
On which varied phenomena, often without the explicit use of (and occasional
avoidance of) the term “covenant,” see Barclay (1996: 134–5, 175, 197–9, 358–9, 442–4).
10
While Acts 18:4 could be interpreted as referring only to a communal gathering, Acts
18:7 clearly refers to a synagogue structure. Cf. De Waele (1961: 96).
11
Acts 18:2–3; cf. 1 Cor 16:19; Rom 16:3–5. Scholars acknowledge the issues involved
in correlating Acts 18:2 with Suetonius, Claudius 25, on the expulsion of the Jews from
Rome, with many interpreters accepting the names included in Luke’s testimony as reliable
and relevant for our understanding of the Corinthian correspondence. Cf. Weiss (1910:
viii); Conzelmann (1975: 13); Lüdemann (1989: 10–12, 195–204); Gill (1994: 450);
Barclay (1996: 283, 383, 417, 423); Welborn (2011: 392–8). On the composition, chron-
ology, and possible compression of events in Acts 18, see the summary of Pervo (2009:
445–61). Following convention, I refer to the author of Acts as Luke.
12
On Luke’s narrative use of εὑρίσκω for introducing characters, see Pervo (2009: 451
n.53).
13
Acts 18:6–7. See Lüdemann (1989: 203); Barrett (1998: 867–8); Pervo (2009: 453);
Welborn (2011: 233). Barrett (1998: 867) adds, “It is possible that Luke’s reticent statement
conceals the fact that Paul was expelled from the synagogue (became ἀποσυνάγωγος–Jn.
9:22).” Cf. Hemer (1989: 208).
14
Acts 18:8.
before Gallio’s tribunal.15 After Paul’s departure from Corinth, the

Alexandrian Jew Apollos arrived, making a powerful impression and
disputing publicly with certain Jews.16
Some scholars,17 inclined to view the testimony of Acts skeptically,
doubt the usefulness of these details for the interpretation of Paul’s
Corinthian letters. Many would date Acts late and see chapter 18 as a
compressed literary composition, repeating an established narrative pat-
tern of Paul’s urban ministry. Yet most of these scholars also recognize
strong points of correspondence between certain details supplied by Luke
and Paul.18 In 1 Corinthians, Paul also mentions by name Aquila and
Prisca, Crispus, and (a) Sosthenes.19 The naming of Crispus in 1 Cor 1:14
in particular requires us to take seriously the testimony of Acts 18:8, in
which Luke alleges that the public decision of this leader in the Jewish
community20 to believe and be baptized into Christ21 was influential in
drawing “many of the Corinthians” (Jews and God-fearers?) to trust in
the Lord. Furthermore, that Titius Justus, a Gentile God-fearer, offered
his home as a venue for Paul’s ministry is also telling. It indicates that the
Jewish presence in Roman Corinth was significant enough to attract
Roman adherents of some means to synagogue instruction.22 Finally,
15
Acts 18:17.
16
Acts 18:24–19:1.
17
E.g., Pervo (2009: 18).
18
Skeptics should recall the judgment of Haenchen (1971: 537): “It would be senseless to
pass off all details as a creation of the author’s fantasy.” See further, Hengel (1979: 60–2);
Lüdemann (1989: 10) notes “the concrete character of the [Acts 18] information and . . . the
evidence . . . that a by no means inconsiderable part of the information is at least partially
confirmed by Paul’s letters.”
19
It is impossible to prove (or disprove) the identification of the Sosthenes of Acts 18:17
with the brother (letter carrier?) named by Paul in 1 Cor 1:1. Cf. Theissen (1982: 94–5);
Horrell (1996: 91–2).
20
As ἀρχισυνάγωγος, Crispus himself may or may not have been a Jew. If so, he may
have exercised an authoritative liturgical function, perhaps initially inviting Paul to speak in
the synagogue; cf. Acts 13:15ff. It is possible, however, that Crispus was a Gentile God-
fearer acting as benefactor and patron to the Jewish community in Corinth. Cf. Theissen
(1982: 73–5); Meeks (1983: 57, 76, 119, 221 n.3); Horrell (1996: 91–2). For evidence
related to the status and function of archisynagōgoi, see Rajak and Noy (1993).
21
Immediate context urges that the proper object to be supplied after the participle
ἀκούαντες in Acts 18:8 is the faith of Crispus (“and many of the Corinthians, when they
heard [of Crispus’ faith] believed and were baptized.” Cf. Haenchen (1971: 535); Barrett
(1998: 868–9); Pervo (2009: 443–5, 453).
22
The name certainly points to Roman (possibly freedman) status. However,
Goodspeed (1950) went beyond the evidence to identify the figure of Acts 18:7 with the
Gaius mentioned by Paul in 1 Cor 1:14 and Rom 16:23. See the analysis of Welborn (2011:
299–300).
that both Acts and Paul attest the broad appeal of Apollos in the assembly
also points to a Jewish population at Corinth. According to Acts
18:24–26, Priscilla and Aquila first heard this eloquent Jewish orator
(ἀνὴρ λόγιος) when he began to speak boldly in the synagogue at
Ephesus. It was a social network connected to this synagogue that was
responsible for the invitation extended to Apollos to visit Corinth.23
While there, as one “powerful in the [Jewish] scriptures,” Apollos, like
Paul before him, “clashed”24 publicly with certain Jews; the clash was
over the interpretation of the scriptures with reference to the Messiah
Jesus.25
This mutually reinforcing evidence of names and circumstances from
Acts and 1 Corinthians sketches for us a portrait of the Jewish synagogue
community in mid–first-century Roman Corinth. Richardson rightly
claims that if we consider the combination of evidence, “we might be
justified in looking at 1 Corinthians in the context of a relatively discrete
community of Jews, even though we might wish to allow for a good bit of
variation within that community.”26 The image of that community, and
of those who shifted their loyalty from it to Paul’s new assembly and
Messiah, is given further definition by the argument, allusions, and tone
of the Corinthian epistles. At several points in his correspondence, Paul
writes in terms explicable largely, if not solely, to Jews and those
conversant with the Jewish scriptures and their covenantal discourse.
This fact may be best illustrated by an examination of Paul’s use of
Deuteronomy, arguably the covenantal text of the Second Temple period,
in 1 and 2 Corinthians.
4.1.3 Deuteronomy and the Corinthian Correspondence

Deuteronomy cast a long shadow over Jewish communities in the
Second Temple period, often acting as a filter for Sinai traditions and
23
Acts 18:24, 27–28. Cf. Pervo (2009: 458–61).
24
On the probable force of this compound hapax, see Barrett (1998: 891).
25
Acts 18:28. The D Text of Acts has Apollos taking up residence in Corinth and
possibly using it as a base for evangelism in the region. See Barrett (1998: 890); Pervo
(2009: 460); Welborn (2011: 406).
26
Richardson (1998: 63–4) adduces six additional reasons from 1 Corinthians that warrant
the presence and significance of Jews in the Pauline assembly at Corinth: (1) Paul’s concern
for Jews (1 Cor 9:19–23), (2) his explicit contrast between Jewish and Greek responses (1 Cor
1:18–25), (3) his exhortation to “give no offense to Jews or to Greeks or to the church of God”
(1 Cor 10:32), (4) the possibility that Cephas visited Corinth, (5) the evidence for Apollos, and
(6) further questions and social problems attributable to the Jew/Gentile dynamic that appear
throughout the letter.
providing the substructure for the political and ethical formation of

“new covenant” communities.27 Studies in recent decades have high-
lighted the fact and the contours of Paul’s dependence on Deuteronomy
in both 1 and 2 Corinthians. B. Rosner has repeatedly explored Paul’s
use of Deuteronomy, first with reference to 1 Cor 5–7 and more recently
regarding the entire Corinthian correspondence.28 According to Rosner,
Deuteronomy plays a global and covenantal role in the shaping of Paul’s
theological, eschatological, and ethical discourse in 1 and 2 Corinthians.29
In particular, Paul’s instruction concerning exclusion from the community
in 1 Cor 5 and adjudication of disputes within the assembly in 1 Cor 6:1–11
are compelling instances Rosner points to that signal a Deuteronomic-
covenantal influence.30
In a more recent study, D. Lincicum introduces further considerations
into the debate concerning “the shape of Paul’s Deuteronomy.”31 He
argues that, in general, Paul “reads Deuteronomy backwards” in two
important respects. First, Lincicum notes, “Paul reads Deuteronomy
retrospectively from the standpoint of an apostle of Christ to the nations.”
Second, Paul begins at the end (i.e., Deut 27–32) with the covenantal
election of Israel and the covenant blessings and curses, only then work-
ing backward to a selective adaptation of the ethical material to the
Corinthian new covenant community.32 These observations offer a gen-
eral justification for our reading of 1 Corinthians, and especially 1 Cor
1:1–4:6, in a Deuteronomic-covenantal frame. Additionally helpful,
however, for our purposes, are two particular emphases of Lincicum’s
study: (1) his analysis of Paul’s use of Deuteronomy in the Corinthian
correspondence and (2) his investigation of the embodied practices
forming the setting for the encounter with Deuteronomy’s covenantal
discourse and praxis.
Employing specific criteria, Lincicum identifies the following six
instances of Paul’s use of Deuteronomy in 1 and 2 Corinthians:33
27
See, e.g., Tso (2008: 120–22).
28
Rosner (1991); Rosner (1994); Rosner (2007).
29
See esp. Rosner (1994: 61–93) for the motifs of covenant, corporate responsibility,
and holiness; Rosner (2007) examines four explicit citations of Deuteronomy and “numer-
ous clusters of allusions” scattered throughout the Corinthian correspondence.
30
Most recently, Rosner (2007: 121–6).
31
Lincicum (2010: 167).
32
Lincicum (2010: 164–8).
33
Lincicum (2010: 119–20).
1 Cor 5:13 Deut 17:734 Implicit citation35

1 Cor 8:4–6 Deut 6:4 Echo
1 Cor 9:9 Deut 25:4 Explicit quotation
1 Cor 10:20 Deut 32:17 Echo
1 Cor 10:22 Deut 32:21 Echo
2 Cor 13:1 Deut 19:15 Implicit citation
This list underlines Lincicum’s observation that Paul ranges widely

through the text of Deuteronomy in constructing key sections of his
argument. When set within the larger context of Paul’s citation practice
generally, it is further evident that certain favorite texts tend to reappear.36
Paul, Lincicum contends, employs Deuteronomy in 1 and 2 Corinthians
in three distinct ways: as an ethical authority (1 Cor 5:13,37 9:938; 2 Cor
13:139), a theological authority (1 Cor 8:1–640), and the interpretive lens
for reading the history of Israel (1 Cor 10:20, 2241). Lincicum is not alone
in demonstrating that in his reliance on Deuteronomy, Paul is situated
among other Second Temple figures who combine concerns of com-
munal polity and purity in an eschatologically charged covenantal
discourse.42 But the great advantage of his study is in posing the
question: what embodied practices related to the experience of cove-
nantal Deuteronomy might account for the patterns we see in Paul and
other Second Temple Jews?
The answer Lincicum offers is what he calls the “liturgical-anamnetic”
experience of Deuteronomy. This experience was rooted in the physical
features, spaces, and liturgical practices in which the text of Deuteronomy
was encountered. Lincicum’s research complements and complicates the
sometimes ahistorical investigations of Paul’s use of the OT by reintrodu-
cing “material exigencies” that point to the “long tradition of viewing
Deuteronomy as divinely authorized Torah, recited in synagogue, affixed
to one’s very body in the tefillin and the doorposts of one’s house in the
34
The same citation appears in Deut 19:19; 21:21; 22:21, 24; 24:7; cf. 17:12; 22:22;
13:5(6); 19:13; 21:9. Cf. Rosner (1994: 61–80); Lincicum (2010: 127–30).
35
See Lincicum (2010: 13–15) for methodological difficulties in studying Paul’s use of
scripture.
36
Lincicum (2010: 119–21): Deut 5:1–6:9; 10:12–11:21; 32:1–43.
37
Lincicum (2010: 127–30).
38
Lincicum (2010: 130–33).
39
Lincicum (2010: 133–5); on the use of Deut 19:15 in 2 Cor 13:1, see Welborn (2010).
40
Lincicum (2010: 138–40).
41
Lincicum (2010: 158–66).
42
E.g., Blanton (2007); Hultgren (2007); Newsom (2007); Metso (2008); Bitner
(2013a).
mezuzah, debated in scribal circles, actualized for legal guidance, [and]

supplying lenses for the interpretation of Israel’s history.”43 He argues
compellingly that Paul (as well as other Jews and perhaps God-fearers)
would have encountered Deuteronomy in the physical form of a single
book-roll, in the shape of worn phylacteries (tefillin) and the slips of
parchment (mezuzot) affixed to private doorposts, in the public spaces
and sabbath liturgy of the synagogue, and in the private daily recitation
of the Shema (Deut 6:1–4) and other Deuteronomic excerpts.44 These
settings and practices imply that the excerpts of Deuteronomy widely
attested in the material evidence and regularly employed by Paul are
“less the product of an atomizing tendency than an epitomizing
tendency.”45 Crucial portions of Israel’s central covenant document
were excerpted for recitation as well as for private and liturgical use
both because they epitomized the larger covenantal shape of the dis-
course and to perpetuate its constituting function in the lives of certain
Second Temple Jews and their communities.
With this overview of Paul’s invocation of Deuteronomy in 1 Corinthians
in mind as an exemplar of covenantally shaped discourse, we may apply the
insights of Lincicum to our search for the location and significance of
covenant in Roman Corinth. Reflection on the embodied and material realia
of the Jewish encounter with Deuteronomy leads us to the consideration of
communal spaces and practices available for Paul and the Corinthian Jews
with whom he interacted, both in the synagogue and in the ekklēsia.
4.2 The synagogue inscription in Corinth

Philo, Luke, and Paul each supply, in varying detail, information that alleges
and presumes the presence of a Jewish community in first-century Corinth.
This conjunction of literary evidence is important.46 Furthermore, as Levine
observes, “It is reasonable to assume that almost any Jewish community
would have had its own ‘place’ . . . [h]owever, the information available
regarding the pre-70 Diaspora synagogue relates only to a very small
percentage of these places and, what is more, varies greatly in what is
presented, and how.”47 Archaeological evidence for first-century synago-
gues falls far short of the numbers of such structures we must assume given
43
Lincicum (2010: 11, 16–17).
44
Lincicum (2010: 21–58).
45
See Lincicum (2010: 58).
46
Cf. Horrell (1996: 75).
47
Levine (2005: 82).
Figure 4 Detail of synagogue inscription (Corinth Inv. 123). Archive of the

American School of Classical Studies, Corinth Excavations.
Photo: I. Ioannidou and L. Bartzioti, American School of Classical Studies at
Athens, Corinth Excavations. Used by permission.
other data concerning diaspora Judaism. Nevertheless, some scholars,

unwilling to accept the combined weight of the literary evidence and
the a priori likelihood of a synagogue in Paul’s Corinth, have sought
other forms of corroborating evidence. Thus, a marble fragment (see
Figure 4), discovered during the 1898 season of the Corinth excavations
and clearly (though inelegantly) inscribed [ΣΥΝ]ΑΓΩΓΗΕΒΡ[ΑΙΩΝ]
(=[συν]αγωγὴ Ἑβρ[αίων]), has featured in the scholarly debate over the
presence of a Jewish community in Paul’s Corinth.
Although scholarly consensus has gradually shifted to the view that the
inscription probably dates to the fifth century AD,48 it is worth asking
how and why dates ranging from c. 100 BC to AD VI have been put
forward over the past century. The short answer is that the judgments of a
few key scholars have been selectively repeated, amplified, and con-
fused. Thus, the most recent epigraphical volume to treat the synagogue
inscription lists no fewer than twelve scholars who offer among them at
least seven different dates or date ranges. The editors conclude, as if
settling for an average, “It is preferable then to date this inscription
48
E.g., Adams (2000: 10).
broadly to the late 3rd century or later.”49 On this rather unconvincing

basis, ought we to rule out, as some have done, this inscription in any
consideration of a first-century Jewish community in Roman Corinth?50
Or is it possible that by carefully unraveling the tangled web of dates and
judgments that have led to such contradictory conclusions, we might gain
clarity on the relative value to NT studies (or lack thereof) of the archae-
ological evidence for a Corinthian synagogue? As we will see, a date for
the synagogue inscription in the fifth century is no more (nor less) likely
than a date in the first century.51
As it turns out, among the many publications and reexaminations of
this stone, not a single comprehensive and reliable treatment exists, even
among the epigraphists. It is no wonder, then, that NT scholars, relying
on the epigraphical judgments of experts, have been misled and con-
fused. The following narrative demonstrates why this is the case and
leads us to a point where we may examine the inscription afresh. First
published in 1903, the synagogue inscription was immediately linked to
Paul and Acts 18:4.52 In that publication, Benjamin Powell first gave a
careful description of the find spot and physical features of the stone and
its inscribed lettering. Formerly an ornamented cornice block, the stone
was apparently recut, rather crudely inscribed, and used as a lintel over a
doorway (see Figure 5). Powell then made three understandable but
questionable deductions. First, in relation to Acts 18, he concluded, “If
our restoration be correct, this stone was part of that synagogue.” He then
added, “The poor cutting displayed in the letters . . . may point to the
poverty of this foreign cult at Corinth.” Furthermore, Powell supposed,
the size of the stone meant it was unlikely to have moved very far, and
this justified the conclusion that the “Pauline” synagogue in question was
located just north of the Pereine Fountain on the east side of the Lechaion
Road, in what he termed “a residence quarter.”
Since his was the earliest publication of a set of Greek inscriptions
uncovered by the American School excavations at Corinth, it would be
tendentious to fault Powell’s treatment. Yet the inscription, often with
Powell’s interpretation of its date, its implications for the social status of
the Jewish community, and the alleged location of the synagogue, was
49
IJO, vol. I, Ach47, 182–4, at 184.
50
Oster (1992: 56): “It is illegitimate to assume the presence of an architectural structure
in the Julio-Claudian period on the basis of such a later dated artifact.”
51
Concannon (2013) provides an overview of the tangled relationship between
Corinthian archaeology and NT scholarship.
52
Powell (1903: 60–61, no. 40).
Figure 5 Two views of inscribed synagogue block (Corinth Inv. 123). Adapted
from F. J. M. de Waele, Studia Catholica 4 (1927/8): 164.
Artist: Scott Spuler, One Hat Studio Design, LLC.
immediately picked up by scholars who repeated his conclusions.53 As

with many such discoveries at the time, it was Adolf Deissmann who, in
his Licht vom Osten, introduced the synagogue inscription to the world of
NT scholars.54 Deissmann, having visited Corinth in May 1906, pub-
lished a figure depicting a rubbing of the inscribed letters. He also
extended Powell’s supposition regarding the low social level of the
Jews. Finally, Deissmann expanded the date range for the inscription to
c. 100 BC–AD 200 (on the basis of the opinion of renowned epigraphist
Baron Hiller von Gaertringen, communicated per litteras). With the
translation and publication of Light from the Ancient East in 1927, the
53
Initially the Germans and the French: inter alia, Wilisch (1908: 427); Oehler (1909:
538); Juster (1914: 188 n.2).
54
Deissmann (1908: 8–9).
connection between the Corinthian synagogue inscription and the

Pauline mission definitively entered NT scholarship.55
An important shift in the interpretation of the inscription came with
Benjamin Meritt’s 1931 publication of Greek inscriptions found at
Corinth between 1896 and 1927.56 Without citing Deissmann, Meritt
quoted the physical description given by Powell but added, “the style of
lettering indicates that the inscription is considerably later than the time
of St. Paul.”57 Meritt instead connected the stone to a later synagogue but
repeated Powell’s judgment about the location, concluding, “it is perhaps
a fair presumption that the synagogue in which St. Paul preached may be
located in the same area.” Despite the “considerably later” date urged by
Meritt, a decade later Bees would echo Powell, returning to a Pauline
date for the inscription.58 On the other hand, Urdahl suggested in 1968 a
date range of AD III–V, basing this solely on his impression of the letter-
forms.59 By the time we reach the 2002 edition of Murphy-O’Connor’s
St. Paul’s Corinth: Texts and Archaeology, we are told, “the inscription
could be as late as the fourth century.”60 It is not surprising, then, that in
IJO I (2004), after reviewing much of this literature, the editors appar-
ently decide to split the difference. A better analysis is, however, not only
desirable but possible.
55
Deissmann (1927: 15–16). Through subsequent editions, Deissmann’s date range
exercised strong influence. Frey (1975: 518, no. 718) adopted Deissmann’s date, without
citing Meritt 111; cf. the review of CIJ by Robert (1937). Apparently the first commentators
on the Corinthian correspondence to refer to the synagogue inscription, each citing
Deissmann, were Windisch (1924: 351); Allo (1934: xii).
56
Meritt, 111, pp. 78–9.
57
In this judgment, Meritt may have been influenced by conversation with F. J. M. de
Waele, whom he cites. Cf. De Waele (1927: 163–6), who cites communication with Meritt
at 165 n.69.
58
Bees (1978: 16–19, no. 6) gives an image of a squeeze, but it is unclear whether he
based his conclusions on an autopsy of the stone itself. He also weighs the inscription
against later comparanda and concludes that the very same synagogue in which Paul
preached was perhaps later remodeled, intimating that this may account for the condition
of the stone. Horsley (1983: 121–2, no. 94) refers to Bees’s analysis but gives Deissmann’s
date range.
59
Urdahl (1968: 54): “The lettering is inexpert, as crude as any to be seen at Corinth. Its date
is second century A.D. at the earliest, and might be as late as the fourth or fifth.” De Waele
(1961: 174), who by then suggests the fifth century AD, again on the basis of letter-forms.
60
Murphy-O’Connor (2002: 79). Murphy-O’Connor apparently relies on Furnish as the
basis for his shift from his earlier judgment that the inscription “may belong to the oldest
synagogue in Corinth” [1990 ed., p. 81] to his later fourth-century AD dating. Furnish
(1984: 21) bases his description of the inscription (“it could be as late as the fourth century
C.E.”) on a conversation he had in Old Corinth on June 14, 1979, with C. K. Williams II,
former director of excavations. Furnish cites Meritt 111 incorrectly as West, p. 79.
It should be obvious by now that the central feature giving rise to the
shifting dates for the synagogue inscription is the nature of its letter-
forms.61 Meritt’s “considerably later than the time of St. Paul” has
undoubtedly exercised the most far-reaching influence. The cautionary
stance of those accepting the judgment of the Greek epigraphist would
be commendable if that judgment were indisputably demonstrable. As it
turns out, it is not. There are, in fact, two serious problems with any attempt
to date the inscription securely solely on the basis of its letter-forms.
In the first instance, it is possible to show that both Corinthian epi-
graphists have occasionally erred, sometimes by as much as four cen-
turies, in their dating of fragmentary Corinthian inscriptions by the style
of their lettering. By Kent’s own admission, “In some cases the letter
forms seem to be reasonably reliable, especially when they are virtually
identical with the forms of a second text whose date is assured. In many
other cases, however, the criterion is so unavoidably subjective that any
assigned date is little better than an educated guess.”62 Two such “edu-
cated guesses” by Meritt, both of which have been undermined by more
recent scholarship, are relevant to our reconsideration of the synagogue
inscription. Meritt 15, dated to “the latter part of the second century AD,”
and Meritt 18, which he originally placed “perhaps in the first century
AD,” were shown to join by Spawforth who securely dated them to
AD 137.63 Even more germane is the secure redating to the early second
century AD of a fragment of a Greek artist’s signature (Kent 41), originally
thought by Kent to date to the second century BC. This redating, made
possible by joining Kent 41 to Meritt 71, clearly demonstrates the inade-
quacy of dating by letter-forms alone in Corinthian epigraphy, especially
where small fragments bearing Greek letters are concerned.64 And this is
precisely the issue with respect to the synagogue inscription.
This problem regarding fragmentary inscriptions at Corinth generally
is rendered more acute, if that were possible, by the actual forms of the
letters incised on the synagogue inscription. Described as poorly cut,65
61
The additionally entangling issues of the find spot and the questionable association
with a carved marble impost are addressed later.
62
Kent, p. 19 n.7 (italics mine).
63
Spawforth (1974). I thank Dr. B. W. Millis for pointing me to this and for his valuable
comments and criticisms of my treatment of the synagogue inscription. Millis (2010:
24–25, esp. 25 n.39) suggests that a bilingual epitaph (Meritt 130) dated to the “latter
part of the second century AD” by Meritt “is probably much earlier.”
64
Sturgeon (2004: 211–13).
65
Powell (1903: 61).
miserable,66 and crude,67 the letters are in fact quite clearly and reason-
ably laid out (see Figure 4).68 But they are just as clearly not of the quality
found on public and even some private Greek inscriptions across the
centuries at Roman Corinth. Diagnostic in this particular case is the
“lunate” omega: Ω, not Ω. Regrettably, to our knowledge, nothing in
the way of indisputably datable, close comparanda appears among the
epigraphic remains at Corinth that could help us in assigning a date to the
synagogue inscription on the basis of letter-forms as so many have
attempted to do.69
It is important to underline the implication of this conclusion: we
cannot speak with any confidence of the date of the synagogue inscrip-
tion solely on the basis of its letter-forms.70 On that basis, it might just as
well be from the first as the sixth century AD.71 Its lettering simply
cannot help us decide. It should not, therefore, be ruled out in our
investigation of all the available evidence for the Jewish community of
Julio-Claudian Corinth. But neither can it provide unassailable archae-
ological confirmation of the claims made by Philo, Paul, and Luke.
One possible way forward in establishing a more precise date for the
synagogue inscription would be to follow Sturgeon’s painstaking exam-
ple; in her work on the theater sculpture, she labored over the smallest of
epigraphical fragments and associated finds with the aid of the excava-
tion notebooks on site at Corinth.72 If one were to do the same in the case
of the synagogue inscription, the starting point would be the original
excavation notebook; there, we find that along with the discovery of the
inscription in Trench 13, S. O. Dickerman mentions as associated finds a
66
Deissmann (1923: 9).
67
Urdahl (1968: 54); Murphy-O’Connor (2002: 81).
68
Dr. P. Iversen has suggested to me per litteras that the lettering is “irregular,” the
letter-forms increasing in size as the line “trails upwards relative to the preserved border at
the top.” I thank him for his comments.
69
See, e.g., Meritt 135. A better image of this stone is available on ascsa.net: Corinth
Image 1927 1615 (Inv. 156). Cf. Kent 578 and Pl. 48, also available as Corinth Image 1949
7153 (Inv. 992) through ascsa.net. It is the Ω that is most distinctive in the synagogue
inscription. In Dr. Iversen’s opinion, it appears as early as I BC (but rarely) and is more
common beginning in AD III–V.
70
The other approach, taken by editors of cross-regional corpora such as IJO I, usually
fails to adduce convincing, securely datable comparanda (at least any that are not subject to
the criticisms of circularity or irrelevance) that would allow us to fix the date of the Corinth
inscription by its letter-forms. See IJO I, Ach47, p. 184.
71
If all relevant factors (letter-forms, reuse, etc.) are taken into consideration, however,
it is understandable that epigraphists have tended to place the inscription around the fourth
century or later.
72
Sturgeon (2004: 211–13).
“marble piece with a lion’s head and other fragments.”73 It might prove
possible to learn more about the synagogue inscription with extensive
time combing through notebooks and artifacts at Corinth. But the poten-
tial payoff is quite uncertain.74 The same holds true for anyone who
might pursue the matter of the relationship so often drawn between the
synagogue inscription and the marble impost carved with menorot,
lulabim, and etrog.75 It is possible that more clarity might emerge as to
stratigraphy, contexts of reuse, and original contexts of display for these
enticing artifacts. But the prospect of diminishing returns in this case
seems very real.76 A more likely option might be to pursue a comparative
examination of the architectural features of the cornice block to establish
a firmer terminus post quem for the reuse evidenced by the inscription.
We have painted this history of the scholarly reception – and its
reasons – of the synagogue inscription at Corinth with a more detailed
brush than others who have studied the issue. This was necessary given
the distorted image passed down to us over the past century. Such detail
allows us to see the problems inherent in the positions of those who insist
on either an early or late date. Furthermore, it highlights an important
methodological point for those seeking to interweave various strands of
literary, epigraphical, and archeological evidence while interpreting NT
texts. Artifacts do not speak with the clear voice of textual evidence, nor
do they tend to answer unequivocally the sorts of questions NT scholars
often ask; therefore, they can rarely, if ever, “be the final court of appeal”
in settling questions of NT interpretation.77 “Only,” as Oster contends,
“by an imperious use of the argumentum e silentio of the architectural
73
Corinth Notebook 7, pp. 10–11, Trench XIII, entry for Wednesday April 13, 1898
(accessible through http://ascsa.net/).
74
Adding to the difficulty are the well-known waves of destruction that have left us with
such a fragmentary epigraphy and disturbed stratigraphy at Corinth. See Kent, p. 17.
75
Scranton (1957: 25–6, 116 [no. 130], Pl. 30). Also available on http://ascsa.net/:
Corinth Image 1964 015 25 and Corinth Image 1990 054 21. The reception history of this
Jewish artifact from Corinth mirrors that of the synagogue inscription, only to a slightly
lesser degree. There is at least as much danger of circularity in dating the impost solely on
the basis of iconography unless there is a securely datable comparandum. The discussion in
IJO I, Ach47, p. 184, is confused and/or misleading in its entangling of the impost with the
issue of dating the synagogue inscription. Dinkler (1967: 131) is more balanced.
76
Oster (1992: 56) notes, “even if this inscription were to be dated with certainty to the
Julio-Claudian era, it would still be hazardous to infer anything at all about the location of
the meeting places of the Jewish community or Paul’s own personal ministry and work in
Corinth.” I am sympathetic to Oster’s caution even if he overstates his case in reaction to
NT commentators who have run too far with the evidence.
77
Oster (1992: 57–8). This is not to imply that textual evidence always speaks clearly
and unequivocally.
record can one override the clear evidence from literary, papyrological
and epigraphic sources.”78 This is a sobering reminder in the case of the
synagogue at Corinth, where the interpreter is faced with a literary record
of embarrassing detail as opposed to an archaeological record composed
of mere tantalizing fragments.79
We may now conclude our review of the evidence for a Jewish
synagogue community in mid–first-century Roman Corinth and summar-
ize its significance for our investigation. The combined weight of evi-
dence points to a Jewish presence in Corinth, most likely from early in
the first century on into late antiquity. There was at least one synagogue
by the time of Paul, and certain of its members had a complicated and
conflicted relationship with him and the early Christian assembly. Some
Jews were persuaded by Paul’s messianic proclamation, others actively
rejected his message, and some joined themselves to the assembly he
founded. The clearest glimpses of this complex relationship come from
the combination of Acts 18 with 1 and 2 Corinthians.
On the other hand, we have no indisputable material evidence for a
first-century synagogue structure in Corinth. Despite understandable
excitement over the discovery of the synagogue inscription in 1898, the
tangled web of scholarship related to this stone has been subject to
methodological problems. Most prominent among these has been the
tendency to date the inscription on the basis of letter-forms alone without
appeal to securely datable comparanda at Corinth. What the letter-forms
do indicate is a limit to both the skill of the engraver and the budget of the
synagogue community. Linking the architectural vestiges on the “under-
side” of the reused, inscribed block to a known typology may provide
more help in narrowing the date range for the inscription; its relatively
large size suggests it is unlikely to have moved far from its original site
north of Peirene. At the end of our scholarly excavation, the results offer
less precision than we would like. Without further study, the synagogue
inscription must be said to have a broad, possible date range of AD I–VI.
To say more would be to speculate beyond the evidence; to say less or to
restrict the range on either end would be a premature foreclosure.
78
Oster (1992: 57).
79
Other epigraphical traces of Jewish presence at Corinth are rarely mentioned because
they are usually presumed to be late (although the basis for this tends, with regrettable
frequency, to be letter-forms alone). See, e.g., IJO I Ach48–50; also the unpublished(?)
Corinthian inscription preserving parts of four lines of Hebrew text in the ascsa.net database:
Corinth image 1962 049 05 (Inv. 1773), excavated in 1936 (Notebook 159 p. 85.). Adams and
Horrell (2004: 10 n.61) refer to an unpublished “Jewish” cooking pot mentioned to them by
Dr. Nancy Bookidis, assistant director emerita of the Corinth Excavations.
4.3 New covenant community in Corinth

If we add to our consideration of the synagogue evidence Lincicum’s
conclusions regarding the liturgical-anamnetic encounter with
Deuteronomy, we may more readily conceptualize an important site of
covenant community and discourse in mid–first-century Roman Corinth. It
would be surprising if, in Paul’s sojourn with Aquila and Priscilla, he did
not engage with Deuteronomy at the level of tefillin and mezuzot, that is,
seeing, touching, and reciting the Shema and other excerpts regularly.80
The same is likely the case during Paul’s initial shabbat interactions with
the synagogue, where there may also have been readings from the scroll
of Deuteronomy featured in the liturgy and teaching (Acts 18:4).81
Perhaps Deuteronomy played a role in debates over the Messiah82 and
in Pauline claims concerning a new covenant.83 Certainly the Jewish
(and God-fearer) members of the Corinthian ekklēsia were familiar
enough with key texts and concerns of Deuteronomy for Paul to be
able to make explicit appeals later in his epistles concerning political
and ethical matters such as purity, exclusion, identity, and adjudication
(1 Cor 5:9, 10:20–22; 2 Cor 13:1).
If the Corinthian synagogue shared features with other Second Temple
communities that sought to adhere faithfully to their scriptures within a
larger civic environment, it is not difficult to imagine the grammar of the
covenant discourse by which they attempted to articulate and sustain
their diaspora politeia.84 By the Second Temple period, a certain shift in
emphasis had occurred in the covenantal cluster or pattern and the
discourse it instantiated. Some studies have traced various aspects of
this evolving covenantal discourse and have demonstrated that alongside
the legal elements of oath, stipulation, and sanction was a marked
emphasis on wisdom. Law and wisdom, blessing and cursing functioned
to define and order communities that characterized themselves with
respect to a divine covenant.85
Several studies have examined the ways in which this shifting cove-
nantal discourse relates to Paul and his communities as well as to the
80
Lincicum (2010: 47–8).
81
Lincicum (2010: 53).
82
See Lincicum (2010: 138–40, 48); cf. Waaler (2008: 49–122).
83
Paul’s paradosis of Jesus’s new covenant claims to the ekklēsia (1 Cor 11:23–26) may
well have played a prior role in his debates with the synagogue (covenant) community (Acts
18:4–5).
84
Troiani (1994: 11–22); Barclay (1995: 81–106); Lincicum (2010: 169–83).
85
E.g., Metso (2008).
communities associated with the texts from Qumran.86 Many of these

have shown that Paul is one voice among others attempting to construct
new covenant communities in the first century. Our interest here is to
analyze his distinctive covenantal accent as it relates to the assembly at
Corinth. Not only does Paul write in 1 Corinthians with reference to the
new covenant originating in the crucifixion of the Messiah, he also
addresses the ekklēsia as a kind of covenant community in which history,
oath, stipulations, sanctions, and wisdom – often cast in Deuteronomic
terms – play an important constituting and regulating role.87 His reasons
for doing so appear to be linked to a particular necessity at Corinth to
reconstitute covenant community in a certain way and to do so carefully
with reference (sometimes approving, sometimes rejecting) to the
Corinthian constitution. One additional line of argument, this time with
reference to our focal text, highlights the centrality of Paul’s covenantal
response within colonial contexts of conflict.
4.3.1 Covenantal Cruxes in the Rhetorical Flow of 1 Corinthians

It has long been noted that Paul exhibits, almost exclusively in 1
Corinthians, a stylistic penchant for the phrase οὐκ οἴδατε ὅτι.88 What
has received less attention is the way these rhetorical questions some-
times function as loci wherein covenant collides with constitution. Of the
ten occurrences of this phrase in 1 Corinthians, fully half emerge at key
points in the early argument of the epistle (1:1–6:11):89
3:16 οὐκ οἴδατε ὅτι ναὸς θεοῦ ἐστε καὶ τὸ πνεῦμα τοῦ θεοῦ οἰκεῖ ἐν
ὑμῖν
5:6 οὐκ οἴδατε ὅτι μικρὰ ζύμη ὅλον τὸ φύραμα ζυμοῖ
6:2 ἤ οὐκ οἴδατε ὅτι οἱ ἅγιοι τὸν κόσμον κρινοῦσιν
6:3 οὐκ οἴδατε ὅτι ἀγγέλους κρινοῦμεν
6:9 ἤ οὐκ οἴδατε ὅτι ἄδικοι θεοῦ βασιλείαν οὐ κληρονομήσουσιν
These five instances occur at rhetorical cruxes of Paul’s argument in

3:5–4:5, 5:1–13, and 6:1–11 respectively, the first of which forms the
focus of our exegesis in Chapter 7. In each of these sections, Paul offers a
forceful response to what he perceives as serious problems within the
86
Blanton (2007); Hultgren (2007).
87
Bitner (2013a). For the political role of covenant (and its Deuteronomic accent) in
Medieval Judaism, see Brague (2007: 123–6).
88
Outside 1 Corinthians only at Rom 6:16; 11:2; but cf. Rom 6:3; 7:1. Cf. Edsall (2013).
89
Elsewhere in 1 Corinthians: 6:15, 16, 19; 9:13, 24.
assembly. What is worth noting preliminarily, and what we work to

substantiate, is that these problems are, at least in part, the result of
members of the ekklēsia thinking and acting in colonial rather than
properly ecclesial modes and manners. In each instance, Paul adopts,
adapts, or echoes certain constitutional language and categories pertain-
ing to status, authority, and social relations only to punctuate his argu-
ment with a covenantal riposte. These rhetorical responses, each in the
form of the damning rhetorical question οὐκ οἴδατε ὅτι κτλ., assume in
these five instances a familiarity90 with a larger pattern of Pauline teach-
ing and thought that comprises covenantal elements of temple (3:16, 17),
holiness (3:16, 17; 5:6; 6:2), judgment (3:16, 17; 5:6, 7; 6:3), inheritance
(6:9, 10), and kingdom (6:9–10).91 These are responses – cruxes on
which much of the intelligibility and force of Paul’s argument hangs in
each occurrence – in which Paul appears to confront constitutional-
colonial approaches to various issues by means of a covenantal mode
of thought. If this is correct, it implies that Paul is depending on, for the
effectiveness of his case, the traction such a covenantal mode of persua-
sion would have among some in the community. And although Paul’s
appeal is certainly broad in each instance (“Do you not know?”), for one
group within the assembly such a covenantal mode of communication
would particularly resonate: those Jews who had been called into the
community.
The form, content, and force of these emphatic points in Paul’s
rhetoric suggest, therefore, that he chooses covenantal discourse to
engage with constitutional assumptions. Paul communicates in such a
way both because there is a Jewish presence within the assembly and
because there has been a certain exposure for Jews and Gentiles, through
his own teaching in their midst, to the Jewish scriptures as an author-
itative and understandable covenantal framework.92 One such rhetorical
climax, 3:16–17, has been carefully crafted.93 And despite evident
Graeco-Roman resonances,94 the larger rhetorical unit within which it
sits (3:5–4:5) provides us with an important clue to the specific new
90
This rhetorical catchphrase implied a rebuke. See Robertson and Plummer (1971: 66)
and probably appealed to elements of Paul’s earlier proclamation: Weiss (1910: 84, 133,
146, 153); Hurd (1965: 85–6). But see Edsall (2013).
91
Note the shift in the covenantal content and character of the οὐκ οἴδατε ὅτι phrases in
9:13, 24.
92
Further reasons for these communicative assumptions appear in Chapter 5.
93
On the balanced construction, sharp tone, and themes of temple and holiness, see esp.
Weiss (1897: 208); Weiss (1910: 84–6).
94
Mitchell (1991: 103–4). See further Chapter 7.
covenantal accent with which Paul speaks as he addresses himself to the

Corinthian assembly. That accent has general affinities with the cove-
nantal discourses of Second Temple Judaism,95 and special correspon-
dences with the commission of Jeremiah, the prophet of the new
covenant (see Section 7.2.4).
4.4 Conclusion
We are now able to connect the elements of our comparative framework
and, by its elaboration, to move toward the exegetical chapters of Part Two
that it embraces. Both the Corinthian constitution and the Deuteronomic
covenant were political instruments founding, sustaining, and regulating
important aspects of life in the communities they created. Constitution and
covenant generated distinctive and in the case of colonia and ekklēsia in
Corinth overlapping and sometimes conflicting politeiai.
This framework of constitution and covenant might be helpful for the
interpretation of any of Paul’s letters written to a Roman colonial setting
with a Jewish community.96 So why should it be applied to 1 Corinthians
in particular? There are good reasons for doing so in light of the shape
Paul’s argument assumes and the issues it appears to presume. In a word,
Paul thought the ekklēsia at Corinth needed a strong reminder of its
constitution, and the political theology it implied. The reports he received
provoked Paul to clarify and to draw more starkly the boundaries and the
differences between covenanted ekklēsia and constituted colonia.
Scholars have recognized, largely as a result of the formulation of
J. M. G. Barclay, that 1 Corinthians evinces a need to shore up “weak
group boundaries.”97 By emphasizing the contrasts between the exigencies
evoking 1 Thessalonians and 1 Corinthians, Barclay demonstrated that
the divergent social contexts of the respective assemblies to which Paul
wrote influenced the shape and concerns of his epistolary responses.
Barclay concluded (in 1992), “After a period of intensive study of the
social status of Paul’s converts, it is high time to explore further the
question of social interaction – and to take care in so doing not to subscribe
to the false assumption that all Paul’s churches were of the same stamp.”98
95
Hogeterp (2006: 322–31); Vahrenhorst (2008: 145–57).
96
In light of Acts 16:11–15 and statements about the heavenly citizenship in Phil 3:20
(ἡμῶν γὰρ τὸ πολίτευμα ἐν οὐρανοῖς ὑπάρχει), one might pursue, for example, this
constitutional framework with regard to Philippians, although the internal covenantal
signals of that epistle seem far less obvious.
97
Barclay (2011: 181–203).
98
Barclay (2011: 203).
In the 2011 reprint of his essay, Barclay notes several recent studies that
have attempted to do this in various ways.99 Paul, in 1 Corinthians, saw a
need to define and contend for a certain kind of ecclesial structure and
praxis, one that he set off from that of the larger colonial community both
by comparison and especially by contrast. His epistle bears, therefore, the
political and ethical marks of an alternative civic discourse that has at its
core the new covenant proclaimed in the word of the cross. This covenantal
kerygma challenges the constitutional paradigm of Corinthian politeia.
As we conclude this chapter, we should note proleptically three ben-
efits of the constitution-covenant framework we have constructed. First,
such an interpretive model has the advantage of not limiting our search
for structural models for the Corinthian assembly to any single social
group (i.e., household, synagogue, association).100 Rather than devoting
our interpretive energy to any one exclusive ancient model for the
ekklēsia, we are directed by the notions of constitution and covenant
rather to expect, at least with regard to 1 Corinthians, overlapping circles
(i.e., colonia, sub-civic associations, household). This point, reiterated by
Adams,101 was first made eloquently in 1960 by Judge. In the latter’s
reflection on the social patterns within which the early Christians lived
and wrote, he argued that they “were thinking in terms of a series of
overlapping but not systematically related circles.”102 Both constitution
and covenant were political instruments with public and private demands
and implications, both cutting across the overlapping social spheres and
levels of social status in colony and assembly. And both constituted
complex and multilayered patterns of life, or politeiai.
For this reason, the framework of constitution-covenant holds promise
in a second area, namely, describing and interpreting the collision of
political structures and ethical norms visible in 1 Corinthians.103 The
fraught interaction between the two aspects of our framework suggests
new ways to attend to tensions over rights and privileges, social hier-
archy, networks of obligation and honor, dynamics of exclusion, and
modes of litigation and conciliation that lie on and under the surface of
the text of the epistle. As we shall see, constitution provides, on occasion,
a positive analogy or metaphor for Paul to work with. But more often it
acts as the foil against which he frames his argument. It is instead the new
99
Barclay (2011: 203 n.40). Particularly relevant to Corinth: Adams (2000: 85–103);
De Vos (1999: 205–32).
100
See Adams (2009).
101
Adams (2009: 78).
102
Judge (1960: iii); cf. Judge (2008: 597–618).
103
See Martin (2009b).
covenant implications of his proclamation of Christ that he holds out as

offering the possibility of political and ethical transformation. It is not
only that there are social patterns that overlap in unsystematic ways;
these patterns of life propel, detectably if sometimes unsystematically,
distinct patterns of belief and patterns of ethical reflection. The inverse
is, of course, true as well.104
A third benefit of the constitution-covenant frame employed in the
following exegetical chapters flows from the second. Although others
have noted that 1 Corinthians shows a sustained use of political and legal
topoi, the overwhelming focus has been on the rhetorical and literary
nature of these commonplaces. With our heuristic lens in position, our
attention is focused on political sites where Paul’s rhetorical emphases
connect communicatively with and challenge many of the assumptions of
his auditors. That is to say, our framework may well help us be attuned to
the ways in which Paul attempts to correlate and contrast two broad
patterns of life and of belief that were necessarily coextensive but often
conflicted. Constitution-covenant offers us a hermeneutical apparatus to
probe Paul’s communicative strategy in making his political and ethical
arguments.
The burden of the following chapters will be to realize some of these
potential benefits of the framework of covenant-constitution. The follow-
ing short chapter concludes Part One by making explicit the final requi-
site methodological tools for our project of interpretive reconstitution.
Then Part Two opens by probing exegetically 1 Cor 1:4–9 to see how and
why Paul, self-conscious of his role as a minister of the new covenant
(διάκονος καινῆς διαθήκης, 2 Cor 3:6),105 and as one who saw himself as
under legal obligation to Christ (ἔννομος χριστοῦ, 1 Cor 9:21),106 works
to constitute the Corinthian assembly as a certain kind of covenanted
community (ἡ κοινωνία τοῦ υἱοῦ αὐτοῦ Ἰησοῦ Χριστοῦ τοῦ κυρίου
ἡμῶν, 1 Cor 1:9).
104
Cf. Martin (2009b: 133).
105
Van Unnik (1960: 175–7) notes Paul can express new covenant themes apart from
the term “covenant.” He comments that Paul seems to assume his readers will understand
his meaning in 1 Cor 11:25 and 2 Cor 3:6, but that, as the history of scholarship indicates,
subsequent interpreters have not always found these compressed covenantal phrases so
clear.
106
See Dodd (1953). Weiss (1910: 245) aligns 9:21 with Barn. 2:6 (“the new law [ὁ
καινὸς νόμος] of our Lord Jesus Christ”). Cf. Thiselton (2000: 703–5).
5
CO NSTITUTIN G COR I NTH, PAU L,
AN D T HE AS SEMBLY
Every commentary on a Pauline letter relies also upon an

assumed portrait of the church body which Paul is addressing;
the most notorious example of this is perhaps the Corinthian
community, whose unruly group personality has greatly exer-
cised the imagination of readers of the Corinthian correspon-
dence from the earliest days of the church (1 Clement 47) to the
present. . . . Exegesis and portraiture, therefore, always go hand
in hand. Mitchell (2002: 410–11)
5.1 Rendering 1 Corinthians

In previous chapters, we constructed a comparative framework within
which to interpret the text of 1 Cor 1:1–4:6. The aim of the present
chapter is to build a bridge to our exegesis. Before turning, in Part Two,
to two exegetical studies, it is necessary to step back from the emerging
portrait we have been rendering and to place within it the figures of Paul,
Corinth, and the early Christian assembly. We hope in what follows to
orient the reader by defining the elements of composition we employ and
the figures that populate the scene.
In Chapter 1, we drew three interpretive concepts from certain lines of
Pauline political precedent: politeia, political discourse, and alternative
civic ideology. These offer categories for conceiving, respectively, the
interface between constitution and covenant, the register appropriate to
speech about law and life, and the rhetorical aim of political discourse.
These concepts provide an overlapping space within which to evaluate
the competing claims and functions of the Corinthian constitution and
1 Cor 1:1–4:6. Chapter 2 drew on the work of John Crook to demonstrate
the appropriateness of using legal – especially documentary – evidence
for understanding life in a first-century context. Evidence related to the
sources, contents, and display of colonial constitutions was adduced in
106
Constituting Corinth, Paul, and the assembly 107
Chapter 3 to show the applicability of the Spanish charters to Roman

Corinth. There, too, archaeological case studies revealed that this evi-
dence connects with Corinth at a variety of levels (legal, ritual, eco-
nomic) and for a variety of persons (elite and non-elite). Chapter 4
examined evidence related to the sources, emphases, and encounter
with covenant, particularly in its Deuteronomic form, vis-à-vis Corinth.
The notion and discourse of covenant, and especially the shape Paul gave
to his new covenant ministry in the assembly, emerged as a political
framework that was asymmetrically analogous to, though often in con-
flict with, that of constitution.
The focus of this chapter, which concludes Part One and its constitu-
tion of the comparative framework for the exegesis that follows, is
twofold. First, it clearly defines the method of comparison and the
character of communication assumed in the remainder of the study.
Second, it sketches our view of key figures visible in the portrait we
associate with the Pauline text. Since, as Mitchell rightly argues, exegesis
and portraiture are ineluctably coupled, the reader deserves an advance
viewing of the canvas we believe simultaneously emerges from and
shapes our understanding of the text and related evidence.
5.2 Comparative method

Of the drawing of comparisons, as with the making of Qoheleth’s many
books, there is apparently no end in NT scholarship. This is because
comparative analogy is an important mode of interpretation. We seek
analogically to understand the unknown by the known, and the partially
known by appeal to larger context. We attempt to make strange to
ourselves the too well known so that we may begin to know it anew.
And yet not all comparisons are of a kind. It is important to know what –
and how – one is comparing. Although the overarching comparison of
this study – constitution and covenant – has already been framed, the
space within that frame must be filled in with exegetical detail. It is a
frame constructed for the purpose of viewing our object of inquiry,
namely, two textual units in 1 Cor 1–4 that bear traces of a Corinthian
politeia shaped by Roman law. To be clear about the kinds of compar-
isons that will facilitate our exegesis in Part Two, we must do the
following in the present chapter: (1) probe the difficult nature of the
enterprise of comparison, (2) begin to define what “legal language” is,
and (3) outline the layers of comparison and communication that will
result in a more thickly drawn portrait of Paul, his epistle, and the
Corinthians.
108 Constitution and Covenant in Corinth
5.2.1 Quod Est Comparandum: The Enterprise of Comparison

Within NT studies, the enterprise of comparison has, especially since
Wettstein, been characterized by a philological focus and expressed in
the language of “parallels.”1 This search for and use of parallels became
increasingly fragmented and complex over the course of the twentieth
century for a variety of reasons. Among these were the development of
methodological approaches to the NT, such as the Religionsgeschichtliche
Schule; the decision to distinguish between (and publish separately)
Hellenistic and Jewish comparative material; and the accidental history
of newly emerging documentary evidence (in the form of papyri, inscrip-
tions, and texts from the Judean desert).2
In the latter half of the past century, however, NT scholars began to
urge more caution in the use of comparative material.3 With the growing
recognition that “parallels – no matter how striking the similarity – [do]
not exist outside of an historical and social context,”4 the philological
focus expanded to embrace the sociological, and the language shifted
from “parallels” to “backgrounds.”5 More recently, the palette of com-
parative methods has evolved from a less-sophisticated notion of “back-
grounds” to more complex categories of “culture,” “social patterns,”
“social world,” or “symbolic universe.” One salutary effect of this shift
for Pauline studies has been the insistence that Paul, his texts, and his
communities be investigated within the matrix of the first-century world
and neither systematically abstracted from nor pitted against it.6 But
helpful as this shift has been, it has not solved all the methodological
problems facing the Pauline scholar. One such lingering difficulty is the
delicate matter of where to place the comparative emphasis – on simi-
larity or difference.
Notable among those who have warned against simplistic and ideolo-
gically driven comparisons is J. Z. Smith. In his 1988 Jordan lectures,
Smith calls attention to the problematic discourse of “uniqueness” in the
comparative study of early Christianity. He highlights the hazardous
possibility that comparisons are too easily constructed such that they
1
Fitzgerald and White (2003).
2
Fitzgerald and White (2003: 19–27).
3
Sandmel (1962) was one such early caution.
4
Fitzgerald and White (2003: 34).
5
Fitzgerald and White (2003: 27–39).
6
There are other historical, literary, and theological matrices (e.g., diachronic-
canonical, reception-historical) within which to investigate NT texts.
only mirror the assumptions of the scholars who construct them.7 While
Smith reasonably asks of the scholar a clear articulation of intellectual
purpose in any given comparative enterprise, his insistence on the
anthropological and deconstructionist mode of comparisons8 has, in his
own case, led to peculiar interpretations of the Corinthian evidence.9
Others, in their eagerness to avoid the category of uniqueness have
elevated similarity over difference.10
Protesting against this rhetorical and ideological turn in historical
(including biblical) studies, and describing what he saw as the subse-
quent collapse of historiography into fiction, Arnaldo Momigliano, just
prior to Smith’s lectures, penned this advice:
I ask myself where a classical scholar can help biblical scholars
most usefully. My answer would be that in the field of political,
social, and religious history differences are more important
than similarities – and therefore knowledge of Greco-Roman
history can be useful only for differential comparison.11
From his following discussion, it becomes clear that by “differential
comparison” Momigliano intends the historical examination of texts in
their complex cultural settings; he advocated a self-critical engagement
with evidence and a reflection on the patterns emerging from such
evidence. It is these patterns, marked out by difference, that help fore-
ground for the interpreter distinctive features of the object of inquiry.
One must resist, Momigliano urged, the temptation either to draw homo-
logous lines of genealogy or to allow the focus of investigation to
fragment iteratively, both of which often (and paradoxically) result in a
collapse into sameness – Paul, his rhetoric, and his communities are
7
Smith (1990: 36–53) is interested in undermining – by theorizing – what he terms “the
Protestant apologetic historical schema of ‘origins and corruptions’” and its historical-
ontological-theological claims of uniqueness vis-à-vis the death and resurrection of Jesus.
8
Smith (1990: 115); for one critique, see Klippenberg (1992).
9
Smith applied his view to 1 Corinthians, (re-)describing it as the arch-contaminating
text of early Christianity, and proposing “a redescription of the Corinthian situation in
relation to a set of data from Papua New Guinea,” in “Re: Corinthians,” now reprinted in
Cameron and Miller (2011: 17–34).
10
E.g., Engberg-Pedersen (2001: 2): “Methodologically, the presumption must always
favor similarity rather than difference. Only on that basis will any claim about differences
be valid” (italics mine). But this claim is not consonant with all the essays in the volume.
11
Momigliano (1987: 3–8), italics mine. In principle, Smith (1990: 118) seems to agree,
“difference rather than identity governs the comparisons; the language of ‘uniqueness’ is
increasingly eschewed; and analogy rather than genealogy is the goal.” In any case,
Momigliano cannot be accused of “historical positivism.”
frequently explained away in terms of the ancient (or modern) cultural

context.12 The equation sometimes remains too simple: X is (or is nearly)
just like Y in respect of Z.13 We find Momigliano’s arguments to be
persuasive on these points, particularly because the method he commends
takes seriously both structural similarities in ancient cultures and the
particularities of time, place, and personality. The historian must hold
these in creative and controlled tension to grapple with the complex data
in any given case. We therefore attempt, in the exegetical chapters to
follow, to engage in the difficult task of differential comparison.
In this study, the language of parallels and backgrounds is avoided;
instead, language related to social pattern, context, setting, and discourse
is employed. The avowed purpose of our comparative investigation is the
understanding of the Pauline text within the frame of covenant and
constitution, mediated by the nexus of politeia.14 If we are able also to
make cautious gains in our understanding of Paul himself, of some
members of the assembly to whom he wrote, or of the colony in which
they resided, so much the better.15 Throughout, the emphasis in our
comparisons is on contrast for the sake of appreciating distinctiveness.16
The manner in which our argument repeatedly unfolds in the following
chapters is one in which we begin from (but do not end with) words in
Paul’s text that have “legal” resonance. For that reason, we must tackle
an elusive phrase that appears with surprising frequency in the literature
on 1 Corinthians: legal language.
5.2.2 The Problem of Legal Language

Interpreters have often commented in passing on the presence of legal
terminology in 1 Corinthians, and not only within the letter’s more
obviously “legal” sections (e.g., 6:1–8).17 This terminology is the subject
12
For one case study in the history of “parallels,” see Bitner (2013a). The latter tendency
(explaining away) lurks in some of the essays in Cameron and Miller (2011).
13
See the discussion of resemblance theory and comparisons in Smith (1990: 51–3).
14
Cameron and Miller (2011: 297): “some of the family groups to whom Paul brought
his gospel were more interested in finding their place in the emerging civic identity of the
Roman colony of Corinth than in . . . some holy politeia outside the city.”
15
But see Momigliano (1987: 7); Barclay (1987).
16
I will avoid the language of “uniqueness” and “originality” in speaking of Paul’s
formulations, but not claims concerning Paul’s linguistic and conceptual adaptations or
distinctiveness.
17
A case in point is the double occurrence of βεβαιόω in 1 Cor 1:6, 8, with which we
commence our exegetical investigation in Chapter 6.
of a study by A. Papathomas;18 his premise is that the text of 1

Corinthians evinces a high frequency of koine legal language and that
Paul’s evident control of such juristic language is integral to his episto-
lary argument. On this basis, Papathomas undertakes a comparison of
Paul’s language with that of the papyri.
The result is a valuable collection of papyrological texts characterized
by terminological overlap with Paul’s epistle. Especially relevant to the
present study is that Papathomas identifies thirty-eight occurrences of
legal terms within 1 Cor 1–4, amounting to one-fifth of those he finds in
the entire letter.19 While this may be prima facie striking, it actually tells
us nothing, as yet, of the interpretive significance of these terms in their
rhetorical context.20 In fact, despite the rich harvest of documentary texts
he brings into contact with the Pauline text, the work of the papyrologist
is marked by three methodological shortcomings. First, Papathomas
neglects to articulate the limits of legal language. Second, he does not
offer a sustained reflection on the function(s) of such terminology in the
papyri themselves. Finally, and most crucially, he engages in comparison
at the level of words (and occasionally phrases) in a manner that fails to
explore the collocations of terms and the discourse pragmatics so essen-
tial to understanding the resonances and rhetorical goals of Paul’s letter.
Therefore, to make effective use of the fruits of Papathomas’s papyrolo-
gical labors, we must attempt to outline, relative to these three issues, a
stance that is in each case adequate to guide our comparative exegesis.
5.2.3 From Legal Language to Politeia Language

As Papathomas admits, the methodological problem of defining what
counts as legal language is as important as it is difficult.21 Linguists have
18
Papathomas (2009). Papathomas’s study is connected to the second volume in
papyrological commentary series edited by Arzt-Grabner et al. (2006). What follows here
is a summary of my review essay: Bitner (2013b); cf. Hengstl (2010: 82–5).
19
Papathomas (2009: 220–1) esp. Anhang: 239–41 (Tabellen 1–6). Only one of these
(φανερὸν γενήσεται at 1 Cor 3:13) is a phrase rather than a single term. This accounts for 20
percent of the total occurrences (187) of legal terms he identifies. He counts seventy-eight
occurrences in 1 Cor 1:1–6:11 (or 42 percent). The distribution throughout the epistle is not
uniform.
20
Nor does the mere presence of alleged legal terms reveal to us the social and
experiential sources of Paul’s language. Consider dubious attempts to argue Shakespeare
was a lawyer (or that his audiences in the Globe Theatre must have had legal training!) on
the basis of the “adept usages of legal terms and legal maxims” in his plays, for which
critique, see Morrison (1989: 6–8).
21
Papathomas (2009: 6–7, 221–5).
struggled to define the limits of legal language generally;22 ancient

writers and classical philologists have grappled with its terms, transla-
tion, and functions in ancient Greek and Latin.23 Certainly in the Julio-
Claudian period, Roman legal language was not limited only to lawyers
and the law court. Rather, it was variously adapted, with the obvious
expectation of wide comprehensibility and rhetorical effects, by poets,
satirists, philosophers, and others.24
So if, as is widely acknowledged, juristic terms and images charac-
terized a range of discourses precisely in our period, why is it so
difficult to define what counts as legal language? One challenge relates
to the ease of intuitively grasping what kind of language – ancient or
contemporary – is legal, and in which contexts. Yet, this intuitive ease
sublimates when it comes to the systematic articulation and delineation
of legal language; it can be particularly difficult to distinguish from
standard language or other linguistic subforms.25 Even more important
is the stumbling block arising from a fixation on terms abstracted from
specific utterances and contexts. As Kurzon notes, such a focus solely
on lexical semantics leads to a problematic “gap between the linguistic
analysis of the structure of a particular legal discourse and its
purpose.”26 In NT studies, such a fixation on lexical items in relation
to legal language derives largely from the work of Adolf Deissmann in
his Bibelstudien and the flawed Theologisches Wörterbuch project
edited by Gerhard Kittel.27
To move beyond the lexical-semantic comparative approach pio-
neered by Deissmann, it is necessary to define legal language for our
purposes more broadly than as individual termini technici. We should
instead view language as legal when such terminology (1) derives from
or acquires specialized meaning in legal documents or contexts, (2) is
closely associated within a text with other such terms, and (3) has
functions or aims in the real world that would be properly characterized
22
E.g., Kurzon (1994); Kurzon (1997); Galdia (2009: 73–88, 110–13).
23
E.g., Glinister and Woods (2007). Cf. the legal and political, Greek–Latin “practical
synonyms” in Mason (1974).
24
E.g., Gebhardt (2009: 11–72). Cf. Meyer (2004: 63–74) for examples of legal
language and parodic adaptation. In speaking of rhetorical topoi (including legal and
political topoi), NT scholars do not always consider distinct sources, vectors, and commu-
nicative purposes of such topoi, being content merely to identify a topos (another capitula-
tion to similarity over difference). Cf. Mitchell (1991: 67 and n.8, 180–3).
25
Kurzon (1997: 119–23).
26
Kurzon (1994: 8–9).
27
On TWNT/TDNT, see esp. Barr (1969); Lee (2003).
Table 3 Legal Language
Correlation with
Constitution-Covenant
Identifying characteristics Emphasis Comparison
language deriving from legal source Politeia
documents or contexts
language closely associated context political discourse
with other such language
within the same utterance
language with legal functions communicative alternative civic
or aims purpose ideology
as legal by competent speakers. These three criteria for identifying legal

language emphasize, respectively, (1) the source (performative and/or
textual setting), (2) the context (vocabulary and syntactical collocations
in the text), and (3) the communicative purpose (performative setting and
rhetorical function). They also correlate closely with the specific heur-
istic categories introduced earlier of politeia, political discourse, and
alternative civic ideology. The Table 3 captures and relates these ways
of finding, describing, and viewing legal language.
More specifically, in keeping with the comparative approach of our
study, we are most interested in the terminology, settings, and commu-
nicative purposes of constitution and/or covenant. Searching for and
attending to language that is constitutional and/or covenantal rather
than simply legal has two immediate benefits. First, it obviates the
need to distinguish between strictly legal and more broadly political
language – the categories of constitution and covenant effectively
integrate both kinds of language in each of the three aspects described
earlier. We continue to describe this integration with the term politeia.
The second benefit of replacing a narrow view of legal language with
the broader category of politeia language is that it helps us identify
language in Paul’s epistle that “could go either way” for the speaker or
listeners in its resonances – toward Roman law (constitution) or toward
Jewish or Christological notions of (new) covenant. Politeia language
thus potentially forms the connective-comparative, sociolinguistic28
tissue between constitution and covenant.
28
For sociolinguistics generally: Hudson (1980). Application to Graeco-Roman texts:
Kaimio (1979); Obbink and Evans (2010).
5.2.4 Communicative Purpose and Politeia Language

A second problem arising from Papathomas’s study is the function(s) of
such politeia language. Every utterance or text with legal or politeia
language has a purpose or set of aims.29 Determining the nature of these
aims is important to making persuasive comparisons between such
language in, for example, the papyri or inscriptions and a Pauline epistle.
Doing so, however, is a matter of grasping ancient patterns of language
use, a task made difficult both by the circumscribed data at our disposal
and by variation within established convention.
J. K. Aitken, in a semantic study of blessing and cursing language in
classical Hebrew texts, observes,
One of the difficulties that hamper the study of ancient lan-
guages is of course the limited corpus of evidence and the lack
of native-speaker informants. This problem is acute in the case
of a pragmatic analysis where we cannot know for certain the
social conventions, and we cannot hear the speakers whose
intonation can often be a greater guide than any to the function
of an utterance.30
We may find some comfort, however, in the fact that our situation with
respect to the evidence of Greek and Latin is somewhat better than for
Hebrew. Nevertheless, Aitken’s point stands, and he provides a model of
caution and careful definition of terms for the linguistic aspects of the
comparison undertaken in this study. First of all, Aitken proposes a
distinction between context and setting, whereby the former pertains to
the literary framework and the latter to the historical, material, and social
location of an utterance. An investigation of language in its textual
context involves the analysis of its grammatical and syntactical features
to make a judgment about the semantic conventions it shares with other
texts. Placing such language and texts within their setting involves a
consideration of physical space, actors, and functions to come to grips
with the social conventions it assumes. As Aitken reminds us, although
semantic analysis must precede reflection on social conventions, the two
are mutually dependent, the guiding principle being a concern to describe
“the functions and effects of the utterances.”31
29
Some prefer categories of rhetorical criticism, for example, Schüssler Fiorenza
(1987); others prefer speech-act theory, for example, Thiselton (2000). We speak more
generally attempting consistently to define terms.
30
Aitken (2007: 17).
31
Aitken (2007: 17–22, at 22).
This distinction between context and setting, and its implications for
understanding communicative purpose, is important for our compara-
tive investigation. It helps us think more clearly about basic issues that
arise if we are to propose and unfold the claim that Paul does in fact
employ politeia language in 1 Cor 1:1–4:6. These issues include the
following:
What kinds of non-Pauline texts employ the same language?
What semantic conventions are observable in these non-Pauline
contexts?
By what kinds of people and in what settings is such language
employed?
What social conventions are observable in these settings?
What communicative purposes are therefore connected with
such language?
Why might Paul have drawn on such language?
How might he be adapting it for his own purposes?
What resonances and dissonances might these adaptations have
had for members of the assembly?
A consideration of these questions in terms of context and setting(s)
helps us see that our work is not finished when we have located a
plausible source (or sources) for Paul’s politeia language, nor when we
have analyzed his rhetorical arrangement of such language. Rather, we
must endeavor to range across the entire spectrum – from source to
rhetoric to purposes and effects – in our investigation of Pauline texts
and alleged comparanda, if our exegetical case is to be persuasive. We
must attempt – as Papathomas and others do not – a comparison that
moves beyond the words and phrases of politeia to the conventions of
political discourse and the competing claims of alternative civic ideolo-
gies. Moving through these levels of analysis with respect to our frame-
work of constitution and covenant will address the weaknesses in the
approach of Papathomas and aid us in tuning our ears to the subtle social,
political, and theological resonances and dissonances of Paul’s text.
5.2.5 On Comparing Words, Registers, and Genres of Politeia

In the argument of each exegetical chapter to follow, it is words and
phrases that provide us with an entry point. But concerns related to
semantic and social conventions outlined earlier compel us to think
comparatively beyond the lexical level. Although each later chapter
exhibits such a comparative approach, it is helpful to epitomize it briefly
here, taking as our focus data adduced by Papathomas. Our treatment

here also prepares for the argument in Chapter 6.
With regard to Paul’s double use of βεβαιόω in 1 Cor 1:6, 8, Papathomas
concludes, “Paulus verwendet auch hier einen terminus technicus der
Rechtssprache seiner Zeit, um seine Kommunikationsziele zu erreichen.”
Although he adduces new papyrological texts, Papathomas only repeats a
standard and less-than-helpful refrain of Corinthian scholarship.32 We
delay the full history of that scholarship on these verses until the following
chapter, except to note here that such a refrain, and the results it has
effected in scholarly interpretations of the past century, derives from the
influential dictum of Adolf Deissmann in his Bibelstudien:
We shall not err in construing βεβαιόω and βέβαιος . . . in the
writings of Paul and his circle, from this standpoint, and espe-
cially as these words sometimes occur among other juristic
expressions. By our taking confirm and sure in the sense of
legally guaranteed security, the statements in which they occur
gain in decisiveness and force.33
Deissmann’s careful phrasing has been largely eclipsed in subsequent
treatments of Paul’s opening wordplay in the thanksgiving period of 1
Corinthians, in part because of his repeated use of “legal technical
term” in relation to βεβαιόω.34 His conclusion, noticed immediately35
and amplified by the lexica,36 has resulted in the commonplace that
Paul draws in 1 Cor 1:6, 8 on the language of commercial law to
underline the firm nature of the community’s foundation and the secure
status of its members vis-à-vis eschatological divine judgment. The
monotonous imprecision in this consensus view stems from a termino-
logical focus, a tightly circumscribed textual basis, and the manner of
32
See the literature noted by Papathomas (2009: 14–18). Many papyri he adduces are
more complete and chronologically proximate to 1 Corinthians than those of Deissmann.
33
Deissmann (1977: 105); ET: Deissmann (1979: 109).
34
The playfulness (Wir werden danach ein Recht haben) and qualification (zumal diese
Wörter z[um] T[eil] neben anderen juristischen Ausdrücken stehen) of the original have
been obscured, partly by his insistence that the term is ein technisch Ausdruck, eine
technische Bedeutung, das technische Wort, ein juristisch Ausdruck: Deissmann (1977:
100–5).
35
Weiss (1910: 8); Robertson and Plummer (1971: 6).
36
See esp. s.v. βέβαιος, βεβαιόω, βεβαίωσις and related discussions in M-M (1930),
xviii; TDNT (Schlier; Ger. orig. 1933; ET 1964); Bauer3, Wörterbuch (1937); BAGD
(1957); BDAG (2000). Significant improvement appears in the Spanish-Greek lexicon
DGE. See s.v. βέβαιος I.3 (“en formulas legales”).
the comparison – a comparison that, in the end, offers little in terms of

historical or exegetical payoff.
This lexical myopia relates directly to our consideration of comparative
method. While interpreters have rightly noted the occurrences of βεβαιόω
in 1 Cor 1:4–9 as significant for exegesis, most have fallen short in
assuming that this goal has been met by a focus on the lexical semantics
of the verb. In doing so, they have often cited Deissmann’s conclusion but
ignored his qualifying condition: “especially as these words sometimes
occur among other juristic expressions.” In other words, if we are to
understand a legal meaning of βεβαιόω in Paul’s text as it has in the
papyri, we need to employ something such as Deissmann’s test of lexical
collocation in context. Does Paul indeed link βεβαιόω with other legal
terms in his text, and more importantly, are they brought into constellation
in a manner that renders them comparable to the commercial legal texts to
which Deissmann pointed? And even if we grant, for the moment, that
these conditions obtain and therefore lend weight to the papyrological
comparisons invoked by Deissmann (and now by Papathomas), what
“decisiveness and force” does that imply for the Pauline usage? In other
words, we would need to move beyond the level of semantic convention
to the level of social convention to perceive the significance or distinc-
tiveness of Paul’s utterance.
If we take a first-century example offered by Papathomas, we see that
such commercial legal texts as a class fail to meet the tests of appropriate
comparanda.37 The papyrus in question, POxy II 264 (AD 54), is a good
one to scrutinize for several reasons: it is almost exactly contemporary
with Paul’s epistle, it offers a text relatively free of restorations, and it
exemplifies the commercial context of βεβαιόω and the βεβαίωσις
clauses that allegedly supply the “legal force” echoed by Paul’s usage.
It is also an apposite choice because it illustrates precisely why
Deissmann, Papathomas, and others have juxtaposed such texts with
Paul and why the pursuit of such a comparison is mistaken and unpro-
ductive. I reproduce the text and a translation here in full for ease of
reference (focal clauses underlined).
POxy II 264 + BL VII.234 (TM 20535), AD 54

Ἀμμώνιος Ἀμμωνίου Τρύφωνι Διονυσίου
χαίρειν. ὁμολογῶ πεπρακέναι σοι τὸν ὑπάρ-
χοντά μοι ἱστὸν γερδι[ακὸν] π[η]χῶν γερδιακῶ(ν)
37
Papathomas (2009: 16 and n.46).
τριῶν παρὰ παλαιστὰς δύο, οὗ ἀντία δύο,

5 ἱστόποδες δύο, ἐπίμιτ[ρον ἓν καὶ] ἀ ̣πέχειν παρὰ σ(οῦ)
διὰ τῆς ἐπὶ τοῦ πρὸς Ὀξ[υρύγχ(ων)] πόλει Σαραπιείου
Σαραπίωνος τοῦ Λόχου τραπέζης τὴν ἑσταμένη(ν)
πρὸς ἀλλήλους τούτου τιμὴν ἀργυρίου Σεβαστοῦ καὶ
Πτολεμαικοῦ νομίσματος δραχμὰς
10 εἴκοσι, κ[αὶ] βεβαιώσειν σοι τὴν πρᾶσιν πάσῃ
βεβαιώσ[ει] ἢ ἐκτείσειν σοι ἣν ἔσχον παρὰ σοῦ
τιμὴν σὺν ἡμιολίᾳ καὶ τὸ βλάβος. κυρία ἡ χείρ.
(ἔτους) ιδ Τιβερίου Κλαυδίου Καίσαρος Σεβαστοῦ
Γερμανικοῦ Αὐτοκράτορος, μη(νὸς) Καισαρείου ιε.
——
15 (hand 2) Ἀμμώνιος Ἀμμωνίου πέπρακα τὸν ἱστὸν
καὶ ἀπέχω τὴν τιμὴν τὰς τοῦ ἀργυρίου δραχμὰ(ς)
εἴκοσι καὶ βεβαιώσωι (=βεβαιώσω) καθότι πρόκιται. Ἡρα-
κλείδης Δ[ιον]υσίου ἔγραψα ὑπὲρ αὐτοῦ μὴ
εἰδότος γράμματα. (ἔτους) ιδ Τιβερίου Κλαυδίου
20 Καίσαρος Σεβαστοῦ Γερμανικοῦ Αὐτοκράτορος,
μη(νὸς) Καισαρείου ιε Σεβαστῇ.
——
(hand 3) ἔτους τεσσαρεσκαιδεκάτου
Τιβερίου Κλαυδίου Καίσαρος
Σεβαστοῦ Γερμανικοῦ
25 Αὐτοκράτορος, μη(νὸς) Καισαρείου ιε
Σεβαστῇ, δι(ὰ) τῆ(ς) Σαρ(απίωνος) τρ(απέζης) γέγο(νεν) ἡ διαγρ(αφή).
Translation38
Ammonios son of Ammonios to Tryphon son of Dionysios
greeting. I agree that I have sold to you my property
the weaver’s loom, measuring three weavers’ cubits
less than two palms and containing two rollers,
5 two beams, one epimitron, and that I received from you
through the bank set up near the Sarapeion at Oxyrhynchus
[the bank] of Sarapion son of Lokhos
of the price agreed upon between us for it, namely,
of silver Imperial and Ptolemaic coinage drachmas
10 twenty, and that I will guarantee to you the sale with every
guarantee, or I will pay in full to you that which I have from you
38
Slightly modified from the editio princeps. Cf. Johnson (1959: 475, no. 300).
the price with half again and the damages. This note of hand is valid.
Year 14 of Tiberius Claudius Caesar Augustus
Germanicus Imperator, month of Caesareus the 15th.
——
(hand 2) I, Ammonios son of Ammonios, have sold the loom 15
and I receive the price of the silver drachmas
twenty and I will guarantee [the sale] as aforesaid.
I Herakleides son of Dionysios wrote for him because
he was illiterate. Year 14 of Tiberius Claudius
Caesar Augustus Germanicus Imperator, 20
month of Caesareus the 15th by the Imperial reckoning.
——
(hand 3) Year fourteen
of Tiberius Claudius Caesar
Augustus Germanicus
Imperator, month of Caesareus the 15th, 25
by the Imperial reckoning, transacted through the bank of Sarapion,
the contract.
This contract of sale from Roman Egypt represents a familiar legal text
type. In keeping with the conventions of both Roman and Ptolemaic law,
the sale is accompanied by a stipulation (declaration) in the form of a
βεβαίωσις clause. This clause (ὁμολογῶ . . . βεβαιώσειν σοι τὴν πρᾶσιν
πάσῃ βεβαιώσει) enacted a general guarantee against defects or eviction;
it was intended as a warranty that served to protect the buyer and
provided an action against the vendor if the item sold proved defective
or was claimed as the rightful property of a third party.39
While this papyrus certainly preserves a legal text (contract, receipt of
sale) employing formulaic βεβαιόω statements (Deissmann’s terminus
technicus), it has little else of substance in common with Paul’s thanks-
giving. Table 4 further highlights the dis-analogy by applying the analy-
tical categories of semantic and social conventions discussed earlier.
The contrast between the two texts is clear. Neither in terms of syntax
and collocation (semantic conventions) nor in terms of persons and
functions implied (social conventions) is there a viable comparison. It
39
On βεβαίωσις clauses, see Taubenschlag (1972); Rupprecht (1982). Cf. Pringsheim
(1950: 429–96, our papyrus [POxy II 264] at 443 n.2 and 493 n.2); De Zulueta (1966:
42–51); Johnston (1999: 80–4). βεβαιόω and related terms of guarantee appear as well in
the legal documents of the so-called Babatha archive: PYadin I 19.25 (πάντα κύρια καὶ
βέβαια (cf. Aramaic in PYadin I 20.15, 38; 22.20); see also καθαροποιῶ (and Aramaic) in
PYadin III.A.1, p. 16.
Table 4 βεβαιόω and the Comparison of 1 Cor 1:6, 8 with Contracts of Sale in
the Papyri
Semantic conventions 1 Cor 1:4–9 POxy II 264

First person verb εὐχαριστῶ ὁμολογῶ
Syntax of βεβαιόω . . . καθὼς τό μαρτύριον . . . κ[αὶ] βεβαιώσειν σοι
τοῦ Χριστοῦ ἐβεβαιώθη τὴν πρᾶσιν πάσῃ
ἐν ὑμῖν . . . βεβαιώσ[ει] ἢ ἐκτείσειν
. . . ὃς καὶ βεβαιώσει ὑμᾶς σοι . . .
ἕως τέλους . . . καὶ βεβαιώσωι καθότι
ἀνεγκλήτους . . . πρόκιται.
Lexical collocations χάρις πράσσω
πᾶς τὸν ὑπάρχοντα
Χριστός τραπέζη
δίδωμι τιμή
πλουτίζω βλάβος (βλαβή)
(μὴ) ὑστερέω κυρία ἡ χείρ
μαρτύριον διαγραφή
ἀνέγκλητος
κοινωνία
Social conventions 1 Cor 1:4–9 POxy II 264
Discourse function of grounding comparison formulaic stipulation in the
verb (καθώς) present guaranteeing a
pointing to past act sale (βεβαιώσειν . . .
confirmation πάσῃ βεβαιώσει)
(ἐβεβαιώθη)
declaration/promise of
future
confirmation (βεβαιώσει)
Agents/actors Paul Ammonius (vendor)
God Tryphon (buyer)
Christ Jesus the assembly Sarapion (banker)
Herakleides (scribe)
Performative features epistolary (eucharistic) contract of sale transaction
declaration record of receipt of
public act of confirmation payment
is obvious that Paul’s Corinthian thanksgiving is not related in the least to

commercial law. Nor, by implication, does the technical sense of
βεβαιόω operative in such commercial texts have any relevance for the
exegesis of Paul’s text. Does this mean, however, that interpreters have
been wrong to see legal language in Paul’s βεβαιόω wordplay? Not
necessarily. Rather, they have failed to identify and distinguish the
proper legal source and function of Paul’s language. The signal term
βεβαιόω has led to a correct intuition regarding the identification of legal
discourse; a failure to attend, however, to the register of Paul’s text with

its semantic conventions has hindered a discovery of the correct genre. In
the case of 1 Cor 1:4–9 and 3:5–4:5, these are interrelated genres of
politeia, as we will see in Chapters 6 and 7. There, it will become evident
that genre (or sub-genre) is the key to the social conventions most
valuable for exegesis. The emergence at this stage of the terms register
and genre, terms that figure importantly as compositional elements in our
exegetical chapters, requires clear definitions.
Most simply, register includes the lexical, grammatical, and syntactical
features of a text, while genre embraces textual content, aims, and func-
tion. Thus, the two linguistic categories relate respectively to the notions of
semantic and social conventions already discussed. Unfortunately there is
no comprehensive study of postclassical (koine) Greek registers, not to
speak of varieties of legal and political registers. Nevertheless, A. Willi has
recently summarized the state of scholarship.40 Registers are “mainly
characterized by co-occurrence patterns” of features such as vocabulary
and verbal syntax.41 It is only once such patterns have been established that
the comparative question of genre should be raised.42 In our case, then, key
politeia terms, especially in collocation, must lead us to the identification
of a comparable register and genre if we are to locate resonances with
either constitutional or covenantal discourses. Even more importantly, the
persuasive classification of texts and text types on the basis of words,
registers, and genres facilitates our perception of dissonances and distinc-
tiveness, with regard to either constitution or covenant, when it comes to
Paul’s politeia discourse. Which is to say, this comparative method enables
a potential interface between constitution and covenant, one that opens up
space for an exegesis that works with the following hypothesis: Paul is
aiming, by a careful arrangement of terms and concepts, at the constitution
of an alternative civic ideology in the assembly. The demonstration of this
hypothesis is the task incumbent on us over the course of the exegetical
chapters.
5.2.6 Summary
We may now summarize the comparative elements that underlie our
exegetical composition in the following chapters. First, we agree with
40
Willi (2010: 297–310).
41
Willi (2010: 298–300). Kurzon (1997: 126–35, at 134): “The major clue to [legal
discourse] is the register, especially the lexical features.”
42
Willi (2010: 306).
Momigliano that “differential comparison,” difficult as it may be, is the

most productive mode for bringing together the NT and other ancient
data. A focus on difference serves us well, particularly in attending to
social, economic, and theological aspects of Paul’s discourse. Thus, in
our exegetical chapters we attempt to move from similarity toward
difference in our analysis of the social patterns implied by the vocabulary
and arrangement of Paul’s text. Constitution and covenant are integral to
this endeavor because they provide heuristic categories and filters that act
as controls on our selection of data relevant to 1 Corinthians. Second, we
seek to move beyond a “word-study” approach that fixates exclusively on
certain terms. In attending not only to lexical semantics but also to issues
of discourse pragmatics, we are able to move from semantic to social
conventions. Determining plausible linguistic registers by a concentra-
tion on collocations leads us to compelling genres within which to
analyze the Pauline text. Needless to say, the confirmation of any com-
parative method is in its results and the reader must postpone a final
evaluation until the conclusion of Part Two.
5.3 Communication and metaphor

By now it will be clear that certain positive communicative assumptions
characterize the comparative approach of this study. In this section., we
briefly outline positions on three aspects of Paul’s communicative rela-
tionship with the Corinthians embodied in his first epistle. First, some
scholars posit a fundamental miscommunication between Paul and those
Corinthians in the assembly. This is an interpretive stance we reject for
reasons enumerated later. In finding such a position untenable, we are led
to investigate two further aspects of Paul’s communication with regard to
1 Corinthians 1:1–4:6. One has to do with the historical features and
social dynamics of ancient letter delivery and lection; the other pertains
to Paul’s use of metaphor. These three aspects – communication gener-
ally, early Christian letter carrying and reading, and metaphor – are each
too complex to receive a full treatment within the scope of this chapter. In
what follows, therefore, we briefly outline some relevant issues and stake
out positions that underlie our exegetical arguments in Chapters 6 and 7.
5.3.1 Postulates of Miscommunication

We referred earlier to J. Z. Smith’s essay “Re: Corinthians.” Smith,
whose work in the theory and method of so-called comparative religion
is well known, is among those who posit a scenario of radical
miscommunication between Paul and some Corinthians. For this reason,

we use his position as a foil for our own.43 He claims that Paul, like early
European missionaries in Papua New Guinea, may have been viewed as
“intrusive” by those in Corinth whose “native religious formations” were
challenged by his message.44 In Paul’s insistent focus on “wisdom,”
“spirit,” and “body,” Smith argues that Paul “has misconstrued these
relations.” Moreover, Smith alleges that Paul “may well have misunder-
stood the practice” of glossolalia in Corinth. For Smith, such a scenario
renders Paul “implausible” and leads to the conclusion that “the
Corinthian situation may well be defined as the efforts at translations
between these understandings and misunderstandings.”45
While Smith’s formulation has provocative aspects,46 we are com-
pelled to reject his rendering of the relationship between Paul and the
Corinthians as less than plausible for the following two reasons. Both are
in keeping with our earlier taxonomy of the politics of Pauline interpreta-
tion in Chapter 1. First, Smith’s aim in such a creative comparison is
highly theoretical and intentionally avoids interacting with first-century
comparative evidence. This may indeed produce a certain salutary dis-
tortion for the interpreter, but in doing so it is avowedly deconstructive
and falls short of a reconstructive re-engagement with Paul and contem-
porary cultural data.47 It is an approach that distorts more than it clarifies
for the biblical scholar committed to a self-critical, evidence-based
method that works at the admittedly more mundane level of words and
clauses, of inscriptions and stratigraphy. Second, and just as problematic,
is the relational wedge Smith drives between apostle and assembly, and
the communicative chasm he opens between author and audience. To
bring attention to these unlikely implications of Smith’s approach is not
to dispute the signs of conflict evident in the Corinthian correspondence.
Rather, it is to note that the gaps assumed are too great given the evidence
we do have, both from Paul himself and from Acts. We grant that in
making this claim, we are employing further assumptions, some of which
(i.e., the usefulness of Acts for reconstructing the Corinthian situation)
we have sought to defend in Chapter 4. Additionally, our predilection for
seeing a more communicative relationship among the parties generally,
43
Smith (2011).
44
Smith (2011: 28).
45
Smith (2011: 31–4).
46
Smith (2011: 27) emphasizes both the promise of such an approach (cognitive
dissonance in the scholar that results in fresh appraisals) and its chief aim (revising a
general theory of religion).
47
Smith (2011: 31) admits he was “not prepared . . . to offer a counterproposal.”
and a more perceptive Paul in particular, will be tested, as it must be, by

our exegesis in Chapters 6 and 7.
It is on these methodological assumptions – our configuration of the
evidence and the test of exegesis – that we primarily base our rendering
of a pastoral Paul who relates, not without conflict or knowing provoca-
tion, to the members of the assembly as to his beloved children in Christ
(ὡς τέκνα μου ἀγαπητά, 1 Cor 4:14). Furthermore, it is no accident that in
the same context in which he addresses them in this way, Paul makes
reference to a fact often eclipsed in the redescriptive enterprise, namely,
the sending of Timothy as (one) communicative mediator between the
apostle and the assembly (4:17). For this reason, having rejected postu-
lates of radical miscommunication between Paul and the Corinthians he
addresses, we turn momentarily to relevant features of epistolary com-
munication via letter carriers, supplemented by “authorized” representa-
tives and lectors.
5.3.2 Literary Unity, Ancient Letter Delivery, and Lection

in the Assembly
If we grant the supposition that Paul, in his emotional relationships and
theological commitments to the Corinthian assembly, would have pre-
ferred to be understood, we must consider how he might have attempted
to make that happen in the case of 1 Corinthians. This raises two inter-
related issues on which we must acknowledge our stance, even if we are
not able here to elaborate a full defense of either one. First, we take the
position that 1 Corinthians constitutes a literary unity, responding to oral
and written reports from Corinth, composed in a reasonably short space
of time. This has remained the consensus position despite important
challenges by a weighty minority of interpreters.48 A combination of
four considerations leaves us unpersuaded by partition theories: (1) the
lack of any manuscript evidence indicating partition (even in the early
P46); (2) the absence of adequate models for the ancient editorial process
of letter collection;49 (3) the early attestation of 1 Corinthians, apparently
as a single epistle, in other early Christian literature;50 and (4) certain
48
Among whom are Weiss (1910: xxxiv–xliii); Schenk (1969); Jewett (1978); Bünker
(1984: 51–9). Overviews of the issue: Hurd (1965: 43–7); Thiselton (2000: 36–41).
Forceful defense of a threefold partition: Welborn (2013a).
49
See Klauck (2003a).
50
Early second century: 1 Clement, passim. Ignatius alludes frequently to 1 Corinthians;
see Grant (1963).
rhetorical and thematic features that obviate the need for partition
hypotheses.51 To be sure, scholars assign varied weight and priority to
these considerations. But all agree that internal, exegetical considerations
are of the highest importance. In the case of the present study, the
presumption of literary unity may find such support in our exegesis of
1 Cor 1:4–9 and 3:5–4:5, in which certain themes that unfold in the later
chapters of 1 Corinthians appear to originate.
Second, even on the basis of the incomplete evidence we have, there
are indications that letter carriers and others may have formed an impor-
tant communicative link between Paul and the assemblies to whom he
wrote.52 We know that the reading out of a Pauline letter in the assembly
was not quite like the modern experiences of either listening to a sermon
or of reading silently.53 We know further that a writer’s representative
might imitate his timbre or mannerisms54 and could expand on or clarify
the contents of his letter.55 Not only Paul’s earnest passion in 1 Cor 4 but,
as seen in Chapter 7, certain stylistic features of his carefully composed
text in 1 Cor 3:5–4:5 suggest that we ought to take seriously the possi-
bility of a considered oral-aural element in the lection of 1 Corinthians.
Such an element, among other factors, justifies the formation of hypoth-
eses regarding the epistle’s receptive response(s).
We must await further detailed investigations of the sociology of letter
delivery and lection before we can say with Botha: “Paul’s dictation of
his letter was, in all probability, also a coaching of the letter carrier and
eventual reader. The carrier of the letter would most likely have seen that
it be read like Paul wanted it to be read.”56 But until such studies appear,
or further evidence emerges, we may at the very least concur with
Botha’s judgment that “most of the addressees of Paul’s letters would
not have read the letters themselves, but would have listened to them,
[a fact that] leads us to the realization that the presentation (the reading) of
the letter itself must have been of concern to Paul and his co-authors.”57
This is perhaps all the more the case for the carefully composed textual
units that form the focus of our exegesis in Part Two. We return to the
51
See Mitchell (1991); Thiselton (2000: 41–52); Malcolm (2013).
52
An assumption with growing support, more easily asserted than proven. See Head
(2009).
53
Botha (1993).
54
Botha (1993: 418–19).
55
Head (2009: 296–8).
56
Botha (1993: 417–19). But see Head (2009: 280–2).
57
Botha (1993: 420); Head (2009: 296–8).
oral-aural features of Paul’s letter particularly in Chapter 7 with regard to

our interpretation of 1 Cor 3:5–9 (see Section 7.6).
5.3.3 Metaphor in Culture

On occasion, as we will see, Paul engages with the Corinthian politeia
more or less directly at the level of process or ideology. He can draw on
either performative aspects related to the constitution as a pattern for
reference or a model to be adapted (see Chapter 6). In doing so, he often
challenges assumptions of status, obligation, and privilege. Sometimes,
however, Paul interacts with legal and constitutional categories more
obliquely in terms of metaphor. One key instance of this is in 3:5–4:5
where, as we argue (in Chapter 7), Paul constructs a complex and power-
ful metaphor centered on the image of temple construction. It is a
metaphor that activates a cultural model, one with implications for
lines of communal authority, service, and glory. Paul then signals to
the reader/auditor that he has argued metaphorically in 4:6 by employing
the verb μετασχηματίζω. To prepare for our exegetical analysis, it is
necessary to define in advance certain key terms and outline the theory of
metaphor with which we will work. This theory of metaphor is also
relevant for considering scholarly claims concerning “legal metaphors”
in other loci in 1 Corinthians, the corpus Paulinum, and the NT generally.
As we employ it then, the term “metaphor” refers to the figurative or
analogical use of language.58 Metaphor is thus a potent way of expres-
sing one thing in terms of another.59 Insights on metaphor from Aristotle
to Ricoeur have not infrequently informed investigations of biblical
texts.60 An important revolution in metaphor theory occurred with
Lakoff and Johnson’s Metaphors We Live By.61 They established decisi-
vely two important aspects of metaphor. First, metaphors are cognitive
and not merely linguistic. That is, metaphors contribute structurally to the
ways people in a given culture conceptualize reality, even at a prelin-
guistic level.62 Second, metaphors are of the body. Our embodiment and
movement through space supplies the experiential basis for much of our
58
Notwithstanding debate on the terminology and categories of metaphor, 1 Cor 3:5–
4:5 is universally acknowledged as an instance of metaphor (or metaphors) by scholars.
59
See Taverniers (2002).
60
Relevant studies: Aasgaard (2004: esp. 23–31); Gupta (2010: esp. 32–5, 46–54);
Jindo (2010: esp. chap. 1); Konsmo (2010: esp. 36–63).
61
Lakoff and Johnson (1980).
62
Lakoff and Johnson (1980: 1–6).
Table 5 Important Aspects of Cognitive Linguistic

Metaphor Theory
1. Source domain
2. Target domain
3. Experiential basis
4. Neural structures
5. Relationships between source and target
6. Mappings
7. Entailments
8. Cultural models
making and use of metaphor.63 These two aspects – the conceptual and
the embodied nature of metaphor – are now universally assumed by those
engaged in cognitive linguistic metaphor research.64
One scholar who has contributed extensively to cognitive-linguistic
metaphor theory is Zoltán Kövecses. In Metaphor in Culture, Kövecses
articulates eleven key characteristics of the current cognitive linguistic
view of metaphor.65 For our purposes, Table 5 highlights eight of these66
that will be helpful for identifying and analyzing Paul’s use of politeia
metaphors in 1 Cor 1–4.
Kövecses explains that the (1) source domain from which a metaphor
is drawn tends to be more physical, whereas the (2) target domain toward
which the metaphor is directed is often more abstract.67 Furthermore, an
embodied, (3) experiential basis for the choice of metaphor conjoins
source and target domains.68 This embodied aspect of metaphor means
that there are (4) neural structures corresponding to the source and target
domains, resulting in the association of discrete areas of the brain for a
given metaphor. Various and multiple (5) relationships are possible
between source and target domains, so that a target may associate with
63
Lakoff and Johnson (1980: 14–21).
64
Lakoff and Johnson unfold further aspects of metaphor (e.g., ontological, epistemo-
logical, and communicative implications of such a cognitive-linguistic view of metaphor).
65
Kövecses (2005); cf. Lloyd (2007). Both analyses demonstrate the importance of
attending to linguistic patterns and the social and embodied contexts of the communicative
parties in forming hypotheses concerning cultural values and categories of thought on the
basis of metaphor.
66
Kövecses (2005: 5–8).
67
Kövecses (2005: 6): the basic (English) metaphor LIFE IS A JOURNEY where LIFE
is the target and JOURNEY the source domain.
68
Kövecses (2005: 8).
more than one source (and vice versa).69 Certain correspondences or

(6) mappings exist between essential elements of the source and target
domains.70 Even beyond these basic correspondences, source domains
often map new inferred characteristics or (7) entailments onto the target
domain.71 Finally, metaphors are often generated by, and generate,
(8) cultural models for conceptualizing the world.72
What Kövecses provides are useful categories for analyzing the
sources, structure, and functions of Paul’s metaphors.73 For example,
in approaching Paul’s use of metaphor in 1 Cor 3:5–4:5, we argue,
contrary to most interpreters, that Paul is not casually shifting images
in this rhetorical unit. Nor is he simply drawing on individual rhetorical
topoi. This view is shown to be the result of an atomistic focus on source
domains (a methodological problem akin to a fixation with word com-
parisons, discussed earlier). Instead, with the help of Kövecses’s theory
of complex cultural metaphors, we attend not only to source domains
but also to the plausible experiential bases, metaphorical relationships,
mappings, and entailments of the extended temple-building metaphor.
We will see that Paul taps into a major cultural metaphor of politeia,
manipulating it for his own ends. Our analysis of Paul’s extended
metaphor in terms of Kövecses’s theory of metaphor provides us access
to social assumptions and conventions in much the same way that the
analysis of genre is able to do with respect to legal language.74
Considered in view of the legal and political dynamics of public
works construction, the metaphor offers us clues with regard to a
specific cultural model and its potential for constituting an alternative
conceptualization of the assembly.
69
Kövecses (2005: 27):“target concepts are not limited to a single source concept.”
70
71
72
Kövecses (2005: 226): “[M]etaphors can do more than just automatically and uncon-
sciously constitute certain aspects of target domains in a static conceptual system. . . . Once
we have a source domain that conventionally constitutes a target, we can use any compo-
nent of this source that fits elements of the target . . . in a dynamic discourse situation the
activated target domain in the discourse can select components of the source that fit a
particular target idea or purpose.” This notion of dynamic discourse selection for a
particular purpose figures importantly in our discussion of 1 Cor 3:5–4:5 in Chapter 7.
73
Theoretically informed analysis is generally lacking in treatments of Pauline meta-
phors: Williams (1999) is a thematic collection of ancient source domains; Collins (2008)
examines the rhetorical function of certain Pauline metaphors. A more sophisticated
approach is found in Gupta (2010); Konsmo (2010).
74
See Jindo (2010: 82–3, 253–5) for the conceptual and social conventions of political-
judicial metaphors in Jeremiah.
To summarize, Kövecses offers an understanding of metaphor as a

“linguistic, conceptual, social-cultural, neural, bodily phenomenon.” He
insists that metaphors are complex in their structure and function and
thereby alerts us to new possibilities of interpreting Paul’s use of meta-
phor in certain texts.75 It is this cognitive linguistic view represented by
Kövecses that informs and guides our analysis, particularly of the
sources, structure, and function of 1 Cor 3:5–4:5.
5.3.4 Summary
In sum, our view of the communication between Paul and the Corinthian
assembly involves several assumptions. First, we reject any postulate of
fundamental miscommunication or misunderstanding. Instead, we affirm,
on the basis of 1 Corinthians, Acts, and ancient convention, that Paul desired
to be understood and worked to be persuasive. This assumption need not
entail a belief that he always was so. In fact, it is clear that he sometimes was
not (e.g., 1 Cor 5:9–11).76 This affirmation receives support from our second
point related to what is known of ancient letter delivery and reading in
assembly. Evidence suggests that Paul could rely on mediating figures and
communicative settings that would facilitate understanding and encourage
clarification or debate in response to his epistles, perhaps especially at
Corinth in the person of Timothy. Finally, when Paul resorts, as he does
by self-admission in 3:5–4:5, to a metaphorical engagement with constitu-
tion and covenant, we are best served by bearing in mind the insights of
cognitive-linguistic metaphor theory. This theory teaches us to avoid a
simplistic view of the sources, purposes, and effects of metaphors and
always to remember their embodied-experiential basis. Each of these com-
municative assumptions undergirds our exegesis in Part Two.
5.4 Corinthian portraiture: Corinth, Paul, and the assembly

Commentary literature on 1 Corinthians usually begins with descriptions
of Roman Corinth, its earliest Christian assembly, and the apostle Paul.
75
Kövecses (2005: 11):“It is complex metaphors – not primary metaphors – with which
people actually engage in their thought in real cultural contexts.” Complex conceptual
metaphors can have several “meaning foci” and “conceptual material is agreed upon by a
community of speakers and represents extremely basic and central knowledge about the
source.” These observations are borne out (see Chapter 7) in Paul’s climactic metaphorical
application of the legal and political dynamics of temple building to himself, Apollos, and
the ekklēsia in 1 Cor 4:6.
76
Mitchell (2010: 18) calls 1 Cor 5:9–11 the “first recorded act of Pauline interpretation.”
These descriptions rightly refer to standard summary works77 but often

do not make use of more recent and relevant studies of the colony and
its political, economic, and social life.78 A full review of such material,
and of its relevance to NT and Corinthian studies is, of course, beyond
the purview of this section. Nonetheless, we must give a brief account
here of our conceptual image – unavoidably shaping and shaped by our
exegesis – of the colony, the apostle, and the assembly.
5.4.1 Roman Corinth

Antony Spawforth, an expert on first-century Achaia, has referred to
Corinth as “the Mexico City of Roman Greece.”79 Although demographic
analyses of Roman Corinth continue to be methodologically refined,80 the
image of a sizable population with an elite, freedman base, landholders,
laborers, itinerant merchants, and a share of urban destitution seems to
emerge.81 Research on Corinthian epigraphy,82 urban and landscape
archaeology,83 and numismatics84 has the potential to improve our com-
posite picture of the setting of Paul’s Corinthian ministry, his epistles, and
the members of the assembly.
One of the important methodological issues facing the interpreter who
would reconstruct any aspect of this setting is that of “identity.”85 One’s
portrait of the colonial population depends, in many respects, on one’s
point of view (i.e., political, ethnic, linguistic) and one’s scope of analysis
(i.e., civic, provincial, imperial). Importantly, for Pauline studies, recent
syntheses have traced the contours of a more complex linguistic, eco-
nomic, ethnic, and religious diversity than ever before. The constitutional
77
Wiseman (1979); Engels (1990). NT scholars seem largely unaware of the critical
review of the latter by Spawforth (1992).
78
See the interdisciplinary trilogy: Schowalter and Friesen (2005); Friesen et al. (2010);
Friesen (2014).
79
Spawforth (1992: 120).
80
Willet (2012).
81
See, inter alia, Millis (2010).
82
E.g., P. Iversen’s work, forthcoming in IG IV 3 (Korinth) rather than the Corinth
series published by the American School of Classical Studies at Athens.
83
Urban: see Williams (1993); Walbank (1997); Romano (2003); Palinkas and Herbst
(2011). Landscape: Alcock (1993); Pettegrew (2007). NT scholars should recognize what is
assumed by the archaeologists, namely, that Cenchreae, Lechaion, Isthmia, and other nodes
in the region are important for understanding social patterns and political-theological issues
in Roman Corinth and Paul’s letters.
84
E.g., Walbank (2010).
85
See Concannon (2014).
evidence we have adduced adds to this and helps anchor and filter other
evidence from the Greek East as we contextualize our interpretations of 1
and 2 Corinthians.
For the purposes of our investigation, we assume a first-century
Roman Corinth with a vibrant and diverse population, an economy
stimulated not only by topographical advantage but also by “building
booms” in the Julio-Claudian period, and a complex cultic landscape that
should not be divorced from our category of politeia.
5.4.2 The Apostle Paul

Margaret Mitchell has argued that “ultimately what is at stake in Pauline
portraiture is Pauline authority.”86 This is especially true for the historian
dealing with Paul and the Corinthian assembly on the basis of Paul’s
epistles. We deal with the question of Paul’s authority in detail in our
exegesis of 1 Cor 3:5–4:5 in Chapter 7. Needless to say, the portrait that
emerges in that passage of the apostle-as-architect is one directed speci-
fically to the Corinthian setting and exigence. What results, therefore,
must be taken as a character sketch rather than as a completed portrait.
Nevertheless, it is a dynamic, clever, and impassioned sketch drawn by
Paul in his apologia that stands at the rhetorical epicenter of 1 Cor 1–4.87
Before we come to an analysis of that character study, however, we must
acknowledge several social and theological assumptions that will be
operative in our reading.
First, our comparison of Paul’s text with categories rooted in Roman
law and politics – particularly, as it will emerge, the forms of rendering
thanks for the merits of civic benefactors and the contractual dynamics of
public building – rests on the assumption that Paul was reasonably
educated, culturally observant, and thoughtful in the composition of his
letter. He comes across as a writer looking for ways to connect with and
challenge his audience. Second, although Paul protests long and loudly in
1 Corinthians against certain aspects of rhetoric and oratory, he himself
appears to be quite comfortable with weaving an argument that is rich in
imagery, coherent in structure, and occasionally punctuated with rheto-
rical figures and aural features. Third, our exegesis, interacting with a
86
Mitchell (2002: 430). As we have seen in Chapter 1, this authority relates to ancient
and contemporary settings and is always contested.
87
Mitchell (2010: 5) suggests we should see that “as master-builder [Paul] crafted
exegetical arguments . . . [his] diction gravitates between longhand and shorthand, the
rhetoric between appeals of dazzling clarity and tantalizing obscurity.”
sizable history of scholarship, leads us to believe that Paul thought

himself to be the divinely commissioned founder of the Corinthian
assembly and was quite serious about asserting his authority in ecclesial
matters. As we argue, he seems to direct his sharpest rhetoric against
certain unnamed figures in 1 Cor 3.88 Yet, unmistakably genuine signs of
care for the members of that assembly color Paul’s tone throughout; we
should not minimize the significance, either, of the many named persons
in 1 Corinthians.
Paul is driven, in the texts we examine, by a concern for the glory of his
patron (the crucified and risen Messiah) and for the edifying form and
function of his message (a testimony to the merits of that Messiah). These
assumptions, while not quite amounting to the compelling composite
portraits of an Augustine (Paul as agonized sinner-being-sanctified) or a
Chrysostom (Paul as the heavenly apostle of untainted virtue),89 are, we
believe, consonant with our aim of understanding Paul and are liable to
confirmation by a close reading of the texts in question. One of their
effects is to focus us on Paul’s text as the nexus of interpretation, without
losing sight of either author or audience.
5.4.3 The Ecclesial Assembly

For the present investigation, the most relevant matters in regard to the
Corinthian assembly are the debated issues of its social composition and
its “institutional” form. Of course, both have been, and continue to be,
hotly debated. As to the assembly’s social composition, we dealt with the
internal evidence of 1 Corinthians and of Acts regarding named Jews and
Gentiles in Chapter 4. It seems clear to us that Paul addresses a group
composed of both. But such ethnic divisions in 1 Corinthians appear
more muted than in other Pauline letters.90 Rather, as Corinthian scholar-
ship has acknowledged, social and economic fractures in the community
divide the “haves” from the “have-nots,” the “strong” from the “weak.”91
These fissures direct us to competing conceptions of political theology,
that is, how members conceive of their participation – together with its
foundations and implications – in the ekklēsia within the larger colonia.
Socioeconomic status and theological viewpoints do not necessarily
88
We delay treating the scholarship on the factions and personalities in 1 Corinthians
until Chapter 7.
89
See Mitchell (2002: 411–23).
90
See, e.g., Richardson (1998).
91
Martin (1999).
directly correlate in the community, as our exegesis will demonstrate.92

Despite corrective protests,93 we hold generally to a form of the so-called
new consensus view of the Corinthian assembly whereby there are, in
addition to those with few resources, some wealthy and high-status
figures with influential participation in the community (and probably
many in the “middle”).94
Such divisions as we glimpse in the text of 1 Corinthians also suggest
an institution with somewhat permeable social boundaries.95 In Paul’s
response, he is eager to address this issue by casting a more strongly
defined vision of the political and ethical contours deriving from his
foundational testimony to Christ. Those contours appear to be traced with
reference to colonial politeia as well as to domestic conventions.96 We
account for this shape in terms of Judge’s “overlapping circles,”97 rather
than, for example, a strong comparison to civic associations.98 As he uses
the term ekklēsia in 1 Corinthians, Paul seems to mean “gathering.”99 In
the framework constructed here, we think that Paul would approve of us
considering it to be a divinely constituted gathering on the order of a
covenant community.
5.4.4 Summary
To avoid carrying out our exegesis against an image of Corinth, Paul, and
the assembly that is constructed from unexamined bricolage, we have all-
too-briefly in this section sketched three indispensable dramatis
personae.100 We hold these images lightly as we engage closely with
Paul’s texts, and the social conventions they sit within, in the following
chapters. But for now, they provide us with enough detail to be aware of
our assumptions and therefore to test them against the data we will
adduce.
92
According to Paul, this non-correlation is a function of the spiritual and revealed
nature of divine wisdom (1 Cor 2:1–16).
93
Meggitt (1998); Friesen (2005).
94
E.g., Horrell (1996). Cf. Millis (2010); Millis (2014).
95
Barclay (2011: 181–203).
96
Paul’s tracing leaves considerable room for wisdom – human and divine – in reach-
ing ethical conclusions. See Barclay (1995).
97
Judge (1960: iii).
98
See Judge (2008); Adams (2009).
99
Recent discussions concerning the source and political implications of Paul’s use of
ekklesia include Trebilco (2011); Van Kooten (2012).
100
Mitchell (2002: 409, 428).
5.5 Conclusion
This chapter has closed the frame for our exegesis in Part Two. It was
necessary, before moving from the evidence of constitution and covenant
to 1 Corinthians, to articulate certain contested assumptions about the
enterprise of comparison; communication; and the figures of Corinth,
Paul, and the assembly that will underlie our investigation. Without full
argumentation, which is beyond the scope of this chapter, we focused on
a differential approach to comparison that moves from words, through
registers, to discourses and the social conventions they entail. In addition,
we have embraced a model that attempts, on the basis of internal evi-
dence and ancient conventions, to hold Paul and the Corinthians closely
together within the arc of communication. Finally, we have outlined the
impressionistic portrait of the colony, the apostle, and the assembly that
we bring to the text of 1 Corinthians. Others may, or may not, agree with
each of these reasoned assumptions, but they are here made explicit. The
reader is thereby able to perceive how they inform, and are shaped by, the
exegetical task to which we now turn.
PART II
Constitution and covenant in 1 Corinthians 1:1–4:6

6
1 C O R I N T H I A N S 1 : 4–9 AN D T H E P O L I T I C S
OF THANKS GIVING
Ἀναλάβετε τὴν ἐπιστολὴν τοῦ μακαρίου Παύλου τοῦ ἀποστόλου.

Τί πρῶτον ὑμῖν ἐν ἀρχῇ τοῦ εὐαγγελίου ἔγραψεν;
1 Clement 47:1–2
The early Christian writing known as 1 Clement preserves for us the first
post-Pauline invitation to attend to 1 Corinthians, urging the Corinthian
church of its day to begin at the beginning. In the indictment of discord
that follows in 1 Clem 47, there is a faint echo of Paul’s letter opening in
1:1–9.1 Yet for the author of 1 Clement,2 as for many subsequent inter-
preters, it seems that the real rhetoric of reconciliation begins with the
παρακαλῶ of 1 Cor 1:10.3 Nevertheless, Paul’s appeal for concord and
the recognition of factions that come in 1:10ff. are not the earliest signs of
politeia discourse within 1 Corinthians.4 Rather, within the heuristic of
our comparative framework, it is the thanksgiving in 1:4–9 that stands
out as a rhetorical constitution of first importance.
As we shall see, in a few compressed verses, Paul employs a lexicon of
benefaction and political community to compose an introduction that
fulfills multiple functions. It is a tightly woven proem that, by its
1
1 Clem 47:6, τὴν βεβαιοτάτην καὶ ἀρχαίαν Κορινθίων ἐκκλησίαν.
2
The answer to the rhetorical question of 1 Clem 47:2 (“What did he first write to you at
the beginning of the gospel?”) that comes in 47:3 (“In truth he wrote to you spiritually about
himself and Cephas and Apollos because even then you had engaged in partisanship”)
implies 1 Cor 1:10–4:6 as the “beginning” of the blessed Paul’s epistle. Cf. Welborn (2003).
3
Mitchell (1991: 63–80, 197–200, 297). These comments apropos of 1:4–9 notwith-
standing, Mitchell’s thesis emphasizing Paul’s prothesis in 1:10 has perpetuated a relative
lack of close attention to the thanksgiving and its function in the letter.
4
Mitchell (1991: 93, 106–11, 136, 194–7) notes political resonances in 1:4–9, focusing
on individual “key terms” (e.g., βεβαιόω, κοινωνία) introduced for the sake of the following
argument. She adduces literary-rhetorical comparanda to suggest a broad category of
political discourse (i.e., deliberative speeches urging concord) but does not pursue the
possibility of a specific register- or genre-based approach to the unit.
137
138 Constitution and covenant in 1 Corinthians 1:1–4:6
compactness of expression, its relentless repetition of Χριστῷ/Χριστοῦ

(1:4, 6, 7, 8, 9), its doubled confirmation (1:6, 8), and its climactic formula
of divine faithfulness (1:9), adapts and applies first-century conventions
entailed in what we might broadly call the politics of thanksgiving. As a
result, it is a textual unit laden with politeia terms (as many have recog-
nized) and marked by politeia conventions (as few have seen), and whose
structure and function offer us a natural point of departure.
Although Paul’s thanksgiving language fits comfortably within the
general Graeco-Roman system of benefaction, there is good reason to
link it specifically to our framework of constitution-covenant. Although
benefaction and the reciprocal honors bestowed on the benefactor oper-
ated in a much broader context than in Roman colonies where constitu-
tional law provided a regulatory framework,5 throughout the Greek East
and in colonial centers such as Corinth certain major public benefactions
served to constitute or reconstitute the local politeia with reference to
Roman power.6 Specifically, these constitutive benefactions exhibit a
constellated pattern of terminology and dynamics focused on communal
rights and privileges that provided the center of gravity for the politics of
thanksgiving. This constellation is present in 1 Cor 1:4–9 and provides
strong warrant for analyzing Paul’s thanksgiving through the lens of
politeia. As we will see, however, Paul’s adaptation of this pattern of
politeia draws on covenantal elements as he seeks to reconstitute the
Corinthian koinonia by recasting the political ground and ethical goal of
the new community within the colony.
This chapter begins by examining the history of interpretation for
1 Cor 1:4–9 to identify and arrange five problems of exegetical detail:
(1) the meaning of the phrase τὸ μαρτύριον τοῦ Χριστοῦ (1:6), (2) the
meaning and function of βεβαιόω (1:6, 8), (3) the referent of ὅς (1:8), (4)
the function of πιστὸς ὁ θεός (1:9), and (5) the meaning of κοινωνία (1:9).
These are exegetical questions that, approached individually and in their
interrelations, lend themselves to a new interpretation according to the
present constitutional hypothesis. In keeping with the categories deli-
neated in Chapter 2, this chapter moves from a broad category (politeia)
to interpretation (alternative civic discourse) by means of the social
conventions signaled by key terms and syntactic conventions (political
discourse). Thus, after the survey of exegetical problems, we next lay out
the data – including that from the charters – relevant to the colonial
politics of thanksgiving. This evidence enables us to foreground key
5
Zuiderhoek (2009: esp. 6–12).
6
E.g., the case of Potamon of Mytilene discussed in this chapter.
1 Corinthians 1:4–9 and the politics of thanksgiving 139
aspects of 1:4–9 in its Corinthian setting and allows us to correlate Paul’s

thanksgiving with the sub-genre and conventions of martyriai, or testi-
monials of gratitude offered to civic patrons and benefactors. Finally, we
offer an exegesis of 1:4–9 that attends to its resonances and dissonances
when set within the context of such political acts of thanksgiving. Such
an exegesis demonstrates that Paul has crafted an introduction that
incorporates Hellenistic and Jewish features, balances genuine gratitude
and veiled rebuke, sets up themes that will reemerge in the letter body,
and works rhetorically at each of these levels to constitute a new vision of
the community.
6.1 History of scholarship on 1 Corinthians 1:4–9

As is so often the case with 1 Corinthians, John Chrysostom set the major
precedent for the interpretation of 1:4–9.7 He was the first to mark the
urgent exigence, careful arrangement, and double rhetorical character of
Paul’s thanksgiving. The situation occasioning this opening, according to
Chrysostom, was “more urgent (ἀναγκαιότερον) than that of his other
epistles.” There was, in the assembly, an inflammation (φλεγμονή) and
disease (νόσημα) caused by theological and moral error as well as by
dissension. In view of this corruption (σηπεδών), Paul initiates a purga-
tive treatment, applying his thanksgiving to the Corinthian assembly as a
physician might dress an angry wound. Chrysostom argued, as have
many since, that Paul’s skill in so doing was evident in both the form
and function of the thanksgiving.8
First, Paul carefully composes his opening, weaving the proem
together by means of the repeated name of Christ. This repetition aggres-
sively pins down (προσηλοῖ) the recipients so that its divine eucharistic
therapy may begin to take effect.9 Furthermore, said Chrysostom, Paul’s
thanksgiving functions as a kind of captatio benevolentiae, its words,
though reproving, “at the same time prepossessing [the recipients] to his
favor.” Whereas Paul’s confidence and gratitude toward God are genu-
ine, his thanksgiving begins already to anticipate the accusations that will
surface in 1:10ff.10
7
Hom. 1 Cor. (PG 61.17–22; NPNF112:6–15).
8
See Hom. 2 Cor. 4:13 (PG 51.271). Cf. Mitchell (2002: 84). This trope (Paul as
physician to the ailing Corinthian assembly) has often reappeared in scholarship.
9
Weiss (1910: 11), “den Namen Christi so eindringlich wie möglich dem Leser ins Ohr
zu hämmern.”
10
Theodoret (PG 82.229–32) echoes Chrysostom. Cf. Colet (1985: 74–5).
If Chrysostom’s general view of the thanksgiving’s form and function

set a trajectory for the subsequent history of interpretation, so too did his
understanding of at least two of its exegetical cruxes, namely, the meaning
of the clause τὸ μαρτύριον τοῦ Χριστοῦ ἐβεβαιώθη ἐν ὑμῖν (1:6) and of the
word κοινωνία (1:9). He took v. 6 as a first strike against Corinthian
pretentions to Hellenistic philosophy and education; to these Paul opposes,
by sharp emphasis, the ineffable grace (ἀφάτος χάρις) of God in the gospel.
Although Chrysostom left open the precise nature of the genitive τοῦ
Χριστοῦ and passes over the force of βεβαιόω, issues that would occupy
later interpreters, he clearly identifies τὸ μαρτύριον with Paul’s prior
proclamation of gospel (βεβαιωθῆναι εἰς τὸ μαρτύριον τοῦ κυρίου,
τουτέστιν, εἰς τὸ κήρυγμα).11 It is in v. 6 in particular that Chrysostom
saw Paul offering, on the one hand, a confirmation intended to win over his
hearers and, on the other hand, a veiled attack on foreign (ἔξωθεν) philo-
sophia and paideia.12 The confirmation of the μαρτύριον τοῦ Χριστοῦ at
the structural center of the Corinthian thanksgiving thus carries a rhetorical
double edge.
In his interpretation of κοινωνία in v. 9, Chrysostom again anticipated, if
only in outline, successive interpretive options. His straightforward answer
to his own question, “What does ‘into the κοινωνία of his Son’ mean?” was
a paraphrase of 2 Tim 2:12 (“if we endure, we shall also reign with him; if
we die with him, we shall also live with him”). In this sense, Chrysostom’s
understanding of the “fellowship” into which the Corinthians were called
prefigured the participationist construals of modern interpreters.13 But in
the series of rhetorical questions building up to this statement, Chrysostom
used a term that leaves room for another, more socio-political, under-
standing of κοινωνία. He exclaimed, “Into the κοινωνία of the Only-
Begotten you were called, yet you assign (προσνέμετε) yourselves to
men?” In such a construction and context, προσνέμω may have political
connotations, implying that Chrysostom thought the Corinthians were
assigning themselves to certain figures, civic stations, or privileges.14
11
Hom. 1 Cor. (PG 61.17).
12
Other patristic commentators thought that Paul here addresses a “mixed” assembly
(Origen: ἐκκλησία ἀναμεμιγμένη, see Jenkins (1908: 232) as if composed of “two populations”
(Ambrosiaster: in una enim plebe duobus populis scribit [CSEL 81/2.6–8]). Colet (1985: 76–7)
speaks of partes . . . factiones . . . ac constitutiones sibi diversorum capitum . . . queque
conventicula.
13
Thiselton (2000: 103–5) overloads his interpretive translation: “into the communal
participation of the sonship of Christ our Lord.” German commentators prefer the some-
what ambiguous term Teilhabe (“share,” “participation”); e.g., Schrage (1991: 123–4).
14
LSJ s.v. προσνέμω. See Plutarch, Pomp. 21.4; Mar. 41.5. for the construction dative +
προσνέμω + accusative (ἑαυτόν/ἐαυτούς). Cf. Muraoka s.v. προσνέμω.
Most subsequent interpreters have agreed with Chrysostom that Paul

conjoins praise and subtle reproof in 1:4–9.15 Some perceive a bite of
irony in Paul’s formulation,16 whereas others see only an eschatological
tension between what the Corinthian Christians were and what they
would become.17 But it was Johannes Weiss who, after Chrysostom,
most closely observed the singular intentionality (die Absichtlichkeit)
and emotional density18 of Paul’s thanksgiving and who hinted that it
might lend itself to a comparison with ancient documentary evidence.19
This anticipated the productive line of investigation into Pauline thanks-
givings in the twentieth century that began with Paul Schubert.
For the first time, Schubert (1939) engaged in a rigorous form-critical
comparison of the thanksgiving periods with the documentary evidence
increasingly available since the mid-nineteenth century. Since
Schubert’s analysis still stands as fundamental, and because it includes
overlooked insights relevant to our approach in this chapter, it is worth
carefully summarizing his findings with respect to 1 Cor 1:4–9. In
general, Schubert concluded the following:
[T]he Pauline letters – functionally as well as formally – occupy
a position between the epigraphical documents (which were
intended for publication) and the humble though formal and
intimate private letters (which were intended merely for the
addressee) . . . [we should not forget] the blunt fact . . . that the
recipients of the Pauline letters used, preserved and finally
published them.20
Remarking on the close formal and functional correspondence between
the thanksgivings and Hellenistic political inscriptions, Schubert
observed,
[I]t must not be forgotten that Paul’s letters, too, are in the strict
sense of the word official letters. They differ from official
political correspondence only in that their function is primarily
religious, and that they are addressed to groups which, mea-
sured by the social and cultural scale, are somewhat below the
15
Bengel (1860: 201); Heinrici (1880: 78–82); Calvin (1948: 39).
16
Heinrici (1880: 80–2); Lindemann (2000: 32).
17
Meyer (1884: 13) “assuredly not ironical.” Followed by Robertson and Plummer
(1971: 4–5). Schrage (1991: 109) notes a certain Spannung between the thanksgiving and
the letter body.
18
Weiss (1910: 6). Cf. Allo (1934: 1); Lindemann (2000: 29).
19
Weiss (1910: 6) engaged early with Deissmann. Cf. Robertson and Plummer (1971: 6).
20
Schubert (1939: 182), italics mine.
communities ostensibly addressed in political edicts and

decrees. . . . But there are significant similarities which are of
importance to the student of the Pauline epistolography.21
Of 1 Cor 1:4–9 specifically, Schubert noted its brevity and structural
simplicity, adding that these features “demand explanation” especially in
relation to 1 Cor 1–6. Furthermore, he commented that the paratactic
καθώς clause is “particularly prominent” in 1:6, highlighting more than
usual a definite formal and functional feature common to many Pauline
thanksgivings.22 In this respect, Schubert offered a structural insight that
supports Chrysostom’s observation concerning the rhetorical centrality
of 1:6 within the thanksgiving period. Both concur that a precise under-
standing of v. 6 is crucial for a full appreciation of the force of Paul’s
thanksgiving.
In Schubert’s typology of Pauline thanksgivings, 1 Cor 1:4–9 is nearly
sui generis; he assigned it to type Ib, associated with, yet structurally
distinct from, the “mixed” thanksgivings found in Rom 1:8; 1 Thess 2:13;
2 Thess 1:3 and 2:13. The foremost characteristic connecting the unit in
1:4–9 to those in the mixed category is the use of a form of εὐχαριστῶ . . .
τῷ θεῷ followed, not by participial phrases, but by a ὅτι- and a ὥστε-
clause. Schubert’s description of the syntactical features in 1 Cor 1:4–9
remains unmatched for its brevity and accuracy:
The εὐχαριστῶ principal clause is effectively enriched by four
adverbial modifiers; it is immediately followed, according to the
pattern [Ib], by a causal ὅτι- clause. The subsequent consecutive
clause (ὥστε + inf.), and a relative clause [ὅς, 1:8] which brings
the eschatological climax, round out the period. V. 9 . . . has
confirmatory force and the style of a benediction.23
Commentators have agreed with Schubert’s structural analysis and his
suggestion that these features cause 1:4–9 to stand out among the Pauline
thanksgivings. What they have failed to notice is Schubert’s judgment
that in all the εὐχαριστῶ texts he surveyed, one stood out because it
offered a “full structural and functional parallel to the Pauline
21
Schubert (1939: 145).
22
Schubert (1939: 31) lists 2 Cor 1:5; Rom 1:13; Phil 1:7; 1 Thess 1:5, 2:13; 2 Thess 1:3;
Col 1:6 (bis), 7; Eph 1:4.
23
Schubert (1939: 31). 1 Cor 1:4–9 is formally distinct from each of the “mixed”
thanksgivings as an extended, well-defined unit with a complete syntactical sequence
(the closest parallel is 1 Thess 2:13). It is also distinct from all other Pauline thanksgivings
in respect of its contents; Paul’s gratitude and praise are based entirely on divine action as
opposed to anything attributed to the recipients; cf. O’Brien (1977: 135).
construction of type Ib.” This text (OGIS 456) is an Augustan inscription

related to a monument honoring the ambassador-orator Potamon of
Mytilene. As we shall see, there is good reason why Schubert compared
it to 1 Cor 1:4–9, reason better than he knew and with implications
beyond mere syntactical correspondences.24 Schubert had duly noted
an epigraphical register (linguistic features identifying a text category)
into which this particular thanksgiving fit remarkably well, but he did not
pursue the implications of its genre (and associated social conventions).
We return to Schubert and his epigraphical comparandum later in
Section 6.2. For now it is important to observe that, after Schubert, the
inscriptions largely represent the road not taken in the study of Pauline
thanksgivings during the remainder of the twentieth century.25
Interpreters have traveled instead the papyrological path in their quest
for comparisons by which to understand the epistolographic form and
function of Paul’s introductions.26 And although their studies have
produced important results, the trajectory they have marked out has
also bypassed important evidence.
Not only did comparative study of Pauline thanksgivings after
Schubert take a papyrological turn; his work sustained a measure of
criticism, primarily from two vantage points. On the one hand, studies
by van Unnik,27 Robinson,28 and von der Osten-Sacken29 argued that
Pauline thanksgivings were less indebted to Hellenistic forms than
Schubert had suggested. Instead, they located the source of the thanks-
giving periods generally, and that of 1 Corinthians in particular, in
Jewish liturgical forms and traditions.30 A separate critique came from
scholars such as Sanders31 and O’Brien,32 who argued that Schubert had
isolated Paul’s thanksgivings, formally and exegetically, from the letter
bodies they introduce.
24
Schubert (1939: 149–51).
25
One notable exception is Harrison (2003: 269–72).
26
Among early efforts were Deissmann (1923); Exler (1923). Relevant, papyrologically
oriented studies after Schubert include Koskenniemi (1956); Sanders (1962); Bjerkelund
(1967); Kim (1972); Berger (1984); Bünker (1984); White (1984); White (1986); Arzt
(1994); Reed (1996); Collins (2010).
27
Van Unnik (1953).
28
Robinson (1964).
29
Von Der Osten-Sacken (1977).
30
Anticipated by Otto, Jahrbuch. für D. Theol. (1867): 678ff.; cited, with disagreement,
by Meyer (1884: 13 n.1).
31
Sanders (1962).
32
O’Brien (1977: 6–15).
These critiques have had an important effect on scholarship.

Interpretations aligning 1:4–9 with Jewish tradition now have the best
claim to consensus,33 with some still looking toward the Hellenistic papyri,
but almost none turning to Hellenistic inscriptions, for help in understand-
ing either the sources of Paul’s language or its function within the letter. In
this respect, most contemporary studies of 1 Corinthians refer both to the
work of Schubert and to that of those proposing Jewish liturgical sources,
but without resolving the question of why both seem to resonate with
Paul’s carefully crafted text in 1:4–9.34 For some, the question of the
Corinthian cultural setting of Paul’s thanksgiving is viewed (if at all) as
secondary; the primary task, according to these scholars, is to proceed
immediately to thematic connections with the letter body.35 The argument
of this chapter is that an interpretation that accounts coherently for the
considered composition, complex Hellenistic-Jewish resonances, and the-
matic connections to the following letter body is the most compelling. An
interpretation grounded in the setting of Roman Corinth and consistent
with the exigence of 1 Corinthians would perhaps be doubly convincing.
We may now summarize the state of the question with regard to the
form and overall function of 1 Cor 1:4–9. What interpreters since
Chrysostom have generally agreed, with refinements, is the following:
Paul’s opening thanksgiving bears all the marks of careful composition.
It is a clearly demarcated textual unit, yet one that flows effectively into
what follows in 1:10ff. Its themes of divine benefaction, confirmation,
and faithfulness are integrated by the repetition of the name of Christ and
reemerge later in the epistle. Paul constructs the thanksgiving around a
central, complex hinge (1:6) that, by its evocation of a past divine
confirmation, and in contrast to the stern reproofs to follow, lends a
double edge to the section as a whole. A repetition of the confirmatory
verb of 1:6 in 1:8, this time in the future tense (βεβαιώσει), builds to an
eschatological climax. The correlation of these two moments of confir-
mation situates the present experience of the letter recipients within the
field of tension they generate. Finally, the entire thanksgiving is
grounded in a formulaic, oath-like conclusion, a veritable benediction
that reinterprets the ἐκκλησία τοῦ θεοῦ in Corinth as part of the κοινωνία
τοῦ υἱοῦ αὐτοῦ Ἰησοῦ Χριστοῦ.
33
At least since Conzelmann (1975: 25–6 and 26 n.14). Cf. Schrage (1991: 109–10);
Ciampa and Rosner (2010: 60–1). Fee (1987: 44 n.45) thinks Paul has adapted his
thanksgiving (and especially 1:9) so well to the context “that any discovery of prior
expressions is not particularly useful for finding its meaning here.”
34
Schrage (1991: 112–13) calls the whole composition sorgfältig.
35
See Pao (2002: 15–17).
Areas where disagreement or unresolved problems remain, apart from

the issue of the debated Hellenistic-Jewish sources of Paul’s language,
relate to exegetical details, some of which we have already glimpsed. To
conclude our survey of scholarship, we must set out the interpretive
options relative to five such problems of detail whose solutions and
interrelation figure in our exegesis. Each of these has continued to pose
a challenge to interpreters, to varying degrees. But the most difficult
challenge is to offer a coherent reading that accounts for the exegetical
details and overall rhetorical function of 1 Cor 1:4–9.
6.1.1 The Meaning of the Phrase τὸ μαρτύριον τοῦ Χριστοῦ in 1:6

Johannes Weiss famously declared that it was impossible precisely to
understand the meaning of this verse.36 MacRae, after serving on the
translation committee for the Revised Standard Version, likewise lamen-
ted the difficulty presented by v. 6.37 Lindemann rightly notes that the
phrase τὸ μαρτύριον τοῦ Χριστοῦ is unique in Paul and in the NT. It is a
phrase that requires two decisions of the interpreter: one as to the sense
and referent of τὸ μαρτύριον and the other concerning the genitival
relationship of τοῦ Χριστοῦ to its nomen regens. It is obvious that each
choice has implications for the other.
Almost all interpreters concur on the sense of τὸ μαρτύριον. It simply
means “testimony.”38 But a surprising number of different views have
been taken as to its referent. By far a majority has agreed with
Chrysostom that it is a synonym for the gospel, the message of the
crucified Messiah proclaimed (by Paul) among the Corinthians.39
Though not all acknowledge it, those who take this view are often
influenced by the reading τὸ μαρτύριον τοῦ θεοῦ in 1 Cor 2:1, itself a
vexed textual variant, yet one that, if genuine, is clearly aligned with
κήρυγμα (2:4) in its own context.40 A minority has referred μαρτύριον to
36
Weiss (1910: 8): “Ein sicheres Verständnis dieses Satzes ist nicht zu erreichen.”
37
MacRae (1982).
38
Vulgate: testimonium Christi; Wyclif’s Bible: the witnessing of Crist; Tyndale’s NT;
KJV: testimony.
39
Chrysostom, Hom. 1 Cor. (PG 61.17); Theodoret (PG 82:229); Luther’s Bibel (die
Predigt von Christus); Grotius (1829: 278); Meyer (1884: 14); Héring (1973: 3);
Conzelmann (1975: 27); O’Brien (1977: 112, 120–1, 137); Lightfoot (1980: 148); Fee
(1987: 40); Schrage (1991: 118). Related: Colet (1985: 68–71): μαρτύριον is the whole
“form of faith”; Bengel (1860: 201): Christ is object and author of the testimony.
40
Exegetical interconnection stressed by Calvin (1948: 41); Grotius (1829: 278);
MacRae (1982: 172–3). For treatment of the textual variant at 2:1, see the Excursus at
the end of this chapter.
the internal conviction experienced by Corinthian believers.41 Still others

see an external referent in terms of the scriptures42 or in signs, miracles,
or gifts of the Holy Spirit.43 Some offer multiple interpretations;44 others
refrain from proposing a specific referent at all.45
In relating τοῦ Χριστοῦ to μαρτύριον, views are split, not quite evenly,
between construing the genitive as objective (testimony to or about
Christ)46 or subjective (Christ’s testimony),47 although some leave open
their options.48 A decision on how to interpret the phrase as a whole
necessarily takes one beyond the lexicographical and grammatical level.
6.1.2 The Meaning and Function of βεβαιόω in 1:6, 8

Paul’s wordplay on βεβαιόω also stands as “a controversial problem of
detail in NT philology.”49 Interpreters agree generally that the lexical
sense of the verb is “to confirm”50 but disagree, especially in the modern
era, over whether its use in either verse (or in both) is in any way “legal”
or “technical.”51 This is an issue that, as we demonstrated in Chapter 5,
cannot be decided on the basis of lexicography alone.
41
Calvin (1948: 40–1); Thiselton (2000: 94) seems to allow for this possibility.
42
Jenkins (1908: 233).
43
Staab (1933: 545): Photius; Erasmus (1990: 437); Calvin (1948: 40–1). MacRae
(1982: 172–4) without mentioning the Spirit, refers μαρτύριον to the new Corinthian
believers such that they “witness to . . . Christ.” Fee (1987: 41 n.6) rejects MacRae’s
“intriguing” suggestion.
44
Origen offers three: Jenkins (1908: 233). Calvin (1948: 40–1) melds the Spirit’s
external power and internal presence.
45
Notably Weiss (1910: 8); Allo (1934: 5).
46
Probably the majority view, taken by most who refer testimony to the gospel:
Theodoret (PG 82:229); Calvin (1948: 40–1); Meyer (1884: 14); Robertson and Plummer
(1971: 4); Conzelmann (1975: 27); O’Brien (1977: 120); Lightfoot (1980: 148); MacRae
(1982: 174) with nuance; Fee (1987: 40).
47
Godet (1971).
48
Jenkins (1908: 233); Barrett (1971: 37–8); Schrage (1991: 118); Thiselton (2000: 94).
49
Arzt-Grabner et al. (2006: 48).
50
Vulgate: confirmatum est in vobis . . . qui et confirmabit vos; Wyclif: is confermyd in
you . . . which also schal conferme you; Tyndale: was confermed in you . . . which shall
streght you; Luther: ist in euch kräftig geworden . . . Der wird euch auch fest erhalten; KJV:
was confirmed in you . . . Who shall also confirm you; RSV: was confirmed among you . . .
who will sustain you.
51
Grotius (1829: 278) first suggested the legal connection (connecting it to the oath eis
bebaiōsis, also correlating with the Hebrew hqym). Deissmann (1977: 104–9) has influ-
enced all subsequent interpretations. This was assured by Schlier’s amplification in TDNT
s.v. βεβαιός, esp. 602–3. Deissmann’s “commercial legal” sense to 1 Cor 1:6, 8 is now
6.1.3 The Referent of ὅς in 1:8

Commentators since patristic times have been divided over whether the
relative pronoun ὅς in 1:8 finds its antecedent in the proximate Χριστοῦ
of 1:752 or the more distant θεῷ of 1:4.53 Some insist on having it both
ways.54 Here, too, the challenge is to find an external control beyond the
grammatical level that can tip the scales in either direction and prevent
theological over-interpretation.55
6.1.4 The Function of πιστὸς ὁ θεός in 1:9

Although the consensus is that 1:9, and the phrase πιστὸς ὁ θεός in
particular, grounds 1:4–9, there is surprisingly little agreement on the
source of this “fixed formula.”56 Nor is there much precision regarding
exactly how it acts as the basis of the thanksgiving and relates to
1:10ff.
6.1.5 The Meaning of κοινωνία in 1:9

Ever since Chrysostom, many interpreters have taken κοινωνία in 1:9
in a strong theological sense as implying a kind of “union with
Christ.”57 Others have focused on the social, legal, or political bond
suggested by the term.58 Several want to hold the legal and relational
standard, with very few who demur: so Fee (1987: 40); Papathomas (2009: 14–18). But see
Conzelmann (1975: 27); O’Brien (1977: 121–2); Mitchell (1991: 106).
52
Meyer (1884: 15); Jenkins (1908: 233); Weiss (1910: 11) takes θεοῦ as the logical
subject but argues that “no reader or listener can refer the ὅς all the way back to v. 4”;
Robertson and Plummer (1971: 7).
53
Grotius (1829: 278–9); Bengel (1860: 202); Conzelmann (1975: 28); Fee (1987: 44).
Calvin (1948: 41);
54
Von Der Osten-Sacken (1977: 194–5); Thiselton (2000: 101): “God-in-Christ.”
55
Schrage (1991: 121–2).
56
Weiss (1910: 11). Dinkler (1962: 174 n.3) rightly observes that 2 Cor 1:18 is a
personal oath (Schwurformel) and not a parallel usage to 1 Cor 1:9. The phrase πιστὸς ὁ
θεός is, of all the exegetical challenges in 1:4–9, the one occasioning the most division
between interpreters who hear a Hellenistic resonance and those who perceive a Jewish
formula (most often mentioning Deut 7:9).
57
Theodoret (PG 82:232) equates it with “adoption” (υἱοθεσία). Fee (1987: 45):
“unusual language in Paul.”
58
Erasmus (1990: 437) glosses the Vulgate’s in societatem with in communionem, sive
consortium. Barrett (1971: 40): “the community – that is, the church”; Mitchell (1991:
136): “[the term] has a long history in political contexts”; Furnish (1999: 35): “a community
of the ‘new covenant’ established in Christ.”
together.59 Should it be translated60 “fellowship,” “participation,” “com-

pany,” “community,” “association,” or otherwise?61 Despite the many
theological arguments scholars have brought to bear on the word in its
context, very few have offered a convincing reason for their rendering that
accounts for Paul’s word choice just here in the thanksgiving. Why, for
example, did he not use ekklēsia instead (as in 1:2)? An interpretation that
offers a compelling generic comparison to Paul’s entire thanksgiving and
that explains his use of κοινωνία in 1:9 as a Stichwort62 in relation to
1:10ff. is a desideratum this chapter seeks to realize.63
In concluding our discussion of the history of scholarship, it is important
to note that apart from the requisite sections treating 1 Cor 1:4–9 in the
commentary literature, there has been a marked lack of attention given to
this textual unit in its own right. The majority of modern scholars differ
only slightly, if at all, from the interpretation offered by Chrysostom.
Deissmann’s dictum on the legal connotation of βεβαιόω in 1:6, 8 continues
to exercise unwarranted and ultimately unhelpful influence. Important gen-
eral insights into Pauline thanksgivings have been offered from various
perspectives in the past century, but no study has picked up the suggestion of
Schubert that a certain genre of political inscriptions might offer the best
overall comparison to the specific, carefully composed thanksgiving found
in 1:4–9. The following analysis begins with Schubert’s intuition and
proceeds to set Paul’s first Corinthian thanksgiving within a political
genre whose conventions relating to patronage, the confirmation of civic
privileges, and the politics of thanksgiving in the Julio-Claudian age allow
us to interpret it between the poles of constitution and covenant.
6.2 The politics of thanksgiving in Graeco-Roman

and Jewish settings
In the history of scholarship just recounted, we noted that of all the texts
surveyed by Schubert, one epigraphical example (OGIS 456) stood out to
59
Thiselton (2000: 103–5): “communal participation,” “shareholders in a sonship
derived from the sonship of Christ”; Ciampa and Rosner (2010: 68): “communion and
fellowship.”
60
Vulgate: in societatem Filii eius; Wyclif: in to the felouschipe of his sone; Tyndale: into
the fellowship of His Son; Luther: zur Gemeinschaft seines Sohnes; Calvin: communio; KJV:
unto the fellowship of his Son. Important studies include Campbell (1932); Seesemann (1933);
Sampley (1980: 72–8); Hainz (1982). Full bibliography in Thiselton (2000: 96).
61
Von Der Osten-Sacken (1977: 180) relates it directly to baptism.
62
Lindemann (2000: 32).
63
Also important, but beyond the scope of this chapter, is relating 1:9 to 10:14–22.
him as “the only full structural and functional parallel” to Paul’s thanks-
giving in 1 Cor 1:4–9. Such an observation, ignored to date, invites
elaboration. As we have seen, the scholarly lack of interest may be traced
to the shift toward papyrological formal comparanda and the growing
consensus that the theological source of Paul’s Corinthian thanksgiving
is to be sought in his Jewish, rather than Hellenistic, experience. Even
among those who do insist on the importance of the Corinthian horizon in
the interpretation of 1 Corinthians, the geographical distance of this text
from Mytilene64 may also account for its absence in exegeses of 1:4–9.
Whatever the case, we see in this section that the socio-political conven-
tions signaled by the inscription to which Schubert directed our attention
fit exceptionally well with constitutional categories and other Corinthian
and Achaian evidence. This, together with the syntactical correspon-
dences between it and Paul’s text, justifies the use of the Mytilenean
inscription as our point of entry in the reconstruction of the politics of
thanksgiving at Corinth and in Paul’s epistle. Such a politics of thanks-
giving, as this section attempts to substantiate, centers on the confirma-
tion of civic privileges and testimonials to the merits of the patron who
secures them. The attendant conventions help structure and perpetuate
power relations within the community and work to orient the ethical life
and the attribution of glory within its politeia.
6.2.1 The Politics of Thanksgiving

Before examining case studies of the politics of thanksgiving in the
Hellenistic, Corinthian, and Jewish experience of the first century, it
will be helpful to describe briefly certain recurrent conventions we
observe. Each of these conventions finds its corollary in Paul’s thanks-
giving and will be relevant for our exegesis in this chapter and the next.
1 Expressions of Civic Gratitude

As Schubert’s work demonstrated, among the political inscriptions we
encounter expressions of civic gratitude.65 Sometimes this thanksgiving
is directed toward a Roman magistrate, sometimes toward a local or
regional elite. Overwhelmingly such expressions assume the form of
official decrees of a civic or regional political body. As variations on a
theme, these expressions of gratitude, while perhaps genuine, are not
64
On the island of Lesbos in the province of Asia Minor.
65
Schubert (1939: 142–58).
innocent. Such thanksgivings played an important role in the politics of

reciprocity that pervaded the Mediterranean world. One significant fea-
ture of that system, especially in the Julio-Claudian era, was the way it
facilitated relations of loyalty between provincial communities and
Rome, the ruling power.
2 Politeia Defined in Relation to Roman Power

Every community in the Roman world responded to the ruling power in
ways that determined its politeia, both in terms of its legal constitution
and its civic way of life. Whether a colony, a free city, or a community of
some other status, cities were granted rights and privileges by Rome.
This political relationship was, in each case, underwritten by the Roman
imperium and, increasingly, by the princeps. Central to the establishment
and maintenance of this relationship was the lexicon of loyalty (fides/
πίστις). Political faithfulness and expressions of gratitude were commu-
nicated by means of envoys who acted as patrons and advocates for their
communities.66
3 Patronage and Civic Privileges

These patron-ambassadors were integral to the communicative net-
work of Roman power. By their oratorical skills and attentiveness to
the shifting political culture, they were responsible for securing
Roman favor for their communities. Quite often this favor was in the
form of grants or confirmations of economic privileges (i.e., tax
exemptions, or ἀτελεία).67 When a Roman magistrate gave or pre-
served such privileges, the sources demonstrate that he employed a
standardized vocabulary; the initial grant (χαρίζομαι, συγχωρῶ,
δίδωμι) was consistently distinguished from subsequent confirmations
(βεβαιόω, τηρέω, φυλάσσω).68 These patrons often doubled as local
benefactors who, from their great wealth, bestowed gifts of various
kinds on their cities (i.e., public buildings, spectacles). Because of
their indispensable role as mediators of privilege, these figures were
honored for their merits, often in a certain sub-genre referred to as a
testimonial.
66
See, inter alia, Millar (1977); Ando (2000).
67
Millar (1977: 410–34).
68
Lewis (1999: 47). Cf. Taubenschlag (1953).
4 The Logic of the Testimonial (Martyria)

In a study relating testimonials, or martyriai, to the NT, Leutzsch defined
this sub-genre of honorific communication in the following terms: “A
μαρτυρία is public, laudatory, and honorific testimony that is issued to a
single figure for his merits, either by a group or by an individual, and
either in oral or written form.”69 Most frequently attested in the inscrip-
tions, these testimonials share formal and functional characteristics, most
noticeably the use of the noun μαρτυρία or a form of the verb μαρτυρῶ.
The recipient of the testimonial, whose merits are praised, is the focus of
honor. This testimony may come from “above” (i.e., a Roman magistrate
testifying to the virtue of a local elite) or from “below” (i.e., individual
citizens or communities testifying to the virtue of a patron).70 As
Leutzsch has demonstrated, this civic sub-genre provided a model both
for early Jewish and Christian groups (but not, apparently, for collegia)
in various geographical and social settings.71 Martyriai had important
and complex social functions, among which were the return of gratitude
and honor to the honorand for virtue and past actions, the reinforcement of
social norms and values, and the exertion of motivating pressure for further
benefactions in the future, either from the honorand or his descendants.72
Together, these communicative functions embody the logic of the testi-
monial, a logic that was always operative in public expressions of gratitude
to patrons who secured privileges for their communities.
5 Public Attribution of Glory

Such testimonials, as a species of official honorific communication,
were communicated by various means. Leutzsch highlights oral, epis-
tolary, and inscribed martyriai in public assembly, familial, synagogue,
and ecclesial settings. Two additional performative features of the logic
of the testimonial are of note, however, particularly for the case studies
to follow and in relation to 1 Cor 1:4–9 in its context and setting. First,
oral testimonials tended to be delivered in public spaces and were often
accompanied by demonstrations of popular acclaim.73 Second,
69
Leutzsch (1994: 31–58, at 32).
70
Leutzsch (1994: 31 n.2) notes the absence of a definitive study of martyriai as a genre
but gathers numerous epigraphical (and other) texts as the basis for his study (see “Anhang
2,” 189–94). See now Kokkinia (2003).
71
Leutzsch (1994: 50–8).
72
Leutzsch (1994: 38–9).
73
Some of Leutzsch’s texts bear this out, although he does not emphasize this perfor-
mative feature.
especially in the case of an inscribed martyria, we must once again

recall Susini’s exhortation to go, if possible, to the place it was located
to grasp fully its meaning.74 Most often, this leads us to a monument of
some sort that incorporates multiple inscribed documents (including
testimonials) and statues or other sculpted images and is related to
nearby civic structures and spaces. This fact should alert us to the
probability that testimonials of this sort usually find their issue in
memorials of some kind. Public acclamation, official texts, and
inscribed monuments were integrated features of the politics of thanks-
giving; centered on the logic of the testimonial, they attributed glory to
the honorand. We turn now to several case studies that illustrate the
conventions of such a politics and thereby illumine Paul’s text.
6.2.2 Potamon of Mytilene and the Politics of Thanksgiving

What led Schubert to the Mytlinenean inscription (OGIS 456) was its
fulsome use of εὐχαριστῶ language.75 What struck him on closer exam-
ination were the structural and functional features of its attribution of
gratitude. As Schubert noted, 1 Cor 1:4–9 is set apart from the other
Pauline thanksgivings (even among his Type Ib) by the following com-
bination of six syntactical features, which, taken with the prominence of
the καθώς clause of 1:6, stands as unique in his epistles:76
1:4 εὐχαριστῶ . . . (I)
τῷ θεῷ . . . (II)
πάντοτε . . . (III)
περὶ ὑμῶν . . . (IV)
ἐπὶ τῇ χάριτι τοῦ θεοῦ . . . (V)
1:5 ὅτι . . . (VI)
In the Mytlinenean decree of gratitude toward Augustus and his house,
Schubert pointed to a basic similarity of structure (εὐχαριστῶ + περί +
gen.; features I and IV) and function (inscribed epistolary gratitude
offered to Augustus and the Senate by the Mytilenean ambassadors)
with Paul’s thanksgiving.77 In his analysis, he supposed rightly that the
formal character of the decree displays “a recognized and conventional
pattern,” concluding, “it is clear that the Pauline formula . . . represents
74
Cf. Meyer (2011).
75
Repeatedly: OGIS 456.34, 54, 63. Text and translation in Rowe (2002: 133–4, 150–1).
76
Schubert (1939: 54–5).
77
Schubert (1939: 150–1).
exactly the same structural and functional usage, and that it must there-
fore be interpreted in the same manner.”78 Schubert added, after survey-
ing several other “political inscriptions,” that in addition to “structural
detail which significantly elucidate[s] some Pauline features, [these
inscriptions] attest the presence of a peculiar εὐχαριστία attitude as an
essential aspect of political life in the Hellenistic world.”79 Certainly
these claims warrant further investigation by those seeking to understand
the full import of Paul’s Corinthian thanksgiving.
Thanks to two important studies, we can say much more about the
conventions entailed in this “peculiar eucharistia attitude” and its rele-
vance for 1 Cor 1:4–9. In a study of Julio-Claudian political culture,
Rowe has set the Mytilenean decree within its proper chapter in the
Augustan cultural revolution. He has connected the inscription to others
that were displayed monumentally, arguing that it tells a story “of the
revolution of consciousness that came when the Greek city discovered
that its fate could be determined by the deeds of a single citizen.”80 This
story is a mixture of “history and biography,” illustrating the redemption
won for a city through the agency of ambassadors, chief of whom, in
Mytilene, was Potamon, an orator honored for his success in winning the
confirmation of civic status and privileges.81 Rowe has demonstrated that
OGIS 456 is “one of the earliest and richest expressions of what the
Augustan regime meant for the Greek world,” an expression that receives
its fullest Mytilenean embodiment in the Potamoneion.82 This was a
lavish monument covered with inscriptions to Potamon, who also
became priest of the imperial cult. He was so honored because of his
successful embassies, the benefactions he bestowed on his community,
and the numerous testimonials to his virtues. His honors recorded on the
monument, possibly a cult shrine in his memory, included preferred
seating in the theater and the titles of benefactor, savior, and founder of
the city – altogether an epigraphical and iconographic pastiche of Roman
and local testimonials to Potamon’s glory, fixed in monumental memory
within the city.83
Zuiderhoek, in a complementary study, has highlighted the social and
political function such honors perform at the civic level.84 Civic
78
Schubert (1939: 151), italics mine.
79
Schubert (1939: 154).
80
Rowe (2002: 125–6).
81
Rowe (2002: 126–35).
82
Rowe (2002: 133–42, at 133).
83
Parker (1991). See also SEG 41.674, 42.756, 45.1087, 55.910ter.
84
Zuiderhoek (2008); exapanded in Zuiderhoek (2009: esp. 71–112).
accolades for elites such as Potamon perpetuated an essentially oli-

garchic ideology, acclaiming local patrons as virtuous and worthy of
their wealth and honor, simultaneously underwriting social hierarchies.
The cities, argues Zuiderhoek,
were home to an elite of strongly oligarchic character and
appearance, a self-consciously politically active assembly/
demos, and a social order based on a hierarchy of status groups
rather than the classical notion of isonomia. The public rituals
associated with euergetism did much to ease possible tensions
arising from this political configuration, by creating a dynamic
exchange of gifts for honours which allowed the elite to present
itself as a virtuous, benevolent upper class, while simulta-
neously allowing the demos to affirm (and thereby legitimate)
or reject this image through the public allocation of honours.
Two conditions, Zuiderhoek suggests, enabled this delicate balance of
oligarchy and popular politics: one politico-cultural in the form of Roman
(read: Augustan) influence on the East, the other economic, in the enjoy-
ment of increased living standards by the “urban professional classes.”85
The conclusions of these studies regarding the tightly woven fabric
connecting civic politeia in the East with the Roman administration are
highly significant for Corinth and 1 Cor 1:4–9 for the following reasons.
First, they provide a theoretical model with social implications that is
important for understanding some of the dynamics within which Paul
operated at Corinth. Many of the conditions for oligarchy and a popular
politics legitimizing social hierarchy outlined by Zuiderhoek obtain in
first-century Roman Corinth and not only in the cities of the Greek
East.86 Second, the elucidation of the role played by local benefactors
such as Potamon of Mytilene as they participated in the Julio-Claudian
cultural script resembles that of Achaian elites such as C. Iulius
Spartiaticus (honored at Corinth in the mid-50s AD). Epigraphical and
monumental evidence related to Potamon and other such ambassador-
benefactors in the Hellenistic world may thus be leveraged in our recon-
struction of a politics of thanksgiving relevant to Corinth and to Paul’s
epistle.
Before turning to the constitutional and Corinthian evidence, we must
consolidate our efforts to go beyond Schubert’s preliminary observations
by summarizing the dynamic structure of the politics of thanksgiving at
85
Zuiderhoek (2008: 444–5).
86
Spawforth (1996); Spawforth (2012). Cf. Millis (2014).
the civic level on the basis of the Mytilenean evidence. Alert to the
politics of the Julian house, Mytilene sent its patron, the orator
Potamon, on multiple embassies to Rome.87 In OGIS 456, Potamon
would have been among those delivering the message, offering tokens
of thanksgiving, and granting divine honors to Augustus for his
benefactions.88 The thanksgiving involved a pair of exhortations, one
explicit and one implicit. Explicitly, Augustus was called on89 to receive
a gold crown and to grant that a commemorative plaque be displayed in
his home, with another (or a stele) bearing the text of the inscribed decree
to be erected in the Capitolium at Rome. Implicitly, Potamon and the
other envoys exhorted Augustus to recognize Mytilenean loyalty and to
extend his favor toward them into the future. On the ambassador’s return,
he was publicly honored and thanked by the city, receiving decrees, other
symbols of honor, and ultimately an inscribed monument. Although the
decree he delivered (OGIS 456) offered thanksgiving to Augustus, as to a
god, Potamon was the focus of glory at the civic level. This is a point
difficult to overemphasize: even the inscribed decree thanking Augustus
and the Senate, in its civic context of performance and display, increased
the glory of Potamon and his house.
Potamon’s acclamation by the community underwrote an oligarchic
ideology so powerful that it shaped Mytilenean politics with reference to
Rome and resulted in a dynasty that extended for centuries. It is important
to stress that the most visible and central element in honors for Potamon
was a monument that came to be called by his name. This so-called
Potamoneion brings the logic of the testimonial (martyria) into sharp
focus because it integrates Roman, provincial, and civic documents
testifying to the ambassador-orator’s virtues and itself offers tangible
testimony to the privileges confirmed to the city by his patronage. In so
doing, the monument functioned to remind the community it owed its
politeia and privileges to the merits of this man.90 The Potamoneion
visually integrated these testimonials, honors, and civic ideology and was
itself a monument that told the story of the community in miniature even
as it redounded to the glory of the one it honored.91 Structured by the
logic of the testimonial-memorial, the politics of thanksgiving was a
87
Parker (1991).
88
OGIS 456.53–6: εὐχαριστῆ σαι δὲ περὶ αὐτοῦ τοὺς πρέσβεις τῇ τε συγκλήτῳ.
89
OGIS 456.48f.: παρακαλεῖν δέ . . .
90
This encouraged Potamon’s descendants to match his virtuous example. In such
monumentally inscribed martyriai, a form of παρακαλῶ makes such exhortation explicit.
91
Rowe (2002: 139–40).
complex phenomenon that found its most tangible expression in the

public acclamations and monuments offered to local patrons.92
6.2.3 Roman Corinth and the Politics of Thanksgiving

At this point, we are able, with the help of the constitutions and related
evidence, to anchor our reconstruction of the politics of thanksgiving in
first-century Roman Corinth. The available evidence brings to our atten-
tion an important constitutional category, specific patron-benefactors
active in the Corinthia, instances of contested confirmations of status
involving Corinth, and the public acclaim and monumental testimony
accorded certain patrons resident in the colony. Locating the politics of
thanksgiving in Corinth allows us to offer an interpretation of 1 Cor
1:4–9 that extends the intuitions of Chrysostom and Schubert regarding
the centrality of 1:6 and one that approaches the other exegetical pro-
blems with a coherent set of socio-political conventions.
Especially since the work of Saller, patronage has figured increasingly
in NT studies and in the interpretation of 1 Corinthians.93 Despite the
growing number of studies, however, it may surprise scholars of Corinth
that certain aspects of the phenomenon were assumed and regulated by
the colonial charter.94
Chapter 97 of the lex Urs. records for us two complementary modes of
colonial patronage:
ne quis IIvir neve quis pro potestate in ea colon(ia) | facito neve
ad decur(iones) referto neve d(ecurionum) d(ecretum) facito |
fiat, quo quis colon(is) colon(iae) patron(us) sit atoptetur|ve
praeter eum, qu〈i〉 c(urator) a(gris) d(andis) a(tsignandis) i(udi-
candis) ex lege Iulia est, eum|que, qui eam colon(iam) dedux-
erit, liberos posteros〈q〉ue | eorum, nisi de m(aioris) p(artis)
decurion(um) 〈qui tum ad〉erunt per tabellam | sententia<m>,
cum non minus (quinquaginta) aderunt, cum e(a) r(es) | con-
suletur. qui atversus ea feceri〈t〉, (sestertium) (quinque milia)
92
Kokkinia (2003: 197).
93
Saller (1982); Wallace-Hadrill (1989). Relevant to the present study: Marshall
(1987); Chow (1992); Clarke (1993); Welborn (2011).
94
The absence of the charter evidence from Chow (1992) leads to some questionable
sociological categories. His interest in personal patronage networks operating within the
colonial sphere ignores or collapses patronal networks linking colony to province and
beyond. For new evidence regarding patronage obligations within a chartered community,
see Ch. 97 of the lex Irn. and the accompanying (so-called) Letter of Domitian at its
conclusion, on which, see Mourgues (1987).
colon(is) | eius colon(iae) d(are) d(amnas) esto, eiusque pecu-

niae colon(orum) eius | colon(iae) cui volet petitio esto.
No duovir or anyone with a potestas in that colony is to act, or
raise (such matters) with the decurions, or to see that a decree of
the decurions be passed, to the effect that anyone be or be
adopted as patron to the colonists of the colony, except the
person, who is the curator for granting or assigning or adjudi-
cating lands according to the lex Iulia, and the person who shall
have founded that colony, their children and descendants,
except according to the opinion by ballot of the majority of
the decurions 〈who〉 shall 〈then〉 be 〈present〉, when that matter
shall be discussed. Whoever shall have acted contrary to these
rules, is to be condemned to pay 5,000 sesterces to the colonists
of that colony, and there is to be suit for that sum by whoever
shall wish of the colonists of that colony. (RS I 25)
This chapter regulates the co-optation, or legal adoption, of patrons by
the colony as a political entity.95 In such a case, the assent, by secret
ballot, of a quorum of decurions was required. Colonial elites were
prohibited from autonomously soliciting a patron on penalty of a hefty
fine.96 In addition to co-optation, there was another way for a colony such
as Corinth to become a client. Ch. 97 reveals that the founder of the
colony and his descendants became patrons by right of deductio (founda-
tion). It is important to note that only in this instance was the clientela of a
patron heritable, his descendants involuntarily assuming the obligations
of patronus toward the colony. There were thus two senses in which a
colony such as Corinth could officially become a client, one voluntary
and the other automatic.97 Corinth appears to have enjoyed cliens status
in both ways. One implication of this is that the politics of thanksgiving
would have been a feature of the Corinthian politeia from its earliest
days. It means further that the colony’s status and political relationship to
Rome were mediated by a tangled network of senatorial, equestrian,
provincial, and local elites.98 These elites were responsible for funding
the major public buildings and monuments that steadily increased the
95
Cf. lex Urs. Chs. 130, 131; lex Flavia Ch. 61; Lamberti (1993: 133–5).
96
The amount varies in lex Urs. Chs. 97, 130 and lex Flavia Ch. 61.
97
Eilers (2002: 17–37, 64–6). This is not to say that all of Corinth’s patrons (or those
enumerated in this section) were “official” in a legal sense; available evidence is
inconclusive.
98
Millis (2014).
public glory of Corinth during the Julio-Claudian era.99 The colony

ensured that they were thanked appropriately.
One instance of automatic patronage is attested by the inscription
honoring M. Vipsanius Agrippa, linked by marriage to the Julian house.100
As the proconsul of Achaia and husband of Augustus’s daughter Julia,
Agrippa was a key cultural broker promoting the Augustan revolution
among the Greek provincial elites, who included Potamon of
Mytilene.101 Stansbury suggested Agrippa was instrumental in the funding
of public works construction in Corinth.102 The inscription erected in his
honor by the members of the tribe Vinicia is modest and cannot be
associated with any particular monument. But the colonial honors offered
to his sons Gaius and Lucius103 and the persistence of his cognomen
among colonial magistrates in Corinth104 further attest the importance
the colony placed on grooming connections to the imperial administration
and Augustan house and on the privileges that followed.105 Torelli argued
that the so-called Babbius monument on the western edge of Corinth’s
forum might actually be a heroon posthumously honoring Agrippa as
Neptune (in connection with Babbius’s dedication of the Fountain of
Poseidon).106 He hypothesized that Agrippa or Cn. Babbius Philinus
himself may have been responsible for funding the construction of
Roman Corinth’s first aqueduct. Agrippa’s patronage of the colony, per-
sonally and indirectly through local elites connected to him, appears to
have confirmed Corinth’s privileged relationship with the Julian house and
to have adorned the colony with public works. Not only the dedication to
Agrippa by the tribe Vinicia but also the Babbius monument (on Torelli’s
99
Perhaps especially colonial magistrates: D’Hautcourt (2001).
100
West 16. For Agrippa, see RP I COR 25.
101
Spawforth (2012: 24–58). Agrippa’s widespread patronage: Eilers (2002: 163,
197–8, 223–4, 284–6).
102
Stansbury (1990: 193).
103
Amandry XI=RPC I 1136–7; cf. Swift (1921: for busts found in the Julian Basilica,
142–59, 337–63).
104
P. Vipsanius Agrippa (RP I COR 650, Amandry XVII=RPC I 1172–9, duovir AD
37/8); P. Caninius Agrippa (RP I COR 135, Amandry XV=RPC I 1149–50, duovir honored
by personal client, reign of Claudius?); L. Caninius Agrippa (RP I COR 134, Amandry
XXIV=RPC I 1210–22, duovir AD 68/9).
105
Rowe (2002: 136–8).
106
RP I COR 111; West 132; Kent 155. Torelli (2001: 148–52) bases this on the
fountain/Neptune connection and Agrippa’s benefactions elsewhere. The monument was
funded and approved by Babbius, implying that although the monument may have reflected
Agrippa’s patronage, the glory went locally to Babbius and his family. See the tell-tale use
of probavit (“he approved it”) in West 132, Kent 135.
hypothesis), demonstrate ways the colony expressed its gratitude to

Agrippa and his descendants in public, inscribed, and monumental form.
In addition to its involuntary patrons,107 Roman Corinth, in keeping
with constitutional regulations, could in principle adopt as many more
patrons as it could attract and to whom it could offer reciprocal gratitude
and honors. Even our quite fragmentary evidence indicates that Corinth
chose often and well.108 Perhaps most notable among them was the third-
generation Euryclid Spartiaticus,109 a figure analogous to Potamon of
Mytilene.110 In an inscription erected by the tribe Calpurnia, the patron
Spartiaticus is honored “on account of his excellence and unsparing and
most lavish generosity both to the divine family and to our colony (ob
virtutem eius et animosam fusissimamque erga domum divinam et erga
coloniam nostr(am) munificientiam).”111 Spawforth noted that this
107
Such as Agrippa: Stansbury (1990: 190–1). These automatic Corinthian patrons
include the descendants of the Julian gens and of the three men (tresviri coloniae dedu-
cundae) who led out the original colonists to the site, allotted land and tribal memberships,
and conducted the foundation rituals (lex Urs. Ch. 66: “C. Caesar, or whoever shall have
founded the colony at his command”). Cf. Gargola (1995: 51–101) and lex Urs. Chs. 15, 16.
For the suggestion that the Corinthian tribes Vatinia, Hostilia, and Maneia preserve the
nomina gentilica of the three deductores, see Torelli (1999).
108
Apart from West 16 (Agrippa) discussed earlier, the term “patron” also appears in
West 56, 57 (C. Iulius Quadratus, RP I COR 352, colonial patron honored by the tribe
Maneia, AD 152/3); West 66 (P. Caninius Agrippa, RP I COR 135); West 68 (C. Iulius
Eurycles Spartiaticus, RP I COR 353; colonial patron honored by the tribe Calpurnia,
Claudius/Nero); West 71 (unknown colonial patron); Kent 67 (emperor, genius honored by
freedman procurator of Achaia, RP I COR 474, AD III); Kent 271 (unknown colonial
patron, date?). Another set of inscriptions that should probably be considered as colonial
patrons are those honoring holders of the post praefectus fabrum: West 212=Kent 131
(Q. Granius Bassus, RP I COR 302; dedication of a bath, Augustan?); Kent 132 (Q. Fabius
Carpetanus, RP I COR 256; Augustan?); Kent 152 (Sex. Olius Secundus, RP I COR 446;
honored by son and wife, Augustan?); Kent 156 (A. Arrius Proculus, RP I COR 87, AD 39);
West 86–90 Kent 158, 159, 161, 162, 163, 234? (Ti. Claudius Dinippus, RP I COR 170,
Claudius/Nero). The praefectus fabrum is accorded patron-like honors in lex Urs. Ch. 127.
Cf. Bitner (2014a).
109
West 68, RP I COR 353, RP II LAC 509; cf. West 73, Meritt 70 (in Greek). On the
Euryclid dynasts and Achaian politics, see now Spawforth (2012). Whether Spartiaticus
was legally adopted as a colonial patron is impossible to ascertain. The absence of D(ecreto)
D(ecurionum) on the dedication by the tribules tribus Calpurniae may or may not be
significant. Spartiaticus held Corinthian citizenship, having served as quinquennial duovir
in 46/7. Cf. Amandry (1988: 22, 74); Spawforth (1994: 219); Spawforth (1996: 174).
110
Family connections to Mytilene: the brother of Spartiaticus, C. Iulius Argolicus,
married into a senatorial family from Mytilene; cf. PIR IV I 372 and Cartledge and
111
C(aio) Iulio Laconis f(ilio) | Euryclis n(epoti) Fab(ia) Spartiati[co], ̣ | [p]rocuratori
Caesaris et Augustae ̣ | Agṛ ị p̣ p̣ inae,
̣ trib(uno) mil(itum), equo p[ublico] | [ex]ornato a divo
“refers inter alia to his generosity in defraying the expenses of his high
priesthood, and the gratitude of the Calpurnian tribesmen makes best
sense if they were among the audience for this generosity as participants
in celebrations at Corinth over which the high priest Spartiaticus
presided.”112 The formulaic phrase erga coloniam nostr(am) (lit.: “with
respect to our colony”) may also recall public works funded by
Spartiaticus as well as privileges confirmed to Corinth by his patronage.113
Spartiaticus, active in the principates of Claudius and Nero, is a prime
example of the link to Roman power and its benefits provided by a
colonial patron. He also illustrates a class of provincial aristocrats who
successfully crafted Roman identities for themselves according to the
Augustan script and in contact with Roman administrative structures.114
In so doing, the Euryclids of Sparta, Potamon of Mytilene, and others set
up dynasties for themselves and garnered continued privileges on behalf
of their communities.115 In terms of Julio-Claudian civic politics, there
are strong analogies across these figures and their communities, analogies
that justify comparisons among them. Yet there are also differences.
Corinth, for example, stands out as a Roman colony rather than a polis,
and its elites had the advantage of living in the very assize center of
Achaia, their own city being the residence of the provincial governor.116
In the case of Spartiaticus and Corinth, the glimpses of colonial gratitude
suggest a wide participation in the tangible benefits he offered by virtue
of his connection to the Roman administration and imperial house. They
Claudio, flaṃ(ini) | divi Iuli, pontif(ici), | IIvir(o) quinq(uennali) iter(um), | agonothete ̣

Isthmion et Caese(reon) | [S]ebasteon, archieri Domus Aug(ustae) | [in] perpetuum, primo
̣
Achaeon, | ob v[i]rtutem eius et animosam | f[usi]s ̣s ̣[im]amque erga domum | divinam et
erga coloniam nostr(am) | munificientiam, tribules | tribu[s] Calpurnia[e] | [pa]trono.
Translation (Spawforth, 1994: 218) “The tribesmen of the Calpurnian tribe (set up
this statue), on account of his excellence and unsparing and most lavish generosity both to
the divine family and to our colony, for their patron Gaius Iulius Spartiaticus, son of Laco,
grandson of Eurycles, of the Fabian tribe, procurator of Caesar and the Augusta Agrippina,
military tribune, decorated with the public horse by the deified Claudius, flamen of the
deified Julius, twice quinquennial duovir, president of the Isthmian and Caesarean
Sebastean games, high priest for life of the Augustan house, the first of the Achaeans to
hold this office.”
112
113
Spartiaticus was also honored (in Greek) at Epidauros (IG IV2, 1 663) and elsewhere
in Greece.
114
Spawforth (2012: 52–8).
115
Spawforth (2012: 40–1, 77–80) likens Potamon to Achaian elites and links him to
M. Agrippa. Cf. Rowe (2002: 124–53).
116
See Millis (2014) for this assumption, which implies provincial ambassadorial
activity in Corinth itself.
also suggest an equally wide participation in public expressions of thanks-

giving that testified to his merits.117
At this point, we must ask what forms such politics of thanksgiving
might have taken in Corinth, especially regarding colonial patrons of
Spartiaticus’s class. How might the relationship of voluntary patronage
have been formalized? What services might he have rendered? In what
contexts might the patron have been acclaimed and thanked by the
community? What other kinds of tangible honors might such patrons
have received as tokens of gratitude?
Extant evidence allows us to piece together a plausible answer to these
questions. First, we have a record of Corinth’s involvement in a conflict
over its colonial rights. A letter directed to the Roman administration on
behalf of neighboring Argos lays out a complaint against Corinth.118 On
the basis of its privileged colonial status, the author maintains, Corinth
had recently levied tribute on Argos to fund certain spectacles associated
with the imperial cult.119 Previously, Argos had sent advocates to chal-
lenge this legal “innovation,” but the case had been bungled and Corinth
was confirmed in its rights and privileges.120 Now, according to the letter,
more virtuous orator-ambassadors were being deployed in hopes of
having the case reopened.121
In this highly rhetorical text, we see an outsider perspective on the
privileged status and power Roman Corinth enjoyed in the region.
Although the Argive ambassadors are named, the patrons representing
Corinth in either case are not.122 Nonetheless, it is not difficult to imagine
a figure such as one of those mentioned earlier successfully securing
Corinth’s rights in this case. Whoever the elite advocate representing
Corinth before the provincial governor may have been, we may be sure
he was duly honored for such valuable services rendered to the
117
Note Kent 306 (P. Licinius Priscus Iuventianus, RP I COR 378) and the effusive
public reception and gratitude offered to the wealthy ambassador-benefactor Epaminondas
of Acraephia, in Boeotia, preserved in the inscribed testimonials of IG VII 2711, 2712 (AD
37). IG VII 2712.82–4 records people lining Epaminondas’s route into the city and offering
“every praise and thanksgiving” (πᾶσαν φιλοτειμίαν καὶ εὐχαριστίαν ἐνδει[κ]νύμενοι). Cf.
Oliver (1971).
118
Ps.-Julian, Letters 198. Greek text: Bidez (1960); earlier date: Keil (1913); date
c. AD 80–120: Spawforth (1994).
119
Ps.-Julian, Letters 198, ll. 22–28 (408b), 62–71 (409c–d).
120
Ps.-Julian, Letters 198, ll. 74–7 (409d).
121
Ps.-Julian, Letters 198, ll. 84–99 (410b–d).
122
Ps.-Julian, Letters 198, l. 89 (410b): Diogenes and Lamprias. Spawforth (1994: 214,
229) connects Lamprias with the Statilii gens known from evidence at Epidauros and
Argos.
Corinthian politeia. As the privileges confirmed were of a kind enjoyed

by a cross section of the colonial community,123 so, too, we may assume
wide participation in public acclaim.
We have some idea what public forms such acclaim might have taken
from a series of inscribed texts at Corinth dating to the Claudian era.
These honors were for a patroness, the well-known Iunia Theodora, a
wealthy Lycian resident in Corinth.124 Her advocacy and the privileges
she secured were for member cities of the Lycian federation (koinon), not
for Corinth itself. But very importantly, for our purposes, she was
acclaimed at Corinth, receiving testimonials (martyriai) that were later
inscribed on a funerary monument near the city.125 These five epistolary
testimonials rendering effusive thanks126 to Iunia Theodora were read
out in Corinth.127 Here, we see Schubert’s “εὐχαριστία attitude” writ
large at Corinth. The agent of the Lycian koinon, one Sextus Iulius,
engaged stonecutters – presumably in Corinth – to execute an honorific
inscription128 for Iunia Theodora and set about preparing additional
honors. These honors, reminiscent of those conferred on Potamon,
included inscriptions, publicly sealed documents for deposition in the
Corinthian archives, gold crowns, gilded portraits, an extravagant gift of
saffron, and, finally, a funerary memorial.129
The testimonials to Iunia Theodora are quite revealing in terms of the
politics of thanksgiving at Corinth precisely in the period around Paul’s
visits and letters. Although, in keeping with the sub-genre of inscribed
martyriai, the texts are selective excerpts, at least one is explicit in its
address “to the magistrates, the council and the people of Corinth.”130 It
123
Spectacles including wild beast shows (venationes): Ps.-Julian, Letters 198, ll. 45–52
(409a); Spawforth (1994: 211, 221).
124
Corinth Inv. 2486. Important bibliography: Pallas et al. (1959); Robert (1960); SEG
47.2310; 48.2214, 51.344. Important NT discussions include Kearsley (1999: 189–211);
Winter (2001: 199–203); Klauck (2003b: 232–47); Winter (2003: 183–93).
125
E.g., l. 9: τὸ ἔθνος τὰς προσηκού|σας αὐτῆι αποδοῦναι μαρτυρίας (Testimionial 1);
cf. ll. 61, 79–80, 84–5. The reuse of the stone prevents us from reconstructing Iunia
Theodora’s funerary testimonial-memorial. For observations on her “Roman funeral hon-
ors,” see Robert (1960); but note Picard’s criticisms (SEG 22.232).
126
l. 21: ἐχρείναμεν δὲ καὶ ὑπεῖν γράψαι, ὅπως εἴδητε τὴν τῆς πόλεως εὐχαριστίαν
(Testimonial 2); l. 25: εἰς τὴν πάντων Λυκίων εὐχαριστίαν (Testimonial 3); cf. ll. 31–2, 61, 84.
127
ll. 37–8: ἵνα δὲ καὶ αὐτὴ Ἰου|νία καὶ ἡ Κορινθίων πόλις ἐπιγνῷ . . . (Testimonial 3); ll.
15, 21: Μυέων ἡ βουλὴ καὶ ὁ δῆμος Κορινθίων ἄρχουσι χαίρειν . . . ὅπως εἰδητε τὴν τῆς
πόλεως εύχαριστίαν (Testimonial 2); cf. l. 46.
128
ll. 11–14.
129
ll. 56, 63–70.
130
Testimonial 2 (from Myra), l. 15.
is entirely possible that this, and other decrees of gratitude for Iunia
Theodora, were read out publicly to large groups in Corinth.
Εὐχαριστῶ–,131 πᾶς–,132 χάρις–,133 and μαρτυρία–134 language appears
frequently in these testimonials, in configurations recalling Paul’s
thanksgiving, with δι’ ὅ or διά (rather than ἐπί) clauses providing the
grounds for thanksgiving.135 As is typical in such testimonials, these
are frequently followed by exhortations (with παρακαλῶ) calling on
Iunia Theodora and her legal heir (the same Sextus Iulius) to extend
and perpetuate benefactions and advocacy for Lycian rights and
privileges.136 The Lycian koinon is especially grateful to have been
included as a beneficiary in Theodora’s testament. Those offering their
gratitude promise to do “everything for the excellence and glory she
deserves.”137
In all, the memorial-dossier of Iunia Theodora illustrates in detailed
fashion the politics of thanksgiving and the logic of the testimonial in
mid–first-century Roman Corinth. Verbal, public acclamation for benefac-
tions and privileges; tangible tokens of gratitude; and, finally, a memorial
inscribed with testimonials – the entire complex epitomizes the politics of
thanksgiving in communities connected to Roman power by civic elites.
Evidence from the charters complements this general picture and
allows us to conceive of additional performative aspects of displays
characterizing public gratitude. Glimpses of public spaces for assembly
appear at several points in both the lex Urs. and the lex Flavia. We are led
to envision a large assembly witnessing occasions such as the adminis-
tration of oaths to public officials “in a contio, openly, before the light of
day, on a market day, facing the forum.”138 In addition, envoys sent on
131
ll. 21, 25, 31–2, 61, 84.
132
ll. 3, 18, 29, 35, 48, 53, 69.
133
ll. 29–30, 35, 61.
134
ll. 9, 16, 31–2, 61, 79–80, 85.
135
ll. 30, 48, 59.
136
l. 33: καὶ ὅτι παρακαλεῖ αὐτὴν προσεπαύξειν τὴν εἰς τὸν δῆμον εὔνοιαν; ll. 54–6
(implied exhortation): τὸ[ν τε δ]ιά|δοχον αὐτῆς Σέκτον Ἰούλιον . . . σπουδῇ πρὸς τὸ ἔθνος
[ἡμ]ῶ[ν σ]τοι|χοῦντα τῇ ἄνωθεν Ἰουνίας πρὸς ἡμᾶς εύνοίᾳ. Unlike the parakalō convention
in testimonials, whereby the patron (and/or her descendants or heirs, in imitation of her) is
exhorted, in return for promised glory, to continue her benefactions into the future, Paul
only directs his exhortation toward the community (1:10f.) on the basis of the benefaction
they have received. Bjerkelund (1967).
137
ll. 35–6: πάντα δὲ πράξει τὰ πρὸς ἀρετὴν αὐτῇ καὶ δόξαν διήκοντα.
138
Lex Urs. Ch. 81. Cf. lex Flavia Chs. 26, 59 and the lex Osca Tabulae Bantinae (RS I
13). For smaller gatherings, by tribal groups (citizens and incolae), see lex Urs. Chs. 15, 16,
101; lex Flavia Chs. 52, 53.
public business were chosen carefully and held accountable for their
ambassadorial business.139 Official proceedings were read out in council,
and on occasion to larger gatherings, and were deposited archivally, with
important documents posted prominently.140 As with the proconsular
letter approving and commending Priscus alluded to earlier (Kent 306,
pro rostris lecta) and the commendation of Iunia Theodora, public
announcements of benefactions, successful embassies, and privileges
confirmed would have been made in central public spaces at Corinth
and attended by sizable crowds of mixed social status, on the model
demonstrated by the regulations concerning the administration of
oaths.141
Although it comes from a later period and from the Latin West, the
following inscription captures many of the contours of colonial gratitude
toward a patron and his descendants that we have been describing and is
therefore worth citing in full:
The citizens of the colonia of Paestum convened in a fully
attended assembly, held a debate and passed the following
resolution.
Because there have accrued to us from the house of Aquilius
Nestorius, this upright gentleman, such numerous, great and
splendid benefactions, with which our colonia has been adorned
(quibus colonia nostra exornata) and which are visible to the
eyes and minds of our citizens, especially when each citizen
looks about him and buildings raised by them meet their gaze,
and thus they have made glorious the appearance of our city,
wherefore the full(?) citizen body has resolved that a return
should be made to them for the great services rendered by
their house, and their other outstanding services too; that they
acknowledge his benefactions as public services to the populus
and are pleased with them. (The citizen body) gratefully offers
(gratulit) him the position of flamen, because, by public accla-
mation (publica voce), the citizens desire that he should be
given that additional honour.
Since Aquilius Nestorius, in consideration of honours given
and received, loves us, his fellow-citizens, with an unparalleled
affection, and his son, Aquilius Aper, will offer us the same
139
Lex Urs. Ch. 92; lex Flavia Ch. G. Cf. Clinton (2003); Clinton (2004); Wörrle
(2004).
140
Lex Urs. Ch. 81; lex Flavia Chs. C, 85, 95.
141
Cf. lex Irn. Ch. 97 and the so-called letter of Domitian. Cf. Mourgues (1987).
affection, the citizens formally resolve to confer on him the

patronage of the city, so that, by relying on the protection of
both, our people may be seen to receive greater honour than we
have offered.
The resolution on this matter was passed by formal vote.142
Whether voluntary or hereditary, Corinth’s clientship meant that the col-
ony was in a relationship of obligatory trust (in fide) with its patrons.143
From them, it expected, asked for, and received favors in various forms,
including the confirmation of colonial status and privileges. To them,
Corinth showed gratitude in the form of statue dedications, inscriptions,
monuments, and acclamatory gratitude in public forums.
6.2.4 The Jewish Politeia and the Politics of Thanksgiving

Greek and Roman communities were not the only sites where the politics
of thanksgiving for privileges confirmed played out in the first century.
This pattern, its attendant conventions, and popular participation, are also
evident in our Jewish sources. The troubled history of the Jewish politeia
in the diaspora further illustrates the currency of the conventions we have
been observing. Given Paul’s own heritage and the mixed membership of
the Corinthian ekklēsia, this Jewish experience of patronage, privilege,
and gratitude is also relevant to the interpretation of 1 Cor 1:4–9. In both
Philo and Josephus we see the pattern of contested rights, embassy and
advocacy by elites, and Roman confirmation of privileges.
Despite participating to various degrees in local civic life, diaspora Jews
in the Roman period vigilantly maintained distinctive rights and privileges
related to their laws and customs. Josephus refers repeatedly to the Jewish
politeia, translated variously as “charter,” “government,” “institutions,” or
“way of life.” One’s politeia was linked to one’s genos, or group identity144
and the Jewish politeia, according to Josephus, was connected to (if not
identical with) the Torah given by God through Moses.145 It was a divinely
appointed order of government inextricably bound up with the Sinai
narrative and the divine presence in the Tabernacle.146 According to
Troiani,
142
AE 1990.211 (Paestum, AD 347). Text, translation, and discussion in Harries et al.
(2003: 139–40).
143
Eilers (2002: 64 n.12): “The phrase in fide is a periphrasis for cliens.”
144
Cf. Josephus, Ant. 1.121.
145
Cf. Josephus Ant. 4.45.
146
E.g., Josephus Ant. 3.84, 213.
An almost unbreakable bond seems to be established between

the right of citizenship, (of Alexandria as of Antioch), and
Moses’ πολιτεία, as much in the general view as in the use of
the terms . . . this πολιτεία also seems to have pre-eminent
ideological value in our texts, and indicates active membership
in Judaism. The πολιτεία is, above all, the constitution of
Moses.147
Especially in the rhetoric of Josephus, then, the politeia of the Jews
signified Mosaic law and custom; this way of life, described in terms of
civic institutions, characterized Jews in the diaspora.148 But it was a way
of life often viewed with suspicion and treated with hostility.
Consequently, the Jews labored constantly to protect their right to live
according to it.149 As a result, appeals for Jewish rights and privileges to
Rome were driven by local concerns and were mediated (or thwarted)
through civic or civic-like channels.150 Much of our evidence relates to
Alexandria, where constant tensions between Jews and non-Jews in the
Egyptian administrative seat flared into violence at multiple points in the
early Empire. In each case, it was connected in some manner to contested
rights and privileges of the Jewish politeia.151 Barclay concludes that the
Alexandrian upheaval of AD 38–41 involved “both the immediate and
general loss of [Jewish] communal privileges . . . and the long-standing
dispute about Jews entering the citizen class.”152 The diaspora experi-
ence of many first-century Jews was one in which rights and privileges –
and the Roman guarantee underlying them – mattered socially, legally,
and politically. Not surprisingly, in political discourse concerning Jewish
rights, both by Jews and about Jews, we find civic conflict giving rise to
the ambassadorial activity.153 As representatives of this discourse, Philo
and Josephus exploit the logic of the testimonial.
In several places, Philo refers to rights and privileges of the Jews as
both contested and confirmed. Writing in protest of the horrific pogrom
suffered by Alexandrian Jews in the reign of Gaius and under the
administration of the prefect Flaccus, he interweaves Jewish loyalty to
147
Troiani (1994: 17).
148
Barclay (1995).
149
Rajak (1984: 123).
150
Rajak (1984: 107–8).
151
Barclay (1996: 60), terminological ambiguity at 70–1.
152
Barclay (1996: 70), italics mine.
153
Troiani (1994: 20) notes PLond 1912, where Claudius reproves two Jewish embas-
sies because they imply two separate politeiai.
Rome and gratitude toward the Augustan house with the confirmation
and preservation of an unmolested politeia. In response to the desecrating
of synagogues and prayer houses with images, he writes,
[The Jews] by losing their prayer houses were losing also . . .
their means of showing reverence to their benefactors, since
they no longer had the sacred buildings in which they could set
forth their thankfulness (οἶς ἐνδιαθήσονται τὸ εὐχάριστον). And
they might have said to their enemies, “You have failed to see
that you are not adding to but taking from the honor given to our
masters, and you do not understand that everywhere in the
habitable world the religious veneration of the Jews for the
Augustan house has its basis as all may see in the prayer houses,
and if we have these destroyed no place, no method is left to us
for paying this honor. If we neglect to pay it when our customs
(τῶν ἐθῶν) permit we should deserve the utmost penalty for not
rendering suitable and full responses [of honor]. But if we fall
short because it is forbidden by our own laws (τοῖς ἰδίοις
νομίμοις), which Augustus also was well pleased to confirm (ἃ
καὶ τῷ Σεβαστῷ φίλον βεβαιοῦν), I do not see what offence,
either small or great, can be laid to our charge.154
Philo artfully links several themes here, arguing from the known con-
ventions of the politics of thanksgiving. The prayer house was the space
in which the Jewish politeia recognized the authority of the Augustan
house. It was there that honor and gratitude were performed and dis-
played (ἐνδιαθήσονται τὸ εὐχάριστον)155 in accordance with their cus-
toms. Augustus himself had confirmed (βεβαιόω) their right and
privilege to adapt the politics of thanksgiving to their own politeia in
this way. Behind such a confirmation lies the intercession of an unknown
patron on behalf of the Jewish politeia. In Philo’s rhetorical construction,
it becomes clear that a violation of the prayer house, therefore, was not
154
Flacc 49–50 (transl. slightly modified from Colson’s Loeb edition). Cf. Barclay
(1996: 51–5).
155
The rare ἐνδιατίθεμαι indicates the physical display of tokens of gratitude within the
prayer houses, probably including inscribed decrees of thanksgiving. Cf. Legat. 133 where
the imperial honors destroyed along with the prayer houses are specified as shields, gilded
crowns, stelae (στηλῶν), and inscriptions (ἐπιγραφῶν). Such decrees expressing gratitude
were inscribed and erected (ἀνατίθημι) on stelae or plaques, often within local temples of
both the one honored and those bestowing the honors (e.g., Mytilene’s inscribed gratitude
offered to Augustus, OGIS 456.48–68). Such a memorial inscription or stele could also be
referred to as a μαρτύριον (Plato, Leges 12.943c; Dionysius Halicarnassus 3.22).
only anti-Jewish but also anti-imperial.156 Flaccus’s refusal to defend the

Jews is thus cast as traitorous because it hindered them in their confirmed
customary mode of rendering and displaying loyalty and gratitude
toward the beneficent patronage of the imperial house. Philo’s reference
to the confirmation of Jewish rights in connection with their participation
in the politics of thanksgiving is then seen as an effective appeal.
In the Legatio ad Gaium, we see a powerful patron interceding on
behalf of the Jewish politeia in the face of the threatened desecration of
the Jerusalem Temple by Gaius. This comes in the letter Philo attributes
to Herod Agrippa. After rehearsing Gaius’s benefactions to him person-
ally, Agrippa alludes to Augustan documentary evidence (τεκμηρίοις) in
support of the Jewish politeia.157 Two letters, a copy of one he apparently
attaches (ἀντίγραφον), demonstrate Augustus’s support for Jewish cultic
practices, the temple collection, gatherings, and the use of envoys.158
Philo’s Agrippa characterizes these Augustan testimonials as “patterns”
(παραδείγματα) for Gaius to emulate, finishing with a rhetorical flourish:
Emperors intercede to emperor for the cause of the laws,
Augusti to an Augustus, grandparents and ancestors to their
descendant . . . and you may almost hear them say, “Do not
destroy the institutions which under the shelter of our wills were
safeguarded to this day (μέχρι καὶ τήμερον ἐφυλάχθη).”159
The appeal to an earlier imperial confirmation (φυλάσσω) secures
Agrippa’s intercessory appeal to Gaius. It is a skillful appeal precisely
because it employs the currency of the confirmation of civic status,
rights, and privileges.
Like Philo, Josephus is familiar with such politics. In Antiquities
Books 14 and 16, he draws together testimonials to demonstrate the
repeated confirmation of rights and privileges that Jews dispersed
throughout the Graeco-Roman world had received.160 His purpose is
apologetic with regard to the Jewish politeia, and his presentation exhi-
bits selectivity and adaptation; yet, the Roman documents he gathers are
no less striking for being propagandistic.161 Although the authenticity of
the documents Josephus musters has engendered debate, many now see
156
Cf. Goodman (1996: 777).
157
Legat. 311.
158
Legat. 311–20.
159
Legat. 321–22.
160
Ant. 14.185–267; 16.160–78.
161
Rajak (1985: 20–21); Rajak (1984: 109–10).
them as preserving subtle details that suggest a high degree of

veracity.162 Even if rhetorically adapted, they preserve a forceful record
of Jewish participation in the politics of thanksgiving during the Roman
period. Josephus’s evidence places beyond dispute the fact that Jewish
communities in Palestine and across the Roman world were familiar with
the conventions related to the confirmation of privileges. Rather than
rehearse the litany of testimonials Josephus adduced, we highlight a
single instance that demonstrates the logic of the testimonial in the
Jewish experience of such politics and patronage.
In response to an embassy (Ant. 16.160–5) from “the Jews of Asia and
Cyrene” that claimed economic mistreatment and general harassment,163
Augustus issued a decision in favor of Jewish privileges. On the basis of
Jewish gratitude (τὸ ἔθνος τὸ τῶν Ἰουδαίων εὐχάριστον εὑρέθη), both
past and present, Augustus decreed that they might follow their own
customs “just as” they had enjoyed them (καθὼς έχρῶντο) in the time of
his father.164 The present gratitude to which the decree refers is to be
interpreted in light of the resolution (τὸ ψήφισμα) conferring honors sent
with the Jewish envoys to Augustus. He ordered that their decree of
thanksgiving be inscribed and displayed conspicuously and in tandem
with his edict granting them privileges, all within his imperial cult temple
at Ancyra. Josephus adds that it “was inscribed upon a pillar in the temple
of Caesar”165 and refers to this and other appended copies as “testimo-
nials” (τὰ ἀντίγραφα μαρτυρία) of “the friendly disposition which our
former rulers had toward us.”166 Josephus’s authorial selectivity con-
ceals the identities of the envoys, but we may be sure they received
accolades from the Jewish communities in Asia and Cyrene whom their
embassy benefited.167
Clearly, as we see from the evidence of Philo and Josephus, many Jews
across the Roman world participated in the politics of thanksgiving and
were familiar with the conventions related to the logic of the testimonial.
They knew its language, forms, and the potential privileges that patron-
age and embassy might procure even if, for them, it was a politics
pursued (at least in part) for the preservation of the Mosaic politeia.
The language of gratitude, benefaction, testimony, and confirmation
162
Most recently Eilers (2009).
163
Ant. 16.160–1.
164
Ant. 16.162–3.
165
Ant. 16.164–5.
166
Ant. 16.161.
167
Cf. Rives (2009).
would have evoked, both for Jewish and Graeco-Roman members of

Paul’s ekklēsia, a pattern of communal honor, privileges, and obligations.
6.2.5 Summary
We have now reconstructed the social conventions surrounding the first-
century politics of thanksgiving. We were led to this network of com-
munal gratitude, honor, and the confirmation of civic privileges by
Schubert’s semantic observations linking 1 Cor 1:4–9 to OGIS 456.
What we have discovered is a socio-political pattern that comfortably
accommodates the language and concepts of Paul’s Corinthian thanks-
giving, the colonial setting of Roman Corinth, and the Jewish experience
under Roman rule. It remains to be seen whether Paul adopts entirely
these conventions, with their oligarchic ideology and assumptions about
the nature and orientation of honor, privileges, and obligation with the
politeia. We now turn to an exegetical investigation of the problematic
features of 1 Cor 1:4–9 in light of this pattern of politeia discourse,
centered as it was on the logic of the testimonial, to discover the meaning
of the form in which it was cast by Paul.
6.3 Politeia and the constitution of community

1 Cor 1:4–9 exhibits features that locate it within the discourse of the
first-century politics of thanksgiving. Its vocabulary of gratitude, privi-
leges, confirmation, testimony, and community is best matched by poli-
tical inscriptions of the type we have examined. With these semantic and
social conventions and the constitutional framework of Roman Corinth
in mind, we are now able to offer new interpretations of the five exege-
tical problems of detail outlined at the start of this chapter. We begin with
the relationship between politeia and power, revealed most clearly in 1:9.
As we saw earlier, the politics of thanksgiving always plays out within
a framework that relates politeia to power (both in the sense of constitu-
tion and of public way of life). This relationship is dynamic, embracing
the originary political act of foundation (by the authority of someone) and
all subsequent acts confirming or augmenting civic status and privileges
(through the mediation of someone). In the case of Roman Corinth, the
colony was constituted on the basis of Caesar’s authority; the mediating
network of patronal ties to the Roman administration and the Julio-
Claudian house bolstered its institutions and public life. These patronal
links, assumed and regulated in part by the charter, were visible in figures
such as M. Vipsanius Agrippa and C. Iulius Spartiaticus. In the case of
the Jewish politeia – for which Moses was the key mediating figure in
terms of the theokratia168 – Roman power fulfilled a similar political
function in local diaspora settings. Herod Agrippa and other envoys
played a role in obtaining protections and privileges for these Jewish
communities. So, too, in the second to third centuries, early Christian
communities experienced the advocacy of elite Christian apologist-
ambassadors who appealed to the imperial house and Roman adminis-
tration on their behalf.169
How does this mediating power structure relate to 1 Cor 1:9 and the
Corinthian assembly? What is the relationship between politeia and
power that Paul presses on the consciousness of the community? We
must bear this question in mind when we come to v. 9 precisely because it
provides the grounding climax of the entire thanksgiving and signals the
political framework for the issues of authority, privilege, status, unity,
purity, and glory to follow in the letter body. In point of fact, this frame-
work binding politeia to power emerges most clearly in the two exege-
tical problems noted earlier in connection with this verse: the function of
the oath-formula πιστὸς ὁ θεός and the meaning of κοινωνία. The solu-
tion to these problems lies in the application of the conventions we have
observed to the syntactical form of v. 9 as it grounds 1:4–9. V. 9 may be
schematized according to its four constituent elements:
I asyndetic oath formula (πιστὸς ὁ θεός)
II verb of calling (δι’ οὗ ἐκλήθητε)
III political relationship (εἰς κοινωνίαν)
IV genitive of person (τοῦ υἱοῦ αὐτοῦ κτλ.)
Von der Osten-Sacken argued that the oath formula in 1 Cor 1:9 is one of
the strongest Jewish elements of the entire thanksgiving, lending it the
feel of a synagogue blessing.170 Yet even he allowed that it underwent
significant adaptation in Paul’s hands.171 In relation to the other elements
of v. 9 and to Paul’s political thanksgiving as a whole, this adaptation is
even more evident. The oath of v. 9, in its context, has strong Roman
echoes and highlights the divine faithfulness underwriting the Corinthian
politeia on the analogy of Roman power in the provinces. To claim this is
not to deny or to obscure the LXX or synagogue (covenantal) resonances
of the phrase; rather, it is to note how a Jewish formula has been skillfully
168
C. Ap. 2.165; cf. Barclay (1995: 142).
169
Rives (2009).
170
Von Der Osten-Sacken (1977).
171
Von Der Osten-Sacken (1977: 183–4, 192).
adapted and applied to a Christian community in a Roman setting in the

Greek world. In fact, the echo of Deut 7:9 that many have perceived here
is amplified when its covenantal context is correlated with that of Paul’s
thanksgiving.172 That is to say, we witness in v. 9 a carefully composed
climax to an expression of political gratitude that appears to be crafted to
communicate to an ethnically mixed assembly in a setting such as Roman
Corinth.
In such Roman guarantees of privileges and status, the oath stands at
the ritual foundation of political alliance. Its pronouncement (accompa-
nied by sacrifice), inscription, and repetition seal and strengthen the
nexus between politeia and power. We see this in a recently published
bronze tablet recording, in Greek, the terms of a treaty made between
Rome and the Lycian koinon in 46 BC.173 The constellation of several
generic and lexical features in the text situate it at the head of the stream
of a Julio-Claudian politics that would give rise to the repeated expres-
sions of gratitude and confirmations of privilege we sampled in the
previous section.
At this turning point in Roman history, roughly contemporary with the
lex Corinthiensis, the treaty text captures vividly the relationship
between Roman power and communities in the Greek East. In it, the
Lycian koinon is granted territorial, economic, and legal privileges; these
are guaranteed by the will of Caesar himself. Near the end of the treaty
comes the clause of confirmation:
Let the Lycians hold, rule and enjoy the fruits of these under all
circumstances, just as (καθώς) Gaius Caesar Imperator decided
and the senate passed a resolution and jointly confirmed
(συνεπεκύρωσεν) this. This is secured (πεφυλαγμένον) by the
law of Caesar. (ll. 61–4)
This is an unambiguous view of the way Roman power underwrote the
terms of such a treaty and the relationship it established and regulated.
That power, introduced earlier in the text as “firm” ([βεβαί]ας), describes
the presupposition of the political relationship and its condition for
preservation. Rome (and particularly Caesar in this case) is the authority,
the agency granting rights and privileges. The treaty is not a martyria
172
Deut 7:9 (LXX): καὶ γνώσῃ ὅτι κύριος ὁ θεός σου, οὗτος θεός, θεός πιστός, ὁ
φυλάσσων διαθήκην καὶ ἔλεος τοῖς ἀγαπῶσιν αὐτὸν καὶ τοῖς φυλάσσουσιν τὰς ἐντολὰς
αὐτοῦ εἰς χιλίας γενεάς. Note the divine confirmation of the covenant and the answering
communal obligation to confirm its commands. By contrast, Paul’s thanksgiving stresses
the double confirmation issuing from divine charis.
173
PSchøyen 25.
text, nor is it an expression of gratitude. Instead, it provides valuable

access to the political moment presupposed by the conventions we
witness in the politics of thanksgiving. Without the granting of such a
relationship and attendant rights, there would be no subsequent traffic of
embassy and thanksgiving, no allocation of honors for local mediating
patrons. Yet even in the treaty text, we glimpse the role played by
ambassadors and the preliminary contours of their local and regional
glory, for it records the names of three Lycian envoys responsible
for officially sealing the treaty with the performance of oaths and
sacrifices.174 All three were no doubt honored by the koinon and by their
individual communities. Among them is one Naukrates, known from other
sources as the kind of elite communal patron epitomized by Potamon.175
Just as Caesar’s authority and power guaranteed this treaty relation-
ship between Rome and Lycia, so too the Corinthian assembly, in 1:9,
depends for its existence and preservation on the divine pistis/fides of
Israel’s covenant God. Through his agency (δι’ οὗ) those in the ekklēsia
were “called” (ἐκλήθητε) into membership and status within the new
community. The well-known Gallio inscription, which itself records a
guarantee of privileges by the Emperor Claudius, uses the same verb of
calling (καλ ̣[εῖν) to authorize the incorporation of noncitizens into the
citizen body of Delphi.176 This calling, as in Paul’s text, is thoroughly
political; that is to say, it is an invitation to take up new rights and status
by joining oneself to a specific community. For Paul, it is a calling that
issues from the ultimate divine authority standing behind (and over) the
newly constituted assembly. In his formulation, the Corinthians who
have joined themselves to the assembly have done so in answer to a
gracious summons into political community (εἰς κοινωνίαν), a commu-
nity connected by its patron and peculiar form of life together with other
such communities founded by Paul.177
Expressed by the preposition εἰς + (anarthrous) κοινωνίαν, a phrase
unique in the NT and rare in other contemporary texts,178 the nature of
this calling into political community is best illustrated by political
inscriptions of the kind this chapter has connected with the structure
174
PSchøyen 25.1–11, 73–8.
175
PSchøyen 25, pp. 239–40.
176
SIG3 801D = FD III, 4.286. Cf. Deissmann (1912: 235–60) and frontispiece; Oliver
(1989: 108–10, no. 31).
177
1 Cor 1:2-σὺν πᾶσιν τοῖς ἐπικαλουμένοις τὸ ὄνομα τοῦ κυρίου ἡμῶν Ἰησοῦ Χριστοῦ
ἐν παντὶ τόπῳ. Cf. 4:17-τὰς ὁδούς μου τὰς ἐν Χριστῶ καθὼς πανταχοῦ ἐν πάσῃ ἐκκλησίᾳ
διδάσκω. Cf. Crook (2004: 175).
178
See Ogereau (2012).
and function of Paul’s thanksgiving. This rare phrase is matched exactly

by one of the many imperial letters preserved on the archive wall at
Aphrodisias in which it refers to a voluntary (and temporary) political
association among the communities of the koinon of Asia.179
Aphrodisias, along with other cities, was “placed in political association”
(τὸ καὶ ὑμᾶς καταστῆσαν εἰς κο[ινωνί]αν, l. 3) on the basis of a “proper
administrative act” (πολείτευμα χρηστόν, ll. 4–5), for the purpose of
offering beneficent assistance to those communities affected by a recent
earthquake in the region. This text attests the formation of a non-binding,
supra-civic association for a specific (political-economic) purpose.180
Despite matching the exact phrasing and supra-civic nature of the asso-
ciation referred to in the Aphrodisias inscription, Paul’s use of koinōnia
in 1:9 has even more in common with two Julio-Claudian texts that set
the abstract noun within the structures of Roman amicitia (political
friendship) formed by treaty.181
One is PSchøyen 25, the Caesarian treaty with Lycia introduced ear-
lier. As a Roman political instrument, the treaty overlaps in function with
both a colonial charter and the Jewish notion of covenant. That is, it
establishes and regulates in detail a political relationship between a
greater and a lesser power, between asymmetrical communities.
Among the names it gives to that political relationship is κοινωνία. The
opening lines of the treaty read as follows:
Between the Roman people and the commune of the Lycians
let there be friendship [and alliance] and community (ll. 6–7,
φιλί|[α καὶ συμμαχία κ]αὶ κοινωνία) unshaken and unaltered for
all time without malicious [deceit]. Let there be eternal peace
(εἰρήνη) both by land and by sea between the Roman people and
the commune of the Lycians. Let the Lycians observe the power
and preeminence of the Romans firmly ([βεβαί]ας) as is proper
in all circumstances in a manner worthy of themselves and of
the Roman people.
Κοινωνία, in such a political context and in collocation with a string of
mutually interpretive terms, renders the Roman notion of amicitia.182
This is the kind of political relationship instituted by a Roman treaty that
drew provincial cities and koina into privileged community with the
179
Aphrodisias & Rome 21 (AD 243)=McCabe Aphrodisias 60.
180
Aphrodisias & Rome 21, pp. 134–5.
181
OCD s.v. amicitia.
182
PSchøyen 25, pp. 185–9.
ruling power. In a second, and very important bilingual text, the exten-
sion of such κοινωνία to “very many other peoples” who experienced the
“good faith” (Gk.: . . . πίστεως ἐπ’ ἐμοῦ ἡγεμόνος; Lat.: . . . fidem me
principe) of the Roman people under Augustus’s leadership is one of his
final boasts (Res Gestae 32.3).183 Under the Julio-Claudian principes,
Rome’s power was advertised as guaranteeing the good order even of
foreign peoples joined to it (as subordinates) by treaty. In light of these
epigraphic comparanda, correlated by key terms, phrases, and conven-
tions with Paul’s text, we are able to grasp the political structure by which
the apostle analogically binds divine power and faithfulness to the newly
constituted community. Such community, as Hainz rightly noted, is
certainly not mystical union with the Messiah.184 It is rather Paul’s way
of expressing the character of the ekklēsia as a visible covenant commu-
nity, bound through its named patron to other similar assemblies, and
given expression in Roman terms familiar to those in the Greek East.
Koinōnia renames the assembly and, in the context of Paul’s thanksgiv-
ing, directs its members to the patron who mediates to them new status
and privileges.
6.4 The mediation of communal privileges

in first-century communities
According to the conventions entailed in the politics of thanksgiving, the
privileges mediated to a community by a patron were cited when such a
benefactor was honored. Moreover, the reason we repeatedly see for the
effusive gratitude of communities toward such figures is explicitly tied to
the moment(s) when the patron’s efforts and merits result in the con-
firmation, by Roman magistrates, of benefits formerly granted. The
community is obligated in such instances to return thanks to such patrons.
This pattern of privilege, confirmation, and thanksgiving finds its fullest
expression, as we have seen, in the logic of the testimonial. Furthermore,
this “politics of munificence” perpetuates an oligarchic civic ideology
and inequality; the bestowal of privileges on people of widely varying
means and status often “served as a social, political and ideological
palliative designed to avert social conflict.”185
How does Paul adopt and adapt this pattern in his political thanksgiv-
ing in 1 Cor 1:4–9? What is the meaning of the key moment(s) of
183
Cooley (2009: 96–7, 255); Judge (2008: 218–19).
184
Hainz (1982: 16–17).
185
Zuiderhoek (2009: 109).
confirmation toward which he directs the community? Where is the

acclaim due the messianic patron and his divine father? And where is
the testimonial-memorial to his glory? Finally, what are the social and
economic implications of the privileges and status mediated by this
patron to those called by his father into new community? Is Paul’s
political theology simply another version of the familiar oligarchic
politics of munificence, re-inscribing, in this case, colonial hierarchy
within the assembly? The pattern traced in this chapter allows us to
answer these questions. Within the conventions of the politics of thanks-
giving, remaining exegetical problems find their resolution. We turn first
to the meaning of βεβαιόω in 1:6, 8 and then to the phrase τὸ μαρτύριον
τοῦ Χριστοῦ in 1:6.
We saw in our case study exploring register and genre in Chapter 5 that
Deissmann’s judgment concerning the commercial-legal resonance of
βεβαιόω and cognates in Paul has been almost universally, but mista-
kenly (at least in our text), accepted. The meaning of the verb in vv. 6 and
8 is not that of a terminus technicus from commercial law. Its significance
is rather to be sought in the generic conventions characterizing the
politics of thanksgiving for civic privileges secured by an ambassador-
patron. In such texts, as Naphtali Lewis has remarked, there is in the first
century a consistent terminology of confirmation. An initial grant of
communal privileges is always indicated with χαρίζομαι, συγχωρῶ, or
δίδωμι. By contrast, βεβαιόω, together with τηρῶ and φυλάσσω, always
expresses “the confirmation of a previous grant.” We see this lexicon of
confirmation set firmly within the politics of thanksgiving and the logic
of the testimonial in the well-known response of Claudius (PLond 1912,
AD 41) to a dual embassy from Alexandria.
Jews and Alexandrian citizens were in open, violent conflict, and both
groups sent envoys to Claudius with honors and requests for the pre-
servation of privileges on the occasion of his accession.186 His response
bears out the consistent use of the βεβαιόω for such confirmation:187
Concerning (περὶ δέ) the requests which you have been anxious
to obtain from me, I decide as follows. All those who have
become ephebes up to the time of my Principate I confirm and
maintain (βέβαιον διαφυλάσσω) in the possession of the
Alexandrian citizenship with all the privileges and indulgences
enjoyed by the city, excepting those who have contrived to
186
Recall the Flaccus crisis in the reign of Gaius Caligula.
187
Lewis (1999).
become ephebes by beguiling you, though born of servile

mothers. And it is equally my will that all the other favors
shall be confirmed (βούλομαι βέβαια) which were granted
(ἐχαρίσθη) to you by former princes and kings and prefects,
as (ὡς καί) the deified Augustus also confirmed (ἐβεβαίωσε)
them.188
Here, we see the language of privileges formerly granted (ἐχαρίσθη,
ἐβεβαίωσε) and subsequently confirmed (βέβαιον διαφυλάσσω,
βούλομαι βέβαια). The politeia of the Alexandrians is reconstituted in
its confirmation by the new princeps of the Julio-Claudian house.189
These are privileges (of citizenship) that, in their confirmation, are
studiously reserved for those well born; men born of slave mothers are
explicitly excluded. Despite the popular acclamation attested by the
thronging crowd gathered to hear the reading out of Claudius’s letter,
its provisions bolster the oligarchic social structure of Alexandria.190
Early in the letter, Claudius grounds his beneficent confirmations in the
expressions of honor and gratitude brought to him by the envoys.191 At
its conclusion, we see most clearly the logic of the testimonial as the
princeps himself testifies to the merits of two of the ambassador-patrons
in particular:
If, desisting from [this conflict], you consent to live with mutual
gentleness and kindness, I on my side will exercise a providence
of very long standing for the city, as one which is bound to us by
traditional friendship. I bear witness (μαρτυρῶι) to my friend
Barbillus of the providence which he has always shown for you
in my presence, who also now (ὃς καὶ νῦν) with every distinc-
tion has advocated your cause; and likewise to my friend
Tiberius Claudius Archibius. Farewell.192
Barbillus and Archibius receive imperial testimonials for their advocacy
on behalf of their city. We may be sure that these two received civic
honors (acclamation? inscribed monuments?) for their roles in the
embassy’s success. Yet not only does Claudius link the enjoyment of
civic privileges (by the Alexandrian elite) to the merits of their patrons;
he conditions their continuation on the avoidance of social conflict in the
188
PLond 1912.52–9.
189
PLond 1912.33.
190
PLond 1912.1–11.
191
PLond 1912.14–51.
192
PLond 1912.100–8.
future. The politics of thanksgiving with its logic of the testimonial is

here deployed in such a manner as to set in proper order all the consti-
tuencies of the Alexandrian social hierarchy. Confirmation here is a
political lever and the mediating patrons are the fulcrum, the entire
mechanism functioning to reorder civic politeia. And, as the Prefect
declared at the head the text, the entire purpose in proclaiming and
then publishing Claudius’s response to the envoys was “in order that
(ἵνα) . . . [the Alexandrians] may admire (θαυμάσητε) the majesty of our
god Caesar and feel gratitude (χάριν ἔχητε) for his goodwill towards
the city.”193
In PLond 1912, as in many of the inscribed testimonials and related
texts described earlier, we witness the act of confirmation at its moment
of proclamation. The case is different in 1 Cor 1:6. There we hear Paul
referring to a past moment (or, more likely, moments) of proclamation. In
his time among the Corinthians, he founded and began to build up the
new community. His primary strategy, according to 1 Corinthians, was
the repeated announcement and elaboration of a single theme: the word
of the cross (1:17–25; 2:1–5). When this proclamation of the crucified
Lord of glory (2:8) is related to the conventions with which he opens his
epistle, we see that Paul presents his gospel as the strange political lever
by which he sought to accomplish the heavy work of community
building. His patron (and that of the new community) is a crucified
Jew; the confirmation he points to is a variation on a humiliating theme.
In evoking his past proclamation among them, Paul (re)presents Jesus
in 1:4–9 as the one who mediates status and privileges to members
of the community. That he does so in this way, and in the context of
1 Corinthians, warrants further reflection.
In the history of interpretation, we saw that many have viewed Paul’s
thanksgiving as double edged, preserving a tension between genuine
gratitude and subtle rebuke.194 We may give new and sharper definition
to this intuition according to the conventional features present in and
absent from 1:4–9. Paul’s gratitude, as in all his thanksgivings, is directed
exclusively to God. Unlike his other thanksgivings, however, this one is
grounded in a series of clauses that threatens, by its use of passive verbal
forms, to elide all Corinthian agency.195 Significantly, there is no men-
tion of any Corinthian testimonial to Christ and his merits.196 In the
193
PLond 1912.7–11.
194
Chrysostom, Hom. 1 Cor. (PG 61.17–22); Calvin (1948: 39); Heinrici (1880: 81–2).
195
196
But see 1 Cor 14:16–17 for members offering (improper) εὐχαριστίαι in assembly
meetings.
crucial hinge of v. 6, where the past confirmation on the basis of (καθώς)

testimony to Christ is re-asserted, the Corinthians are inserted as the site
(ἐν ὑμῖν), and not the agents, of that confirmation. We glimpse here
Paul’s first assault, by his passive construction (ἐβεβαιώθη), on the pride
of those in the assembly who would boast in their own merits, or those of
others, rather than in the proper object of boasting: the Lord Jesus Christ.
The messianic patron who connects the members of the politeia to the
power that supports them (1:24; 3:11, 21–23) has instead been eclipsed,
Paul intimates, by some among his beneficiaries (1:26–29).
Who is the agent of confirmation to be understood in 1:6? Unless we
construe the genitive τὸ μαρτύριον τοῦ Χριστοῦ as subjective (Christ’s
own testimony), it cannot be Christ. Indeed, such an understanding is
excluded by the logic of the testimonial we have discovered, for the
patron mediating privileges to his community is uniformly the recipient
of testimonials.197 We must therefore interpret the genitive as objective
(testimony about Christ and his merits). Three options of agency thus
remain: God, Paul himself, or the Spirit (either internally or externally)
must be understood as the one confirming. Each is possible in light of the
ambiguity of the passive ἐβεβαιώθη and given considerations from the
larger context. A decision regarding who confirmed will depend on what
precisely was confirmed. Therefore, we must examine the problematic
issue of the referent of τὸ μαρτύριον and the relation of v. 6 to the
benefaction clauses of vv. 4 and 5.
Naturally, constraints of lexical sense must limit our search for a
plausible referent. At the lexical level, the neuter noun μαρτύριον has a
circumscribed range of meaning that shifts perceptibly over time. It is
important at the outset to note that μαρτύριον is a distinct lemma from the
related and more common feminine noun μαρτυρία. The two often over-
lap and most interpreters appear to assume an equivalence of meaning
when treating our verse. But μαρτύριον, although commonly having the
sense of testimony or proof,198 tends to appear in distinct formulae in the
LXX and NT, often refers in context to physical objects, and by late
antiquity it comes frequently to mean a martyr’s shrine or monument
commemorating an ecclesial official.199 Paul’s choice of the word form
here in the context of v. 6 and his repetition of the noun in 2:1 indicate a
197
E.g., Iunia Theodora, Barbillus, and Archibius, discussed earlier in this chapter.
198
BDAG s.v. μαρτύριον, improves LSJ, providing a definition in sense 1 (as opposed to
a gloss): that which serves as testimony or proof, further classifying 1 Cor 1:6 under 1b as a
“statement.” Fascicles of DGE have not reached the letter μ.
199
Lampe, s.v. μαρτύριον (III). Papyrological examples: Papathomas (2009: 13–14).
considered choice with implications for his argument regarding the

community’s foundation and growth.200
Despite shortcomings, Strathmann’s treatment of μαρτύριον in TDNT
rightly draws attention to the legal and covenantal contexts in which the
term often occurs in the Jewish scriptures.201 In the LXX, it appears
repeatedly in association with the ark of the testimony that contained the
inscribed tablets of the covenant (always in the neuter plural), always
associated with the tabernacle or temple.202 Also occurring in contexts of
covenant making and oath-signs, the fixed phrase εἰς μαρτύριον almost
always refers to a physical object ritually associated with the covenant.
These objects (e.g., ewe lambs [Gen 21:30], a stone pillar [Gen
31:44–45], the book of the law-covenant [Deut 31:26]) stand as wit-
nesses reminding the parties of the terms of the covenant, often with the
intent of rebuking or accusing covenant breakers. When the singular
neuter form appears alone, the oath-sign to which it refers may embody
the covenant itself (Josh 22:27; Ruth 4:7). In such cases, one could
almost translate μαρτύριον as “covenant” (Is 55:3–4; Ps 78:5). One
wonders whether Jewish members of the Corinthian assembly, familiar
with this covenantal resonance of the term (perhaps even in its
Deuteronomic form in synagogue worship) would have heard the cove-
nantal echo in Paul’s formulation in 1 Cor 1:6.203 In light of its uses in the
Jewish scriptures, it is possible that it struck them as the confirmation of a
divine covenant instituted by Christ, founding and structuring the
κοινωνία as a local site of messianic covenant community.
In NT usage, the Gospels, Hebrews, and James carry over the scrip-
tural formula εἰς μαρτύριον with its familiar LXX meaning.204 But the
corpus Paulinum contains a deviation from this formula, and among the
Hauptbriefe the bare neuter singular μαρτύριον occurs only three times,
all in the Corinthian correspondence, each with a distinctive qualifying
genitive phrase.205 In 2 Cor 1:12 Paul speaks of the inward testimony of
his conscience (τὸ μαρτύριον τῆς συνειδήσεως ἡμῶν) as the basis of his
boasting. At 1 Cor 2:1 he insists on the humiliating character of his
proclamation of the μαρτύριον τοῦ θεοῦ when he was among them to
200
See the Excursus to this chapter for a new defense of the reading μαρτύριον at 2:1.
201
TDNT vol. 4, s.v. μάρτυς κτλ., 485–6. Cf. Muraoka, s.v. μαρτύριον.
202
E.g., Ex 25:16, καὶ ἐμβαλεῖς εἰς τὴν κιβωτὸν τὰ μαρτύρια.
203
Furnish (1999: 35) tentatively suggests “a community of the ‘new covenant’ estab-
lished in Christ.”
204
TDNT vol. 4, s.v. μάρτυς κτλ., 502–4.
205
See also 2 Thess 1:10 (τὸ μαρτύριον ἡμῶν); 1 Tim 2:6 (τὸ μαρτύριον καιροῖς ἰδίοις);
2 Tim 1:8 (τὸ μαρτύριον τοῦ κυρίου ἡμῶν).
stress its spiritual origin, power, and condition of reception. As we saw

early in this chapter, it is this instance of the same rare Pauline term in 2:1
that is frequently appealed to by interpreters who would understand the
μαρτύριον τοῦ Χριστοῦ in 1:6 as a locution for the gospel (κήρυγμα).206
On the principle of proximate usage, 2:1 is certainly critical for the
interpretation of μαρτύριον in 1:6; yet even if we grant for the moment
that in 2:1 it means “testimony” and refers strictly to “verbal proclama-
tion,” two facts caution against a strict equivalence between the occur-
rences in 2:1 and 1:6. First, the qualifying genitive phrases are distinct. In
2:1, Paul speaks of the μαρτύριον τοῦ θεοῦ. To be sure, this involves,
according to 2:2, the announcement and interpretation of Christ crucified.
But its alteration from the τοῦ Χριστοῦ of 1:6 is an important nuance and
certainly more than mere variatio. Second, although both contexts speak
of the past time when Paul was among the Corinthians, the kerygmatic
context is far more explicit in 1 Cor 2. In 1:6, it must be inferred from the
ἐν παντὶ λόγῳ καὶ πάσῃ γνώσει of v. 5. We return shortly to the καθώς
that links vv. 5 and 6 to test this inference within the flow of Paul’s
discourse.
When we turn to extra-biblical texts, a survey of the uses of μαρτύριον
yields several that connect with the proclaimed and monumentally
inscribed testimonials we examined earlier. Plato (Leg 12.943c) proposes
a wreath of olive leaves that, together with an inscription, would be
granted to meritorious soldiers, to be hung by them in the temple of
their choice as a μαρτύριον (γράψαντα ἀναθεῖναι μαρτύριον). The
inscription would reflect any evidence or verbal testimonials (μήτε
τεκμήριον μήτε μαρτύρων) produced on the soldier’s behalf. Dio
Chrysostom (Troj. [Or 11] 121–2), in his discourse on the Trojan War,
refers to a large and beautiful offering to Athena bearing an inscription
(ἀνάθημα κάλλιστον καὶ μέγιστον τῇ Ἀθηνᾷ καὶ ἐπιγράψειν), the exis-
tence of which stood against the Greeks as a μαρτύριον to their defeat
(καθ’ ἑαυτῶν δὲ γίγνεσθαι μαρτύριον ὡς ἡττημένων). Pausanias (1.27)
speaks of an olive tree sacred to Athena that instantly regenerated on the
day the Persians burned Athens; it thus became a μαρτύριον established
by the goddess reminding the Athenians of her agōn for them (τῇ θεῷ
μαρτύριον γενέσθαι τοῦτο ἐς τὸν ἀγῶνα τὸν ἐπὶ τῇ χώρᾳ). Dionysius
Halicarnassus (3.22) writes of two monuments to Horatius, one a mem-
orial (μνημεῖον) called the “sister’s beam,” the other the pila Horatia, a
knee-high pillar (γωνιαία στύλις) set in a corner of the Forum as a bravery
memorial (μάχηνμαρτύριον). In each of these examples, we see a
206
Chrysostom, Hom. 1 Cor. (PG 61.17); Lightfoot (1980: 148); Fee (1987: 40).
μαρτύριον set as a physical, often inscribed or iconographic, memorial

with a testimonial function in a civic context. Each also plays a role in the
maintenance of civic memory and virtue in its respective community,
alternately bolstering and accusing community members according to
their personal conformity to the virtues the μαρτύριον exemplifies.207 As
such, these uses of μαρτύριον come very near to many of those we see in
covenantal contexts in the LXX, suggesting the term could have this
connotation for Greeks, Romans, and Jews alike.
How does the lexical and referential range of μαρτύριον observed here
join with the logic of the testimonial to help us decide the referent of the
term in 1 Cor 1:6? The best comparanda, both from the LXX (oath-sign)
and political texts (inscribed monument) suggest a testimonial to the
merits of Christ, originally proclaimed at Corinth, that becomes fixed in
symbolic or physical form to anchor the identity of the new community in
relation to its patron and the privileges he has mediated. At this point,
we may venture a paraphrase of v. 6: just as the testimonial-memorial to
Christ and his merits was confirmed among you. The referent of
μαρτύριον, as reflected in this paraphrase, is Paul’s verbal testimony
that, in and after its initial proclamation, is somehow fixed within the
community such that it serves as the focal point of its politeia. It is a word
focused on the crucified Messiah, as suggested by the link to μαρτύριον
in 2:1, a word that cries out to be inscribed and set, with due acclamation
and glory, within a monumental structure in the center of the new
community.208 We will see in the following chapter just how Paul, the
architect, envisions this display of the politics of thanksgiving in the new
community temple.
If 2:1 helps us link the μαρτύριον with Paul’s cruciform κήρυγμα, then
2:4ff. corroborates what others have suggested, namely, that the Spirit,
too, is at work in the confirmation of Paul’s thanksgiving.209 In the
extended reason Paul gives (οὐ γάρ . . . κἀγῶ . . . καί, 2:2–4) for his
avoiding preeminence of speech in proclaiming the μαρτύριον of
God (2:1), he attributes the power of his proclamation to the Spirit
(ἐν ἀποδείξει πνεύματος καὶ δυνάμεως, 2:4). Lexical and rhetorical
similarities between 2:1–4 and 1:4–6 suggest the presence of the Spirit
in the latter as well as the former. In such a reading of v. 6, we ought to
207
Cf. Res Gestae 34.2 where Augustus claims that the senatorial decree, set up in the
curia Iuliae: “testifies to me (ἐμοὶ μαρτυρεῖ) through its inscription (διὰ τῆς ἐπιγραφῆς).”
208
Cf. MacRae (1982: 173–4).
209
Weiss (1910: 8); Calvin (1948: 40–1); Thiselton (2000: 94).
understand the divine Spirit setting his sealing power on the confirmation
of the word of the cross, preached by Paul among them.210
Our understanding of the agency behind the confirmation of 1:6 as
the Pauline word empowered by the divine Spirit is strengthened by a
consideration of the καθώς linking vv. 5 and 6. The conventions of
confirmation in the texts we have examined in this chapter show that
conjunctions such as καθώς signal the norming ground of a confirma-
tion or extension of privileges. We saw this expressed in the Claudian
confirmation of privileges to Alexandria in the clause “just as the
deified Augustus also confirmed them (ὡς καὶ [ὁ] θεὸς Σεβαστὸς
ἐβεβαίωσε).”211 Claudius’s use of ὡς καί here is formally and func-
tionally equivalent to καθώς, comparing his act of confirmation to that
of Augustus before him. But the comparison is also the ground; the
latter confirmation is made not only in the same manner but also on the
basis (example) of the prior Augustan confirmation. Paul’s use of
καθώς functions similarly in the flow of 1 Cor 1:4–6, providing the
comparative ground lying at the foundation of the string of causal
clauses elaborating the basis for Paul’s thanksgiving.212 The following
interpretive paraphrase of these verses illustrates this understanding of
the discourse flow:
I offer thanks to my God always about you. My gratitude is
expressed on the basis of (ἐπί) the benefaction of God which
was granted to you in Christ Jesus, that is, because (ὅτι) in every
way you were enriched through (ἐν) him, particularly by means
of (ἐν) every word and all knowledge testifying to him. This
overflowing benefaction came to you in conformity with
(καθώς) the testimonial-memorial to Christ and his merits con-
firmed among you by the Spirit working through my word of
the cross.
This rephrasing attempts to unfold the compressed syntax so often noted
by interpreters and to clarify the relations among gratitude, benefaction,
patron, and confirmation in the first half of Paul’s political thanksgiving.
The confirmation of the μαρτύριον τοῦ Χριστοῦ in v. 6 stands in this
interpretation as the crux of Paul’s entire expression of gratitude.213 By
210
The connection of Paul’s word and the Spirit: 3:10–16 (and Chapter 7). For the
Spirit’s vital connection to new covenant ministry, see 2 Cor 3:3, 6, 8, 17–18.
211
See also Josephus, Ant. 16.162–3; PSchøyen 25.61–2.
212
BDAG, s.v. καθώς (3).
213
Schubert (1939: 31); MacRae (1982: 173).
penetrating the successive layers of divine grace on which his thanksgiv-

ing is based – from benefaction in Christ, specified in terms of enrich-
ment, word, and knowledge – Paul uncovers, in v. 6, the ultimate
experiential basis on which such grace stands and the norm by which
its reality and manifestations are to be evaluated.214 Every aspect of
God’s overflowing benefaction that the Corinthians experienced when
Paul was among them, he contends, derives from and is grasped by
reference to his divinely empowered testimonial to Christ crucified. In
this unveiling of the norming nexus of grace and gratitude in v. 6, Paul’s
formulation performs multiple functions. Its language (particularly the
use of μαρτύριον) provokes the expectation that the Pauline κήρυγμα will
have been established by their patron-Lord himself, inscribed within the
community’s consciousness and experience in such a way that it will
continue to exercise a structuring role.
Paul proceeds in following chapters to emphasize that the commu-
nity’s privileges will be preserved to the degree that its members faith-
fully embrace the form of his testimonial. This becomes explicit in the
consecutive/purpose clause (ὥστε) of vv. 7–8, linking the assurance of
continued privileges (ὑμᾶς μὴ ὑστερεῖσθαι ἐν μηδενὶ χαρίσματι) to the
past shape of the divine confirmation of his message.215 With this
purpose clause, Paul suspends until later in his discourse the focus on
communal rights and privileges that his terminology leads one to expect
(cf. 1:30; 6:11). Instead, in v. 7 he emphasizes the ethical orientation (i.e.,
blamelessness) of the divinely constituted assembly and predicates the
outcome of communal life on divine confirmation of Paul’s words about
him in v. 6. In this respect, the repetition of the verb of confirmation in
v. 8, this time in the future tense (βεβαιώσει), stresses the vital promise
guaranteeing the eschatologically privileged status of those in the com-
munity and presses rhetorically toward the ultimate ground of v. 9. Paul’s
articulation of this double confirmation works to situate the Corinthians
to whom he writes in the space between. The implication is that they have
deviated from the Pauline testimonial and, by doing so, have descended
into faction, failing in word and deed to return the gratitude and glory to
which the divine benefaction obligates them. If, Paul’s thanksgiving
suggests, they re-inhabit the space opened by confirmation (past and
future) of that testimonial to the work of their communal patron, they
214
Weiss (1910: 8).
215
Cf. such purpose clauses in the political inscriptions; e.g. SEG 33.671 (Cos, III BC),
εἰς τὸ μηδενὸ[ς τῶν χρη]σίμων | [καθυ]στερεῖν τὰμ πόλιν; cf. IGR IV 293.21=IPriene
110.21 (Pergamum, 75–50 BC), ἐπεί . . . μηδενὸς αὐτὸν ὑστερεῖν.
would join in expressing gratitude, would properly grasp their privileges,

and would move toward the peace and purity becoming their politeia.216
We must now give a brief account of the privileges mediated by the
humiliated messianic patron. In the thanksgiving period, those benefits
secured for the community by Christ are spoken of primarily in the
allusive, elevated language of the benefaction inscriptions.217 It is not
until later in the epistle that Paul more specifically elaborates the divine
privileges and status won for members of the assembly by Christ. He
does so by returning to the language of calling in 1:26–30218 and by
pressing its disorienting effect on the status expectations of those in the
new community.219 Paul challenges colonial markers of status and pri-
vilege, and the oligarchic ideology in which they are embedded, by
insisting in v. 30 on the democratic attribution of Christ’s merits to
those in the community: Christ Jesus, who has become for us (ἥμιν),
wisdom from God, righteousness and holiness and redemption. By
expanding the compressed testimonial to Christ contained in 1:6 into
the fuller statement of 1:30, Paul aims at the same goal toward which his
political thanksgiving is oriented, namely, a rebuke of pride and a
recalibration of glory and honor through the community’s divine patron
(see 1:31). Another forceful statement of privileges, this time aimed just
as much at preserving purity as unity, surfaces in 6:11; after a threatening
reminder of the ethical conditions disqualifying from inheritance in the
community (here, cast eschatologically as part of the βασιλεία τοῦ θεοῦ),
Paul connects the privileges won by Christ to the power of the divine
Spirit: “And these things some of you were; but you were washed, but
you were made holy, but you were justified in the name of the lord Jesus
Christ and in the Spirit of our God.”220
These privileges, mediated to the community through Christ and the
Spirit, were and are announced by the divinely confirmed Pauline testi-
monial to the crucified Jesus. To the degree that the community clings to
that founding word at its communal center, it will structure and augment
216
Cf. Rom 15:8 where Paul employs βεβαιόω in another context of covenant con-
firmation correlated with communal unity and divine glory.
217
ἐπὶ τῇ χάριτι τοῦ θεοῦ, ἐν παντὶ ἐπλουτίσθητε, ὥστε ὑμᾶς μὴ ὑστερεῖσθαι ἐν μηδενὶ
χαρίσματι.
218
κλῆσις, ἐκλέγομαι.
219
Martin (1999).
220
Weiss (1897: 189) downplays the word choice and content of the aurally resonant
threefold repetitions in 1:30 and 6:11; but see Weiss (1910: 40–3). Even if he overreacts to a
dogmatic tendency to parse each term theologically, Weiss allows for a reading in which
Paul and the first recipients understood these words as an overflowing litany of divine
privileges on their behalf.
its politeia for the praise and honor of its patron and his divine father.
Thus, in 1:8 Paul describes the communal telos of the Corinthian assem-
bly in terms of its blamelessness (ἔως τέλους ἀνεγκλήτους), a privileged
status guaranteed by a firm promise.
6.5 Promise and the confirmation of privileges

in community
When we turn to the promise inscribed in v. 8, we come to the final
exegetical problem noted at the outset of the chapter, that is, the referent
of the relative pronoun ὅς. In the history of interpretation, we saw
perennial division over whether to understand God (1:4) or Christ (1:7)
as the antecedent. Almost all have acknowledged that the weight of
grammar and syntax lies with the latter, but many have insisted on God
as the logical subject of the confirmation in v. 8. To grammatical neces-
sity and Weiss’s perceptive aural argument for Christ,221 we may now
add the weight of political conventions of thanksgivings and testimo-
nials. The proper antecedent of ὅς is indeed Christ. When a community is
confirmed in its rights or privileges, the confirmation is declared by the
ruling power and mediated through the ambassador-patron. This conven-
tion brings an external control to the debate over the referent of ὅς in 1:8,
allowing us to refine the exegetical intuitions of previous scholars. In the
politics of thanksgiving, it is Christ who mediates the privileges granted
by his father to the community and who will therefore secure their future
confirmation. As the patron of the Corinthian assembly, itself a political
member of the κοινωνία called by his name, Christ will secure its
standing from the time of its foundation to the day he appears as their
advocate (1:7–8), presenting them to his father (cf. 15:24).
In political documents of this type, it is noteworthy that such declara-
tions of confirmation never occur in the future indicative, the form we see
in 1 Cor 1:8 (βεβαιώσει). Rather, as we have seen in the case of PLond
1912, when confirmations are communicated from above (i.e., Claudius
to Alexandria), there is a strong element of conditionality (“If [ἐάν],
desisting from these conflicts . . .,” ll. 100–1). Thus, first-century com-
munities had to contend repeatedly for the renewal of such confirmations
and faced the real possibility of their revocation.222 By contrast, in Paul’s
configuration, no conditionality is attached to the future (indicative)
confirmation with respect to the community as a whole. There is,
221
Weiss (1910: 11): “no reader or listener can refer the ὅς all the way back to v. 4.”
222
Tacitus, Ann. 3.60–3.
however, in later sections of the epistle the possibility of exclusion and

loss of status within the new community. In such cases, as it appears in
1 Cor 5:1–13, the one exiled from the covenant community would be cut
off from the benefits mediated by its patron.
Furthermore, the promise of confirmation in v. 8 is undergirded by the
divine oath-formula of v. 9. Anacolouthon barely conceals an elided γάρ
that grounds the promise of blameless preservation and, along with it, the
entire thanksgiving in 1:4–9. The only other appearance of this oath-
formula in the letter illustrates and applies its function in 1:9. In the midst
of his counsel about food offered to idols (10:1–22), Paul concludes his
paradigmatic application of Israel’s wilderness temptation and judgment
with a promise: “God is faithful (πιστὸς δὲ ὁ θεός), and he will not allow
you be tempted beyond what you are able but will make, together with
the temptation, even a way of escape to enable you to endure” (10:13).
The promise of 1:8, supported by the oath of 1:9, performatively con-
stitutes this new political community (κοινωνία) in its ethical form of life
(politeia) right from the start of the epistle. Before he moves to explicit
rebuke, strong warnings, curses, and commands, Paul begins with a
thanksgiving deployed to reconstitute the community in its politics and
ethics. Yet in the flow of the discourse, neither the ethical (1:8) nor the
political (1:9) is the overarching rhetorical object of the textual unit.
Instead, it is the expression of thanks communicated by 1:4 that is the
decisive focus. Gratitude is the rhetorical focus aiming to reverse pride
and schism. Paul’s thanksgiving is designed to operate reflexively,
embracing both unity and purity even as it urgently exemplifies an ultima
of divine glory.223
6.6 Conclusion
Our concern in this chapter has been to use the Corinthian constitution to
open a category within which to interpret Paul’s thanksgiving. Civic
patronage has provided such a category, one that, with its conventions
of gratitude, benefaction, testimonial, and glory, enables us to read 1 Cor
1:4–9 afresh between the poles of constitution and covenant.
This pattern accounts for common features as well as the outstanding
problems we observed in the history of interpretation. Most scholars have
concurred with Chrysostom that in 1 Cor 1:4–9, we encounter a carefully
composed thanksgiving period with multiple rhetorical functions. It is a
genuine expression of gratitude directed toward God, recalling to the
223
Boobyer (1929: 73–84). Cf. 2 Cor 4:15; Rom 15:5–6.
Corinthian assembly the overflow of divine grace in Christ, subtly yet

pointedly accusing (at least some among) the community of losing sight
of the specific form of life entailed by those gifts. Schubert’s study
suggested an epigraphical sub-genre by which to understand this parti-
cular Pauline thanksgiving. But his suggestion languished as scholars
turned instead to papyrological and Jewish comparanda. At least from
the time of O’Brien, interpreters have agreed that Paul’s thanksgivings
introduce important themes that reappear in the letter body. Our survey of
scholarship left us with an open line of investigation into the political
inscriptions, an unresolved tension between Jewish and Hellenistic reso-
nances (especially related to 1:9), and five specific problems of exege-
tical detail.
We then turned to an examination of a specific pattern of politeia
signaled by the political discourse Paul employs in his choice of key
terms and arrangement of phrases. The text pointed to by Schubert (OGIS
456) led us to a cluster of inscribed testimonials related to an important
monument honoring Potamon of Mytilene, an ambassador-patron, who
secured civic privileges for his community. This pattern of patronage,
confirmation of privileges, and gratitude – described as the politics of
thanksgiving centered on the logic of the testimonial – was shown to fit
not only within communities of the Greek East but also at Roman Corinth
and in the experience of diaspora Jews. Important studies by Rowe and
Zuiderhoek demonstrated that the conventions entailed by this pattern
were crucial for the definition of civic identity and the perpetuation of
oligarchy and concord.
Our exegesis of Paul’s text in light of this conventional pattern
emphasized three concepts (politeia, privilege, promise) that embrace
the five exegetical problems isolated by our history of interpretation. In
connecting the Corinthian politeia to divine power (1:9), Paul gives
further definition to the structure and obligations of the community by
his use of the phrase εἰς κοινωνίαν. He defines the ekklēsia and its form of
life in relation to its patron, Jesus Christ the divine Son. This relation is
founded on the divine oath assuring the power and loyalty of their
patron’s father. By grounding the Corinthian democratic enjoyment of
divine favor and privileges in the work and merits of Christ (1:4–5),
Paul’s double confirmation situates its politeia in the tension between past
proclamation (1:6) and future representation (1:8). The apostle indicates,
by his use of the phrase μαρτύριον τοῦ Χριστοῦ, that his original testi-
monial in the word of the cross, empowered by the divine Spirit, is
intended to perdure, standing as a covenant-memorial to the glory of the
Messiah in their midst. The purpose for which this testimonial was
confirmed is described in explicitly ethical terms (1:7–8).224 In its ethical

orientation, the newly constituted/covenanted politeia receives direction
and assurance in the form of a promise. Their patron, the crucified one,
will confirm them in blamelessness to the end. So secure is this promise
for Paul that he grounds it in the treaty-oath formula, intelligible to Jews,
Greeks, and Romans, of divine faithfulness (1:9).
On this interpretation of 1 Cor 1:4–9, Paul is an attentive political
theologian, employing constitutional categories and social conventions
to open his epistle with a pointed expression of gratitude.225 The apostle
of the cross adapts covenantal discourse to the mixed ethnic assembly
resident in Roman Corinth in a way that challenges its conceptions of
patronage, loyalty, and glory. In so doing, he crafts a rhetorical constitu-
tion that responds to conflict arising from notions of politics and ethics
that are consonant neither with the basis of the community’s foundation
nor with its eschatological orientation.226 Where, we might ask as we
conclude this chapter, does Paul place himself in the constituted struc-
ture of this new politeia at Corinth? How does he unfold, in the letter
body, the themes related to his original testimonial to Christ’s merits
among them? Where might that testimonial be inscribed? Is there a
monument that, being structured by Paul’s messianic testimonial,
might rise in the midst of the new community to the glory of Christ
and his father? As others have noted, Paul’s thanksgiving lays out many
themes taken up again in 1 Cor 3:5–4:5, and it is there we focus our
attention in the next chapter to comprehend the apostolic vision of
community construction.227
Excursus: μαρτύριον and the text of 1 Corinthians 2:1

In this chapter, we assumed that the text of 1 Cor 2:1 originally included
the phrase τὸ μαρτύριον τοῦ θεοῦ. While the argument can stand without
224
This interpretation goes beyond the unifying theme noted by Mitchell (1991: 194–7)
by noting Paul’s adaptation of the oligarchic features of elite political discourse and by
emphasizing the centrality of ethical purity in the purpose clause of 1:7–8; Ciampa and
Rosner (2006).
225
Cf. Wuellner (1986: 54, 61).
226
White (1984: 193–4): “the text creates the language it holds out for admiration and
for use [but] not . . . out of nothing. [He] starts . . . with the possibilities established by the
ordinary language of his time . . . and then reconstitutes their common language, making a
new version of it that promises a new organization of the world” (referring to Edmund
Burke’s Reflections on the Revolution in France).
227
Mitchell (1991: 107–11, 195, 217).
such a reading in 2:1, its presence there strengthens some of our claims. A
full defense of this reading runs outside our scope of inquiry, but the
problem of the textual variant in 2:1 requires a brief treatment. This is all
the more so because modern editions of the Greek New Testament have,
in the past half century, unanimously (though narrowly) preferred the
reading τὸ μυστήριον τοῦ θεοῦ.228
This textual variant has proven intractable, with commentators lin-
ing up behind both readings.229 Because most interpreters deem the
external (manuscript) evidence to be indecisive, arguments nearly
always turn on so-called internal evidence. In fact, four intertwined
issues bear on this particular problem: the weight and alignment
of the manuscripts, the plausibility of hypotheses regarding scribal
practice, the lexical difference between μαρτύριον and μυστήριον,
and the flow and context of Paul’s argument.230 J. Kloha’s study
takes all of these factors into account. For the first time, Kloha has
undertaken a comprehensive investigation of the textual problems of
1 Corinthians by rigorously applying the method of “thoroughgoing
eclecticism.”231 His work builds on that of Zuntz232 (and supports the
claims of Fee233) and, in offering counterarguments to Schrage234 and
228
Notably, all major editions since the discovery of P46: UBS3 (1975), C rating; UBS4
(1993), B rating; NA 25–28. Stephanus, who printed μαρτύριον in his Textus Receptus
(1550) was of course working without knowledge of ‫ א‬and P46. Tregelles (TNT2, Pauline
epistles, 1869) and von Tischendorf (Novum Testamentum Graece. Editio Octava Critica
Maior, vol. II, 1872), with knowledge of ‫א‬, both preferred μαρτύριον. Westcott-Hort (The
New Testament in the Original Greek, 1881) printed μυστήριον, with μαρτύριον in the
apparatus. Von Soden (Die Schriften des neuen Testaments, Bd. 4, 1902–13) prints
μαρτύριον.
229
The most recent review of scholarship is Koperski (2002). See also Welborn (2005:
185 n.494); Gladd (2009: 123–6). Both favor internal arguments for reading μυστήριον.
Gladd appears unaware of the important 2006 thesis by Kloha.
230
Few give equal consideration to these issues, preferring instead to list the witnesses
in the apparatus of a recent critical edition and then to proceed to an argument from context
that supports their reading of 1 Corinthians.
231
Kloha’s method, increasingly employed in text critical studies, involves collating
and analyzing the evidence of individual manuscripts and editions. Those relevant to 2:1
may be seen in his appendix (“Textual Apparatus of 1 Corinthians”), Kloha (2006: 757–8).
232
Zuntz (1953: esp. 101–2).
233
Fee (1987: 88 n.1).
234
Schrage (1991: 226) argues for an original μυστήριον on the basis of the fact that
martyrion is not often confused with μυστήριον elsewhere in the NT where the former term
occurs; to the reasoned response in Kloha (2006: 44) we may add the consideration, noted
in this chapter, that many of the NT usages of μαρτύριον appear in the formulaic phrase,
taken over from the LXX, εἰς μαρτύριον, and would not easily therefore invite the kind of
Thiselton,235 provides the strongest support to date for the reading

μαρτύριον. Before examining Kloha’s reasoning and conclusions, we
must contextualize his arguments by revisiting the manuscript
evidence.
To begin with, it is important to note what is actually in the text of two
important manuscripts discovered in modern times, namely, ‫ א‬and P46,
that have figured prominently, if not always clearly, in establishing the
text. Published just as scholars were beginning to produce critical edi-
tions of the Greek New Testament, Codex ‫ א‬attests both readings at 1 Cor
2:1.236 The main text, attributed to scribe A (‫ * א‬in the critical apparatus),
reads ΜΥCΤΗΡΙΟΝ, with the final two letters trailing onto a new line.237
Just above the second, third, and fifth letters, a later corrector has added
in slightly reddish ink the letters ΑΡ Υ, to indicate his awareness of an
alternate (preferred?) reading μαρτύριον.238 The corrector, known as Ca
(‫א‬2 in the critical apparatus), is usually dated to “around the seventh
century.” This means that the first reading in ‫א‬, μυστήριον, comes, on the
traditional dating, from the fourth century; the correction to μαρτύριον is
only introduced several centuries later. Without further study, either into
the patterns of scribal habits or the reconstruction of the Vorlagen used
by either A or Ca, it is difficult to say much more than this: μυστήριον
enjoys the earlier reading in ‫( א‬in which the so-called Alexandrian text-
type is strongly attested), but a later scribe carefully preserved the read-
ing μαρτύριον.239 When we come to P46, we find the papyrus slightly
torn, so that several letters of our word in 1 Cor 2:1 are obliterated.240 We
may, nevertheless, go slightly beyond earlier claims and secure the
variation seen in 1 Cor 2:1. This weakens Schrage’s minor objection to the reading
μαρτύριον.
235
Thiselton (2000: 207–8).
236
Von Tischendorf first published the NT text of ‫ א‬in 1869. 1 Cor 2:1 appears in the
lower third of the second column on folio 268. The British Library has now made high-
quality digital images of the codex freely available online for the reader to consult: http://
codexsinaiticus.org/en/manuscript.aspx (accessed November 27, 2012).
237
Scribe A was responsible for much of the Pauline text: Jongkind (2007: 202–21).
238
For correctors, and the difficulty in detecting hands with certainty, see Jongkind
(2007: 9–18).
239
It does not appear that the pattern (if any is discernible) of such preserved dual
readings in Paul, by the hand of Ca, has been analyzed.
240
Folio 39 recto of P46, containing 1 Cor 2:1, is held by the Chester Beatty Library in
Dublin. See Kenyon (1936), pages indicated follow the folio numbering of Kenyon rather
than those marked on the Chester Beatty MS leaves. Digital images of P46 recently made
freely available by the Chester Beatty Library and the Center for the Study of New
Testament Manuscripts, available at http://www.csntm.org/Manuscript/View/GA_P46
(accessed December 9, 2013).
reading of the text on the basis of autopsy.241 Although NA 28 and

previous editions mark the citation with the siglum P46vid (= ut videtur)242
in the apparatus, there is no doubt that the text reads μυστήριον.243 Given
the traditional date of P46 (c. AD 200), this is the earliest secure attestation
of the reading μυστήριον, again in an “Alexandrian” text.244 What is more,
despite claims to the contrary, there is very little chance of a scribal error
“of hand or eye” having caused the variant 2:1, at least on the models
provided by the codicological features of ‫ א‬and P46.245 Neither can we
envision a scenario in which such an error fits readily into what Colwell
called “harmonization to the immediate context.”246 We are faced with the
241
I examined several P46 folios of 1 Corinthians held in Dublin on January 31, 2012.
I thank Celine Ward, reference librarian at the Chester Beatty Library, for her assistance.
242
Ut videtur, according to the Introduction of NA 28, “indicates that the reading
attested by a witness cannot be determined with absolute certainty. . . . The sign vid always
indicates a high degree of probability, usually based on some surviving letters or parts of
letters.”
243
Folio 39r (=οζ/p. 77). Because of damage, or perhaps trimming by a dealer, folio 39
preserves only one of two holes by which the leaves were sewn together to form the codex.
The broken text in question appears at the beginning of line 25 of the verso. As on the verso
of other folios, the papyrus darkens and becomes slightly more difficult to read on the
bottom third of the leaf until finally the reader’s eye reaches a tear that angles in (to the
right) and downward from the outer left margin. This tear obliterates parts of the final two
lines of visible text. In light of where the text resumes at the top of the next page, we know
that there were yet two more lines, now completely missing, at the bottom of page 77,
resulting in a total of 27 lines of text. What remains of our word are the letters ṬΗΡΙΟΝ, the
long upper cross-bar of the tau extending to the right from the torn edge, the base of the
tau’s down-stroke just visible. To the right of these traces of the tau is an unmistakable ēta,
although somewhat squat in form, similar to that used elsewhere. Comfort (1990: 139, 230)
noted the clarity of the ēta from photographs; Kloha (2006: 758 n.6) offers the same reading
confirmed here (including the underdotted tau).
244
For an overview of the Pauline textual tradition, see Jongkind (2007); cf. Royse
(2008: 199–201). Recent challenges to the dating of NT papyri include Barker (2011).
245
In ‫א‬, the ΜΑΡΤΥΡΙΟΝ of 1:6 is midway down the third column of f267b on the left-
hand facing page from 2:1. The ΜΥCΤΗΡΙΩ of 2:7 is midway down the third column of
f268. The distance of these surrounding verses from 2:1 is even more pronounced in the
smaller codex format of P46, where 1:6 comes near the top of f38r (=p. 75; a full two pages,
including a page turn, before 2:1) and 2:7 appears midway down f40v (=p. 78; on the right-
hand facing page to 2:1). While these observations reveal nothing about the physical
features of the Vorlagen employed by the scribes of these codices, they emphasize the
conclusion of Fee (1987: 88 n.1) that a “mechanical” slip is an untenable hypothesis in this
case. See also Kloha (2006: 44–6); contra Koperski (2002: 312) who allows for
parablepsis.
246
Colwell (1969: 106–24), speaking, strictly, of singular readings. Our problem
approximates what Colwell called “general” or “logical harmonization.” Zuntz (1953:
101) calls it “assimilation” (to 2:7).
fact that in two important and well-known early witnesses discovered in

modern times, the text of 1 Cor 2:1 definitely reads μυστήριον.
Why then, in light of these two prominent witnesses, would some still
favor the reading μαρτύριον? One important reason is the number and
strength of the manuscripts that preserve the reading.247 The strength of
the external attestation for μαρτύριον is often overlooked. This is demon-
strated by the fact that at 2:1, although ‫ א‬and P46 agree with one another,
they are opposed by, inter alia, B D F G and 1739. This is, in fact, a
weighty combination of witnesses, but one that is difficult to perceive
because of the split with the two more famous manuscripts.248 Zuntz was
the first to linger over the significance of this tangle of witnesses, admit-
ting that 2:1 presents a “difficult textual problem.”249 Most importantly,
this configuration of important “Western” and “Alexandrian” witnesses
implies the possibility that the early representatives of the latter (such as
‫ א‬and P46) may preserve a reading that is not original.250 Weighty
manuscripts, each exhibiting its own peculiar features related to scribal
habits, line up on both sides of the question, allowing us to see plainly just
how difficult the external evidence is to interpret. But, despite the
psychological weight of ‫ א‬and P46, the constellation of opposing wit-
nesses favors the reading μαρτύριον as original. D. Jongkind provides the
most recent summary of views when he writes, “The external attestation
247
Kloha (2006: 758) notes the existence of 558 mss in support of τὸ μαρτύριον τοῦ
θεοῦ as opposed to 26 mss with the reading τὸ μυστήριον τοῦ θεοῦ. He cites the figures
given in Aland et al. (1991). Μαρτύριον, like μυστήριον, enjoys early and strong support
(e.g., Codex Vaticanus [B], c. fourth century), though not as early as P46 (if the traditional
date of c. AD 200 holds).
248
B. Nongbri notes that when D F and G agree, there is the strong possibility the
reading lies behind the early fourth-century Graeco-Latin textual tradition. This is an
argument first advanced by Corssen (1887), recently supported by Royse (2008: 179).
I thank Dr. Nongbri for this insight and these references.
249
Zuntz (1953: 101–2). See Zuntz’s conclusions, 158–9, on the relative weight he
thinks the critic should accord to P46 in its shifting alliances with other witnesses.
Cf. Royse (2008: 204). See also the preliminary analysis of Kenyon (1936: xv–xvii).
250
Zuntz (1953: 101–2) decides that μαρτύριον is more likely to be original in 2:1 and
links the problem there with the variant tou theou in 1:6. He notes that “[i]f this analysis of
an admittedly difficult textual problem is correct, the reading of (D) F G, which B supports
(and P46 opposes), is wrong in 1:6 and correct in 2:1. The intrinsic arguments for this
conclusion are strengthened by the bilingual manuscripts having much wider support at the
latter place.” In other words, similar oppositions of these important witnesses may incline
in different directions in different contexts and are quite difficult to untangle. Cf. the
conclusions on the scribal practice and error rates (related to singular readings) in P46.
Cf. Royse (2008: 357–8).
is stronger for [μαρτύριον], but many believe that the use of “mystery”
fits better with the following verses.”251 As we shall see, it is quite
probable that some early scribes agreed and, on such a judgment, intro-
duced the variant μυστήριον.
In surveying some of the manuscript data, we have come to see that the
challenges of interpreting the relationships among the external witnesses
inevitably leads us, along with most commentators, to a consideration of
other factors, including plausible hypotheses regarding scribal practice
(i.e., what scenarios of conscious or unconscious variation are allowed
for by codicology and scribal patterns) and internal evidence (i.e., which
reading better suits the epistolary context and flow of argument). But
having laid out the lines of external evidence, we are now in a better
position to summarize the arguments of Kloha in favor of μαρτύριον and
to appreciate their cogency. We recall that Kloha is the first to collate and
analyze the widest possible data set relevant to the text of 1 Corinthians.
This method grants him a more global view of the evidence for each
specific textual problem as well as a keen sense of the patterns (if any)
that important manuscripts (and their scribes) exhibit in connection with
this particular Pauline letter.
Kloha offers two compelling reasons, one lexical and one related to
scribal habits, that support the reading μαρτύριον by accounting for the
available data and by countering the most common arguments in favor
of the variant μυστήριον. First, he suggests that the semantics of both
terms, and particularly of μαρτύριον, are more likely than “mechanical
alteration” as a motive for textual variation.252 Even the textually
secure use of μαρτύριον at 1:6 caused difficulty for a handful of later
scribes to whom the term apparently was opaque or ambiguous; they
substituted κήρυγμα, a term more straightforward in late antiquity
when a μαρτύριον had come overwhelmingly to mean a martyr’s
shrine.253 At 2:1, other scribes similarly substituted εὐαγγέλιον and
(in one instance) σωτήριον.254 If μυστήριον, a term with strong, early
attestation in the sense of “the content of Christian teaching,” were
original in 2:1, it becomes difficult to account for these substitutions.
This turns on its head the logic of those who argue that μυστήριον was a
term too difficult to reconcile to the near context (Gladd)255 or with
251
Jongkind (2007: 228); earlier Metzger (1994: 480).
252
Kloha (2006: 44).
253
Kloha (2006: 46, 728) 3 mss. See our discussion of the lexical semantics of
μαρτύριον in this chapter.
254
Kloha (2006: 46, 758) 5 late mss and Theodotian.
255
Gladd (2009: 125).
undesirable pagan connotations (Thiselton)256 and would therefore

have been replaced by μαρτύριον. As Kloha concludes, “Far from
having difficulty with μυστήριον, early Christian writers have adopted
the term, and even transformed it.”257 In view of the lexical semantics
of both terms, it is much more plausible that μαρτύριον would be
replaced by μυστήριον than vice versa.
In leading to his second main consideration pertaining to scribal
habits, Kloha summarizes the two factors that, in his view, contributed
to the corruption whereby μυστήριον was introduced into the textual
tradition. On the one hand, μυστήριον very early became a common term
for the proclamation or content of the Christian message, while
μαρτύριον, much rarer from the outset in Paul, became even more
difficult to understand. Conversely, there may have been a scribal moti-
vation to link 2:1 more closely with the following section in 2:6–16
where μυστήριον (2:7) figures importantly in Paul’s argument regarding
spiritual wisdom and revelation. It is this latter consideration in particular
that prompts Kloha to state, “Such scribal activity is, certainly, more
than copying. However, similar efforts to bring similar passages into
congruence can be found in the same manuscripts in other places, most
obviously in 2:4.”258
Kloha’s proposal is not completely novel, but its force is profound
given the data set he has compiled for the text of 1 Corinthians. In line
with earlier scholars such as Zuntz and Fee, our scrutiny of the scribal
and codicological features of ‫ א‬and P46 demonstrated the impossibility
of so-called mechanical error behind the variant at 1 Cor 2:1. In fact, any
kind of unconscious error, while possible, is highly unlikely. Instead, the
μαρτύριον/μυστήριον variant at 2:1 almost certainly arises from a con-
scious error, which is to say, a scribal editorial decision to change the
text for reasons of clarity or contextual coherence. It would be within the
realm of possibility to suggest, but irresponsible to advocate seriously,
that in the text of P46 we witness the introduction of the variant
μυστήριον into an influential “Alexandrian” text. Zuntz,259 Royse,260
256
Thiselton (2000: 207–8).
257
Kloha (2006: 44–5) adduces examples of μυστήριον in this sense from Clement of
Alexandria and Justin Martyr.
258
Kloha (2006: 46). D. Jongkind has suggested to me, per litteras, that the category of
“near-mechanical” errors resulting from an excellent knowledge of the text may mediate
between errors caused by, e.g., parablepsis and considered, conscious adjustments of the
text on the part of the scribe. I thank Dr. Jongkind for his comments on this Excursus.
259
Zuntz (1953: 20–3).
260
Royse (2008: 357–8).
and Kloha261 have each, in their own way, noted that the scribe of P46
betrays, on occasion, “a deliberate attempt to improve on his Vorlage . . . .
[and that these few instances] do indicate a certain awareness by the
scribe of what he was writing, and a willingness to alter what he read.”262
At the very least, these observations ought to press us to consider more
carefully the scribal habits and patterns of conscious alteration visible in
individual manuscripts when faced with an intractable variant such as
that in 1 Cor 2:1.
In summary, there are strong reasons for reading μαρτύριον as
original in 2:1. Whichever reading was original, the alternative was
introduced very early in the textual tradition. Despite the fact, however,
that μυστήριον enjoys early attestation in prominent witnesses (‫א‬, P46),
the external evidence inclines toward μαρτύριον. Moreover, mechan-
ical error such as parablepsis cannot account for the variation; instead,
a conscious scribal alteration or assimilation to context must be the
cause. In that case, the lexical semantics of the two terms suggest little
reason why an early scribe would replace μυστήριον with μαρτύριον.
Rather, the weight of evidence supports the hypothesis that, as in 1:6,
Paul employed the rarer and intriguing μαρτύριον in 2:1 before shifting
to μυστήριον in 2:7.
261
Kloha (2006: 46–52) on 1 Cor 2:1, 4.
262
Royse (2008: 358). Royse points out that many of the alterations in P46 (his focus is
on singular readings) are of the kind he labels “HarmCont,” or harmonizations to context,
where “influence of the context seems to be the major factor in the scribe’s occasional
attempts to make stylistic or grammatical improvements.”
7
1 C O R I N T H I A N S 3 : 5–4 : 5 A N D T H E P O L I T I C S
OF C ONS TR UC TION
As for the kind of material to be used, this does not depend

upon the architect . . . it depends on the owner whether he
desires to build in brick, or rubble work, or dimension stone.
Consequently the question of approving any work may be
considered under three heads: that is, exactness of workman-
ship, sumptuousness, and design. When it appears that a work
has been carried out sumptuously, the owner will be the person
to be praised for the great outlay which he has authorized;
when exactly, the master workman will be approved for his
execution; but when proportions and symmetry lend it an
imposing effect, then the glory of it will belong to the architect.
Vitruvius, de Architectura 6.8.9
. . . ἀλλ’ ὁ αὐξάνων θεός.
1 Cor 3:7c
Vitruvius, the famous Augustan architect, is a primary historical source

for the technologies of Roman building; he is also, and more significantly
for our purposes, an important witness to the politics of public works
construction, touching as he does on the matters of evaluation and the
attribution of glory in relation to building projects. But Vitruvius speaks
only generally about the processes and social dynamics of public works.
As with most Graeco-Roman architects, it is challenging to link him with
specific structures given the fragmentary nature of our evidence. It is
even more difficult to access an ancient architect’s thoughts concerning
project design, his relation to the one funding or approving the construc-
tion, or his interaction with coworkers, subordinates, and the community
audience at large.1
Concerning the elusive figure of the Graeco-Roman architect, the
eminent Vitruvian scholar Pierre Gros remarked:
1
Donderer (1996); Anderson (1997); Taylor (2003).
197
It is always a tentative enterprise to recover, from a particular

building, the personality and the intentions of its architect
because we are immediately confronted with this fundamental
difficulty of our studies: the mismatch, and what’s more, the
striking difference among our textual and material sources.2
What we have from Paul, however, in 1 Cor 3:5–4:5, in contrast to
Vitruvius or any other self-described architect of the period, is an
extended reflection on the design, execution, and evaluation of a building
project.3 Perhaps unsurprisingly, the contours of Paul’s reflection differ
in important ways from what we glimpse of architects, patrons, and
audience in the literary and archaeological record. Paul’s text is a theo-
logical blueprint for a living structure, metaphorically conceived, and
drawn up as part of an apologetic response to ecclesial tensions at
Corinth. But, in addition to these apostolic architectural assertions in 1
Corinthians, we have, in and around Roman Corinth, material and textual
sources for reconstructing the social dynamics implicated by public
works construction. Bringing architect and monument together within
what we may call the politics of construction, framed by the colonial
constitution, allows us to offer in this chapter a new interpretation of the
coherence and force of Paul’s text.
This passage has figured importantly in discussions of ecclesiology
and apostolic authority,4 its analogical details often providing grist
for the allegorical mill.5 As we shall see, 1 Cor 3:5–4:5 (and 4:6, see
Excursus at the end of the chapter) is structured by a complex cultural
metaphor.6 In it, Paul places himself ὡς σοφὸς ἀρχιτέκτων (3:10), a
divinely commissioned architect whose charge it is to join the lines of
authority, community, purity, and glory, introduced in the thanksgiving
2
Gros (1983: 425).
3
It is insufficient to explain (away) Paul’s extended building metaphor in 3:5–4:5 as a
rhetorical topos urging concord, e.g., Mitchell (1991: 99–111). Mitchell correctly views the
building language as fundamental to the coherence of Paul’s arguments in 1 Corinthians.
But its semantic and social relationship to texts and practices regulating the (physical)
building of civic structures such as temples is too detailed and too dependent on embodied
experience to be understood only in terms of elite oratorical commonplaces. Cf. Judge
(2008: 692).
4
E.g., McKelvey (1969: 98–102); Schütz (1975: 225).
5
E.g., Origen on the building materials in 3:12: Jenkins (1908: 245) gold=good
thoughts and intentions, silver=pure speech, precious stones=good actions, wood=great
sins, hay=lesser sins, straw=lesser sins still.
6
Recall (from Chapter 5) that complex cultural metaphors, with their intricate webs of
sources and targets, reflect basic social and embodied knowledge and may have several
meaning foci.
Corinthians 3:5–4:5 and the politics of construction 199
period of 1:4–9, into an enduring and unpolluted living structure. Central

to the purpose of his rhetorical construction in 3:5–4:5 is the matter of
contested evaluation. Paul’s own performance as an architect, the nature
of the foundation he has laid, the manner and focus of other builders,
and the ethical-political alignment of the assembly-as-monument are the
foci of this disputed and divisive evaluative judgment. Therefore, he
responds by evoking not merely the language of architecture but also
the social dynamics entailed in civic monumental construction. The
language and structure of 1:4–9 led us to reexamine Paul’s opening in
light of the politics of thanksgiving, and our findings in Chapter 6
prompted us to search for a monumental site where the apostolic testi-
monial to the Messiah might be inscribed and memorialized. In 3:5–4:5,
we hear Paul’s vision for that monument – from foundation, to execution,
and importantly in evaluation and dedication. By presenting such a plan
for community construction, Paul mounts a vigorous defense against
his critics. He does so chiefly by redefining the criteria for evaluating
the work of ministry and by reassigning the glory for the execution of
the structural design. It is only in coming to this passage in the flow of 1
Cor 1–4 that we see more fully Paul’s distinctive politics of munificence
adumbrated in 1:4–9. Here, Paul’s political theology clashes with a
colonial political ideology at almost every point. It is a clash precipitated
by Corinthian criticism, to which Paul responds with a forceful and
creative defense. One result of the reconfiguration he achieves in the
complex cultural metaphor of 3:5–4:5 is the subsequent history of con-
flict evident in the unfolding Corinthian correspondence.
In this chapter, we begin again by examining the history of interpreta-
tion relative to our passage. For 3:5–4:5, as for 1:4–9, this is a history
indebted to Chrysostom and punctuated, especially since Schmidt and
Baur, by theories regarding the divisions in the assembly. Moreover, as
with Paul’s thanksgiving, it is marked by certain epigraphical compar-
isons that have fallen by the scholarly wayside. In tracing the lines of
interpretation, we see once again certain fractures in the modern period
resulting from Jewish/Hellenistic dichotomous readings. The problems
brought to the fore by a selective review of the literature involve several
details related to the structure and function of Paul’s imagery and argu-
ment as well as his relationship to Apollos and other “leaders” in the
Corinthian assembly. Among the exegetical details we consider in light
of the politics of construction are (1) the rhythmic, rhetorical qualities
of 3:5–9, 21–23; (2) the φθείρει/φθερεῖ wordplay in the judgment
saying of 3:17; and (3) the discourse flow connecting the five sub-units
in 3:5–4:5. To these we add considerations regarding the sources and
functions of the extended building metaphor and the persons and ideol-
ogy toward which Paul directs his discourse.
As in Chapter 6, we apply constitutional (politeia) categories to
investigate Paul’s adaptive application of certain social conventions.
Once again by the configuration of key words and phrases from a sub-
genre of political discourse, Paul frames an alternative civic discourse
for the assembly. To demonstrate this, we present, after a survey of
scholarship, the chapters of the charters relevant to the colonial politics
of public works construction. This data allows us to set Paul’s architec-
tural rhetoric within the conventions of inscribed temple-building
contracts that detailed the relative status and authority of participants,
specifications for construction, criteria for evaluation, and penalties for
damaged work. Finally, we present an exegesis of 3:5–4:5 that focuses on
these dynamics in the extended Pauline metaphor. Such an exegesis
demonstrates that Paul has assembled an argument drawing on both
Jewish (covenantal) and Hellenistic (constitutional) imagery and experi-
ence to contend for the priority of his own gospel, his vision for the
community, and the honor of the divine benefactor to whose glory the
assembly-temple stands as a monument. Constructed in this way, Paul’s
spirited response to his critics turns on the specific logic of evaluation and
acclamation, features on which he repeatedly and climactically insists.
7.1 History of scholarship on 1 Corinthians 3:5–4:5

Chrysostom again sets an important early precedent for the interpretation
of our passage, treating it over the course of four homilies.7 Because
many of his observations continue to resonate with contemporary inter-
preters, they are worth rehearsing here. For Chrysostom, the reintroduc-
tion of personal names connected with faction in 3:4–5 is an important
part of the transition from Paul’s deconstruction of worldly wisdom and
arrogant pride (1:18–2:16) to his accusatory attempt at a reconstruction
of the community’s view of its ministers and the goal of their ministry
(3:1–4:5). Paul begins with the rhetorical questions of 3:5 (“What, then,
is Apollos? And what is Paul?”)8 more openly to accuse those whom he
thinks are improperly (i.e., unspiritually) evaluating the divine wisdom
7
Hom. 1 Cor. (PG 61.70–94; NPNF1 12:43–64). Chrysostom treats 3:1–11 in Homily 8
(PG 61.70–4), 3:12–17 in Homily 9 (PG 61.75–80), 3:18–4:2 in Homily 10 (PG 61.81–6),
and 4:3–5 in Homily 11 (PG 61.87–94).
8
Chrysostom has τίς instead of the neuter (and more pointedly disdainful) τί. Cf.
Lightfoot (1980: 187).
embodied by Christ and taught by Christ’s ministers.9 But Paul mitigates

the invidiousness of his tone by the inclusion of his own name, the
addition of clauses that soothe with an emphasis on unity (3:5b, 8), a
stress on the divine origin of their blessings (3:6c, 7c, 9), and the use of
ministerial (as opposed to magisterial, or “leadership”) language.10
Chrysostom noted that it was only after the soft accusations and self-
diminishment of 3:5–9 that Paul proceeds to assign himself the title of
“wise architect” in 3:10. He does so, not to exalt himself, but to offer his
own ministry as a template (τύπον) and to “take the rest of them to task
concerning their politeia, since he had once bonded them and made them
one” by the foundation he had laid among them.11 This self-designation
as architect and the appeal to the dynamics of building practice in
3:10–11 are central to Paul’s argument in the passage. They demonstrate,
for Chrysostom, the way in which Paul “constructs from men’s common
notions . . . the whole of his proposition.”12 When the central image of a
holy, spirit-filled temple surfaces in the rhetorical question and sentence
of judgment in 3:16–17, Paul evades invidiousness by silence; he avoids
mentioning the chief opponent whom he has in mind but, with the
language of defilement, already presses “urgently toward the one who
has committed fornication (1 Cor 5).”13 Chrysostom also interpreted
3:18 as referring to “that person,” seeing 3:21a as marked by a stylistic
vehemence against those carried away by that opponent’s worldly pre-
tensions. This vehemence is moderated only by the refreshing crescendo
of 3:21b–3.14 Then, in 4:1–5 Paul aligns himself with those in the
assembly who, because of their low status (yet beloved by God), were
excoriated by those of higher status (who were ignoring their own sin). In
response to this pretentious false evaluation – as if they were public
judges – Paul denies their jurisdiction, admits his unworthiness, models
courage for the weak, and points to the only true judge. Especially in 4:5
as he directs his hearers toward the judging divine gaze, Paul’s rhetoric
rumbles like the thunder of an approaching storm whose fury threatens
to break on the immoral man.15
9
Hom. 1 Cor. (PG 61.71).
10
Hom. 1 Cor. (PG 61.71).
11
Hom. 1 Cor. (PG 61.72).
12
Hom. 1 Cor. (PG 61.72). Earlier (PG 61.71), in regard to the final verses of 3:5–9,
Chrysostom commented that Paul “keeps to the metaphor” (τῇ τροπῇ ἐπέμεινεν).
13
Hom. 1 Cor. (PG 61.78–9).
14
Hom. 1 Cor. (PG 61.79–80, 83).
15
Hom. 1 Cor. (PG 61.88).
Many commentators have followed Chrysostom in his understanding

of 1 Cor 3:5–4:5.16 With F. C. Baur’s 1831 essay,17 the matter of the
number, identity, and character of the parties in question in 1:12, and
the shadow of stasis they cast over our passage, became a fixture in
interpretations of chapters 1–4.18 But it was J. Weiss who, building
on Chrysostom in the modern era, gave meticulous attention to the
grammatical structure and subtle changes in tone evident in 3:5–4:5.19
Thus, Weiss’s exegesis deserves our detailed attention.
According to Weiss, Paul begins graciously to address the commu-
nity’s view of their teachers in 3:5–9,20 adopts a sharper tone and
shifts imagery in 3:10–15,21 and then builds to the urgent warning of
3:16–17,22 before returning to the evaluation of teachers in the magnifi-
cent train of thought that culminates in 3:21b–23.23 This latter is a
prelude to 4:1–5,24 where Paul concludes the entire section (3:5–4:5),
redoubling his forceful defense against those who would wrongly eval-
uate him.25 He does so first by applying ministerial (servile) status to
himself yet again26 and second by refuting the call by some to subject
him to a hostile, quasi-formal inquiry (cf. 9:3).27 He responds with
audacity (4:4a) in the face of specific Corinthian criticisms,28 appealing
to the Lord who alone will conduct the final legal evaluation (4:4b–5).29
The entire section concludes with an emphasis on the eschatological
praise to be received by each minister at the divine judgment.30
Beyond his incisive description of the general flow of the passage,
Weiss also contributed to several matters of exegetical detail that concern
16
Noticeably: Calvin (1948: 98–126).
17
Baur (1831) treats our text only in passing, but his elaboration of J. E. C. Schmidt’s
thesis (at 76) regarding the Pauline-Petrine (Gentile-Jewish Christianity) opposition hangs
over subsequent interpretations of 3:5–4:5. Cf. Lincicum (2012).
18
Typology of views in Kuck (1992: 150–1); subsequently: Ker (2000); Smit (2002);
Mihaila (2009).
19
First: Weiss (1897: 207–9); more fully in Weiss (1910: 75–100).
20
Weiss (1910: 75).
21
Weiss (1910: 78–9).
22
Weiss (1910: 84–5).
23
Weiss (1910: 86–9).
24
Weiss (1910: 91).
25
Weiss (1910: 92).
26
Weiss (1910: 93–6).
27
Weiss (1910: 96–7).
28
Weiss (1910: 97–9).
29
Weiss (1910: 98): Paul’s word choices (e.g., ἀνακρίνω, δικαιῶ) have distinct nuances
as part of a prevailing use of legal terminology in this section.
30
Weiss (1910: 100).
us in this chapter. First, he noted the careful, often rhythmic, composition

of 3:5–9, 17, and 21–3. The “almost elegant form and rhythm” in 3:5–9
exhibits a “peaceful and collegial mood” that “grows out of the subject
matter itself.” Weiss sketched the three elements, variously repeated, of
that rhythmic form:
“Paul – Apollos; (their work); God” is repeated four times: the
1st and 4th time (vv. 5, 8–9) with four beats; the 2nd and 3rd
time (vv. 6, 7) with three beats. Whoever grasps this rhythm has
heard something not only of the writer’s fine craft, but has also
come one step nearer to his human feeling.31
In treating 3:17, Weiss noted Paul’s skillful use of antanaklasis in his
φθείρει/φθερεῖ Wortspiel; the aural effect of the judgment clauses juxta-
posed just so is that of two wave crests crashing.32 Of 3:21–3, Weiss
remarked two important features – its soaring, fervent structure33 and
its melding of Jewish and Hellenistic commonplaces.34 We return to
these observations regarding the rhythmic variation in 3:5–9, the crash-
ing wordplay of 3:17, and the climactic coda of 3:21–3 in the exegesis
that follows.
A second contribution Weiss made to the understanding of our passage
was his sensitivity to Paul’s passion roiling just beneath a rhetorical
reserve as the apostle repeatedly points (Weiss argued) to one particular
opponent standing behind the agitation over the content and character of
his ministry.35 This is evident in at least three places – 3:10, 13, 16–17. In
contrasting himself (ὡς σοφὸς ἀρχιτέκτων) with “another” (ἄλλος δέ),
Paul’s tone in 3:10 has an edge even as he consciously avoids naming a
particular critic he has in mind.36 A few verses later, in 3:13, Weiss again
sensed Paul cloaking a personal thrust in general terms; he commented,
“the community-work of each [ἕκαστου τὸ ἔργον] of Paul’s successors
(in truth he is thinking of one figure or a single category) is revealed in its
true quality.”37 Likewise, in 3:16–17, as his tone intensifies, Paul speaks
31
Weiss (1910: 75); cf. Weiss (1897: 207).
32
Weiss (1910: 85); cf. Weiss (1897: 208). For antanaklasis (repetition of a term where
the second instance introduces a change of meaning), see Quintilian, Inst. 9.3.68.
33
Weiss (1910: 88–9); cf. Weiss (1897: 209). See also Betz (2008).
34
Weiss (1910: 89–90).
35
Weiss (1910: 88, 104) inclines toward partisans of Apollos.
36
Weiss (1910: 78): Paul avoids names when he has specific opponents in view, and the
more agitated he becomes, the more he restrains his invective. For 2 Corinthians, see
Welborn (2011).
37
Weiss (1910: 80–1).
to the assembly (οὐκ οἴδατε) urgently about holiness but simultaneously

aims the threat of judgment at one leading opponent in particular.38
Weiss’s observations will figure in our exegesis of 3:5–4:5 as well as in
the Excursus on 4:6.
A third contribution of Weiss, important for our purposes, comes in
the form of several extended comments concerning Paul’s use of certain
key terms. Weiss took δοκιμάζω39 in 3:13 and ἀνακρίνω40 in 4:3–4 as
technical legal terms performing specific functions in the context. We
test these claims of technical legal significance in the exegetical frame-
work developed in the following sections.
In summing up these three areas of insight in Weiss’s work, we note
his rhetorical and psychological sensitivity. These mark his interpretation
as an advance in the history of scholarship.
Another advance, this one passing almost unnoticed, came from the
Romanist Otto Eger nearly a decade after Weiss’s commentary. In his
1918 Basel Rektoratsprogramm, Eger referred to recent collections of
inscribed temple-building regulations and pointed out certain lexical
and conceptual correspondences with 1 Cor 3:9–17.41 Eger summarized
their dynamics as follows:
These working regulations play a significant role in the
approval, examination, and acceptance of the work, which is
carried out by the managing authority (e.g., the ναοποιοί [civic
officials who oversaw temples] and the architect) specifically
upon completion of the work. Only when the completed ἔργον is
examined does the contractor receive the full payment (μισθός).
If he has not used the prescribed materials or performs badly, he
is fined (ζημιωθήσεται) by the ναοποιοί.42
Eger rightly noted that there are considerable resonances when one
sets these inscriptions next to Paul’s text; he even suggested that Paul
may have been familiar with and inspired by such inscribed construction
regulations.43 Nevertheless, evocative though the comparison was
(Deissmann referred to Eger’s “luminous exposition”),44 Eger’s focus
was not NT interpretation and he did not pursue a full exegesis of 1 Cor
38
Weiss (1910: 84).
39
Weiss (1910: 82).
40
Weiss (1910: 67–8, 96).
41
Eger (1919: 37–9); cf. Eger (1918).
42
Eger (1919: 38).
43
Eger, (1919: 38–9).
44
Deissmann (1927: 319 n.1). Otherwise, only Straub (1937: 87); Vielhauer (1979: 77).
3:9–17. It would be seventy years before another NT scholar turned,

independently, to such epigraphical comparanda, but even then the great
import of the social dynamics implied by the Greek building contracts
would be overlooked.45
In continuing our overview of scholarship, we must note three specific
trajectories – lexical-rhetorical studies,46 studies emphasizing Jewish
evidence,47 and studies focusing on Graeco-Roman data.48 Some of
these currents, such as the tendency to emphasize either Hellenism or
Judaism as the key to interpreting Paul, are familiar in the wake of our
survey in Chapter 6 and reflect larger trends in twentieth-century NT
studies. For example, the very different studies of J. R. Lanci (1997) and
G. K. Beale (2004) argue, respectively, for understanding the source
of Paul’s temple imagery (and its rhetorical-theological function) as
deriving from Graeco-Roman civic temples or from the Ancient Near
Eastern–Old Testament–Jewish temple tradition. All three lines of inves-
tigation (rhetorical, Jewish, Graeco-Roman), however, are important to
consider within our constitution-covenant framework; representatives
of each figure in our exegesis. At present, a summary of one important
work, that of D. W. Kuck, will help us frame many of the exegetical
questions to which we attend.
Kuck’s study (1992) brought into focus four key issues related to our
passage. First, Kuck decisively delimited the textual unit of 1 Cor 3:5–
4:5. He did so on rhetorical and exegetical grounds, demonstrating that
3:5–4:5 is a unified section composed of five sub-units: 3:5–9, 10–15,
16–17, 18–23, and 4:1–5.49 Paul’s “climactic applications” come at the
“double high point” of 3:18–23 and 4:1–5, just before he “takes a
rhetorical breath” and “tips his rhetorical hand explicitly” in 4:6.50
45
Shanor (1988) has an almost exclusively philological focus and fails to relate early
inscriptions (mostly IV BC) to first-century Roman Corinth.
46
Vielhauer (1979); Kitzberger (1986). Cf. Papathomas (2009).
47
Käsemann (1955); Roetzel (1972: 163–70) notes covenantal “parallels” from
Qumran; Kuck (1992); Konradt (2003: 201–95); Beale (2004: 245–52); Hogeterp (2006);
Vahrenhorst (2008: 145–54).
48
Mitchell (1991); Clarke (1993); Lanci (1997); Martin (1999); Goodrich (2012).
49
Cf. Smit (2002: 238). Hogeterp’s contention (1992: 312) that ‫ א‬offers evidence that
supports a unit of 3:10–17 appears unfounded. The “paragraphing” he refers to is used (on
the same folio) to mark sense units and not necessarily rhetorical subdivisions of the text. It
is, in any case, arbitrary to use the otherwise unmarked layout of the text to argue as he does.
I am not familiar with the other two minor mss Hogeterp cites ([*] 104, 547, both dating to
the eleventh century).
50
Kuck (1992: 151–6). Cf. Zeller (2010: 155–78).
Kuck’s analysis of the limits, sub-units, and flow of our text is perceptive
and is augmented by our findings in this chapter.
Second, Kuck described 3:5–4:5 as the integrative locus of Paul’s
argument concerning wisdom, faction, and judgment in 1:10–4:21.51
Failure to see this, Kuck argued, has led many to undervalue the cen-
trality of this section for understanding Paul’s concerns.52 In his view,
“Paul in 3:5–4:5 appeals to the promised judgment of God as a means of
discouraging such individual jockeying for position on the basis of
wisdom.”53 Kuck’s analysis of the critical role of judgment and evalua-
tion in this section is perceptive. Whether it provides the ultimate rheto-
rical and theological fulcrum for Paul’s argument in just the way Kuck
envisions remains to be seen.54 He may well have misconstrued the
precise configuration of Paul’s judgment language and therefore failed
to grasp the fullness of its political and theological function rightly.55
Third, Kuck realized that one cannot fully account for Paul’s rhetorical
construction in 3:5–4:5 without recourse to both Jewish and Graeco-
Roman sources.56 Although he emphasized the Jewish “background”
of apocalyptic judgment language with reference to Paul’s text, Kuck
also acknowledged diagnostic Graeco-Roman features of the argument.
This led him to describe 1 Cor 3:5–4:5 as a “parenetic adaptation” of
judgment traditions, distinct from other Pauline uses of such language
and argument. It was a parenesis calibrated precisely for the situation at
Corinth and demonstrates Paul’s “rhetorical flexibility.”57 To illustrate
Kuck’s approach, we may note two points of exegetical detail in his
treatment. One is his reading of the building materials in 3:12 and the
“odd sort of building” it depicts. Kuck rightly noted the inadequacy of
Graeco-Roman texts (e.g., Plutarch or Lucian) to account for Paul’s list
of terms; he pointed instead to the fact that “the closest parallels to the
list . . . are found in descriptions of the tabernacle or temple in the OT,”
concluding, “[i]t would seem that the OT descriptions of the building of
the tabernacle provided the starting point for Paul’s list in 1 Cor 3:12.”58
51
Kuck (1992: 155) calls this the “major structural problem” of 1:10–4:21 but fails to
explore the thematic and rhetorical links between 3:5–4:5 and 1:4–9.
52
Kuck (1992: 153).
53
Kuck (1992: 155–6).
54
Kuck (1992: 220–2) locates the rhetorical force of Paul’s judgment language in its
unifying potential.
55
Kuck (1992: 223–39).
56
So Weiss (1910: 89–90).
57
Kuck (1992: 234–9).
58
Kuck (1992: 176–7), italics mine, notes Ex 25:3–7; 31:4–5; 35:32–3; 1 Chron
22:14–16; 29:2; cf. Beale (2004: 245–52).
Later, however, Kuck was alert to the converse fact that Paul’s language
of reward (μισθός) in 3:8 and 3:14 finds almost no corollary in the Jewish
sources, being drawn instead from Graeco-Roman texts and settings of
everyday labor.59 On this basis, Kuck claimed, “This relative absence
of such [reward] language in Judaism and Christianity makes Paul’s
language in 1 Cor 3–4 stand out all the more strikingly. Here, we see
clearly the degree to which Paul has adapted judgment traditions in a
fresh way to address the problems in Corinth.”60
Fourth, the typology of four views that Kuck offered on the central
thematic problem of the number, nature, and cause(s) of divisions in the
assembly was thorough at the time he wrote and sufficiently embraces
subsequent views expressed in the past two decades.61 The methodolo-
gical judgment he offered still stands, “No exegete can make an informed
decision on this issue without taking adequate account of the judgment
passages [chiefly 3:5–4:5], since they are centered around Paul, Apollos,
and those who build up or destroy the church.”62
These four aspects – defining the limits of the text, placing it at the
rhetorical center of chapters 1–4, observing the striking mix of Jewish
and Graeco-Roman language and concepts in the extended building
metaphor, and noting the import of a correct understanding of the Paul-
Apollos relationship in the larger context of the argument – are among
Kuck’s exegetical contributions to the history of scholarship and high-
light areas relevant to our new interpretation in this chapter.
But Kuck’s treatment also raises questions. We must ask whether
Kuck had recourse too readily in some cases to literary sources in
contextualizing Paul’s argument; whether his category of “apocalyptic
judgment” accomplishes all he claimed; and whether the primary rheto-
rical function of 1 Cor 3:5–4:5 is, in fact, communal unity. Furthermore,
we must consider, as Kuck did not, why the language related to the
building metaphor is so prevalent in this section, and how understanding
that might further enhance our appreciation of the central motif of
judgment.63 Finally, despite Kuck’s close reading of the flow of the
59
Kuck (1992: 168–9, 232–4).
60
Kuck (1992: 234) without probing further Paul’s adaptive strategy.
61
Kuck (1992: 150–1). The four options are (1) Paul’s response is against factionalism
per se and not specific figures or groups, (2) Paul alternates between responding to various
groups, (3) Paul only ever has one faction in mind, or (4) Paul is offering a defense of his
authority.
62
Kuck (1992: 151). One might invert this: no interpretation can adequately account for
3:5–4:5 without taking a position on the issue of Paul’s critics.
63
Kuck (1992: 170 n.97).
five subsections making up this passage, there remains the question as

to why the shifts in imagery and focus occur at these finely knit seams
and just how they are held together in thematic unity, interpreted, and
ultimately applied by 4:6.
At this point, we may recapitulate our findings and specify the
questions that bear our consideration in the remainder of this chapter.
We have seen that 1 Cor 3:5–4:5 is a deliberately constructed, clearly
demarcated rhetorical unit. With its extended metaphor, it carries
forward Paul’s argument by means of rich imagery, rhythmic compo-
sition, and assonant elements. It is a complex section, drawing together
strands of Jewish and Graeco-Roman concepts and melding them
metaphorically into a new rhetorical edifice. We saw, too, that impor-
tant themes of ministry, community, purity, and evaluative judgment
are built into its structural fabric. The outer limits of 3:5 and 4:6
make clear that Paul arranges the unit to anchor his larger point in
chapters 1–4. References to Paul and Apollos (and to Cephas in 3:22)
importantly, but only partially, reveal the early social history of the
Corinthian conflict, at least from Paul’s perspective. Finally, we have
glimpsed two moments in the history of scholarship at which epigra-
phical comparanda in the form of Greek temple-building contracts
were offered as a way of integratively reading Paul’s text (at least
3:10–17); such a suggestion, however, if noted at all, is usually rele-
gated to a footnote.64
In light of this history and broad consensus, we now summarize
six exegetical and rhetorical questions that deserve further consid-
eration. Each, in its own way, presents ongoing challenges to the
exegete of 1 Cor 3:5–4:5. More importantly, taken together, they
await a compelling interpretive framework that accounts for both the
details and the overall composition and function of the unit within
the epistle.
7.1.1 The Extent and Structure of the Building Metaphor

Exegetes do not agree on the precise extent or structure of the building
metaphor within 3:5–4:5.65 Most understand it to be operative in some
64
While Eger’s study is rarely cited, Shanor’s is routinely. But its potential for applying
the social dynamics of public works construction (of which these inscriptions are but an
important trace) to the situation at Corinth remains unexplored. Cf. Thiselton (2000: 308).
65
Earliest consideration of the rhetorical structure and function of the imagery: Straub
(1937: 72–3, 85–8, 88), i.e., 72–3 (3:6–9), 85–8 (3:10–15), 88 (3:16f.).
way from 3:10–17.66 Almost all interpreters see a “shift” in metaphorical

imagery among subsections of the passage. And although 4:1–5 is the
climactic sub-unit, it is unclear how (if at all) the ministerial language
(ὑπηρέτης, οἰκονόμος, 4:1–2) and focus on evaluative judgment
[λογίζεσθαι, (ἀνα)κρίνω, φανερῶ, 4:1, 3–5] relate to the building meta-
phor it concludes.67 Paul seems himself to indicate the use of multiple
metaphors when, in 4:6, he declares, “These things (ταῦτα),68 brothers,
I have figuratively applied to myself and Apollos on account of you.”
Yet, one study, touching on our text only obliquely, has argued that
the construction metaphor is “sufficiently broad and complex,” “fully
self-consistent,” having a logic of its own that creates “a scene of realism
and unity worthy of a one-act play.”69
In what follows, we must ask, “Is Paul more or less casually shifting
metaphors, borne along by his passion in the dictation of the letter?”70
Or is there indeed a discernible inner structure that, once excavated,
reveals a coherent architecture to his rhetoric throughout 3:5–4:5? And
might Paul’s political theology, rhetorically inscribed in the assembly-
monument, build powerfully on his opening political statement in 1:4–9?
7.1.2 The Sources and Functions of the Metaphorical Imagery

As we saw earlier, there is agreement that the mosaic of imagery evoked
by Paul is complex, both in its sources and functions. From where
exactly, and to what effect, does he draw the important language and
related concepts of construction, temple, and judgment? Given the
insights of Kövecses and cognitive-linguistic metaphor theory (see
Section 5.3.3), must we limit ourselves to pinning down one source or
target for these images, whether Jewish or Graeco-Roman? And further,
once we grant the careful composition and thematic unity of 3:5–4:5
noted by Kuck, how are we to understand the primary functions of this
metaphorical imagery? Is it directed primarily toward unity? Or are
matters of purity and glory more thematically significant? How do
66
Lightfoot (1980: 188–9) sees 3:9 as a hinge; cf. Weiss (1910: 78–80). Mitchell (1991:
99) locates the building metaphor in 3:9–17; Thiselton (2000: 307–18) in 3:9c–17; Beale
(2004: 246) suggests the images in 3:6–17 form a coherent metaphor.
67
Goodrich (2012: 106, 117–64) stresses the integration of these images in 4:1–5 into
the larger unit.
68
See the Excursus to this chapter for an evaluation of the referent of ταῦτα.
69
Welborn (2005: 240–1).
70
So Fee (1987: 133, 136, 139, 156): “he shifts images” (3:9); “he changes images”
(3:9); “an intrusion into the analogy proper” (3:11); “he changes images” (4:1–5).
these various meaning foci interrelate? Ciampa and Rosner have rightly
observed, “The main challenge for the interpretation of this passage [i.e.,
3:5–9, 10–17] is the question of how to understand the metaphorical
language.”71
7.1.3 The Prominence of Ministerial Terminology

A further issue deserving consideration is the remarkable prominence of
ministerial terminology within the extended metaphor of 3:5–4:5. Paul
studiously avoids the language of leadership and magistracy in this
section, precisely where one might expect him to assert his authority
in civic-like terms.72 In doing so, he displays his skill as a rhetorical
architect, constructing a discourse filled with status reversals that aim at
disrupting colonial lines of social relations and evaluation. According
to Martin, this is one function of the ministerial imagery that dominates
this passage, an imagery that derives from the “rhetorical commonplace
that portrayed the body politic as a house.”73 But such rhetorical topoi
usually appeared within elite discourses that discouraged conflict by
bolstering the oligarchic status quo.74 We must ask whether Paul’s
conspicuous emphasis on status disruption by means of ministerial
language derives, not from an elite topos, but from a lower stratum of
social discourse and practice, one consonant with the word of the cross
(1:18–25) so central to his commission and model (1:17; 2:1–4; 3:10–11;
4:1, 16–17).
7.1.4 The Relationship between Paul and Other Ministers

It is largely by means of the ministerial titles he adopts (and those he
avoids) that Paul constructs an apology for his own authority and his
relationship to others (i.e., Apollos) who have ministered to the assem-
bly. This is perhaps most evident in his appropriation of the title σοφὸς
ἀρχιτέκτων (3:10); but it also characterizes four of the five sub-units that
71
Ciampa and Rosner (2010: 143).
72
Clarke (1993: 118–27) emphasizes Paul’s rejection of “secular” models of authority
and honor but retains the language of “leadership” throughout (“non-status leadership,”
“task-orientated leadership,” “leadership in terms of service,” Paul’s “paradigm of leader-
ship,” “Christian leadership”). Paul insists on the terminology of ministry; cf. Welborn
(2005: 234–47) on ministerial language and imagery in Graeco-Roman mimic discourse.
73
Martin (1999: 64–5, 102–3, at 64).
74
So also Mitchell (1991: 99–111); Lanci (1997). But Paul’s deployment of the
extended metaphor, with its emphasis on ministry, may reveal his commitment to disrupting
unity for the sake of other ends.
make up the passage.75 How, precisely, does Paul arrange the lines of
authority and participation in the ministry of the assembly? And are we
able to peer behind the veil of his rhetorical temple to glimpse the faces
of its attendants and their true relations to one another? Was Weiss
correct to register a change in tone in 3:10–15 that targets an unnamed
opponent (perhaps Apollos, or Cephas, or an influential partisan)?76 Or
may we affirm with one recent interpreter that “Paul does not construct a
polemic against Apollos,” but targets the community’s “high esteem of
worldly wisdom” while maintaining a perfectly “congenial relationship”
with Apollos?77
7.1.5 The Nature of Judgment and Evaluation

We must consider, in addition, the role that “technical terms” for
evaluative judgment (e.g., δοκιμάζω, ἀνακρίνω) play in the rhetorical
sweep of 3:5–4:5. In the logic of the extended metaphor, what function
does judgment fulfill? If building is so fundamental in Paul’s metapho-
rical vision, how should we understand the crashing verdictive in 3:17
and the quasi-legal judgment language of 4:1–5? Are “apocalyptic
judgment” and “post-mortem reward” sufficient categories for grasping
Paul’s point?78 Or is it possible that scholars have sometimes been too
hasty to theologize from Paul’s complex cultural metaphor, thereby
over-interpreting its details while leaving unarticulated their combined
force?79 Finally, if many interpreters are correct in seeing 4:1–5 as an
“eschatological climax” akin to 1:7–8, what exactly is the relationship
between that earlier passage and 3:5–4:5?80
7.1.6 The Meaning and Function of the Rhythmic

Sections (3:5–9, 21–3)
Interpreters of earlier eras (i.e., Chrysostom and Weiss) noted the stylis-
tic composition and rhythmic structuring of sub-units in the passage,
75
3:5–9 (Paul, Apollos, planting, watering); 3:10–15 (wise architect, each, other,
builder); 3:18–23 (wise, fool, Paul, Apollos, Cephas); 4:1–5 (assistant, steward).
76
Weiss (1910: 78–9); Welborn (2005: 102–9).
77
Mihaila (2009: 214).
78
So Kuck (1992).
79
E.g., debates over the theological import of 4:4; see Thiselton (2000: 341–2).
80
Theissen (1987: 59–66) fails to anchor his analysis of 4:1–5 firmly in the larger
rhetorical unit. Zeller (2010: 173–4) calls 4:1–5 an eschatologischen Klimax and alludes to
1:4–9.
particularly 3:5–9 and 21b–23. Modern scholars seem to have lost sight
of these formal aspects of Paul’s text in their analyses of its content.81
What are we to make of these highly rhetorical subsections in the flow
of the extended metaphor? Is there any organic relation between the
rhythmic form of these verses and the building imagery comprising the
content? Weiss insisted (of 3:21b–23) that the rhythm of these sections
must be felt (i.e., read aloud and heard) to be appreciated.82 Might we
thereby discover not only the skill and human feeling of Paul but also
something integral to his rhetorical purpose in responding to a rival
configuration of wisdom, authority, and evaluation in the community?
To conclude our review of scholarship for 1 Cor 3:5–4:5, we may
observe that the many decisions facing the interpreter are sometimes
made without reference to the form and function of the whole unit. In
what follows, we begin to address the matter of the overall paradigm
constructed by Paul in this text with reference to the epigraphically
preserved temple-building contracts identified by Eger and Shanor. Far
from offering only lexical assistance in interpreting Paul’s rhetorical
assemblage, these building contracts provide valuable insights into the
politics of construction at Roman Corinth, especially when set within a
constitutional and socioeconomic framework. Such a setting and the
social dynamics it unveils help us appreciate the force of Paul’s argument
and its connection to the overarching purpose of 1 Cor 1–4 and, in
particular, to the opening thanksgiving of 1:4–9.
7.2 The politics of construction

Before we address the considerations just outlined, we must return to the
sorts of epigraphical texts first adduced by Eger in 1918. Although
Deissmann referred to Eger’s “luminous exposition” of 1 Cor 3:9–17,
in truth Eger only gestured, however perceptively, to formulaic terms
and stages of construction preserved by the building contracts that find
corollaries in Paul’s text. Eger emphasized the public nature of these
inscriptions, and it is this fact that encourages us to probe the facets of
their familiarity in civic life.83 We take as our exemplar an inscription
from the central Greek city of Lebadeia (IG VII 3073, III/II BC).84 Its
81
Conzelmann (1975: 72) concedes only that the “style [in 3:5–17] is determined by the
pictorial language.”
82
See Weiss (1910: 89).
83
Eger (1919: 37).
84
Shanor (1988: 461–71) focuses on a Tegean (Arcadian) inscription from IV BC,
lingering only over terminological correspondences.
date, like most of these building contracts, requires us to test its applic-
ability to Roman Corinth, something that the constitution, supported
by Corinthian epigraphy and archaeology, allows us to do with positive
results. Having grasped the political dynamics involved in public works
construction and having demonstrated their relevance to Paul and the
assembly, we turn to the Jewish (especially the covenantal) elements that
helped shape the apostle’s adaptation. These are most clearly compre-
hended in view of texts from Jeremiah and Qumran. It is after grasping
the sources and specific formulation of Paul’s covenantal discourse
of temple-community, purity, and glory that we finally return to 1 Cor
3:5–4:5 with appreciation for the complex cultural metaphor he has
constructed.
As in Chapter 6, it is beneficial to outline initially some of the
important elements of the political pattern that will surface. Each of the
following aspects has relevance for 1 Cor 3:5–4:5, either because it
provides a productive general social and economic setting for interpreta-
tion or because it supplies an important specific part of the pattern to
which Paul explicitly appeals.
7.2.1 Contracts and Competition

As both Eger and Shanor have demonstrated, there is considerable
terminological overlap between Greek building contracts and 1 Cor
3:5–4:5. This has rightly been taken as a signal that Paul is familiar
with the register of public building.85 But this register leads to a genre of
building contracts that have consistent and recognizable legal features
and social practices.86 In Greek poleis, and later in Roman civic contexts,
one such social reality was the sometimes invidious public competition
among contractors bidding for the commission.87 The building of local
monuments (itself a component of competition for glory among local
elites, as we saw in the previous chapter) could thus lead to partisan
competitiveness involving contractors and laborers. Once the commis-
sion was won, the architect then assembled his subcontractors to com-
mence work according to comprehensive contractual specifications.
85
Eger (1919: 39); Shanor (1988: 471).
86
Paul’s experience as a skilled tradesman (σκηνοποιός, Acts 18:3), especially while
in residence at Corinth (1 Cor 9:1–27; 2 Cor 11:7–15), lends plausibility to his familiarity
with the form such a contract would take in Roman law. Cf. Hock (1980); Welborn (2005:
111–12).
87
Plutarch, Mor. 498E–F. Treatment of this text in this chapter.
7.2.2 Design Specifications and Penalties

Within the broad genre of Greek building inscriptions is a sub-category
of contracts and specifications for the execution of the project.
Specifications (συγγραφαί), posted at the work site on either whitened
wooden boards or inscribed in stone, provide our clearest window into
the “economics of temple building.”88 Included in these texts are detailed
and graduated penalties for deviation from specifications, bad practice,
or damage ([δια]φθείρω) to structural materials. Penalties in such cases
took the form of fines (ζημιῶ) or exclusion from the work site. Roman
architects and contractors (redemptores) were likewise expected to give
careful regard to the written specifications (leges locationis) in a building
contract (a lex of the type locatio-conductio) to avoid disputes (contro-
versiae) and penalties in colonial settings.89 The primary purpose of
these specifications, epigraphically recorded in Greek (and later Latin),
was to ensure “that everyone concerned in the work should know exactly
what was expected of him.”90
7.2.3 Authority and Accountability at the Work Site

Drawing clear lines of authority and accountability was a primary
concern of the contractual specifications for temple building. Building
commissioners, architects, sub-architects, and a variety of competent
(ἱκανός) workers and craftsmen had distinct obligations. In the case of
Greek temple building, the architect had authority over the manual
laborers whom he subcontracted and who were not necessarily of
lower social status and often enjoyed a comparable rate of pay.91
Roman architects seem to have been of quite varied social status but
were, especially when acting as redemptores,92 the legally responsible
and authoritative figures with regard to the construction work.93
Accountability for satisfactory work according to the written specifica-
tions (variants on the phrase καθὼς γέγραπται) assumed political, social,
and economic forms – especially in the case of major public works
projects such as temples.
88
Burford (1969: 9–11, 85–192). In the Roman period, inscribed visual plans may have
been incised on red-painted surfaces or executed as plastic models; see Jones (2000: 50–7).
89
Vitruvius, De arch. 1.1.10; cf. 5.1.6.
90
Burford (1969: 11).
91
Burford (1969: 140).
92
Anderson (1997: 3–4).
93
Gros (1983).
7.2.4 Payment and Approval

Contractual specifications provided for payment (μισθός), usually in
installments, to the parties involved. Payment was reckoned
([ἐκ]λογίζομαι) according to current valuations and was always pending
examination and approval (Gk.: ἀποδείκνυμι [from the worker’s stand-
point], δοκιμάζω [from the commissioner’s/patron’s standpoint]; Lat.:
probare). Laborers had to exhibit their work to the architect or his
assistant for endorsement. At the end of the entire building process,
usually within a specified length of time, the commissioning authority
or patron had, on a set day, to conduct the final examination (adprobatio
operis) and grant or refuse approval (pronounce probatio/improbatio).
This, especially in Roman law, was the crucial point at which liability
transferred from contractor to commissioner and final payment was
issued. If approved, the completed work (ἔργον) awaited only the form-
alities and spectacle of public dedication.
7.2.5 Monument and Acclamation

The dedication of a public building such as a temple marked the role
monumental construction played in civic identity and glory. And
particularly in Roman times (“well and widely established” by the
first century, according to Roueché),94 such dedications were asso-
ciated with mass gatherings and shouted, rhythmic acclamations.
These acclamations often occurred in public spaces such as theaters
and offered conspicuous glory to the city, the patron-benefactor, or
both (with the architect eclipsed).95 One of the “most common of all
acclamatory formulae was the “Increase!” acclamation (αὔξε, or αὔξει,
αὔξι).96 Once performed, these acclamations were, especially by late
antiquity, often inscribed in conjunction with the monument honoring
either city or patron. In combination with our observations in the
previous chapter, it is here that we begin most clearly to glimpse the
way in which the politics of thanksgiving was connected to the politics
of construction. With these five elements in mind, we now turn to
examples in Greek, Roman, and Jewish sources that help us mark the
structure and force of Paul’s extended metaphorical construction in 1
Cor 3:5–4:5.
94
Roueché (1984).
95
Anderson (1997: 37, 51).
96
Roueché (1989).
7.3 The politics of construction and Greek temple building

Both Eger and Shanor were led to the Greek temple-building contracts
by their semantic overlap with Paul’s text, each noting identical terms
and phrases employed by the inscriptions and by the self-described wise
architect of the Corinthian assembly-temple. Eger especially made a
brief overture to a larger pattern these texts also shared:
It may be considered quite likely that Paul was led to this
comparison by inscriptions of the kind just outlined. He
exploited this, knowing that they were probably well-known
to his readers, and sought to illustrate for the Corinthians new
ideas with these familiar expressions. However, here as else-
where, he interweaves various images with each other: to the
image of the building built by various workers, and the inves-
tigation of the same, is nicely joined the image by the fiery trial
of the metal and also – following Old Testament passages – that
of the final judgment.97
Decades later, Shanor doubted Paul had any specific inscription in mind
but allowed, “The similarity of structure and vocabulary does suggest
that temple construction . . . provided the Apostle with material for
metaphor . . . there is still further light to be gleaned from these ancient
contracts.”98
Content with literary comparison, neither Eger nor Shanor pushed
beyond the texts to explore the social practices that formed their settings.
With the aid of several archaeological and epigraphical studies, we
may proceed further in the direction they indicated. These studies post-
date Eger and many of them are focused on one lengthy Greek building
inscription from Lebadeia that we take as our guide into the politics and
economics of the temple work site.
This Lebadeia text sits within the larger currents of temple building in
central Greece and the Peloponnese. A. Burford introduced his major
study of Greek temple building by arguing that these inscriptions illu-
mine an important cultural practice that receives hardly a mention in
the literary sources. The light they shed on the “economics of temple
building” reveals the significant fact that “highly skilled craftsmen, the
joiners and stone masons, the decorators, the gold and ivory workers”
were joined by “men from every level of society.”99 This temporary
97
Eger (1919: 39).
98
Shanor (1988: 471).
99
Burford (1969: 9).
association of workers for the purposes of construction met a number of

economic needs, “whether for the increased dignity of the cult and
reverence for the god for whom the temple was being built, or for the
civic prestige to be gained from temple building, the personal glory to
be derived from participating, for the expense, or for the economic
advantages of public works.”100 Ultimately, Burford emphasized, the
importance of such inscriptions for the historian lies less in their archi-
tectural detail than in “the information they provide of how and by
whom temple building was organized and executed,” that is, they give
us “a reasonably complete picture of the way in which the building
scheme progressed, and how it was run.”101 In sum, the various sub-
genres of Greek building inscriptions open a window into the social
world of architects and other figures connected to the construction
project.102 It is this social setting and the relations among fellow workers,
the architect, the patron, and the civic commission that interests us,
particularly in terms of how the language and practices of Greek building
contracts may have survived and evolved by the time of Roman Corinth.
Although Burford based his study on the inscribed texts of Epidauros
from the third and fourth centuries BC, the general portrait he composes
of the social practices and relations involved in Hellenistic temple
building holds true for the later text from Lebadeia (175–72 BC). The
text in question103 was discovered in 1875 (footnoted by Eger; absent
from Shanor).104 Because of its date, the Lebadeia contract105 provides
us with a view of the social dynamics we are interested in nearer
chronologically to Paul’s Corinth than Shanor’s chief example.106
Early in the second century BC, the Boeotian city of Lebadeia,107 just
across the Gulf of Corinth from Lechaion, undertook a large project
to construct a temple of Zeus Basileus.108 IG VII 3073 is an inscribed
stele, which presumably stood near the temple (perhaps during the
construction process), and which preserves 188 lines of contractual
100
Burford (1969: 9–10).
101
Burford (1969: 10–11).
102
Burford (1969: 11) argues “what we have [in the Epidauros inscriptions] is a
selection of information . . . so that everyone concerned in the work should know exactly
what was expected of him.”
103
IG VII 3073 (=SIG 540).
104
Eger (1919: 37–9 nn.86–8, 91). Cf. Garland (2003: 114).
105
Fullest treatment: Turner (1994). Cf. Bundgaard (1946).
106
IG V, 2 6 (IV BC, from Tegea in the Peloponnese).
107
See Paus., Descr. 9.39.
108
Turner (1994: 269–314) gives a full treatment. Translations follow Turner, with
minor modifications.
terms and specifications for the construction of a large pavement com-

posed of thirteen blocks that formed part of the temple complex.109
Turner categorizes it as a subset of “acts of inauguration,” a type of
building inscription with “decrees or resolutions authorizing a building
project.” A comparison of the Lebadeia text with Paul’s extended
metaphor in terms of three sets of terms and associated dynamics –
specifications and penalties, authority and accountability, and payment
and approval – will prove particularly instructive.
7.3.1 Specifications and Penalties

Throughout, the processes involved in construction included multiple
steps and detailed regulations. The goal was twofold: to ensure quality
work and conformity to design. Both aspects are captured in the recur-
rent legal phrase “according to the written specifications” (κατὰ τὴν
συγγραφὴν γεγραμμένων).110 This phrase and variants such as καθὼς
γέγραπται111 frequently occur with verbs of compliance or conformity
(πείθω),112 placement (τίθημι),113 or work (ἐργάζω).114 The following
are characteristic examples:
καὶ ἐρ[γᾶ]ται πάντα καθὼς καὶ περὶ τῶν ἐπάνω γέγραπται.
He will work everything exactly as it has been written above
about the (other) things. (l. 74; cf. l. 82)
ἔπειτεν ἀναθυρώσει τοὺς ἁρμοὺ[ς πρὸς τὸν] κανόνα τὸν λίθινον
τῶν κειμένων
καταστρωτ[ήρων, πρὸς] οὓς μέλλει τιθέναι, καθὼς καὶ περὶ
τῶν ἀπιόντων [ἁρμῶν] γέγραπται.
Then he will “anathyrosize” the joints of the paving blocks lying
in position according to the stone rule115 against which he
intends to set, exactly as it has been written. (ll. 142–5)
εἶτεν θήσει τοὺς καταστρωτῆρ[ας, ἐργα]ζόμενος καθὼς
γέγραπται.
109
Turner (1994: 270), accession #253 on display in the Chaeroneia Museum.
110
IG VII 3073.15–16, 18–19.
111
IG VII 3073.74, 82, 113–14, 144–5, 151.
112
IG VII 3073.14–15, 21–3, 178–80.
113
IG VII. 3073.144–5.
114
IG VII. 3073.150–1.
115
On κανόνες for “truing up” the joints of a building, see Bundgaard (1946: 17–19).
Then he will set the paving blocks, working exactly as it has

been written.116 (ll. 150–1)
During the course of the work, alterations to the specifications by the
commissioners could be communicated on a λεύκωμα, a wooden board
coated with white gypsum utilized for posting public notices.117 Those
matters not prescribed explicitly were referred to the larger framework of
public law.118 According to Burford, the Lebadeian documents (among
others) carefully combined regulations and instructions:
[T]he emphasis is all on safeguarding against the contractor’s
default, and ensuring the best possible workmanship from
him. . . . The impression given by these documents . . . is that
every clause is relevant to the work in question. . . . It seems
likely that contracts were so composed that a contractor who
infringed the terms of his contract would automatically have
produced bad work.119
As the Lebadeia inscription makes clear, quality and conformity of work
were judged according to the written specifications.120 These regulations
were publicized and referred to and were so detailed that an experienced
workman needed little further guidance apart from oral instructions from
the supervising architect or supplementary drawings or models.121
Nevertheless, the emphasis for architects and builders on site during
the working process, especially during the Roman period, was on the
verbal template drafted by the building inscriptions rather than visual
plans and elevations.122 As we shall see presently, the weight placed on
design specifications that characterizes the building inscriptions finds
an analogue in Paul’s metaphorical construction, most obviously in
3:10–15, but also in 4:6. This raises the question of their function in the
structure of 3:5–4:5 as a whole.
One other feature of the Lebadeia text that relates to specifications
is its anticipation of conflict among contractors on the job. Since archi-
tects, sub-architects, and other contractors might disagree over the
116
Bundgaard (1946: 35–7) translates this “proceeding as described.”
117
IG VII 3073.5.
118
IG VII. 3073.87–9.
119
Burford (1969: 92), italics mine.
120
Burford (1969: 90).
121
Burford (1969: 91). Cf. Coulton (1983).
122
Coulton (1983: 457).
interpretation or execution of certain specifications, there was the proviso

that commissioners would adjudicate any conflict:
ἐὰν δὲ πρὸς αὑτοὺς ἀντιλέγωσιν οἱ ἐργῶναι περί τινος τῶν
γεγραμμένων, διακρινοῦσιν οἱ ναοποιοὶ ὀμόσαντες ἐπὶ τῶν
ἔργων, πλείονες ὄντες τῶν ἡμίσεων, τὰ δὲ ἐπικριθέντα κύρια ἔστω.
If the contractors disagree with each other about any of the
things written, the naopoioi having sworn an oath at the project
site will adjudicate (among them), being more than half (pre-
sent), and let what they decide be authoritative. (ll. 41–4)
Given that the Lebadeia inscription, typically of such building contracts,
is so insistent regarding conformity to specifications, it is no surprise that
penalty clauses appear frequently. Like other such inscriptions pointed
to by Eger and Shanor, the most common is a fine, expressed by the verb
ζημιῶ, also used by Paul in 3:15. Prominent among acts of bad practice
that attracted a fine was damage to building blocks:
καὶ ἐάν τινα ὑγιῆ λίθον διαφθείρηι123 κατὰ τὴν ἐργασίαν ὁ
τῆς θέσεως ἐργώνης, ἕτερον ἀποκαταστήσει δόκιμον τοῖς
ἰδίοις ἀνηλώμασιν οὐθὲν ἐπικωλύοντα τὸ ἔργον. . . . ἐὰν δὲ
μὴ ἀποκαθιστῆι ἢ μὴ ἀκῆται τὸ καταβλαφθέν, καὶ τοῦτο
ἐπεγδώσουσιν οἱ ναοποιοί, ὅτι δ’ ἂν εὕρηι, τοῦτο αὐτὸ καὶ
ἡμιόλιον ἀποτείσει ὁ ἐργώνης καὶ οἱ ἔγγυοι.
And if the contractor for the setting should damage any sound
block during the working (of it), he will substitute another
approved one at his own expense. . . . If he does not replace or
mend whatever is damaged, this also the naopoioi will let out
again (on contract), and whatever it may fetch, this itself and
half again as much the contractor and the guarantors will repay.
(ll. 33–9)
In addition to fines for damaged building materials, there was also the
possibility of exile from the work site for those laborers collaborating
in bad practice with a supervisor in a way that undermined the execution
of the project according to specifications. Both penalties appear in the
following excerpt:
123
The δια- prefix to the compound διαφθείρω appears to lose its force by the first
century, implying that there is little or no semantic difference between it and φθείρω, Paul’s
choice in 1 Cor 3:17 (but, see 2 Cor 4:16). Cf. LSJ s.v. διαφθείρω and Muraoka s.v.v.
διαφθείρω, φθείρω.
ἂν δέ τι μὴ πείθηται τῶν κατὰ τὴν συγγραφὴν γεγραμμένων ἢ

κακοτεχνῶν τι ἐξελέγχηται, ζημιωθήσεται ὑπὸ τῶν ναοποιῶν
καθότι ἂν φαίνηται ἄξιος εἶναι μὴ ποιῶν τῶν κατὰ τὴν
συγγραφὴν γεγραμμένων. καὶ ἐάν τις ἄλλος τῶν
συνεργαζομένων ἐξελέγχηταί τι κακοτεχνῶν, ἐξελαυνέσθω ἐκ
τοῦ ἔργου καὶ [μ]ηκέτι συνεργαζέσθω· ἐὰν δὲ μὴ πείθηται,
ζημιωθήσεται καὶ οὗτος μετὰ τοῦ ἐργώνου.
If in some way he [contractor] does not comply with the things
written in the specifications or should be convicted of bad
practice in some way, he will be fined by the naopoioi according
to whatever he seems to deserve (for) not doing the things
written in the specifications, and if anyone else of the co-
workers is convicted of bad practice in any respect, let him be
driven out of the job and no longer work with the others; if he
does not comply, he too will be fined along with the contractor.
(ll. 15–21; cf. ll. 173–9)
In these relations of building specifications to various workers, situations
of conflict, and penalties for bad practice (either monetary or exile), we
begin to see the clear lines of authority and accountability articulated and
assumed by such texts.
7.3.2 Authority and Accountability

The two most frequently mentioned parties in temple building contracts
such as IG VII 3073 were building commissioners (ναοποιοί)124 and the
contractor(s) (ἐργώνης). There were also guarantors (ἔγγυοι) acting as
financial backers, craftsmen (τεχνίται) providing labor, and boiotarchs
(βοιωτάρχοι) who aided in assessing damages. But our interest is natu-
rally drawn to the architect (ἀρχιτέκτων), the figure who (assisted by his
sub-architect [ὑπαρχιτέκτων]) stood between the building commission
and the contractor and was authorized to act as an expert extension of
the commissioner’s authority.125 Unlike the later Roman organization of
public building, in Greek building the contractor and architect were
apparently never the same figure, the former bearing legal and financial
liability for the project and the latter bearing authority over the workers
and responsibility for the quality of the work.126
124
Building superintendents went by different names according to city. In Delos (CIG
2266), they were agoranomoi; see Pringsheim (1950: 289). Cf. Burford (1969: 127–34).
125
Turner (1994: 293–4).
126
Coulton (1977: 15).
This picture of the levels of authority and the key position of the
Greek architect squares with other evidence examined by Burford.
The architect, as a “master-craftsman,” was the chief delegate of the
commission, a “technical adviser, essential to the administration of the
work” who carried the “main burden of technical responsibility for
planning and specification” of the undertaking.127 We see this in the
Lebadeia stele in a description of work done in the architect’s author-
itative presence:
having engraved the lines in the presence of the architect (καὶ
γραμμὰς καταγραψάμε[νος παρόν]|τος τοῦ ἀρχιτέκτονος) let
him remove the existing surplus (stone) with a point, making
the specified width, making everything true, sharp edged.
(ll. 130–3)
Very importantly, however, although craftsmen and laborers were
under the authority of the architect, their status and pay were often
comparable. As Burford put it, “There was no other distinction, techni-
cally speaking, between the architect and the craftsmen who worked
with him on the temple than that the architect was more skilled and
thus was competent to command them.”128 Authority relative to design
and accountability for execution on the work site, not social or economic
status, were what distinguished the architect from his fellow workers.
As we will see, throughout 3:5–4:5 Paul effectively exploits this distinc-
tion of authority versus status in the politics of construction. These
relations further structured the dispensing of payment for work and the
approval of the finished project.
7.3.3 Payment and Approval

When the building contract was let out (ἐκδίδωμι),129 payment130 for
work was publicly determined; installments were delivered pending
approval by the architect, the sub-architect, or the commissioners.
These were reckoned (ἐκλογίζομαι)131 according to specified or current
valuations. An example comes in the following lines:
127
Burford (1969: 140–9). Cf. M-M, s.v. ἀρχιτέκτων.
128
Burford (1969: 149). Cf. Gros (1983: 426–8); Arzt-Grabner et al. (2006: 146–8).
129
E.g., IG VII 3073.5–6.
130
Commonly μισθός, but in the Lebadeian text usually specific monetary amounts (see
ll. 6, 10, 56, 58, 61), δόσις (ll. 13, 48, 54, 60, 78, 81), or ὑποτίμημα (l. 9, 55, 58–9).
131
IG VII 3073.56; cf. l. 61 (ὑπολογίζομαι).
ὅταν δὲ ἀποδείξηι πάσας εἰργασμένας καὶ ὀρθὰς πάντηι καὶ

τέλος [ἐ]χούσας κατὰ τὴν συγγραφὴν καὶ μεμολυβδοχοημένας
ἀρεστῶς τοῖς ναοποιοῖς καὶ τῶι ἀρχιτέκτονι λήψεται τὴν |
δευτέραν δόσιν πάντων τῶν γραμμάτων τῆς ἐπιγραφῆς | ἐκ
τοῦ ὑποτιμήματος πρὸς τὸν ἀριθμὸν τὸν ἐκ τῶν ἀντι|γράφων
ἐγλογισθέντα.
[W]hen he exhibits all (the stelae) worked and true on all sides
and having the finish according to the specifications and poured
around with lead satisfactorily to the naopoioi and the architect,
he will receive the second payment for all the letters of the
inscription according to the valuation on the basis of the number
calculated from the copies. (ll. 50–3)
Endorsement of specific tasks and payment at defined stages culminated
in final inspection and approval. The whole, and not only the parts, had to
satisfy the commissioners and architect; the repeated term for “approva-
ble” or “satisfactory” is δόκιμος and its verbal and adverbial forms.132
The contract specified that the guarantors (who were liable for the
contractor’s fines)133 would not be released until all passed the final
examination (ἕως τῆς ἐσχάτης δοκιμασίας).134 In fact, all the specifica-
tions, incremental inspections, and investments of capital and labor
inclined toward the day of final approval, when the liability for the
structure (including any faults) shifted legally from the contractor to
the commissioners and the preparations for a civic dedication could
begin.135
In summary, our investigation of the semantic features attested by
the Lebadeian temple paving inscription demonstrates overwhelming
linguistic correlation with 1 Cor 3:5–17. Even more importantly, these
philological connections have led us to legal and social features that bear
on Paul’s larger metaphorical construction in 3:5–4:5. Insistence on work
according to specifications, the assignment of penalties for bad practice,
well-defined lines of authority and accountability that do not derive
directly from socioeconomic status, satisfactory conditions for payment,
penalties for damages, and the ultimate inspection for approval are
features of the Greek temple-building process that promise to reveal a
coherent structure and function to Paul’s text. But though IG VII 3073
132
IG VII 3073.31, 34, 57 (δοκιμασθῆι), 64, 72, 85,120, 123, 150, 159, 185 (δοκίμως),
100–1 ([ἐδοκ]ιμάσθησαν).
133
Burford (1969: 96–7).
134
IG VII 3073.28–9.
135
Burford (1969: 98).
is temporally more proximate to first-century Corinth than Shanor’s

Tegean inscription, we still must deal with the question of whether the
features visible in the Lebadeian process are applicable in the later
constitutional context of Roman Corinth. Given the complex admixture
of Greek and Roman in first-century colonial Corinth, does the pattern
hold?
7.4 The politics of construction in Roman Corinth

Having surveyed the legal forms and social functions of Greek building
contracts, we may now turn our attention to first-century Roman
Corinth. With the aid of the colonial constitution and other literary,
epigraphical, and archaeological evidence, we seek to uncover the form
of the politics of construction most relevant to the interpretation of
Paul’s text. What that evidence demonstrates is that the general pattern
we have seen so far persists, with important alterations, in the Roman
law of contract and the colonial organization of public works. By
anchoring this more concretely in Julio-Claudian Corinth, we are able
to attend sensitively to the resonances and dissonances of Paul’s
extended temple-building metaphor for ministry.
In a study underlining the importance of temple imagery for the
argument of 1 Corinthians, J. R. Lanci remarked, “Although each of
these terms might be used in a non-construction situation, the presence of
all of them here together, when Paul is setting up the image of the
construction of a building, suggests that in using these terms, Paul
is evoking the image of literal construction.”136 Lanci drew together
evidence, mostly literary, to demonstrate that the construction and ded-
ication of monuments such as temples were public events that involved
the community.137 He suggested that the community-uniting force of
this idea is primary.138 But if, as Lanci seemed to assume, Paul is
exploiting a complex cultural metaphor known to many of those in the
Corinthian assembly not only by observation and ritual participation,
but perhaps by physical and economic experience, then we may go
further in situating it within the embodied politics of construction at
Roman Corinth. To do so, we turn once more to the colonial charter.
We recall from Chapter 3 Crawford’s observation that the granting of a
civic charter was naturally linked to the development of a monumental
136
Lanci (1997: 64).
137
Lanci (1997: 57–8) refers briefly to the lex Urs.
138
Lanci (1997: 45–56, 76–9, 89–113).
urban center, and that the latter process was envisioned and regulated
in detail by the constitution itself.139 In both the lex Urs. and the lex
Flavia, we read of public works contracts, those magistrates responsible
for project oversight, limits on demolition and reconstruction, obliga-
tions incumbent on citizens and incolae to provide labor or resources,
the rendering of payment and accounts, and the attempt at regulating
against conflict of interest and corruption. In short, public works con-
struction was a major feature of the constitution, precisely because it was
required by colonial politeia.
Letting contracts was a process in which magistrates, entrepreneurs,
and their subcontracted laborers and suppliers engaged. This occurred
regularly, for instance, each time the sacra publica were provided for
official rituals. The contractual process was an urgent requirement for
colonial life, as demonstrated by Ch. 69 of the lex Urs.:
IIviri qui post colon(iam) deduc〈t〉am primi erunt, ii in su|o
mag(istratu) et, quicumq(ue) IIvir(i) in colon(ia) Iul(ia) erunt,
ii in | diebus (sexaginta) proxumis, quibus eum mag(istratum)
gerere coe|perint, ad decuriones referunto, cum non minus |
(viginti) aderunt, uti redemptori redemptoribusque, | qui ea
redempta habebunt quae ad sacra resq(ue) | divinas opus erunt,
pecunia ex lege locationis | adtribuatur solvaturq(ue). neve
quisquam rem ali|am at decuriones referunto neve quot decuri|
onum decret(um) faciunto antequam eis redemp|toribus
pecunia ex lege locationis attribuatur | solvaturve d(ecurionum)
d(ecreto), dum ne minus (triginta) atsint, cum | e(a) r(es) con-
sulatur. quot ita decreverint, ei IIvir(i) | redemptori redemptor-
ibus attribuendum | solvendumque curato, dum ne ex ea pecunia
| solvent adtribuant, quam pecuniam ex h(ac) l(ege) | [ad] ea
sacra, quae in colon(ia) aliove quo loco pu|blice fiant, dari
adtribui oportebit.
Whoever shall be the first IIviri after the foundation of the
colony, they during their magistracy, and whoever shall be
IIviri in the colonia Iulia, they in the sixty days next following
those on which they shall have begun to hold that magistracy are
to raise with the decurions, when not less than 20 shall be
present, the procedure by which a sum may be assigned and
paid, according to the conditions for the letting of the contract,
to the contractor or contractors, who shall hold the contract for
139
Crawford (1995: 421).
those things which shall be necessary for sacrifices and religious

functions. Nor is anyone to raise any other matter with the
decurions or pass any decree of the decurions, before the
money be assigned or paid according to the conditions for
the letting of the contract to those contractors by decree of the
decurions, 〈?unless?〉 not less than thirty be present, whenever
that matter may be discussed. Whatever they shall have so
decreed, those IIviri are to see that it is assigned and paid to
the contractor or contractors, provided that they not pay or
assign from that sum, which sum it shall be appropriate to
give or assign according to this statute for those sacrifices,
which may be publicly performed in the colony or any other
place. (RS I 25)
Public works construction140 also involved the contractual mecha-
nism.141 Accountability and competition was fostered by the public
display and archiving of contracts, not only immediately after colonial
foundation but also annually thereafter. In Roman law, contracts for
this kind of work were subsumed under the legal category of locatio-
conductio, in which a party (the locator) in need of labor (opus) let out
the job by “hiring” the services (operae) of a contractor (the conductor
or redemptor) who “rented” the terms of the contract.142 So we see in
Ch. 63 of the lex Irn.:
R(ubrica). De [l]ocationibus legibusque locationum pro|ponen-
dis et in tabulas municipi referendis. Qui IIvir iure dicundo
praerit, vectigalia ultroque | tributa, sive quid aliut communi
nomine munici|pum eius municipi locari oportebit, locato.
Quasque lo|cationes fecerit quasque leges dixerit, et quanti
quit | locatum sit et qui praedes accepti sint quaeque praedia |
subdita subsignata obligatave sint quique praedio|rum cogni-
tores accepti sint, in tabulas communes mu|nicipum eius muni-
cipi referantur facito et proposita | habeto per omne reliquum
tempus honoris sui, ita ut | d(e) [p(lano] r(ecte) [l(egi) p(ossint)],
quo loco decuriones conscriptive proponenda esse censuerint.
Rubric. Concerning the displaying and entering in the records of
the municipium of “offerings for rent” and conditions for
140
Also the supply of sacra publica, collection of taxes.
141
Liebenam (1967: 134–64, 382–416). Cf. Goffaux (2001); D’Hautcourt (2001).
142
du Plessis (2012). See also Martin (1986); Martin (1989); Martin (2001).
“offerings for rent.” Whoever is IIvir in charge of the adminis-

tration of justice, is to “offer for rent” the revenues and the
contracts and whatever else it is necessary to “offer for rent” in
the common name of the municipes of that municipium. And he
is to have entered in the common records of the municipes of
that municipium whatever “offerings for rent” he has held and
whatever conditions he has laid down, and for how much any-
thing has been “rented” and who have been accepted as
praedes,143 and what praedia have been furnished and regis-
tered and pledged, and who have been accepted as cognitores144
of the praedia, and he is to have them displayed for the whole
of the rest of his time in office, in such a way that they can be
read properly from ground level, in the place in which the
decurions or conscripti decide that they should be displayed.
(JRS 1986)
Two aspects of Ch. 63 are important to note. First, public contracts fell
within the charge of the civic magistrate who provided oversight of the
entire process. Second, the terms and specifications of contracts were
publicly posted through the end of each magisterial year, after which
they were retained in the public archives. This meant that contractual
specifications, like the constitution itself, were always visibly present in
the colonial center.145 Such display also provided legal and public
accountability since (as we saw in Ch. 69 of the lex Urs.) final payment
was issued “according to the conditions for the letting of the contract”
(ex lege locationis). Already in the public display of leges locationis,
we see the visible, legal, Roman form that Greek building contracts of
the sort we saw earlier from Lebadeia would have taken in a colony
such as Corinth.
In both the Caesarian lex Urs. (assigned to the mid–first century by
Stylow)146 and the Flavian lex Irn., we see the development and applica-
tion of Roman public law to the exigency of construction, demolition,
and rebuilding of public and private structures.147 Because Ch. 62 of the
143
A. Berger, EDRL, s.v. praedes: “sureties who assumed guaranty for a person who
concluded a contract with the state (e.g., a lease, a locatio conductio operarum, etc.).”
144
Berger, EDRL, s.v. cognitor: “a representative of a party in a civil trial.” Cf. lex Irn.,
Ch. 64.
145
Cf. Cicero, Agr. 1.7; 2.55–6: display of public contracts.
146
See Chapter 3.
147
Cf. Phillips (1973).
lex Irn. brings together magisterial authority, demolition or damage to

structures, and financial penalties,148 it warrants full citation:
R(ubrica). Ne quis aedificia, quae restituturus non erit, destruat.
Ne quis in oppido municipi Flavi Irnitani quaeque ei oppido |
continentia aedificia erunt, aedificium de[t]egito destrui|to
demoliundumve curato, nisi 〈de〉 decurionum conscriptorum|
ve sententia<m>, cum maior pars eorum adfuerit, quod res|
tituturus intra proximum annum non erit. Qui adversus | ea
fecerit, is quanti ea res erit, t(antam) p(ecuniam) municipibus
municipi Flavi | Irnitani d[are] d[amnas] esto, eiusque pecuniae
deque | ea pecunia municipi eius municipi [q]ui volet, cuique
per h(anc) l(egem) li|cebit, actio petitio persecutio esto.
Rubric. That no one is to destroy buildings which he is not going
to replace.
No one in the town of the Municipium Flavium Irnitanum or
where buildings are continuous with that town, is to unroof or
destroy or see to the demolition of a building, except by resolu-
tion of the decurions or conscripti, when the majority of them
is present, unless he is going to replace it within the next year.
Whoever acts against these rules, is to be condemned to pay
to the municipes of the Municipium Flavium Irnitanum as
much money as the case is worth, and the right of action, suit
and claim of that money and concerning that money is to belong
to any municeps of that municipium who wishes and who is
entitled under this statute. (JRS 1986)
To regulate the condition and development of urban spaces, the law
required public approval for major structural alterations.149 Those acting
contrary to statute (qui adversus ea fecerit) were liable to be fined. Any
monies collected belonged to the city and could be used to fund public
construction or other endeavors.150
When a colony prepared to enagage in public works construction, a
contract was readied and a process initiated. Eligible contractors bid
competitively for the lucrative job, spurred on by the prospect of
income and, in the case of major building projects, the possibility of
glory by association. Magistrates, their families, and their attendants
148
Cf. lex Urs. Ch. 75.
149
Cf. Lamberti (1993: 85–96).
150
González (1986: 218). Cf. lex Irn. Ch. 66.
(apparitores) were ineligible for any share in public contracts.151

Competition among bidders could be invidious. Plutarch used this
well-known fact as the basis for a moralizing appeal:
Cities, as we know, when they give public notice of intent to let
contracts for the bidding of temples or colossal statues (ὅταν
ἔκδοσιν ναῶν ἢ κολοσσῶν προγράφωσιν), listen to the propo-
sals of artists competing for the commission and bringing in
their estimates and models (περὶ τῆς ἐργολαβίας καὶ λόγους
καὶ παραδείγματα κομιζόντων), and then choose the man who
will do the same work with the least expense and better than
the others and more quickly. Come then, let us suppose that
we also give public proclamation of intent to contract for mak-
ing life wretched (ἡμᾶς ἔκδοσίν τινα βίου κακοδαίμονος
προκηρύσσειν), and that Fortune and vice come to get the
commission (προσιέναι τῇ ἐργολαβίᾳ) in a rival spirit
(διαφερομένας). (Mor. 498E–F, Loeb translation)
Although every detail related to Roman colonial contract law and build-
ing regulations will not have applied to the Greek poleis, it is clear from
Plutarch that the process of public proclamation of the contract and of
competitive bidding was a shared experience of politeia for many cities
and of the craftsmen who provided labor for contractors.152 There was
significant overlap in the social experience, as well as the legal form, of
public building in the Graeco-Roman civic centers.
The constitution also provided the authority for magistrates annually
to require corvée-style work or to requisition resources from adult
male citizens, incolae, and others. We find the following in Ch. 98 of
the lex Urs.:
quacumque munitionem decuriones huius|ce coloniae decrever-
int, si m(aior) p(ars) [[..]] decurionum | atfuerit, cum e(a) r(es)
consuletur, eam munitionem | fieri liceto, dum ne amplius in
annos sing(ulos) in|que homines singulos puberes operas quinas
et in iumenta plaustraria iuga sing(ula) operas ter|nas decernant.
eique munitioni aed(iles) qui tum | erunt ex d(ecurionum)
d(ecreto) praesunto. uti decurion(es) censu|erint, ita munien-
dum curanto, dum ne in|vito eius opera exigatur, qui minor
annor(um) (quattuordecim) |aut maior annor(um) (sexaginta)
natus erit. qui in ea colon(ia) | intrave eius colon(iae) fin〈e〉s
151
Lex Irn. Ch. J. For apparitores, see also lex Urs. Chs. 62, 63, 93.
152
Burford (1972: esp. 68–123). Cf. Dio Chrysostom, Cont. (Or. 47).
domicilium praediumve habebit neque eius colon(iae) colon(us)

erit, is ei|dem munitioni uti colon(us) pare〈n〉to.
Whatever construction work the decurions of this colony shall
have decreed, if the majority of the decurions shall have been
present, when that matter shall be discussed, it is to be lawful for
that construction work to take place, provided that they not
decree more each year for each adult man than five days’
work each and for pairs of draught animals (for) each yoke
three days’ work each. And the aediles who shall then be (in
office) are to be in charge of that construction work according
to the decree of the decurions. As the decurions shall have
decided, so they are to see that the construction work is done,
provided that work be not exacted unwillingly of that person
who shall be less than fourteen years or more than sixty years
old. Whoever in that colony or within the boundaries of that
colony shall have a domicile or estate and shall not be a colonist
of that colony, he is to be liable to the same construction work
as a colonist. (RS I 25)
It is difficult to tell how often such operae were actually required, what
form such an obligation might take in each case, or in what ways
some might evade the requirement or provide substitutes. Yet the reap-
pearance and development of this statute in lex Irn. Ch. 83 suggests it was
implemented in colonial life over the first century as Julio-Claudian
communities such as Corinth experienced building booms.153
According to the charters, it was aediles who most often administered
the processes of public construction and who afterward oversaw their
maintenance.154 As we saw in lex Urs. Ch. 69, duoviri and decurions
approved and saw to the payment for completed work. Contractors who
were engaged for public business such as building were required to
render accounts, which were recorded and archived by public scribes,
within 150 days of completion or cessation of work.155
In sum, the constitution testifies abundantly to the regulation of public
contracting for projects such as temple construction. The letting of
contracts was a public process, overseen by colonial magistrates, and
153
Lex Irn. Ch. 83. Traces remain in the inscriptions (not at Corinth): see Liebenam
(1967: 401–2, 417–30); Crawford, RS I 25, p. 444.
154
Cf. lex Urs. Ch. 77; lex Irn. Ch. 19; Lamberti (1993: 64–7). Management of temples
by magistri fanorum: lex Urs. Ch. 128.
155
Rendering accounts: lex Urs. Ch. 80; lex Irn. Chs. 67–9. Scribae: lex Urs. Ch. 81; lex
Irn. Ch. 26; lex Flavia Ch. 59.
involving contractors and craftsmen. Chapters from the constitution give

us insight into the competition for such contracts; their stipulations;
communal participation in public construction; and the processes of
approval, levying fines, and final payment. It is clear that this framework
intersects with both the form of Greek temple-building contracts and
the concerns and shape of Paul’s extended metaphor in 1 Cor 3:5–4:5,
strengthening our case for interpreting the latter in terms of a colonial
politics of construction. But what did such a politics look like at the
social levels of patron, architect, and laborers and on the job site in a
Roman setting? And is there reason to believe the framework of the
constitution actually shaped the practice of public building in Roman
Corinth?
Unfortunately, our direct evidence disappoints us at precisely the
points we are most interested: the manner of the appointment of an
architect156 for a civic building project and the exact form that leges
locationis assumed in such contracts.157 We are able, however, to recon-
struct to a surprising degree the shape of a Roman Corinthian politics of
construction by joining literary, juristic, and archaeological evidence.
We have already seen from Plutarch that the experience of competitive
bidding for public contracts was assumed to be shared cultural knowl-
edge of a distinctly public kind.158 It is likely that an architect involved
in major public works projects landed the job in one of two ways. Either a
patron appointed him or he won a competitive bidding process.159 It is
only natural to assume that once a project was let out, negotiations
among those funding and those executing the construction were fina-
lized. Aulus Gellius grants us a glimpse of the players in such a design
phase. Recalling a visit to the home of the orator M. Cornelius Fronto,
Gellius writes:
156
RE II.1 (1895) s.vv. architectus (esp. cols. 551–2), architectura (cols. 543–51),
ἀρχιτέκτων (cols. 552–3). OCD4 s.v. architectus, “Roman architects are mostly anonymous
supervisors during construction.”
157
See Pearse (1975: 28–9): “It is difficult to form from the available evidence a clear
picture either of the building contractors or of the whole organisation of building in the
second and first centuries [BC]. . . . Another important absentee from much of the evidence
of this period is the architect. . . . We do not know how an architect was appointed for a
public project”; up-to-date collections of epigraphic evidence are found in Donderer
(1996); Hellmann (1999).
158
Cf. Polyb. 6.17; Plutarch, Ti. C. Gracch. 6.3–4. Cicero’s indictment of Verres (Verr.
2.1.51.130–50) includes important information on public works contracts, the appeal to
specifications, (im)probatio operis, and magisterial corruption. du Plessis (2004: 295–300).
159
Of course, these may have coincided; see Pearse (1975: 107–8). Cf. Pliny,
Ep. 10.39.4.
By [Fronto’s] side stood several builders (fabri), who had been

summoned to construct some new baths and were exhibiting
different plans for baths, drawn on little pieces of parchment
(depictas in membranulis). When he had selected one plan and
specimen of their work (unam formam speciemque operis), he
inquired what the expense would be of completing that entire
project (totum opus). And when the architect (architectus) said
that it would probably require about three hundred sesterces,
one of Fronto’s friends said, “And another fifty thousand, more
or less.” (Noct. att. 19.10; Loeb translation, J.C. Rolfe)
We are treated here to a view of three types who figured in the politics of
Roman building: the patron, the architect, and the builder. Although it
appears that this is a scene of Fronto hiring building services in a private
capacity, local elites could double as public overseers during their
terms as civic magistrates.160 Fronto, who was presumably funding the
bath project, appears in Gellius’s vignette as the one selecting the pre-
ferred design.161 When he asked about the projected costing, Fronto was
answered by the one in charge of the group of builders, namely, the
architect.162 Later in the scene, when Fronto embarrasses a grammarian
who was also there, those present laugh at the discomfiture of the
educated man. He responds with a sneer, referring to the group (lumping
architect and builders together) as “ignorant folk” (inscitiores), appar-
ently on account of their social status.
All three types (patron/magistrate, architect, and builder) appear in
bold detail on a sculptural relief from Terracina (see Figure 6) dated to
the late Republican or early Imperial period.163
Recent comments by Jones on this relief are relevant to our
investigation:
Part of a sculptural relief found at Terracina presents a rare
insight into the world of a successful architect-contractor.
Unlike the static representations of funerary portraits, this
shows an architect in action at the town port. . . . The fact that
160
As did Babbius Philinus at Corinth; see further this chapter.
161
Vitruvius assumes familiarity with architectural drawings, even for non-architects.
Cf. Jones (2000: 49–57).
162
Apparently an instance where the architectus may also have functioned as
redemptor.
163
Terracina is a port city just south of Rome on the Tyrrhenian coast. The relief is in the
Museo Nazionale in Rome. See Coarelli (1996: 444–6) for dating the iconographic style to
43–27 BC.
Figure 6 Architect relief

Terracina relief with workers, architect, and magistrate. Museo Nazionale
Romano (Museo delle Terme). Drawing from J.-P. Adam, Roman Building:
Materials and Techniques (Bloomington, IN: Indiana University Press, 1994)
73, fig. 90. Used by permission.
this was a major operation is conveyed by the presence of a

high-ranking official seated on a sella curulis, possibly Agrippa.
Meanwhile the architect is represented no fewer than three
times, each time with a volumen or roll of drawings in one
hand. In chronological sequence he appears first by his master’s
side, and subsequently to both the right and left of the A-frame
lifting device in the act of directing the workforce. The
quality of the relief, the fact he was shown thrice and his close
relationship with such a senior figure all suggest that this archi-
tect was a man of elevated social status, perhaps the main
contractor (redemptor) for the whole project.164
Laid out in visually narrative form, this scene depicts the ultimate
authority of the magistrate, the derived authority and presence of the
architect with his workmen, and the tools and physicality of labor with
construction materials.165 From the roll in his hand, his dress, and his
stance, we may infer that this architect is of relatively high status. Yet,
not all Roman architects were so well placed socially. Ambiguity of
status is a consistent feature of our evidence166 and “probably reflects a
164
Jones (2000: 28 and fig. 1.14). Drawing from Adam (2005: 45 and fig. 90). A slightly
different reading of the iconography in Taylor (2003: 9 n.20).
165
Coarelli (1996: 454).
166
Pearse (1975: 58, 102–3); Gros (1983: 425–31); Jones (2000: 27–30). Cf. Columella,
Rust. 5.1.3.
real ambiguity in Romans’ own perceptions of the architectus.”167 While

some, such as Vitruvius, were apparently well educated, respectable, and
perhaps wealthy, many more were probably citizens, freedmen, or even
slaves of modest means who learned their trade as masons or as appren-
tices on the work site.168 Martial, the first-century satirist, drips with
sarcasm when he quips:
To what master to entrust your son, Lupus, has been an anxious
object of consideration with you for some time. Avoid, I advise
you, all the grammarians and rhetoricians; let him have nothing
to do with the books of Cicero or Virgil. . . . If he makes verses,
give him no encouragement to be a poet; if he wishes to study
lucrative arts, make him learn to play on the guitar or flute.
If he seems to be of a dull disposition (si duri puer ingeni videtui),
make him a herald or an architect (praeconem facias vel archi-
tectum). (Ep. 5.56; Loeb translation; D.R. Shackelton Bailey)169
Regardless of an architect’s precise social status, whether in private or
public construction, he had to adhere to the contractual specifications
(leges locationis) to receive payment, approval, and associated glory.
The republican agricultural writer Cato is yet another to refer to building
specifications and the obligations between contractor and owner for
furnishing materials and reckoning remuneration.170
The only surviving glimpse of a Roman contract for public construction
comes from Puteoli, near Pompeii in the Bay of Naples. Dated to 105 BC,
the inscription is not the contract per se but records the terms, specifica-
tions, and provisions for approval concerning the alterations to a wall in
front of the local temple of Serapis.171 It is notable for the formal
resemblances it bears to both the earlier Greek contracts and the chapters
on construction that would be included in later colonial and municipal
charters. The lex parieti faciundo Puteolana comprises three columns:
Col. 1
In the nineteenth year from the foundation of the colonia,
Numerius Fufidius son of Numerius, and Marcus Pullius, as
duoviri, and the consulship of Publius Rutilius and Gnaeus
167
Anderson (1997: 37).
168
Pearse (1975: 102–19).
169
Contrast Martial, Ep. 7.56 (in praise of Domitian’s architect).
170
Cato, Agr. 14. Cf. Cicero, Quint. fratr. 10.2.6. See also the Vitruvius citation (De
arch. 6.8.9) at the head of this chapter.
171
FIRA III.153. See du Plessis (2004: 291–5).
Mallius. Second contract (lex) relating to works. Contract (lex)

for making a wall in the space that is before the temple of
Serapis across the road: whoever shall contract shall have
given sureties and shall have registered estates according to
the decision of the duoviri.
[Stipulations for wall measurements and construction follow]
Col. 2
[construction details continue]
Col. 3
[construction details conclude]
He shall undertake all this work according to the decision of
the duoviri and former duoviri who customarily sit in council at
Puteoli, provided that no fewer than twenty members are pre-
sent when this matter shall be under consideration. Whatever
the twenty of them shall approve (probaverint) under oath, it is
to be approved (probum esto). Whatever they shall not approve
(inprobarint), it is to be unapproved (inprobum esto). Day for
beginning the work (dies operis): the first day of November.
Day of payment (dies pequn(iae)): one half shall be given when
the estates shall be satisfactorily registered, the other half shall
be paid when the work is completed and approved (effecto
probatoque).
[names of primary contractor and three others]172
As du Plessis notes, “The inclusion of [the specifications in Col. 2] was
an important legal convention in the context of the final approval of the
completed work. They provided the contractor with instructions con-
cerning the overall result expected by the locator operis and therefore
served as guidelines to ensure the approval of the finished product.”173
Here, we see the close interrelation between stipulations (leges locatio-
nis), payment, and the day of final approval (adprobatio operis) in a
Roman municipal context. These elements recur frequently in our juristic
sources, and not only in relation to public building. Contractual stipula-
tions and probatio were the lived experience of wine merchants,
those who shipped freight, and other tradesmen and entrepreneurs.174
172
Translation slightly modified from du Plessis (2004: 292).
173
du Plessis (2004: 293, 300–3) relates this to the lex Urs. and lex Flavia.
174
For probatio per aversionem (approval at the end of the job) in the wine trade,
building, shipping, and rental engagements, see Jakab (2009: 246–66). du Plessis (2012:
55–119) discusses contractual stipulations and liability relative to fullering and tailoring,
apprenticing, goldsmithing and engraving, carriage by land or water, and in relation to
Locatio-conductio was also discussed in relation to freedmen whose

services could be rented out by their patron and to slaves whose persons
or services could be subject to contract.175
Of the many encounters with the law of contract, construction figures
prominently in the jurists and concerns us most directly. In legal disputes
arising from construction, the most frequently cited issues are losses
resulting from structural damage arising from vis maior176 or disagree-
ments over contractual stipulations.177 In the jurists, it becomes clear that
payment for labor and the bearing of contractual risk were bound up in
the all-important approval of the work, the adprobatio operis.178 Legally,
approval could take either of two forms:179 probatio at designated
stages180 or once at the end of the project.181 If the extent and quality
of the work were deemed satisfactory according to contractual stipula-
tions, the patron or supervising magistrate(s) gave formal approval,
issued payment, and assumed full risk and liability for the structure.
Do we see any evidence of such stipulations, liability, and approval
related to colonial construction in Roman Corinth? In fact, we do, though
the evidence permits us only a glimpse of what was surely a larger
phenomenon. Two epigraphically preserved texts from the Julio-
Claudian era are situated in what appears to have been an extended
building boom phase at Corinth, apparently peaking in the late
Augustan/early Tiberian years and then again under Claudius.182 The
first is associated with the local benefactor Babbius Philinus, whom we
encountered in Chapter 6. The second is in connection with several
important new fragments, some of which are currently in publication
but have been discussed in publicly accessible forums.
7.4.1 Cn. Babbius Philinus: Construction and Approval

One wealthy local benefactor, who was heavily involved in public
building and who served in various magistracies and as a priest, was
doctors, land-surveyors and architects, advocates, teachers, philosophers, scribes, actors,

gladiators, and miners.
175
du Plessis (2012: 116–20).
176
Acts of unforeseeable “greater force” (e.g., an earthquake) similar to the modern
legal notions “Act of God” or “force majeure.” See Berger, EDRL s.v. vis maior.
177
Martin (1989: 89–102); du Plessis (2012: 74–81).
178
Martin (1989: 103–13); du Plessis (2012: 78–81).
179
du Plessis (2012: 79).
180
per pedes mensuras or per singulos dies.
181
per aversionem.
182
Stansbury (1990: 212–27, 313–27). Cf. Walbank (1997); D’Hautcourt (2001).
Cn. Babbius Philinus.183 Inscriptions (of varying quality and size) bear-
ing his name have been found at nearly all points of the civic compass of
Roman Corinth: the fountain and monument on the western edge of
Corinth’s forum,184 in the cavea of the Odeion,185 near the Lechaion
road,186 on the eastern side of the forum,187 and near the SE Building
and South Basilica.188 While many of these inscriptions are quite
fragmentary,189 two associated with the fountain of Poseidon and the
so-called Babbius monument190 are the most impressively executed and
are important for our discussion.
West 132 is the marble epistyle block from the Babbius monument.
Babbius’s name and offices are inscribed in large letters on the convex
surface beneath a decorative molding.191 Most significant for us is the
final letter P, an abbreviation that expands to probavit (he approved it):
[C]n(aeus) Babbius Philinus aed(ilis) pontif[ex]
̣
[d(e)] s ̣(ua) p(ecunia) f(aciendum) c ̣(uravit), idemque IIvir
p(robavit).
Set off by interpuncts, this P is one of few surviving occurrences of the
formula for approval (probavit) in the third person singular extant at
Corinth.192 The preceding phrase idemque IIvir makes the expansion of P
183
RP I COR 111 gathers only ten inscriptions usually associated with Babbius Philinus
and notes the ascription of his son (Cn. Babbius Cn. f. Italicus, RP I COR 110) to the tribe
Aemilia. West 122 + Kent 323 (dedication of the porticum coloniae), Kent 364, and Kent
391 may also be connected to Babbius (the father).
184
West 2; West 3; West 131; West 132; Kent 155.
185
Kent 241.
186
West 98.
187
West 100.
188
Kent 364, Kent 391.
189
Some of unspecified provenance: West 99, and West 101.
190
Williams (1989: 158–9) calls the monument an aedicula. See Torelli (2001: 148–52)
for a typology of Roman structures and a possible association with M. Vipsanius Agrippa.
191
See Corinth excavation notebook 39, pp. 48–9. West 132 gives letter heights of
.07–.08 m (3.15–2.75 in.).
192
The others occur in the fragmentary West 135 and in Kent 314, the latter in
connection with Corinthian public works (possibly a bath) associated with the Euryclids:
[ — — ]C̣R[̣ — — ]IṢ ̣[ —–—––––——— ]
ḤIC̣̣ [———————–—––– ]Ṛ ∙ A[—— ]
̣ ̣[iensi]
Coloniae Laud ̣[i Iuliae Cor]inth
[....]LAM et STAT[—— ]G̣N[̣ ——— ]
̣
[Euryc]lis Her[c]ulan ̣[i——— ]SIGN..
̣
[.....]Ṃ QUE or[navit(?)—— IIvir(?) pr]obavit
[prob]ante patre.
Figure 7 Babbius inscription

Inscribed orthostate for Babbius monument (Corinth Inv. 2147). Archive of the
American School of Classical Studies, Corinth Excavations.
Photo: I. Ioannidou and L. Bartzioti, American School of Classical Studies at
Athens, Corinth Excavations. Used by permission.
to probavit secure.193 What this means is that the monument was funded
and formally approved by Babbius. Whether it was constructed under a
private or public contract is difficult to say, but the addition of IIvir to
idemque suggests he pronounced the probatio in his official capacity
as duovir. This fact was advertised in at least one other place on the
monument, this time in slightly larger lettering194 on a marble orthostate
block (Figure 7) located at or near ground level. The text on this revet-
ment slab (Kent 155) reproduces that on the epistyle:
[Cn(aeus) Babbius Philinu]s, aed(ilis), pontif[ex],
[d(e) s(ua) p(ecunia) f(aciendum) c(uravit) idemque] IIvir
p(robavit).
193
As opposed to other possibilities such as posuit. More than a dozen Latin inscriptions
from the Julio-Claudian period have variations on the phrase idemque probavit; cf. ILGR
219 (=AE 1978.731) Augustan Thessalonike; IGLR 179 (=AE 1915.113) the Augustan
colony of Dium; CIL 3.12279, Dyme, Corinth’s neighboring Augustan colony.
194
Kent 155 gives letter heights of .088–.11 m (3.5–4.3 in.).
Although we cannot know the procedural details of Babbius’s final

inspection, we may imagine that he worked closely with the architect
directing the project. Babbius would have released payment accord-
ing to the terms of the contract and, on the day of the adprobatio
operis, would have granted final approval. Then, after the final
inscribed and ornamental touches were in place, there might have
been a dedication of the impressive monument so visible in Corinth’s
developing Roman center. Babbius was, as the patron and magistrate,
the focus of glory, a fact to which the inscriptions so eloquently
testify. We might also note that nowhere in the epigraphy associated
with the monumental benefactions of the local magistrate and patron
Babbius is anyone mentioned but himself. The archictects who surely
played an important role in his projects remain hidden from us in an
epigraphic penumbra.
As West observed in 1931, since Babbius’s name appears so
frequently in connection with monumental epigraphy in late
Augustan/early Tiberian Corinth, “we may conclude that his bene-
factions were an important factor in the beautification of the
colony.”195 In the person of Babbius, we see the connection between
the politics of patronage and of public construction, the combination
resulting in colonial gratitude and personal glory.196 This connection
between benefaction and building, between thanksgiving and increas-
ing civic glory, is shown to be a feature of first-century Graeco-
Roman culture with a firm evidentiary basis in Corinth. Furthermore,
the explicit use of probavit suggests that the politics involved in
Babbius’s benefactions sat comfortably within the framework of
Corinth’s constitution.
7.4.2 Kent 345 and Colonial Probatio

One additional epigraphical set is relevant to our reconstruction of the
politics of construction at Roman Corinth. In June 2008, Paul Iversen
announced that his work on a new volume of Corinth inscriptions had
195
West, p. 108.
196
If Paul’s Erastus (Rom 16:23) were identified with the aedile of early Roman Corinth
(Kent 232), he would provide a perfect example of someone within the Corinthian assembly
well familiar with the colonial politics of construction. On this debate, see now Welborn
(2011: 260–82), who sees the evidence inclining toward an identification of the two Erasti
but thinks Erastus was not among Paul’s early converts in Corinth.
led him to link several unpublished fragments with the previously pub-
lished Kent 345.197 When three fragments are joined, they offer another
window into public building contracts and approval within the colonial
constitutional framework.
Iversen A [=Kent 345]
[— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — ]
[— — ] • M(arcum) • Instle[ium Tectum — ]
[— — — ] • ̣ Corint[hu]m • C • Anṭ[— — — — ]
[— — — ]M • et • Q(uintum) • Cornelium [—]
[— —— — ]pṛobaruṇt
̣ • XX̣[— — — — — — ]
[— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — ]
Iversen B
[— — — — — — — — — — — — —]
[— — — —]. . . ỊỊA • decuṛ[ion— —]
[— — —]s • apparitoruṃ [— — — —]
[— —]er LXII • M • C[— — — — —]
[— — — —]ṣpuṇ[—
̣ — — — — — —]
[— — — — — — — — — — — — —]
Iversen C
[— — — — — — —]ỊḄṚỊ[— — — —]
[— — — — — — — —]nus • IIỊ[— —]
[— — — — — — —]C• Fideḷ[— — —]
[— — — — —]Ị• Caesaris [— — — —]
[— — — — A]ntiochus •I• [— — —]
[— — — —]canus • I[I — — — — —]
[— — — — —]ṾỊ • [— — — — — —]
For a full appreciation, we must await Iversen’s publication of these
fragments. In his preliminary analysis, however, he noted that
H. M. Robinson, former director of Excavations at Corinth, originally
speculated in 1976 (the year Fragments B and C were unearthed) that
197
Preliminary text, photos, and commentary available in the “virtual seminar” at http://
www.currentepigraphy.org/2008/06/24/virtual-seminar-on-some-unpublished-inscriptions
-from-corinth-iii/ [accessed December 22, 2012]. Initially, Iversen linked three fragments
(“B,” “C,” and “D”) with Kent 345 (“Fragment A”). He has since dissociated “Fragment
D” on the basis of find-spot. I thank Dr. Iversen for discussing these fragments with me in
detail.
they were part of Corinth’s colonial charter. He was led to his hypothesis
by the co-occurrence of terms found elsewhere only in the lex Urs.
(Caesaris, decurion–, apparitorum). Although this interpretation must
be abandoned in view of the personal names and numerals in the frag-
ments, it is highly probable that they formed an inscribed document
relating to colonial construction of a project subject to joint approval
by commissioners. Little else can account for the combination of termi-
nology, names, numbers,198 and particularly the third person plural
probarunt.199 It would not be surprising, if additional fragments of this
inscription were found, to discover the language of contract (locare)
further attested.200 In sum, despite their incomplete nature and publica-
tion status, these new fragments provide another set of evidence locating
the politics of public construction in Julio-Claudian Corinth.201
7.4.3 Summary
We may conclude this section by reviewing our findings on the Roman
form, processes, and social dynamics of public building and the evidence
for the politics of construction in first-century Corinth. We began by
laying out the considerable constitutional evidence dealing with the
process of public contracting, particularly for public works. There it
became evident that Corinth’s politeia would have provided a framework
for the letting of contracts with detailed stipulations (leges locationis);
these guided the construction work from inception to completion, final
approval, and payment. Evidence adduced from literary and icongraphic
sources aided us in adding to this general framework. We discovered that
contracts for public construction involved competition and relationships
among a patron (or commissioner[s]), architect, and laborers. Architects
198
These large numbers could be either figures of measurement or payment.
199
Cf. AE 1973.220 (from the municipium of Rubi in Italy) for the use of probarunt to
mark the civic approval of a project of wall and tower construction by decision and decree
of the decurions. Iversen preliminarily dated the inscription between 44 BC and the
Tiberian era. It is prudent to await the final publication before discussing further either
the date or the names indicated by the inscription.
200
For inscriptions with locare and probare, see AE 1982.764 (Dalmatia, I BC); AE
1984.389 (Etruria, I BC); AE 1922.86 (Latium and Campania, I BC?); AE 1982.263
(Umbria, I BC); AE 1987.53 (Rome, 63 BC); IGLR 179 (Dium in Macedonia, AD I);
IGLR 219 (Thessaloniki, AD 24); AE 1962.159a (Rome, ?); AE 1925.127 (Rome, ?); AE
1914.268 (Venetia and Histria, ?).
201
Cf. Kent 306. Millis (2010: 27–30) mentions other under-studied artifacts (i.e., roof
tiles) from Roman Corinth that indicate widespread contracting and manufacturing.
varied in socioeconomic status, but acted as an extension of the patron’s

authority on the work site. Together with their laborers, architects could
be viewed with opprobrium by literate elites. We saw in addition that an
extant inscription from Puteoli documenting a public works project
buttressed the Roman jurists’ view of the centrality of probatio operis –
the final approval of the work according to technical conformity and
quality. Finally, we were able to locate the processes of Roman building
firmly in Julio-Claudian Corinth with the assistance of epigraphical
evidence. In summary, the constituent elements of specification and
penalties, authority and accountability, and payment and approval for
public building are present in our reconstruction of the politics of
construction in Roman Corinth. But the Graeco-Roman contours of
construction, even so firmly anchored in first-century Corinth, are insuf-
ficient to account for important elements in 1 Cor 3:5–4:5. Therefore, we
must consider now the Jewish theology of covenantal construction that
shapes Paul’s ecclesial adaptation of an embodied colonial experience.
7.5 Jeremiah and the Pauline politics of covenantal

construction
Certain features of Paul’s political theology animate his adaptation of the
politics of construction. By these, he reworks the Graeco-Roman and
Corinthian dynamics of civic temple construction and dedication, focus-
ing especially on issues of theological architecture, apostolic authority,
divine approval, and communal acclamation. A crucial element of his
reworking, especially in his rejection of critical judgment of his author-
ity, derives from his Jewish experience. Of course, the physical, social,
and political aspects of civic construction examined thus far were also
present in the experience of first-century Jewish communities in forms
that differed little from those characterizing the politeiai of Greek
and Roman cities. Synagogues are a case in point, bringing together
wealthy donors (Jewish or Gentile), Jewish communities in Palestine
and the diaspora, and – although rarely glimpsed – architects and their
subcontractors.202 But we must turn, as Paul does, from physical struc-
tures to the scriptural resources deployed and debated within them if we
are to account for the differences that shape his rhetorical construction
in 1 Cor 3:5–4:5 and his theology of ecclesial formation throughout
the Corinthian correspondence. We must move, taking our cue from
Paul himself, from colonial to covenantal construction.
202
Lifshitz (1967); Levine (2005); Donderer (1996).
Various facets of a Pauline political theology emerge in each of the

subsections that make up this unit. These are examined in turn in the
exegesis that follows. Here, however, we must focus on the guiding
theological impulse behind Paul’s metaphorical construction of his
authority and on the meaning he gives to the ecclesial community’s
social composition and ethical orientation. That impulse surfaces
initially in the combined functional titles he assumes, namely, planter
(3:6–8) and builder (3:10–11). The planter-builder self-designation, as
a rhetorical tool in Paul’s hands, imports a distinctly Jewish and
covenantal theology,203 one most explicable in terms of the prophetic
commission of Jer 1:10 and one that may have been lost (at least
initially) on many Gentiles in the Corinthian assembly. Paul’s famil-
iarity with and dependence on Jeremiah in other texts has been noted
previously.204 But few have given attention to the collocation of
planting and building just here in 1 Cor 3:5–4:5. Why might Paul
draw on Jeremiah in connection with the temple-building metaphor?205
What linkage is there between Jeremiah and his extended use of
construction language for the assembly and for his own ministerial
authority throughout the Corinthian letters? That Paul introduces and
combines planting and building to describe his apostolic task here has
implications for his self-understanding and his vision for the politics
and ethics of the covenant community he claims to have founded at
Corinth (2 Cor 10:14).
As interpreters have noticed, when he asserts the constructive char-
acter of his authority in 1 and 2 Corinthians, Paul invokes Jeremiah to
portray himself as divinely commissioned to administer a new covenant
in Corinth.206 Important traces of Jeremiah surface at three points in the
correspondence: 1 Cor 3:5–9, 2 Cor 10:8, and 2 Cor 13:10. In the latter
two, the echo of Jeremiah’s commission (Jer 1:10) is undeniable.207 This
is best apprehended if we set the texts side by side as in the accompanying
table.
203
These same motifs appear epigraphically touching on civic foundation, benefaction,
and temple-precinct construction: e.g., CIG 4521. Cf. David (2006).
204
Ciampa and Rosner (2007).
205
Zeller (2010: 158–61) exemplifies the approach that carefully analyzes each con-
stituent Bild and the Jewish comparanda in 1 Cor 3:5–4:5 but fails to grasp the metaphorical
configuration Paul has rendered (or its Jeremianic precursor).
206
Lane (1982). Cf. Furnish (1984: 466–7); Thrall (1994: 622–6); Thiselton (2000:
696).
207
Windisch (1924: 303): ein Gedanke . . . der offenkundig auf Jer 1:10 anspielt. Cf.
Vielhauer (1979); Kitzberger (1986).
Jer 1:10 (LXX) 2 Cor 10:8 2 Cor 13:10

ἰδοὺ κατέστακά σε ἐάν τε γὰρ διὰ τοῦτο ταῦτα ἀπὼν
σήμερον ἐπὶ ἔθνη περισσότερόν τι γράφω ἵνα παρὼν μὴ
καὶ βασιλείας καυχήσωμαι περὶ ἀποτόμως χρήσωμαι
ἐκριζοῦν καὶ τῆς ἐξουσίας ἡμῶν κατὰ τὴν ἐξουσίαν
κατασκάπτειν ἧς ἔδωκεν ὁ κύριος ἥν ὁ κύριος ἔδωκεν
καὶ ἀπολλύειν εἰς οἰκοδομὴν καὶ μοι εἰς οἰκοδομὴν
καὶ ἀνοικοδομεῖν οὐκ εἰς καθαίρεσιν καὶ οὐκ εἰς
καὶ καταφυτεύειν ὑμῶν, οὐκ καθαίρεσιν
αἰσχυνθήσομαι
Behold I have Really, if I boast On account of these
appointed you somewhat too much things I write while
today over about our authority, absent, so that when
nations and which the Lord gave I am present I may
kingdoms to for building you up deal with you not
uproot and to tear and not for tearing severely according
down and to you down, I shall not to the authority
destroy and to be put to shame. which the Lord gave
rebuild and to me for building up
plant. and not for tearing
down.
Both of these allusions to Jer 1:10 in 2 Cor 10–13 are adaptively set in
larger contexts of conflict, irony, and emotional intensity.208 With the
assertion that his divinely granted authority is meant to be constructive
rather than destructive for the community, Paul interprets his own apos-
tolic experience209 and expresses the spiritual power of his own words in
Jeremianic terms.210 Considerations of theme, language, and exigence
encourage us to align these two passages in 2 Corinthians with 1
Cor 3:5–4:5.
208
Windisch (1924: 290, 303–7, 412–26); Vielhauer (1979: 72–3); Thrall (1994:
595–629, 871–900); Welborn (2011: 62–3, 84–104, 182–202).
209
Windisch (1924: 303 n.4) refers Paul’s language of destruction (καθαιρῶ) to his
experience of persecuting the early Christian assemblies. But in none of the texts he
adduces do we find the same terminology of destruction (Paul employs διώκω for this
aspect of his former pattern of life). We ought instead to understand Paul’s word choice here
as a result of reintroducing the political theology of divine covenantal commissioning in
Jeremiah to clarify his preceding militaristic language (2 Cor 10:3–6) characterizing the
power of his divinely authoritative speech. This may explain why he does not borrow any of
the verbs of destruction in LXX Jer 1:10, turning instead to Hellenistic military language.
Cf. Malherbe (1983); Brink (2006).
210
Windisch (1924: 303–7); Bultmann (1985: 187–91); Thrall (1994: 624–6, 899–900).
In both 2 Cor 10:8 and 13:10, Paul is concerned broadly with the
proper evaluation of his authoritative ministry, the same point at issue in
1 Cor 3:5–4:5.211 All three texts contain similarities of content, language,
and tone. Paul refers to a critical assessment of his ministry with the verb
λογίζομαι in 1 Cor 4:1212 and in 2 Cor 10:2 (2x), 7, 11.213 He speaks of
his divine commissioning by the Lord in 1 Cor 3:5; 2 Cor 10:8; and 2 Cor
13:10 with variants on the clause ὁ κύριος ἔδωκεν μοι.214 Paul claims, as
does Jeremiah, that his words are the very words of God, utterances
that have a constructive effect in the community (2 Cor 12:19; cf. 1 Cor
1:17–25; 2:1–5; 5:3–5; 16:22; 2 Cor 2:17–3:6; 5:18–21; 13:3). Both 1
Cor 4:1–5 and 2 Cor 13:1–10 address the Corinthian desire to subject
Paul to a quasi-formal inquiry.215 Whereas he speaks of a final eschato-
logical examination of ministerial work in 1 Cor 3:13 (καὶ ἐκάστου τὸ
ἔργον . . . τὸ πῦρ δοκιμάσει), he employs the evaluative language of
δοκιμάζω/(ἀ)δόκιμος in 2 Cor 13:3, 5 (2x), 6, 7 (2x) to challenge his
examiners correctly to test themselves and to assess his own work.
Clearly, in all three passages Paul is responding to critics in the commu-
nity whose views of the character of his authoritative ministry he desires
to refute and correct. That all three share similar language and rhetorical
exigencies also suggests a continuity in Paul’s attempt to define, vis-à-vis
the Corinthian assembly, his own ministerial authority in terms of a
Jeremiah-like commission. It is an authority he tenaciously defends,
and then repeatedly qualifies, by insisting it is for the purpose of ecclesial
construction.216
If the thematic connections we have highlighted are persuasive,
then we are led backward from the explicit allusions to Jer 1:10 in
2 Corinthians to an implicit, originary allusion to the prophetic-
architectonic commission in 1 Cor 3:5–11.217 Here, we witness an impor-
tant formulation of Paul’s self-understanding; it is the expression of his
apostolic authority in terms of covenantal construction. While it is true
211
Also at issue in 1 Cor 9, where (despite an unrelated use of φυτέω in 9:7) Paul adopts
a different apologetic strategy.
212
1 Cor 4:1, elaborated in 4:3,4 by the semantically similar ἀνακρίνω.
213
Also 2 Cor 11:5; 12:6. Welborn (2011: 83–6).
214
Thrall (1994: 624) takes the aorist ἔδωκεν in 2 Cor 10:8 to refer to Paul’s initial
calling. She agrees with Furnish (1984: 467) that ὁ κύριος refers to Christ. See Paul’s
language for ministerial commissioning in 1 Cor 3:5: καὶ ἑκάστῳ ὡς ὁ κύριος ἔδωκεν.
215
Welborn (2010).
216
Schütz (1975: 224–5) points to Jer 1:10, claiming Paul and Jeremiah share “the same
eschatological consciousness.” Consider also the “Jeremianic” vision Paul experienced in
Corinth, according to Luke (Acts 18:9–10; cf. Jer 1:8).
217
Vielhauer (1979: 72–82) treats the texts in this order.
that Paul uses the metaphor of building in other early epistles (cf. 1
Thess 5:11; Gal 2:18), it is nowhere so prevalent in his letters as in 1
Corinthians.218
In Oikodomē, Vielhauer noted that building language was variously
applied in the rhetoric of Jewish, early Christian, and other Hellenisitic
writings. Its uses vary, too, in Paul’s letters and even in 1 Corinthians.
Vielhauer treated Paul’s usage of the building image under three heads:
(1) images of the missionary authority of the apostle, (2) images of
relations within the community, and (3) a (single) anthropological meta-
phor (2 Cor 5:1).219 Of these, the first two concern us directly. Within
his first broad category (i.e., apostolic authority) fall the Corinthian texts
we are examining. These Vielhauer divides further into two subsets: (1a)
the substance of the apostolic task (2 Cor 10:8; 13:10)220 and (1b) the
manner of executing that commission (1 Cor 3:5–17).221 Relational
images of building language in 1 Corinthians fall similarly, according
to Vielhauer, into two sub-categories: (2a) cultic (1 Cor 14) and (2b)
ethical (1 Cor 8, 10). Although Vielhauer evidently intended his classi-
fication to be descriptive, his sub-categories, correlated with the unfold-
ing Corinthian correspondence, suggest an inner progression in Paul’s
theology and pastoral practice. There is an organic relation that Vielhauer
did not pursue and its origin is in Paul’s decision to appropriate Jer 1:10
in 1 Cor 3:5–17. To proceed to an elaboration of these relations among
Paul’s Corinthian building metaphors is to appreciate more fully the
structural logic by which the self-described wise architect binds the
theological politics of construction entailed by Jer 1:10 with the social
politics of construction at Roman Corinth.
We must remember that Jer 1:10 had an effective history stretching
from the end of the seventh century BC to Qumran and, of course, to Paul
himself. Within Jeremiah’s prophecy, the language of the commission,
especially the shorthand of planting-building, was redeployed in multiple
contexts. In tracing the “early career” of Jer 1:10, Olyan points out
that, particularly with respect to the final two of the climactic six infini-
tives (i.e., “build” and “plant”),222 “Neither the international scope of
Jeremiah’s appointment (“over nations and kingdoms”) nor his destruc-
tive and constructive power as Yahweh’s agent are unprecedented in the
218
Οἰκοδομέω and cognates appear explicitly in 1 Cor 3:5–4:5; 8:1, 10; 10:23; 14:3–5,
12, 17, 26.
219
Vielhauer (1979: 72–104).
220
Vielhauer (1979: 72–3).
221
Vielhauer (1979: 74–85).
222
The final two Hebrew infinitive constructs are libnot (bnh) and linṭoa‘ (nṭh).
prophetic tradition.”223 Planting and building had a long prophetic pedi-

gree. Consistent throughout the Jeremianic contexts is the notion of
Yahweh’s prophet as a commissioned authority acting as the divine
messenger for the heavenly court; his word is covenantal in its declara-
tive modes – alternately constructing and destructing nations, including
Israel. Eventually, the power of planting-building becomes oriented to
the future and is linked to Yahweh’s direct agency and the presence
of the Spirit in the eschatological garden-temple-assembly of Israel
(especially in Jer 24:6; 31:28, 40b; 42:10; cf. Ezek 36:36).224 Such
reworkings contemporize Jer 1:10 in the prophets and anticipate the
so-called rewritten Bible of Second Temple texts (e.g., Jubilees).225 By
the time of the Qumran texts, explicit citations of Jeremiah’s commission
are scarce,226 but the motif of planting and building applied to the
eschatological covenant community is attested, especially in 1QS (The
Community Rule) and CD (The Damascus Document).227 These texts
share Paul’s concern for purity in the covenanted temple-assembly (1 Cor
3:16–17).228 Nevertheless, the rhetorical adaptations for the commu-
nities behind the Qumran texts are distinct from those that Paul renders
in 1 Cor 3.229 Only in Paul’s use of the planter-builder/planting-building
motif does he figure as minister-architect of a temple built from Jews
and Gentiles. He claims to have planted and built, in a Roman setting far
from Jerusalem, a new covenant community.
What this brief history of reception in respect of Jer 1:10 demonstrates
is that the motif of planting-building had become, by Paul’s day and in
Jewish discourse, a formula weighted with implications of authority and
covenant community. Put differently, planting, building, and temple
were elements of covenantal discourse that expressed an important and
complex Jewish cultural metaphor. J. K. Jindo has recently explored this
phenomenon in a study of Jer 1–24 through the lens of cognitive meta-
phor theory. Jindo’s investigation of the conceptual system encoded and
223
Olyan (1998: 63–72) cites as precursors 1 Kgs 19:15–17; 17:17–24; 2 Kgs 3:15–20;
6:8–23.
224
Olyan (1998: 66–9).
225
Olyan (1998: 70).
226
Jer. 1:10 is apparently not cited in any Qumran text. Its reworking in Jer 12:13–17
and 42:10 are, however, attested in the fragmentary 4QJera and 2QJer, respectively. See
Tov (2002: 194).
227
See, e.g., 1QS 8:4–10; 11:7–8 (covenant assembly founded as an “everlasting
plantation”) and CD-A 3:19 (=4Q269 2). Cf. Maier (1960: 161–2); Christiansen (1995:
156–8); Beale (2004: 154–60).
228
Bitner (2013a).
229
Hogeterp (2006: 75–114, 295–330).
cultivated by Jer 1:10 is relevant to our examination of Paul’s rhetorical

adaptation of that same text and similar system in 1 Cor 3:5–4:5, espe-
cially so since Jindo draws on the work of Kövecses and cognitive-
linguistic metaphor theory.230
Jindo criticizes earlier scholars for their “atomistic,” word-based focus
on metaphors in biblical texts.231 This practice “prevents [scholars] from
considering the possibility that the metaphors belonging to the same
frame of reference, or the same ‘conceptual domain’ as cognitive scho-
lars put it, may well be interrelated and thus represent a single imagina-
tive reality.”232 Jindo proposes an alternative mode of interpretation that
is alert to culturally specific, conceptual information “already known
to language users and therefore, not usually spelled out in the given
discourse.”233 In the case of Jer 1:10, Jindo contends that traditional
interpretations fail to account for “the qualitative juxtaposition of two
kinds of verbs, one belonging to the semantic field of architecture and
the other to horticulture,” and asks, “How can we understand this
juxtaposition?”234 This same question faces the interpreter of 1 Cor
3:5–9, although an answer is further complicated by Paul’s “dual alle-
giance” to Judaism and Hellenism.235 According to a propositional
approach, notes Jindo, “plant” in Jer 1:10 merely restates the earlier
positive verbal elements. But according to the cognitive-linguistic
approach, “plant” (together with “build”) provides a “mode of orienta-
tion through which to perceive the proposition stated” by the earlier
verbs.236 Jindo concludes that the horticultural-architectural combination
in Jer 1:10 and other Jeremianic texts reflects the ANE “divine garden
paradigm” in which the prophet is Yahweh’s covenantal emissary and the
community is the Exodus-plantation. On Jindo’s reading, Jer 1:10 is a
fundamental text for the developing Jewish covenantal politics centering
on the eschatological garden-temple-assembly.237 Planting and building,
especially when joined to the temple motif in later Jewish texts, therefore
deserve to be investigated as surface signals indicating a much larger and
culturally basic covenantal framework. They are elements of a complex
230
Jindo (2010).
231
Jindo (2010: 5–21). Bourguet (1987: 98–9) treats Jer 1:10 and its Jeremianic echoes
and is particularly critiqued by Jindo on this account.
232
Jindo (2010: 19).
233
Jindo (2010: 35).
234
Jindo (2010: 175).
235
Phrase from Mitchell (1991: 300).
236
Jindo (2010: 176).
237
Jindo (2010: 152–77).
conceptual metaphor that assumes cultural (and theological) knowledge

and so works to orient the knowing auditor’s perception, both politically
and ethically, in each new reconfiguration.
In view of Jindo’s insights, we are able better to comprehend Paul’s
recourse to Jeremiah’s language of planting and building in 1 Cor 3. The
collocation suggests an important reason underlying the apostle’s choice
of language to describe his commission in response to criticism from
some in the nascent covenant community, one that he planted and began
to build up by his word of the cross when first among them. But if this
was the case for Paul, it must also have been the case that such a Jewish
theo-political metaphor may have been largely incomprehensible to
many in the assembly.238 Paul appears to have sensed this and
therefore begins in 3:9 to adapt and expand his metaphor239 – and its
entailments240 – by means of a related and more familiar, localized
cultural model:241 the politics of Graeco-Roman construction.
What this means is that in 1 Cor 3:5–9, we catch Paul in the act
of cultural accommodation. He refits a major Jewish conceptual and
theological image of covenantal construction, together with its political
and ethical implications, by conjoining it with a fundamental Graeco-
Roman metaphor of politeia to render it effective in its Roman
Corinthian setting. Paul’s pastoral instincts no doubt led him to it. And
in the composition of 1 Corinthians, he determined to unfold and apply
the building metaphor repeatedly (8:1, 10; 10:23; 14:3–5, 12, 17, 26). In 2
Corinthians, he was forced to defend and clarify his claims as they related
to his own person, his commission, and his vision for the community.242
In seeing Jer 1:10 and the larger metaphor of covenant administration
as a generative theological impulse for Paul in 1 Cor 3:5–9, we are led to
a greater appreciation of the ordering principle and rhetorical purpose
of 3:5–4:5. Rather than flitting from one topos to another, Paul moves
238
We might press the rhetorical signpost in 3:16 (“Do you not know . . . ?”) as revealing
something of Paul’s teaching about the community as a holy temple(-garden?) while among
them; see Chapter 4.
239
This opposes the view of the majority of interpreters who see Paul as more or less
randomly shifting images from agriculture to architecture in 3:9. Beale (2004: 246) is an
exception, arguing along lines similar to Jindo.
240
Kövecses (2005: 164–9) speaks of metaphors “becoming real,” a phenomenon that,
in terms of entailments, he describes as metaphors having “social consequences.”
241
In terms of cognitive metaphor theory, Paul would therefore be combining two
discourse metaphors comprehensible in distinct communities (i.e., Jewish and Graeco-
Roman) on the basis of common elements they share in a first-century global metaphor (i.e.,
community as a building). Cf. Semino (2008: 32–4); Kövecses (2005: 89–95).
242
Contra Fee (1987: 133 n.19) who dismisses the Jeremianic allusion here.
purposively from planting to building in 3:5–9. He frames his larger unit

with the fundamental theological authority and accountability of his
divine, covenantal commission.243 But aware that many among his
auditors would need clearer and more forceful rhetorical signposting
to grasp his response, Paul begins to add, with the focus on building
and architectural economics in 3:9–10, another metaphorical layer.
Nonetheless, the Jewish and covenantal frame remains firmly in place
throughout the unit and accounts for the several features that find no
natural correlate in the Graeco-Roman politics of construction (i.e.,
Tabernacle materials, 3:12; apocalyptic judgment, 3:13–15, 17; 4:1–5).
Paul’s rhetorical emphases also draw on Jeremiah’s commission to strike
at his opponents and to instruct the community. He stresses his divine
commission, authoritative gospel, the need for purity in the garden-
temple-assembly, and the divine nature and source of ultimate evaluative
judgment. We may therefore rearrange and integrate Vielhauer’s cate-
gories and place 1 Cor 3:5–4:5 in a fundamental position by noting Paul’s
language.244 In our text, the covenantal-architectonic character of his
commission and its relation to the community’s political and ethical
shape erect a scaffold on which Paul would build over the course of his
Corinthian correspondence. He reconstitutes a covenantal metaphor
for those at Roman Corinth, among whom were some well familiar
with the dynamics of colonial construction, and some who were, Paul
believed, resistant to the obligations, in view of Christ crucified, of
ecclesial formation.
Summary
We may conclude with a brief summary of the Jewish politics of con-
struction in this section and of the larger argument to this point. We
began this section by noting that Jews, too, would have been familiar to
varying degrees with the embodied experience of synagogue construc-
tion, a social pattern that would have differed little from its Hellenistic
counterpart of civic benefaction and construction projects. More impor-
tantly, however, in view of Paul’s discourse in 1 Cor 3:5–4:5, we argued
243
Jindo (2010: 50–1) notes the notion of “frame” in cognitive metaphor theory is “a
repertoire of conceptual knowledge that has its own constituent elements.” Cf. Kövecses
(2005: 11).
244
Weiss (1910: 79) notes that Paul could have used ἐφύτευσα from 3:6 again in 3:10
(where he uses σοφὸς ἀρχιτέκτων instead) but sees the conceptual parallelism as only
apparent, with an underlying change of mood. We concur but explain this with reference to
the metaphorical fusion of social patterns Paul effects here.
for his dependence on the discourse of covenant administration and

construction from texts such as Jer 1:10. We contended that his explicit
evocations of Jer 1:10 in 2 Cor 10:8; 13:10 were not his first deploy-
ments of that text and its theo-politics in the Corinthian correspon-
dence. Rather, it is in 1 Cor 3:5–9, with the language of planting and
building, that Paul introduces a major metaphor to construct his own
authority and his vision for the community. We saw that Jer 1:10 is a
text with a fecund effective history, its motif of planting and building
appearing in a variety of contexts, over many Jewish centuries, yet
consistently related to covenant administration and construction. With
the help of Jindo, we saw that this basic ANE cultural metaphor had two
major foci: (1) divine agency and power at work through a commis-
sioned emissary and (2) the community as a garden-temple-assembly.
As Vielhauer noted in his study of building language, these are, in so
many words, Paul’s rhetorical emphases in 1 Cor 3:5–17. Our conten-
tion is that Paul has combined two cultural metaphors in 1 Cor 3:5–4:5,
both concerned with the construction of the community. He aims, by the
use of the Jewish image of the assembly as a garden-temple and himself
as the planter and chief builder, to unseat certain deeply rooted social
and theological assumptions inherent in the Graeco-Roman topos of
the community as a building. Just how he does so is the focus of the
exegesis to follow.
Yet, we have also seen that Paul’s reconfiguration of the covenantal
motif of planting and building is achieved by a keen awareness and
manipulation of the Graeco-Roman politics of public construction. We
saw earlier that Paul’s language displays familiarity with the form,
function, and social pattern of Greek building contracts. We discovered
further that the social dynamics entailed by public works construction are
evident in the Roman sources and that clear traces of such architecture,
authority, and approval are extant in first-century Roman Corinth. This
combination of Greek, Roman, and Jewish evidence supports the hypoth-
esis of this chapter that Paul is keenly attentive to the patterns of public
building, desires to answer his critics, and wants to instruct the commu-
nity. He accomplishes this by the rhetorical construction of an extended
metaphor that is dependent for its social and theological force on cultural
and scriptural assumptions. Having now restored to Paul his metapho-
rical materials, both Jewish and Graeco-Roman, we are ready to observe
the wise architect at work. We will see that he attempts, by addressing in
turn the related dynamics of architecture, authority, approval, and accla-
mation, to deconstruct one political theology and to reconstruct another
in its place.
7.6 Architecture in 1 Corinthians 3:5–4:5

We are now ready, having detailed the colonial and covenantal politics of
construction, to return to 1 Cor 3:5–4:5 and the six exegetical questions
outlined at the start of the chapter. The first involves the extent and
structure of the building metaphor; the second relates to the sources
and functions of the metaphorical imagery.245 Each concerns the archi-
tecture of the unit. An analysis of the structural logic and flow of the text
allows us to address both questions.
As we have argued, Paul does not casually shift metaphors. Rather,
there is a conceptual coherence to the images he selects and deploys
for an ethnically and socially composite audience. This is not to say
that Paul employs a single, simple metaphorical image throughout
the passage. Indeed, that he refers to “these things” (ταῦτα)246 in the
epexegetical verse 4:6 suggests a complex, multifocal metaphor in
3:5–4:5, precisely of the kind discussed by Kövecses and others.247
If we take the metaphorical signal of 4:6 (μετεσχημάτισα εἰς ἐμαυτὸν
καὶ Ἀπολλῶν) as our hermeneutical starting point, it is no surprise that
3:5–4:5 should be viewed not only as the rhetorical248 but also the
metaphorical unit.249 Paul sets up the extended metaphor with his
rhetorical question challenging the Corinthians’ evaluation of himself
and Apollos in 3:5 (“What then is Apollos? And what is Paul?”). He
closes the unit in 4:5 with a corrective exclamation point, shifting
the temporal and social reference of that evaluation. Paul moves, in
3:5–4:5, from present to future (“so that you may not judge anything
before the time, that is, until the Lord should come”) and from steward-
ministers to the patron-magistrate (“And then each shall receive his
praise from God.”). In the space between, he constructs a creative and
coherent apology centered rhetorically on the proper evaluation of
ministry and ministers. At each joint, he cements the building blocks
of his metaphor. The very syntax and subject matter of each sub-unit,
traced in the following exegesis, brings the matter of evaluative judg-
ment to the fore.
245
A full account of structure and function in terms of cognitive-linguistic metaphor
theory is beyond the scope of the present section. Such a study, taking the political,
economic, and spectacle metaphors in the Corinthian correspondence as its subject matter,
commends itself.
246
See the Excursus to this chapter.
247
Kövecses (2005: 11, 223–6, 261–8). Cf. Semino (2008: 24–7).
248
Kuck (1992: 151–61); contra Fiore (1985: 93–4); Wagner (1998: 282).
249
Although Jindo (2010: 48) correctly notes the two units may not always coincide.
7.6.1 1 Corinthians 3:5–9

In 3:5–9, Paul raises the related issues of a misguided evaluation of
ministry (it is service and work, not rule or leadership) and misplaced
praise of ministers (acclaim is properly directed to the beneficent giver of
growth, not to his staff or contracted workers). The inferential emphasis
(ὥστε, 3:7) on proper acclaim and the grounding statement (γάρ, 3:9) that
defines ministers as fellow workers (συνεργοί) bring 3:8 to rhetorical
prominence. With a double δέ (3:8), Paul sets the idea of ministerial
unity and equality within a frame of evaluation that supersedes the
figures in the community250 by building to the notion of divine recom-
pense (μισθός) for ministerial labor (κόπος).251 The language of 3:8
begins the shift from a Jeremianic metaphor of covenantal construction
to the language of colonial construction, anticipating the explicit move
toward building language in 3:9c.

The primary contribution of this sub-unit to the larger passage is its focus
on the proper content, manner, and evaluation of ministry. Paul sews two
stitches at the rhetorical seam of 3:10, each holding the fabric of the
extended metaphor tightly together. First, with κατά plus the accusative
Paul focuses on his own ministerial commission: it is with reference to
the beneficence of God given to him.252 Paul’s language here connects
with his opening thanksgiving253 and links divine beneficence with
commissioned building. In terms of colonial patronage, this is the pattern
we have come to expect as the politics of thanksgiving is typically
linked with that of public works construction. Second, Paul employs
the analogical ὡς to reinvigorate and propel the metaphor firmly toward
the language and social pattern found in Roman building contracts. It is
as a wise architect that he claims authority to confront false conceptions
of evaluation in the community; this as also signals that he does so in
relation to the Corinthians’ colonial horizon.254 The planter-builder
250
The triple genitival θεοῦ expressing accountability with reference to ministers and
ownership or source with reference to the community in 3:9 clarifies the unstated external
evaluative agent of 3:8b.
251
Weiss (1910: 75–6); Kuck (1992: 164–70).
252
LSJ s.v. κατά, B IV.2.
253
3:10, κατὰ τὴν χάριν τοῦ θεοῦ τὴν δοθεῖσαν μοι; 1:4, ἐπὶ τῇ χάριτι τοῦ θεοῦ τῇ
δοθείσῃ ὑμῖν. Elsewhere in the traditional corpus Paulinum: Gal 2:9; Rom 15:15; Eph 3:7.
Cf. Lanci (1997: 120).
254
The title architect, according to the social pattern of building, is an apology in itself.
becomes the architect charged with overseeing the construction of his

patron’s monument, a structure founded on and built up in accordance
with the messianic testimonial. Paul drives this home with the “founda-
tion” repetition in 3:10–12: ἔθηκα . . . θεμέλιον . . . θεμέλιον. A true and
final evaluation of any building work will be undertaken with reference
to the stipulated building pattern inherent in Paul’s foundation proclama-
tion of Jesus Christ (see further, Excursus). This grounding assertion
(γάρ) in 3:11 supports the first and overarching imperative of the unit
in 3:10: let each attend carefully to (βλεπέτω) how he builds on (and
according to) that foundation.
The resumptive δέ of 3:12 carries forward this analogy of building
according to stipulations akin to leges locationis. Rhetorical emphasis in
each apodosis of the chain-like series of three simple conditionals in
3:13–15255 foregrounds this interplay of building stipulations and final
evaluation. In 3:13, the quality and conformity of each builder’s work
(ἔργον) will become manifest (φανερὸν γενήσεται) because (γάρ) it will
be disclosed (δηλώσει) and examined (δοκιμάσει) at the last day. The
second conditional in 3:14 continues the analogy with the notion that
lasting building work according to design will bring each worker his
payment (μισθός). In the final and most rhetorically prominent and
compact conditional in 3:15, the accent falls in the apodosis on the
builder’s liability: work of poor and unacceptable quality will bring a
penalty (ζημιωθήσεται). In each of these conditionals, the language of
Jewish apocalyptic and the motif of covenant blessing and cursing are
expressed in the conceptual and terminological framework of the build-
ing contracts. Viewed in this way as a complex, extended metaphor, the
logic of the alternating Jewish and Hellenistic patterns and vocabulary
noted by interpreters such as Weiss and Kuck becomes apparent.256 The
rhetorical force of their combination is a strong warning about the proper
evaluation of ministers and ministry that draws on covenantal themes
of eschatological judgment and clothes them in a form with strong
resonance for those in the community familiar with contracted labor.
Already, the prospect of a divine evaluation analogous to the familiar
adprobatio operis intrudes. It will emerge fully in 4:1–5. This same
contractual analogy works aggressively against those in the community
who, being of higher status, were accustomed to standing on the other
side of such economic arrangements. To one tempted to transfer a
255
BDF §372.
256
Weiss (1910: 98); Kuck (1992: 234–9): a paranetic adaptation demonstrating Paul’s
“rhetorical flexibility.”
colonial economic paradigm to ministry in the community – and espe-

cially to one in the habit of laying down contractual stipulations, con-
ducting a final examination of the result of labor, and issuing payment
himself – the assertion that ministers were instead workers under contract
and liable to payment or penalty could hardly be anything but offensive.

This central sub-unit asserts a political-ethical frame for ministry in the
assembly that is properly eschatological, again with an emphasis, by
means of building language, on divine judgment in the verdictive of 3:17.
Here, at the midpoint of the unit, Paul punctuates the extended metaphor
with another rhetorical question in 3:16. His use of οὐκ οἴδατε implies
he is connecting the unfolding building metaphor with the Jewish-
scriptural temple theme257 he had developed in his teaching while
at Corinth.258 After referring them to that earlier teaching and its escha-
tological implications for them as a garden-temple-assembly,259 Paul
employs a simple conditional whose force hinges on the figure of
antanaklasis.260 His earnest play on damage/destroy reiterates the
ongoing theme of evaluative judgment (in its curse aspect) looming
over those convicted of bad practice according to the building stipula-
tions. The grounding motivation (γάρ, 3:17c) for such judgment is the
all-important holy character of the temple-community. Purity is far more
prominent than unity in Paul’s constructive configuration.261

In 3:18–23, Paul applies the prospect of future judgment to the present
moment of those socially prominent critics of his ministry in a series of
three imperatives. The first two – let no one deceive himself (3:18), let the
wise262 become a fool (3:18) – find their basis in the scriptural citations of
257
For relevant Jewish sources integrating temple and Spirit in “contemporary
Judaism,” see Hogeterp (2006: 326–31).
258
Weiss (1910: 84); Hurd (1965: 85–6); contra Lanci (1997: 118–20). Cf. Hogeterp
(2006: 323–6).
259
Beale (2004: 245–52); Jindo (2010: 152–77).
260
Weiss (1910: 85) evokes the aural analogy of crashing waves to describe the effect of
the φθείρει/φθερεῖ juxtaposition when read aloud. Cf. Weiss (1897: 208).
261
Ciampa and Rosner (2006: 208–9); contra Kuck (1992: 186–8); Lanci (1997: 57–88,
129–34).
262
Paul’s contrast of himself as the wise architect (σοφὸς ἀρχιτέκτων, 3:10) with those
who consider themselves wise in this age (εἴ τις δοκεῖ σοφὸς εῖναι ἐν ὑμῖν ἐν τῷ αἰῶνι
3:19–20.263 The final summary imperative – let no one boast among men
(3:21) – represents the pinnacle of Paul’s argument thus far and leverages
the full strength of the extended metaphor in critiquing the prideful
mode of self-evaluation introduced in 1 Cor 1 (explicitly in 1:31). Each
command prompts a critical self-reflection according to the larger para-
digm he has constructed;264 removed from the socio-legal pattern of
public building his metaphor evokes, Paul’s critique loses considerable
force, precisely for those to whom it is directed.
This critique culminates in the crescendo of 3:21b–23 with its escalat-
ing, rhythmic reminder of the true patron-benefactor who resources the
community-temple and the implications of that fact for the right evalua-
tion of ministers.265 Weiss noted that the similar rhetorical swell in Rom
8:38–39 has a soteriological emphasis, whereas our text focuses instead
on the overflow of divine benefits granted to the assembly in its ministers,
and especially in the gift of Christ, for the purpose of upbuilding.
He rightly saw this both as an expression of Paul’s fervent social and
spiritual vision for the ecclesial community and as a challenge to any
who thought such ministerial service beneath them.266 Thematically, this
soaring benefaction language (πάντα γὰρ ὑμῶν ἐστιν, 3:21b) recalls
the fulsomeness of the opening thanksgiving (πάντοτε, 1:4; ἐν παντὶ
ἐπλουτίσθητε ἐν αὐτῷ, 1:5; παντί . . . πάσῃ, 1:5; μὴ ὑστερεῖσθαι ἐν
μηδενί χαρίσματι, 1:7) and the logic of the testimonial-memorial.267
The monument suggested by the politics of thanksgiving is here realized
majestically and solely by divine resources. But the socially inferior
materials with which it is constructed268 may well have rendered the
rhetorical monument constructed in 3:5–4:5 preposterous within a
colonial-oligarchic political theology. In the simple coda of the climactic
3:23 (ὑμεις δέ; Χριστός . . . θεοῦ), we see a gentle transition to the final
τούτῳ, 3:18) connects to the theme of eschatologically differentiated and opposed wisdoms
introduced in 2:6–8. Weiss (1910: 86–7) equated the δοκεῖ . . . ἐν ὑμῖν of 3:18 with the
ἔκρινα . . . ἐν ὑμῖν of 2:2.
263
Kuck (1992: 189–93); Heil (2005: 77–88); Betz (2008: 26–8).
264
Betz (2008) links self-evaluation, being “known by God,” and the presence of
the Spirit (citing, inter alia, Gal 4:9; 1 Cor 8:2; 13:12). Cf. the Spirit and wisdom in 1
Cor 2:6–16.
265
Weiss (1897: 208–9).
266
Weiss (1910: 89–91).
267
Most ignore connections reaching back beyond 1:10; e.g., Kuck (1992: 196).
268
Kirk (2012) argues that the building materials of 3:12, though sourced terminologi-
cally in the LXX, target human persons in the logic of the metaphor. But his theological
exegesis leaves unexplored the social and economic implications of his view. The force of
our argument does not depend on this reading.
sub-unit.269 There, the focus returns explicitly to the Corinthians’ eva-

luation of ministers (especially Paul) and the overarching theme of
eschatological judgment.270

In this second rhetorical climax, Paul moves from a poetic to a proposi-
tional mode to conclude his argument in the overall unit. In combination
with 4:6, it is perhaps the most important sub-unit for grasping Paul’s
rhetorical aim in 3:5–4:5.271 That aim – a proper evaluation of ministry
and a proper view of the assignment of praise – mirrors the themes
and returns to the ministerial metaphors introduced in 3:5–9.272 Paul
appeals to the extended metaphor he has constructed with the opening
inferential οὕτως (“thus,” “in this manner”).273 The analogical as once
again refreshes the metaphor in terms of an economic reckoning
(λογίζομαι) of ministerial assistants (ὑπηρέτης, οι͗ κονόμος 4:1).274 The
argument builds, first by incremental progression (δέ, 4:3; supported by
the γάρ-clauses, 4:4) to a final evaluation (inferential ὥστε . . . καὶ τότε,
4:5) on a day of judgment (4:3, 5). These terms and themes find their
greatest coherence and rhetorical force when read within the extended
building metaphor. In the logic of evaluation entailed by the politics of
construction, the recompense of parties is linked to final approval by
the magistrate-patron in the adprobatio operis. As in 1:7–8, so here,
the eschatological notion of a day of examination and the need for
approvability appears.
With this outline of the extent, structure, and resulting rhetorical force
of the extended metaphor constructed by Paul in 1 Cor 3:5–4:5 before us,
we are better able to answer our first two exegetical questions directly.
In terms of extent and structure, the building metaphor, viewed as a
complex and unfolding unity, coincides with the rhetorical unit. It begins
in 3:5 and climaxes in 4:5, with an interpretive gloss following in 4:6.
Structurally, each of its five sub-units develops important aspects of the
central theme of evaluative judgment related to ministers and ministry.
The unit begins and ends with the proper assignment of approbation; this
takes the alternate forms of estimation by the assembly (3:6–7) and
269
Weiss (1910: 91). Cf. Χριστός . . . θεοῦ in 4:1.
270
Kuck (1992: 196).
271
Kuck (1992: 196–210); Smit (2002: 238); Goodrich (2012: 125–31).
272
Smit (2002: 238). Cf. Kuck (1992: 197).
273
Kuck (1992: 196–7 and n.243).
274
On possible implications of οἰκονόμος in 4:1–5, see Goodrich (2012: 117–64).
commendation from the divine benefactor (4:5). Both are further exam-
ined in Section 7.9. Each sub-unit provides and applies new information
that coheres with what has come before, resulting in a developed,
dynamic, multifocal metaphor composed of several layers. Centrally
important is the identification of the assembly as a holy temple in
3:16–17. But additional images and practices arising from the socio-
economic pattern of public building develop this central image in the
service of constructing a new mode of political and ethical orientation.
Among its most important elements are the authority of ministers, the
approval of ministerial labor, and the ascription of acclamation. These
themes are explored briefly in turn in Sections 7.7–7.9.
As for the second question, the sources and functions of the metapho-
rical imagery, our interpretation of covenantal/constitutional construc-
tion goes beyond earlier interpreters in accounting for the curious
combination and alternation of Jewish and Hellenistic features of
Paul’s argument. Given the complexities of important cultural metaphors
such as the one Paul adapts, we are not forced to choose a single source
domain for the rich imagery he employs in 3:5–4:5. From the Jewish
domain of covenantal commission, signaled by the allusion to Jer 1:10
in 3:6–8, Paul is able to draw important elements such as the divine
architectonic word (3:10–12), a covenant assembly directed toward
purity and divine glory (3:9, 16–17), and the prophetic theme of escha-
tological divine judgment (3:13–15; 4:3–5). Among these are features
of our passage that the ablest interpreters have judged to resonate most
with Jewish texts and concerns. From the Graeco-Roman domain of
public works construction, signaled most clearly by Paul’s choice of
the title architect (3:10), flow the language and emphases of ministry
as labor, carried out in conformity to stipulations, resulting in payment
or penalty and, ultimately, approval in the adprobatio from the one who
commissioned and funded the building.
If these are important sources for the imagery Paul employs, they also
make sense of his variegated target domain. On the one hand, he
addresses a mixed ethnic assembly of Jews and Gentiles who, given the
social composition of Roman Corinth in the period, would have included
locals as well as those who hailed from a much wider geographic swath
of the Greek East and, indeed, the Roman West. The covenantal-
constitutional layers to Paul’s metaphor would have found compelling,
challenging, and varied resonances with members of such a heterogenous
group even while keeping with the purposes the apostle envisioned for
his careful construction. We may imagine that contours of covenant
community and such a prominent concern with purity (especially as it
unfolds in the following chapters) would seem familiar to some, espe-

cially those with synagogue experience, and perhaps strange to others.
On the other hand, the way Paul configures his politics of construction
and its logic of evaluation addresses another division in the assembly,
this one economic. Members with more resources and especially those
few who may have been fairly well off react more negatively toward the
emphatic conception of ministry as labor and the removal of ultimate
approval of ministers (especially any right to examine Paul formally)
from their purview. But those members with much less in the way of
resources and privileges – legal, economic, and otherwise – may have
responded more positively to Paul’s political and theological reconfi-
guration. These hypotheses buttress the contention that any unifying
appeal to Paul’s building metaphor is not the only, or the primary,
function these images served. To argue otherwise is to fail to attend to
the dissonances emerging from the collision of social expectations
evoked and deconstructed by Paul’s text within its colonial setting.
Certainly, the image of the assembly as garden-building-temple had
unifying potential, but not of the oligarchic type in the renditions of
those who, like Dio Chrysostom, most often employed it conservatively;
they did so to support an oligarchic political order and in conjunction
with Hellenistic moral assumptions that highlighted the meritorious
virtues of civic elites. Paul’s elaborate metaphor of construction, how-
ever, casts a provocative social vision of a constituted-covenanted com-
munity. But it is a social vision located first within the ecclesial assembly,
an apparently improbable collection of members called together and
reconstituted by Paul’s testimonial about Christ. Its preservation and
growth are determined, Paul contends, by the receptiveness of its
members to the new shape and telos of community pressed on them by
its apostle-architect. Paul places the holy presence of the divine Spirit
among this modest gathering of people (3:16–17); he presumes the need
for that Spirit to reorient the evaluative faculties of the assembly’s
members but does not assume a direct correlation between social status
and right judgment (2:6–16). Strange as it must have seemed, Paul would
have them rise as a monument founded on the testimonial to the merits
of the crucified Messiah and spiritually inscribed to the glory of that
unlikely patron.
It is tempting to believe that given the close thematic connections with
1:4–9, Paul had this extended metaphor in mind from the beginning of
the letter’s composition. Was it suggested to him by his experience of
contractual work (Acts 18:3) and the prevalence of public building as
he debated and expounded Israel’s scriptures during his first Corinthian
sojourn?275 Or was it generated by the language or issues communicated

to him, either by letter or orally?276 Or did the socioeconomic profile of
a certain critic prompt Paul’s rhetorical reconstruction? These possibi-
lities, and others, must remain just that in view of our limited evidence.
What is certain is that the unit 3:5–4:5 is a rhetorical and metaphorical
whole, a masterpiece of political and theological architecture that surely
elicited varied and vigorous responses in the assembly.277 It is integral
not only to the discourse of 1:1–4:21 but also to many of the sections that
follow. It fixes in place a framework by which Paul would approach
many of the themes he addresses in the remainder of the epistle where we
find him returning to the language and images of temple (6:19), building
up the assembly (8:1, 10; 10:23; 14:3–5, 12, 17, 26), and the labor of
ministry (4:12; 9:1, 13–14; 12:5–6; 15:58; 16:10, 15–16).
7.7 Authority in 1 Corinthians 3:5–4:5

When we come to address the third exegetical problem, namely, the
prominence of ministerial terminology, we are faced with the manner
in which Paul constructs and asserts his authority. This also touches on
the relationship between Paul and other ministers, our fourth problem.
Perhaps the single most important matter to stress here is the constitu-
tional implication of the ministerial terms chosen without exception
by Paul to describe himself and other ministers. To emphasize the
ministerial/magisterial distinction is not novel, but it is often under-
appreciated. Colet’s formulation (c. 1500) memorably captures the
paradoxical legacy of Paul’s pattern: magistratus in Christianitate
omnes non magistri sed ministri sunt ecclesie [sic] (“The officers in the
Christian realm are all not masters, but ministers, of the Church”).278
Constitutionally, the Roman minister was one under authority. His own
authority was derivative and representative; he was under oversight and
was accountable for his service. More specifically, the ministerial lan-
guage adopted by Paul, when set within the politics of construction,
renders the minister directly accountable to the one commissioning the
building project and to the stipulations laid down to guide the work.
Work that does not conform to design (i.e., the word of Christ crucified;
1:18–25; 2:1–5; 3:10–12; cf. 15:1–11) or that damages materials
275
Eger (1919: 38–9).
276
Hurd (1965: 75–7, 85, 93) saw this section as a response to oral communication.
277
Deissmann (1911: 246): “ein Meisterstück des apostolischen ἀρχιτέκτων.” Mitchell
(2010: 5).
278
Colet (1985: 112–13).
(i.e., members; 3:17; cf. 5:6; 6:6–8; 8:7–12; 11:20–22; 15:33) renders
him liable to penalty or even exclusion.
These insights from the pattern of construction and evaluation under-
lying 3:5–4:5 have social and theological implications for Paul’s view of
authority vis-à-vis the Corinthian assembly. Others have commented on
the status ambiguity registered by Paul’s ministerial language. But to say
only that he “problematizes” and “relativizes” apostolic and ministerial
status thereby is perhaps to understate the total denigrating effect with
reference to colonial politeia.279 If we grant that, instead of a rhetorical
commonplace, the ministerial titles draw on the experience of embodied
work, then the language of labor, and the insistence on recompense and
evaluation are seen to act relentlessly in creating a sobering and socially
unflattering profile. Ministers, in the lexicon and social pattern Paul
directs toward certain status-conscious members, are not leaders; they
are workers, builders.280 Once again, we must emphasize that Paul’s
political theology has its epicenter in the ecclesial assembly. For him, the
authority of ministers is entirely with reference to the members and life
of the garden-temple. Theologically, then, the accent in the building
paradigm falls on the minister’s divine commission to proclaim only
the Christ of Paul’s testimonial. This is the force of the adverbial πῶς
(“how”) modifying the first imperative (βλεπέτω) of the building
stipulations (3:10c). Faithfulness (4:2) to these contract-like stipulations
hinges on gospel-building activity that is consonant with Paul’s
(3:10–12), a ministry that upbuilds by producing trust in the power
of God revealed in Christ (3:5b; cf. 2:5), and one that promotes peace
(3:8–9) and protects purity (3:16–17) in the community.
It is the manner in which these latter two elements of this commission
are expressed that invites the hypothesis that Paul is directing his build-
ing paradigm toward a specific situation and person(s).281 If there is any
truth to the assertion that German commentators have focused overly
much on theories of party divisions in Corinth, then English-speaking
scholarship may at times have shied away from the social realities
giving rise to Paul’s carefully calibrated rhetoric.282 Whatever one’s
279
Martin (1999: 64–5, 102–3).
280
Ellis (1970) notes Paul’s references to coworkers in labor terms (διάκονος, ὁ κοπιῶν,
συνεργός).
281
Inter alia, Horrell (1996: 112–23).
282
Hurd (1965: 106–7) cites Ramsay (quoting Alford): “the German commentators are
misled by too definite a view of the Corinthian parties”; cf. Dahl (1967: 314); Thiselton (2000:
123–33). Fee (1987: 59) exemplifies those who doubt the presence of actual “parties” in the
assembly. Most who agree depend to some degree on Munck (1959: 135–67).
predilections, three assumptions operate in any interpretation of Paul’s

relationship to Apollos in 1 Cor 3:5–4:5 as it impinged on others minis-
tering in the assembly: one’s view of the personalities and politics283
lying behind the party slogans in 1 Cor 1:12, one’s reading of the
implications of Paul’s indefinite signals throughout 1 Cor 3, and one’s
understanding of 1 Cor 4:6.284 Our treatment of the third issue (4:6) is
developed in the Excursus. For now, it suffices to note that Paul carefully
closes the frame he opened in 3:5 with another specific mention of
Apollos. The Alexandrian is an exemplar held up beside Paul, almost
certainly because it is in his name that some are criticizing Paul’s
authority and message. In regard to the first issue of party slogans, we
are inclined, with Welborn285 and others, to regard the situation at
Corinth, particularly as presented in 1 Cor 1:10–6:11, as one in which
political-patronal factions were present. Indeed, we need not see such
allegiances and conflict as the sole province of reasonably educated and
wealthy figures and their clientela286 (or of sophistic rhetors and their
disciples287), as the elite comparanda so often adduced might suggest.
Rather, our investigation of the politics of construction has shown that
such invidiousness could be present as well in the broader economic
aspects of colonial politeia; teams of workers organized by contractors
angling for commissions and the building work overseen by architects
provide a case in point (cf. Acts 19:23–41).288 Members of different
social classes, ethnicities, families, and households could be caught up in
a swell of stasis that focused not only on “people and personalities”289
but also on intricate and socially divisive political, economic, and ethical
differences. Surely the nascent community in Corinth was no exception.
With respect to the second issue, namely, the use of indefinite pronom-
inal elements (ἕκαστος, τις) in 1 Cor 3, we take seriously Weiss’s
observation that such signals, coupled with a rhetorical restraint, point
to a Paul who feels himself provoked and responds pointedly, yet without
offensiveness.290 This is a critical observation and one that may be
283
Or to connecting Paul’s rhetoric to the sociohistorical specifics, however difficult to
discern. But see Welborn (1997).
284
Especially the meaning of μετεσχημάτισα εἰς ἐμαυτὸν καὶ Ἀπολλῶν δι’ ὑμᾶς and the
referent of ἃ γέγραπται.
285
Welborn (1997: 1–42).
286
Chow (1992: 113–66).
287
Winter (1997); Winter (2001: 31–43, 184–211).
288
Builders on the job: Buckler (1923).
289
Clarke (1993: 92).
290
Weiss (1910: 78–84); Dahl (1967: 319). Cf. Marshall (1987: 341–8); Welborn
(2011: 208–30).
strengthened by further considerations to suggest that Paul has certain

well-positioned “partisans” of Apollos very much in view in 1 Cor
3:5–4:5.291
There are three reasons for taking the position that local partisans
of Apollos who were critiquing Paul are the focus of his response:
(1) Paul’s emphasis on his own authority in distinction to that of
Apollos, (2) Paul’s decision to focus on Apollos in framing the rhetorical
unit, and (3) Paul’s clustered deployment of indefinite pronouns men-
tioned earlier. Taken individually, these are not new considerations. But
set together within the new interpretive framework of this chapter, they
facilitate a hypothesis concerning named partisans of Apollos with
political-theological influence in the assembly.292 With this influence,
they are threatening to subject Paul to a critical inquiry. Moreover, they
are ignoring pressing ethical issues or even engaging in practices that,
in Paul’s view, are damaging to the community in social, legal, and
theological terms. These are contested claims that we must seek to
validate.
First, there is Paul’s self-designation as σοφὸς ἀρχιτέκτων in 3:10.
This has been seen by many as setting up a distinction between Paul and
Apollos in terms of the former’s authority,293 although some have
demurred.294 What is decisive is the paradigm of public construction
and the lines of authority building contracts attest. In Greek building
contracts, the architect was the one with authority on the work site, both
by virtue of his commission and his experience and expertise. Other
builders were legally subject to his evaluation of their work at interim
stages. In the case of Roman architects and contractors, although their
social status was often ambiguous, their authority was clear. An archi-
tect, though rarely receiving the public glory that went to the patron,
enjoyed authority on site, especially with reference to the leges locationis
and their stipulations. Therefore, when Paul appropriated the title “wise
architect” and went on to build an elaborate metaphor centered on social
and legal features of construction (whose main thrust was the proper
evaluation of ministry), he was in fact distinguishing quite strongly
291
Ker (2000: 88–9). Cf. Barrett (1971: 87–8). Some still see Cephas behind Paul’s
response: Goulder (1991: 520). These seem influenced by the older Hellenism-Judaism
opposition of Baur or by an untenable interpretation of the position of Cephas in the list of
names in 3:22. Apollos’s appearance at the hermeneutical edges of the rhetorical frame
argues strongly against this.
292
Cf. Horrell (1996: 123).
293
Recently, Barnett (2003).
294
Mihaila (2009: 198–202).
his own authority from that of Apollos and others ministering in the
community.295 This distinction holds generally, as Paul’s foundational
ministry is thrice reiterated (θεμέλιος, 3:10–12), set twice against the
ongoing building ministry of others (ἐποικοδομῶ, 3:10, 12).296 It also
interprets the earlier contrast between Paul’s planting and Apollos’s
watering in 3:6–8 as more than stylistic. The stress on unity in ministry
under authority in those verses modulates from 3:10 into an emphasis on
Paul’s authority to define approvable ministry. Ministerial accountabil-
ity, message conformity, and communal purity figure in 3:10–17 far more
prominently than unity.297 It is thus no objection to our argument to point
either to the opening unity-in-ministry motif (3:5–9) or to the focus on
God as commissioning benefactor (3:6–9, 21b–23) and the priority of
the Christ proclaimed over the proclaimer (3:10–12).298 Paul may or may
not have been perfectly collegial with his brother and fellow teacher.
Their mutual friends Prisca and Aquila would likely have informed him
of any specific hermeneutical and theological deficiencies and pastoral
potential of the gifted orator.299 Finally, Paul claims to have had frequent
communication with Apollos after leaving Corinth; his tone is level when
writing of him to the Corinthians (1 Cor 16:12).300 Yet, we cannot
imagine Paul allowing Apollos the same authority he claims for himself
in 1 Cor 3:5–4:5 and elsewhere, certainly not with reference to his
foundation and guidance of the Corinthian assembly.301
Second, there is Paul’s careful use of Apollos in his composition of
the rhetorical unit. Apollos is mentioned by name four times302 and is
alluded to three more.303 After reviving (and reducing to two) the party
slogans in 3:4, Paul opens the section in 3:5 with a pair of terse rhetorical
295
The Is 3:3 “allusion,” though perhaps faintly resonant, is probably inert within Paul’s
rhetorical frame: σοφός is accounted for by the context and argument (from 1:20 onward)
and the ἀρχιτέκτων by the extended construction metaphor.
296
The prefix ἐπ- indicates a consistent, subtle distinction with Paul’s foundational and
authoritative commission οἰκοδομεῖν, intensified by the ἐποικοδομεῖ ἐπί in the apodosis of
the first stipulation in 3:12.
297
Ker (2000: 86).
298
Fee (1987: 138–9).
299
Acts 18:2–3, 24–26; 1 Cor 16:19.
300
Hurd (1965: 206–7). Thiselton (2000: 1332–3) is among those placing Paul and
Apollos in Ephesus together in the early mid-50s AD. Cf. Welborn (2011: 411–12).
301
1 Cor 4:14–21; 2 Cor 10:13–14.
302
3:5, 6, 22; 4:6, whereas Cephas is mentioned only in the benefaction crescendo (at
3:22) in the fourth sub-unit (3:18–23). Cephas is also omitted in 3:4.
303
3:7 (ὁ ποτίζων), 8 (ὁ ποτίζων), 9 (συνεργοί). Despite a generalizing sense that builds,
the statement in 3:6 means the name of Apollos reverberates in the auditor’s ear throughout
3:7–9.
questions, placing Apollos first. In 4:6, Paul again names Apollos, stating
that his ministry in relation to Paul’s own animated the entire rhetorical
construction in 3:5–4:5. Although in neither place is Paul’s tone aggres-
sive or aggrieved, his choice of Apollos is clearly intentional. This
prominence of Apollos in the overall argument concerning the proper
evaluation of ministers strongly suggests that Paul was driven by neces-
sity (μετασχημάτισα εἰς ἐμαυτὸν καὶ Ἀπολλῶν δι’ ὑμᾶς, 4:6) and not
by art to name his eloquent brother.304 That necessity has been rightly
glimpsed through the increasing tension building beneath Paul’s rheto-
rical reserve from 3:10 onward.
Third, then, is Paul’s intensive and targeted use of indefinite pronouns
throughout the middle three of the five sub-units (3:10–23). In 3:10–15,
Paul unambiguously asserts his authority as architect against a critic (or
critics) on whose lips was found the slogan “I am of Apollos.” Whether
they actually preferred the Alexandrian’s rhetorical prowess (Acts
18:24–8) to Paul’s manner of speech or whether they deemed him
more socially acceptable and therefore a convenient screen for their
critique of Paul is impossible to know with certainty. Perhaps some
combination of these factors is likely given Paul’s response. But when
Paul’s careful arrangement of indefinite pronouns is correlated with a
series of imperatives and grasped within the social and legal pattern of
building contracts, the likelihood grows that we may identify the profile
of such a person. Weiss argued that we do an injustice to 3:10–15 if we
ignore its darker, more forceful tone in comparison with 3:5–9.305 This
shift in tone is best apprehended by a close attention to syntactical
constructions, the absence of personal names, and the use of pronouns.
Paul moves from the congenial references to Apollos as a fellow worker
in 3:5–9 to a series of sharp and escalating statements in which Apollos is
unmentioned. These statements commence with the imperative of 3:10,
continue through three real conditionals expressed in the style of building
contract stipulations (3:12–15), and culminate in the penalty declaration
in 3:17. In 3:5c, 8b, and 10c, Paul employs ἕκαστος in a primarily
generalizing way to speak of the unity to be found in the variety of
ministerial tasks (cf. Gal 6:4). But the use of “each one” in 3:10c registers
an alteration in mood and is separated from those preceding it by the
clause ἄλλος δὲ ἐποικοδομεῖ (3:10b); with the ἄλλος and the ἐπι- prefix,
Paul draws an authoritative line. Then, in 3:10c, the adversative δέ and
the imperative βλεπέτω lend a flinty note to Paul’s tone. The command
304
Ker (2000: 91–3).
305
Weiss (1910: 78).
“But let each one take care how he builds” comprehends, in a single, stark
directive, the entirety of Paul’s argument in the two sub-units 3:10–15,
16–17. We may be permitted to imagine, among the responses to the first
public reading of this letter at Corinth, a rising indignation or disdain
on the part of some who understood themselves to be included in the
ἄλλος and the ἕκαστος of 3:10b–c. This impression is reinforced by the
repetition of ἄλλος in 3:11, this time modifying θεμέλιος and explicitly
denying to other builder-ministers the authority to define the message and
manner (cf. πῶς, 3:10c) of ministry in Corinth. Following the explicit
construction signals of 3:10–11 (ἀρχιτέκτων, θεμέλιος), the serial con-
ditionals of 3:12–15 and that of 3:17 mimic the style and content of a
building contract. Just as we saw in the Lebadeia inscription (IG VII
3073), each has a conditional particle introducing a protasis concerning
building practice and is followed by an apodosis employing a future or
future passive verb306 that specifies evaluation, payment, or penalty. This
is best understood if the text is laid out as follows:
And if anyone builds (εἰ δὲ τις ἐποικοδομεῖ) upon the
foundation . . . the work of each will become manifest
(φανερὸν γενήσεται). (3:12–13)
If anyone’s work remains (εἴ τινος . . . μενεῖ) which he shall
build (ὅ ἐπικοδόμησεν), he will receive payment (μισθὸν
λήμψεσται). (3:14)
If anyone’s work shall be burned up (εἴ τινος . . . κατακαήσεται),
he will be fined (ζημιωθήσεται). (3:15)
If anyone damages (εἴ τις . . . φθείρει) God’s temple, God will
destroy (φθερεῖ)307 this one. (3:17)
If these conditionals, with their repeated indefinite pronouns (τις, τινός,
τινός, τις), were properly stipulations in a building contract for a physical
structure (which, viewed here in isolation, they very nearly could be),
then we would be justified in interpreting “anyone” in a generalizing
way; all builders, in the absence of further qualifying clauses, would be
included. But in the sweep of Paul’s rhetoric, these stipulations intensify
and narrow their focus, until in 3:18 the apostle-architect momentarily
removes the building template to apply unambiguously the reversal he
hopes to achieve by his construction paradigm. Here, we come closest to
306
Cf. analogous syntax in Latin legal clauses, e.g., lex Urs. Ch. 62 (si quis faciet . . .
vincitur . . . dupli damnas esto . . .).
307
For φθερει rather than φθειρει, see Kloha (2006: 72–3).
glimpsing the specific figure whom Paul has in view. With a second
command (“Let no one deceive himself!”), Paul employs a final pointed
conditional, this time with an imperative in the apodosis: “If anyone (τις)
thinks [himself] to be wise among you,308 in this age let him become a
fool, in order that he may become wise.”309 The building metaphor has
done its preparatory deconstructive work of defining ministry as labor
and has commenced reconstruction by defining lines of authority and
accountability, reward and penalty. Paul deems it time, in 3:18, to be
provocatively indirect in addressing one influential figure in the hearing
of the community, avoiding his name despite the insistence of the
warning.310 Such a focused and progressive use of indefinite pronouns
seems to pinpoint a known group in response to an oral message (1:11); it
is hardly likely that Paul speaks only generally here to “the Corinthians
themselves.”311 Surely he has a specific person or persons in mind. But
whom?312
Any hypothesis concerning a particular figure addressed in this unit
must necessarily fall short of proof. Nevertheless Paul has left us clues
that, reexamined in view of the politics of construction, may direct us
toward certain known members of the community. This person need not
be the “immoral brother” whose exclusion is commanded by Paul in 1
Cor 5, though Chrysostom was probably correct to draw a connection
between that passage, 3:16–17, and 4:1–5.313 It is, however, quite likely
that the one who is the focus of Paul’s response was a figure with enough
social capital to exert pressure, by word and example (or by a persuasive
silence), on other members, thereby preventing action on issues of
purity (e.g., 1 Cor 5)314 or endorsing social practices detrimental to
308
See also 1 Cor 8:1; 11:16; 14:37; Gal 6:3; Phil 3:4.
309
For the division of clauses in this way, taking ἐν τῷ αἰῶνι τούτῳ as an emphatic
adverbial phrase beginning the second clause and denoting the mode in which the command
γενέσθω is to be observed, see Weiss (1910: 86–7).
310
Here, Paul breaks from the metaphor to return explicitly to his reorienting theme of
apocalyptic wisdom and judgment, supporting his argument directly from Scripture in
3:19–20, rather than from a further appeal to skill, conformity, or quality in construction
terms.
311
So Fee (1987: 138–9). Ker (2000: 88–9), however, concurs with our view.
312
So already Chrysostom, Hom. 1 Cor. (PG 61.78–80). To interpret the indefinite
pronouns as having such specific reference does not, of course, imply that Paul did not also
desire to influence others in the assembly. On avoiding the invidiousness implied by
naming a specific figure, see Welborn (2011: 213–29).
313
Chrysostom, Hom. 1 Cor. (PG 61.78–10, 88).
314
Note, in 5:2, the language of work (ὁ τὸ ἔργον τοῦτο πράξας) applied to the “immoral
brother.”
unity (e.g., 1 Cor 6).315 That is, the “builder” whom Paul has in view will
have been a man who, first and foremost, was impressed by Apollos.
We suggest that he was also someone familiar with the social pattern of
colonial construction and contracts, perhaps even involved in some
manner with a building project, either domestic or public. If this is so,
Paul’s critic would have been a man of some financial means, whether
modest or more, and would have experienced the process of evaluation
as one who rendered a final (im)probatio for contracted labor. He would
have been someone known to Paul, either personally or by word of
mouth, conceivably a host of the assembly in some of its gatherings.
If, for a moment, we grant that there is much in this profile that is
supported by the shape and particulars of Paul’s response, we must at
least acknowledge it as possible. In such a case, we have in Paul’s
rhetoric a carefully calibrated message shaped not only from his own
experience, theology, and time in Corinth and other cities of the Greek
East but one targeting a specific person and setting.
Who might fit this profile? Three possibilities appear worthy of
consideration, none of which, it should be stressed, may be proven
decisively. The first that presents itself is also the most controversial.
Debate over whether the Erastus mentioned by Paul in Rom 16:23 may
be identified with the Erastus known from early Roman Corinth (Kent
232) continues unabated.316 If the Erastus of the paving inscription were
indeed affiliated in some way with the Christian assembly at Corinth,
then he would fulfill many of the criteria we have delineated. As an
aedile, Erastus would have overseen and approved the construction work
he offered the colony in exchange for his magistracy; according to the
colonial constitution, he would have done the same for many public
works projects during his term in office.317 Even if we grant that Paul’s
Erastus is at a different social level as a public slave or freedman
administrator, it is still very likely that such a man would be involved
with public construction.318 Nevertheless, Paul does not mention Erastus
in 1 Corinthians, and it is possible he was not yet affiliated with the
assembly. Therefore, Erastus must remain only a tentative possibility for
the one favoring Apollos over Paul and thereby fomenting conflict.
A second possibility is Titius Justus, who hosted gatherings at which
Paul taught after his departure from the synagogue according to Acts
315
Dahl (1967: 329–31) closely connects 1 Cor 5–6 with chapters 1–4.
316
See now Welborn (2011: 260–82).
317
lex Urs. Chs. 77, 98; lex Irn. Ch. 19.
318
See also magistri (masters) of shrines and temples, lex Urs. Ch. 128.
18:7 (see Section 4.1.2). We may pass by Goodspeed’s overstated iden-

tification of Titius Justus with Paul’s Gaius319 without losing sight of
Justus’s Roman citizenship and obvious means.320 Luke’s report that this
Roman God-fearer’s home was adjacent to the synagogue in Corinth
(συνομοροῦσα321 τῇ συναγωγῇ,) may suggest additionally his involve-
ment in its construction or maintenance, especially if there was a shared
party wall.322 As one who may have had experience with construction
in colonial politeia as well as one with some instruction in the Jewish
scriptures (by visiting teachers such as Apollos), Justus provides another
possible target for Paul’s covenantal-constitutional rhetoric. But Titius
Justus is liable to an objection similar to that directed at Erastus; he is
not mentioned in 1 Corinthians. Thus, he remains less than compelling as
the figure stirring Paul’s response.
Our final option is Crispus, a figure mentioned in both 1 Cor 1:14
and Acts 18:8 (see Section 4.2.2).323 Crispus, probably also a Roman
citizen,324 is a strong possibility for four reasons. First, Luke calls him
ἀρχισυνάγωγος. As such, he was either a Jewish “ruler of the synagogue”
or a Gentile god-fearer connected to the Corinthian Jewish community.
Second, in either case, Crispus was a man of some means and likely to
have been a benefactor of the synagogue in some way, perhaps even
funding the structure. If so, he, too, may have had personal experience
“from above” with the pattern of contractual oversight and evaluation.325
Third, Luke specifically draws attention to the fact that Crispus trans-
ferred his loyalty to Paul’s Messiah along with his entire household
(ἐπίστευσεν τῷ κυρίῷ σὺν ὅλῳ τῷ οἴκῳ αὐτοῦ, Acts 18:8) and was
presumably influential in doing so. Fourth, and perhaps most sugges-
tively, Crispus is mentioned in 1 Corinthians in such a way that arouses
suspicion.
Our wariness is piqued by the manner of Paul’s inclusion of Crispus in
1 Cor 1:14. He names Crispus and Gaius as two whom he baptized when
319
Goodspeed (1950: 382–3).
320
Judge (2005: 110, 112).
321
The συν-prefix of the hapax legomenon συνομορῶ could imply that Justus’s domes-
tic space shared a common wall with the synagogue rather than simply being nearby (see
LSJ s.v. ομορέω). If such were the case, it is further possible, but highly speculative, that
Justus may have leased space to the gathering Jews.
322
Theissen (1982: 74–5).
323
Recently, Welborn (2011: 236–41).
324
Judge (2005: 112, 114–15).
325
Theissen (1982: 73–5); Rajak and Noy (1993: 75–93). For Theodotus, an
ἀρχισυνάγωγος who built (ᾠ κοδόμησε) a synagogue in Jerusalem, see now CIIP II 9
(late I BC/early AD I).
in Corinth, only to protest that this should not be interpreted within the
political matrix of patronage or partisanship. Then, in 1:15 Paul drives a
rhetorical wedge between these two and Stephanas; the effect is that by
“feigning” indifference,326 Paul pretends to recall his baptism of and
relationship to Stephanas almost as an afterthought in 1:16. Additionally,
that of these three, Paul names only Stephanas (and his household) in the
epistolary conclusion to 1 Cor 16:15–18 is telling.327 There, Stephanas is
held up to the community as the firstfruits (ἀπαρχή) of Achaia and as one
who has devoted himself to the ministry (εἰς διακονίαν) of the saints.328
On this basis, Paul further commends Stephanas as one to whom the
members of the assembly should submit, adding “and to every co-worker
and laborer (παντὶ τῷ συνεργοῦντι καὶ κοπιῶντι).” Paul clearly counts
Stephanas as a supporter, one who refreshed him and who is ministering
in a way that agrees with the apostle’s conception of the proper message
and method required (1:17); he holds Stephanas up as a virtual paradigm
of ministry (1:18). Stephanas cannot possibly be one of the targets of
Paul’s rhetoric in 1 Cor 3:5–4:5.329 But would we be justified, on this
positive account in 16:15–18 and because of the artful separation of
Stephanas from Crispus in 1:14–16, in inferring a critique of the latter
on precisely these matters of ministry? Had Crispus and Stephanas
drifted into two opposed factions after Paul and Apollos left Corinth?
Could Crispus, in his adulation of Apollos, have become critical of Paul?
Might he have imported his colonial experience of status, wisdom, and
evaluation into his participation in the gatherings and life of the assem-
bly, becoming complicit in drowning out the voices of the “weak” who
pointed to the ethics of purity (1 Cor 5) and the theological exclusiveness
(1 Cor 8:1–11:1) implied by Paul’s politics of the cross? Might he have
stood by while the “nothings” of the community faced litigation from
their own brothers, or perhaps have pursued such litigation himself
(1 Cor 6:1–8)?
The honest answer to these questions can only be “possibly.” Paul’s
careful construction of 3:5–4:5, framed with himself and Apollos, is too
326
Weiss (1910: 20–1).
327
For Stephanas, see Welborn (2011: 250–60).
328
Welborn (2011: 255–6) interprets Stephanas’s ministry with reference to the
Jerusalem collection. But given the nimbleness of Paul’s rhetoric here, it may be that
something more is meant by διακονία. Even if we take the phrase καὶ παντὶ τῷ συνεργοῦντι
καὶ κοπιῶντι (16:16) as a generalizing concession to soften Paul’s glowing recommenda-
tion of Stephanas, in connection with διακονία (16:15), it surely evokes Paul’s description
of ministry as labor in 3:5–4:5. Cf. Winter (2001: 184–205).
329
Dahl (1967: 324–5).
effective in its avoidance of openly naming members of the assembly.

Yet surely Paul knew names and details from Chloe’s people (1:11). It is
therefore highly likely that in his composition of the extended building
metaphor, especially in the middle sub-units where names drop out and
indefinite pronouns cluster, he is targeting specific influential members
of the assembly, quite possibly of the profile hypothesized here.
In summary, we have seen in this section some of the factors guiding
Paul’s emphatic ministerial terminology and traces of his relations with
other “ministers” in the assembly. On the one hand, Paul’s theology
shapes his use of language. He sees himself as one divinely commis-
sioned and therefore under authority and accountable, ultimately, to
God. Thus, his efforts in building up the assembly with his testimony
to Christ are described as labor and service. On the other hand, Paul’s
formulations are driven by his apologetic intent in the rhetorical unit.
Paul stresses his own accountability to the Lord to remove himself from
Corinthian jurisdiction. Furthermore, we have argued, on the basis of a
close analysis of the text, that Paul is responding to one or more critics
who associated themselves with Apollos. Their contempt was directed
at his person, his gospel, and his manner of ministry. Given what we
know of the social composition of the assembly and the pattern evoked
in Paul’s response, we explored several named figures who might fit the
profile of such a critic. We suggested that Crispus, by reason of his
social status, financial means, and the manner in which Paul mentions
him in the letter, may have been a leader of the “Apollos party.” While
this must remain strictly a hypothesis, it gives further resolution to our
image of Paul’s critics and helps us grasp the social and rhetorical force
of his ministerial language. To such a figure, Paul’s insistence that
ministry in the assembly is labor must have galled. The same is true
for the pattern unfolded by the apostle whereby all Corinthian ministers
are subordinate to, and called to account by, the architect’s delegated
authority.
7.8 Approval in 1 Corinthians 3:5–4:5

We may now address the fifth exegetical problem concerning the nature
of judgment and evaluation. Here, we come to the explicit rhetorical
thrust of the entire unit. This is especially evident at three points:
3:12–15; 3:17; and 4:1–5.330 A consideration of each of these within
330
3:18–23 largely departs from the building metaphor in its use of scriptural traditions
to reorient the wisdom of would-be ministers. For 3:21b–3, see later in this chapter.
the paradigm of construction clarifies some of the details as well as the

overall force of Paul’s effort at evaluative critique and reorientation.
In our examination of the pronominal elements in the previous section,
we presented the series of conditionals in terms of the stipulations
guiding Paul’s construction project. In the pattern of public building,
the future and future passive verbs in the apodoses relate to points at
which the builders’ work will be evaluated. This is played on by Paul and
set within his framework of eschatological judgment. The reality of
divine evaluation of ministers and their ministry unfolds in step with
these conditional clauses. Each worker will see the products of his labor
revealed (3:13); he will be rewarded for quality ministry that endures
(3:14) and penalized for that which does not (3:15).331 Precisely because
Paul draws on the pattern of stipulation clauses to be found in building
contracts, the details should not guide an overly subtle theological for-
mulation of eschatological judgment. The force of the section is that
ministers, like building contractors, are accountable to oversight and
liable to a final, decisive evaluation of the product of their work. This
accountability is primarily to God, as the Pauline shorthand for an
eschatological day of judgment (3:13–φανερὸν γενήσεται; ἡ γὰρ ἡμέρα
δηλώσει; ἐν πυρὶ ἀποκαλύπτεται; τὸ πῦρ δοκιμάσει;332 3:15–τὸ ἔργον
κατακαήσεται; ὡς διὰ πυρός) makes clear.333 But according to the
apologetic logic of the metaphor, Paul also presses on other ministers a
secondary accountability to himself. Just as the architect is vested with
authority to grant approval at specified moments in the building process,
so Paul, by the very fact of directing these stipulations toward unnamed
persons in the assembly, asserts his authority to render proleptic escha-
tological (dis)approval; after all, that is exactly what he does in these
verses. In addition to his apostolic commission as the founder of the
Corinthian assembly, he possesses, as the σοφός architect, the revealed
wisdom that comes from the divine Spirit (1 Cor 2:6–16; cf. 5:3–5; 7:40b;
14:37–8). Others ministering at Corinth are therefore subject to double
evaluation – Pauline and divine. In terms of its object, such evaluation
331
The building contract pattern confirms the intuition of Weiss (1910: 82–4) that
δοκιμάζω and ἀνακρίνω are technical terms for evaluation; cf. Arzt-Grabner, et al. (2006:
135, 152–6, 164–72); Papathomas (2009: 45–52, 55–8), although the juristic-evaluative
sense of these terms finds its decisive building-project resonance, for 1 Cor 3:5–4:5, in the
inscriptions, and not the papyri. Cf. the assembly’s “accreditation” (δοκιμάσητε), by letter,
of certain persons related to the collection in 16:3.
332
Kloha (2006: 71–2) views αυτο (attested in A B C 1739 et al.) as a secondary
addition.
333
Kuck (1992: 170–86).
targets each minister’s work in building up the assembly. It does so with

reference to the proclamation of the Messiah, in a manner that aims at
purity and peace in the community. Message conformity and construc-
tion quality are the criteria of approval. In terms of its mode, it is an
evaluation carried out by the Lord at the last day and by Paul presently, in
whose spiritual wisdom there is an irruption of the end of days. Kuck’s
emphasis on the future aspect of “apocalyptic judgment” and “post-
mortem reward” is thereby qualified by Paul’s (or the lector’s) announce-
ment of these stipulations in the midst of the gathered assembly. This is
consonant with the stress in the larger context on the need for proper
spiritual wisdom and judgment in the present (3:1–4).
These apocalyptic assertions, their connection to a final eschatological
evaluation, and their link to the ethical exigence of the ecclesial politeia
climax in the crashing wordplay of 3:17. Weiss correctly noted Paul’s
effective use of antanaklasis. The pattern of this rhetorical figure, com-
bined with that of public building, allows us decisively to appreciate his
wordplay. According to its use in building contracts, so clearly evoked
here, the verb may mean either damage or destroy. Thus, the proper
translation of this verse has occasioned some debate. Yet according to the
figure of antanaklasis, the second term abutting the first has not only an
aural effect but must shift its meaning; otherwise, the wordplay is lost.
We may not be able to preserve the aural juxtaposition in English, but
we may render the sense of 3:17 as we have already done: If anyone
damages (φθείρει) God’s temple, God will destroy (φθερεῖ) this one.
Paul’s eschatological adaptation of the building penalty comes across as
the pronouncement of a curse. It draws its urgency from the threatened
purity of the community. The forcefulness of the utterance implies a
concern for an ecclesial political theology that, in being founded on the
crucified Christ, presages a concern for the “weak” and the “nothings”
that will unfold in later chapters. Exclusion from the community for one
who damages God’s living temple, as a possibility latent in the building
contracts, remains untapped in 3:5–4:5, only to emerge in 5:1–13.
Instead, Paul has stretched his reconfiguration of the building pattern to
its limit with a resounding sanction that stresses the finality of divine
judgment on one convicted of bad ministry practice.334 Covenantal curse
overwhelms the concept of contractual penalty.
When we come to 4:1–5, we are aided again by the construction
pattern we have identified. Paul staunchly rebuts any attempt, overt or
implied on the part of his critics, to subject him to a quasi-formal inquiry
334
Chrysostom was broadly correct to see 3:16–17 as prefiguring 5:1–13.
(ὑπὸ ἀνθρωπίνης ἡμέρας, 4:3b).335 His refusal is accomplished by an

eschatological revetment of the logic of final evaluation – the adprobatio
operis. The focus of evaluation in 3:12–17 was the message and com-
munal results of ministry; the echo of conformity and quality according
to stipulations is necessarily present in the image of probatio. But the
examination in 4:5 goes further, penetrating the building surfaces to
reveal a minister’s innermost thoughts and intentions (φανερώσει τὰς
βουλάς τῶν καρδιῶν). Here, the divine patron-magistrate, and not the
architect, pronounces either probum or inprobum esto. If the former, then
the divine praise (ὁ ἔπαινος, emphatic by position) will come to each one.
It is here, in the extended inferential conclusion (ὥστε, 4:5) to the
entire unit 3:5–4:5 that we perceive the skill of Paul’s rhetorical recon-
struction and see further into his pastoral strategy. First, the elaborately
adapted building metaphor enhances our understanding of the central
judgment motif in 1 Cor 1–4 by integrating the themes of wisdom,
evaluation, purity, and unity. It does so by an appeal to the politics of
construction, a social pattern that comprehends many types of people,
and one that works, with its focus on labor and accountability, against
any presumption of superiority on the basis of an elite mode of evalua-
tion. If, as Kuck and others have argued, 3:5–4:5 is the rhetorical center
of this opening section of the epistle, then it effectively balances the
several concerns Paul has foregrounded in his response.336 Second, the
metaphor presses home the point of proper evaluation by its very nature.
In the politics of construction, the parties always had one eye on the job
and the other on the future evaluation. Whether by incremental stages of
examination and payment or with ultimate reference to the final day of
approval, the entire experience, especially of public, monumental build-
ing, was forward looking in its outlook. The adprobatio combined the
forensic elements so favored by Paul in his eschatological figures with a
structural image that applied it to the community’s present experience.
Pastorally, Paul manages to render the familiar strange by an adapta-
tion that had powerful potential to destabilize his critics and to reorient
the evaluative conception of ministers and ministry in the community.
Finally, this interpretation of 4:1–5 sees the sub-unit, not as an abstract
“eschatological climax,” but as an argument and image organically
related to the opening thanksgiving in 1:4–9. As we saw there, Paul
evokes the politics of thanksgiving most frequently experienced in the
domain of public monumental construction. His testimonial to the merits
335
Weiss (1910: 100); Fee (1987: 156).
336
Kuck (1992: 155).
of Christ, he claimed, was confirmed (1:6); an important aspect of the

testimonial was that Christ, their patron-advocate, would confirm them
in their privileges and blamelessness to the end (1:7–8). In 3:5–4:5, we
witness Paul’s unfolding blueprint and contract for the construction of
the monument implied by 1:4–9. In its development, Paul claimed a
commission that authorized him to determine the foundational message
and to evaluate the building work of other ministers. He viewed the
community-monument as a holy temple, indwelt by the Spirit, and
underwritten with every resource by the divine benefactor. It was an
odd monument in the calculus of public thanksgiving and construction,
largely because it was incompletely formed, neither beautiful in its social
composition nor yet seeking fully, by purity or proper gratitude, the glory
of the one who designed it and provided for its upbuilding.
We conclude this section by recounting Paul’s attempt at reconfiguring
the logic of evaluation for his auditors. In choosing to work with images
and language from the politics of construction, Paul had at his disposal
a model that focused strongly on evaluation and final approval. He
exploited it fully, combining the language of contractual stipulations
with a covenantal conception of eschatological blessing and curse. The
result was a rhetoric that deconstructs certain colonial modes of judgment
and evaluation. Paul’s insistence on his (present) authority and paradig-
matic gospel and on the (future) certainty of the divine day of approval
reconstructs a new vision of evaluation. In the conclusion to the unit,
Paul emphasizes this ultimate divine evaluation in the manner of the
adprobatio operis familiar from the pattern of public building. Its effect
would have been sobering to those who took seriously the penetrating
examination of the divine judge and patron of the Corinthian temple.
7.9 Acclamation in 1 Corinthians 3:5–4:5

We now come to our sixth and final exegetical problem, namely,
the meaning and function of the rhythmic sections in 3:5–9 and, very
briefly, in 3:21b–23. In Chapter 6, we noted that acclamation was
an important element of the colonial politics of thanksgiving, accompa-
nying the inscription of testimonials to the merits of a patron,337 espe-
cially one who underwrote spectacles or monumental construction.338
Thanksgiving was integrally related to glory. Given the close thematic
337
Recall Iunia Theodora and Epaminondas of Acraephia in Section 6.2.
338
For orators and audience acclaim (or abuse), see Litfin (1994: 93–5); Winter (1997:
126–44).
connections between 1 Cor 1:4–9 and 3:5–4:5, we are prompted to search

the latter unit for signs of such acclamation. In fact, as we have seen
in this chapter, the dedication of a monument was the ideal moment
for public acclamation that took a variety of forms; perhaps the most
popular in such instances were acclamations of the “Increase!” type
employing a form of the verb αὐξάνω. To this pattern, we may add
three further considerations that sharpen our expectation to find some
trace of a verbal, ecclesial response in 3:5–4:5. First, it is well known that
in 1 Corinthians Paul often responds by quoting statements that have
come to his attention. This is seen most clearly in the party slogans he
critiques and parodies in 1:12 and 3:4. In these, Paul gives attention to
his audience and is effective in adapting their words in his rhetorical
responses.339 Second, when we recall the allusions to Jeremiah and
elsewhere to covenantal construction with its interrelated themes of
garden, temple, and Spirit, we might expect also a note of glory.340
This is the case not only in Jewish theology but also in Jewish historical
tradition as the verbal exclamations at the dedication of the post-exilic
Temple attest (e.g., Ezra 3:11–13; cf. Zech 6:9–15). Third, the rhetorical
focus on evaluative judgment in 3:5–4:5, within the larger context of
political division and partisanship, raises the question of the form that
expressions of loyalty and approval might take in gatherings of the
assembly.341 As we shall see, acclamations were employed in smaller
communal gatherings as well as in larger public spaces. With these
political and theological connections between construction, glory, and
acclamation in mind, we return to the question at hand: how do we
account for the repetitive, rhythmic elements of 3:6–9 and 3:21b–23?
Is it possible that we hear, at these points in Paul’s text, echoes of the
aural-political experience of acclaim in the assembly?
That such is the case in 3:6–9 is confirmed by an analysis of the
rhythmic form and a comparison with extant evidence for acclamations
in Graeco-Roman civic contexts. In our history of scholarship, we noted
Weiss’s observations on the rhythm and repetition in these verses.342
The features of composition to which he drew attention deserve further
examination. Apollos, Paul, and God form a trio mentioned, either by
name or by title, four times in 3:5–9. To grasp the pattern, we may first
isolate these namings:
339
E.g., 6:12–13; 8:1–9; 10:23.
340
Cf. Gärtner (1965); Beale (2004).
341
Clarke (1993: 121).
342
Weiss (1897: 207); Weiss (1910: 75).
3:5 Apollos Paul the Lord343

3:6 I Apollos God
(Paul)
3:7 the one who the one who the one who
plants waters gives the
growth
(Paul) (Apollos) God
3:8 the one who the one who
plants waters
(Paul) (Apollos)
3:9 God God God
It is obvious that this arrangement is far from static. Paul shifts the
order of the names even as he repeats and develops the idea of the unity
of fellow workers, each with his own commission from the Lord.
Nevertheless, each series ends with the divine name or title. Equally
important, the rhythm changes, as well as the ordering. This is surely
more than variatio. Whereas 3:5 introduces the three names immediately
relevant to the work of ministry at Corinth, it is in 3:6–7 that the rhythm
becomes most concentrated and the phrasing most repetitive.344 But
despite a consistent order of persons in 3:6–7, there is syntactical varia-
tion. An important change comes in 3:7 at which stage the proper names
of both ministers are replaced by functional titles. Yet, there is more to
this arrangement than an emphasis on “task-orientated” leadership.345
The change to “planter” and “waterer” accomplishes two important
results that are only fully grasped in the context of the performative
elements of civic politics. First, in terms of aural, rhythmic effect, the
shift to substantival participial form renders all three words uniform in
terms of syllables and accent. We hear that when read aloud, φυτεύων,
ποτίζων, and αὐξάνων each have three syllabic beats with paroxytonic
stress. Second, the definite article affixed to each results in forms that
mimic the honorific titles given to magistrates and benefactors in
343
In view of 2:8 (κύριος), probably refers to Christ here (but see the less clear
occurrences in 4:4–5).
344
Semino (2008: 22–3): repetition and recurrence are two important discourse patterns
or “textual manifestations that metaphors may exhibit.” That these metaphors mimic
honorific titles – especially in the case of “grower,” one related to public building – is
another argument for seeing 3:5–9 as part of a larger, extended building metaphor rather
than a sub-unit with completely distinct “imagery.”
345
Clarke (1993: 119).
inscriptions; as Louis Robert has argued, behind these inscribed titles

lay acclamations.346 But would such titles, bestowed by acclamation,
have any relevance to groups such as the Corinthian assembly or, more
specifically, to the motifs of building and evaluation? To answer this, we
must ask in what settings, by whom, for whom, and to what purpose
acclamations were employed in the Graeco-Roman world.347
De Ruggiero’s classic definition is still useful: an acclamation is “any
verbal [corporate] expression of joy, approval, greeting, or the like, or
even of discontent, of blame, or of cursing.”348 Cicero pointed in the
late Republic to public assemblies and spectacles as two of three venues
where popular sentiment could be vocalized.349 Acclamations were one
communicative mode whereby communal will was expressed. Such
expressions were not always complimentary. The use of these gathering
spaces for acclamations could be either official or spontaneous and was
often highly politicized.350 Acclamations played a role in settings as
varied as the theater, the arena, the forum, military camps and on
diverse occasions such as imperial accessions, public funerals, wed-
dings, triumphs, religious festivals, building dedications, local council
meetings, and in associations.351 Pithy, rhythmic acclamations were
popular in the early imperial period, becoming formulated according to
tight metrical patterns in later centuries. A regular but flexible structure
is evident for a long period, with paroxytone endings being quite
common.352
346
Robert (1965: 215–16); Robert (1981: 360–1); Roueché (1984: 182). This means
that, for example, when one reads in an honorific inscription a nominative singular title such
as ὁ κτίστης (founder), the acclamation giving rise to the inscribed honor may have been in
a different case or form (i.e., the vocative: κτίστα or the accusative object of a request:
κτίστην). For POxy I 41 (TM 31338), see Kruse (2006).
347
RE I (1894) cols. 147–50 s.v. acclamatio (J. Schmidt) speaks, at col. 150, of
“verschiedenen Gattungen” in the inscriptions. Another older treatment with “copiosi
esempli” from the inscriptions is DE I (1895) s.v. adclamatio, 72–6. Peterson (1926)
remains fundamental. Relevant modern discussions include Robert (1960); Baldwin
(1981); Roueché (1984); Roueché (1989); Aldrete (1999); Wiemer (2004); Kruse (2006);
Coleman (2011).
348
DE I (1895) s.v. adclamatio, 72. Cf. OLD s.v. acclamatio. Acclamations could also
take the form of nonverbal applause, such as rhythmic clapping. Roueché (1984: 181) lists
some related Latin and Greek terms; cf. Aldrete (1999: 134–8).
349
Cicero, Sest. 106. The third was voting; see Coleman (2011: 345–7).
350
Cf. Roueché (1984: 184); Aldrete (1999: 101–27, 156–9); Rowe (2002: 78–84, 161).
351
General: Roueché (1984: 181–4); Aldrete (1999: 101–64). Town councils: Bowman
(1971: 102–6); Kruse (2006).
352
Roueché (1984: 188–90); Aldrete (1999: 140–7).
At the imperial level, Augustus,353 Nero,354 and Trajan355 are

among those recorded as recipients of acclamations in the first century.
The wildly popular Germanicus was acclaimed at Alexandria in AD
19;356 later that year when the false rumor of his recovery spread in
the capital, Tiberius awoke to the chant Salva Roma, salva patria,
salvus est Germanicus.357 Local benefactors and provincial magis-
trates also enjoyed acclamatory praise. By the third and fourth centu-
ries, such acclamations were routinely inscribed or recorded in official
protocols.358 They were adapted by early Christians and had become
a routine element of expressing adulation in ecclesiastical gatherings
by late antiquity.359
Around AD 300, at an apparently spontaneous public gathering during
a festival in Oxyrhynchus in Egypt, a crowd seized the chance to accost
verbally prominent guests with wave on wave of acclamation for a local
benefactor and council president named Dioskoros.360 Of the multiple
titles with which Dioskoros was hailed, the favorite was “founder of the
city,” evidently for his benefaction activity and the financial relief he
provided to the people.361 By their acclaim, the crowd desired to honor
Dioskoros in the presence of visiting high officials. Their acclamation
was also a political demand for future benefits, a reality confirmed by the
response of Dioskoros himself, who replied, “I request that such testi-
monials as these (τὰς δὲ τοιαύτα[ς] μαρτυρίας) be postponed to the
proper lawful time (εἰς καιρὸν ἔννομον) [i.e. a formal council meeting]
at which you may present them with confirmation (βεβαίως) and I may
receive them with certainty (ἀ[σφ]αλῶς).”362 Here, we see the tight
interconnections between the politics of thanksgiving, with the logic of
the testimonial, and a civic politics from below. Two inscriptions, one
from Aphrodisias and one from Corinth, allow us to link this general
picture of popular politics to a specific acclamatory formula and setting:
public building and the “Increase!” acclamation.
353
Suetonius, Aug. 56–7.
354
Suetonius, Nero 20; 46.3; Tacitus, Ann. 14.15; Cass. Dio 62.20.5. For Nero and
acclamations, see Aldrete (1999: 109–11, 134–8).
355
Pliny, Pan. 75.
356
POxy XXV 2435. Translation: Sherk (1988: §34A).
357
Suetonius, Cal. 6. Cf. Aldrete (1999: 114–17, 138–9).
358
Kruse (2006: 298).
359
Roueché (1984: 184–8).
360
POxy I 41.
361
Kruse (2006: 299–304).
362
Translation modified from Kruse (2006: 300).
An elite benefactor by the name of Albinus was honored in late antique

Aphrodisias with an effusive string of at least twenty acclamations.363
We excerpt seven here:
6. PERDE Albinus – up with (αὔξι) the builder (ὁ κτίστης) of
the stoa!
8. Your buildings (τὰ σὰ [κτ]ίσματα) are an eternal reminder,
Albinus, you who love to build (φιλοκτίστα).
11. The whole city says this: “Your enemies (τοὺς ἐχθροὺς
σου) to the river! May the great God provide this!
14. [? – ] envy (ὁ φθόνος) does not vanquish fortune.
15. Up with (αὔξι) Albinus, the builder of this work also
(ὁ κτίστης καὶ τούτου τοῦ ἔργου)!
18. Providing [?a building] for the city, he is acclaimed [?in it
also]
19. With your buildings you have made the city brilliant,
Albinus, lover of your country.364
As Roueché emphasizes, “Αὔξι, with the nominative, is one of the most
standard acclamatory formulae.”365 Four aspects of these rhythmic
cries of praise deserve mention. First, Albinus was honored for his
wildly popular building activity, in this case a stoa. Second, it was
apparently on the occasion of the structure’s dedication that the city
gathered to acclaim Albinus. Third, one purpose of the people’s acclaim
was to recommend Albinus for membership in the Senate, and it is
evident that he had political enemies. Fourth, the acclamations, per-
formed vocally, were inscribed on the columns of the very stoa built by
Albinus. In these features of the acclamations for Albinus, we see a
strong nexus of civic benefaction in the form of public building, popular
acclaim, political tension, and the glory of the benefactor inscribed on
his building.
If we glimpse the politics of popular acclaim in response to elite civic
construction in Aphrodisias, we have suggestive traces of the politics
and economics of building from a lower social stratum in Corinth. First
published in 1931,366 this inscription also dates from the late antique
period. We supply the text with restorations suggested by Robert:367
363
Roueché (1984: 190–9). Roueché et al. (1989: no. 83), c. AD VI.
364
All translations follow Roueché.
365
Roueché (1984: 195).
366
Meritt 245. Bees (1978: 9–10, no. 2A). Cf. SEG 11.115. (c. AD IV/V).
367
Robert (1960).
[ – οἱ λα]οξο[ι -]ι καὶ ἀκον[ – ]

[ – μαρ]μαράριοι εὐχαρι[στοῦμεν]
[ – ] ο τὸ ἐνκώμιον [ – ]
[ – ] αὔξι θεοδοσ[ – ]
[ – ἀ]νανεώτα πό[λεως – ] 5
[ – ] Κορίνθου μαλ[ – ]
[ – ]ς καὶ κανπιακ[ – ]
Based on Robert’s important discussion, we know that this inscription,
actually from Kenchreai, appears to have been set up in honor of the
Emperor Theodosius by local stone workers (μαρ]μαράριοι, l. 2). These
skilled workers associated with quarries and building projects offered
thanksgiving (εὐχαρι[στοῦμεν], l. 2) in the form of an “Increase!” accla-
mation (αὔξι).368 This, we may assume, was because of the imperial
benefaction to Corinth that proved a boon to their industry.369 We note
here once again the conjunction of acclamation and building, this time
explicitly linked to the politics of thanksgiving by a form of εὐχαριστῶ
and offered by tradesmen who benefited economically from the project.
Of course, the Aphrodisias and the Corinthian inscriptions, both
with the “Increase!” formula, are examples from later antiquity. We
must admit there are no such extant inscriptions evincing the sociology
of acclamation in building contexts in early Roman Corinth.370
Nevertheless, there are good reasons for seeing these examples as illus-
trative of a pattern that extended, probably with variation, back at least
to the first century. First of all, it is well known that the late date of
most recorded acclamations in the documentary sources is linked to
recording practices in the same period. In other words, acclamations
were employed early but not inscribed until later centuries.371 In fact,
Pliny refers to this fact in his Panegyricus to Trajan.372 This fact suggests
we should not be surprised at an absence of inscribed acclamations in the
first century. Second, the literary sources noted earlier make clear that
rhythmic chants and clapping were a ubiquitous feature of civic life
368
Varied forms: Roueché (1989: 208).
369
Robert (1960).
370
But see Kent 361, a first-century graffito apparently etched by Greek-speaking
construction workers on a stone that became part of the eastern schola of the Corinthian
bema/rostra. It was hidden once the stone was put in place and does not give us as much
insight as we might like into the social or ethnic status of the two laborers, nor of their
participation in the politics of construction.
371
Roueché (1984: 184–5).
372
Pliny, Pan. 75. Baldwin (1981: 144–5). For first-century acclamatory graffiti from
Pompeii, see Keegan (2010).
throughout the first century; certain types and styles of acclamation

popular at Rome were adapted in other settings. Third, we have two
reports of acclamations in political contexts within the NT text itself.
Acts 12:20–24 tells of the popular assembly from Tyre and Sidon
acclaiming Herod as a god at Caesarea. His refusal to deflect the glory
to God, Luke reports, led to his destruction. God’s word, however,
“increased” (ηὔξανεν).373 Is this a literary reversal that appeals to a
known acclamatory formula or simply a repetition of a Lukan refrain?374
In any case, Acts 19:28–34 records another account of popular acclama-
tion, this time in the famous spontaneous protest of the silversmiths in
Ephesus who believed their livelihood threatened by Paul’s iconoclastic
gospel. Thronging into the theater, Luke alleges they engaged in a
swelling, repetitive acclamation of the “Great is!” formula for two
hours.375 The economic and political similarities are striking between
the Acts 19 account and the stone workers’ inscription from Kenchreai
(even if the tone differs). Certainly, the late antique inscribed “Increase!”
acclamations fall short of proof for such a specific form of public
praise related to benefactors and buildings in first-century Corinth. But
in view of the widespread practice of acclamation in the first century,
the later evidence justifies a cautious use of historical imagination in
reconstructing the possibilities of exigence and reception that cohere
with the features of Paul’s rhythmic language and rhetorical purpose in
1 Cor 3:5–9.
What have we discovered in our survey of the social patterns asso-
ciated with acclamation? We have seen that acclamations were popularly
used in many settings of politeia by a wide swath of people and had
clear political and economic functions. More importantly, formulas such
as the “Increase!” (αὔξι) acclamation, were associated with benefaction
and public building and, like other such rhythmic chants employed
penultimate stress before ending with the honorand’s name in the nomi-
native. With this in mind, we now return to Paul’s text with a particular
focus on verse 7.
As we have noted, building on Weiss’s astute observation, in 3:7
comes the third of four varied repetitions of the trio Paul–Apollos–
God. Unlike the arrangement in either 3:5 or 3:8–9, 3:6 and 3:7 display
more compact, repetitive rhythms. In 3:6, the flow is even, with three
explicit subjects preceding their respective verbs. Each lilting clause is
373
Cf. Josephus, Ant. 19.8.2.
374
Cf. Acts 6:7; 19:20. Pervo (2009: 316).
375
Μεγάλη ἡ Ἄρτεμις Ἐφεσίων. Pervo (2009: 55, 485–95).
evenly composed of six or seven syllables. But in the result clause of 3:7,
the indicative verbs expressing distinct activities become participial
titles. In the process, two of the explicit subjects (I/Paul, Apollos) drop
out. As a consequence, the substantival participals each assume a trisyl-
labic form with paroxytone stress. But the first two remain incomplete,
leaving the listener’s ear reaching for resolution in a nominative that
never comes. Instead, Paul reintroduces the denigrating neuter indefinite
τι (cf. 3:5), a feature that frustrates the building rhythm. Only in the final
element of 3:7 does the aural resolution come, this time in the familiar
and pleasing form of penultimate stress followed by the nominative:
ὁ αὐξάνων θεός.
That the form αὐξάνων is not an exclamation as we have seen in the
previous examples reminds us that this is not an acclamation per se. It is
not in the vocative form because of its rhetorical setting. Yet surely we
come to appreciate more than simply the intensity of Paul’s “human
feeling” by attending closely to this construction. We see also that he has
from the opening sub-unit of 3:5–4:5 planted an aural seed in the minds
of his hearers, one that he hopes will take root and grow along with
the communal edifice he envisions. That is to say, the phrase ὁ αὐξάνων
θεός bears many of the hallmarks of an acclamatory formula granting
public honor to a patron who has beautified his city with monumental
building. As such, 3:7 models, as the first inference of the unit (ὥστε),
how properly to evaluate within the politics of construction by focusing
glory on the one who gives the increase. Paul’s principle here, we might
say, is simple, rhythmic, and memorable: the one who gives the growth
gets the glory. It is, in other words, everything an acclamation aims to be.
Roueché and Aldrete each draw attention to the most likely contem-
porary analogue to Graeco-Roman acclamations. The revivalist and
African American call-and-response style meeting, in which the preach-
er’s utterances are picked up, modified, and improvised on by audiences
using complex, established rhythms is perhaps the closest experience
in our culture to the way acclamations functioned in the theater and
oratorical and other ancient settings.376 How might we envision the
scene as these verses of Paul’s letter were read out in the assembly?
We have strong indications, from the slogans he cites in 1:12 and 3:4, that
Paul believed the factions in Corinth had engaged in pithy, partisan
exclamations during meetings of the ekklēsia. Perhaps not everything
about these gatherings was carried out decently and in order (14:40;
cf. chapter 14 generally). It is conceivable, then, that some, on hearing
376
Roueché (1984: 183); Aldrete (1999: 140–4).
Paul’s formulation in 3:7c (assuming it was well read!) might have

interrupted with fervor, echoing back the catchy clause. In such a case,
Paul would have succeeded, in a manner of speaking, in inscribing an
aspect of his testimonial (1:6) on the very monument he hoped would
rise to his patron’s glory. Perhaps others of the Apollos party, however,
perceived the direction of Paul’s rhetoric and, grumbling, began to shift
uneasily. In either case, it may have been that later, as the meeting broke
up, some walked through the streets turning the phrase over on their
tongues and in their minds.377
Whether our modest reconstruction is anything more than plausible is
impossible to prove. What is certain, however, is that we have too easily
lost our feeling for the rhythmic, rhetorical features of 3:5–9 that were
picked up by interpreters such as Chrysostom and Weiss. When we focus
solely on a propositional “translation” of Paul’s text, especially texts
so compressed and resonant as this, we miss not only Paul’s “human
feeling” but also the meaning and force of his argument. What, then, is
the result of our close attention to structure and rhythm? At one level, we
may only have rephrased a principle noticed by others in our locution
“the one who gives the growth gets the glory.” But our interpretation of
these verses within the political theology developed by Paul from the
thanksgiving of 1:4–9 and onward through 3:5–4:5 goes further. This
reading is attractive for its rhetorical power, coherence, and function
within the extended metaphor. If, in deconstructing a colonial mode of
evaluation and honor, Paul wanted to reconstruct an ecclesial vision
of existence centered ultimately not on unity or even purity but on the
glory of the gracious divine benefactor and his crucified son, then he
displayed his fine craft in 3:5–9, and especially in 3:7.378 Glory is the
vertex joining the political lines of thanksgiving and construction Paul
so clearly evokes and adapts.
From 3:5–9, we move, briefly, to 3:21b–23. In Chrysostom’s refresh-
ing crescendo and Weiss’s fervent coda, we find once again a form and
content apposite to the extended metaphor and argument. Beginning with
πάντα γάρ, Paul offers a further ground for the challenge to proper self-
evaluation he has just issued and supported from the scriptures. But the
πάντα, as we noted earlier, hearkens back to the benefaction language
of the thanksgiving in 1:4–9. There, Paul had offered thanks for God’s
377
Cf. Coleman (2011: 346).
378
One should read aloud and consider the effect of the climactic verse 9, with the triple
oxytonic θεοῦ. 3:18–23 and 4:1–5, the sub-units especially applying the reorientation of
evaluation signaled by Paul in 3:5–9, also conclude with θεοῦ.
overflowing gift, centered in the Messiah and his benefits. He had also
promised that the community would lack nothing, that God, through
Christ, would confirm them in blamelessness at the last day. Now, in
3:21b–23, Paul picks up those threads and connects them to those
ministering in the community. The soaring, staccato series (εἴτε 8x) of
3:22–23 reveals the riches and hierarchy of Paul’s covenant economy; it
climaxes in Christ and relativizes all members, apostles or ministers.
There is a double edge to this list. On the one hand, it cuts off boasting
pretension at the knees. On the other, it pledges inexhaustible divine
resources to the building project (note the frame of ὑμῶν, ὑμῶν) only just
underway in Corinth. In keeping with the promise of 1:8, 3:21b–23
provides the rhetorical platform for the eschatological evaluation with
which Paul ends the unit in 4:1–5.
In sum, we are thoroughly repaid for our patient attention to the
rhythmic structures that emerge in Paul’s text. They give us insight into
the apostle’s skill, emotional life, and political theology. Such features
also suggest to us something of the responsive experience of the early
Christian assembly at Corinth. We argued that 3:5–9, by its form and
content, leads us to consider the well-known formulas and practices of
acclamation in the Graeco-Roman world. One such expression of adula-
tion that was often connected to patrons of public building projects was
the “Increase!” acclamation, preserved most clearly in late antique
inscriptions. The language, cadence, and content of such an acclamation
finds strong resonances in Paul’s rhythmic text, particularly as he stresses
that God, who gives the growth, deserves the glory. Such acclaim begins
early in the unit to undermine pretension and the temptation to flawed
evaluation. Then, in 3:12b–23, Paul inscribes a reconfigured politics of
munificence in a soaring coda. Within the reconstructed pattern, it is the
divine patron who gives all abundantly to the community. Apostles,
ministers, and those with resources and influence in the assembly are
given to serve its members and life, and not vice versa. Divine benefits,
mediated particularly through Christ, are not only democratized; the
pyramid of privilege is turned upside down. With its rhythmic power,
3:21b–23 unveils the new political economy that justifies the evaluative
shift toward which he drives in the entire unit.
7.10 Conclusion
As in the previous chapter, we have used the Corinthian constitution to
anchor epigraphical and other evidence in Roman Corinth. In this case,
the politics of construction, centered on the logic of evaluation revealed
to us a social pattern connected to public building. It is this social pattern

that Paul impressively adapted and applied in 1 Cor 3:5–4:5. We saw that
covenant, particularly in the form of Jeremiah’s architectonic commis-
sion, was integral to Paul’s adaptive strategy.
In grasping Paul’s use of the social and economic pattern of con-
struction, we are better able to account for many insights and some
dilemmas in the history of interpretation. Along with Chrysostom and
Weiss, we saw the careful architecture of Paul’s rhetorical composition
in the unit. He responds forcefully to one figure or group of critics
without naming any names. His language has, in several instances, an
emotive and rhythmic power that punctuates his argument. We saw,
too, that Eger had pointed a century ago to a striking genre of inscrip-
tions related to construction, but that scholars had failed to pursue the
social and economic world of public building as a context for inter-
pretation. Kuck’s study demonstrated the centrality of 3:5–4:5 within
the rhetorical structure of 1 Cor 1–4, the odd combination of Jewish and
Graeco-Roman imagery, and the principal theme of properly wise
evaluation in the unit. Our survey of scholarship led us to pose six
exegetical questions related to the overall scope, structure, and details
of 3:5–4:5.
When we turned to reexamine the neglected building inscriptions,
we discovered more than linguistic overlap. In the pattern related to the
“economics of temple building” so clearly visible in the Lebadeia
inscription (IG VII 3073), we saw design specifications and legal stipula-
tions guiding the building work, well-defined conditions of payment and
penalty, and clear lines of authority. The entire process of public building
inclined toward final approval by the commissioners. With the help of
constitutional categories, related Corinthian inscriptions, and other
Roman evidence related to architects and public building, we were able
to ground the pattern inherent in the politics of construction in first-
century Corinth. A relief from Terracina epitomized for us the authority
structure of patron – architect – laborers present in the colonial experi-
ence of the building site. The patron, who often doubled as a colonial
magistrate (as in the case of Babbius Philinus at Corinth), was the one
who conducted the final evaluation of the structure, declaring or refusing
approval. His was also the glory.
Next, we probed the Jewish scriptural resources so formative for
Paul’s theology and self-understanding. We found that at three points
in his Corinthian correspondence (1 Cor 3:5–9; 2 Cor 10:8; 13:10) Paul
expressed his delegated apostolic authority in language reminiscent of
Jeremiah’s commission (Jer 1:10). We argued that Paul melded this
covenantal-architectonic persona with that of a Graeco-Roman archi-

tect to respond to his critics in the assembly and to revise their concep-
tions of divine wisdom and ministry. The result, in light of metaphor
studies by Kövecses and Jindo, is a complex, extended metaphor with
the potential to reconfigure the politics of construction and the logic of
evaluation.
Having traced the form of this social pattern, we engaged in a detailed
exegesis of Paul’s text through the lens of the conceptual categories
it provided. We found that the rhetorical architecture of 3:5–4:5, in
each of its five sub-units, reflected and reconstructed features from the
pattern of colonial public works construction. Most interpreters have
seen 3:5–4:5 as a series of metaphors or images, punctuated by flights
of emotive, rhythmic language. We demonstrated instead that these
images and features are encompassed, for Paul, within the politics of
covenantal construction. When we perceive that the metaphorical unit
coincides with the rhetorical unit, the coherence and force of the whole
becomes clearer. The flow of Paul’s discourse mirrors critical aspects of
authority (3:5–9, 10–12), stipulations (3:12–15, 17), and evaluation
(3:13–15, 18–21a; 4:1–5), building to an eschatological climax (4:3–5)
reminiscent of his opening thanksgiving (1:7–8). But, where Paul’s
politics of thanksgiving held out a strong promise of affirmation and
approval to the community on the merits of its patron (1:7–9), his
reconstructed logic of evaluation (4:3–5) emphasizes the divine, patronal
scrutiny under which ministers will find themselves on the last day. By
an appeal to the politics of construction, Paul turned the evaluative tables
on his critics.
We proceeded, under the rubric of “authority,” to examine the sig-
nificance of the ministerial language in 3:5–4:5 and to explore Paul’s
relationship to other ministers in the assembly. We found that, particu-
larly within the pattern of construction, Paul’s emphasis on ministry
as the proper category for conceiving of authoritative service in
the community was a potent challenge to colonial conceptions of
“leadership,” patronage, and evaluation. Paul claims for himself a
greater authority than Apollos with the title and role of “wise architect”
(3:10), interpreted within the building paradigm. He also mounts a
rhetorical offensive against “someone” in the assembly who, in the
name of Apollos, has resisted Paul’s message and ministry. By bringing
to bear a series of stipulation-like conditionals, Paul calls this figure to
eschatological account (3:12–15, 17) for his damaging effect on the
members and growth of the assembly-temple (3:16–17). Our attention
to the conventions to which Paul appealed, and the manner in which he
adapted them, led us to offer a hypothesis concerning his critic. We

suggested that Crispus, mentioned both by Luke in Acts 18:8 and Paul
in 1 Cor 1:14, fits the socioeconomic profile refracted in Paul’s text. As
one with financial means, influence, and experience at the intersection
of the Jewish and Graeco-Roman communities in Roman Corinth,
Crispus may have resisted Paul in the name of Apollos. If a figure
such as Crispus were the target of Paul’s apologetic response, the
ministerial and evaluative message of Paul’s reconstruction may have
hit its mark.
Having realized that everything in the pattern of building inclined
inexorably toward the day of approval, we were able better to appreciate
Paul’s oscillating adaptations of apocalyptic judgment language and the
Roman adprobatio operis. His pastoral strategy emerges in the tension
between constitution and covenant. Ministers, Paul insists throughout
the unit, are evaluated on the basis of conformity to his message about
Christ and the lasting quality of their upbuilding service. This revisioning
of the proper basis and mode of evaluation is central to the entire
apologetic argument of 1 Cor 1–4.
Finally, we saw that the way in which the politics of thanksgiving
was often expressed with regard to public building was by popular
acclamation. The category of acclamation allowed us to comprehend
the nuances and experience behind the rhythmic features of 3:5–9 and
3:21b–23. From at least the first century, the popular “Increase!” accla-
mation was employed, and by the fourth and fifth centuries it was
commonly inscribed at the completion and dedication of public works
projects. Neither the architect nor the laborers, but the patron-benefactor
was the focus of honor. We understood that the one who gave the growth
received the glory. The language of such acclamations resonates strongly
with Paul’s statement in 3:7c: ὁ αὐξάνων θεός. On that basis, we offered
the hypothesis that Paul’s “rhetoric” derived from, and was aimed at, a
less-exalted social spectrum than that of orators such as Apollos. Its
function was to deflate those among the Apollos party who were impro-
perly “puffed up” by redirecting the glory for the growth of the assembly
to its proper patron. The inverse economy of patronage and public
building expressed in 3:21b–23 sits as a rhetorical capstone to Paul’s
distinctive political theology – all things, including those “wise” and
“powerful” among you, are at your service; and you belong to Christ,
and Christ is God’s. A distinctive politics of thanksgiving issues in a
reconfigured politics of construction; the wise architect has etched for
the ages the commissioned inscription of gratitude and glory on the
assembly-monument.
Excursus: 1 Corinthians 4:6 and the rhetoric

of reconstruction
Given our detailed treatment of 1 Cor 3:5–4:5 in this chapter, and the
shape of our conclusions, we may perhaps be forgiven for attempting to
go beyond what has been written on the troublesome 4:6. In many ways,
the history of scholarship on this verse resembles a demolition zone
littered with the debris of collapsed and tottering hypotheses. This state
of affairs is the result of a difficult and interrelated series of exegetical
choices facing the interpreter. Among these are two particularly intract-
able problems, neither of which has found a solution that commands
consensus. The first is the meaning and function of μετεσχημάτισα, the
verb by which Paul apparently intended to unveil, rather than shroud, his
strategy in the foregoing unit. The second is the elliptical phrase τὸ μὴ
ὑπὲρ ἃ γέγραπται, on which numerous theories have been erected. For
both, the number of ancient texts adduced in the name of comparison is
dizzying; most alleged comparanda, however, have been relegated to the
growing mound of rubble in the history of interpretation on this stubborn
verse.
Still, these are problems requiring a solution. And any proposal will be
persuasive not only if it accounts for the fine detail of lexicography and
syntax but also provides the keystone to the larger structure of Paul’s
argument and the entire meaning of 4:6. We suggest that the interpreta-
tion of the extended building metaphor in Chapter 7 leads us to such a
solution. Paul’s politics of (re)construction and his insistence on an
eschatological-architectural logic of evaluation provide us with the key
to unlock the sense of μετεσχημάτισα, the meaning of the jargon-like μὴ
ὑπὲρ ἃ γέγραπται, and the purpose expressed by the double ἵνα clauses.
Before offering our own interpretation, we must note that one benefit
stemming from the difficulties of this verse is a steady flow of careful and
creative scholarly treatments. Some in recent decades have reviewed
the entire history of the debate and have laid out typologies of interpre-
tive options.379 These studies obviate the need to reexamine fully the
history of scholarship. Instead, in what follows, we as briefly as possible
work our way through the verse, addressing four exegetical points in
turn. Then, we conclude by offering a new hypothesis that accounts for
the total arrangement and effect of these exegetical building blocks
within Paul’s rhetoric of reconstruction. Finally, this hypothesis has
379
Welborn (1987); Fitzgerald (1988: 122–8); Hall (1994); Vos (1995); Hanges (1998);
Mihaila (2009: 202–12).
implications for the classification and interpretation of 1 Cor 1:1–4:21

as a whole.
1 The Referent of ταῦτα

The interpretation of 1 Cor 4:6 is contested from the very first word. At
issue is the referent of the neuter plural pronoun ταῦτα. Some have
referred it to all that Paul wrote from 1:10 onward.380 Others take it to
cover Paul’s statements about ministry, in particular, those in 3:5–17.381
But most refer it to the immediately preceding unit, 3:5–4:5, usually
described in terms of a series of figures.382 As indicated in Chapter 7, we
agree with this latter majority position, but insist on seeing 3:5–4:5 as a
complex extended metaphor, focused on the logic of evaluation. This
evaluative focus that runs, as we have argued, through each of the five
subsections that make up the unit, is, we suggest, precisely that which
Paul seeks to press on his auditors in 4:6. Having deconstructed a colonial
mode of evaluation, and then reconstructed an ecclesial one in its place,
he now admits to his restructuring of “these things.” They are, Paul
claims, a new vision of evaluation with regard to himself and Apollos.
These things therefore serve his apologetic purpose in responding to the
contempt of some in the assembly. That this is so is further confirmed
by our treatment of the verb of which ταῦτα is the direct object.
2 The Lexical Sense and Translation of μετεσχημάτισα ει̕ς

What does Paul claim to have done with “these things?” For what
purpose has he constructed the extended building metaphor of 3:5–4:5
whose political theology unsettles the logic of status and evaluation for
those ministers in the assembly? As Hooker rightly observed, “If
μετασχηματίζω is understood in its usual sense, then it is the ταῦτα that
are changed, and they are changed εἰς ἐμαυτὸν καὶ Ἀπολλῶν.”383 This
“usual sense,” as interpreters have long known, is “to change the form of
something.”384 Paul himself uses it (only) in this way elsewhere (2 Cor
11:13–15; Phil 3:21). Nevertheless, many scholars, finding this sense to
be too simple for their theories about the meaning of 4:6, have sought to
380
Fiore (1985: 94–7); Wagner (1998: 282).
381
Ker (2000: 92); Thiselton (2000: 348).
382
Kuck (1992: 210–11); Fitzgerald (1988: 120 n.13); Vos (1995: 154–72). Weiss
(1910: 101) links 4:6 most strongly with 3:5–9.
383
Hooker (1963–4: 131).
384
Hall (1994).
stretch the boundaries of lexical evidence; in many cases, it has been

stretched beyond the breaking point. Glosses have ranged from “allude to
in a rhetorical figure,”385 to “exemplify,”386 “apply a figure of speech,”387
“give figured expression to,”388 and more.
But of course μετασχηματίζω here may not be translated in isolation.
Paul appends to it the preposition εἰς (as also in 2 Cor 11:13–14). Those
who follow the line of interpretation known as “covert allusion” take this
εἰς in the sense of “to” (so: “I have transferred these things in a figure to
myself and Apollos”).389 Those preferring “exemplification” must take
εἰς as “by” or “by reference to” (so: “I have exemplified by reference
to myself and Apollos”).390 A similar rendering of εἰς as “for” or “with
reference to” is necessary for those who remain with the simplest sense
of μετασχηματίζω (so: “I have changed the form of these things with
reference to myself and Apollos”).
Despite its modern proponents (e.g., Fiore), the covert allusion inter-
pretation has been rightly criticized for being lexically and contextually
implausible. We have no evidence for understanding μετασχηματίζω
as anything resembling “transfer in a rhetorical figure.” Nor, if we take
“these things” as referring to the entirety of 3:5–4:5, is there a reason to
see anything veiled about Paul’s statement in 4:6. He does not mean
that the extended building metaphor seems to apply to himself and
Apollos. Rather, he has designed it to apply to them by reconfiguring
(i.e, “changing the form of”) something familiar. The application comes
in the εἰς, not in the verb; the change is in the μετα- prefix to the verb.
Any translation such as “transfer in a figure” will not do on linguistic
grounds.391 Any version of “covert allusion” fails because it reduces
3:5–4:5 to mere instruction, disregarding its apologetic function as a
response to a real attack on Paul’s person and ministry.392
There are related problems with “exemplification” renderings. This is
not to deny a paradigmatic function to Paul’s rhetoric here.393 It is instead
385
Robertson and Plummer (1971: 81); Fiore (1985). Fiore and others build on the
suspect lexicography that led LSJ to assign a separate, otherwise unattested sense to the
verb. cf. LSJ s.v. μετασχηματίζω, II; Hall (1994).
386
Vielhauer (1979: 176); Vos (1995).
387
Hooker (1963–4: 131).
388
389
Fiore (1985: 93–4).
390
Welborn (1987: 338, 345).
391
Cf. Kuck (1992: 211–12).
392
Contra Fitzgerald (1988: 128); Kuck (1992: 201–14). Cf. Weiss (1910: 101–5).
393
We should think in terms of architectural, not rhetorical, παραδείγματα.
to insist on lexical rigor. There are no convincing instances in which

μετασχηματίζω means “exemplify.”394 Certainly, Paul moves directly in
the following context to an explicit exhortation that the Corinthians
should imitate him (4:16) and follow his “ways in Christ” (4:17). But
proponents of the exemplification interpretation look ahead too quickly
to this subsequent mimetic-paraenetic context (4:7–17), reading it back
into their translations of 4:6. We must first, however, see 4:6 as a
rhetorical exclamation point concluding 3:5–4:5.395 This tendency to
interpret 4:6 too little in light of the preceding context, contrary to its
own claims, is a problem that we see again in certain proposals about the
meaning of “not beyond the things written.” We cannot, for these rea-
sons, be satisfied with the rendering “I exemplified.”
What remains to us is the simplest, widely attested sense of
μετεσχημάτισα: “change the form of.” We suggest that in view of
Paul’s argument in 3:5–4:5, we ought not to be surprised with his use
of the verb to punctuate his point, which is, after all, a revision of their
conception of evaluation in lowly construction terms. In support of this,
we may adduce examples – some of them new – that connect the verb to
the domain of architecture and building, precisely the fabric comprising
ταῦτα in Paul’s extended metaphor. Others have already brought forward
literary texts in which μετασχηματίζω is related to the architectural
reconstruction of an existing object. Weiss pointed to a text in Lucian
(Pro imaginibus, 9) where the second-century AD rhetorician recounted
a tale concerning Alexander the Great.396 An ἀρχιτέκτων approached the
famous young ruler with a proposal “to reconstruct (μετασχηματιεῖν) the
entirety of Mt. Athos and to shape (μορφώσειν) it for him . . . to become
an image of the king.” Clearly, this is early evidence that μετασχηματίζω,
in its ordinary lexical sense, could be used with a specific reconstructive
connotation in architectural contexts. Weiss dismissed this text from
serious consideration, however, because he did not grasp its relevance
to Paul’s rhetorical construction. Paul does not, of course, refer to the
remodeling of a physical object. But, as we have shown, he has just
developed an elaborate metaphor that sets the context for just such a
394
Vos (1995) is guilty of semantic overload in his combination of Exemplifikation and
Rollenwechsel.
395
This is not to say that 4:6 (and 7) does not also introduce the following unit. But as
with any effective transition, it sums up what comes before and only then moves onward
(the forward motion comes with the doubled ἤδη of 4:8). Cf. Weiss (1910: 106).
396
Weiss (1910: 101 n.31). See Plutarch, Mor. 426E where μετασχηματίζω (“reshape”)
and ἀναπλάσσω (“remodel”) are in “synonomous parallelism” with reference to stellar
bodies.
use of the verb. Do we have any other evidence for translating

μετασχηματίζω as “reconstruct”?
Although the verb does not occur in the inscriptions, it does appear
in direct connection to the remodeling of buildings in late papyri.397
Three texts preserve what was surely a formulaic use. In SB 14.11578
(AD V?), μετασχηματίζω appears in a legal document ceding the own-
ership of a “farmstead” (a modest structure [οἰκίδιον] on some property
[ἔπαυλις]).398 According to the contract, the recipient has the right
“to administer, to manage its affairs, to improve, to beautify, to demolish
(καθελ ̣ε ̣[ῖν]), to rebuild (ἀνοικοδομεῖν ̣), to remodel (μ[ετασχ]
ημα̣ ̣τ ̣ίζειν).”
̣ 399
Nearly identical clauses appear in PDubl 32 (AD 512)
and PDubl 33 (AD 513), both contracts for the sale of a monastery.400
What is remarkable is the collocation of terms (καθαιρῶ, ἀνοικοδομῶ,
μετασχηματίζω) in the typically redundant elaboration of legal rights in
relation to a building. We have already seen such terms throughout Paul’s
evocative use of building language, taken from both prophetic tradition
and Graeco-Roman public building. The fact that these appear only in
late papyri may well be an accident of preservation,401 especially judging
by the similar usage by Lucian we saw earlier. What is abundantly clear
is that, at least by the early Byzantine period, μετασχηματίζω was used
in formulaic contracts to convey the meaning of “remodeling” or “reno-
vating” a physical structure.
In summary, we have evidence that the verb, in keeping with its ordinary
lexical sense (“to change the form of”), was applied in non-elite,
397
Arzt-Grabner et al. (2006: 171) gives only: “Das Verb μετασχηματίζω ist papyrolo-
gisch erst in byzantinischer Zeit belegt.” Given the scarcity of the term in earlier documen-
tary sources, and the collocations consistently exhibited within these “late” papyri, readers
would have been well served by a brief discussion, or at least by citations.
398
See the treatment of this text, originally published as PGot 22, by Teodorsson (1976).
In legal terms, it is a donatio inter vivos, a gift of property by a person still living.
399
SB 14. 11578.9–10 (=TM 35133): . . . τ ̣ο ̣ῦ ̣ ο[ἰ]κιδ̣ ̣ίου καὶ ἐπαύλεως καὶ ἐξουσίαν σε |
ἔχειν διοικεῖ[ν], ἐπιτελεῖν περὶ̣ ̣ αὐτοῦ ̣, βελτιοῦν, φιλοκα ̣λιε ̣ῖν, καθελ ̣ε ̣[ῖν] | ἀνοικοδομεῖν ̣,
μ[ετασχ]ημα̣ ̣τ ̣ίζειν
̣ . . . Cf. Teodorsson (1976: 248–9).
400
PDubl 32.10 (=TM 41094): . . . καὶ ἐξουσίαν ἔχειν διοικεῖν, οἰκονομεῖν, ἐπιτελεῖν
περὶ αὐτοῦ, βελτιοῦν, φιλοκαλεῖν, καθελεῖν, | ἀνοικοδομεῖν, μετασχηματίζειν . . . Identical
text in PDubl 33.11–12 (=TM 41095). Cf. Teodorsson (1976: 246).
401
Teodorsson (1976: 245–6) places SB 14.11578 within a genre of similar extant texts,
almost all incomplete, stretching from AD 95 to AD 735. Cf. Typica Monastica 73 (Typicon
monasterii Deiparae Cecharitomenes seu Gratiae-Plenae); text and translation: Gautier
(1985). Xanthopoulos, Historia ecclesiastica 14.49.58 (PG 146.1231–4) describes the
ultimately unfulfilled effort in AD 443 by Eudokia, wife of Theodosius II, to reconstruct
the Jewish temple at Jerusalem in the form of a temple to the Theotokos (Ἔπειτα εἰς σχῆμα
ναοῦ τὴν ἐν τοῖς χαλκοπρατείοις τῶν Ἰουδαίων συναγωγὴν μετασχηματίσασα).
non-rhetorical, documentary contexts to speak of alterations permissible

in a (re)building context. Our suggestion is that these legal-architectural
instances of the verb make good sense of Paul’s usage in 1 Cor 4:6 for
three reasons. First, the use of μετασχηματίζω to describe a physical
remodeling sits comfortably with the semantic and social dynamics
(ταῦτα) Paul has just appealed to in 3:5–4:5. The documents adduced
earlier suggest such a meaning may have naturally come to mind for
those whose attention had been directed so insistently to the semi-technical
language of building characterizing that unit. Second, such a rendering
allows us to maintain the usual meaning of μετασχηματίζω and to make
sense of Paul’s application of “these things” to himself and Apollos with
the preposition εἰς. Thus, we should translate 4:6a in this way: “These
things I have remodeled with reference to myself and Apollos because of402
you. ” Third, if this is Paul’s meaning, it amounts to a clever pun that
begins forcefully to drive home his apologetic point. As the divinely
commissioned architect, he continues in 4:6 to respond to his detractors,
who by now grasp clearly the structure of authority behind his claim that he
(alone) is authorized to direct (at least at Corinth) the execution of design
in the logic of the building metaphor. For these reasons, our translation of
4:6a has more merit than other proposals. It also guides us in considering
the nettlesome phrase “not beyond the things written” in 4:6b.
3 The Source, Referent, and Function of τὸ μὴ ὑπὲρ ἃ γέγραπται

In 4:6b, the first ἵνα-clause directs the auditor to the purpose of Paul’s
rhetoric of reconstruction. He has reconfigured the logic of evaluation –
with reference to himself and Apollos – to instruct his auditors in the
proper mode of judgment regarding the two best-known ministers in
the assembly. That this instruction is a sharp statement of defense in
response to contemptuous criticism is also clear from its parallel align-
ment with the second ἵνα-clause in 4:6c (see Section 4). How, in the first
such clause, does Paul accomplish this purpose? It is with the use of a
slogan that functions as a rebuke: “so that you may learn the [meaning of]
‘not beyond the things written.’”
Of all the elements comprising Paul’s building rhetoric, the phrase τὸ
μὴ ὑπὲρ ἃ γέγραπται is surely the stone over which the most interpreters
have stumbled and the one that has crushed the most hypotheses in the
Δία + accusative typically expresses cause or reason; BDF §222. Paul felt himself
402
driven to this remodeling of social conventions by the Corinthians (or at least, by those
outspoken and influential partisans of Apollos among them).
history of scholarship. It will not do to write the text off as corrupt; more
than ever before, to do so is to ignore what is written.403 Neither have any
of the proposals to date been able to accomplish all three things necessary
in such a way as to engender consensus, that is, (1) suggest a plausible
source for the “slogan,” (2) identify the referent of ἃ γέγραπται, and (3)
account for the function of the phrase in Paul’s argument just here.
Unsurprisingly, in attempting to locate the source of Paul’s language,
we see yet again traces of the Judaism/Hellenism fault line in NT
scholarship.404 The “majority” hold that Paul refers in this phrase to the
OT scriptures;405 a sizable “minority” adopt the view that he appeals to a
topos centered on writing instruction for young children.406 Neither of
these views, however, meets all three criteria. Among the weaknesses to
which both are susceptible is a failure adequately to explain the connec-
tion of the phrase “not beyond the things written” to the “these things”
that refers to 3:5–4:5.
Those who have grappled seriously with the critical questions of
source, syntax, and function have suggested notable alternatives; yet,
for the most part, these have fallen by the wayside. Older interpreters
proposed a rabbinic maxim.407 Wallis attempted to refer ἃ γέγραπται
to ταῦτα (and thereby to Paul’s own teaching in the preceding unit) by
re-punctuating the clause so that Paul says, “so that you may learn the
[maxim]: ‘Not so far! [You have] the things written [in black and
403
Usually cited in connection with the call to emend the text: Baljon (1884: 49–51);
Strugnell (1974). But the seed appears to have been planted by F. A. Bornemann, “De
memorabile glossematte quod locum in 1 Corinth. 4.6 insedisse videtur,” in Biblische
Studien von Geistlichen des Königreichs Sachsen (J. G. R. Käuffer; Dresden: Arnold,
1843) 37–44 (non vidimus). See Krans (2006: 1). The negligible variation in the textual
tradition attests a secure text with readily explicable variants: Kloha (2006: 77–9).
404
See the review of scholarship in Welborn (1987). Thiselton (2000: 351–6) provides a
typology of approaches.
405
Notably Hooker (1963–4); Lightfoot (1980: 199); Wagner (1998). The serious
objection to this view is that Paul’s usual formula in appealing to the scriptures is missing
here. Further, the constraints of syntax (i.e., that the τό introduces a quotation, of which
γέγραπται is a part) do not permit us to refer ἃ γέγραπται to either the scriptures generally or
to Paul’s citations in 1:31 and/or 3:19–21. Wallis (1950); Welborn (1987: 324–8);
Fitzgerald (1988: 123–4).
406
The view of Fitzgerald (1988: 124–8) has been widely adopted though the compar-
ison on which it depends is purely conceptual and not linguistic. Fitzgerald’s case is
compelling only if 4:6 is best interpreted with regard to what follows (4:14–21) rather
than what precedes (3:5–4:5). But this is unlikely in view of both the ταῦτα and the
consonance of 4:6 with the extended building metaphor.
407
E.g., Robertson and Plummer (1971: 81).
white]!’”408 Welborn adduced examples – literary and epigraphical – of

arbitration between discordant parties to argue that Paul appealed to a
well-known political formula facilitating reconciliation.409 Hanges has
developed a suggestion of Heinrici, arguing that Paul refers to written
(or inscribed) bylaws, on the order of leges sacrae, that were physically
present at Corinth.410 While none of these assessments has proven to be
thoroughly convincing,411 they share in common a commitment to the
following:412
1. the syntax demands that we see the τό as introducing a
“saying”413
2. this saying will have been intelligible at Corinth414
3. locating the source of the saying is critical for
understanding its referent and function415
4. the saying has a strong political-legal resonance (especially
Welborn and Hanges)
These insights and assumptions guide us in our search for the meaning
of Paul’s saying. We have been using the term “saying” or “slogan” to
describe the phrase μὴ ὑπὲρ ἃ γέγραπται because it is introduced by τό
and, as Wallis observed, because it is too long properly to be considered
a “maxim” or “proverb.”416 Despite the rhetorical and functional resem-
blances provided by the proposals that Welborn and Hanges have
offered, neither was able to locate a precise match to Paul’s phrasing.417
408
Wallis (1950: cols. 507–8).
409
Welborn (1987b: 333–46).
410
Hanges (1998: 284 and n.37).
411
Mitchell (2010: 33) briefly signals a new hypothesis drawing on the juristic topos of a
good judge keeping to the literal sense. She adds that this “does not immediately allow us to
determine the referent in this case. And this is not because there are not lots of written words
in the context, but because there are too many!” Ultimately, she reverts to the unlikely view
that “the things written” refers to the citation of Jer 9:22–3 in 1 Cor 1:31.
412
Some of these are also shared by those who take the “majority” (OT) and “minority”
(pedagogue and writing) views rejected earlier.
413
Weiss (1910: 102).
414
This does not necessarily imply, as many interpreters have assumed, that Paul is
repeating or re-working something vocalized by his critics.
415
Contra Wagner (1998: 287) who asserts that (but does not explain how) one may
ascertain the meaning of the phrase apart from an understanding of its origin (and,
evidently, apart from a consideration of the meaning of μετασχηματίζω).
416
Wallis (1950: col. 507).
417
Especially with the searchable databases now available to the scholar, it appears we
should be ready to admit that there is no exact match in extant, published literary,
epigraphical, or papyrological sources.
The ubiquity of variants on “what is written” in (especially) political and

legal inscriptions418 dilutes the force of these semantic resemblances and
requires the interpreter to test the “fit” of the social dynamics deriving
from one of the many sub-genres of such texts. To date, conventions
associated with the political rhetoric of conciliation (Welborn) and
the legal codes of Greek cultic associations (Hanges) have been tested.
What remains untested is the very sub-genre to which Paul has just been
appealing: the politics of public building.
We need only recall, at this point, the close linguistic relationship
between Paul’s text in 3:5–4:5 with building contracts such as the one
from Lebadeia (IG VII 3073). It comes as no surprise that in such
construction texts, too, we find “near matches” to Paul’s saying in
4:6.419 In IG VII 3073, builders are charged repeatedly to perform the
work “exactly as it has been written above.”420 Anyone “not doing
the things written in the specifications” is “fined” or “driven out of the
job.”421 If there is disagreement between contractors “about any of the
things written,”422 the commissioning authority adjudicates. Variants of
the phrase καθὼς γέγραπται appear more than a dozen times in the single
Lebadeia building contract. As in other cases, the formulas involving
γέγραπται direct attention to the stipulations and authority structure
inscribed in the text. But only in the case of the building inscriptions is
the force of those stipulations focused so strongly on the logic of evalua-
tion with its sequellae of penalty or praise. Therefore, given this precise
focus on evaluation and its consequences and given that ταῦτα directs
us back toward the extended building metaphor in 3:5–4:5, we consider
it prudent to explore the meaning of τὸ μὴ ὑπὲρ ἃ γέγραπται within the
dynamic field generated by the politics of construction. As it happens, in
such an interpretation we are able to give an account for the source,
referent, and function of the saying.
The source of Paul’s phrase is the social experience of those on the
building site. We contend that the phrase μὴ ὑπὲρ ἃ γέγραπται could
easily have been found on the lips of an architect or building contractor
directing subordinate laborers on the job. As we argued earlier, evidence
suggests that contractual stipulations, including exact dimensions,
418
Hanges (1998: 293).
419
See Section 7.2. Hanges (1998: 284 n.37) points to others who have suggested a
contractual-technical source for the language of the saying.
420
E.g., IG VII 3073.74, 145, 151.
421
IG VII 3073.15–21.
422
IG VII 3073.41–4.
specific quantities, and precise penalties were either inscribed or posted

at the work site. These may have served a role of guaranteeing confor-
mity to design and quality workmanship as far as the architect, whom we
presume was “functionally literate,” was concerned. They may also have
played a part in the legal network of accountability that allowed for
public “transparency” during inspection and payment. Certainly, they
had a commemorative function as well, joining the vast effort and
expense involved in public building to the named commissioners or
patron(s). But what of the less literate subcontractors and laborers?423
How were they guided on the job? They were aware of such written
stipulations, but we have difficulty conceiving of them consulting a
whitened board or inscribed slab in the course of their daily work.
Surely, they were otherwise dependent, not only on the tacit knowledge
of experience but also on the direct commands of those in authority over
them. It is not at all difficult to imagine an architect, seeing a stonecutter
working a stone with his chisel, crying out, “Not beyond what is written!”
It would have been a cry whose force was simultaneously to guide work
in conformity with design and to remind all within earshot of the social
and economic consequences of damaging stones or failing to meet
demands of quality.424 By its very nature, our hypothetical saying will
have been ephemeral – the kind of clipped work site banter or jargon
familiar to anyone who has worked in or walked past a construction
zone; it would not have survived in our sources. So, too, the tone of such
a cry may have varied from playful to angry rebuke, depending on the
circumstances in which it was uttered.
If the politics of building allows such a hypothesis regarding the
source of Paul’s phrase, it also directs us to a referent, namely, Paul’s
gospel. On the lips of our imagined architect, the words refer to the
contract stipulations; those stipulations, as we have seen, were mediated
to the workers in the figure and authority of the architect himself, as the
one authorized by the commissioning patron. For Paul, the wise architect,
commissioned by his Lord, these words would then have been a cry
reminding the community of the revealed form and authority of his
gospel. That is, “the things written” refers not to 3:5–4:5 as a unit, but
to that place in which the architect most emphatically signaled his
423
For “functional literacies” (including “commercial literacy”) among laborers, see
Woolf (2009: 46–68).
424
Along with most interpreters, I understand ὑπέρ + the accusative here in the sense of
“beyond” + an abstraction. This is confirmed and clarified by recent linguistic research:
Luraghi (2003: 218–24); Bortone (2010: 117, 189, 299).
authority: 3:10–15.425 There, Paul claims that no other minister (not even
Apollos, and certainly not his adherent who is so critical of Paul) may
build except on the foundation he has laid, which is Jesus Christ. And
those who build must take great care in how they labor so that the
superstructure rises securely from that foundation. They are liable to
the on-site inspections of the architect and, of course, to the final judg-
ment of their work on the day of approval.
With the building source and gospel referent of Paul’s saying in
view, we may appreciate its rhetorical force in 4:6. In writing (so that it
might be read and heard) τὸ μὴ ὑπὲρ ἃ γέγραπται, Paul places an
exclamation point on his apologetic tour de force in 3:5–4:5. In con-
tinuity with the reconstructed politics of building and reconfigured logic
of evaluation he has presented, Paul pauses to drive home the authority
of his gospel and ministry. As an architect to his work crew, Paul reminds
the Corinthian assembly of these things, resorting to the pattern of
the building metaphor once more. He does so by appealing, not to the
scriptures, nor to a timeless maxim or elite proverb, but to the banter of
the work site. To those “above” such a socioeconomic world of experi-
ence, it would not have raised Paul in the scales of their rhetorical
estimation. But if the saying hit home, it could well have punctured
pretensions and challenged the criticisms issuing from the “Apollos
party.” Which is to say, it would have done precisely what the second
ἵνα-clause suggests the saying was intended to do.
4 The Syntax of the Double ἵνα-clauses

Following on from the pattern of building and evaluation reconstructed
by Paul in 1 Cor 3:5–4:5, we should translate 4:6a–b in this way: “These
things I have remodeled with reference to myself and Apollos because
of you in order that you may learn by us the (saying): ‘Not beyond the
things written!’” It remains to coordinate this understanding with the
final ἵνα-clause in 4:6c. Some have taken the double ἵνα-clauses as
consecutive, with the second dependent on the first.426 But the majority
have rightly taken the two in parallel. Grammatically, both are dependent
on μετεσχημάτισα, expressing the purpose of Paul’s reconfiguration.
Furthermore, as Weiss observed, we should take τὸ μή and ἵνα μή as
425
This reading avoids the criticism that Paul would have employed a form of
προγράφω had he wanted to refer to (all of) what he had written. Cf. Welborn (1987b:
323–4).
426
Hooker (1963–4: 128).
the double object of μάθητε and therefore as völlig parallel.427 In this

case, we are justified in taking the second as epexegetical of the first. We
may now present our full paraphrase of 4:6, in which this parallelism of
sense becomes evident:
And these things, brothers, I have remodeled with regard to
myself and Apollos because of your criticisms of me and your
wrong evaluation of ministry. I have done so in order that you
may learn the force of the saying (as on the work site): “Not
beyond the things written!” That is, I have reconfigured the
politics of construction in order that you may learn not to be
puffed up each one on behalf of the one (i.e., Apollos) against
the other (i.e., Paul).428
Conclusion
We may conclude by summarizing our interpretation of the difficult
1 Cor 4:6. Our assembling of the many exegetical building blocks has
been guided throughout by an attention to the form and force of the
extended construction metaphor in 3:5–4:5. There, Paul first began
deconstructing the social pattern entailed by the politics of building
contracts. He then reconstructed a new pattern in its place, with a power-
ful emphasis on the logic of apostolic-eschatological evaluation. In light
of this pattern and flow of argument, we have gained a clearer view of the
meaning of 4:6 and its constituent elements.
We argued that in 4:6a, Paul claims to have reconstructed these things
with reference to himself and Apollos. This interpretation has the virtue
of attending to the literal sense of the verb μετεσχημάτισα and of glossing
it in accordance with a papyrologically attested formula concerning
building rights. We contended that by “these things,” Paul means that
he has reconfigured all of what preceded in 3:5–4:5, and further, that this
directs our interpretation primarily toward the preceding unit and only
secondarily toward what follows. Our pattern also helped us in the
identification of a plausible source, referent, and function for the notor-
ious phrase “not beyond the things written.” We saw that on the lips of an
architect-supervisor, such a phrase could be an authoritative utterance
directing laborers to the evaluative structure of contractual stipulations.
427
Weiss (1910: 103).
428
Weiss (1910: 104) correctly notes that the point of 4:6c lies in the contrast between
ὑπέρ and κατά.
On Paul’s lips, it directs the critic particularly to his divinely commis-

sioned gospel and the work it does in building up the members of the
assembly. Such a meaning for the phrase τὸ μὴ ὑπὲρ ἃ γέγραπται there-
fore fits comfortably in the rhetoric of reconstruction he has labored to
compose. We saw that this hypothesis has the additional advantage of
taking seriously the constraints of syntax and the function of the purpose
clauses. Those clauses offer the coordinate purpose of Paul’s rhetorical
reconfiguration – they defend Paul’s apostolic authority, his gospel, and
his ministry from critics who by elevating Apollos have disdained Paul.
Especially in the parallel μή-phrases supplying the object of “learn,” Paul
drives home his point: he evaluates those in the assembly who, preferring
Apollo for reasons of “worldly” wisdom, have wrongly evaluated him.
His assessment as apostle-architect, measured by that which his critics
must learn, is stern. They must look to the divinely structured politics of
construction centered, for them, on Paul and his ministry (“Not beyond
the things written!”) if they are to avoid divine censure for their improper
evaluation (“puffed up each on behalf of the one against the other”).
Finally, we must note that our interpretation strongly supports an
apologetic, rather than a paraenetic, reading of Paul’s text. This is true
not only of 3:5–4:6 but of 1–4 as a whole. While there are mimetic-
paraenetic elements, especially from 4:14 onward, the force of the larger
argument, centered as it is on the reconstructed pattern of judgment
and wisdom, is a strong defense Paul presses against his detractors. By
means of a rhetoric of reconstruction, the wise architect asserts the
authority of his cruciform gospel and ministry. We have indications,
from his further correspondence, that his rhetoric, because it was under-
stood, was not universally well received. Little did Paul realize his
manner of assertion would provide the foundation for so many intricate
and structurally flawed interpretations.
CO NC LU SION : COM PAR I SON
OF C ONS TIT U TIO NS
Sometime in the late fourth century AD, an unknown figure sat down to
make a constitutional comparison. Probably for apologetic reasons, he
wanted to compare the law of Moses with the burgeoning body of law
developed by the Roman jurists. The result was the Collatio Legum
Mosaicarum et Romanarum, a running comparison under sixteen heads
(e.g., “Of False Testimony” and “Of Cattle Raiders”). Of the final
product, a scholar from an earlier age confessed, “I commenced with
[studying the work] because the title held out the prospect of an interest-
ing comparison between two great systems. Closer inspection showed
that this promise was illusory.”1
This study, too, has undertaken a constitutional comparison, but of a
more local and modest kind. The results have been illuminating rather
than illusory, largely because of the careful construction of our compara-
tive framework and its patient application. We have used “constitution”
and “covenant” as shorthand for two socio-political patterns that intersect
in 1 Corinthians. The primary basis for our comparison has been the
Corinthian constitution, based on the template of contemporary Spanish
charters, and the Pauline text itself. Our aim has been to use the former to
set off the distinctiveness of the latter, especially in two rhetorical units –
1 Cor 1:4–9 and 1 Cor 3:5–4:5 – where evident semantic and social
conventions invite such a comparison.
In his own constitutional comparison between Josephus and Paul,
Barclay rightly linked such an endeavor with our understanding of Paul’s
strategy in Corinth. He contended that “if we could identify examples of
such ‘constitutional’ analysis that are broad enough to apply to societies
less extensive and less complex than states, they might suggest fruitful
questions for the analysis of Paul’s community-formation.”2 Constituted
colony and covenanted community have provided just such an analytical
1
Hyamson (1913: pref.). Cf. Frakes (2011).
2
Barclay, “Matching Theory and Practice,” 141.
302
frame for 1 Corinthians 1:1–4:6. Our comparison has facilitated the under-
standing of a competing politics of thanksgiving and construction among
the members of the early Corinthian assembly. It has also taught us about
Paul’s strategy of ministry in the ekklēsia and about his adaptation – driven
by his messianic political theology – of cultural forms. To emphasize those
conclusions, we briefly review the argument of the study.
In Part One, we undertook a series of methodologically oriented steps
to build a persuasive comparative framework. Since constitution and
covenant entail a comparative politics, we began in Chapter 1 with a
survey of ancient and contemporary political approaches to interpreting
Paul and his epistles. We saw that a broad stream of “Paul and politics”
interpretations, from the second century to the present, has been produc-
tively applied to 1 Corinthians and other Pauline texts. We outlined a
typology of methods and aims that allowed us to build an eclectic
approach. From the philosophers, we borrowed the notion of political
theology. Critics of empire alerted us to the possibility of conflict
between Paul and “empire.” Feminist approaches suggested creative
and cautious ways to combine literary, documentary, and archaeological
evidence in our investigation. Finally, social historians gave us politeia
as an apposite first-century term for describing the comparative site
where constitution and covenant interact in 1 Corinthians. We concluded
by surveying the handful of historical and exegetical studies that have
appealed to Corinth’s constitution, noting the pressing need for a sys-
tematic application of the Julio-Claudian colonial charter template.
In Chapters 2 and 3, we began to fill that lacuna. First, we justified the
use of legal sources for social history and exegesis. John Crook’s reflec-
tions urged us toward the documentary evidence and to look for the
places where the “law” effectively illuminated “life.” In Chapter 3, we
attempted to link Crook’s method to the needs of Pauline scholars by
using the Spanish lex Ursonensis and lex Irnitana to model the
Corinthian constitution. We demonstrated the validity of restoring the
constitution to early Roman Corinth, suggested plausible sites of display,
and illustrated its relevance to first-century politeia with a case study.
Our work in Chapter 3 developed an intuition in recent Corinthian
scholarship and laid the groundwork for further research on both
Roman Corinth and the Corinthian correspondence.
Our focus in Chapter 4 turned from constitution to covenant as we
reviewed the evidence for a synagogue community in Corinth and high-
lighted covenantal traces in 1 Corinthians. We saw that the combined
evidence of Paul’s letter and Acts attests a vigorous Jewish presence,
both in the colony and the earliest assembly. Then, we reexamined the
304 Conclusion: comparison of constitutions
history of the Corinthian synagogue inscription and found that previous

date ranges were too narrow and unreliably based on letter-forms.
Without further architectural investigation, we suggested the need to
hold to a broad date range of AD I–VI. Even apart from the synagogue
inscription, we concluded that covenant discourse, especially related to
Deuteronomy, is among the signs that mark 1 Corinthians as covenantal
in its outlook.
In Chapter 5, we laid out reasons for our hermeneutical stance regard-
ing differential comparative method and communication. We offered a
case study related to 1 Cor 1:6, 8 that demonstrated a more promising
method for moving beyond words to registers and discourse. These
semantic conventions led us to the social conventions that characterized
life in the politeia. We also rejected the idea of a radical communicative
rift between Paul and the Corinthians, offering instead reasons to hold
author and audience together, with the text at the center of our interpreta-
tion. Finally, we sketched a portrait of Corinth, Paul, and the assembly as
figures to test against our exegesis.
Purposes of Politeiai
The first five, relatively short, methodological chapters prepared us for
the extended exegesis of Part Two. In two lengthy chapters, we applied
the constitutional framework and evidence to reveal political categories
and social patterns evident in 1 Corinthians. By attending to clusters of
politeia language and lingering over neglected epigraphical evidence, we
were able to probe the authority structure and telos of colony and
assembly. The political theology emerging from Paul’s text was seen to
be formed with reference to that of the colony, but it was decidedly
ecclesial and worked strongly against the larger social patterns in many
respects. The texts we examined provide evidence of a coherent strategy
that seems particularly suited for Roman Corinth.
In Chapter 6, we utilized the constitutional categories to interpret Paul’s
opening thanksgiving in 1 Cor 1:4–9 within the politics of thanksgiving.
We began to see the distinctive shape of Paul’s political theology, focused
on gratitude to God for his formation and benefaction of the community
(1:4–5). These benefits, flowing from the merits of their patron Jesus
Christ, were confirmed by Paul’s testimony among them (1:6). Whereas
the logic of the testimonial in colonial politeia re-inscribed elite virtue and
privilege, the privileges of the politeia Paul describes are democratized
through the crucified Messiah (cf. 1:30; 3:16–17; 6:11). The divine
promise, on the order of constitutional treaty or covenant oath (1:9),

grounds these privileges and the confident expectation of blameless stand-
ing on the last day (1:8). But Paul’s pattern of munificence closely mirrors
that of the larger colony in its language of patronage and benefaction. The
distinctiveness of the politics he presses for remains underdeveloped in
those opening verses. We are left wondering what kinds of people partake
of these divine privileges, what shape their obligations to one another will
assume, and on what kind of structure Paul’s testimonial to Christ will be
inscribed.
Some of those questions found answers in Chapter 7. In turning to 3:5–
4:5, we saw Paul make the link between gratitude and glory in such a way
that the structure of authority, the character of ministry, and distinctive
social obligations began to take shape. The extended building metaphor
brings to bear on the assembly – and especially on Paul’s critic(s) from
the Apollos party – a differential politics of construction. The founda-
tional promise and testimonial to Christ’s merits (1:4–9) become an
architectural foundation in Paul’s gospel (3:10). Gratitude to the divine
patron is directed, in the shape of acclaim, toward the one who under-
writes the growing structure of the community and its members. Paul’s
Jeremiah-like authority as a delegated architect grants him rank but not
status above his critics. He attempts to undercut pride by an insistent use
of ministerial terminology for the labor of building up the community.
Finally, the whole of his construction challenges and reconfigures the
conception of wise judgment and evaluation. Ministers, especially, may
not presume on their privileges but should look to the final day of
approval and the glory of their patron.
Although we have limited our investigation to these two texts, we see
already the collision of two overlapping politeiai – colonial and eccle-
sial. Yet, it is only experienced as a collision by those within the
assembly; it is driven by opposing political theologies. To claim this
is not necessarily to agree with Taubes’s language of a Pauline
“declaration of war on Caesar.” That seems far too strident for 1 Cor
1–4. There are, however, two opposed sovereigns, and many humbler
figures, competing for glory in colony and assembly. Likewise, there
are divergent structures of authority, obligation, and status. These
oppositions are present because of Paul’s theology and communicative
strategy. That is to say, a specifically Corinthian exigence and setting
calls them forth, not an abstract or calculated hostility at the vaunted
imperial level of “Christ and Caesar” – at least not in these opening
chapters.
306 Conclusion: comparison of constitutions
Paul’s Political-Pastoral Strategy

The subtitle of our study is “Paul’s Political Strategy.” We have already
hinted at how this helps us appreciate Paul’s pastoral strategy in
1 Corinthians. Paul does not engage with Roman law or colonial politics
at the level or in the manner of a jurist, making systematic distinctions
and offering learned opinions. Instead, he attends to colonial structures
for the politeia they animate. Matters of privileges and status – that is,
matters of politics and not ethics – concern Paul in 1 Cor 1–4 because he
is focusing on the ecclesial framework shaping the form of life in the
Christ-assembly. Paul is defending his ministry, responding to false
claims of wisdom correlated to colonial status, and redirecting the com-
munity toward the merits and glory of its founding patron. Ethics will
follow in 1 Cor 5 and beyond; indeed, ethical concerns are already
signaled strongly in 3:16–17. But in these early chapters, Paul is primar-
ily reinforcing the political (ecclesial) foundation he laid earlier.
In attempting to reconstruct and fortify the assembly, Paul has adap-
tively appealed to social patterns involving colonial rights, status, obli-
gation, and glory. He urges – by direct appeal, by metaphor, and by
censure – the members of the assembly to reorient themselves further in
unity toward one another. But he also directs them in purity and (espe-
cially) in acclamation toward God and his Messiah. It is fitting to recall,
at the conclusion of our study, the full titles of both the colony of
Roman Corinth and of Paul’s assembly, for they epitomize memorably
the constitutional contrast that has emerged. Colonia Laus Iulia
Corinthiensis means literally: Colony of the Corinthians for the Praise of
the Julian Gens. By stark contrast, the titles assigned by Paul in our text
encapsulate the purpose of the politeia he has proclaimed: those in the
assembly are the ἐκκλησία τοῦ θεοῦ, the κοινωνία τοῦ υἱοῦ αὐτοῦ Ἰησοῦ
Χριστοῦ, and the νάος θεοῦ. In the very names of these two asymmetrically
constituted communities, one concealed and burgeoning within the other,
we find an orientation toward the beneficence and the glory of two very
different lordly houses. For the architect-agent divinely commissioned to
construct a holy, civic, memorial-temple to God and his crucified Messiah,
this distinction led to the crescendo of 1 Cor 3:23: “and you are Christ’s,
and Christ is God’s.”
In conclusion, our restoration of the constitution to Corinth creates the
conditions for a variety of future investigations. Some may use the
charter evidence more or less directly to gain further clarity on Paul’s
politics/ethics of exclusion in 1 Cor 5 or his politics/ethics of litigation in
1 Cor 6. Many other topics in 1 and 2 Corinthians might be fruitfully
examined in light of the constitution: social relations and the composition

of the assembly, colonial and ecclesial ritual, embassy, and financial
accountability are among those that readily emerge. We hope others
will improve the comparative method we have constituted and will
build on the textual foundation we have laid.
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INDEX LOCORUM
Bible Ezra 3:11–15 276

Genesis Psalms 78:5 180
21:30 180 Qoheleth (Ecclesiastes) 107
31:44–45 180 Isaiah
Exodus 3:3 264
25:3–7 206 55:3–4 180
25:16 180 Jeremiah
31:4–5 206 1–24 247
35:32–3 206 1:8 245
Deuteronomy 1:10 9, 251–258, 286
6:1–4 91 9:22–23 296
6:4 84, 89–90 12:13–17 247
7:9 172 24:6 247
13:5(6) 90 31:28, 40b 247
17:7 89–90 42:10 247
17:12 90 Ezekiel 36:36 247
19:13 90 Zechariah 6:9–15 276
19:15 2, 84, 89–90 Acts
19:19 90 6:7 282
21:9 90 12:20–24 282
21:21 90 13:15ff. 87
22:21, 24 90 16:11–15 103
22:22 90 18 87
24:7 90 18:1–19 86
25:4 89–90 18:2–3 86
27–32 89 18:2–3, 24–26 264
31:26 180 18:3 213
32:17 89–90 18:4 86, 93
32:21 89–90 18:4–5 100
1 and 2 Corinthians invoking 88–91 18:6–7 86
Joshua 22:27 180 18:7 86, 87, 268
Ruth 4:7 180 18:8 86, 269, 288
1 Kings 18:9–10 245
17:17–24 247 18:17 87
19:15–17 247 18:18 87
2 Kings 18:24, 27–28 88
3:15–20 247 18:24–26 88
6:8–23 247 18:24–28 265
1 Chronicles 18:28 88
22:14–16 206 18:124–19:1 87
29:2 206 19:20 282
335
336 Index locorum
Acts (cont.) 1:11 267, 271

19:23–41 262 1:12 202, 262, 283
19:28–34 282 1:14 87, 269, 288
on Jewish community in Corinth 86–88 1:14–16 270
Romans 1:15 270
1:8 142 1:16 270
1:13 142 1:17 210, 270
6:3 101 1:17–25 178, 245
6:16 101 1:18 147, 270
7:1 101 1:18–2:16 200
8:38–39 256 1:18–25 88, 210, 260–261
11:11–26 21 1:20 264
11:12 101 1:24 179
15:5–6 187 1:26–29 179
15:8 185 1:26–30 185
15:15 253 1:30 184, 185, 304
16:3–5 86 1:31 185, 256, 295, 296
16:23 87, 239 2 181
1 Corinthians 2:1 8, 145, 179, 180–182, 189–196
1–4 107, 127, 131, 212, 274, 286, 288, 2:1–2 2
305, 306 2:1–4 182, 210
1–6 5, 142 2:1–5 178, 245, 260–261
1:1 87 2:2–4 182
1:1–3, 16 2 2:4 145, 182, 195
1:1–4 199 2:4ff. 182
1:1–4:2 260 2:5 261
1:1–4:6 3–6, 45, 89, 106, 122, 125, 303 2:6–8 255
1:1–4:21 290 2:6–16 195, 255, 259, 272
1:1–6:11 101, 111 2:7 195, 196
1:1–9 137 2:8 178, 277
1:2 2, 148, 173, 276 3 132, 247, 249, 262
1:4 147, 186, 187, 253, 256 3–4 207
1:4, 6, 7, 8, 9 138 3:1–4 273
1:4–5 188, 304 3:1–4:5 200
1:4–9 5, 6, 8, 105, 120, 121, 137, 196, 3:4 264, 276, 283
199, 209, 212, 259, 284, 302, 304, 3:4–5 200
305 3:4–9, 17, 21–23 203
1:5 181, 256 3:5 200, 208, 245, 252, 257, 262, 264,
1:5, 6 183 277, 282, 283
1:6 5, 8, 138, 140, 142, 145, 146, 156, 3:5, 6, 22 264
179, 183, 185, 188, 196, 275, 284, 3:5–4:5 6, 8, 101, 102, 121, 125, 126,
304 128, 129, 131, 189–197, 246, 288,
1:6, 8 110, 116, 120, 138–146, 148, 302–305
176–179, 184 3:5–9 126, 201, 202, 205, 211, 243,
1:7 147, 186, 256 248–251, 253, 257, 264, 265,
1:7–8 184, 186, 189, 211, 257, 275, 287 275–285, 286, 287, 288
1:7–9 287 3:5–9, 10–17 210
1:8 138, 147, 186, 187, 188, 285, 305 3:5–9, 21–23 199, 211, 212
1:9 5, 105, 138, 140, 147, 148, 170, 175, 3:5–11 245
184, 187, 188, 189, 305 3:5–17 223, 246, 251, 290
1:10 137, 256, 290 3:5b 261
1:10–4:21 206 3:5b, 8 201
1:10–6:11 262 3:5c 265
1:10ff 139, 147, 148 3:6 250, 282
Index locorum 337
3:6, 10 2 3:21b-23 201, 202, 212, 256, 264, 271,

3:6–7 257, 277 275–285, 288
3:6–8 243, 258, 264 3:22 263, 264
3:6–9 264 3:22–23 285
3:6–17 209 3:23 256, 306
3:6c, 7c, 9 201 4:1 245, 257
3:7 253, 277, 282–284 4:1, 3–5 209
3:7–9 264 4:1, 16–17 210
3:7c 197, 288 4:1–2 209
3:8 207, 253 4:1–5 201, 202, 205, 209, 211, 245, 250,
3:8–9 261, 282 254, 257–260, 267, 271, 273–275,
3:8b 253, 265 284, 285, 287
3:9 209, 249, 253, 284 4:2 261
3:9, 16–17 258 4:3 257
3:9–10 250 4:3–4 204, 245
3:9–17 204–205, 209, 212 4:3–5 258, 287
3:9c-17 209 4:3b 274
3:10 198, 201, 210, 250, 253, 255, 258, 4:4 211
263–264, 287, 305 4:4–5 277
3:10–11 201, 210, 243, 266 4:4a 202
3:10–12 254, 258, 260–261, 264, 287 4:4b-5 202
3:10–15 202, 205, 211, 219, 253–255, 4:5 201, 257, 258, 274
265, 266, 299 4:6 9, 126, 198, 204, 205, 208, 209, 219,
3:10–16 183 252, 262, 264, 265, 289–301
3:10–17 208, 209, 264 4:6a 290, 294
3:10–23 265 4:6b 294, 299
3:10,13 16–17 203 4:6c 294, 299, 300
3:10b 265 4:7 292
3:10b-c 266 4:7–17 292
3:10c 261, 265 4:8 292
3:11 209, 254 4:12 260
3:11, 21–23 179 4:14 124
3:12 198, 206, 250, 254, 256, 264 4:14–21 264
3:12–15 265, 266, 271, 287 4:16 292
3:12–17 274 4:17 124, 292
3:13 111, 204, 245, 254, 272 4:20 2
3:13–15 254, 258, 287 5 89, 201, 267, 270, 306
3:13–15, 17 250 5:1–3 187
3:14 207, 254, 272 5:1–13 2, 101, 273
3:15 220, 254, 272 5:2 267
3:16 101, 249, 255 5:3–5 245, 272
3:16–17 2, 102, 202, 205, 247, 255, 258, 5:6 101, 102, 260–261
259, 261, 266, 267, 287, 304, 306 5:6, 7 102
3:17 203, 211, 220, 255, 260–261, 265, 5:9 100
266, 271, 273, 287 5:9–11 129
3:17c 255 5:13 89–90
3:18 201, 255, 266 6 268, 306
3:18–21a 287 6:1–8 5, 270
3:18–23 211, 255–257, 264, 271, 284 6:1–9 2
3:19–20 255, 267 6:1–11 89, 101
3:19–21 295 6:2 101, 102
3:21 201, 256 6:3 101, 102
3:21–3 203 6:6–8 260–261
3:21b 256 6:9 101
338 Index locorum
1 Corinthians (cont.) 16:12 264

6:9, 11 2 16:15–18 270
6:9–10 102 16:16 270
6:11 184, 185, 304 16:19 264
6:15, 16, 19 101 16:22 245
6:19 2, 260 16:23 268
7:40b 272 covenantal cruxes in rhetorical flow of
8, 10 246 101–103
8:1 267 Deuteronomy invoked by 88–91
8:1, 10 246, 249, 260 on Jewish community in Corinth
8:1–6 90 86–88
8:1–11:1 270 legal language in 110–111
8:2 255 literary unity of 124
8:4–6 84, 89–90 particular application of constitution-
8:7–12 260–261 covenant framework to 103–104
9 245 2 Corinthians
9:1, 13–14 260 1:1–2, 18–22 2
9:1–2 2 1:5 142
9:1–27 213 1:12 180
9:3 202 2:2 181
9:9 89–90 2:17–3:6 2, 245
9:13, 24 101, 102 3:3, 6, 8, 17–18 183
9:19–23 88 3:6 2, 84, 105
9:21 105 4:15 187
10:1–22 2, 3, 84, 187 4:16 220
10:13 187 5:1 246
10:20 89–90 5:11–21 2
10:20–22 90, 100 5:17 2
10:22 89–90 5:18–21 245
10:23 246, 249, 260 6:16 2
10:32 88 8:1–24 2
11:16 267 9:1–15 2
11:17–31 5 10:2, 7, 11 245
11:17–34 2 10:3–6 244
11:20–22 260–261 10:8 243, 245, 246, 251, 286
11:23–26 2, 100 10:13–14 264
11:25 84, 105 10:14 243
12:5–6 260 11:5 245
13:12 255 11:7–15 213
14 246 11:13–14 291
14:3–5, 12, 17, 26 246, 249, 260 11:13–15 290
14:16–17 178 12:6 245
14:24–25 2 12:19 2, 245
14:37 267 13:1 2, 84, 89–90, 100
14:37–8 272 13:1–10 2, 245
14:40 283 13:3 245
15:1–11 2, 260–261 13:3, 5, 6, 7 245
15:24 186 13:3–4 2
15:33 260–261 13:10 2, 243, 245, 246, 251, 286
15:58 260 Deuteronomy invoked by 88–91
16:1–4 2 Galatians
16:3 272 2:9 253
16:9 86 2:18 246
16:10, 15–16 260 4:9 256
Index locorum 339
6:3 267 Gaius, Inst.

6:4 265 1.7 15
Ephesians 1.8–12 50
1:4. 142 Gellius (See Aulus Gellius)
3:7 253 Hyginus 1 64
Philippians Inst. Iust. 1.2.8 15
1:7 142 Lucian, Pro imaginibus, 9 292, 293
3:4 267 Martial, Ep.
3:20 34, 103 5.56 234
3:21 290 7.56 234
Colossians Pausanias
1:6, 7 142 1.27 181
1:6, 8 144 2.1.2 1, 53
1:10ff 144 2.3.1 1
1 Thessalonians description of walk through Corinth 79
1:5 142 Plato, Leges 12.943c 167, 181
2:13 142 Pliny the Elder, NH 34.99 63
5:11 246 Pliny the Younger
2 Thessalonians Ep.
1:3 142 10.39.4 231
1:10 180 10.114 65
2:13 142 Pan. 75 279, 281
1 Timothy Plutarch
2:6 180 Caesar 57.5 1, 53
2 Timothy Mar. 41.5 140
1:8 180 Mor.
2:12 140 426E 292
498E-F 213, 229
Classical Sources Pomp. 21.4 140
Appian, Pun. 136 1, 53 Ti. C. Gracch. 6.3–4 231
Aulus Gellius, Noct. att. Polybius, 6.17 231
16.13.8–9 52, 72 Pomponius, Dig. 1.2.2.48–50 15
19.10 231 Ps.-Julian, Letters 198 161
Cassius Dio (See Dio Cassius) 22–28 (408b) 161
Cato, Agr. 14 234 45–52 (409a) 162
Cicero 62–71 (409c–d) 1, 161
Agr. 1.7; 2.55–6 227 74–7 (409d) 161
Phil. 84–99 (410b–d) 161
1.26 66 89 (410b) 161
2.39.100 2 Strabo
Quint. fratr. 10.2.6 234 8.6.23 1
Sest. 106 278 on Jewish community in Corinth 86
Verr. 2.1.51.130–50 231 Josephus citing 85
Collatio Legum Mosaicarum et Romanarum Suetonius
302 Aug. 56–7 279
Columella, Rust. 5.1.3 233 Cal. 6 279
Dio Cassius Claudius 25 86
43.50.3 1, 53 Iul. 44.2 1
62.20.5 279 Nero
Dio Chrysostom 20 279
construction metaphor in 259 46.3 279
Troj. [Or 11] 121–2 181 Tacitus, Ann.
Diodorus Siculus, 32.27.1 1 3.60–3 62, 186
Dionysius Halicarnassus, 3.22 167, 181 14.15 279
340 Index locorum
Vitruvius, De architectura 74, 82, 113–14, 144–5, 151 218

1.1.10 197 82 218
5.1.6 197 87–89 219
6.8.9 197, 234 100–101 223
142–5 218
Inscriptions 144–5 218
AE 1915.113 238 145 297
AE 1922.86 241 150–1, 14, 353, 219
AE 1973.220 241 151 297
AE 1978.731 238 173–9 221
AE 1982.263 241 IGR IV 293.21 184
AE 1982.764 241 Iunia Theodora, epistolary testimonials
AE 1984.389 241 honoring 162–163, 179, 275
AE 1987.53 241 Kent 41 96
AE 1990.211 (Paestum inscription Kent 155 238
honoring Aquilius Nestorius) Kent 232 268
164–165 Kent 306 164, 241
Agrippa (M. Vipsianus), inscription Kent 345 239–241
honoring 158–159, 170 Kent 361 281
Albinus (of Aphrodisias), acclamations of lex Flavia municipalis 55–56, 68–71
280 Ch. 26 163
Aphrodisias & Rome 21 174 Ch. 52 163
CIG 4521 243 Ch. 53 163
CIIP II 9 269 Ch. 59 163, 230
CIL IX, 980.3 (benefaction of C. Umbrius Ch. 61 157
Eudrastus of Carthage) 65 Ch. 63 81
FIRA III.153 234 Ch. 64 81
IG V, 2 6 217 Ch. 82 81
IG VII 2711, 2712 (Epaminondas of Ch. G 164
Acraephia, Boeotia, inscribed Ch. J 81
testimonials) 161 on public works contracts 225
IG VII 2711, 2712 (testimonials of lex Irnitana 55–56, 303
Epaminondas of Acraephia) 161, Ch. 19 230, 268
275 Ch. 26 230
IG VII 3073 (Lebadeia inscription) 212, Ch. 62 227
216–218, 266, 286, 297 Ch. 63 226
5 219 Ch. 66 228
5–6 222 Ch. 67 230
6, 10, 56, 58, 61 222 Ch. 68 230
9, 55, 58–9 222 Ch. 69 230
13, 48, 54, 60, 78, 81 222 Ch. 83 230
14–15, 21–3, 178–80 218 Ch. 95 63, 78
15–16, 18–19 218 Ch. 97 156
15–21 221, 297 Ch. J 229
28–9 223 display and function of 61–65
31, 34, 57 223 physical features of 56–61
33–9 220 structure and content of 68–71
41–44 220, 297 lex municipii Compsani 56
50–53 223 lex Osca Tabulae Bantinae 163
56 222 lex parieti faciundo Puteolana
61 222 234–236
64, 72, 85,120, 123, 150, 159, lex portorii Asiae 56
185 223 lex rivi Hiberiensis 56, 64
74 218, 297 lex Tarentina 56, 63
Index locorum 341
lex Ursonensis 53–55, 303 4.45 165

Ch. 15 159, 163 14.110–18 85
Ch. 16 159, 163 14.185–267 168
Ch. 62 266, 16.160–1 169
Ch. 63 266 16.160–5 169
Ch. 66 159 16.160–78 168
Ch. 69 81, 225, 227, 230 16.161 169
Ch. 75 81, 228 16.162–3 169, 183
Ch. 77 81, 230, 268 16.164–5 169
Ch. 79 81, 156–158 19.8.2 282
Ch. 80 81, 230 Jewish Wars (BJ) 3.540 86
Ch. 81 163, 230 constitutional comparison between Paul
Ch. 92 164 and 302
Ch. 93 266 covenantal issues not raised by 84
Ch. 98 81, 229 on Jewish community in Corinth 86
Ch. 99 81 on Jewish politeia 165–166,
Ch. 100 81 168–169
Ch. 101 163 Strabo cited by 85
Ch. 128 230, 268 Philo of Alexandria
Ch. 130 157 Flacc 49–50 167
Ch. 131 157 Legat.
display and function of 61–65 32–22 168
Kent 345 and 241 133 167
physical features of 56–61 281–2 85
on public works contracts 225 311 168
reconstruction of 59 311–20 168
structure and content of 66–68 covenantal issues not raised by 84
OGIS 456 (Augustan inscription honoring on Jewish community in Corinth
Potamon of Mytilene) 143, 148, 85–86
152–156, 167, 173, 188 on Jewish politeia 165, 166–168, 169
PSchøyen 25 (treaty between Rome and Qumran texts
Lycian koinon) 172, 173, 174–175 1QS (Community Rule) 247
1.1–11, 73–8 173 8:4–10 247
61–2 183 11:7–8 247
61–4 172 2QJer 247
Res Gestae 32.3 175 4QJera 247
SB 14.11578 293 CD (Damascus Document) 247
SEG 11/115 (acclamation of emperor CD-A 3:19 (=4Q269 2) 247
Theodosius by stoneworkers) 280 Jubilees 247
SEG 33.671 184
senatus consultum de Cn. Pisone Patre Manuscripts
56, 60 P46 191–194, 195
SIG3 801D = FD III, 4.286 (Gallio Codex ϰ 191–194
inscription) 173
Spartiaticus (C. Julius), inscription honoring Medieval and Early Modern
154, 159–161, 170 Sources
Tabula Heracleensis 56, 63, 81 Calvin, Jean, Commentary on the Epistles
Tabula Siarensis 56, 60 of Paul the Apostle to the
Corinthians 141, 145, 146, 147, 148,
Jewish Sources 178, 182, 202
Josephus Colet, John, Commentary on First
Antiquities of the Jews (AJ, Ant.) Corinthians 139, 140, 145, 260
1.121 165 Erasmus, Desiderius, Annotations on the
3.84, 213 165 New Testament 146, 147
342 Index locorum
Grotius, Hugo, Annotationes in Novum 49.1 17

Testamentum Volumen VII 10, 12, 54.4 18
238, 146, 147 Jerome 15, 16
Luther, Martin, Bibel (die Predigt von Ep. 77.2 (CSEL 55:38) 15
Christus) 145, 146, 148 Ep. 77.3 (CSEL 55:39) 15
Xanthopoulos, Historia ecclesiastica John Chrysostom
14.49.58 293 Adv. Jud. passim 16
Hom. 1 Cor.
Papyrii NPNF112:74 16
PDubl 32 293 PG 61.17 140, 145, 181
PDubl 33 293 PG 61.17–22 139, 178
PLond 1912 (Claudian reply to dual PG 61.70–4 200
embassy from Alexandria) 166, PG 61.70–94 200
176–178, 179, 183, 186 PG 61.71 201
1–11 177 PG 61.72 201
14–51 177 PG 61.75–80 200
33 177 PG 61.78–9 201
52.9 177 PG 61.78–80 267
100–8 177 PG 61.78–80, 88 267
POxy I 41 (acclamation of Dioskoros) PG 61.79–80, 83 201
278, 279 PG 61.81–6 200
POxy II 264 117–120 PG 61.87–94 200
POxy XXV 2435 279 PG 61.88 201
Hom. 2 Cor., PG 51.271 139
Patristic Sources Hom. Matt. 3:4, NPNF1 10:65 17
Ambrosiaster, CSEL 81/2.6–8 140 on 1 Cor 1:4–9 139, 141–142, 144,
Augustine 147, 156
de Civ. D., e.g. 19.17; 22.6 16 on 1 Cor 3:5–4:5 199, 200, 202, 211,
Pauline portrait by 132 284, 286
1 Clement 17–18 on Paul and politics 16–17
2.7–8 17 Pauline portrait by 132
47 106 Origen 140, 147, 198
47.1 3, 17 Theodoret
47.1–2 137 PG 82.229 145, 146
47.3 137 PG 82.229–32 139
47.6 3, 17, 137 PG 82.232 147
SUBJECT INDEX
acclamation Aquilius Nestorius, Paestum inscription

definition of, 278 honoring, 164–165
in Graeco-Roman world generally, archisynagōgoi, 87
278–282 architects
modern call-and-response preaching in Graeco-Roman cities, 231–234
and, 283 Paul’s self-designation as “wise architect,”
monumental Graeco-Roman construction 201, 247, 253, 258, 263–264
practice and, 215, 280–281 in Terracina sculptural relief, 232–233
rhythmic sections in construction Argos, 1, 161
metaphor (1 Cor 3:5–9, 21b–23) and, aural-oral aspects of letter carrying and
275–285 reading in antiquity, 124–126
accountability. See authority and account- authority and accountability, in construction
ability, in construction “Apollos’s party” and, 199, 207, 208,
administrative, legal, and cultic aspects of 210–211, 262–271
Pauline politics, 40–41 construction metaphor (in 1 Cor 3:5–4:5),
adprobatio operis, 215, 235, 236, 239, 254, 260–271
257, 274, 276, 288 God, eschatological accountability to, 273
aediles, 230, 239, 268 at Graeco-Roman worksites, 214
agrimensores, 61, 63, 64 indefinite pronouns, Paul’s use of, 265,
Agrippa (M. Vipsianus), inscription 271
honoring, 158–159, 170 Jeremiah 1:10 and Jewish politics of
Albinus (of Aphrodisias), acclamations covenant construction, 9, 251
of, 280 in Lebadeia contract, 221–222
Alexandria, Jewish community in, 166, τὸ μὴ ὑπὲρ ἃ γέγραπται and reconstruction
176–178, 186 rhetoric (in 1 Cor 4:6), 299
alternative civic ideology, 36–38, Paul’s authority to define approvable
45, 106 ministry, 259, 264, 273
ἀνακρίνω (in 1 Cor 4:3–4). See evaluative
judgment and approval Babbius monument (forum, Corinth) and
antanaklasis, 203, 255, 273 Cn. Babbius Philinus, 158, 232,
Apollos, and adherents of Apollos 236–239, 286
construction metaphor and, 207, 208, βεβαιόω wordplay (in 1 Cor 1:6, 8),
210–211, 252, 262–265, 268–270, 271, 116–120, 138, 140, 144, 146–148, 172,
276, 287, 305 176, 179, 184
covenant in Corinth and, 87, 88 bronze tablets of colonial constitutions. See
reconstruction rhetoric and, 290, 291, Spanish civic charters
294, 299–300 building metaphor (in 1 Cor 3:5–4:5). See
thanksgiving passage and, 199 construction metaphor
approval. See evaluative judgment and
approval Carthage, 1, 53, 54, 73, 82
Aquila, 86, 87, 88, 100, 264 Cephas, 208, 211, 263
343
344 Subject index
Chian use of Roman law against Roman ethical norms and political structures,
opponents, 13 interactions between, 104
Chloe’s people, 271 as hermeneutical apparatus for Paul’s
Christian community at Corinth. See communicative strategy, 105
ecclesial assembly at Corinth interface between, 2, 84–85, 107
cognitive-linguistic metaphor theory, interface between politeiai of, 3–6
127–129, 209, 247 Judaism/Hellenism divide in Pauline
communicative relationship of Paul scholarship and, 4, 84
with Corinthians, 8, 106–107, language of politeia as interface between,
122–129, 304 111–113
ancient letter carrying and reading in law and life, 7, 44–51, 303 (See also
practices and, 124–126 law and life, interface between)
metaphor and culture, 126–129, 198 methodology and structure of study, 6–9
miscommunication, postulates of, particular application of constitution-
122–124 covenant framework to 1 Corinthians,
politeia language, communicative 103–104
purpose of, 111–113 Pauline constituted-covenanted community
comparative methodology, 8, 106–122 in Corinth (See ecclesial assembly at
communicative purpose of politeia Corinth; Paul and politics)
language and, 114–115 politeia, 304–305 (See also politeia)
constitutions, comparison of, 302–307 reconstruction rhetoric (in 1 Cor 4:6),
legal language in 1 Corinthians and, 289–301 (See also reconstruction
110–113 rhetoric)
in NT studies, 108–110 Roman colonial constitutions and laws,
parallelism, 108 1–2
philological focus of, 108 social patterns of early Christian life,
politeia language as focus of, 111–113 overlapping, 104
words, registers, and genres of politeia, textual interpretation compared to legal
comparing, 115–121 argument, 13–14
comparative politics approach to Paul, thanksgiving (in 1 Cor 1:1–4:6), 8,
33–39 137–196, 304–305 (See also
conceptual images of apostle, colony, and thanksgiving)
assembly, 8, 106–107, 129–133 construction metaphor (in 1 Cor 3:5–4:5), 8,
ecclesial assembly, 132–133 197–301, 305. See also acclamation;
Paul, 131–132 architects; authority and accountabil-
Roman Corinth, 130–131 ity; design specifications and penalties;
constitution and covenant in 1 Corinthians, evaluative judgment and approval;
1–9 ministerial language of construction
communicative assumptions of, 8, metaphor; reconstruction rhetoric;
106–107, 122–129, 304 (See also reward or payment language
communicative relationship of Paul “Apollos’s party” and, 199, 207, 208,
with Corinthians) 210–211, 262–271
comparative methodology of, 8, 106–122 civic charters on public construction
(See also comparative methodology) contracts and, 224–231
conceptual images of apostle, colony, and cognitive-linguistic metaphor theory,
assembly, 8, 106–107, 129–133 127–129, 209, 247
constitution in Corinth, 7, 52–83, 303 (See competition for building commissions, 213
also Corinthian constition; Spanish conceptual coherence of, 252
civic charters) Corinth, politics of construction in,
construction metaphor (in 1 Cor 3:5–4:5) 224–242
and, 8, 197–301, 305 (See also con- culture and metaphor, 126–129, 198
struction metaphor) eschatological climax of (in 4:1–5), 202,
covenant in Corinth, 7, 84–105, 303–304 211, 245, 257–260, 275
(See also covenant in Corinth) extent and structure of, 208–209, 252–260
Subject index 345
Graeco-Roman building contracts, politeia and, 79–81

politics of construction in, 204–205, public construction contracts and,
212–215 224–231
Graeco-Roman temple building and, scholarship on Pauline politics and, 41–42
206–207, 216–224 sources for, 53–56 (See also Spanish civic
history of scholarship on, 200–208 charters)
Jewish politics of covenant construction structure and content, 65–72
and Paul’s use of Jeremiah, 9, 251–253, urban streetscape and, 79–81
276, 286 1 Corinthians. See constitution and cove-
Jewish temple-building and, 206–207 nantin 1 Corinthians
law of contract and legal disputes, covenant in Corinth, 7, 84–105, 303, 304
construction in, 236 Deuteronomic covenant, 88–91
οἰκοδομέω, Paul’s use of, 9, 251 ecclesial assembly as new covenant
patronage and public construction, community, 100–103
connection between, 236–239 interface with constitution, 2, 84–85, 107
Paul as skilled craftsman and, 213 Jewish community, 85–88
φθείρει/φθερεῖ wordplay, 199, 255, 266 rhetorical flow of 1 Corinthians,
as rhetorical topos, 198 covenantal cruxes in, 101–103
rhythmic sections of, 203, 211–212, synagogue inscription, 91–99
275–285 covenant in 1 Corinthians. See constitution
socio-economic diversity of Corinthian and covenant in 1 Corinthians
ecclesial assembly and, 258–260 Crispus, 86, 87, 269–271, 288
sources and functions of imagery, cross/crucifixion, in 1 Corinthians, 178, 210
209–210, 252–260 cultic, administrative, and legal aspects of
thanksgiving (in 1 Cor 1:4–9) and, 199, Pauline politics, 40–41
206–209, 212, 253, 259, 274, 275, 284, culture and metaphor, 126–129, 198
305
Corinth. See also Corinthian constitution; Delphi, 173
covenant in Corinth; ecclesial assembly design specifications and penalties (leges
at Corinth; Julian Basilica, Corinth; locationis), in construction
Temple E architectural complex, Graeco-Roman building contracts
Corinth generally, 218–221
Babbius monument (forum) and Cn. in Lebadeia contract, 218–221
Babbius Philinus, 158, 232, 236–239, divine Spirit, in 1 Corinthians, 17, 84, 146,
286 179, 182–183, 185, 188, 247, 259, 272,
Hebrew inscription at, 99 275, 276
Lechaion Road Basilica, 75 δοκιμάζω (in 1 Cor 3:13). See evaluative
Panayia Field road, 79–81 judgment and approval
patronage and politics of thanksgiving in, double ἵνα clauses (in 1 Cor 4:6), 289, 294,
156–165 299–300
politics of construction in, 224–242
portrait of, 130–131 ecclesial assembly at Corinth
rostra podium, forum, 79 as constituted-covenanted community, 2,
South Basilica, 75 84–85
Southeast Building, 79 covenant in Corinth and, 100–103
synagogue inscription in, 91–99 mixed Jews and Gentiles in, 132, 258
Corinthian constitution, 7, 52–83, 303 portrait of, 132–133
covenant, significance of concept of, 45 socio-economic diversity of, 132–133,
display and function of, 61–65 258–260, 262–263
establishment of, 2, 53 empire-critical approaches to Paul and
excavations at Corinth, 53 politics, 19, 22–24, 28, 31
likely locations for, 74–79 Epaminondas of Acraephia, Boeotia,
map, 54 inscribed testimonials of, 161
physical features of, 56–61 Erastus, 239, 268, 269
346 Subject index
eschatological approval of God, 273 Gracchan scheme of transmarine

eschatological climax of construction colonization, 52
metaphor (in 1 Cor 4:1–5), 202, 211, gromatici veteres, 63
245, 257–260, 275
ethical norms and political structures, Harvard school, 4
interactions between, 104 Hebrew inscription at Corinth, 99
Eudokia (wife of Theodosius II), attempted Hellenism/Judaism divide in Pauline
reconstruction of Jerusalem temple as scholarship, 4, 84, 108, 199, 205, 254,
Theotokos temple by, 293 295
Eudrastus (C. Umbrius), benefaction Herod Agrippa, 168–171
of, 65 history-of-religion approaches to Paul and
evaluative judgment and approval politics, 19
(δοκιμάζω, ἀνακρίνω), in construction Holy Spirit, in 1 Corinthians, 17, 84, 146,
adprobatio operis, 215, 235, 236, 239, 179, 182–183, 185, 188, 247, 259, 272,
254, 257, 274, 276, 288 275, 276
Babbius monument and Cn. Babbius
Philinus, 236–239, 286 indefinite pronouns, Paul’s use of, 265–271
in construction metaphor Irni. See lex Irnitana, in index of sources
(in 1 Cor 3:5–4:5), 211, 245, Iunia Theodora, epistolary testimonials
271–275 honoring, 162–163, 179, 275
eschatological climax of construction
metaphor (in 1 Cor 4:1–5), 202, 211, Jews and Judaism
245, 257–260, 275 attempted reconstruction of Jerusalem
God, eschatological approval of, 273 temple as Theotokos temple, 293
in Graeco-Roman construction contracts, Corinth, Jewish community in, 85–88
215 covenant construction, Paul’s use of
historical scholarship on 1 Corinthians Jeremiah and politics of, 9, 251–253,
and, 204, 209 276, 286
Kent 345, 239–241 ecclesial assembly in Corinth, Jews and
in law of contract and legal disputes, 236 Gentiles in, 132, 258
in Lebadeia contract, 222–224 Hebrew inscription at Corinth, 99
τὸ μὴ ὑπὲρ ἃ γέγραπται and “Jewish” cooking pot found at Corinth, 99
reconstruction rhetoric Pauline scholarship, Judaism/Hellenism
(in 1 Cor 4:6), 299 divide in, 4, 84, 108, 199, 205, 254, 295
misguided evaluation of ministry in politeia, Jewish, 165–170, 171
3:5–9, 253 synagogue inscription in Corinth, 91–99
Paul’s authority to define approvable temple-building, Jewish, 206–207
ministry and, 259, 264, 273 thanksgiving (in 1 Cor 1:4–9) and, 149,
exegesis and portraiture, coupling of, 107 165–170, 171
judgment and evaluation. See evaluative
feminist approaches to Paul and politics, 20, judgment and approval
24–26, 30–31 Julian Basilica, Corinth
form criticism, 141 connection to Temple E complex, 77
forma coloniae or map of colonial territory, display of constitution at, 75–77, 82
63–64 summary of structure, 75
Fronto (M. Cornelius), 231 Julius Caesar, colonial policies of, 1, 52
Gaius (emperor), 166–168, 172 καθώς clause, 142, 152, 181–183

Gaius (in 1 Corinthians and Romans), 87, κοινωνία, 35, 138, 140, 147–148, 171,
268, 269 173–175
genres, registers, and words of politeia
language, 115–121 law and life, interface between, 7,
Gentiles and Jews in Corinthian ecclesial 44–51, 303
assembly, 132, 258 challenges to theory of, 47–49
Subject index 347
comparative methodology and legal μισθός. See reward or payment language

language in 1 Corinthians, 110–113 τὸ μυστήριον τοῦ θεοῦ (in 1 Cor 2:1),
conditions for building on, 49–51 189–196
connectivist view of, 46–47
construction in law of contract and legal oath or promise guaranteeing privileges, in 1
disputes, 236 Cor 1:4–9, 186–187
cultic, administrative, and legal aspects oikonomia, 35
ofPauline politics, 40–41 oral-aural aspects of letter carrying and
politeia as, 45, 79–81 reading in antiquity, 124–126
prescriptive versus descriptive ὅς, 138, 147, 187
understanding of law, 48 οὐκ οἴδατε ὅτι, 101–103
textual interpretation compared to legal
argument, 13–14 Panayia Field road, Corinth, 79–81
Lebadeia inscription. See IG VII 3073, in ταῦτα, referent of (in 1 Cor 4:6), 290
index of sources parablepsis, 192, 195, 196
Lechaion Road Basilica, Corinth, 75 pastoral strategy and politics, 306–307
letters, ancient practices in carrying and patristic understandings of Paul and politics,
reading, 124–126 15–18, 33
literary unity of 1 Corinthians, 124 patronage system
Lycia, Caesarean treaty of Rome with, 56 ministerial allegiances in Corinth and, 262
public construction and, 236–239
Malaca and lex Flavia municipalis (lex thanksgiving for civic privilege and,
Malacitana), 55–56, 60, 62, 69, 71 150–152, 165, 175–186
τὸ μαρτύριον τοῦ Χριστοῦ Paul and politics, 7, 13–43, 303
(in 1 Cor 1:6), 138, 140, 145–146, 179, administrative, legal, and cultic aspects
183, 188 of, 40–41
(textual variant in 1 Cor 2:1), 189–196 alternative civic ideology, concept of,
martyriai (testimonials) 36–38
Graeco-Roman practice of, 151–152 applying Paul to contemporary politics,
for Iunia Theodora in Corinth, 162–163, 28–30
179, 275 comparative politics as pattern of inquiry
τὸ μὴ ὑπὲρ ἃ γέγραπται (in 1 Cor 4:6), 289, for, 33–39
294–299 constituted-covenanted community,
metaphor and culture, 126–129, 198 concept of, 2, 84–85, 107
metaphor, construction as. See construction Corinthian constitution and, 41–42
metaphor empire-critical approaches to, 19, 22, 24,
metaphor theory, cognitive-linguistic, 28, 31
127–129, 209 feminist approaches to, 20, 24–26, 30, 31
μετεσχημάτισα (in 1 Cor 4:6), 289, history-of-religion approaches to, 19
290–294 interpretive aims of studies of, 28–33
mezuzot, 90, 100 Jewishness of Paul, importance of
ministerial language of construction considering, 33, 39
metaphor (in 1 Cor 3:5–4:5), 210 Judaism/Hellenism divide in Pauline
architect’s work compared to ministry (in scholarship, 4, 84, 108, 199, 205,
3:10–15), 253–255 254, 295
authority, Paul’s construction and letters as political discourse, 22, 42,
assertion of, 260–271 84, 106
historical scholarship on, 201–202, 209 methodological approaches to, 19–28
misguided evaluation of ministry (in pastoral strategy and, 306–307
3:5–9), 253 patristic understandings of, 15–18, 33
Paul’s authority to defined approvable philosophical approaches to, 19,
ministry, 259, 264 20–22, 28
socioeconomics of ecclesial assembly in politeia, within discourse of, 34–36
Corinth and, 259 portrait of Paul, 131–132
348 Subject index
Paul and politics (cont.) portraiture and exegesis, coupling of, 107
resisting Paul’s politics, 30–31 Potamon of Mytilene, Augustan inscription
rhetorical approach to, 36, 38 honoring, 143, 148, 152–156, 167,
as skilled craftsman, 213 173, 188
social-historical approaches to, 20, power and politeia, relationship between,
26–28, 31 170–175
textual interpretation compared to legal Prisca, 87, 100, 264
argument, 13–14 Priscilla, 86, 88
understanding Paul’s politics, 31 promise or oath guaranteeing privileges, in 1
Pauline community at Corinth. See ecclesial Cor 1:4–9, 186–187
assembly at Corinth Puteoli, 49
Paul’s communicative relationship with
Corinthians. See communicative rela- Qumran community
tionship of Paul with Corinthians alternative civic ideology, concept of,
philological focus of NT comparative 36–38
methodology, 108 Jeremiah 1:10 and, 246, 247
philosophical approaches to Paul and
politics, 19, 20–22, 28 reconstruction rhetoric (in 1 Cor 4:6),
φθείρει/φθερεῖ wordplay (in 1 Cor 3:17), 289–301
199, 255, 266 double ἵνα clauses, 289, 294, 299–300
πιστός ὁ θεός, 138, 147, 171 history of scholarship on, 289, 294–297
politeia, 304–305 τὸ μὴ ὑπὲρ ἃ γέγραπται, 289, 294–299
communicative purpose of language of, μετεσχημάτισα, meaning and function of,
114–115 289, 290–294
comparing words, registers, and genres referent of ταῦτα, 290
of, 115–121 registers, words, and genres of politeia
constitution and covenant, interface language, 115–121
between politeiai of, 3–6, 249 Religionsgeschichtliche Schule, 27, 108
Corinth constitution and, 79–81 reward or payment language (μισθός), in
defined, 5 construction
as first-century discourse, 34, 38, 106 in Graeco-Roman building contracts, 215
Jewish, 165–170, 171 historical scholarship on 1 Corinthians
language of, as interface between and, 204, 207
constitution and covenant, 111–113 in Lebadeia contract, 222–224
law and life, as interface between, 45, rhetorical approach to Paul and politics,
79–81 36–38
metaphor and culture, 126–129, 198 rostra podium, forum, Corinth, 79
modern scholarship on, 34–36
pastoral strategy and politics, 306–307 Salpensa and lex Flavia municipalis, 55–56,
power and, 170–175 60
Roman power, defined in relationship shabbat interactions of Paul with Corinthian
to, 150 synagogue, 100
thanksgiving passage of 1 Cor 4:1–9, as Shema, 91, 100
politeia discourse, 137–138 social pattern and context
political discourse, Paul’s letters as, 22, 42, Corinthian ecclesial assembly, socio-
84, 106 economic diversity of, 132–133,
political theology 258–260, 262–263
defined, 5 in NT comparative methodology,
history-of-religion approach compared, 108–110
19 overlapping nature of, in early Christian
socio-economic diversity of Corinthian life, 104, 133
ecclesial assembly and, 132–133 Paul and politics, social-historical
theological or ecclesial politics versus, 38 approaches to, 20, 26–28, 31
Pompei, 49 Sosthenes, 86, 87
Subject index 349
South Basilica, Corinth, 75 civic gratitude, expressions of, 149–150

Southeast Building, Corinth, 79 construction metaphor (in 1 Cor 3:5–4:5)
Spanish civic charters, 53–56, 303. See also and, 199, 206–209, 212, 253, 259, 274,
lex entries in index of sources 275, 284, 305
display and function of, 61–65 Corinth and, 156–165
forma coloniae or map of colonial Graeco-Roman system of benefaction
territory and, 63–64 and, 138, 148–165
lex colonia Genetivae Iuliae of Urs, 53–55 history of scholarship on, 139–145
lex Flavia municipalis, 55–56, 68–71 Jewish community and, 149,
physical features of, 56–61 165–170, 171
on public construction contracts, 224–231 καθώς clause, 142, 152, 181–183
relevance to Corinthian constitution, κοινωνία, 35, 138, 140, 147–148, 171,
45, 107 173–175
structure and content, 65–72 μαρτύριον and textual variant in 1 Cor
validity of application to Corinth 2:1, 189–196
Constitution, 72–74 τὸ μαρτύριον τοῦ Χριστοῦ, 138, 140,
Spartiaticus (C. Julius), inscription 145–146, 179, 183, 188
honoring, 154, 159–161, 170 mediation of communal privileges by
Spirit, divine, in 1 Corinthians, 17, 84, 146, patron, 175–186
179, 182–183, 185, 188, 247, 259, 272, nature of mediated privileges, 185–186
275, 276 OGIS 456 (Augustan inscription honoring
Stephanas, 270 Potamon of Mytilene) compared, 143,
synagogue inscription in Corinth, 91–99 148, 152–156
ὅς, 138, 147, 187
tablets of colonial constitutions. See Spanish patronage system and civic privilege,
civic charters 150–152, 165, 175–186
tefillin (phylacteries), 90, 100 physical monuments and memorials, 152
Temple E architectural complex, Corinth πιστός ὁ θεός, 138, 147, 171
as Capitolium, 78 politeia defined in relationship to Roman
connection to Julian Basilica, 77 power, 150
display of constitution at, 77–79, 82 as politeia discourse, 137–138
summary of structure, 77 power and politeia, relationship between,
temple, Jewish 170–175
attempted reconstruction of Jerusalem promise or oath guaranteeing privileges,
temple as Theotokos temple, 293 186–187
construction metaphor (in 1 Cor 3:5–4:5) public attribution, 151
and Jewish temple-building, 206–207 testimonials (martyriai), Graeco-Roman
temples, Graeco-Roman, construction of, practice of, 151–152
206–207, 216–224 Timothy, 124, 129
Terracina, sculptural relief from, 232–233 Titius Justus, 86, 87, 268
testimonials (martyriai)
Graeco-Roman practice of, 151–152 Urso, 1, 42, 54, 73, 82. See also lex
for Iunia Theodora in Corinth, 162–163, Ursonensis, in index of ancient sources
179, 275
thanksgiving (in 1 Cor 1:4–9), 8, 137–196, Vetus (L. Antistius), 13
304–305
βεβαιόω wordplay in, 116, 120, 138, 140, words, registers, and genres of politeia
144–146, 148, 172, 176–179, 184 language, 115–121
MO DERN AU TH OR IN DEX
Adams, E., 104 Gerhardt, M. J., 13

Agamben, Giorgio, 21–22, 29 Gillihan, Y. Y., 36–38
Aitken, J. K., 114 González, J., 71
Aldrete, G. S., 283 Goodrich, J., 5
Ando, Clifford, 52, 73 Goodspeed, E. J., 268
Ascough, R. S., 25 Gros, Pierre, 197
Badiou, Alain, 21, 29 Haenchen, E., 87

Barclay, J. M. G., 3, 29, 103, 166, 302 Hainz, J., 175
Baur, F. C., 199, 202 Hanges, J. C., 296
Beale, G. K., 205 Heinrici, C. F. G., 296
Bees, N. A., 95 Horsley, Richard, 22–23
Blumenfeld, B., 35–36, 38 Hübner, E., 57, 60
Botha, P. J., 125
Burford, A., 216–217, 219 Iverson, Paul, 239–241
Cameron, R., 110 Jewett, R., 25

Ciampa, R. E., 210 Jindo, J. K., 247–249
Clarke, A. D., 5, 40, 41 Johnson, M., 126
Colwell, E. C., 192 Johnson-DeBaufre, Melanie, 25–26
Crawford, M., 61, 224 Jones, M. W., 232
Crook, J. A., 46–51, 106, 303 Jongkind, D., 193, 195
Judge, E. A., 31, 34–35, 36, 38, 104, 133
Deissmann, Adolf, 94, 112, 116–119, 176,
204, 212 Kent, J. H., 96
Derrett, J. D. M., 40 Kießling, Emil, 57
Dickerman, S. O, 97 Kittel, Gerhard, 112
Donfried, K. P., 25 Kloha, J., 190, 194–196
du Plessis, P., 235 Koester, Helmut, 25
Kornemann, E., 52
Eger, Otto, 204–205, 212, 213, 216, Kövecses, Zoltán, 127–129, 209, 248,
217, 220 249, 252
Elliott, Neil, 22, 23, 29 Kuck, D. W., 205–208, 209, 254, 273,
274, 286
Fee, G. D., 144 Kurzon, D., 112
Fiore, B., 291
Fitzgerald, J. T., 295 Lakoff, G., 126
Fredriksen, P., 29 Lanci, J. R., 41, 205, 224
Lessing, Johann Gottfried, 48
Gaertringen, Baron Hiller von, 94 Leutzsch, M., 151
Georgi, Dieter, 22 Levine, L. I., 91
350
Modern author index 351
Lincicum, D., 89–91, 100 Schubert, Paul, 141–144, 148, 149, 152,
Lindemann, A., 145 153–156, 162, 170, 188
Lopez, Davina, 22–23 Schüssler Fiorenza, Elizabeth, 24–25
Lüdemann, G., 87 Scotton, Paul, 77
Shanor, J., 213, 216–217, 220, 224
MacDonald, M. Y., 30 Smith, J. Z., 108, 122
MacRae, G. W., 145 Spawforth, Antony, 130
Mallon, Jean, 57–61 Stansbury, H., 158
Martin, D. B., 29 Strathmann, H., 180
Meeks, Wayne, 26 Sturgeon, M. C., 97
Meritt, Benjamin, 95, 96 Stylow, A. U., 58–61, 227
Meyer, E. A., 51 Susini, Giancarlo, 74, 152
Miller, M. P., 110
Mitchell, A. C., 16, 40, 107, 108 Taubes, Jacob, 20, 24, 305
Mitchell, Margaret, 131, 137, 198, 296 Thistleton, A. C., 190
Momigliano, Arnaldo, 109, 121 Torelli, M., 158
Murphy-O’Connor, Jerome, 95 Troiani, L., 165
Nongbri, B., 193 Urdahl, L. B., 95
O’Brien, P. T., 143, 188 van Unnik, W. C., 143

Olyan, S. M., 246 Vielhauer, P., 246, 250
Oster, R. E., 98 von der Osten-Sacken, P., 143, 171
Papathomas, A., 111, 116, 117 Wallbank, Mary, 77, 78

Powell, Benjamin, 93–95 Wallis, P., 295
Walters, J. C., 5, 41, 42
Reynolds, Joyce, 55 Ward, G., 29
Richardson, P., 88 Weber, Max, 49
Robert, Louis, 278, 280 Weiss, Johannes, 141, 145, 185, 186,
Robinson, J. M., 143, 240 202–204, 211, 250, 254, 256, 265, 273,
Rosner, B. S., 89, 210 276, 282, 284, 286, 292
Roueché, C., 283 Welborn, L. L., 29, 39–40, 262, 296
Rowe, G., 153, 188 West, A. B., 239
Royse, J. R., 196 Wettstein, J., 108
Ruggiero, E. de, 278 Willi, A., 121
Williams, C. K., II, 77
Saller, R. P., 156 Winter, B. W., 5, 40, 41, 42
Sanders, Guy, 75, 77, 143 Woolf, Greg, 73
Schmeller, T., 41
Schmidt, J. E. C., 199, 202 Žižek, Slavoj, 29
Schmitt, Carl, 20 Zuiderhoek, A., 153–154, 188
Schrage, W., 190 Zuntz, G., 190, 193, 196

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PAUL’S POLITICAL STRATEGY IN 1 CORINTHIANS 1–4

Constitution and Covenant

This volume examines 1 Corinthians 1–4 within ﬁrst-century politics,

b r a d l e y j . b i t n e r is Tutor in New Testament and Greek at Oak

Cambridge University Press is part of the University of Cambridge.

List of ﬁgures page ix

2 Law and life 44

3 The Corinthian constitution 52

4 Traces of covenant in Corinth 84

5 Constituting Corinth, Paul, and the assembly 106

7 1 Corinthians 3:5–4:5 and the politics of construction 197

Conclusion: comparison of constitutions 302

1 Map with Corinth, Carthage, and Urso page 54

This is a revision of my PhD thesis, accepted by Macquarie University in

Additionally, the Society for the Study of Early Christianity contributed

Abbreviations of ancient literary sources conform to conventions in The

CBQ Catholic Biblical Quarterly

REA Revue des études anciennes

aligns the Corinthian assembly with the Israelite covenant community.18

Argument and Aims

“correlation between the harmony of the Corinthians’ social context and

theologies30 or politeiai,31 move us closer to understanding the exigence,

beyond previous studies.34 This study applies the contours of a well-known

metaphor adequate for our exegesis of Paul’s building metaphor in

Scope and Structure

Paul’s conception of his new covenant ministry left on the Corinthian

unfolding political theology. Once again, a selective history of scholar-

Constitution and covenant in Corinth

In constitutional adjudication arguments may be based not only

1.1 Noster Paulus: ancient perspectives on the political Paul

1.1.1 Jerome’s Paul: Iurisconsultus Dei

1.1.2 Chrysostom’s Paul: Philosopher of Politeia

godliness, and a crowned victor over the world, and a philosopher

1.1.3 1 Clement: The Pauline Assembly as Divinely

1.1.4 Summary: Paul and Politeia according to Ancient Testimony

1.2 Recent scholarship and the politics of Pauline

recent interpreters adequately represent, and in fact epitomize, important

1.2.1 Four Methodological Approaches

in broadly (counter-)imperial terms. These scholars engage a wide range

1.2.1.1 Paul and the Philosophers

philosophers to the political dimensions of the apostle Paul’s writings.29

Christian lexicon. . . . The implications for the history of Western

1.2.1.2 Paul and the Critics of Empire

The emergence of these readings of Pauline texts in the context of Roman

1.2.1.3 Paul and the Feminists

also for raising ethical-political and religious-theological ques-

additional question of interpretive stance and which set of evidence the

1.2.1.4 Paul and the Social Historians

Many scholars have followed this “outside-in” tactic to interpreting

1.2.1.5 Summary of Four Methodological Approaches

1.2.2 Three Interpretive Aims

1.2.2.1 Applying Paul

In the interest of destabilizing contemporary political discourse,

What Barclay’s criticism points to in Elliott’s work is true of many (but

1.2.2.2 Resisting Paul

variety of evidence in constructing a constitutionally comparative read-

1.2.2.3 Understanding Paul

1.2.3 Summary: Political Precedents for Paul

streams of precedent agree on what is meant by “the political” in Paul,

interpretation. Beyond a generally sociohistorical approach aimed at

1.3 Paul and politeia: the pattern of inquiry

political conversations that may be best described as sitting within the

1.3.1 E. A. Judge and Politeia