Acts of Love: A Narrative Pattern in the Apocryphal Acts

Taken generally, the Apocryphal Acts of the Apostles share an ascetic orientation in regard to sexuality that finds expression in a repeated narrative formula: the apostle converts a married man or woman to the worship of Christ, which entails in turn the renunciation of carnal relations. If one of the partners to the marriage remains unconverted, she or he may seek to retaliate for this disruption in conjugal life. When the offended spouse is powerful enough to encompass the apostle’s death, the narrative is brought to a conclusion in the form of a martyrdom or passion. Three out of the five Acts that survive in substantial portions terminate in this way.

The apostle, by his intervention, may be perceived as a rival to the husband or wife for the devotion of the spouse, since he acts as an alternative pole of attraction. In this respect, the pattern in the Acts inverts the basic paradigm that informs the ancient Greek novels, in which the mutual erotic passion between husband and wife, or between fiancés, is repeatedly tested and wins out against the allure or the threats of potential rivals. The bond of erôs between marital partners, which is privileged in the novels, ² is systematically devalued in the Acts in favor of a religious commitment to the apostle and the faith for which he stands. As Judith Perkins observes: “The anti-social bias of the Acts emerges from a comparison of their endings with the typical conclusions of the Greek romances with which they are contemporary and thematically linked.” ³

In the paper that follows, I shall call attention to another narrative motif in the Acts, one that does not pose so radical an opposition between human love and spiritual zeal. Before turning to my central theme, however, let me illustrate just how the apostle is presented as a competitor for the affections of a married convert.

Our primary Greek source for the Acts of Andrew narrates only the final episode in the apostle’s life, leading to his crucifixion. This segment begins with the apostle’s arrival in Patras, where, prior to the point at which the Greek text commences, Andrew had healed Maximilla, the wife of the proconsul Aegeates, who, as we learn from Gregory of Tours’ epitome and other sources, had been prepared to commit suicide in the event that Maximilla should die. As a convert to Christianity, Maximilla henceforward adopts a life of celibacy and refuses to perform the services of a wife, putting her husband off for a while by sending to him a slave named Euclia in her place. When Euclia’s disguise is exposed by her fellow slaves (sundouloi, 18, 22), Aegeates mutilates her and expels her from the house (22); however, he approaches his wife in all humility and begs: “I cling to your feet, I who have been your husband now for twelve years, who always revered you as a goddess and still do because of your chastity [sôphrosunê] and your refined character” (23). Aegeates naturally supposes, moreover, that Maximilla’s abstention is due to her erotic interest in a rival: “So if you are keeping some secret from me about another man—something I never would have suspected—I will make allowances and I myself will cover it up, just as you often put up with my foolishness.” ⁴ Maximilla’s answer is calculated to inflame his suspicions: “I love [philô], Aegeates, I love [philô]; and what I love [philô] is not of this world and therefore is imperceptible to you. Night and day it kindles and enflames [exaptei kai phlegei] me with love [storgêi] for it. . . . Let me have intercourse [prosomilein] with it and take my rest with it alone” (23, trans. MacDonald, modified).

Maximilla’s language leaves Aegeates in doubt as to her condition; he does not know, he says, “if my wife is in a state of ecstasy or lunacy [ekstasei ê maniâi]” (24, trans. MacDonald). On the one hand, she employs erotic imagery of burning and intimate association; but the object of...