What Are They Now Saying about Christ Groups and Associations?

Pauline Christ Groups and Associations

Much of the work on associations and the Pauline Christ groups focused in the past on the city of Corinth, in part because the New Testament data for the Christ group(s) in the city is rich (Heinrici 1876; Kloppenborg 1996b; Ascough 1996; Schmeller 1995; see summary in Ascough 1998: 79-93). This trend has continued over the past 15 years. Ironically, evidence for associations in the city is slim, not because they did not exist at Corinth but due to the nature of archaeological finds. Although the stele are broken and fragmentary, there are 17 known references to associations attested at Corinth, dating from the sixth century bce through to the third century ce (GCRE 47; Meritt, Corinth 8/1 1-10 [incl. AGRW 26]; Kent, Corinth 8/3 46, 62, 306-10), along with one unattributed literary reference to a thiasos devoted to Kotys (θιασώτης Κότυος) noted in the Suidae Lexicon (http://www.stoa.org/sol-entries/theta/381). These data are sufficient to assume that Corinth was similar to cities across the Greek and the Roman Empires in having an array of associations of various sorts populating the urban landscape.

James Harrison (1999; cf. Harrison 2003: 280-83) uses five of these association texts as a comparator for understanding the charismatic nature of Paul’s Corinthian Christ groups: the by-laws of the Iobacchoi (AGRW 7), the regulations of the Andanian mysteries (SIG³ 736), the Philadelphia oikos association (AGRW 121), the guild of Zeus Hypsistos (AGRW 295), and the statutes of the collegium of Diana and Antinous at Lanuvium (AGRW 310). Harrison argues that Paul drew on colloquial references to χάρις (‘favour’), including its appearance in association inscriptions, to develop the technical term χάρισμα (‘giftedness’) as a reference to divine grace as it operates within the body of Christ. God gives all members of the Christ group a special gift and facilitates the use of these gifts for mutual and community up-building.

The general ethos of associations, however, reveals differences from Paul’s understanding of the charismatic body of Christ. In associations, financial support comes through human patronage alongside required fees and the levying of fines for aberrant behaviour, whereas Paul understands God’s salvific patronage as the centre of his communities, empowering members to act as benefactors on God’s behalf. The associations have no sense of the divine giftedness of each individual member and are fully engaged in the Greco-Roman patronal system. Paul’s understanding of χάρις subverts the conventions associated with the reciprocity system by emphasizing the greatest honour for the weakest members of the body of Christ (an argument worked out in much greater detail in Harrison 2003).

Nevertheless, the Corinthian Christ groups and the associations do share some broad common features insofar as both types of groups condemned factionalism and enacted rules for correct behaviour, particularly expressing a concern for appearance during cult activities (1 Cor. 11.1-12) and condemnation of illicit sexual activity (1 Cor. 5.1-5, 6.12-20). Appropriate handling of community finances appears in the Corinthian letters (esp. 2 Cor. 12.16-18) and is likewise a feature expressed in some association texts. In both types of groups, leaders can rightfully expect remuneration (1 Cor. 9.4) and are to be recognized with honour, as are group benefactors (cf. Rom 16.1-2). Finally, slaves find a place of acceptance and perhaps even roles within associations and within Pauline Christ groups (1 Cor. 7.22).

In light of these similarities, Harrison suggests that the adherents of Christ at Corinth viewed their groups as cult associations; ‘they simply assumed that the social practices and attitudes of the associations were transferable to a Christian context’ (1999: 45-46), and with this came the typical competitiveness for honours, particularly among the wealthy minority. In his letters, Paul provides an alternative paradigm that bears some similarities but is foundationally different in that it is ‘a charismatic community founded on divine grace, which inverted all the trappings of social status’ through the cross of Christ (1999: 47, his emphasis).

An interest in the self-understanding of Christ adherents at Corinth is also part of Stephen Chester’s work (2003). He notes that the Corinthian Christ groups were composed ‘entirely’ of members that had willingly decided to join, and this voluntary aspect makes them amiable to comparison with associations (2003: 231-32). One could dispute just how ‘voluntary’ joining would be for members of households such as that of Stephanas, particularly slaves or children, but insofar as Chester means that no one was, at this point, a Christ follower from birth (2003: 232, n. 26), the rationale is sound. He continues that members of the Christ groups were more likely to have previously held membership in an association than in a philosophical school (2003: 232, n. 28). Yet, citing Johannes Weiss (1910), Chester distances himself for arguing that the Corinthian Christ group was a cult association—‘there are areas where the differences are so striking and overwhelming that any conscious general intention to imitate is simply implausible’ (2003: 233).

Nevertheless Chester does note similarities in actions, customs, and practical arrangements and suggests that the Corinthian Christ-group members have re-used elements from old ways of religious belonging in order to construct their new community. In particular, he notes that continuation of litigation against one another (1 Cor. 6.1-11) and reticence to contribute financially to a group other than their own (the Jerusalem collection) reflects their having experienced other forms of associative life. They are different, however, in their lack of a means to honour patrons and their approach to the shared meal. All of this speaks to Chester’s primary concern—conversion—and in the case of Corinth ‘transformation has been accompanied by a greater degree of reproduction than Paul finds comfortable’ (2003: 263). By placing their behaviour analogously beside that of associations one gets a good sense of the extent of their conversation—how they have moved away from some past practices while retaining others.

Chester’s insistence that Christ groups are something ‘different’ is somewhat overplayed. Chester compares the Christ groups at Corinth to a very generalized, amorphous picture of associations, relying primarily on secondary material rather than epigraphic and papyrological data. In fact, if one were to undertake a similar analysis of any single association, say that of the Iobakkoi, and compared it to a similarly amorphous picture of ‘associations’, the same conclusion is probable; viz. there are shared characteristics and there are differences.

The more striking conclusion to arise out of Chester’s analysis is his characterization of ‘the differences between Paul and the Corinthians as to the consequences of conversion’ insofar as Paul demands a much more holistic sense of religious belonging than do the Corinthians (2003: 265). That they view their membership in a Christ group as an important part of their identity (personal and collective) but not the sole basis of their social and religious belonging suggests that they, if not Paul, see the group as very much like an association: worth the demands for the returns granted through membership, but not at the expense of some other aspects of societal life. That is, we should not fall into the trap of assuming that Paul presents a normative picture of Christian life that was shared by most if not all adherents. Quite the opposite seems to be the case; Paul is the outlier in trying to demand more of adherents than they seem willing to give. Whereas Paul’s ‘understanding of conversion required a resocialisation that was “extraordinarily thoroughgoing”’ (2003: 266, citing Meeks 1983: 78), for the rank-and-file members of Christ groups, it was simply a switch of allegiance to a new deity who offered more benefits for similar commitments.

As part of her own research into the attractiveness of Christ groups at Corinth, Eva Ebel (2004) undertakes extensive, chapter-length discussions on the social organization of two associations—the cultores Dianae et Antinoi in Lanuvium (AGRW 310, 136 ce) and the Iobakkoi in Athens (AGRW 7, 164/165 ce). The two associations are similar in many regards, despite their geographic distance from one another. Both focused their collective life on regular banquets and accompanying cult, although the frequency of the Iobakkoi was at least double the number of the cultores’ shared meals (monthly v. six times a year). The Athenian group’s meals included more lavish provisions and were less regimented in organization, although as a group they had more developed rituals. Payment of money was a prerequisite for membership in both associations, collected through an admission fee and monthly contributions, although a greater burden was placed on recruits to the Athenian group (yet they did not seem to contribute to a burial fund as did the cultores). The membership of each was fairly homogenous insofar as both were male and the Lanuvium group was mostly comprised of lower-ranking people while the Iobakkoi membership reflected higher ranks. In fact, most of the differences between the associations were rooted in their different financial power. Both groups provided members with opportunities to gain titles, honours, and respect within, and potentially outside, the association. Finally, both groups relied upon benefaction by high-ranking individuals, who would naturally have some social and political influence on the members.

Turning her attention to the organization of the Corinthian Christ group, Ebel notes that there are striking similarities with the overarching common features of the cultores Dianae et Antinoi and the Iobakkoi. Particularly striking is the way in which Paul reacts to the deplorable state of affairs among the Christ-group adherents and the mechanisms he invokes to address current problems and prevent other issues from arising in the future. In this way, Paul’s words are similar to statutes agreed upon, and eventually inscribed by, associations. This is particularly true of the organization of the community meal and the conflicts it seems to have sparked along with the disciplinary measures Paul invokes (1 Cor. 11.17-34). Nevertheless, the organization and regulation of shared meals among Christ-group adherents at Corinth is not as fully developed as the association exemplars. Yet, when it comes to group discipline, the Christ group seems to have at its disposal more extensive competence for making internal judgments and decisions concerning behaviour (1 Cor. 5–6). Finally, the broad use of familial language, with Christ adherents commonly addressing one another as ‘sister’ and ‘brother’, stands in contrast to association practices (Kloppenborg resonates with this, pointing to the use of extended kinship language implying a ‘sharply heightened social obligation’ and thus one of the primary appeals of the early Christ groups; 2009: 1069).

Despite noting differences with her two primary association inscriptions as well as others along the way (particularly AGRW 121), Ebel argues that Christ groups were perceived as associations and were in direct competition for new adherents with local associations. Ultimately, however, Christ groups proved more attractive, set apart by their distinctive characteristics. The Christ groups were much more open towards a non-homogenous membership than were most associations, placing no restrictions on the basis of gender or social background, and often incorporating an entire family or household, as was the case of Stephanas at Corinth. Although the divisions that arose within the Corinthian Christ group threatened this unity, it is clear that such factionalism deviated from Paul’s ideal in which all were welcome on an equal basis. Unlike the associations, Christ groups placed no required financial obligations on adherents, although optional payments were requested, particularly in Paul’s ongoing collection for the Jerusalem Christ group. Meetings were more frequent for the Christ groups, with weekly gatherings that helped foster and solidify communal identity. This identity was then extended through the supra-regional network of communities, in which travellers could find hospitality and business people could find support (and thus increased profits). Ebel concludes that as a result of less demanding membership requirements, more intense community life, and increased material advantages, the Christ groups in Corinth proved particularly attractive to women and persons from lower societal ranks.

Ebel’s conclusions in this regard are supported more generally in an essay by Peter Pilhofer (2002a), who contrasts Christ groups with the cultores Dianae et Antinoi (AGRW 310), noting that the lack of membership and entrance fees or ‘pot-luck’ type requirements for banquets (such as the provision of an amphora of wine) made the Christ groups much more attractive to the poorest strata of Roman society. At the same time, Christ groups were similar to some Dionysos associations insofar as they looked to a saviour in the present time and held out eschatological hopes, symbolized in their sharing of wine and food (Pilhofer 2002b). In all cases, they were communities that shared strong bonds but did not congregate in temples dedicated for their own use.

On a related topic, John Kloppenborg raises the intriguing question as to how members of the Pauline Christ groups knew they were members; that is, ‘what were the norms and practices surrounding membership?’ (2013a: 186). Through an investigation of the association data, Kloppenborg demonstrates some key ways in which members in such groups made their adherence known, both to themselves and to outsiders. Before making this case, Kloppenborg demonstrates that the analogous association data is suggestive of the limitations on the size of Christ groups. Such groups were often limited by the meeting space available to them, whether within a temple, a house, a workshop, or a tenement building. It is difficult to imagine that Christ groups would have access to alternative meeting spaces than those typical of associations, and thus it is unlikely that any given group of Christ adherents numbers more than one or two dozen members (2013a: 195). Kloppenborg’s subsequent examination of association membership rolls, donation lists, rosters of officials, and financial records suggests that at least some associations tracked and published the names of their members.

Turing to the Corinthian Christ groups, it is clear that baptism was an important marker of membership, but keeping track of who had been baptized, and by whom, was a ‘complex matter’ (2013a: 207), particularly given the dispersed nature of the household-based Christ groups across the city, not to mention the provision of baptism by a number of different agents. In other groups, inscribing names on a stele or wooden tablet and/or adding names to an archival list tracked such membership activities. Thus, it seems not to be out of the realm of possibility that Christ groups engaged in similar practices (Pilhofer 2002a: 208). Certainly evidence from later Christ groups is suggestive of some type of community tracking, such as the ‘enrolling’ of widows (1 Tim 5.9) or the inscribing of names of Christian officials assumed to be the case by Lucian (De morte Peregrini 11). Such a list at Corinth would also facilitate the tracking of contributions to the collection that Paul indicates has begun but not yet been completed (1 Cor. 8.6-10). A contributor list would demonstrate (and honour) those that had already donated to the collection, while shaming others by their obvious lack of generosity.

Although previous scholars often note how Christ-group members needed to deal with conflict much as did associations, John Kloppenborg (2011b) examines in some detail the causes of inner-group conflicts and the mechanisms for regulating such conflicts, detailing similarities among associations and the Corinthian Christ groups. Many and varied examples of association by-laws, particularly regulations censuring disorderly conduct, such as arguments over seating arrangements, name-calling, fist fights, insubordination, absenteeism, and even lawsuits, demonstrate that conflict was a regular problem during group meetings, and particularly acute at banquets. Such conflicts need not reflect a socioeconomic hierarchy, with the rich abusing the poor, nor a rivalry among patrons over gaining honours. In many instances, the conflict arose among the rank-and-file members who occupied the same social-economic strata. Kloppenborg provides a few examples of how this might be manifest. In some associations non-elite members regularly served as group leaders and as such were in a position to bestow favours on friends and relatives at the expense of the association, or withhold such from rivals. Members could refrain from attending meetings where their own rival was being honoured, a move akin to a direct insult.

Turning to the Corinthian groups, Kloppenborg notes that Paul’s use of the verb ἐπαινέω (‘commend’; ‘praise’) in reference to the cult activities among the Corinthian Christ groups (1 Cor. 11.2, 17, 22) draws on stereotypical commendation language from Attic associations:

Paul seems at least aware of the mechanisms of commendation, takes for granted that his addressees also understand them, and invokes the vocabulary of commendation precisely at a point where association-like activities—conduct of meetings, and conduct of the communal meal—are at issue. (2011b: 213)

Kloppenborg sees a similar strategy earlier in the letter when Paul contrasts the rewards accruing to builders whose work survives testing with the damage that will come to those whose work is burned up (1 Cor. 3.10-17), using the word ζημιοῦσθαι (‘suffer loss’; ‘be punished’), which is connected in association inscriptions to fines levied as a discipline for misconduct. Kloppenborg is not advocating that the Corinthians engaged in a system of reward and punishment, only that Paul invokes language typical within associations for referencing such actions. Thus, ‘the phenomenon of conflict within the Christian group and Paul’s strategies for conflict management fall within the spectrum of conflict management seen in other collegia’ (2009: 216).

Often the mechanisms for conflict management are recorded, raising the question as to whether the Corinthian Christ groups had any such documentation. In 1 Cor. 4.6 Paul tells the Corinthians that he has illustrated his principles by applying them to Apollos and himself so that the Christ adherents ‘may learn through us the meaning of the saying, τὸ μὴ ὑπὲρ ἅ γέγραπται. This Greek phrase is notoriously difficult to translate, although it has been rendered as some form of ‘Nothing beyond what is written’ (NRSV), yet its referent remains cloudy. James Hanges (1998) argues that this phrase, along with the use of technical terms for the handing down of tradition (παραδίδωμι and παράδοσις) presupposes that the Corinthian Christ group has a set of written by-laws, much like those of many associations. After illustrating how similar language is used in associations’ sacred laws in inscriptions and on papyri across different time periods, Hanges concludes, ‘These prohibitions from the leges sacrae share with Paul’s warning in 1 Cor. 4.6 a well-known and fundamental legal principle that considers “what has been written” to be inviolable’ (1998: 291). The similarities with associations extend beyond referents to traditions and regulations to include the types of issues with which Paul deals in the letter, including cultic procedures (11.17-34), inner-group relations (5.11; 6.1-8), marriage and sex in relation to cult (5.1-10; 6.12-20; 7.1-16, 25-39), participation of women (11.3-16) and slaves (7.21-24), and proper order and decency and decorum during cult activities (14.1-40). In so doing, Paul is building on a foundational document of the Corinthian Christ group—ἅ γέγραπται—which was both publicly accessible and ‘modeled on the kind of cult by-laws that would have been familiar to every member of the church, in which Paul had laid out those guidelines and principles which he felt necessary for the group’s prosperity’ (1998: 298).

Although by-laws were an important part of group life, so too were rituals. Despite an overly simplistic understanding of Greco-Roman associations (not to mention being seemingly unaware of almost all prior work on Pauline groups and associations), Oh-Young Kwon (2010) does raise two important links between the Corinthian Christ group and association practices. Most interesting is his contention that the practice of ‘baptism for the dead’ censured in 1 Cor. 15.29 reflects the Christ groups’ continuation of associations having ‘a strong sense of obligation toward the deceased’ (2010: 178; cf. Ascough 2004). Although Kwon invokes the now discredited category of ‘funerary associations’ (collegia tenuiorum; see Kloppenborg 1996a; Rebillard 2009: 38-39), his connection of this notoriously vexing biblical passage with death and burial practices in associations, particularly those commemorating deceased household members, is worth further attention.

Somewhat less stimulating is Kwon’s contribution to understanding the concern over idol-food (1 Cor. 8 and 10), which he links to Christ adherents maintaining membership in collegia sodalicia (‘religious associations’) and regarding the Lord’s Supper as simply another banquet of the sort held at association meetings. The disparity in the meal setting of the Christ group would thus reflect the social disparities structured into the association meals, yet proved upsetting for some (i.e., ‘lower-class’ members) and particularly irksome to Paul. While Kwon is quite likely correct, his tentative claims lack the detailed analysis of association data and full exegetical engagement with the text that marks the work previously undertaken by others on the early Christ-group meal practices (see Klinghardt 1996: 271-371; Smith 2003: esp. 191-214).

In contrast, Rachel McRae (2011) provides just such detail in arguing that Paul’s words in 1 Cor. 11.17-33 deplore the typical banqueting distinctions of the associations, which are being replicated in the divisions at the Lord’s Supper at Corinth. Associations typically wrestled with proper conduct at meals, yet the disputes were not based on wealth, or at least not solely so, but based on the cultural system of honour and shame. Banquets functioned as vehicles for distributing and displaying honour through seating arrangements, food portions, and proclamations of worthy deeds, including benefactions given to the group. In some places, Paul encourages the Corinthian Christ group to excel, both in their generosity (2 Cor. 8.7) and the ranking of leadership positions and cultic contributions (1 Cor. 12.28-30). At the same time, Paul promotes equality, humility, and mutuality, a radical change to normative social and behavioural patterns, including those displayed by the Christ adherents; ‘in effect, Paul uses the meal ritual to create a new Christian social identity’ (2011: 166). Paul’s expression of dismay over conduct at the ‘Lord’s Supper’ reflects his rejection of status acquisition garnered through such behaviour (1 Cor. 1.26). For Paul, attributive honour accrues through possession of the Holy Spirit, while distributive honour is acquired through service and compassion for others, all of it recognizable in a Lord’s Supper that regards God as the divine patron (2011: 180-81).

In the midst of her argument, McRae notes briefly (2011: 178-79) some association data that can shed light on Paul’s response to reports of ‘divisions’ (σχίσματα, 11.18) among members of the Corinthian Christ group when they gather together as the whole assembly to take part in a shared meal: ‘there have to be factions (αἱρέσις) among you, for only so will it become clear who among you are genuine (δόκιμοι)’ (11.18, NRSV). Many commentators have puzzled over Paul’s seeming affirmation of factionalism given his insistence throughout the letter (especially chs. 1–4) that the Christ adherents eliminate any divisions in favour of ‘one body with many parts’ (1 Cor. 12.12-13). Richard Last (2013) undertakes an extensive review of the association data to solve this particularly thorny exegetical problem. Within association texts, mention of σχίσματα indicates poor leadership, particularly when it comes to guiding meetings or overseeing banquets, which does seem to be the case at Corinth in the oversight of the ‘Lord’s Supper’.

Within the wider context, both in civic texts and association sources, αἱρέσις and its cognates functioned as a technical term to indicate the election of officers. In similar contexts, οἱ δόκιμοι is found in formulaic descriptions of ‘approval’ bestowed upon individuals that are subjected to the regular post-election scrutiny of their character. Given both this wider cultural context and the immediate literary context, it makes better sense to render Paul’s words in 1 Cor. 11.19 as ‘there need to be elections among you, in order that the approved ones become persons of distinction’ (Last 2013: 379). The solution to the problems (σχίσματα) at the Christ-group meal is the election of new officials when the term of the current (ineffectual) officials is completed. Last further concludes, ‘Paul does not feel the need to spend more than a few words on the topic, which suggests that the Corinthians did not require lessons on how to elect their officers’ (2013: 380). They likely adopted the practice from their previous experience of group processes. A further implication of this is the temporary nature of elected positions, suggestive of a ‘flat hierarchy’ that ‘would in theory ensure that all members temporarily enjoyed administrative positions of authority, not just the most wealthy’ (2013: 381).

As one might expect, money can be a point of contention within any type of group. In order to probe the sociocultural context of Paul’s collection of funds from the largely non-Jewish Christ groups in order to support the Judaean group in Jerusalem, David Downs devotes a chapter-length summary of benefaction within Jewish and non-Jewish associations (2008: 73-119). He is particularly interested in the light that association practices around benefaction, monetary collection, and sharing of resources (charity) can shed on how Paul conceived, presented, and executed his own collection efforts. Downs begins distinguishing the demand to ‘remember the poor’ placed on Paul by the Jerusalem leadership (Gal. 2.10) and Paul’s references to a collection elsewhere (1 Cor. 16.1-4; 2 Cor. 8–9; Rom. 15.16, 25-31). The former is linked to the famine mentioned in Acts 11.27-28, and Paul has already fulfilled this demand with the help of the Antiochean Christ group (Acts 11.29-30). The later collection was initiated by Paul and undertaken on a voluntary basis, framed by Paul as an act of corporate worship.

Arguments for the latter position are underscored by Downs’s use of the associations as analogous to Pauline groups. Drawing on a range of epigraphic, papyrological, and literary data, Downs begins with a summary of benefaction within associations, rightly noting that such could come in the form of material (e.g., money, meals) and nonmaterial assistance, the latter manifesting itself in relationship-brokering, tax concessions, or legal assistance. The system of reciprocity required that no such benefaction go unnoticed, and thus associations set up honours of various sorts. Downs focuses on common funds and monetary collections, a common practice within many associations. Besides donations, money could be collected through fees and fines or rent on property owned collectively by the association members. This income was held in a common chest and used to fund social and cultic activities of the group, such as banquets and burials or building maintenance, as well as honorifics for patrons and leaders. Downs admits that ‘there is no evidence that the members of Paul’s churches paid monthly or weekly membership dues’ (but see now Kloppenborg 2013c), although he does suggest that Paul’s references to the poor being fed from the resources of the wealthy (1 Cor. 11.17-34; Gal. 6.6; Rom. 12.8-10) point to monies provided through benefaction and held in common by the groups.

This latter point segues into Downs’s third point of analogy, the care of the poor—those living at or near subsistence level—within associations. He rightly notes the usual sharp contrast made between ‘pagan benefaction and Christian charity’, although he attributes this to the work of Bolkestein (1939) when in fact this dichotomy goes back much earlier with specific reference to the associations (Waltzing 1885; Uhlhorn 1883: 21-28). Nevertheless, Downs demonstrates that there is some, albeit ‘hardly overwhelming’, evidence for associations providing for economically disadvantaged members (2008: 105). He concludes that

Paul’s endeavor to convince his congregations to provide material relief for the poor among the saints in Jerusalem … combined with his efforts to eliminate any hint that the Gentile Christians might justifiably conceive of themselves as patrons of their brothers and sisters in Jerusalem, suggests that ‘the offering of the Gentiles’ finds its closest analogy among those associations that avoided patronal relationships and instead provided for the welfare of the poorer members of their community with charitable distributions from the entire group. (2008: 112)

The fourth and final focus for Downs’s analogous comparison is the translocal economic links among associations, which demonstrate that material support extended beyond the bounds of a local group was uncommon albeit not unknown. Drawing on Ascough 1997, Downs concludes that resistance among the Corinthian Christ adherents to Paul’s translocal financing reflects their own assumptions that monies collected generally remain in the hands of the local group. Alongside the problem of distance, Downs adds the factor of different ethnic identity—Judaean v. non-Judaean—by showing how diaspora Judaeans were derided by others for their annual submission of the temple tax.

In order better to understand some of the internal (problematic) group dynamics, Craig de Vos (1999) uses the associations as the context in which to understand interactions between Christ groups and their wider civic community at Corinth, Thessalonike, and Philippi. Drawing on evidence for the ethnic composition, social profile, and size of the Christ group in each city, de Vos suggests each would have resembled an association to some degree. The group based in Corinth was a very large mixed group that met in house cells on a weekly basis but perhaps gathered together ‘like a collegium on a monthly basis in a purpose-built club-room’, which may have been provided by Gaius, and understood themselves to be a collegium (1999: 204-205). They did not experience conflict with the civic community, due in large part to the continued participation in civic life by elite members of the group. This did, however, lead to considerable internal conflict (1999: 231), which occupies much of Paul’s attention in 1 Corinthians.

The question of where Christ adherents met is an important issue that is beginning to garner attention. Edward Adams (2012) argues that the location of the Corinthian community’s shared meal was not likely in the home of a group member. Drawing on the practices of associations, he shows that while it is unlikely that the Corinthians had their own clubhouse or met in a temple dining room, it is not outside the realm of possibility that they met in some form of rented dining facilities, as did other small associations. ‘A public or semipublic dining venue, such as a restaurant building, would cohere with the ability of “outsiders and unbelievers” (1 Cor 14.23) to enter into the community gathering’ (2012: 30). Drawing on the architectural remains of the Roman Cellar Building at Corinth, which accommodated 40 banqueters in two separate rooms, Adams suggests that had the Corinthian adherents met in a building somewhat like this one, they might have divided their number between the larger and smaller dining rooms, according to socioeconomic status.

Annette Weissenrieder (2012) likewise provides a good starting point for further research by considering briefly arguments for meetinghouses of association as the locus for explaining the meal practices at Corinth, particularly the hestaitoria, banqueting houses belonging to the Asklepieion in the city. Although she concurs with Klinghardt (1996: 325-26) that these rooms are a possible location for the Corinthian Christ group to assemble or hold banquets if they did so in a reclining position, she disputes the premise. Looking particularly at 1 Cor. 14.30, Weissenrieder maintains that participants were seated, not reclining, during assemblies, a posture not accommodated in the klines of the Asklepion nor that of the dining halls of Demeter and Kore in Corinth. She goes on to argue that the seated posture of attentive listening reflected in the text reflects participation in a civic assembly or a courtroom, although more likely the former, given Paul’s propensity to refer to the assembled Christ-group adherents as the ekklēsia: ‘In silent, attentive sitting, in the ordered speech, in legal vocabulary, etc., the ekklēsia constitutes itself as space which connects binds [sic] together religious and political organizations of meaning’ (Weissenrieder 2012: 106). This is an important issue that is sure to gain more attention in the future, particularly as such a solid foundation has been established for understanding the Corinthian Christ adherents through the lens of Greco-Roman associations.

Turning our attention north to Pauline groups in the Roman province of Macedonia, Christoph vom Brocke briefly overviews some associations at Thessalonike as the backdrop to understand Paul’s warning in 1 Thess. 5.5b-8 against those who get drunk at night, a repudiation of the nocturnal celebrations typical of Dionysiac associations (2001: 128-29). Vom Brocke does not, however, move from the associations as background to suggest that the Christ group itself is in any way linked to the associations. Craig de Vos pushes further in this direction, arguing that ‘to the average Thessalonian, the Christian community probably would have resembled a thiasos’ (1999: 164). They experienced external conflict when the ‘insula-workshop’-based group rejected traditional religious practices and withdrew from social/religious activities (1999: 176). He does not, however, provide much by way of evidence from the associations to support this connection. That task has fallen largely on my own research efforts.

I have argued extensively in a number of publications that the Thessalonian Christ group originated from the efforts made by Paul and his companions among their fellow workers in a local shop (Ascough 2000b; idem 2003: 162-90; the following overview is constructed more fully in Ascough 2014a). This group, predominantly comprised of lower-class, Gentile male members of a professional association, transferred their religious allegiance completely to the monotheistic God of Judaism as mediated through Christ (1 Thess. 1.9), yet maintained many of the organizational characteristics typical of associations. When Paul, Silvanus, and Timothy composed 1 Thessalonians they addressed a number of issues in a manner that suggests that the structure of the Christ group continues to manifest behaviour and concerns typical of associations. The writers uphold leaders that have been chosen or appointed from within the group, and urge support for them in addressing issues of disruptions to the cultic life of the group (1 Thess. 5.12-14). This latter behaviour was typical and the regulations of many associations seek to redress many types of disruptions at meetings.

At times, the letter writers suggest that the group’s new allegiance to Christ means that some behaviour modification is in order, such as the eschewing of zealous competition for honours in favour of a ‘quiet life’ and foregoing favours from patrons (1 Thess. 4.11-12; Ascough 2000b: 321-22). Rulmu (2010) goes so far as to suggest that Paul’s injunction to ‘keep quiet’ indicates his apprehension that Roman authorities and other inhabitants will be alarmed at an association pledging exclusive allegiance to a single god. At the same time, the Thessalonians have acted much like other associations in announcing honours for their new god and praising the workers that brought this god to their attention. Their words have not gone unheard among the many customers, merchants, suppliers, and others with whom they intermingle. It is through these interconnected networks that the ‘word about the Lord’ has sounded forth elsewhere in Macedonia and further south into Achaia (1 Thess. 1.8; Ascough 2014b).

In the body of the letter, the writers of 1 Thessalonians discuss the fate of Christ adherents that have already died (1 Thess. 4.13–5.11). Looking at typical association practices of burial and memorialization, I have argued that the letter responds to Christ-group members wondering whether their adoption of the Christ cult disrupts their former assumption of a post-mortem community of the dead with the living (Ascough 2004, 2011a). The Thessalonians are asking whether their dead can still be part of their community and if their community can still continue commemorative rituals such as monumentalizing of the dead, banquets at the tomb, and graveside ceremonies, all of which were common practices among associations. The writers reassure the Thessalonians that, although the final destruction of the world is coming, God will ensure that the living and the dead will participate in the anticipated return of their heroized patron, Jesus. Thus, although some members have already died, it should not be assumed that they have somehow missed out on the promise of renewed life that formed part of the original message discussed in the workshop setting.

Although debate continues concerning the authorship of 2 Thessalonians (which I do not think is written by Paul), it is still possible to situate the rhetoric of the letter within the discursive practices of associations, as I have done in my reading of 2 Thess. 3.6-15 (Ascough 2010). The text singles out persons who are refusing to work and instead participating in disruptive behaviour among other Christ adherents. The letter writers direct that such persons are not allowed to eat (3.10). The link between disruptive members and eating prohibitions is found in many places within the association data. A number of regulations and by-laws stipulate that activities such as fighting, disruptions of order and ceremony, or abuse of others will incur penalties, one of which is expulsion from the communal meal. In like manner, the writers of 2 Thessalonians tell the adherents ‘to keep away from believers who are walking about disruptively and not according to the tradition that they received from us’ (3.6). Combined with prohibiting food, a punishment that would be difficult to enforce outside of a community meal setting, this passage seems to suggest that disorderly members be barred from ritual commensality.

Pushing further east towards Philippi, we can note that de Vos seems less certain about the extent the Philippian group resembled an association than was the case for Corinth and Thessalonike, although his conclusion that they were a small group composed primarily of freed persons that met in an insula-workshop or small house does suggest the connection. In this case, de Vos sees conflict arising when outsiders attempted to persuade the Christ adherents to renew their former cult practices by (re)joining a collegium or thiasos (1999: 273-75). Paul’s letter offers them examples of more appropriate behaviour as citizens of a new empire based in heaven (Phil. 3.18-21).

My own work on Philippians more forcefully argues that the Christ group to which Paul and Timothy write shares organizational features with an array of religious associations (Ascough 2003: 110-61). Paul and Timothy address them with language similar to that used by associations, such as koinōnia, a term they use to emphasize the group’s continuing focus on unity and cooperation. In referencing the leadership within the Christ group, the writers employ titles—episkopoi and diakonoi—that are used for officers in some association texts, titles that will only later take on a more technical sense within Christ groups (as reflected in the Pastoral epistles). The Philippian Christ group is clearly a gender-inclusive group in which women exercised some leadership capacity, and as such is like other religious associations attested in the data.

Paul and Timothy advocate that the Philippians focus on humility (Phil. 2.3), a clear contrast to the ‘love of honour’ usually displayed within associations. Such contrasts also come to the fore when Paul contrasts his own struggles with opponents who are proclaiming Christ ‘from envy and rivalry’ (1.15), a description apropos to the type of inter-group competition reflected in association inscriptions. The Philippian Christ adherents are undergoing similar competition in the city itself, with a group that are ‘enemies of the cross of Christ’, who ‘glory in their shame’, and set their minds on ‘earthly things’ with no thought for God since ‘their god is their belly’ (3.18-21). Again, the letter writers invert for the Philippians the typical association practices of seeking honours and revelling in banquets. The letter to the Philippian Christ adherents thus reflects the group’s employing of structural features of associations while also expressing the letter writers’ own concern that in some areas the group distinguish itself from the baser (albeit typical) practices of the associations.

Moving westward, no extensive work has been done in applying the data from associations to understanding the formation and structure of the Christ groups at Rome or the Pauline letter addressed to them. Thomas Tobin makes a brief connection when he notes, ‘like the Roman Jews, Roman Christians were organized as a number of voluntary associations’ (2004: 38). As evidence for this, Tobin points to the manner by which Paul addresses his audience in the opening of the letter: ‘all God’s beloved in Rome, who are called to be saints’ (1.7). Other Pauline letters use the address ἐκκλησία, suggesting to Tobin a single voluntary association; in Rom. 16.5 the reference to the ἐκκλησία in the house of Prisca and Aquila suggests that it is but one assembly among many in the city.

This is confirmed through Tobin’s analysis of Rom. 16.3-16, where a number of household assemblies are greeted. He concludes that at Rome there existed a conglomerate of independently organized house churches with no central relationship (presumably differentiating it from the organization of Christ groups at Corinth). It is an intriguing suggestion, and not without merit, although more extensive comparative work is needed on many aspects of the structure and membership of the Christ groups at Rome in light of the association data, which is particularly extensive for Rome and its environs.

Turning our attention back east towards Asia Minor, Paul Trebilco argues that prior to the time of Ignatius of Antioch, ‘there was no one overarching organizational structure in place amongst the Christians of Ephesos’ (1999: 326). Instead, there were at least two Christ groups, and perhaps as many as four or five, each having their own leadership and organizational structure. No formal relationships existed to link these groups with one another. At least one of these groups emanates from Paul’s work in the city, while another is linked to the Johannine community. Yet other, distinct groups might be identified, such as the one addressed by the book of Revelation, the Nicolaitians, and a conservative group of Jewish Christians that arrived following the fall of Jerusalem. The house-church structure of these groups limited their size and kept them physically isolated from one another, while their theological differences worked against their early merger. Thus, unlike the Jewish community in the city, there was no citywide Christian organization, at least until the time of Ignatius.

It is in this lack of central organization among the Christ groups that Trebilco sees an analogy with the associations at Ephesos, many of which remained independent of one another, since ‘there was no reason why a new dining association or burial society need have had any relation to already existing groups of the same form’ (1999: 330). As evidence, he points to a Latin inscription in which Apollonius entrusts care of his wife’s monument to five collegia of slaves and freedmen, which are named individually and without any obvious formal connections other than their link to the imperial household (IEph 2200A, http://www.philipharland.com/greco-roman-associations/?p=8596). Occupational associations connected with the same trade likewise show no evidence of a shared leadership or organization. While such independence is not the case for all associations (e.g., the fishermen and fish dealers of AGRW 162, the silversmiths of AGRW 161, 164, 186, among others), many associations remained self-contained with no linkage to other groups.

Like these groups, Christians formed no citywide associations. For Trebilco, this does not mean that the early Christ groups deliberately adopted the independent associations as a model (1999: 333). Yet it is striking to him that they did not adopt the model of the Jewish community, and some occupational associations, by interlinking across the city. The choice not to do so could be contingent on a number of factors including political pressure, the autonomy of the house churches, a lack of incentive, a desire for secrecy linked to fear of harassment, or disparate theological differences. Yet, while Trebilco himself does not draw the following conclusion, his work does demonstrate that an outsider that knew of more than one Christ group in Ephesos would have perceived these groups as akin to associations that adhered to the same deity yet remained independent of one another.

Although he makes no direct link to Trebilco, Bradley Billings’s (2011) work on architectural aspects of group meeting places provides some confirmation of Trebilco’s argument that Christ groups remained independent in Ephesos, in part because of the restrictions posed by their meeting spaces. Billings looks at the Ephesian association meeting places (and elsewhere) within his broader investigation into the domestic space of various types of groups. Much of the evidence for the positing of ‘house churches’ draws on extant finds from various large villas. While some of these were used for group meetings of various types, a more likely initial meeting place for a closely bonded group composed of low-income, low-status members such as many associations and the Christ groups, would be in houses or apartments of members. Areas in which these modest (at best) residential buildings lie, especially the insulae, have yet to be excavated and thus little evidence has come to the fore. It is only later, and only in a few cases, that such accommodations underwent successive renovations that turned them into distinctive Christian gathering places. Nevertheless, Billings’s hypothesis of size limitations for Christ groups based on building accommodations is completely reasonable and one hopes for more work in this important area.

Connections continue to be made between Christ groups and associations in Asia Minor when we turn our attention to post-Pauline developments seen in the Pastoral Epistles, written in the late first century or early second century. In a newly published book, Harry Maier agrees that the Christ groups that Paul founded ‘look remarkably like Greco-Roman associations’ (2013: 37). He goes on to use the data to demonstrate that the communal ideals in the Pastorals conform to association expectations. Maier looks at four cardinal virtues that appear in inscriptions as a way to honour association benefactors and officials: ἀρετή (‘virtue’), σωφροσύνη (‘good sense’), δικαιωσύνη (‘justice’), and εὐσέβεια (‘piety’).

All of these terms appear, directly or indirectly, in the Pastorals. The audience hearing these letters read aloud ‘would have discovered themselves immediately placed in the world of urban imperial and honorific culture’ as the vocabulary brought to mind honorific inscriptions and monuments that surrounded them daily (2013: 170). At the same time, the Pastorals caricature their opponents using anti-association language that ‘pillories suspect associations as guilty of indecent practices ranging from sacrifice of babies and cannibalism to drunken debauchery at banquets’ and reflects intra-group rivalry (2013: 173; cf. Harland 2009: 161-81). Of particular concern in the Pastorals are the women who are breaking free of prescribed traditional roles by benefacting an array of associations and even taking on leaderships roles. The ideal of the domestic matron, staying at home and bearing children, is presented as the countermeasure to the behaviour the Pastorals view as socially and theologically aberrant (Maier 2013: 188-190).

Maier’s work helps counter the scholarly perception that associations were ethically bankrupt since they seem not to be concerned with regulations and moral codes beyond the group itself. In contrast, the letters addressed to Christ groups, particularly the Pastoral Epistles, are upheld as maintaining higher moral standards. Alicia Batten previously addressed this directly, pointing out that the associations had a wider effect on more lives in the ancient world than did the writings of the philosophers, and thus ‘it is hard to believe that they were morally vacuous’ (2007: 136). Indeed, as John Kloppenborg demonstrates, ‘it is clear that in the late Hellenistic period there was a tendency both in cultic regulations and associations nomoi to count the moral status of participants as a criterion relevant to the issues of entrance and participation’ (2013b: 223). There was a shift during this time in which emphasis moved away from bodily purity to the moral state of participants (2013b: 227).

Batten demonstrates that the problem lies with the categories of ‘morality’ used by scholars and the contexts to which they are applied in the discussion. Her examination of the association texts demonstrates that the language of ‘right and wrong’ is invoked around conduct that promotes internal order in the association and for the promotion of group benefaction. The texts themselves reveal characteristics of conduct that were valued by people, and thus can be construed as ‘moral’, often motivated by fear of the gods. Association language reflecting moral conduct is seen in the use of εὐσέβεια (‘piety’), usually linked with humans negotiating favours from the gods, along with commonly held virtues such as φιλοτιμία (pursuit of public honours usually through monetary benefaction), ἀρετή (‘loving goodness’ recognized in a person’s wealth, social standing and benefaction to the association), and δικαιωσύνη (serving the group in a fair and honest manner). Specific rules surrounding cult activities, particularly those governing conduct, alongside implied or articulated punishments for infractions, reflect cultural morality, as do purity regulations. Oaths provide the mechanism for securing outward conformance to behavioural regulations. Thus, while association rules were (on the whole) not universal, permanent, philosophically grounded, or dependent upon inward transformation, they did reflect the surrounding cultural behaviour codes and values.

Only at the end of the article does Batten turn her attention to early Christian texts, pointing briefly to shared vocabulary and rightly noting that ‘there is no reason to reject the idea that often when early Christians refer to a word within the “moral” realm, they mean precisely what the associations mean’ (2007: 148). Thus, references to εὐσέβεια in the Pastoral Epistles (and 2 Peter) is an expression of public cultural morality rather than an interior sense of godliness, as seen in 1 Tim. 2.2 where the injunction to ‘lead a quiet and peaceable life in all godliness (εὐσέβεια) and dignity’ follows directly the author’s instructions to pray and give thanks for imperial and civic authorities (cf. Kloppenborg 2013b). Although there were some differences in the demands in joining a Christ group rather than an association, a lack of morality on the part of the latter was not one of them.

Batten’s view is anticipated by Robert Seesengood (2002) who examines the New Testament evidence more generally but with specific attention to the household association of Dionysos in Lydia (AGRW 121). His analysis suggests that ‘many of the same conventions and ideas presented in the Philadelphian rule are reflected in the NT’ and thus the latter would not have been perceived as new or particularly harsh within the wider culture (2002: 233). Also anticipating this view are Harrison’s brief comments that the regulations of the Andanian mysteries and the Pastoral letters share a similar attitude towards illicit sexual conduct and the proper dress of women (1999: 43). He adds that, like the associations, leaders are considered worthy of honour, and, in the case of 1 Timothy, of ‘double honour’ (5.17; Harrison 1999: 44).

As we have seen, much comparative work with association data has been done for the Christ groups at Corinth and at Thessalonike. Work on the groups in Philippi and Rome has only just begun, as is also the case for groups in Asia Minor such as those in Ephesos. At the same time, comparative work for the Pauline letters addressed to the Galatians, Philemon, and the Colossians is scant. Nevertheless, we are perhaps at a point in the research where some scholars can set aside, if only temporarily, debates about whether Christ groups betray characteristics of associations and more fully explore the implications of assuming that they do with a full and thick description. This is the methodological tactic employed in a recent study by James Hanges (2012) on Paul as a founder figure, and to good effect. Hanges concludes that

Paul’s self-description of his selection by God, his apologetic use of that description, the range of responsibilities he assumes within his mission area, as well as the strategies he uses for exercising his authority over his ἐκκλησίαι reflect his familiarity with and selective appropriation of the Hellenistic paradigm of the founder figure. (2012: 467)

This paradigm can be seen in a number of stories and regulations linked to the founding of associations, each of which Hanges examines in great detail: the story concerning a temple for the Egyptian god Sarapis on Delos (AGRW 221), the story of the foundation of an association of Sarapis in Opus (AGRW 52), the divine instructions for the household association of Dionysos in Lydia (AGRW 121), the regulations for an association of the god Men Tyrannos in Laurion (AGRW 22), and the regulations of the Andanian mysteries (SIG³ 736). For each, Hanges provides the text, translation, and extensive commentary. Despite various differences in detail among the stories, including the one reflected in Paul’s letters, there exists a paradigmatic connection among them all. Thus,

the Christian cult may be to a certain extent unique, but Paul’s position with respect to this cult, the grounds for his relationship to the cultic communities he founds, and his sense of his own responsibilities toward these ἐκκλησίαι is quite similar to these connections among other Hellenistic cult founders and their foundations. (2012: 474-75)

Beyond Pauline Christ Groups

As noted earlier, prior to 1998 most of the work done on Christ groups and associations was either very broadly construed or focused in detail on Pauline communities. In the past 15 years, however, almost all genres of Christian texts have been put into conversation with the association data. In some cases, the texts are shown to share commonalities with associations, such as expressions of moral conduct in 2 Peter and James (Batten 2007). The James-group was like non-elite associations that provided dignity, economic support, and honour to its members, although the writer of the letter disapproved of associations’ way of practicing patronage (Kloppenborg 1999; cf. idem 1998). Harland (2000) has linked the associations’ widespread participation in imperial aspects of civic life in Asia Minor with the rhetoric of the book of Revelation, by which the writer expresses his disapproval of Christ adherents becoming so involved (cf. Harland 2003a: 239-64). The Gospel texts also show some indications of association language and practice, such as the process of collective, communal writing (Last 2012) and the manner of addressing inner-group conflict through resolution, as in Matthew (Ascough 2001), or the expulsion of aberrant subgroups as reflected in the Fourth Gospel (Kloppenborg 2011a).

Research on associations and the book of Acts has been particularly fruitful, an interesting development given that the writer is ostensibly the first historian to narrate the foundation and organizational development of Christ groups across the north-eastern region of the Mediterranean. Scholars have noted that the writer’s presentation of Christ groups includes many aspects of the language and practices of associations, particularly in the initial summary of the Jerusalem group (Öhler 2005b), but also throughout the rest of the narrative (Öhler 2011a; idem 2011b). Such links can also be observed in the language of benefaction in the odd story of Ananias and Sapphira (Acts 5; Ascough 2000b), the prosecution of Jason for forming an unauthorized association (Acts 17; Hardin 2006), and the office of grammateus (secretary) of an association of silversmiths (Acts 19.23-40; Schinkel 2008). The so-called ‘Apostolic Decree’ of Acts 15 finds parallels among association decrees responding to internal conflict (Ebel 2011), while the dispute itself is presented in order to demonstrate that Christ groups are ‘good Romanized members of society whose association poses no threat to the established Roman ordo’ (Ascough 2011a: 313).

My own recent work in this area has noted how the writer of Acts situates meal scenes at pivotal narrative points that serve as hinges for early Christian identity formation (Ascough 2012). This both builds on and has engaged with prior work on meals in Christ groups and the banqueting practices of associations. In particular, Dennis Smith (2003) points out that whatever the purported reason for the formation of an association, banqueting was often the central activity. Hal Taussig (2009) demonstrates that Christian meals would be similar to association meals insofar as they included members from a wide socioeconomic range, including the poor, and served as loci for political resistance. Kathleen Corley (2010, esp. 11-21) views association meals and burial practices as the context in which to understand roles women played in the ritual life of the earliest Christ groups.

Broader organizational features of Christ groups have also been explored in the past decade and a half (Harland 2003a; idem 2009; Öhler 2004), including finances (Barclay 2006), benefaction (Harland 2002), terminology (Klauck 2000: 42-54), and social integration (Öhler 2005a). The question of the legal status of associations has long been a scholarly focus, and with it questions of the legal standing of Christ groups. The topic continues to attract scholarly attention, although remains without full resolution. Some suggest that Christ groups managed to present themselves as associations and gained recognition by the Roman authorities, either due to their status as an ‘ancient’ group (collegia antiqua; Öhler 2002) or as a recognized religio rather than a superstitio (Kippenberg 2005). Others suggest that because Christ groups were constituted as associations they were tolerated without status (Bendlin 2005), yet they remained under a cloud of legal suspicion, due to their potential to become disorderly (Scheid 2003) or to their focus on exclusivity (Sommer 2006).

Moving into the second and third centuries, Christian texts continue to resonate with the language and practices of associations (see Alikin 2010; idem 2009). In his book-length treatment on the subject, Philip Harland presents compelling evidence that Christ groups, as well as Judaean groups, were similar to other associations in Asia Minor in honouring emperors and other imperial authorities (2003a, esp. 228-37). Although they stopped short of full participation in cult activities, they did not take a stance of outright resistance. In an article published that same year, Harland examines Ignatius of Antioch’s characterization of ‘Christ-Bearers’ and ‘fellow-initiates’ (Eph. 9.3; 12.2) in light of broader cultural images of initiates and processions among associations in Asia Minor (2003b; cf. Harland 2009: 47-59).

Building on this work, Cailie Callon reassesses the arguments that the Acts of Peter takes an anti-imperial stance to demonstrate that the text actually ‘depicts a positive interaction with imperial culture, one similar to other groups (including monotheistic ones) in Asia Minor in the early empire’ (2013: 355). The narration of Peter and Marcellus restoring a statue of Caesar destroyed during Peter’s exorcism of a young man (Acts Pet. 11) is perhaps an apologetic rebuttal to the accusation made that Christ adherents desecrated imperial statues.

The exchange of letters between Pliny and the emperor Trajan in the early second century ce likewise indicates that, like most associations, Christ groups were technically illicit but enjoyed a fair degree of toleration with a few localized exceptions (see AGRW L40). Other writers, both Christian and non-Christian, use association terminology in referencing Christ groups (e.g., Tertullian [AGRW L18], Celsus [AGRW L19], and Eusebius [AGRW L21]). Thus, in the second century and beyond, early Christ groups looked like associations to adherents and to outsiders in their structure and organization.

Éric Rebillard (2009) rightly notes that funerary activities were an important function of associations and were a model for collective Christian burial practice during the third century and beyond. Nevertheless, Christians did not officially organize into ‘funerary associations’ (collegia funeraticia) in order to acquire legal status in the empire for the purpose of administering their cemeteries, as was argued by earlier scholars such as de Rossi (1864-77). There was some organization around burial, however, when Christians who were charged by Constantine with digging graves in Constantinople, and were formed into associations (collegia) and were considered ‘lesser clergy’: ‘I greet the sub-deacons, the readers, the singers, the doorkeepers, the laborers [= ‘grave-diggers’], the exorcists, the confessors’ (Pseudo-Ignatius, ‘To the Antiochians’ 12, fourth century ce).

Other examples are coming to light that suggest that Christians continued to emulate the structures and organization of associations (cf. Waltzing 1895-1900: 4.235-36; Brock 2009). For example, a group of Christian fullers that formed themselves into an association inscribed the following text some time prior to the third century ce:

For the well-being of the simple occupational guild (syngerion) of clothing-cleaners [or: fullers; gnapheis], receive O Lord, this measure of our fruitfulness from your ‘unprofitable slaves’ and grant us forgiveness of sins for our souls and a good defense. (Anazarbos area, Cilicia; Hicks 1890: 236 no. 1, trans. Philip Harland, http://www.philipharland.com/greco-roman-associations/?p=3322)

The phrase ‘unprofitable slaves’ may be an allusion to Luke 17.10. Other texts can be identified as Christian from markings such as a cross, as is the case with the following text that also comes from Cilicia:

☩ Grave (thēkē) belonging to the association (systēma) of linen-dealers (linopōloi) of the harbor of the city of the Korykaians. ☩ (Korykos, Cilicia, undated; MAMA III 770, trans. Philip Harland, http://www.philipharland.com/greco-roman-associations/?p=13477)

In two third-century inscriptions from Perinthos-Herakleia, Thrace, the chi-rho symbol is used to indicate that the people mentioned by name are Christians:

I, Aurelius Philippianos ☧ made this for myself, for my wife Aurelia Dekniane ☧, and for my father Aurelius Neophytos ☧. Now if anyone dares to bury another body in it, that person will pay 500 denarii to the brothers (adelphoi). (IPerinthos 167, trans. Philip Harland, http://www.philipharland.com/greco-roman-associations/?p=14180)

Aurelius Philokyrios ☧ son of Dion laid down this stone for himself from his own resources. I summon my brothers (adelphoi) to take care of it. (IPerinthos 168, trans. Philip Harland, http://www.philipharland.com/greco-roman-associations/?p=14182)

While there is no explicit mention of an association per se, warnings against disturbing the burial plots and the invoking of a group, the ‘brothers’, to care for it is typical of association members throughout the Greco-Roman period.

The Push-back: Resisting the Comparison

The use of associations as data for understanding early Christ groups is not without its detractors. For example, Stanley Stowers (1998) examines carefully AGRW 121 (Philadelphia, late second century bce—early first century ce), an oft-used inscription in comparisons of Christ groups and associations, and concludes that the text reflects a private household cult rather than an association, with its membership drawn primarily from one large household. The cult focus on Zeus and Hestia, gods of the hearth, and the rules of conduct, particularly those around sexual purity, as well as the location of the stele in the courtyard, are indicative of a household cult, and the inclusion of men, women, and slaves is not a nod towards equality but a reflection of the involvement of an entire household. Thus, even if there exist similarities between Christ groups and the oikos-group of the inscription, the latter is not an association. Finally, the text does not reflect a salvationist religion, as is simply assumed by scholars that examine the inscription, which differentiates it significantly from Christ groups.

Richard Horsley (2005: 378-79) reiterates Wayne Meeks’s earlier objections (1983: 78-79) to using associations as a model to understand Christ groups, namely, Paul’s groups were exclusive in their devotion to a deity, gender inclusive, and shared no terminology with associations. Horsley does admit that Meeks overstated the case in arguing that Pauline groups did not rely as heavily on patronage as did associations and were more inclusive of various social strata, but he does note as ‘particularly striking’ the lack of common terminology and particularly that the extra-local linkages of the Pauline ‘movement’ are ‘surely of great significance’ (Horsley 2005: 379). To these objections, Horsley adds, ‘Paul’s ekklēsiai lacked the formal organization and set of rules that characterized the “voluntary associations”’ (2005: 379, n. 16). Horsley is representative of scholars who rely heavily on Meeks’s assessment, usually somewhat more briefly or simply even in passing, to discount associations as having any significance for understanding Pauline (or other) Christ groups.

Unfortunately, Horsley does not re-examine the original evidence used by Meeks or, more importantly, take any account of a much broader range of association data. Those that have done so, including many of those summarized above, have, again and again, come to the conclusion that in fact all of Meeks’s objections are overstated. In an essay published shortly after that of Horsley, I address each of Meeks’s objections in turn, along with a few others, using a wide swathe of association texts (Ascough 2006; cf. idem 1997, 2003: 47-109). It seems that while Christ groups are not the ‘same’ as associations, the evidence also demonstrates both that one particular Christ group is not the same as another Christ group any more than one particular association is the ‘same’ as all others. That is, much more nuance is required in the comparative process.

In reviewing the evidence that I put forward, along with that of Kloppenborg (1993), Edward Adams notes that 25 years after Meeks’s consideration and rejection of the associations as a model, ‘the relevance of the associations to the study of Paul’s churches can no longer be in doubt’ (2009: 71). Indeed, in responding to Adams’s essay in the same volume, Meeks himself acknowledges the progress made in research on associations, which has led to ‘a correction of something I said earlier’ (i.e., in Meeks 1983) regarding the comparability of associations and Christ groups (2009: 141). Thus, Meeks’s initial reasons for rejecting the model can no longer be invoked, although he still expresses caution concerning my argument that Christ groups and associations both exhibit a local focus with limited translocal connections (Ascough 1997; Schmeller 2001 presents counter-arguments to my position).

These are not, however, the only objections. E.A. Judge pithily encapsulates his own opposition to using association data to understand Christ groups by noting, ‘the first churches are all community and no cult, while so-called “cult-groups” create far more cult than community’ (2003: 502), somewhat reversing his earlier assessment that Christ groups would resemble associations, at least to outsiders but perhaps also to themselves (Judge 1960: 44-47; cf. Hanges 2012: 31-32). Judge describes a number of association texts in which cult activity is highlighted, pointing out their lack of group ‘doctrine’ and contrasting this with the Christian ekklēsia, which ‘was driven by its intellectual challenge to the reigning culture’ (2003: 511). The Christ groups were not likely to be mistaken as cult groups as they were ‘far too argumentative’ and ‘far too socially active’ (2003: 514). In the end, Judge describes Christianity in ways that make it sui generis, albeit having more in common with synagogues than any other type of group (2003: 521).

Stanley Stowers (2011) deepens this perspective when he argues that scholarly presuppositions about the nature of ‘religion’ are the reason why similarities are seen among Christ groups and associations. Failure to note the importance of sacrificial rituals in associations (as in Greek and Roman religion generally) and the lack thereof in ‘Pauline Christianity’ is endemic. The act of conversion to Christianity did not involve a simple switch of allegiance but a decision to reject an entire set of practices and beliefs that tied the pantheon of Greco-Roman deities together (2011: 226-27). In this regard, Pauline Christianity bears greater resemblance (but not sameness) to Hellenistic philosophies, without having been derived from them (2011: 236).

One of the greatest differences Stowers cites between Christ groups and Greek and Roman religion is the lack of provision of a commodity to Christ adherents, in the sense that other deities were seen to return products, such as land or workshops, to their devotees. This distinction, however, seems rather narrow, since in some cases Greek or Roman religions did offer less tangible benefits (e.g., sōtēria) while those (albeit few) that did promise a physical afterlife could be construed as offering a ‘tangible’ commodity. In addition, Stowers fails to distinguish between Paul and his letters and the practices of the groups to which he writes (as does Judge 2003). While it may be the case that Paul focuses on ‘intellectual practices’ organized around ‘a totalizing unitary vision of the good’ (Stowers 2011: 241), it is by no means clear that all, or perhaps even any, of the groups to which he writes letters shared his vision. In fact, in some cases, as the works summarized above have often noted, it is the continuation of extant organizational features and practices of other types of groups that reflect a failure of full ‘buy-in’ to Paul’s vision.

Stowers’s comments thus seem more apropos to ‘Paul’s version of Christianity’ rather than ‘Pauline Christianity’ as expressed at the community level (an observation equally true for the list of six differences between ‘Paul’s churches’ and ‘voluntary associations’ briefly offered by Taylor 2012: 97-98). Nevertheless, Stowers presents the most compelling recent rejection of the associative model and must be addressed in full as the conversations continue. Much of his concern with the problematic nature of the current ‘complex, multitaxonomic activity’ of the comparative process could be addressed by breaking down the taxonomic barriers themselves, as we will suggest in our conclusion, below.

Bruce Longenecker (2010: 263-72) presents three reasons that compel him to detach Christ groups from associations, albeit without fully severing the connection, since he compares ‘Jesus-followers’ with ‘other’ associations. Each difference stems from Longenecker’s presumptions concerning the economic standing of the groups. First and foremost, Christ groups were drawn from the urban poor while ‘collegia members’ were much higher up the economic scale, as were their benefactors. Second, any potential patrons of a Christ group would quickly lose interest given the latter’s aversion to ascribing honour and expressing it through public proclamations. Indeed, in their stories, ‘communities of Jesus-followers remembered their Lord as having defamed those engaged in honor-bound benefaction and patronage practices’ (2011: 268). Finally, the political subversion running through Christ-group rhetoric would render prospective benefactors fearful of ‘guilt through association’. As a result of these three factors, would-be benefactors are more likely to have sponsored other groups, thus widening the economic gap between Christ groups and associations (2011: 271).

While Longenecker’s logical progression makes sense, his foundational presupposition is incorrect. As Kloppenborg demonstrates, Longenecker’s presumption of the higher socioeconomic level of association members is drawn from the summary conclusions of others who were focused on the Italian collegia that were wealthy enough to have inscribed monuments: ‘there is no doubt that the Roman and Ostian collegia are among the largest, wealthiest, and most politically influential groups’ (Kloppenborg 2013c: 20). Yet these groups are not representative of the myriad of associations in other regions throughout the empire, many of which reflect a status on the poverty scale similar to that which Longenecker ascribes to Christ adherents.

Thomas Schmeller (2003: 174-75) briefly draws attention to a number of features that demonstrate that the Pauline communities had much in common with associations, including their relatively small size, holding of regular voluntary meetings, and cult activities and shared banquets. At the same time, the Christ groups tended to be more socially diverse. In both types of groups miniature worlds were created and familial language was employed (‘brothers’ and ‘sisters’). Yet while the associations reproduced the honour system of the broader culture through a hierarchy of civic titles, Christ groups focused on the horizontal prestige granted by God to all members. He concludes that the utopian fiction of the Christ groups concerning the fundamental unity and equality of members was considerably more radical than that of the associations (2003: 175).

Gerd Theissen (2007) likewise sees similarities and differences among Christ groups and associations, particularly in features such as by-laws, meal practices, honours, hierarchical leadership, and patrons. He concludes that while they share many structural similarities, Christ groups and associations had fundamentally different forms of self-understanding. The first Christ adherents looked to the primary institutions to which one was born: ethnos, polis, and oikos. Yet, they wanted to be a ‘new nation’ without ethnic boundaries (2007: 228; cf. 242), which Theissen sees highlighted in the language of ‘new creation’ (2007: 224). Nevertheless, Christ groups are not fully disassociated from associations, and in their pursuit of their theological vision Christ groups did retain and adopt some structural features of associations and synagogues. Yet they strive to be much more than associations—‘associations par excellence’ (2007: 242).

Theissen gives little attention to all but a few association inscriptions and thus does not recognize the full breadth of associative behaviour, perhaps the underlying reason for his implicit assumption that Christ groups were sui generis. More importantly, as is the case with other scholars, Theissen blends what Paul describes as a desideratum with what all early Christ adherents aspire towards. Yet the struggles that are reflected in Paul’s letters should at the very least make us cautious of presuming that his audience shared his vision. One cannot simply assume that what Paul articulates is the shared vision (e.g., ‘eine neue Menschheit’ [‘a new humanity’] 2007: 244) would necessarily be shared by members of the groups to which he writes.

I want to mention one final objection to the use of association data to understand early Christ groups, at least one raised in conversations if not in print, that focuses on each type of group’s means of communication. While it is true that association data comes primarily from inscriptions while our information about Christ groups comes from letters and, a generation or two later, narrative texts, the contrasting of media is a false dichotomy. In the early stages of group formation inscriptions were not likely set up by associations, and thus it is no surprise that we have no inscriptions from the foundational stages of Pauline Christ groups. At the same time, some inscriptions note that before being inscribed, honours were announced at group meetings and sometimes even proclaimed in the public square. Some decrees were resolved orally within the group meeting and only secondarily inscribed (AGRW 21, 176/5 bce). In some cases, archives are mentioned, clearly indicating the existence of a repository of written documents belonging to the association, much like we might imagine for Christ groups who preserve copies of letters from founders and subsequent leaders. Indeed, as we noted above, there are some indications that the Christ groups at Corinth had written by-laws not unlike those of associations (Hanges 1998). Nevertheless, more work is required on the various types of media and genres used by all the groups.

As we can see, the arguments against using the association data to understand early Christ groups problematize the issue. Yet, the majority of works published in the past 15 years take a much more positive view on the usefulness of the comparison. Nevertheless, there will always remain some who doubt the validity of the use of association data for understanding Christ groups—and a good thing, too, as they will continue to challenge a complacent acceptance of inadequate arguments. For the most part, however, researchers can and should forge ahead by exploring the implications for understanding early Christ groups within the broader category of Greco-Roman associations.

Resourcing the Way Forward

One of the great challenges to comparing and contrasting early Christ groups with associations is the availability of data from the associations themselves, beyond the four rather well-known inscriptions often used as evidence: SIG³ 985 (Philadelphia, late second century bce—early first century ce = AGRW 121), CIL 14.2112 (Lanuvium, 136 ce = AGRW 310), ILS 7213 (Rome, 153 ce = AGRW 322), IG II² 1368 (Athens, 164/165 ce = AGRW 7). Too often these same four texts are used both to support and to challenge claims of intersections among Christ groups and associations. This is, however, a very limited dataset, and although these particular texts are lengthy and quite interesting in their detail, there is much more extant evidence from associations available.

The three best-known sourcebooks on Greco-Roman associations, however, date back over one hundred years. Two are written in French (Foucart 1873; Waltzing 1895-1900) and one in German (Poland 1909). Two collections published in the last quarter of the twentieth century focus on Roman youth associations (Jaczynowska 1978) and leadership in occupational collegia in Italy (Royden 1988). More recent collections have also focused on particular types of associations, such as Dionysiac associations (Aneziri 2003; Jaccottet 2003) and Roman associations of textile dealers (Liu 2009; Labarre and Le Dinahet 1996). Despite these very helpful resources, many thousands of epigraphic and papyri association texts remain widely distributed across corpora, journals, and books. Unfortunately, most of these texts are untapped, since they are difficult to locate and access, and for the most part are not translated.

In order to address the problem of access, John Kloppenborg, Philip Harland, and I have initiated a four-volume critical edition of texts and translations of select association inscriptions and papyri. The first volume focuses on Attica, Central Greece, Macedonia, and Thrace and includes technical textual notes and broader commentary for each of the 91 entries (Kloppenborg and Ascough 2011). The second volume is well under way and includes texts from Asia Minor and the Bosphoros. Initial work has begun on volume three on the Islands, Greater Syria, Egypt, and North Africa, while the fourth and final volume on Italy and the Western Provinces is still a few years from completion.

In the interim, we have published a less technical Sourcebook, which includes translations of inscriptions, papyri, and literary texts, each with a very brief introduction (Ascough, Harland, and Kloppenborg 2012). We also included descriptions of about two-thirds of the extant archaeological remains from association buildings. An annotated bibliography of well over three hundred secondary works on all aspects of associations represents almost all of the major publications in English, German, and French up to 2011. The subject index facilitates connections among the primary and secondary works in the sourcebook. Our goal is to allow scholars and students to read the primary texts and form their own interpretations, connections, and ideas about the nature of associations in the ancient world and their intersections with early Christ groups and Jewish groups. The original Greek and Latin texts for the inscriptions in the book are available on the companion website at http://philipharland.com/greco-roman-associations, which also includes a considerable number of other association inscriptions and papyri texts with translation and, wherever possible, photographs, along with a comprehensive bibliography. This website continues to expand as we add new texts to it and make corrections to the texts and translations in the printed volumes as they are drawn to our attention.

Conclusion

Research on Christ groups and associations over the past few decades has brought to the fore many similarities, and a few differences, that Christ groups share with associations, particularly, albeit not limited to, the Pauline Christ groups. Early Christian writings in the New Testament and beyond resonate with the language and practices of associations. There is extensive use of fictive kinship language such as ‘father’ and ‘brother’ alongside an emphasis on friendship and shared property. Although the writings bear the rhetoric of egalitarianism and shared responsibilities, it is also clear that in many Christ groups there is a hierarchical leadership structure, especially from the second century onwards. Christ groups note a reliance on patronage, and seem to hold meetings in private residences, although occasionally can be found in public spaces (e.g., the temple forecourt in Jerusalem or by a riverside). Christ groups look and sound like associations in structure and organization, including similar cult practices (particularly ritual meals) and regulations. They are technically illicit but generally tolerated as insignificant (with a few localized exceptions) and by the second century and beyond even self-describe as associations. More and more, however, the research is suggesting that this second-century evidence is simply a continuation of the presumed community model adopted by the Christ groups and affirmed by their founders and the later writers who narrate their development.

In a recent paper, John Kloppenborg notes that he wants to avoid the essentializing debate about whether Christ groups are or are not associations (2013a: 187-88; idem 2013b: 228). Enough work has been done, he says, to accept the premise that associations are ‘good to think with’. I agree on both accounts. Certainly the foregoing review demonstrates the many ways in which associations have indeed been ‘good to think with’ when it comes to Pauline Christ groups. But I do want to move beyond this to suggest that the picture that emerges from thinking with associations—not only in regard to Pauline communities but also other early Christ groups—is one that breaks down the scholarly taxonomy that divides groups into three or more distinct categories such as ‘Jews, Christians, and others’ or ‘synagogues, churches, and associations’. More to the point, enough work has now been undertaken to demonstrate that early Christ groups and, for that matter, synagogues (see Runesson 2001), cannot be categorized as somehow separate and distinct from the myriad other groups in antiquity.

Scholarship has reached the point where we need to reframe the entire question, or at least drop it as it currently stands. It would make no sense to the ancient person to ask whether such-and-such a group was or was not an ‘association’, for that category itself has already been essentialized in scholarly discourse. As scholars we can and must reclaim the term ‘association’ for what it really is—a broad basket into which most if not all antique groups can be placed, including those populated by Judaeans and/or Christ adherents. The category ‘association’ only becomes useful when we add nuance; viz. ‘a privately organized Zeus association’ or ‘a semi-public Isis association’ or ‘an association of Dionysos devotees’ or ‘an association of Christ followers’, and so forth (cf. Ascough 2008; Kloppenborg 2011b: 189-90, 196). Without this nuance, the category is useless, and thus so also is the framing of the question of whether Pauline Christ groups were or were not ‘associations’. Of course they were; their members associated with one another. But this is unhelpful. The really interesting material is in the detailed analyses, of which we look forward to much more to come.