A. “My Scripture”: Various Possible Stances

In some cases, a speaker or writer who quotes a text might consider the source text to be something along the lines of “my scripture” (or “our scripture”). It is important to recognize, however, that one can relate to texts that represent “my scripture” (or “our scripture”) in a wide range of different ways, and that the mere fact that someone cites a particular text does not immediately indicate which of these may be in play. Does the speaker or writer think about the source text all the time or only occasionally? Would they treat it as giving ongoing guidance for daily life in a wide variety of areas, or would they only find it natural to reference this particular source text in a limited range of contexts, such as when discussing advanced theological questions with educated companions? Does the source text represent “first priority scripture” for them, or a text they would only go to when the topic they want to address is not covered in other, more preferred “scriptures”? For this person, does viewing the text as “my scripture” entail endorsing the entirety of its contents? Questions like these can be very difficult to answer, especially when we are thinking about people in the ancient world. Thus, even in cases where one knows that a speaker or writer views the source text from which a citation is taken as “my scripture” (or “our scripture”) in some sense, determining their precise stance toward that text is by no means straightforward—and as a result, that stance is rarely inferable from the mere fact that they have cited it.

B. “Other People’s Scripture”: Various Possible Stances

Moreover, a speaker or writer does not have to consider the source text “my scripture” at all in order to cite a particular passage. In a debate, for example—or when writing an academic article—a person might cite something not because they are particularly attached to it, but for other reasons, e.g., because they think it will help persuade their audience, or will make them seem knowledgeable. They might affirm only the particular statement they cite from the source text, and only insofar as it accords with the claim they are making, while rejecting other ideas in the source text outright. They may not even have read the entire source text. Perhaps they do not even know where the citation comes from. In other words, citation is not necessarily an endorsement of the entire source text, or an indication that the person citing the text views it as “my scripture.”

I will offer two illustrations of this phenomenon. First, consider a scene in the Acts of the Apostles, where the apostle Paul is in Athens talking to some gentiles about “the god who made the world and everything in it” (Acts 17:24).^{Footnote 3} In many manuscripts, including fourth-century Codex Sinaiticus, he announces: “He is not far from each one of us. For ‘in him we live and move and have our being.’ As even some of your own poets (τινες τῶν καθ᾽ ὑμᾶς ποιητῶν) have said, ‘For we too are his offspring.’ Being God’s offspring, we ought not to think that the Divine is like gold or silver or stone” (Acts 17:27–29). Did the storyteller (“Luke”) consider the “poets” of Acts 17 “my scriptures”? And would he have affirmed everything they said? Probably not, nor was he probably trying to attribute those stances to Paul. Clement of Alexandria attributes the words “for we too are his offspring” to Aratus, Phaenomena 5, a proem to Zeus from the third century BCE (see Strom. 1.19), and more recent interpreters have suggested that Aratus was thinking of Cleanthes, Hymn to Zeus 1.^{Footnote 4} While “Luke” may not have known where the words came from, it seems unlikely that he would have considered such works “my scripture” or any equivalent,^{Footnote 5} or that he wanted to characterize Paul as having that attitude. In the version of the story cited above, Paul even calls them “some of your own poets” (τινες τῶν καθ᾽ ὑμᾶς ποιητῶν), which seems to distance him from the works.^{Footnote 6} Indeed, one purpose of the citations was probably to characterize Paul as a good communicator who could tailor arguments to his gentile audience. His speech critiques idolatry, and the comment about “poets” characterizes that critique as following on from ideas with which his audience was already familiar.

Our second illustration comes from a dialogue between Patriarch Timothy I of the (Nestorian) Church of the East—a Christian leader—and the third Abbasid caliph, al-Mahdī—a Muslim and the political ruler over the area where Timothy and his constituents lived.^{Footnote 7} An oral dialogue between these figures seems to have taken place in Baghdad around 782 CE, of which Timothy later wrote up an account in Syriac.^{Footnote 8} This written Dialogue may share an element of fictionality with Acts Phil. 5–7, since one can hardly assume that it is an exact transcription of a historical event. In other ways, the Dialogue differs from Acts Phil. 5–7. Most notably, the Christian protagonist’s interlocutor is a Muslim rather than a Jew. The latter difference makes the Dialogue a particularly useful tool for defamiliarizing Christian citation practices, at least for those of us for whom Christian-Jewish literary debates and Christian citation of Israel’s scriptures are already familiar enough to seem routine, but who have spent less time reading debates where Christians cite another set of scriptures: the Qur’an. The Dialogue helps elucidate some interpretive possibilities that we should consider when reading texts like Acts Phil. 5–7.^{Footnote 9}

This account is particularly interesting for our exploration of Acts Phil. 5–7 because Timothy cites the Qur’an to support claims about Jesus.^{Footnote 10} At one point, for example, the caliph asks whether God can die, and Timothy comments:

Timothy uses another Qur’anic passage to argue that Christ is “not a servant but a Lord”: “I heard also that it is written in the Qur’an that Christ is the Word and the Spirit of God [Q 4:171; cf. 3:45], and not a servant. If Christ is the Word and the Spirit of God, as the Qur’an testifies, He is not a servant but a Lord” (Dial. 19.20). Elsewhere, Timothy cites texts from the Qur’an and Genesis in parallel:

As these examples illustrate, Timothy cites the Qur’an to bolster claims about Jesus. This does not mean that it represents “my scripture” for Timothy, however, or for the (presumably) Christian audience for whom he wrote up the account.^{Footnote 12} Rather, he is quoting “other people’s scriptures” to support his own christological claims. Indeed, he distances himself from the Qur’an at a number of points. Addressing the caliph, Timothy refers to the Qur’an as “your book” (e.g., Dial. 16.44), and says that it has not been confirmed by signs and miracles:

Timothy does not seem to consider the Qur’an “my scripture,” or to accord it the same status as “the Gospel.” It is “your book” (i.e., the caliph’s book), not “mine.”^{Footnote 13}

In addition to illustrating how a person can quote something—and even use it to make a christological argument—without considering the source text “my scripture,” the Dialogue also raises questions about how citation practices relate to the social context in which a statement is made. While the Dialogue was presumably written for a Christian audience, the Qur’anic citations are presented within the narrative as directed toward a Muslim interlocutor. In fact, it seems likely that for Timothy the Qur’an represented not simply “other people’s scriptures” but, more specifically, “other people’s scriptures that we only cite when talking to or about Muslims,” and that he would have looked askance at Christians searching for wisdom in the Qur’an for their own edification, with no Muslims in view.

There are also other ways an individual could relate to “other people’s scriptures,” however. In some circumstances, a person or community might think of a text as “other people’s scripture” and also see it as a valuable repository for wisdom and knowledge for its own sake. They might look to that text as a source of information for addressing their own questions about the world.

C. Other Possibilities

As already remarked, I am not trying to construct a typology of categories here, or to suggest that these are the only way that stances toward texts could be assessed or described. Rather, I simply want to alert us to the fact that people can have a wide variety of stances toward texts they cite, which means that there are a variety of interpretive options to consider for specific texts, including Acts Phil. 5–7.

Before turning to the latter text, let me sketch out one additional stance someone could have toward a text, which both illustrates the complexity of the issues, and is potentially relevant when considering how Christian storytellers might have viewed Israel’s scriptures. For convenience, I will call this type of stance “scripture 1.0.” Someone could consider the Torah or prophets “scripture” or “authoritative” in a certain sense, but see them as more or less redundant or obsolete for those who have already accepted the message about Christ. This perspective might argue that once you reach your destination, you no longer need a map. A Christian community shaped by such a stance might employ Israel’s scriptures for outward-facing purposes such as evangelism and apologetics—and/or include readings in worship services—but not allocate them a significant role in ongoing Christian discipleship, or in conversations among Christians except insofar as those conversations relate to people outside the fold.

Could this perhaps be Timothy’s stance toward the Torah and the prophets in the Dialogue? In the last passage quoted above, Timothy says that the Torah and prophets were initially confirmed by signs and miracles but were later “abrogated” and replaced by “the Gospel.” (Although there is more emphasis on the “abrogation” of the Torah, the passage as a whole suggests that Timothy is thinking about the prophets along similar lines.) Elsewhere Timothy adds, “If I had found in the Gospel a prophecy concerning the coming of Muhammad, I would have left the Gospel for the Qur’an, as I have left the Torah and the Prophets for the Gospel” (Dial. 8.13).^{Footnote 14} Timothy thus affirms that the Torah and the prophets were from God, but talks as if only “the Gospel” has the status of “current scripture” for him.

I will leave further evaluation of Timothy’s stance toward the Torah and prophets for future research, after one final observation: the Dialogue reminds us that some people’s stances toward Israel’s scriptures may not be easily categorizable as either “my scriptures” or “other people’s scriptures.” There is no indication that Timothy is thinking of the Torah and the prophets as “other people’s scriptures”—and I doubt he is—but he may not consider them “my scriptures” in a current, active sense, either. Rather, the overall tenor of his remarks suggests that only “the Gospel” enjoys the status of “my book” for Timothy.

A. Plot Summary

Acts Phil. 5–7 depicts the conversion of a city called “Nikatera” to Philip’s god. Philip arrives in the city, and a leading citizen named Ireos quickly accepts his teaching about Jesus and invites Philip to his house, where the apostle continues his ministry activities (Acts Phil. 5). This causes a stir among “Jews” and other residents of the city—including city leaders—and a mob forms, escorting Philip to the city hall and calling out for “the magician” to be whipped (Acts Phil. 6.1–8).^{Footnote 16}

A prominent “Jew” named Aristarchos then challenges Philip to a public debate about Jesus (Acts Phil. 6.9). Before the debate begins, Aristarchos pulls Philip’s beard, and the apostle miraculously maims his antagonist (Acts Phil. 6.10–11). Aristarchos and other “Jews” urge Philip to be compassionate, and Philip instructs Ireos to heal him (Acts Phil. 6.12). Aristarchos then repeats his request for a debate, and the crowds promise that if Philip wins, they will “put our faith in the Messiah you proclaim” (Acts Phil. 6.12).

The verbal debate—which forms the focus of this article—is concisely narrated (Acts Phil. 6.13–15). (For ease of reference, a Greek text and English translation of the passage are provided in an appendix at the end of the article, where I have also given numbers to the “citations” in the debate.)

After a short duel of citations, the (non-Jewish) crowds and city authorities start saying that Philip seems to be right. The combat between Aristarchos and Philip is not over yet, however. A dead person is carried by on a stretcher, and at the urging of Philip and the crowd, Aristarchos tries to raise him—in vain (Acts Phil. 6.16–18).^{Footnote 17} Philip then steps in and is successful (Acts Phil. 19–20), leading the crowd to proclaim, “There is one god, that of Philip, Christ Jesus who raises the dead” (Acts Phil.^A 6.20). The non-Jewish populace has now been completely won over (Acts Phil. 6.21–22).

In a final scene, a place of Christian worship is constructed and Philip continues teaching, then departs (Acts Phil. 7).

B. Manuscripts and Date

Two Greek manuscripts of Acts Phil. 5–7 are extant, each of which presents it as part of a longer series of stories about Philip. Fourteenth-century Xenophontos 32 (cited here as Acts Phil.A) includes stories about Philip divided into fifteen “acts,” plus a martyrdom account, while eleventh-century Vaticanus graecus 824 (Acts Phil.^V) contains the first nine of these “acts” and a martyrdom.^{Footnote 18}

This article focuses exclusively on Acts Phil. 5–7, which seems to have had an independent origin. Acts Phil. 5–7 and Acts Phil. 8–15 + Martyrdom, each of which forms a cohesive plot unit, are clearly separate cycles of stories that were brought together secondarily.^{Footnote 19} Acts Phil. 1 and Acts Phil. 2 are also clearly distinct stories. And while one scholar has suggested that Acts Phil. 3–4 may belong with Acts Phil. 5–7,^{Footnote 20} I consider it more likely that Acts Phil. 5–7 had a different origin than even that material, given the lack of any necessarily interconnected features of plot, and certain linguistic and social dynamics.^{Footnote 21}

Regarding date, because Acts Phil. 5–7 seems to draw on the Acts of Peter (see below), the story was probably not circulating in its current form earlier than the third century CE. There is no reason to think it originated that early, however, and most commentators tentatively date the tale to the late fourth or first half of the fifth century.^{Footnote 22} Regardless, extant manuscripts probably reflect some later revision.

The Xenophontos and Vaticanus versions of Acts Phil. 6.13–15 are quite similar. I will generally cite Xenophontos, noting variants when relevant for my overall argument.

A. “Need” for Prophets because of ἀπιστία

First, discussing “the prophets” is presented in the story as Aristarchos’s idea, not that of Philip.^{Footnote 23} At the beginning of the debate, Aristarchos asks, “Do you accept the prophetic voices?”^{Footnote 24} and Philip replies, “Because of your ἀπιστία prophets are needed.” Within the narrative, Philip thus cites “prophets and patriarchs” after his interlocutor suggests debating on that basis.^{Footnote 25}

In his reply, Philip also associates the prophets with both “need” (χρεία) and ἀπιστία (faithlessness or unbelief). Moreover, it is specifically “your” ἀπιστία with a plural ὑμῶν. In the context of Acts Phil. 5–7, this could imply “Jewish” ἀπιστία, since Aristarchos is explicitly presented as representing a group of “Jews” who collectively oppose Philip.^{Footnote 26}

In this initial exchange between Philip and Aristarchos, there is thus no positive indication that the “prophets” necessarily represent “my scriptures” for Philip, and they are also associated with two negative concepts, “need” and ἀπιστία. The latter terms suggest further that the “prophets” may be seen as having only a limited function, at least for Christians. Precisely what those limits might be is something we will continue to think about as the article progresses. The first thing to observe is that the only context in which Israel’s scriptures are explicitly mentioned in Acts Phil. 5–7—or even clearly alluded to—is this debate between Philip and a “Jewish” character in front of an audience made up of worshipers of other gods, which is framed as an apologetic and evangelistic context.^{Footnote 27} The narrative never portrays “prophets and patriarchs” as being part of Philip’s teaching to his own disciples. While “Gospel” texts are also strikingly absent from Philip’s teaching to his disciples—a point to which we will return below—Philip’s association of the prophets with “need” and ἀπιστία, combined with the limited social contexts in which they are referenced in the narrative, nevertheless highlights the possibility that these texts could be understood as being useful primarily in outward-facing contexts, either for talking to people who are not Christians (i.e., for evangelism and apologetics) or for talking about talking to people who are not Christians, as happens in literary debate scenes like the one in Acts Phil. 5–7.

In other words, while none of the features of the narrative we have looked at so far rule out the possibility that the prophets represent “my scriptures” in some more active sense for the storytellers of Acts Phil. 5–7, those features may be better explained by understanding the prophets to represent either “scripture 1.0”—still “scripture,” but functionally irrelevant for people who have already accepted the message—or “other people’s scriptures, for outward-facing contexts,” like the Qur’an in Timothy’s dialogue with the caliph (i.e., “the Jews’ scriptures, not ours”). At the very least, nothing in Acts Phil. 5–7 speaks against the latter possibilities, either of which would account well for the negative overtones of Philip’s initial remark.

B. Lack of Familiarity with the Prophets as Entire Texts

There is also reason to think that the storytellers may not have been familiar with “the prophets” as entire texts, and that they may not even have been overly concerned with ensuring that all the “citations” in the debate actually derived from Israel’s scriptures. Again, while this would not preclude the possibility that the storytellers considered Israel’s scriptures their “own,” or that they would have allocated those texts an active role in ongoing Christian discipleship, it would nevertheless fit well with a scenario in which neither of those was the case.

Several of Aristarchos’s remarks cannot be conclusively located anywhere in the Septuagint, despite being presented as “what is written.”^{Footnote 28} Thus, e.g.,

If these words were “written” somewhere, it was probably not in an (accurate) version of “the prophets.” In Old Greek (LXX) versions of Israel’s scriptures, the closest analogue to the first “citation” [C1] seems to be Isa 43:21, which is typically printed in modern editions as λαόν μου ὃν περιεποιησάμην τὰς ἀρετάς μου διηγεῖσθαι but has a form of ἐξηγεῖσθαι in place of διηγεῖσθαι in some witnesses.^{Footnote 29} The parallel is hardly exact, however. In the TLG, the closest verbal parallel I have discovered is not a biblical citation but a comment about John Chrysostom: τίς τὰς ἀρετάς σου ἐξηγήσηται ὡς ὀφείλει.^{Footnote 30} Parallels to the second “citation” [C2] are even more elusive, and the third “citation” [C4] likewise has no LXX equivalent—although it has numerous close parallels in Christian texts (e.g., Acts 10:42; Rom 14:9; 2 Tim 4:1; 1 Pet 4:5; 2 Clem 1:1; MartPoly 2:1).

What explains these enigmatic “citations”? Frédéric Amsler has suggested that the storytellers intentionally had Aristarchos offer nonexistent or non-prophetic “citations” because they wanted to portray him as ignorant or confused.^{Footnote 31} This is not the most convincing explanation, however, since the story’s audience would have needed extensive familiarity with the entire contents of Israel’s scriptures (or modern Bible software) to realize that these “citations” were not found in that corpus. (It is much easier to confirm that a citation is found in a body of textual material than to ascertain that it is not.)

All in all, it seems much more likely that the storyteller(s) thought that the “citations” sounded like prophetic material and were either muddled up themselves—and mistakenly believed that these were actually quotes from Israel’s scriptures—or knew that some of the material did not derive from that corpus but did not consider that fact relevant for their literary purposes, as long as their audience did not realize—or did not care—about the dubious provenance of some “citations.” Or perhaps both of these factors were in play to varying degrees.

One can easily see how mistakes could have arisen regarding the original sources of some of the “citations.” For example, the storyteller(s) could have been drawing citations from an anthology of quotations or another secondary source that included both citations from “the prophets” and other material—other citations, commentary, and the like. The storyteller(s) could have mistaken some of that other material for “prophetic” citations, without checking the original sources or knowing the “prophets” well enough to realize their error.^{Footnote 32} For some “citations,” they could also have been working from (faulty) memory.

Robert Kraft’s analysis of some actual “citations” of “prophets” that appear in the debate would lend support to such a scenario. Kraft observes that the word order in one of Philip’s “citations” [C10] differs from many Greek manuscripts of Isa 53:7 but resembles a version cited in Barn 5.2 and Melito, Paschal Homily 64. He suggests that each of these writers probably took the quote from a secondary source rather than from a text of Isaiah.^{Footnote 33} With regard to another citation [C19], Kraft points out that while all Old Greek manuscripts of Isa 45:1 read τῷ χριστῷ μου Κύρῳ, “to Cyrus, my anointed,” the Acts Phil. citation reads τῷ Χριστῷ μου κυρίῳ, as do many other Christian texts, beginning with Barn 12:11 (cf. Psa 110:1).^{Footnote 34} Again, he concludes that each of these texts more likely took it from a secondary source (or oral tradition) than from a manuscript of Isaiah.

The versions of Isa 42:1 [C9], Zech 9:9 [C17], and Hos 11:1 [C18] that appear in Acts Phil. 5–7 likewise suggest that the citations in the debate may generally have been taken from a combination of secondary sources and memory. In each of these cases, the wording is more similar to the version found in the Gospel of Matthew (see Mt 12:18; 21:5; and 2:15) than to known versions of the LXX. It therefore seems likely that the storyteller(s) of Acts Phil. 5–7 either reproduced these citations from memory—a memory shaped more by Matthew’s Gospel than by readings from the “prophets” themselves—or that they drew the citations from an anthology or other secondary source that itself attested Matthean versions of the extracts. In either case, there is no reason to think that the Acts of Philip storytellers were aware of any discrepancy between the words they wrote and those in LXX manuscripts—to which they may not have had access, anyway.

How does all of this inform our assessment of the storytellers’ stance toward Israel’s scriptures? One can, of course, be relatively unfamiliar with a text, work from secondary sources or memory, and fail to check whether one’s “citations” actually come from the text in question, and still consider it “my scripture,” especially in a context where access to books is limited. The storyteller(s) of Acts of Philip could theoretically have been thinking, “I wish I could consult LXX manuscripts to verify these citations—these are my scriptures and important to me, after all—but alas, there are no copies of those books in town!” All things considered, however, it seems more likely that the curious “citations”—especially those of dubious provenance attributed to Aristarchos—reflect a certain unconcern on the storytellers’ part with “knowing the texts” and “getting the details right.” A storyteller could have been perusing an anthology of quotations and thinking, “Is this one from the prophets, too? I don’t know, but I need a few more citations to pad out this dialogue I’m writing, so I’ll just include it.” Or a storyteller might even have invented some prophetic-sounding “citations” himself, thinking either, “My audience won’t realize this isn’t from the prophets,” or “My audience won’t care.”^{Footnote 35} And all in all, this is in keeping with the possible interpretations of the story I have suggested, in which Israel’s scriptures represent either “other people’s scriptures” for the storytellers or an outmoded “scripture 1.0.”

C. Why Are the “Citations” Included?

I have been arguing that the “citations” in Acts Phil. 5–7 do not necessarily indicate that the storytellers thought of the “prophets” as “my scriptures” in an unqualified manner—nor indeed would such a stance have been required for the literary functions that the “citations” may have been designed to serve. These include making the protagonist look good by having him display mastery of a certain type of knowledge.^{Footnote 36} In Acts Phil. 5–7, Philip is not only good at performing miracles, but he is more successful in a debate about “Jewish scriptures” than a “Jewish” leader!^{Footnote 37} Storytellers may also have wanted to show off their mastery of the well-established literary “debate” form.^{Footnote 38} As will be illustrated by the Acts of Peter below, the storytellers of Acts Phil. 5–7 did not invent the idea of having characters engage in a debate about Jesus in which Israel’s scriptures are cited, and at least part of their motivation for including the “citations” was therefore probably to adhere to literary conventions. There are thus various reasons the “citations” could have been included in the narrative that do not presuppose a “my own scriptures” stance on the storytellers’ part.^{Footnote 39}

D. Acts Phil. 5–7, the Acts of Peter, and the “Jews”

A brief comparison with the Acts of Peter provides additional reason not to assume that the Acts of Philip storytellers necessarily considered Israel’s scriptures “my scriptures” in a current, active sense.^{Footnote 40} The debate scene in Acts Phil. 5–7 owes a lot to the Acts of Peter, which seems to have been a direct inspiration. Although we do not know what version of the Acts of Peter may have influenced Acts Phil. 5–7, parallels with the extant Vercelli manuscript include the following:

1. 1) An apostle debates a “Jewish” antagonist, in front of a crowd that includes worshipers of other gods, who ask to hear the respective arguments (Acts Phil. 6.12; Acts Pet. 23).

2. 2) The antagonist accuses the apostle of saying that a person who was born and crucified is a god (Acts Pet. 23; Acts Phil. 6.13).

3. 3) Citations from the “prophets” are made (Acts Phil. 6.13–15; Acts Pet. 24; NB: not the same citations).

4. 4) A dead man from a high-status family is carried in, whose parents offer to give up slaves and money if their son is raised (Acts Phil. 6.16–17; Acts Pet. 28).

5. 5) The hesitant antagonist is unable to raise the dead, whereas the apostle is successful (Acts Phil. 6.18–20; Acts Pet. 28).

6. 6) The apostle extracts a promise not to harm his opponents as a condition for performing the miracle (Acts Phil. 6.19; Acts Pet. 28).^{Footnote 41}

A notable difference is that in the Acts of Peter it is the apostle Peter’s idea to talk about “the prophets,” and his antagonist does not cite any texts at all, whereas in Acts Phil. 5–7 Aristarchos suggests debating on that basis and Philip immediately brings up ἀπιστία and “need.” If Acts Phil. 5–7 was inspired by a story similar to the Vercelli Acts, the idea of citing prophets has thus been taken away from the apostle—whether consciously or not on the part of the Acts of Philip storyteller(s)—and given to the literary antagonist.

The latter changes are important to keep in mind when assessing the stance of the Acts of Philip storytellers toward Israel’s scriptures. It could be that the storytellers of the Acts of Peter felt fine with an apostle who cites “prophets” as “my own, current scriptures,” but the Acts of Philip storytellers felt less comfortable with that, and altered some elements of the story—consciously or otherwise—to distance their apostle from those texts.

As well as accounting for the differences between the narratives mentioned above, this would fit the generally more anti-Jewish vibe of Acts Phil. 5–7 and the starker distinction made between “Jewishness” and “Christianness” in the narrative. In the Acts of Peter, both Simon and Peter are referred to as “Jews,” although this is not a significant aspect of the characterization of either.^{Footnote 42} In Acts Phil. 5–7, in contrast, being a “Jew” is the most prominent feature of Aristarchos,^{Footnote 43} and Aristarchos now also represents a whole group of “Jews” opposing the apostle (see Acts Phil. 6.11; 6.15; cf. 7.3). Philip, meanwhile, is not referred to as a “Jew” in Acts Phil. 5–7 at all, and “Jews” in the story treat him as an outsider, addressing him as “stranger” (ξένε) and speaking of “our people” in a way that suggests Philip does not qualify: “Heal the first of our people” (θεράπευσον τὸν πρῶτον τοῦ ἔθνους ἡμῶν) (Acts Phil. 6.11). Philip himself addresses Aristarchos as “Jew” (ὦ Ἰουδαῖε) (Acts Phil. 6.18), and in Acts Phil.^A “Jewish” and “Christian” are used as contrasting terms: the crowds refer to Aristarchos as “the Jew” (Acts Phil.^A 6.18) and to Philip as “the Christian” (τῷ χριστιανῷ) (Acts Phil.^A 6.16). All in all, the story seems to reflect an attitude where “Jewishness” and “Christianness” are not seen as overlapping in any meaningful way.^{Footnote 44} In this sort of narrative, a greater hesitancy to treat the prophets as “my scriptures” in an unqualified manner may not be so surprising after all.^{Footnote 45}