Jane Sancinito

Jane_Sancinito@uml.edu

The fragmentation of early criticism of Christianity poses a challenge to both theological and historical analyses of the early Christian movement and its place in ancient society. Later, selective quotation of Celsus and Porphyry does not allow for a true reconstruction of the works, and, even if it did, the elevated critiques of philosophers cannot necessarily be considered representative of the objections that would have been raised by the general public.[1] Instead, scholars are forced to infer and reverse-engineer the lines of argument utilised by both critical authors and the non-Christian population at-large from the apologetic works we have preserved. There seem to have been a range of religious, social, and economic objections, but they come from a later period. They reflect the concerns of their present, often a century or more after the recording, let alone the events, of the New Testament.

Of course, the apologetic tradition within the Jesus movement was established long before the books of the New Testament were fully canonised. Evidence of apology, as a genre, is present in the letters of Paul and much of the preaching of the apostles must have adopted at least a partially apologetic tone.[2] Nevertheless, what we might term the apologia of this period addresses different issues than those raised by their late 2nd and 3rd century counterparts, and the discrepancies can reveal much about the worlds in which these various preachers and writers lived and worked.

At times, we can even see differing apologetic approaches to a shared accusation. Celsus, as preserved in Origen, Porphyry, as preserved in Jerome, and Tertullian’s unnamed adversaries all accuse Christianity of welcoming some agglomeration of criminals and illiterates, as well as merchants, artisans, and varied charlatans-for-hire. Celsus names woolworkers, cobblers, and launderers, among others (Origen, Against Celsus. 1.63, 3.50–55); Porphyry says Christian leaders were profit-hungry magicians who fleeced their believers like tax collectors (Jerome, Tractate on Psalms 81; Commentary on Isaiah 3:2); while Tertullian rejects the idea that Christians were pimps, prostitutes, and astrologers (Tertullian, Apology 43). Tertullian’s denial is echoed by Origen and later apologists, who wished to depict Christianity as a religion that welcomed all and enjoyed the patronage of the wealthy and powerful.[3] Any implication that Christians were mostly working class challenged this and needed to be, in the 3rd century at least, explicitly refuted.

Yet earlier apologetic traditions were less interested in denial. The New Testament often treats commerce as morally neutral and makes little effort to deny the presence of merchants and artisans among the early Christ worshippers. Though they are often ancillary to the main narrative, working people are present. When defence is necessary, as it occasionally seems to be in Paul’s letters, undertaking commerce is described as labour that will ensure the Christian mission’s success. Further, Acts of the Apostles depicts many merchants who were vital supporters of the movement, using their homes and personal resources to foster communities founded by the apostles.

This openness to mercantile labour is not found among the later apologists and raises questions about whether mores had undergone a fundamental change between the 1st and 3rd centuries, or whether the New Testament’s attitude was later abandoned. In the following, I argue that the latter was the case through an examination of the merchants and artisans depicted in Acts of the Apostles. I combine exegetical work on that text with current research by ancient historians of the social and economic lives of working people and the critical lens of intersectionality to understand both how critics of the Jesus movement intended their attacks to be received and how Christ-worshippers, both merchants and not, understood their position within and beyond the movement.

I begin by demonstrating that the accusation, that Christians were commercial and artisanal workers, was an effective strategy adopted by the critics of Christianity, whether or not it reflected reality. Their claim played upon cultural biases that pervaded the Mediterranean world. I will argue that critics intended to slander Christianity in an intersectional way—calling upon religious and professional prejudices simultaneously to make their attacks more powerful.[4] Next, I will show that this bias was as present in the time of the composition of the New Testament as it was in the 2nd and 3rd centuries, and argue that, while Paul never denied his own artisanal labour, he was aware that it required some explanation. Unlike later apologists, Paul sought to justify, rather than to disown, his work, and his approach implies that he was writing during a period when the Jesus movement was open to artisans and merchants. I will argue that Acts of the Apostles goes even further, showing commercial labourers as invaluable members of the community and rejecting the idea that Christ-worshippers should be ashamed of their faith or their professions. The handful of “bad” merchants within the text demonstrate that the author of Acts believed some work could be problematic, but only when combined with improper faith.[5] I conclude that the early Jesus movement failed to shift social mores around commerce and craft, to the extent that the best defence of later apologists was simply to deny the presence of such workers within the Christian ranks. Acts may have tried to develop a community that welcomed, depended upon, and was even led by traders and artisans, but the stigma against commerce and banausic labour was ultimately too ingrained in Mediterranean society to be overcome by a movement that faced its own challenges.

Merchant Stigma

Origen’s Against Celsus offers a response to—and the only extant fragments of—The True Word of Celsus, a 2nd century critique of Christianity. Origen’s 3rd century rebuttal suggests that the text had three main lines of attack: a demonstration of Christianity’s inconsistent theological and philosophical claims, an assertion that Christianity threatened the Roman Empire, and an accusation that Christians were intensely gullible, uneducated and disreputable.[6] In support of the latter point, Celsus seems to have listed specific professions he felt were particularly emblematic of the kind of people who became Christians.

By itself, Celsus’s list would be interesting, as his choices align closely with stereotypes that were common throughout the ancient world, but Porphyry, writing a century later, makes a similar accusation, attributing Paul’s actions to personal greed, and Tertullian generated a second list of professions that he denied while defending Christianity. All told, critics accused Christians of working as everything from tanners and tax-collectors (Origen, Against Celsus 3.55, 1.62; Jerome, Commentary on Isaiah. 3: 2) to pimps and sorcerers (Tertullian, Apology 43; Jerome, Tractate on Psalms 81) and they highlight the hypocrisy of Christians distrusting artisans who produce idols, but nevertheless continuing to associate with other disreputable characters (Origen, Against Celsus. 1.5).

These authors selected these professions intentionally, and the implications would have been clear to contemporary readers. The professions listed all “enjoyed” particularly bad reputations among Greeks and Romans on account of specific aspects of, or associations with, their work. Tanning and fulling were known as professions that involved offensive smells and dirt, while tax-collectors were universally viewed as greedy and dishonest, characteristics that they shared with sex workers and those who practiced magic of various kinds.[7] These professions were considered lowly, many were thought “unclean,” either literally or morally, and both Porphyry and Celsus evidently stated that Christians were fools to be led by people who so clearly “sold” their falsehoods, their religion, to the masses in the marketplace.[8]

Critics used these professions as shorthand. Even if they were not informed about Christianity, readers could be expected to be familiar with these professions and to share beliefs about the kind of people who did this work. Celsus, Porphyry, and Tertullian’s adversaries believed that the general public shared their attitudes and would distrust a faith that welcomed such people into their community. In modern terms, these authors hoped to leverage prejudice in an intersectional way, using professional stereotypes, along with other factors like gender and legal status, to intensify and supplement their slander of Christianity.[9] Pre-existing attitudes toward each of the marginalised populations built toward a cumulative prejudice that was greater than the sum of its parts.

The reaction of Christian apologists in the 3rd century suggests that this strategy was well calculated to make rebuttal challenging. Most, when faced with the critique that the Christian ranks were full of such people, could do little more than deny it, and none try to defend the poor woolworkers (Origen, Against Celsus. 3.55) or sailors (Origen, Against Celsus 1.62), from the accusations of dirt, dishonesty, and greed laid at their door.

The apologists evidently believed that denial was their best line of defence. Origen says that while Celsus believed that Christians were taught by fullers and leather-cutters, they were actually instructed by good people (Origen, Against Celsus 3.58). Similarly, Tertullian says that one of the best things about Christianity is that it offers no help to the professional poisoners, soothsayers, and sex workers that non-Christians believed Christians to be (Tertullian, Apology 43). Both writers were striving to defend the reputation of Christianity—a reasonably challenging task in the 3rd century. They had no interest in rehabilitating the reputation of merchants and crafters, nor the ability to do so. In its own way, persuading others of the value of these workers was a much greater challenge, as not even merchants were especially skilled at convincing others of their honesty and goodness.[10] Furthermore, the bias against artisans and retailers was far older and more established than that against Christians. Traces of anti-commercial prejudice appear as early as Homer (Homer, Odyssey 8.158–164) and the Greek tradition included the belief that artisanal and service labour was not only dirty and physically taxing, but also intersectionally problematic in itself, since working for others was a form of voluntary slavery the violated the “natural” divide between free people and the enslaved (Aristotle, Politics 1.14 (1260a/b)). Critics were calling upon this ancient prejudice to inform and reinforce their attacks on Christianity, and it was significantly easier for apologists to distance Christians from this bias than it was to change this near-universal attitude.[11]

The Roman period had extended and refined the bias against these professions. Cicero claimed that the character of workers was flawed in a variety of ways and that their influence in society was a threat to Roman values (Cicero, On Duties 1.150ff). He feared that the luxuries sold by merchants might lead to the enervation of the Roman people and a decline in the political and military power of the state. This concern was reflected, not only in satirical and comedic contexts (e.g., Juvenal, Satires III), but also in legal and political thought, where it was believed that commercial greed would proceed unchecked if it was not forcibly stopped (e.g., Ulpian, Digest 4.9.1.1).[12] Uniformly, these writers insist that merchants and artisans are naturally bad, that they enjoy cheating others (e.g., Ovid, Fasti 5.680–690), and that they deserve their reputations.

While gentile Greek and Roman authors account for most of the available sources on these workers, there is also evidence that Jewish thinkers shared similar attitudes. They express the same kinds of distrust and dislike, and often make explicit comparisons with agricultural work, which was understood as productive and transformative labour, and was therefore exempted from the moral judgments that followed trade.[13]

The sacred texts of Judaism show early evidence for these attitudes. Hosea 12:7 provides an early metaphor based on the idea that merchants lie and cheat. The dishonest measures used in the text symbolise the untrustworthiness of the workers, and the whole passage operates on the assumption that this kind of behaviour was familiar and commonplace. By contrast, Proverbs 12:11 praises and promises abundance to those who work the land and engage in labour that is not, as trade apparently was, considered “worthless.”[14]

Rabbinical authors built on this foundation and extrapolated that deception and greed were endemic to commerce, while agriculture was honourable. Some acknowledged that mercantile work could be profitable, and advised limited participation in trade, yet most emphasised that farming was righteous, good, and a necessary element of an honest man’s life (Yevamot 63a).[15] Some commercial work was seen as less disreputable than others, depending on the amount of work the profession required (Bava Metzi’a 68b) or how likely the profession was to encourage dishonesty (Bava Metzi’a 76a), yet Rabbi Eleazar hoped that commerce would eventually be abandoned, perhaps in a coming golden age, in favour of agriculture for all (Bava Metzi’a 59a).

These attitudes were developed to such an extent that greed became synonymous with trade and the absence of land was considered to be shameful. Ecclesiastes Rabbah states: “whosoever is greedy and covetous for money, but has no land, what benefit does he gain?” (Ecclesiastes Rabbah 5.8).[16] The landless person of the text must be read as a commercial worker or an artisan of some kind, yet the text does not need to make this point explicit: his greed is enough, in this context, to identify him as a trader, not a farmer.

Jubilees shows that this attitude persisted and was easily adapted to fit a variety of circumstances. Thus, when the narrative required that the sons of Noah appear degenerate and evil, the author lists their crimes against God and men. Just before addressing their idolatry, the author mentions that they began to sell male and female slaves (Jubilees 11.6). Such sales were a natural consequence of warfare in antiquity, but here it is specified in order to emphasise the level of depravity that they have reached.[17] Not only would they attack their fellow humans, and not only would they enslave those they conquered, but they even sought profits by selling those they had captured.

The “greedy merchant” was a powerful stereotype and literary trope across ancient sources and early Christian writings show full awareness of the stigma that was attached to this work. While these writings were, as we will discuss, often more neutral than Graeco-Roman or Jewish texts, they still periodically show commercial workers behaving immorally or having immorality attributed to them.

The description of the character of Matthew in the gospels provides a good example. The text mentions his profession of tax-collector, mostly in neutral terms, but then immediately relates the reaction of the Pharisees, who express confusion that Jesus associates with “tax-collectors and sinners,” a pairing that implies equivalence between the two (Matthew 9:9–13).[18] Jesus’s response contains an implicit agreement, in that he notes that both needed to be brought into the faith and, presumably, away from their sin. The same logic appears in the Cleansing of the Temple narratives (Matthew 21:12–17; Mark 11:15–19; Luke 19:45–48; John 2:13–16), which depict moneychangers and animal vendors behaving in what Jesus considers to be irreligious ways. Jesus compares the traders to thieves in three of the four gospels, while attacking them with a whip in the fourth (John 2:15). It is apparent that these merchants required correction in a direct and unambiguous fashion because their pursuit of gain had, in the gospel writers’ view, overcome their reverence for God.

Despite these examples, the evidence of the New Testament suggests that retailers and craftspeople were, perhaps after some correction, welcome within the Jesus movement. Most figures are not identified by their work, but, when professions are mentioned, they typically distinguish one follower from another or explain their appearance in the narrative. Thus, Peter and Andrew’s work as fishermen explains their encounter with Jesus (Matt 4:19; Mark 1:17), while Simon the Tanner’s professional epithet makes his meeting with Simon Peter less confusing (Acts 9:43).[19] Joseph, too, receives a brief professional description—he is identified as tektōn, artisan (Matt 13:53–55)—but the label is used to explain the community’s disbelief that Jesus could discuss matters of faith in the synagogue.[20] Though the underlying assumption, that artisans and their families must be ignorant of theology, aligns with Celsus’s accusation that Christians were uneducated (Origen, Against Celsus 4.26), the passage is less about the failings (or lack thereof) of Joseph, and more about the unique capabilities of Jesus.

Accordingly, the early followers of Jesus seem to have believed it was possible for merchants and artisans to be untrustworthy or ignorant but did not feel compelled to exclude such people from the movement. In so far as they offered an apology for their inclusivity, they expressed the idea that the community would be beneficial to these people, leading them away from sin and perhaps toward better work on behalf of God. This was not an active defence of working people as much as it was yet another example of the ways that humans sinned and might be forgiven. The texts are not overtly pejorative, as many Graeco-Roman sources were, yet most also avoid praise, making them akin to the rabbinical sources that acknowledge the financial benefits, even the practical necessity, of some commerce, while still preferring agriculture.[21]

 Nevertheless, within the New Testament there is evidence to suggest that attitudes toward working people warmed over time, especially in the second evangelical wave. By the time the likely deutero-Pauline Colossians was written, Luke’s possible profession as a doctor is presented without comment and there is no evidence that he ceased to practice medicine when he joined the faith (Colossians 4:14). Overall, much of the shift in tone may be attributed to Paul, whose own profession, which is at least recorded in Acts of the Apostles, if not in his own writings, as skēnopoios, tentmaker or perhaps leatherworker, seems to have been important to his mission.[22]

Paul’s attitude toward work has been a matter of some debate. Ronald Hock has made the case that Paul was embarrassed by his and others’ labour, perhaps because of his aristocratic origins, while Todd Still has argued that, at most, Paul was ambivalent toward his profession and that it was unlikely that he looked down on working people.[23] While this debate has taken into account the pervasive stereotypes against banausic labour, it has remained unresolved because these works have not drawn sufficient attention to two critical factors: first, ancient workers’ attitudes toward their work, and second, the implications of the semi-apologetic context of Paul’s writing.

In the former case, recent historical research has greatly advanced our understanding. The last two decades have resulted in numerous publications focused on retail and artisanal workers, focusing on their social and economic contexts and, often, attempting to separate their experiences and feelings from the morass of elite disdain.[24] Studies on merchant associations have shown how merchants policed one another, while analyses of social mores have shown that merchants understood and even shared the negative stereotypes that circulated about their own and other professions.[25] Within non-elite contexts, stereotypes circulated freely in the form of graffiti, jokes, fables, and gossip, and workers were active participants in spreading attacks against their social and economic peers.[26] Rather than attempt to shift public opinion, commercial, service, and artisanal workers tried to set themselves apart from their peers, establishing themselves as exceptions to the rule.[27] The “ambivalence” Still noted in Paul’s writing is, consequently, less a reflection of his personal status, elite or otherwise, and more representative of how ancient artisans dealt with the cognitive dissonance of taking pride in their own work, while still believing work to be disreputable.

Beyond this, however, Paul’s letters, especially, were also apologetics, designed to address specific issues that had arisen from his ministry and within communities that he had founded and then left behind.[28] That work is mentioned at all in his letters suggests that he faced, in his own 1st century moment, criticism for his labour, and it is likely that that criticism manifested itself in multiple ways: that he was engaging in manual labour, which was demeaning and unbefitting a leader, that he was distracted from his mission by that labour, dedicating precious time to manufacturing that might be better spent preaching, and/or that he was not working enough, taking advantage of his hosts’ generosity and personally profiting from his mission.[29]

Paul’s letters respond to these conflicting criticisms by stressing the kind of apostle he could have been: one who expected the community to meet all his needs (1 Corinthians 9:12–14). He stresses his self-sufficiency (1 Corinthians 9:15) and his continued efforts to avoid being a burden (2 Corinthians 11:9; 1 Thessalonians 2:9), while also noting that the mission remained his central priority (1 Thessalonians 2:8). He also is explicit that greed has not motivated him, despite, presumably, what some have claimed (1 Thessalonians 2:5). His words betray anxiety and a reveal a defensive posture suitable to apologetic writing, but are not, as Hock has argued, necessarily evidence for personal embarrassment.[30] Rather, as Still has pointed out, Paul was struggling to balance the social tensions within the communities he visited and he needed to thread the needle between the stereotypes that circulated about work and the position both he and other workers in the community needed to hold.[31] He claims that he “enslaved himself” to the community and the mission, not to assert, as Aristotle had, that manual labour was akin to slavery, but to stress his obedience to the cause: his tentmaking had not become a goal unto itself, but remained a tool by which he could support himself, advance his mission, and avoid burdening his generous hosts.

Lurking below the surface of these letters are the objections of the community, and Paul had to address their concerns because letter writing requires consideration of audience. His tone is apologetic because he must convince, if not his harshest critics, at least those whose faith had wavered. Still, even if he does not offer a full-throated defence of commerce, Paul’s insistence that work was necessary and even righteous was an important departure from earlier Christian, Jewish, and Graeco-Roman attitudes. Ambivalent as he might have been, he never denied his labour nor deviated from the assertion that artisanal work could be useful to the cause.

Merchants in Acts of the Apostles

While Paul might have elaborated still further, had he not been writing letters to this particular audience, his comments nevertheless reveal that the early Christian attitude toward work was not monolithic, and that at least some within the movement sought to make space for commercial and artisanal labourers. Acts of the Apostles presents an even fuller defence of these workers, as it contends that their position in society made them, perhaps uniquely, qualified to support the Jesus movement without being or becoming unhealthily attached to the material security of this world. This attitude runs directly contrary to contemporary beliefs in the inherent greed of people in trade and contradicts the common assumption that retailers and artisans were less moral than their agricultural counterparts. While Acts identifies a handful of merchants and craftsmen who are not prepared to be or become worshippers of Christ, it never singles out their work as the reason for their exclusion from the movement. Rather than leaning into contemporary stereotypes, the author of Acts shows working people not only going innocently about their business, but also supporting the early Jesus movement and hosting its representatives.

Acts is full of workers, and it handles their characters with an untypical level of respect, even depicting them in positions of leadership within the Church. The majority of these figures are freeborn or freed people, but Acts even occasionally mentions enslaved workers who seem to have, albeit in limited ways, contributed to the Jesus movement.[32] Rhoda, the maid servant, who is probably enslaved, serves as one example, as she is shown not only answering the door for Mary, the mother of John-Mark, but also recognising the voice of Peter, presumably from listening to his preaching and his presence in her life more generally (Acts 12:12–15).[33] Rhoda’s actions are a minor point, compared to the detail that Acts dedicates to other working people, but her presence is evidence that figures from a range of legal statuses were regularly engaging with the apostles and catering to their varied needs.

The urban setting of much of Acts, while insufficient to explain the positive disposition of the author, accounts for the appearance of many of these working people. Within Acts, the apostles preached in densely populated areas, and they would have been in regular contact with labourers of all kinds. The description of their lodgings suggests that they often occupied spaces that were adjacent to workshops and businesses, and neighbourly attitudes and experiences should, to some degree, be an understandable consequence of such proximity.[34] Even when the text is not explicit about professions, the apostles consistently encounter people who are defined by their work. When Peter arrives to resurrect Tabitha-Dorcas, he is shown the clothing she had made for the poor (Acts 9:36–39). She may not have been a professional seamstress, but her labour was still important to her character, as she toiled in service of the community.

The evidence of Acts suggests that the social world of the apostles was comprised of many similarly skilled figures, and that it was normal, when they were not renting their own lodgings, for the apostles to stay with these friends and acquaintances. Thus, Simon the Tanner hosts Peter during his stay in Joppa (Acts 9:43). His hospitality is all the more noteworthy because his profession is one that was denigrated in Roman society, as well as singled out by Celsus as shameful (Origen, Against Celsus 3.5).[35] Within Acts, Simon’s narrative is explicitly concerned with questions of cleanliness and acceptance within the Jesus-following community, which makes the question of “shame” highly relevant. Yet, rather than showing Peter as a reluctant guest, who accepted Simon’s hospitality only as a last resort, Acts is clear that Simon is a good host. The house, which likely served as both home and workshop for Simon, provides for all Peter’s needs, including space on the roof to pray (Acts 10:6 and 17).[36]

This rooftop retreat may have been necessary because other parts of the building were too noisy or busy for prayer, but the primary characteristic of tanning was its smell, not its noise. Tanning required both the handling of animal skins, which might smell of decomposition if not quickly and correctly treated, and the use of urine and dung to remove hair and soften the skin.[37] The profession was considered unclean because of these competing odours, and it is apt that Acts highlights a tanner alongside the debate over the conversion of gentiles, who were also considered unclean, albeit in different ways. It is in Simon’s house that Peter is told by a heavenly voice that he must not “reject anything that God has cleansed,” and is introduced to the pious gentile Cornelius, whose suitability for conversion must be determined (Acts 10:15).

Both Simon and Cornelius are ultimately considered clean, primarily on the grounds that they are earnest in their faith and express it via piety and hospitality. Both host Peter during his apostolic journey and are treated as equals in faith. The text never addresses the stereotypes that would have hindered Simon in Roman society, nor does it linger over the long-standing divide between Jews and gentiles, suggesting neither issue was, nor should be, considered important to the apostles.

Simon’s narrative is characterised by his hospitality, virtuous conduct that is only possible because of his profession. Hospitality and generosity are frequently associated with artisanal and retail workers in Acts, and always with the tacit understanding that their work had covered the costs. Lydia, a purple seller in Philippi, provides another strong example, as she hosts Paul and Silas twice, both before and after their imprisonment (Acts 16:14–15, 18:2–4). Lydia’s precise profession has been the subject of some debate, as it is unclear if Acts means to imply that she sold purple fabric or dye.[38] There has been speculation that Lydia may be the wealthiest worker encountered by the apostles, but her role in the narrative is not that of a conveniently wealthy, female convert, but rather as a follower whose actions align with her adherence to the Christ-movement.[39]

In fact, Lydia’s introduction focuses on her piety and hospitality, and avoids the topic of her wealth. She seeks out Paul and uses her invitation to him as a means to prove her faith, saying, “if you have decided that I am faithful to the Lord, come into my house and stay” (Acts 16:15). Paul is convinced, and after his release from prison, Lydia uses her home as a gathering place for the faithful (Acts 16:40). Rather than appearing at work, selling purple, Lydia is shown as a leader in the community. Still, the text does not shy away from the elements of her identity that would have been considered unsavoury in Graeco-Roman society. Her foreignness, legal status, and profession are all clear in her description.[40] Together with her gender, Lydia’s identity would have been among the most marginalised in Roman society. Even if her profession ensured that she had economic security, her work, gender, and origins all would have hindered her social advancement. Her adherence to the Jesus movement undoubtedly would have contributed to her struggle, yet Acts treats these issues as secondary. Within the community, Lydia is presented as a hostess, a believer, and an organiser within a community that, perhaps, shielded her from some of the prejudice that she would have faced elsewhere.

It is hard to imagine that sceptics of Christianity would have been swayed by Acts’ interpretation of Lydia. Like others in Acts, Lydia’s identity seems almost calculated to depict the marginalised and persecuted finding safety within the Christ movement. A similar situation is apparent in the case of Paul’s companions and fellow tentmakers, Priscilla and Aquila.[41] The pair are involuntary migrants, almost refugees, who were driven out of Rome as a result of Claudius’s expulsion of Jews. They were navigating the overlapping challenges of being foreigners, merchants, and members of a minority religion upon their arrival in Corinth (Acts 18:2). Despite the intersection of these identities, they seem to have landed on their feet. The couple go to the synagogue in search of hospitality and community, where they meet Paul, with whom they begin to live and work. They quickly become leaders in the Jesus movement, instructing future evangelists (Acts 18:26) and hosting meetings (Romans 16:3, 1 Corinthians 16:19, 2 Timothy 4:19). The evidence is limited but suggests that their tentmaking work had been successful enough that they eventually repaid the hospitality and support that they had once received.

Throughout Acts and even elsewhere in the New Testament, hospitality is a recurring theme. Merchants and craftspeople, or perhaps, more rightly, Jesus-followers who happened to hold commercial or artisanal jobs, provided housing for the apostles and other evangelists as they traversed the Mediterranean. Hospitality was treated as a virtue, and it is one that appears not only in the New Testament but also in later patristic literature.[42] Hospitality was not only considered a responsibility among Christians; it was also one that merchants stressed, regardless of their faith.[43] Without it, traveling merchants risked homelessness and a litany of dangers ranging from exposure to banditry. It was expected that merchants would offer the support that they would eventually need themselves, and they used hospitality as a way to build and maintain both social and economic ties. Since merchants, preachers, and pilgrims all shared the same needs, withholding hospitality was viewed as a moral failing in numerous ancient religions and as a social faux pas even in secular settings.

The hospitality shown by Jesus-following merchants was a direct consequence of the prosperity their work engendered. Acts does nothing to disguise this causal link and does not shy away from enjoying the proceeds of commercial and artisanal labour, as long as they were spent in a way that advanced the common good. Paul, as we have discussed, was eager to depict his work as supporting the community (e.g., 1 Thessalonians 2:9) and Acts presents the efforts of the community to pool resources and dissolve the distinction of personal property (Acts 4:32). Yet the latter movement seems to have affected landowners more than merchants and artisans (Acts 4:36–37 and 5:1–10), whose work was, seemingly, more suited to serving communal needs than farming.

This does not mean that all merchants, even within Acts, were perfect. Several face challenges that prevent them from joining the Jesus movement or which lead them to misunderstand it. What is interesting is that Acts rarely falls back on the trope of presenting these figures as simply greedy or immoral. Rather, their stories reflect real-world complexities, including the intersectional struggle that many merchants must have faced living and working in the Roman world.

The enslaved (and unnamed) prophet of Philippi offers a particularly strong example of this, as her narrative (Acts 16:16–19) both follows and communicates in interesting ways with the narrative of Lydia. The woman is barely described in the text, but we are told that she was possessed by a spirit and that her prophetic abilities were valuable to her enslavers. She pursues Paul and Silas, eagerly professing that they were true servants of God, but eventually annoys the former to such an extent that he casts out the spirit within her. Though the details of the woman’s profession (i.e., how she came to be possessed or how her enslavers learned of her prophetic skill) are opaque, her interaction with Paul is comparable to that of Lydia. Both approach Paul with something like a profession of faith, but, while Paul recognises Lydia as earnest and trustworthy, he rejects the prophet, finding her pronouncements, even if they are true, to be “insincere.” Yet the woman’s situation is by no means straightforward. Her gender, legal status, and employment put her firmly on the margins of Graeco-Roman society, and the distinct lack of welcome offered by Paul and Silas is interesting. They seem to have had no sympathy or interest in the competing pressures that must have motivated her actions: her need to please her employers, to draw future customers, and her own social alienation. The text centres the forcefulness and power of the evangelists and leaves the prophet’s life and livelihood fundamentally changed. Unlike Lydia, she is not offered a position, even a lowly one, in the Jesus movement, even though she recognised the legitimacy of the mission.

The woman’s specific profession is, of course, one factor that may have contributed to her exclusion. Unlike Lydia’s neutral sale of purple, the sale of prophecy was connected to demonic possession; this implied that the prophet was not devoted to God and was in contact with unholy spirits. Moreover, Tertullian names soothsaying the kind of profession that Christians did not practice and actively avoided (Tertullian, Apology 43). Tertullian felt that these professions were disreputable—an attitude that is not expressed in Acts—and insists that Christians performed a valuable service in protecting the community from demons. Yet, following her encounter with Paul, the enslaved woman was nothing, no longer a prophet and apparently no longer valuable to her enslavers (Acts 16:18–19).

The incarceration of Paul and Silas, which was a direct result of the exorcism of the prophet, may account for why she was not welcomed into the Church, since the figure of Simon Magus shows us that the apostles did believe that some magical professionals could at least be offered a place within the community (Acts 8:9–13). Simon’s work had been that of a magician, and following his conversion, he seems to have been in search of new work. Perhaps, like the sorcerers of Ephesus (Acts 19:19), he had burned his books of magic and accepted that this work was antithetical to Christianity, but he quickly ran afoul of the apostles. Upon witnessing Peter granting the Holy Spirit to the congregation, he appealed to Peter to teach him the procedure, even offering to pay for the training (Acts 8:18–24). Peter angrily refuses. He may have feared that the public would associate him with Simon’s former profession, and he sought to distance himself from what he perceived as an implicit accusation: that his movement was fraudulent and that he had been spreading the gospel for profit. Peter, who had already been arrested for his preaching (Acts 5:18), may have been more sensitive than most to the risks of being accused in this way—having been persecuted for his activities, he was in no rush to be persecuted for work he did not do. Whatever his precise reasoning, Peter’s rebuke is harsh and does not explain matters to Simon, who begs for forgiveness and then disappears from the narrative.

Simon’s story is a rare instance in which money is directly mentioned in Acts, but even so, it is not clear that he meant to sell access to the Holy Spirit, merely that he felt Peter’s training was worthy of recompense. Even when discussing money, Acts does not fall back on the trope of the greedy merchant, calling Simon “bitter” and “a captive of sin,” not avaricious (Acts 8:23).

The closest the text comes to identifying a greedy merchant is in the narrative of Demetrius, the silversmith of Ephesus, whose resistance to the Jesus movement is framed as being the direct result of his economic anxiety—the fear that Paul’s preaching might destroy the market for silver idols (Acts 19:23–41). Demetrius’s story looms large over Paul’s visit to Ephesus, as he was evidently a leader there, at least among the artisans whose work supported the Temple of Artemis. When Demetrius addresses these various workers, he stresses that Paul has claimed that their idols are not gods and reminded the audience that their profession depends on the reputation of Artemis. While this suggests that Demetrius means to make a primarily religious argument, Acts uses the order of his speech to suggest that Demetrius is more concerned about his profits than he is about the honour of the goddess. Demetrius begins by noting the profits that the artisans gain and only ends by asking his peers to defend Artemis (Acts 9:25, 27).

It is impossible to deny that Demetrius was concerned about the future of his profession, but it is difficult to say why his work posed such an insurmountable obstacle to his membership in the Jesus movement. As a silversmith, and unlike Simon or the prophet of Philippi, Demetrius had transferable skills that would have made it possible for him to continue to support himself if he ceased to make idols. Though Paul’s message that idols were not true gods was clearly offensive to these artisans, it is unclear why no effort was made to reach out and explain the that the problem was specifically with idols, and not with silversmithing in general. Celsus might have argued that this was because Christians had a contradictory, even hypocritical, distaste for those who made idols (Origen, Against Celsus 1.5), and that it was Demetrius’s profession that was, oddly, responsible for the lack of effort to convince him of the value of following Jesus. Unlike all the other merchants and artisans that were welcome in the Christ community, idol makers were among the only professions that were excluded.

To an extent, this seems to be true. While Paul expresses a desire to refute Demetrius’s claims amid the protest that follows the silversmith’s speech, he is prevented by his companions and never speaks to Demetrius directly (Acts 19:30–31). As a result, it seems that the silversmith was never approached by the evangelists. The information he had about the Jesus movement came, apparently, from hearsay, and his understanding of the movement was exclusively as a threat to his livelihood and the community in Ephesus.[44] His response, and resistance, is natural and pragmatic, as he cannot have been expected, without some intervention, to find value in a movement he barely knew.

Demetrius remained a worshipper of Artemis and represents a rare apostolic failure in Acts. Yet Demetrius’s primary role in the text was as an antagonist, an agitator who, personally, could explain why Paul’s mission was not more successful in the city. In that context, Demetrius’s specific profession makes sense, as it was closely tied to the religious and economic life of the city, but also becomes consequently less important. He might have been a purveyor of animals for sacrifice, with minimal impact on the choices he would have made or the outcome of the story. The issue was not, as Demetrius and Celsus both thought, the idols, but rather his misplaced commitment to Artemis. Though Acts notes that some in Ephesus marched in the goddess’ honour out of confusion or to cause trouble (Acts 19:32, 36), Demetrius’s adherence is not presented as in doubt. He professes that Artemis might be discredited by Paul’s teaching and that it is imperative that the artisans of Ephesus defend her (Acts 19:27).

Once again, a “bad” worker in Acts is characterised, not by the filth or degradation of his labour, but what he does under the influence of what the author of Acts views as his false religion. Demetrius’s attachment to Artemis kept him from joining the ranks of the prosperous and good merchants who advanced and led the early Jesus movement. Acts is clear that this is not because silversmithing, or even idol-making, were so much worse than labour as a magician, which required books be burned and new professions be adopted, but because without devotion to the true God, it was impossible to be like the virtuous Lydia or Simon the Tanner.

Apologising for Work

Acts presents a handful of workers who were excluded from the community for their misplaced devotion, but many others were readily accepted. The artisans and merchants of Acts are presented as some of the most important early supporters of the Jesus movement and their dedication to the cause is visible in the surplus they share with others. Paul, both in Acts and his letters, recognises the interdependence of the mission and the work that must be done to support it, as he not only labours himself, but also acknowledges the commitment and labour of professionals like Lydia. Though negative stereotypes about merchants and artisans occasionally appear elsewhere in the New Testament, Acts of the Apostles consistently elevates and respects professionals who were treated as disreputable and greedy in other social and religious settings.

Paul’s letters show that early Christ-worshipping groups were split on the issue of working people. While some may have been ready to embrace these new brothers and sisters, others had objections, not only to Paul’s work, but also to the presence of other workers who were apparently bringing negative attention to the movement. Paul defended his own actions and tried to make the case for a community that included a variety of working people. His apologetic efforts do not deny the presence of these workers but urge the community to focus on the good such people were able to do for the collective.

His efforts, and those of Acts, which mostly treats the presence of good merchants and artisans as natural, were evidently unsuccessful. Celsus’s 2nd century attacks, Tertullian’s late 2nd or early 3rd century response to critics, and Porphyry’s work in the 3rd century share a uniform interest in using working Christians as a symbol of the religion’s low position in society. Any association that would welcome people in these lines of work must, itself, be motivated by the greed and dishonesty those professions displayed. The work and the religion were disreputable, and both deserved to be treated as shameful, ignoble, and marginal. Further, the critics strongly imply that the two factors combined make matters much worse than either would be alone.

Already by Tertullian’s time we can see the erosion of the position presented in Acts. Controversial professions and professionals were being abandoned in favour of denial and the assertion that good Christians did not associate with such figures. Thus, though Jesus had stated that tax-collectors and prostitutes would enter heaven before chief priests (Matt 21:31) and Philip had offered Simon Magus a chance at redemption (Acts 8:13), we see Tertullian disavowing sex workers, sorcerers, and soothsayers (Tertullian, Apology 43). This denial only intensified over time, with Origen and Jerome seeking to refute Celsus and Porphyry, respectively. Neither defended these workers, but instead distanced Christianity from a growing list of disreputable professions, many of which incidentally combined the dishonour of work with prejudice against women, the enslaved, or foreigners.

The apologists generally cede this ground, accepting that these types of people were deserving of their bad reputations. They moved Christianity away from workers and increasingly tried to claim that their faithful came from higher status backgrounds—that they were not primarily catering to women or to the lost, illiterate, or gullible. This approach has muddied the waters of the true social and economic status of early Christians, making it difficult to assess where their later rhetoric overtook earlier historical realities.

Yet it is undeniable that Acts and Paul’s letters present a different perspective, influenced by a different rhetoric. Those texts’ attitudes toward work not only run contrary to the later apologists, but also to their contemporary society. They imagined a community of Jesus followers that was inclusive, at least in some specific and limited ways, and welcomed workers who could afford to support themselves and the congregations established by the apostles. The labour undertaken by merchants, artisans, and service workers in this early period funded the community and the fact that these professionals were marginalised in other contexts was treated as largely irrelevant, except in so far as it might encourage them to devote themselves to the cause.[45] 

This approach did not spread as the movement grew. Perhaps, as more affluent patrons became available, the support of retailers and craftspeople became less necessary, and the community could afford to offer them less protection. Perhaps, as Paul himself had urged (1 Thessalonians 4:10–12), the community grew more concerned about earning the respect of outsiders and allowed contemporary prejudices to inform their attitudes. Whatever the reasoning, working people were gradually renounced, and apologists eventually denied that there had ever been room in the community for such disreputable people, to the extent that Acts itself was even emended, in some cases, to omit Paul’s profession.[46] While he might have acknowledged some need for an apologetic explanation of his work, it was only later that apologists took up the task of defending the Jesus movement from the workers who had once been viewed as its greatest support.

Works Cited

Aberbach, Moses. Labor, Crafts, and Commerce in Ancient Israel. Jerusalem: Magnes Press, 1994.

Ascough, Richard S. Lydia: Paul’s Cosmopolitan Hostess. Collegeville, MN: Liturgical Press, 2009.

Baird, Jennifer A. “Shopping, Eating, and Drinking at Dura-Europos: Reconstructing Contexts.” Late Antique Archaeology, 5.1 (2009): 411–37. doi:10.1163/ej.9789004165502.i-742.118.

Barnett, Paul.  “Paul Apologist to the Corinthians.” Pages 313–26 in Paul and the Corinthians: Studies on a Community in Conflict. Edited by T.J. Burke and K. Elliott. Boston: Brill, 2003. doi:10.1163/9789004268272_019.

Bond, Sarah. Trade and Taboo: Disreputable Professions in the Roman Mediterranean. Ann Arbor: University of Michigan Press, 2016. doi:10.3998/mpub.8224993.

Botha, Pieter. J. J. “Paul and Gossip: A Social Mechanism in Early Christian Communities.” Neotestamentica 32.2 (1998): 267–88. jstor.org/stable/43048285.

Brinks, C. L. “‘Great Is Artemis of the Ephesians’: Acts 19:23–41 in Light of Goddess Worship in Ephesus.” The Catholic Biblical Quarterly 71. 4 (2009): 776–94. jstor.org/stable/43726616.

Byron, John. “Paul and the Background of Slavery: The Status Quaestionis in New Testament Scholarship.” Currents in Biblical Research 3.1 (2004): 116–39. doi:10.1177/1476993X0400300106.

Carbado, Devon W.  “Colorblind Intersectionality.” Signs 38.4 (2013): 811–45. doi:10.1086/669666.

Constable, Olivia R. Housing the Stranger in the Mediterranean World: Lodging, Trade, and Travel in Late Antiquity and the Middle Ages. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2003. doi:10.1017/CBO9780511496264.

Cooper, Brittany. “Intersectionality.” Pages 385–406 in The Oxford Handbook of Feminist Theory. Edited by L. Disch and M. Hawkesworth. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2016. doi: 10.1093/oxfordhb/9780199328581.013.20.

D’Arms, John. Commerce and Social Standing in Ancient Rome. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1981.

Ellis, Steven. The Roman Retail Revolution: The Socio-Economic World of the Taberna. Oxford, Oxford University Press, 2018. doi:10.1093/oso/9780198769934.001.0001.

Flohr, Miko. World of the Fullo: Work, Economy, and Society in Roman Italy. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2013. doi:10.1093/acprof:oso/9780199659357.001.0001.

Gager, John G. Kingdom and Community: The Social World of Early Christianity. Hoboken, NJ: Prentice-Hall, 1975.

Giardina, Andrea. “The Merchant,” The Romans, edited by Andrea Giardina. Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1993: 245–271.

Gruca-Macaulay, Alexandra. Lydia as a Rhetorical Construct in Acts. Atlanta, GA: SBL Press, 2016. doi:10.2307/j.ctt1dwstgq.

Guerra, Anthony J. Romans and the Apologetic Tradition: The Purpose, Genre and Audience of Paul’s Letter. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1995. doi:10.1017/CBO9780511520365.

Harrill, James A. Slaves in the New Testament: Literary, Social, and Moral Dimensions. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2006.

Hock, Ronald F. “Paul’s Tentmaking and the Problem of His Social Class.” Journal of Biblical Literature 97.4 (1978): 555–64. doi:10.2307/3265397.

——— The Social Context of Paul’s Ministry: Tentmaking and Apostleship. Philadelphia, PA: Fortress Press, 1980.

——— “The Problem of Paul’s Social Class: Further Reflections.” Pages 7–18 in Paul’s World Edited by Stanley E. Porter. Leiden: Brill, 2008.

Hoffman, Raymond J. Celsus: On the True Doctrine. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1987.

Holleran, Claire. “Finding Commerce: The Taberna and the Identification of Roman Commercial Space.” Papers of the British School at Rome 85 (2017): 143–170. doi: 10.1017/S0068246217000010.

Howes, Llewellyn. “The Agricultural Background of the Harvest Logion in Matthew 9.37–8 and Luke (Q) 10.2.” New Testament Studies 69.1 (2023): 57–75[T1] . doi: 10.1017/s0028688522000303

Keener, Craig S. Acts: An Exegetical Commentary. 4 vols. Grand Rapids, MI: Baker Academic Press, 2012–2015.

Keller, Marie N. Priscilla and Aquila: Paul’s Coworkers in Christ Jesus. Collegeville, Minnesota: Liturgical Press, 2010.

Lennon, Jack J. Dirt and Denigration: Stigma and Marginalisation in Ancient Rome. Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2022. doi:10.1515/hzhz-2023-1336

Marguerat, Daniel. Paul in Acts and Paul in His Letters. Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2013.

Malherbe, Abraham J. Social Aspects of Early Christianity. Eugene, OR: Wipf & Stock Publishers, 2003.

Mayer, Emanuel. “Money Making, ‘Avarice’, and Elite Strategies of Distinction in the Roman World.” Pages 94–126 in Skilled Labour and Professionalism in Ancient Greece and Rome. Edited by E. Stewart, E. Harris, and D. Lewis. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2020. doi:10.1017/9781108878135.004

Meeks, Wayne A. The First Urban Christians: The Social World of the Apostle Paul. New Haven: Yale University Press, 1983.

Mügge Liza M. and Silvia Erzeel. “Double Jeopardy or Multiple Advantage? Intersectionality and Political Representation.” Parliamentary Affairs 69.3 (2016): 499–511. doi: 10.1093/pa/gsv059

Oliver, Isaac W. “Simon Peter Meets Simon the Tanner: The Ritual Insignificance of Tanning in Ancient Judaism.” New Testament Studies 59.1 (2013): 50–60. doi: 10.1017/s0028688512000173

Sancinito, Jane. The Reputation of the Roman Merchant. Ann Arbor: University of Michigan Press, 2024. doi:10.3998/mpub.11855639

——— “Rapacious and Chatty, Deceitful and Memorable: Finding Non-Elite Stereotypes of Roman Merchants.” Chapter 6 in Working Lives in Ancient Rome. edited by J. Rogers and D.A. Maticic. London: Palgrave Macmillan, 2024.

Still, Todd. “Did Paul Loathe Manual Labor? Revisiting the Work of Ronald F. Hock on the Apostle’s Tentmaking and Social Class.” Journal of Biblical Literature 125.4 (2006): 781–95. doi:10.2307/27638405

Still, Todd D., and David G. Horrell, eds. After the First Urban Christians: The Social-Scientific Study of Pauline Christianity Twenty-Five Years Later. London: T&T Clark, 2009. doi: 10.1111/j.1748-0922.2010.01466_4.x

Strong, Anise K. Prostitutes and Matrons in the Roman World. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2016. doi:10.1017/cbo9781316563083

Szesnat, Holger. “What did the Σκηνοποιος Paul Produce?” Neotestamentica 27.2 (1993): 391–402.

Venticinque, Philip. Honor among Thieves: Craftsmen, Merchants, and Associations in Roman and Late Roman Egypt. Ann Arbor: University of Michigan Press, 2016.

Warscher, Tatiana. Codex Topographicus Pompeianus: Regio I.1, I.5. (no. 26). Rome: DAIR, 1936.

[1] Raymond J. Hoffman, Celsus: On the True Doctrine (Oxford: Oxford University, 1987), provides an attempted reconstruction of the text, based on Origen but without references to that text.

[2] Paul Barnett, “Paul Apologist to the Corinthians,” in Paul and the Corinthians: Studies on a Community in Conflict, eds. Trevor J. Burke and Keith Elliott (Boston: Brill, 2003), 313–26, doi:10.1163/9789004268272_019; Anthony J. Guerra, Romans and the Apologetic Tradition: The Purpose, Genre and Audience of Paul’s Letter (Cambridge: Cambridge University,1995), doi:10.1017/CBO9780511520365.

[3] This topic is still extensively debated. Earlier views were often “pessimistic,” convinced of the low status and literacy rates of early Christians (see, e.g., John G. Gager, Kingdom and Community: The Social World of Early Christianity (Hoboken, NJ: Prentiss-Hall, 1975)), while more recent readings are more “optimistic,” finding evidence for a mix of classes and literacy levels (see, e.g. Abraham J. Malherbe, Social Aspects of Early Christianity (Eugene, OR: Wipf & Stock Publishers, 2003)). Much of the transition may be attributed to the foundational: Wayne A. Meeks, The First Urban Christians: The Social World of the Apostle Paul (New Haven, Yale University, 1983) and to the response of the field to that work (e.g. Todd D. Still & David G. Horrell, eds. After the First Urban Christians: The Social-Scientific Study of Pauline Christianity Twenty-Five Years Later (London: T&T Clark, 2009), doi: 10.1111/j.1748-0922.2010.01466_4.x).

[4] Intersectionality was originally developed by Kimberlé Crenshaw in 1989 and refined in 1991 to highlight the multiform ways that Black women experienced explicitly political and juridical marginalisation. The succeeding decades have seen the theoretical framework develop into a tool that can address the ways that multiple marginal identities interact. There has been pushback against the application of intersectionality on categories that do not include Black women, and some have posited that “inter-category” might be a more appropriate term. On the history of the framework and this debate, see: Brittany Cooper, “Intersectionality.” In The Oxford Handbook of Feminist Theory, eds. Lisa Disch and Mary Hawkesworth (Oxford: Oxford University, 2016): 385–406, doi: 10.1093/oxfordhb/9780199328581.013.20.. In the following, the theory is, of some necessity, unmoored from the experience of (American) Black women to consider how other, in this case primarily religious, professional, and class, identities intersected in a way that was recognised, not as a tool for making the socially marginal more legible or developing means of supporting their unique struggles, but as a means of weaponising and magnifying social prejudice. See Devon W. Carbado, “Colorblind Intersectionality,” Signs 38.4 (2013): 811–45, doi:10.1086/669666, on the way that intersectionality has transcended its original framework in other contexts. As in that piece, I will note that Christian workers did not necessarily experience discriminatory “double jeopardy” in every context in which they lived and worked, but rather argue that this is precisely what critics of Christianity hoped to invoke. 

[5] The author of Acts is often identified with Luke, though his identity is not essential to this argument. It is more relevant that he was part of the second wave of apostolic missionaries and shares that cultural milieu.

[6] Other reconstructions of the extant fragments are possible, see Hoffman, Celsus, 44-45, for other attempts. None, of course, can generate what Origen may have chosen to omit.

[7] On tanners: Sarah Bond, Trade and Taboo (Ann Arbor: University of Michigan, 2016), 101-6, 124-25, doi:10.3998/mpub.8224993; on fullers: Miko Flohr, The World of the Fullo: Work, Economy, and Society in Roman Italy (Oxford: Oxford University, 2013), doi:10.1093/acprof:oso/9780199659357.001.0001; on tax-collectors: Ulpian Digest 39.4.12, Tacitus, Ann. 13.50; on magicians: Lucian, Alex.; on sex workers: Anise K. Strong, Prostitutes and Matrons in the Roman World (Cambridge: Cambridge University, 2016), doi:10.1017/cbo9781316563083. In general, on how dirt and stigma were combined in ancient society, see Jack J. Lennon, Dirt and Denigration: Stigma and Marginalisation in Ancient Rome (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2022), doi:10.1515/hzhz-2023-1336.

[8] This trope, of the gullible Christians being misled by fraudulent leaders, also appears in Lucian, Pereg. Origen, Cels. 3.50, 52 also emphasises that Celsus specifically names the marketplace as a gathering spot for Christians.

[9] The idea of “double jeopardy” of this kind is common in intersectional literature, see, e.g. Liza M. Mügge & Silvia Erzeel, “Double Jeopardy or Multiple Advantage? Intersectionality and Political Representation,” Parliamentary Affairs 69.3 (2016): 499–511, doi: 10.1093/pa/gsv059.

[10] Jane Sancinito, The Reputation of the Roman Merchant, ch. 4.

[11] On attitudes toward merchants, see: Bond, Trade; Andrea Giardina, “The Merchant,” in The Romans, ed. Andrea Giardina (Chicago: University of Chicago, 1993), 245–271; Emanuel Mayer, “Money Making, ‘Avarice’, and Elite Strategies of Distinction in the Roman World,” in Skilled Labour and Professionalism in Ancient Greece and Rome, eds. Edmund Stewart, et al. (Cambridge: Cambridge University, 2020), 94–126), doi:10.1017/9781108878135.004; Jane Sancinito, “Rapacious and Chatty, Deceitful and Memorable: Finding Non-Elite Stereotypes of Roman Merchants,” in Working Lives in Ancient Rome, eds. Jordan Rogers & Del A. Maticic (London: Palgrave Macmillan, 2024).

[12] On the legal category of infamia and its consequences, see Bond, Trade, 10ff.

[13] Giardina, Merchant, 246–7.

[14] reqim (Hebrew) or mataia (Greek)

[15] On the advice, see: Moses Aberbach, Labor, Crafts, and Commerce in Ancient Israel (Jerusalem: Magnes, 1994), 159–66.

[16] Unless otherwise stated, all Hebrew translations are from Aberbach, Labor.

[17] The specter of commerce is also present when Jacob asks Esau to sell his birthright (Jub 24.5), and even in the deception that Jacob later perpetrates against Isaac, as Isaac identifies “Esau” by his smell, which is like a “full field” (Jub 26.27), as Esau is evidently supposed to be the “farming” brother, not the “commerce” brother.

[18] The same question is reported in the case of Levi, also a tax-collector, in Luke 5:30 and Mark 2:16.

[19] There is an overall tendency to mention the former professions of Christians, which suggests that many left their work to join the mission. Thus Matthew, Peter, Andrew, et al. all had professions, but do not seem to have continued practicing them. This is paralleled in Graeco-Roman sources where merchants wished to leave their disreputable professions (e.g., Philostratus, Life of Apollonius 3.24, or as recommended in Cicero, On Duties. 1.151). There is evidence that Luke, and certainly Paul, continued working, which may suggest a difference in opinion among Christians on this point. On Simon the Tanner, see below.

[20] Tektōn is traditionally translated as “carpenter,” but can refer to artisans working with other materials.

[21] For an interesting examination of agricultural metaphors in the New Testament as reflections of literal reality, see: Llewellyn Howes, “The Agricultural Background of the Harvest Logion in Matthew 9.37–8 and Luke (Q) 10.2,” New Testament Studies 69.1 (2023): 57–75, doi: 10.1017/s0028688522000303.

[22] The hapax legomenon has been the subject of some debate, see Holger Szesnat, “What did the Σκηνοποιος Paul Produce?” Neotestamentica 27.2 (1993): 391–402, who notes (393) that the later texts that omit the professional label were likely embarrassed by Paul’s manual labour, a practice that led to other emendations to the New Testament. There is, of course, a distinction to be drawn between Paul as he appears in the letters securely attributed to him and Paul as he appears in Acts, and there has been significant discussion of the “historical” versus “legendary” versions of his life, see, e.g., Daniel Marguerat, Paul in Acts and Paul in His Letters (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2013).

[23] Ronald F. Hock, “Paul’s Tentmaking and the Problem of His Social Class,” Journal of Biblical Literature, 97.4 (1978): 555–64, doi:10.2307/3265397; Ronald F. Hock, The Social Context of Paul’s Ministry: Tentmaking and Apostleship (Philadelphia, PA: Fortress, 1980); Todd Still, “Did Paul Loathe Manual Labor? Revisiting the Work of Ronald F. Hock on the Apostle’s Tentmaking and Social Class,” Journal of Biblical Literature 125.4 (2006): 781–795, doi:10.2307/27638405; Ronald F. Hock, “The Problem of Paul’s Social Class: Further Reflections” in Paul’s World, ed. Stanley E. Porter (Leiden: Brill, 2008): 7–18.

[24] Much of the groundwork for these readings comes from: John D’Arms, Commerce and Social Standing in Ancient Rome (Cambridge: Harvard University, 1981). More recently, Bond, Trade; Philip Venticinque, Honor Among Thieves: Craftsmen, Merchants, and Associations in Roman and Late Roman Egypt (Ann Arbor: University of Michigan, 2016); Sancinito, The Reputation of the Roman Merchant (Ann Arbor: University of Michigan, 2024), doi:10.3998/mpub.11855639, have advanced theories that combine social and economic approaches. Also noteworthy are the recent works that specifically cover these issues for Pompeii, e.g. Flohr, World of the Fullo; Steven Ellis, The Roman Retail Revolution: The Socio-Economic World of the Taberna (Oxford, Oxford University, 2018), doi:10.1093/oso/9780198769934.001.0001.

[25] Bond, Trade; Sancinito, “Rapacious,” and Sancinito, Reputation, pace Mayer, “Money Making.”

[26] Sancinito, “Rapacious.”

[27] Sancinito, Reputation, 244–7, 255–7.

[28] Something noted by Hock, “Paul’s Tentmaking,” 559–60, and Social Context, 59–65.

[29] Pieter J. J. Botha “Paul and Gossip: A Social Mechanism in Early Christian Communities.” Neotestamentica 32.2 (1998): 267–88 suggests that Paul had been criticised for taking advantage of his hosts, especially in light of the arrest of Jason (Acts 17:6-7).

[30] Hock, Social Context, 42–9.

[31] Still, “Did Paul Loathe,” 788–9.

[32] The issue of slavery is infrequently addressed in Acts and the New Testament, more generally: John Byron, “Paul and the Background of Slavery: The Status Quaestionis in New Testament Scholarship,” Currents in Biblical Research 3.1 (2004): 116–39, doi:10.1177/1476993X0400300106.

[33] Rhoda is a paidiskē, a term which has serving, but not always servile, connotations. On Rhoda’s story as potentially comic, see: James A. Harrill, Slaves in the New Testament: Literary, Social, and Moral Dimensions,59­–65

[34] Thus the “upper rooms” of Acts 1:12-13 and 9:37-39 are likely to be spaces attached to shops. See Jennifer A. Baird, “Shopping, Eating, and Drinking at Dura-Europos: Reconstructing Contexts,” Late Antique Archaeology 5.1. (2009): 411–37, doi:10.1163/ej.9789004165502.i-742.118 and Claire Holleran, “Finding Commerce: The Taberna and the Identification of Roman Commercial Space,” Papers of the British School at Rome 85 (2017): 143–70, doi: 10.1017/S0068246217000010, for examples around the Mediterranean of this kind of dual working and living space.

[35] On the question of the impurity of tanning in Judaism, see: Isaac W. Oliver, “Simon Peter Meets Simon the Tanner: The Ritual Insignificance of Tanning in Ancient Judaism.” New Testament Studies 59.1 (2013): 50–60, doi: 10.1017/s0028688512000173.

[36] The building has been identified with an extant, privately owned structure in Tel Aviv-Yafo. The mixed-use, living and working space would have been typical of tanners and other artisans. For a Pompeian example, see: Tatiana Warscher, Codex Topographica Pompeianus, Regio I.1, 15 (Rome: DAIR, 1936). 

[37] Bond, Trade, 101–102, 112–14.

[38] Or if the dye is true murex or a cheaper imitation. See: Richard S. Ascough, Lydia: Paul’s Cosmopolitan Hostess (Collegeville, MN: Liturgical Press, 2009) and Alexandra Gruca-Macaulay, Lydia as a Rhetorical Construct in Acts (Atlanta: SBL Press, 2016), doi:10.2307/j.ctt1dwstgq.

[39] Porphyry critiques Christians for targeting wealthy women, Jerome, Tract. Ps 81, which suggests it would have been unwise to emphasise Lydia’s financial success.

[40] Ascough, Lydia, 6–7 discusses her legal status, likely as a freedwoman, along with her name and origin.

[41] Marie N. Keller, Priscilla and Aquila: Paul’s Coworkers in Christ Jesus (Collegeville, MN: Liturgical Press, 2010).

[42] See discussion in Olivia R. Constable, Housing the Stranger in the Mediterranean World: Lodging, Trade, and Travel in Late Antiquity and the Middle Ages (Cambridge, Cambridge University Press, 2003), doi:10.1017/CBO9780511496264.

[43] See 3 John for an example from the Jesus movement, and Heliodorus. Aeth. 2.22, for an example of the hospitality offered by a trader as part of his business and as pious obedience to Zeus.

[44] On the reliance of Ephesus on the Temple of Artemis see: C.L. Brinks, “‘Great Is Artemis of the Ephesians’: Acts 19:23-41 in Light of Goddess Worship in Ephesus,” The Catholic Biblical Quarterly 71.4 (2009): 776–94.

[45] As argued by Meeks, The First Urban Christians, 66­–71.

[46] Szesnat, “Σκηνοποιος,” 393.

 [T1]I ran out of time here. These below should still have dois added (I think they exist for the yellow ones)