¹ All references to the Greek text come from Die Kirchengeschichte (ed. Friedhelm Winkelmann; Eusebius Werke 2.1; GCS 2/6.1; Berlin: Akademie Verlag, 1999). Translations are my own except where explicitly noted.

² Eusebius seems content to use Dionysios's letters primarily to prove apostolic succession. Eusebius's history of the second century is organized around bishops who he can name from Hegesippus to Irenaeus (Hist. eccl. 4.21.1). In his summaries of Dionysios's letters, Eusebius is always at pains to include the names of any bishops mentioned, even in the case of Palmas, bishop of Amastris, who is only mentioned by name in a letter (ἐπίσκοπον αὐτῶν ὀνόματι Πάλμαν ὑποσημαίνων [Hist. eccl. 4.23.6]). He further draws out the names of prominent early Christian characters, like Peter, Paul, Dionysios the Areopagite, and Clement of Rome (Hist. eccl. 2.25.8; 4.23.2–3, 8). He cites the names of these prominent figures so that, by his own admission, “the elements of history might be more persuasive” (καὶ ταῦτα δὲ, ὡς ἂν ἔτι μᾶλλον πιστωθείη τὰ τῆς ἱστορίας [Hist. eccl. 2.25.8]). For more on Eusebius's concern with apostolic succession, see Alexander, Loveday, “Mapping Early Christianity: Acts and the Shape of Early Church History,” Interpretation 57 (2003) 163–75, at 163–70CrossRefGoogle Scholar. On Dionysios and early Christian letter collections, see Gamble, Harry Y., Books and Readers in the Early Church: A History of Early Christian Texts (New Haven, Conn.: Yale University Press, 1995) 116–18Google Scholar. On Dionysios and the fight against heresy, see Bauer, Walter, Orthodoxy and Heresy in Earliest Christianity (ed. Kraft, Robert A. and Krodel, Gerhard; Philadelphia: Fortress, 1971)Google Scholar.

³ Alexander, “Mapping Early Christianity,” 170–72. See also Thompson, Michael B., “The Holy Internet: Communication Between Churches in the First Christian Generation,” in The Gospels for All Christians: Rethinking the Gospel Audiences (ed. Bauckham, Richard; Grand Rapids, Mich.: Eerdmans, 1998) 49–70Google Scholar; White, L. Michael, “Adolf Harnack and the ‘Expansion’ of Early Christianity: A Reappraisal of Social History,” SecCent 5 (1985/86) 97–127, at 115–26Google Scholar; Judge, E. A., The Social Pattern of Christian Groups in the First Century: Some Prolegomena to the Study of New Testament Ideas of Social Obligation (Christ and Culture Collection; London: Tyndale, 1960)Google Scholar; Humphries, Mark, “Trading Gods in Northern Italy,” in Trade, Traders and the Ancient City (ed. Parkins, Helen and Smith, Christopher; London: Routledge, 1998) 203–24Google Scholar; Stark, Rodney, The Rise of Christianity: How the Obscure, Marginal Jesus Movement Became the Dominant Religious Force in the Western World in a Few Centuries (San Francisco: HarperSanFrancisco, 1997)Google Scholar; and Sanders, Jack, Charisma, Converts, Competitors: Societal and Sociological Factors in the Success of Early Christianity (London: SCM, 2000) 87–89Google Scholar. I should note that most of the conversations in scholarship around social networks see them as a way to explain the process of conversion to Christianity and retention within the movement. I am suggesting that social networks occasioned by broader patterns of trade allowed for connections between disparate Christian communities. These connections open up the possibility for new political, economic, and social relationships to form across geographic and cultural boundaries and allow for the spread of new ideas, forms of political organization, and hierarchies. A similar approach can be seen in White, “Adolf Harnack,” 122.

⁴ I am here building on the work of Helmut Koester, who has argued that early Christian letters were not “witnesses of inspired communication and edification” but “political instruments designed to organize and maintain the social fabric and financial affairs of these communities” (Koester, Helmut, “Writings and the Spirit: Authority and Politics in Ancient Christianity,” HTR 84 (1991) 353–72, at 357CrossRefGoogle Scholar).

⁵ Eusebius quotes a fourth fragment (Hist. eccl. 4.23.12), which may or may not have been part of Dionysios's letter to the Romans. It may have been part of the letter itself, complaining to the Roman church of adulterations to his letters, or it may have been from a cover letter to an authorized edition compiled by Dionysios. If the latter is the case, the cover letter would have involved an explanation as to why the collection was necessary; namely, others had tampered with Dionysios's letters, necessitating the author's intervention. On the former, see Nautin, Pierre, Lettres et écrivains chrétiens des IIe et IIIe siècles (Patristica 2; Paris: Cerf, 1961) 29–31Google Scholar, and on the latter, see Kühnert, Wilhelm, “Dionysius von Korinth. Eine Bischofsgestalt des zweiten Jahrhunderts,” in Theologia Scientia Eminens Practica. Fritz Zerbst zum 70 Geburtstag (ed. Herbst, Fritz and Schmidt-Lauber, Hans-Christoph; Vienna: Herder, 1979) 273–89, at 277–78Google Scholar. I favor the latter explanation and do not include it in the discussion below.

⁶ It is important to note that though Dionysios probably claimed the title of bishop (ἐπίσκοπος) and wrote to other bishops, this does not mean that we can assume that he, or the other bishops whom he mentions, held a position similar to those of the monarchical bishops of later centuries. It is becoming increasingly clear that ecclesial institutions in early Christian communities developed relatively independently of one another in response to local conditions. See, for example, the work of White, “Adolf Harnack,” 120, who emphasizes how the different social networks of each community produced a climate that encouraged regional diversity. The regional diversity of Christianity was emphasized by Bauer, Orthodoxy and Heresy, and by Robinson, James M. and Koester, Helmut, Trajectories through Early Christianity (Philadelphia: Fortress, 1971) 114–57Google Scholar. The recent work of Brent, Allen (Ignatius of Antioch: A Martyr Bishop and the Origin of Episcopacy [New York: T&T Clark, 2009])Google Scholar has greatly influenced my work here by showing how the letters of Ignatius do not presuppose but construct the position of bishop and posit powerful, centralized bishops in other communities in Asia Minor. Peter Lampe has convincingly shown that there were many bishops in Rome until the end of the second century, each tending to one of the interconnected house churches in the vast metropolis of the capital (From Paul to Valentinus: Christians at Rome in the First Two Centuries [ed. Marshall D. Johnson; trans. Michael Steinhauser; Minneapolis, Minn.: Fortress, 2003] 397–408).

⁷ Though we know little of Christianity in Corinth in the second century, we do know the names of two other early Corinthian bishops. Prior to Dionysios there was a bishop named Primus, who Hegesippus met on his way to Rome (Eusebius, Hist. eccl. 4.22.2). After the time of Dionysios, we learn of Bacchyllus, who was bishop in Corinth during the reign of Commodus (Hist. eccl. 5.22.1). He wrote a letter assenting to Victor of Rome's position in the Quartodeciman controversy (Hist. eccl. 5.23).

⁸ ἔνθεος ϕιλοπονία (Hist. eccl. 4.23.1).

⁹ Dionysios himself claims that he wrote letters at the request of Christians in other cities: “for I wrote letters as the siblings deemed me worthy to write” (ἐπιστολὰς γὰρ ἀδελϕῶν ἀξιωσάντων με γράψαι ἔγραψα [Hist. eccl. 4.23.12]).

¹⁰ Hugh Jackson Lawlor questioned whether we can securely date Dionysios's career as bishop and as a letter-writer to the span of Soter's episcopate in Rome (166–74 c.e.), though this may be what Eusebius assumes (Eusebiana: Essays on the Ecclesiastical History of Eusebius Bishop of Caesarea [Oxford: Clarendon, 1912] 177). His letter to the Roman church was certainly written in this window, but the other letters that Eusebius possesses could have been written much earlier.

¹¹ Lawlor, Eusebiana, 148. See also Carriker, Andrew J., The Library of Eusebius of Caesarea (Supplements to Vigiliae Christianae 67; Leiden: Brill, 2003) 265–66CrossRefGoogle Scholar.

¹² καθολικός (Hist. eccl. 4.23.1). Gamble, Books and Readers, 117–18. Carriker also admits the possibility that Dionysios designated his letters as “catholic,” in imitation of Paul (Library of Eusebius, 266). Scholars debate the extent of Dionysios's involvement in the collection as a whole. Lawlor argued that the letter of Pinytos and the letter to Chrysophora were added after Dionysios's collection (Eusebiana, 148). Adolf von Harnack felt that the presence of the letter from Pinytos suggests that Dionysios himself included it in the collection (Die Briefsammlung des Apostels Paulus und die anderen vorkonstantinischen christlichen Briefsammlungen [Leipzig: Hinrich, 1926] 37). Gamble mostly follows Harnack, arguing that either both letters were added by Dionysios himself or that the letter to Chrysophora was added later by association (Books and Readers, 291 n. 107). Bauer offered a contrasting argument, namely, that the letter from Pinytos was added later by Marcionites or Encratites as a way of showing how an orthodox bishop's arguments were defeated (Orthodoxy and Heresy, 167–68). Though I do not follow Bauer's reconstruction of the situation, he does ask some difficult questions of those who argue that Dionysios included Pinytos's letter in his collection. First, why include a letter from a rival bishop that casts his own teachings as “milky” and fit for children? Second, why would Dionysios not include the letter from the Romans in the collection of his correspondence, which we know he also possessed? Nautin offers an interesting explanation that tries to account for Bauer's objections (Lettres et écrivains, 13–32). He argues that Bishop Palmas of Amastris had sent excerpts of Dionysios's correspondence, taken out of context, to bishop Soter and complained of his unorthodox teaching on chastity and repentance. Soter inquired of Dionysios in a strongly worded letter about his supposed theological deviations. In response, Dionysios wrote a letter in his own defense, collected his letters to other churches and even the response from bishop Pinytos, added a note about the adulterations that others like Palmas had made to his letters, and sent them all to Soter. This is roughly the reconstruction followed by Pervo, Richard I., The Making of Paul: Constructions of the Apostle in Early Christianity (Minneapolis, Minn.: Fortress, 2010) 145–48Google Scholar.

¹³ οἱ τοῦ διαβόλου ἀπόστολοι (Hist. eccl. 4.23.12).

¹⁴ As Gamble has shown, this was not a particularly uncommon situation for writers to find themselves in in antiquity (Books and Readers, 118).

¹⁵ See Slane, Kathleen Warner, “Corinthian Ceramic Imports: The Changing Pattern of Provincial Trade in the First and Second Centuries AD,” in The Greek Renaissance in the Roman Empire: Papers from the Tenth British Museum Classical Colloquium (ed. Walker, Susan and Cameron, Averil; Bulletin of the Institute of Classical Studies 55; London: University of London Institute of Classical Studies, 1989) 219–25Google Scholar; eadem, “East-West Trade in Fine Wares and Commodities: The View From Corinth,” Rei Cretariae Romanae Fautorum acta 36 (2000) 299–312; eadem, “Corinth's Roman Pottery: Quantification and Meaning,” in Corinth: The Centenary, 1896–1996 (ed. Charles K. Williams II and Nancy Bookidis; Corinth 20; Princeton, N.J.: American School of Classical Studies at Athens, 2003) 321–35; eadem, “Corinth: Italian Sigillata and Other Italian Imports to the Early Colony,” Bulletin antieke beschaving. Supplement 10 (2004) 31–42; Wright, Kathleen Slane and Jones, R. E., “A Tiberian Pottery Deposit from Corinth,” Hesperia 49 (1980) 135–77CrossRefGoogle Scholar. See also Ioannis Sapountzis, “Imported Cooking Wares of Roman Corinth: A Comparative Study,” (M.A. thesis, Tufts University, 2008).

¹⁶ Poblome, Jeroen, “Comparing Ordinary Craft Production: Textile and Pottery Production in Roman Asia Minor,” Journal of the Economic and Social History of the Orient 47 (2004) 491–506, at 496–98CrossRefGoogle Scholar.

¹⁷ Figure 2 is based on Slane, “East-West Trade,” 301, Fig. 2. The pottery used to create this map was drawn from finds in Buildings 1 and 3 east of the Theater (Williams, Charles K. and Zervos, Orestes H., “Corinth, 1982: East of the Theater,” Hesperia 52 [1983]Google Scholar; idem, “Corinth, 1984: East of the Theater,” Hesperia 54 [1985]; idem, “Corinth, 1985: East of the Theater,” Hesperia 55 [1986]). For discussion of the various provenances of the pottery, see Slane, “East-West Trade,” 300–1.

¹⁸ Figure 3 is based on Slane, “East-West Trade,” 302, Fig. 3. The pottery used to create this map comes from the remodeling of Buildings 5 and 7 east of the theater and from a building collapse on the northeast of the excavations east of Theater (Williams and Zervos, “Corinth, 1982: East of the Theater,”; Williams and Zervos, “Corinth, 1984: East of the Theater,”; Williams, Charles K. and Zervos, Orestes H., “Corinth, 1988: East of the Theater,” Hesperia 58 [1989]Google Scholar). For discussion of the various provenances of the pottery, see Slane, “East-West Trade,” 301–3.

¹⁹ Though I focus here on changes in the diversity of provenance in the pottery assemblage, in a later section I will focus on changes in volume.

²⁰ Slane writes: “Superficially this period differs very little from the preceding one except that a narrow range of sources and shapes replaces the earlier multiplicity of fabrics and forms. Çandarli ware and ARS are the predominant fine wares. Distant sources, particularly the northwest Mediterranean, are dropping out, and the eastern amphora types with Hellenistic antecedents (Knidian, Rhodian and Coan) are also gone or nearly so.” Slane does note, however, that we still do see the emergence of some new forms, which come generally from the Aegean basin (“East-West Trade,” 301).

²¹ Slane, “East-West Trade,” 306. See also Slane, “Corinthian Ceramic Imports,” 224.

²² Giallo antico, a marble ranging in color from yellow to orange to pink, was quarried in Simitthu (called Chemtou today) in Tunisia. It was most likely shipped out of Carthage or another North African port. The marble appears in Corinth in the second century c.e. and was used in the construction of the Great Bath on the Lechaion road (Biers, Jane C., The Great Bath on the Lechaion Road [Corinth 17; Princeton, N.J.: American School of Classical Studies at Athens, 1985] 3Google Scholar).

²³ In the early second century, Luke envisions a boat leaving from Kenchreai on its way to Syria stopping at Ephesos (Acts 18:13–19). Apollos, similarly, travels from Ephesos to Achaia and ends up in Corinth (Acts 18:27–19:1).

²⁴ On the use of Proconnesian marble in the Great Bath, see Biers, The Great Bath, 3.

²⁵ On Nicomedian control of the trade in Proconnesian marble, see Ward-Perkins, John, “The Marble Trade and Its Organization: Evidence from Nicomedia,” Memoirs of the American Academy in Rome 36 (1980) 325–38CrossRefGoogle Scholar.

²⁶ The use of Karystian and fior di pesco marble in the construction of the Great Bath suggests that this route may have connected up with another one from Euboia, where both marbles were quarried (Biers, The Great Bath, 3).

²⁷ This explains the occasional finds from Egypt in Corinth, which moved up the coast to Syria before moving west to Corinth (Slane, “East-West Trade,” 306).

²⁸ Slane notes one other trade route that likely existed, which moved goods along the Adriatic. She notes that this route needs further exploration (“East-West Trade,” 306).

²⁹ Two peculiarities of the evidence should be mentioned. First, even though the trade route from the southeast Mediterranean went along the north coast of Crete, there are no Cretan imports to Corinth at all. It is unclear what this means for the relationship between Crete and Corinth, but it still shows that communication between the two regions would have been easy and regular. An inscription found in Corinth in the Julian Basilica does highlight a connection between Corinth and the Cretan city of Lyttos (Kent, John H., The Inscriptions, 1926–1950 [Corinth 8, pt. 3; Princeton, N.J.: American School of Classical Studies at Athens, 1966] no. 248Google Scholar). Dated by Kent to the early second century c.e., the inscription was set up by the city of Lyttos in honor of Cornelius Maecianus, for reasons that are not explained in the fragmentary text. The Cornelii had been prominent members of the Corinthian elite for several generations and were also prominent among the eastern negotiatores, Italian trading families operating in the Greek East. See, for example, Spawforth, Antony, “Roman Corinth: The Formation of a Colonial Elite,” in Roman Onomastics in the Greek East: Social and Political Aspects; Proceedings of the International Colloquium Organized by the Finnish Institute and the Centre for Greek and Roman Antiquity, Athens, 7–9 September 1993 (ed. Rizakes, A. D.; Meletemata 21; Athens: Kentron Hellenikes kai Romaikes Archaiotetos Ethnikon Hidryma Ereunon, 1996) 167–82, at 172, 74Google Scholar; and Hatzfeld, Jean, Les trafiquants italiens dans l'Orient hellenique (Bibliothèque des écoles françaises d'Athènes et de Rome 115; Paris: Boccard, 1919) 389Google Scholar. On the economic and political situation in Roman Crete, see Sanders, I. F., Roman Crete: An Archaeological Survey and Gazeteer of Late Hellenistic, Roman and Early Byzantine Crete (Archaeologists Handbooks to the Roman World; Warminster, U.K.: Aris & Philips, 1982Google Scholar). Second, it is unclear to me by which route Dionysios's letter to the Lacedaimonians would have made its way to Sparta. Corinth was a collection point for a number of overland trade routes from the central Peloponnesos, but this may only have been for goods moving to and from the eastern Peloponnesos and Arcadia; see Wiseman, James, The Land of the Ancient Corinthians (Studies in Mediterranean Archaeology 50; Göteborg: Paul Åströms Förlag, 1978)Google Scholar, and Williams II, Charles K., “Roman Corinth as a Commercial Center,” in The Corinthia in the Roman Period: Including the Papers Given at a Symposium Held at The Ohio State University on 7–9 March, 1991 (ed. Gregory, Timothy E.; Journal of Roman Archaeology Supplementary Series 8; Ann Arbor, Mich.: Journal of Roman Archaeology, 1993) 31–46, at 38–39Google Scholar. Rather than moving by land, Dionysios's letter may have gone by a coastal route to the port of Gytheion. This may be the more likely route as we know that marble from the area (rosso antico and lapis lacedaemonius) was used in the construction of the Great Bath around the time of Dionysios's tenure as bishop (Biers, The Great Bath, 3). It would have been far easier to ship this marble by sea than by land.

³⁰ Bauer suggested as much in his discussion of Dionysios's letter to the church at Amastris (Orthodoxy and Heresy, 125–26). Trade could both create new social networks and allow for the fracture of existing ones. As Bauer noted, it is curious that there are no surviving letters between Dionysios and the churches of Macedonia, i.e., Thessaloniki and Philippi (Orthodoxy and Heresy, 75). He suggests that theological differences meant that Dionysios could not expect a hearing amongst these communities. Karl Leo Noethlichs has suggested that the letters to the cities of Asia Minor were made possible by a similarity in social structure (ähnlichen Gesellschaftsstruktur) between Corinth and other cities of maritime trade (“Korinth–ein ‘Aussenposten Roms’? Zur kirchengeschichtlichen Bedeutung des Bischofs Dionysius von Korinth,” JAC 34 [2002] 232–47, at 241). It is unclear what work a similar social structure would facilitate in the relations between Christian communities in Corinth and Asia Minor. I have suggested that there may have been specific links created by trade between the two regions Noethlichs also notes that there are traditions of Jewish populations in all the cities to which Dionysios writes, but he does not explore what he thinks that could mean for interpreting the relationships between these early Christian communities.

³¹ On the movement of early Christians and their letters and documents, see von Harnack, Adolf, The Mission and Expansion of Christianity in the First Three Centuries (trans. Moffat, James; 2 vols.; Gloucester, Mass.: Peter Smith, 1972) 1:369–80Google Scholar. Schnabel, Eckhard J. documents Paul's travels in Asia Minor and Greece as listed in his letters and Acts (Paul & the Early Church [vol. 2 of Early Christian Mission; Downers Grove, Ill.: InterVarsity Press, 2004] 1073–292)Google Scholar. He also provides helpful information on the logistics of travel.

³² In the case of 1 Clement, the goal was the reinstallation of deposed presbyters, while in the case of Ignatius his letters were directed at the creation of a new ecclesial hierarchy around the bishop, presbyters, and deacons in Asia Minor. On the latter, see Brent, Ignatius of Antioch. On Dionysios's place in the trajectory of letter writers after Paul, see Pervo, The Making of Paul, 119–48.

³³ Koester, “Writings and the Spirit,” 357.

³⁴ By way of summary, the letter to the Lacedaimonians (Hist. eccl. 4.23.2) dealt with theological instruction and with an admonition to peace and unity; the letter to the Athenians (Hist. eccl. 23.2–3) was written in support of the new bishop Quadratos after a period of persecution; the letter to the Nicomedians (Hist. eccl. 4.23.4) attacks Marcion; the letter to Gortyna and other Cretan churches (Hist. eccl. 4.23.5) was written in support of bishop Philip and warns against heresy; the letter to Amastis (Hist. eccl. 4.23.6) offers scriptural interpretation, advice on marriage and celibacy, and an encouragement to readmit sinners; and the letter to Knossos (Hist. eccl. 4.23.7) encouraged Bishop Pinytos not to lay the burden of celibacy on the majority of the community. The collection as Eusebius found it includes Pinytos's response (Hist. eccl. 4.23.8).

³⁵ On the date of Soter's career as bishop, see Hist. eccl. 4.22.1–3 and Irenaeus, Haer. 3.3.3. For a further discussion of Soter's career and his place in the development of the Roman office of bishop, see Lampe, From Paul to Valentinus, 397–406. Philip Carrington dates Soter to 166–178 (The Early Christian Church [2 vols.; Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1957] 2:192).

³⁶ This reconstruction is based largely on that of Nautin, Lettres et écrivains, 13–32. Pervo largely follows Nautin's reconstruction (The Making of Paul, 145–48). Useful critiques of Nautin have been offered by Kühnert, “Dionysius von Korinth,” 273–89, and Noethlichs, “Bedeutung des Bischofs Dionysius,” 232–47. Nautin's reconstruction stands in contrast to that of Walter Bauer, who argued that Dionysios was the agent of Rome's overtures toward theological and political supremacy in the East. As such, Dionysios was the eastern arm of a Roman church seeking to use its economic and diplomatic clout to secure its preeminence among Christian communities in the eastern Mediterranean (Bauer, Orthodoxy and Heresy, 95–129). Beginning with 1 Clement, Bauer argued that the Roman church had launched a policy of using money and diplomacy to bring the major churches of the East into line with Roman theology and the preeminence of the Roman see. The gift of money to the Corinthians is thus one of several gifts that secured the loyalty of the bishop in the capital of Achaia, a province that was rarely to side with Rome on the theological disputes of the early church. Dionysios, in Bauer's view, is thus Rome's man and the excerpts from his letter are read as evidence of his subservience to Rome: “this is certainly to be seen as exaggeration, the exaggerated style of a churchman subservient to Rome in the extreme degree” (122).

³⁷ παρακαλέω (Hist. eccl. 4.23.10).

³⁸ νουθεσία (Hist. eccl. 2.25.8); νουθετέω (4.23.11).

³⁹ Dionysios likens this admonishment to 1 Clement, a document that helps to prove the longstanding ties between the Romans and the Corinthians. In this way, Dionysios accepts the admonishment of Soter, just as Pinytos had accepted Dionysios's exhortations on chastity with respect and general agreement on principle (θαυμάζω and ἀποδέχομαι, respectively [Hist. eccl. 4.23.8]).

⁴⁰ On the economic downturn in the third century, see Slane, Kathleen Warner, “Tetrarchic Recovery in Corinth: Pottery, Lamps, and Other Finds from the Peribolos of Apollo,” Hesperia 63 (1994) 127–68, at 163–64CrossRefGoogle Scholar, and Betsey Robinson, “Fountains and the Culture of Water at Roman Corinth,” (Ph.D. diss., University of Pennsylvania, 2001) 121–22.

⁴¹ I should note here that this picture may be skewed because of the lack of sufficient understanding of the chronology of Corinthian pottery in the late second century c.e. We know that there was a broader depression in the Corinthian economy in the third century (see preceding note), but the argument which I am making here is that this depression might have started to appear in the late second century. It may be that the changes we can see in Corinthian imports between 200 and 250 c.e. (see Figure 3) occurred during this period alone and that the imports to Corinth in the late second century more closely resembled those coming in around 125 c.e. (see Figure 2). I argue below, citing the emergence of the Antonine plague and other factors, that there are broader reasons to suggest that Corinth may have seen an economic slowdown in certain sectors before the third century.

⁴² See Slane, “East-West Trade,” 308, Fig. 10. It should be noted that the imported fine wares in Corinth make up around 30–35% of the total number of fine wares. On average local production accounts for about 60% of fine wares from the first century to the Severan period (Slane, “Corinth's Roman Pottery,” 330).

⁴³ It is important to note as well the shift in the dominance of imports. In the early first century c.e., Corinth's imports are dominated by sigillata from Italy. By the end of the first century and through the second, eastern imports come to dominate in the form of Eastern Sigillata B (ESB). After the turn of the third century, imports are dominated by African Red Slip (ARS).

⁴⁴ Slane, “Corinth's Roman Pottery,” 333 and Fig. 19.11. Slane does caution against reading too much into this drop in fine ware imports, since it may be that economic prosperity, rather than deprivation, drove down the importation of ceramic fine wares. Slane suggests that it may be that these fine wares were replaced by more expensive glass and metal ware that are not well preserved in the archaeological record (332–33). It may also be the case that, owing to efficiencies in the trade networks of the Roman Empire, imported ceramic fine wares were actually cheaper than local ones (333), suggesting that a drop in the importation of fine wares might be a sign of economic growth.

⁴⁵ Lamps may have been an exception to this trend, since they remain at a stable 2 to 3% of the pottery assemblage throughout (Slane, “Corinth's Roman Pottery,” 333 and Fig. 19.11). Though they are classed with fine wares, lamps are more of a necessity than most other fine wares.

⁴⁶ On the evidence for the slowing of economic growth beginning at around 140 c.e., see Greenberg, James, “Plagued by Doubt: Reconsidering the Impact of a Mortality Crisis in the 2nd cent. A.D.,” Journal of Roman Archaeology 16 (2003) 413–25CrossRefGoogle Scholar.

⁴⁷ Slane, “Corinth's Roman Pottery,” 327. Interestingly, the imported amphoras in Corinth are not dominated by a single source of origin (328). This reflects the diversity of trading sources from which Corinth's imports were drawn.

⁴⁸ Slane, “Corinth's Roman Pottery,” 333 and Fig. 19.12.

⁴⁹ Timothy E. Gregory reports on the results of field survey in the countryside of the eastern Corinthia (“Religion and Society in the Roman Eastern Corinthia,” in Corinth in Context: Comparative Studies on Religion and Society [ed. Steven J. Friesen, Daniel N. Schowalter, and James C. Walters; NovTSup 134; Leiden: Brill, 2010] 433–76, at 434–49). Gregory's findings suggest, contra the work of Alcock, Susan E. (Graecia Capta: The Landscapes of Roman Greece [Cambridge, U.K.: Cambridge University Press, 1993]Google Scholar), that there was no large-scale decline in land use in the Corinthia in the early empire. Rather, the evidence suggests a steady rise in land activity from a low point in the Hellenistic period to a high point in the Late Roman period (see Gregory's Figures 14.7–8 on pages 447–48). This suggests that the Corinthian countryside did not become dominated by large landowners but remained open to small-scale farming activity and broader economic activity (467–68). While there was undoubtedly general growth in Corinthia after the Hellenistic period, when the major population center was crippled, there does not seem to be any indication that activity in the countryside was affected by the economic downturn in the third century that accompanied the end of the Antonine plague and the instability that incurred after the death of Commodus. It may be that these economic disruptions were more concentrated in the urban landscape of Corinth and that the farming activities, and revenues derived therefrom, of rural Corinthia were not as impacted.

⁵⁰ It should be noted that a sharp drop in imports around 200 c.e. is probably not the result of a brief collapse of the Corinthian economy, but rather is due to a gap in our own understanding of the late chronology of ESB, which totally drops out in the period (Slane, “East-West Trade,” 309). On the history of ESB with a discussion of how its disappearance toward the end of the second century may be due to the Antonine Plague, see Lund, John, “Eastern Sigillata B: A Ceramic Fine Ware Industry in the Political and Commercial Landscape of the Eastern Mediterranean,” in Les céramiques en Anatolie aux époques hellénistique et romaine. Actes de la table ronde d'Istanbul, 22–24 mai 1996. (ed. Abadie-Reynal, Catherine; Varia Anatolica 15; Istanbul: Institut français d’études anatoliennes Georges Dumézil, 2003) 125–36Google Scholar.

⁵¹ Meggitt, Justin J., Paul, Poverty and Survival (Studies of the New Testament and its World; Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1998) 57–58Google Scholar. On the difficulties faced by laborers in the Roman Empire, see Garnsey, Peter, “Non-Slave Labour in the Roman World,” in Non-Slave Labour in the Greco-Roman World (ed. Garnsey, Peter; Cambridge Philological Society Supplementary Volume 6; Cambridge, U.K.: Cambridge Philological Society, 1980) 34–45Google Scholar; S. M. Treggiari, “Urban Labour in Rome: Mercennarii and Tabernarii,” in Non-Slave Labour in the Greco-Roman World, 48–64; Meggitt, Paul, Poverty and Survival, 53–73. It should be noted that many forms of manual labor would have been performed by slaves, freedmen, and free-born alike, often working side-by-side. For a useful attempt to parse out the various gradations of economic status among the lower classes, see Friesen, Steven J., “Poverty in Pauline Studies: Beyond the So-called New Consensus,” JSNT 26 (2004) 323–61Google Scholar, and Oakes, Peter, Reading Romans in Pompeii: Paul's Letter at Ground Level (Minneapolis, Minn.: Fortress, 2009)Google Scholar. Though not entirely analogous to the first and second centuries, by the fourth and fifth centuries c.e. we have evidence for something like a middle class in Corinth, which included some artisans, lower-level ecclesiastics, and government employees (Michael B. Walbank, “Where Have all the Names Gone? The Christian Community in Corinth in the Late Roman and Early Byzantine Eras,” in Corinth in Context, 257–323). Though they probably did not live lives analogous to the modern, western middle class, these persons were able to afford to purchase graves and gravestones at a modest price, thus avoiding anonymous burial in one of Corinth's many cemeteries. On the different kinds of jobs that were held by skilled and non-skilled workers, see Maxey, Mima, “Occupations of the Lower Classes in Roman Society,” in Two Studies on the Roman Lower Classes (New York: Arno Press, 1975)Google Scholar.

⁵² Little is known about Alciphron, who is mentioned by no other ancient writer. Barry Baldwin suggests that Alciphron could have written no later than the first decade of the third century c.e. (“The Date of Alciphron,” Hermes 110 (1982) 253–54). He seems to have been a younger contemporary of Lucian (Elizabeth Hazelton Haight, “Athenians at Home,” CJ 43 (1948) 463–71, at 463).

⁵³ The text (taken from The Letters of Alciphron, Aelian and Philostratus [trans. Allen Rogers Benner and Francis H. Fobes; LCL; Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 1979]) reads:

⁵⁴ The plague was said to have returned with Lucius Verus after a campaign in the east in 166 c.e. R. J. Littman and M. L. Littman argue, based on a reading of Galen's description of the symptoms displayed by the victims, that the plague was an outbreak of smallpox (“Galen and the Antonine Plague,” The American Journal of Philology 94 [1973] 243–55). The vivid reports of later sources have captivated many scholars, who see the plague as a major disruption in the history of the empire. In his summary of scholarship, Christopher Bruun notes that many of the major historians of the 19th and early 20th century saw the Antonine Plague as a major cause of the crises of the third century, though Gibbon, Rostovtzeff, and Mommsen seem to have given it less weight (“The Antonine Plague and the ‘Third-Century Crisis’,” in Crises and the Roman Empire: Proceedings of the Seventh Workshop of the International Network: Impact of Empire (Nijmegen, June 20–24, 2006) [ed. Olivier Hekster, Gerda de Kleijn, and Daniëlle Slootjes; Impact of Empire 7; Leiden: Brill, 2007] 201–17, at 202–3). For a summary of earlier opinions, see also Greenberg, “Plagued by Doubt,” 413. Perhaps the most influential modern defender of the plague as a major epidemic has been Duncan-Jones, R. P., “The Impact of the Antonine Plague,” Journal of Roman Archaeology 9 (1996) 108–36CrossRefGoogle Scholar. For a discussion of the effects of the Plague in Egypt, see Bagnall, Roger S., “P. Oxy 4527 and the Antonine Plague in Egypt: Death or Flight?,” Journal of Roman Archaeology 13 (2000) 288–92CrossRefGoogle Scholar; van Minnen, Peter, “P. Oxy. LXVI 4527 and the Antonine Plague in the Fayyum,” ZPE 135 (2001) 175–77Google Scholar; and Scheidel, Walter, “A Model of Demographic and Economic Change in Roman Egypt After the Antonine Plague,” Journal of Roman Archaeology 15 (2002) 97–114CrossRefGoogle Scholar. Those who have expressed major criticisms of the plague include Gilliam, J. F., “The Plague under Marcus Aurelius,” AJP 82 (1961) 225–51Google Scholar; Greenberg, “Plagued by Doubt,” 413–25; and Bruun, “The Antonine Plague,” 201–17. I side with those who have questioned the size and scope of the plague, without doubting its existence, and think there remains a way to study the local effects of the plague's arrival or fear of its arrival in particular locations like Corinth.

⁵⁵ BMC Corinth, nos. 620, 638, 671, which are dated to the late second and early third century c.e. The coins are discussed in Bronwen L. Wickkiser, “Asklepios in Greek and Roman Corinth,” in Corinth in Context, 37–66, at 55, including n. 57, and Mary E. Hoskins Walbank, “Image and Cult: The Coinage of Roman Corinth,” in Corinth in Context, 151–98, at 183–84. On the role of Asklepios and the Asklepieion in Roman Corinth, see Wickkiser, “Asklepios,” 37–66. This is not to suggest that Asklepios was the only god who might offer healing to Corinthians during a plague. As Wickkiser notes, just about every god in antiquity could offer healing to worshippers (45). But the appearance of a god of healing during this period on Corinthian coins for the first time is suggestive of broader concerns in Corinth with health.

⁵⁶ Another inscription honors one Cornelius for his presidency of the Caesarean, Augustan, Isthmian, and Asklepieian Games in the last quarter of the second century (Kent, The Inscriptions, 1926–1950, no. 230). It is tempting to think that the Asklepieia mentioned in the inscription (if the reconstruction by Kent is accurate) refer not to the traditional games offered at Epidauros but to games offered in Corinth to honor Asklepios's help during an outbreak of the Plague.

⁵⁷ Stirling, Lea, “Pagan Statuettes in Late Antique Corinth: Sculpture from the Panayia Domus,” Hesperia 77 (2008) 89–161CrossRefGoogle Scholar.

⁵⁸ The inscription is restored by Kent, The Inscriptions, 1926–1950, no. 206, as follows: “The [city] of the Corinthians (hereby honors) Gaius Vibius Euelpistos, the physician, son of Meges (and) priest of Asklepios” (Γάιον Οὐίβ[ον] | ἰατρὸν Εὐέλπισ[τον] | Μέγητος [Ἀ]σκλ[ηπιοῦ] | ἱερέα [——] | ἡ Κορινθ[ίων πόλις]). Wickkiser suggests a date for the inscription ranging from the late second to early third century c.e. (“Asklepios,” 53). In a footnote (n. 48), she cites the opinion of Michael Walbank, who suggests that the letter forms argue for a date in the last quarter of the second century c.e. Wickkiser goes on to note that there are also three other inscriptions that mention Corinthian doctors (IG IV 365; Praktika 1965, 163, no. 2; and Kent, The Inscriptions, 1926–1950, no. 300). These date to the second or third century, the fourth, and the fourth or fifth century c.e., respectively (53 n. 49). Galen, who was actively involved in treating victims of the plague and from whom we know about the symptoms that it presented, studied medicine under Numisianus in Corinth (Galen, De anatomicis administrationibus 9, cited by Wickkiser, “Asklepios,” 53–54).

⁵⁹ Walbank, “Image and Cult,” 183–84.

⁶⁰ On persecution of Christians during the plague, see Frend, William H. C., Martyrdom and Persecution in the Early Church: A Study of a Conflict from the Maccabees to Donatus (Garden City, N.Y.: Doubleday, 1967) ch. 10Google Scholar. James Henry Oliver notes that freedmen were also common targets of scapegoating during this period, which took its most public form in the trial of the freedmen of Atticus, Herodes (Marcus Aurelius: Aspects of Civic and Cultural Policy in the East [Hesperia Supplement 13; Princeton, N.J.: American School of Classical Studies at Athens, 1970] 75)Google Scholar.

⁶¹ Though there has been a great deal of debate about this, I am generally convinced by the argument that early Christian communities were largely made up of members living at or around subsistence level (Friesen, “Poverty in Pauline Studies,” 323–61; idem, “Prospects for a Demography of the Pauline Mission: Corinth among the Churches,” in Urban Religion in Roman Corinth: Interdisciplinary Approaches [ed. Daniel N. Schowalter and Steven J. Friesen; Cambridge, Mass.: HTS 53; Distributed by Harvard University Press, 2005] 351–70; Scheidel, Walter and Friesen, Steven J., “The Size of the Economy and the Distribution of Income in the Roman Empire,” JRS 99 [2009] 61–91Google Scholar). The recent work by Oakes examining house sizes in Pompeii has offered a useful nuance to Friesen's general position (Reading Romans in Pompeii). Further data from Lampe give us a better sense of the social stratification that existed in the Roman church through the early third century c.e. (Lampe, From Paul to Valentinus, 67–150). By the time of Dionysios in the late second century, we can imagine a growth in the number of educated and relatively affluent persons in Christian communities, some of whom no doubt became bishops and presbyters in these communities. But even so, I imagine that the bulk of those who made up the Corinthian community were still living at about subsistence level.

⁶² This situation would have been one of the few cases where some of the slaves in the Corinthian community may have found themselves in a more stable position than the freeborn artisans, since their livelihood would have been provided for by their masters or by the city, if they were civic slaves.

⁶³ ἐϕόδιον is the term that Dionysios uses to describe the gift that the Romans provided. The term is generally used to describe the provisions that are provided to armies or ambassadors for sustenance during travel (see, for example, Josephus, Ant. 6.47, 176, 243, 254; 9.251; 14.362; J.W. 1.267; Deut 14:15 (lxx); Philo, Heir 273). The term can also be used to refer to provisions sufficient for the maintenance of life. Demosthenes speaks of someone who did not have sufficient means of support for his old age (μὴ εἶναι αὑτῷ ἐϕόδια τῷ γήρᾳ ἱκανά [Tim.67]). This sense is also applied in the case of the means of sustenance during exile (τὰ τῆς ϕυγῆς ἐϕόδια [Aeschines Tim.172; Plutarch, Arat. 6.5). Demosthenes also uses the term in relation to public money used to pay for public expenses (23.209). Particularly telling is the use of the term by Josephus to describe the lack of the necessities of life available to the Jews in Jerusalem during the war with the Romans (J.W. 6.194, quoted also by Eusebius in Hist. eccl. 3.6.17). These uses show that ἐϕόδιον carries with it a semantic range that can capture both the necessities of existence and the finances that pay for them. Thus the Roman gift to the Corinthians could have been financial, material, or some combination of both. If there was a food shortage or a famine, material forms of relief may have been most helpful, while an economic crisis may have required the infusion of capital.

⁶⁴ The logistics involved in the Roman church's undertaking should not be ignored. Denise Kimber Buell has shown how early Christian texts associated with the city of Rome prescribed various ways in which people of limited means could set aside money for the church (“‘Be not one who stretches out hands to receive but shuts them when it comes to giving’: Envisioning Christian Charity When Both Donors and Recipients Are Poor,” in Wealth and Poverty in Early Church and Society [ed. Susan R. Holman, Holy Cross Studies in Patristic Theology and History; Grand Rapids, Mich.: Baker Academic, 2008] 37–47). Her work suggests that we do not need to imagine that several wealthy benefactors stood behind the gift to the Corinthians. Lampe, citing Justin Marytr, 1 Apol. 1.13.1; 1.67, has shown that each house church in Rome, which was run by a presbyter-bishop, had its own cash box that was filled up at each worship service and was used for the care of the needy (From Paul to Valentinus, 100, 400). Though each house church had its own fund, there was also a centralized collection point for money used to send aid to other churches (Lampe, From Paul to Valentinus, 402). This fund was administered by the “minister of external affairs,” which is the office held by Soter. This helps to explain why Dionysios can say that Soter added to the tradition of Roman euergetism (Hist. eccl. 4.23.10). As the minister in charge of foreign aid, he received Dionysios's letter requesting help, organized and administered the collection and disbursement of funds, and was the one named sender of the gift and letter. As such he would have appeared to those outside of Rome as the sole representative of the larger community.

⁶⁵ Nautin, Lettres et écrivains, 30; Carrington, The Early Christian Church, 198. We might imagine a letter that took the form of an ambassadorial speech outlined in Menander Rhetor (Russell, D. A. and Wilson, Nigel Guy, Menander Rhetor [Oxford: Clarendon, 1981]Google Scholar). Menander recommended emphasizing the beneficence of the emperor, an attribute that Dionysios amplifies in Hist. eccl. 4.23.10 with respect to Soter, and the misfortunes that have occurred in one's city as a means of inciting pity. Dionysios may have stressed the economic and medical straits of the Corinthian church as part of an appeal for aid. Another example of how one might ask for assistance comes from a monument in Puteoli that records the correspondence between a trading outpost of Tyrians in the port city with their hometown of Tyre in Phoenicia (OGIS 595 = IGR I. 421; 174 c.e.; discussed by Harland, Philip A., Dynamics of Identity in the World of the Early Christians: Associations, Judeans, and Cultural Minorities [New York: T&T Clark, 2009] 115–16Google Scholar).

⁶⁶ Whether or not the economic picture that I have painted of Corinth during the time of Dionysios holds up to future scrutiny, it does not change the fact that the Roman church did send a financial gift to the Corinthian church at this time, which was no doubt driven by some form of economic hardship for the community. What I have sketched out is a very tentative hypothesis built on the available evidence, but other possibilities might be imagined.

⁶⁷ In many ways, this places Dionysios in a similar position to Pinytos, who also had to mix his criticism with praise of a more established bishop (Nautin, Lettres et écrivains, 31). Dionysios knows that he cannot risk turning the Roman church against him, since this would lend too much weight to his opposition (31). He takes a polite line in his letter, but also does not hide that he has argued against obligatory continence and for the readmission of sinners (31).

⁶⁸ On kinship diplomacy, see Jones, Christopher P., Kinship Diplomacy in the Ancient World (Revealing Antiquity 12; Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 1999)Google Scholar and Rives, James B., “Diplomacy and Identity among Jews and Christians,” in Diplomats and Diplomacy in the Roman World (ed. Eilers, Claude; Leiden: Brill, 2009) 99–126Google Scholar. It is important to note, as Rives and Jones do, that these forms of diplomacy were related to constructions of identity and ethnicity. Studies of ethnicity in the Roman Empire have emphasized that ethnicity could be constructed out of a number of markers that are not commonly invoked in modern, western definitions of race and ethnicity (for further discussion, see Buell, Denise Kimber, Why This New Race: Ethnic Reasoning in Early Christianity [Gender, Theory, and Religion; New York: Columbia University Press, 2005]CrossRefGoogle Scholar). Invocation of ethnic affiliation could take the form of recourse to shared kinship, history, customs, language, geography, or cultic practice. In this latter sense, the practices that we define as religion in our modern parlance are often imbedded within the construction of ethnic identities. The invocation of ethnic rhetoric was a useful tool in creating new kinds of affiliation between groups, which made it especially useful in diplomatic communication. As Jones has shown, Greek and Roman diplomacy often proceeded through the invocation of common descent and kinship, shared customs and cults, or other ethnic similarities that might justify common cause. Dionysios's letter to the Romans falls within the broader tradition of kinship diplomacy, relying on the language of kinship, shared history, and origins as a means of navigating a complicated political position.

⁶⁹ Examples of this phenomenon come from the elaborate genealogies that were constructed by Greek cities as a means of gaining admittance to the Panhellenion. See, for example, Jones, Kinship Diplomacy, 118–19, and Nasrallah, Laura S., “The Acts of the Apostles, Greek Cities, and Hadrian's Panhellenion,” JBL 127 (2008) 533–66Google Scholar. For the most part, admission to the Panhellenion required proving a city's genealogical connection to Athens or Sparta. For more on kinship and Roman diplomacy, see Battistoni, Filippo, “Rome, Kinship and Diplomacy,” in Diplomats and Diplomacy in the Roman World (ed. Claude Eilers; Mnemosyne, Supplements, History and Archaeology of Classical Antiquity 304; Leiden: Brill, 2009) 73–98Google Scholar.

⁷⁰ In many cases, kinship diplomacy functions within the patronage system, where a city seeking aid from a neighbor might invoke kinship ties, placing them in a position of a client to a patron. But kinship diplomacy was also used in attempts to establish concord (ὁμόνοια) between cities that may have been at odds with one another, in effect working with an assumption of equality between the two.

⁷¹ It is important to note, as does Lampe (From Paul to Valentinus, 402 n. 13) and Osiek, Carolyn (“The Ransom of Captives: Evolution of a Tradition,” HTR 74 [1981] 365–86, at 379 n. 36)CrossRefGoogle Scholar that Soter is not the explicit sender of this letter nor is he the addressee of Dionysios's letter in response. Like the writer of 1 Clement, Soter writes on behalf of the Roman church and receives letters on their behalf. This is indicated by the plural ὑμῶν used by Dionysios to describe the letter from Rome (Hist. eccl. 4.23.11).

⁷² I want to thank the anonymous reviewer at HTR for the suggestion that patronage and its expectations should be taken into account when evaluating the relationship between Dionysios and Rome.

⁷³ A fourth instance of the term occurs in Hist. eccl. 4.23.12, which may or may not have been part of the Roman letter. On “siblings” (ἀδελϕοί) in early Christian discourse, see Bartchy, S. Scott, “Undermining Ancient Patriarchy: The Apostle Paul's Vision of a Society of Siblings,” BTB 29 (1999) 68–78Google Scholar, and Aasgaard, Reidar, ‘My Beloved Brothers and Sisters’: Christian Siblingship in Paul (JSNTSup 265; Early Christianity in Context; London: T&T Clark, 2004)Google Scholar.

⁷⁴ πατροπαράδοτον ἔθος Ῥωμαίων Ῥωμαῖοι ϕυλάττοντες (Hist. eccl. 4.23.10).

⁷⁵ Literally, the verb refers to making a plant flower, as Paul uses it in 1 Cor 3:6–7.

⁷⁶ ὡς τέκνα πατὴρ ϕιλόστοργος (Hist. eccl. 4.23.10). The “fatherly” character of Soter is also related to his hospitality toward Christian siblings who come to Rome from abroad.

⁷⁷ As Lampe notes, Soter's actions indicate a self-confidence in the authority of his position, in that he increases the foreign aid of the Roman church (From Paul to Valentinus, 402–3). Dionysios himself seems to recognize the increasing importance of the bishop in charge of the Roman church's external relations, calling him both a father and an “honorable bishop” (μακάριος ἐπίσκοπος [Hist. eccl. 4.23.10]). But, like other bishops before Victor (189–99 c.e.), Soter is probably still only one among many bishops in Rome. This is in contrast to Bauer who thought that Soter was the first monarchical bishop of Rome (Orthodoxy and Heresy, 114).

⁷⁸ ταῦτα καὶ ὑμεῖς διὰ τῆς τοσαύτης νουθεσίας τὴν ἀπὸ Πέτρου καὶ Παύλου ϕυτείαν γενηθεῖσαν Ῥωμαίων τε καὶ Κορινθίων συνεκεράσατε. καὶ γὰρ ἄμϕω καὶ εἰς τὴν ἡμετέραν Κόρινθον ϕυτεύσαντες ἡμᾶς ὁμοίως ἐδίδαξαν, ὁμοίως δὲ καὶ εἰς τὴν Ἰταλίαν ὁμόσε διδάξαντες ἐμαρτύρησαν κατὰ τὸν αὐτὸν καιρόν.

⁷⁹ Of course, Paul himself claims to have been the only founder of the church in Corinth (1 Cor 4:15). Pervo thinks it likely that Soter had attempted to bolster his authority by claiming Peter and Paul as dual founders of the Roman church (The Making of Paul, 146). So also Carrington, The Early Christian Church, 198. It may be that, rather than making an explicit claim to Peter and Paul as founders, the letter from the Roman church had noted the dual martyrdoms of Peter and Paul in Rome as part of a statement on Rome's authority and position. Dionysios, in response, accepts this claim, but then adds to it a claim of greater antiquity for Corinth. Heussi thought that Dionysios was announcing his exegetical discovery that Peter had been a part of the founding of Corinth as well as Rome (Heussi, Karl, War Petrus in Rom? [Gotha: L. Klotz, 1936] 54Google Scholar, as cited in Goguel, Maurice, The Primitive Church [trans. Snape, H. C.; London: George Allen & Unwin Ltd., 1963] 206Google Scholar). If the letter from the Roman church explicitly invoked the martyrdoms of Peter and Paul in Rome, this would mark a development in Roman self-representation since 1 Clement. In 1 Clement 5 the author uses the deaths of Peter and Paul as examples “from our own generation” (τς γενεᾶς ἡμῶν [5:1]). Because of jealousy and strife, both were killed after many trials and hardships. But the author does not claim their deaths as markers of Roman superiority over Corinth. Indeed, there is no indication that the author knew Peter and Paul to have died in Rome at all. Peter's death is not located in any particular place and Paul is presented as having gone to the farthest limits of the west (ἐπὶ τὸ τέρμα τῆς δύσεως [5:7]) before his death. This suggests that the author of 1 Clement may have believed that Paul did in fact reach Spain, as was his intention at the time in which he wrote Romans 15:22–24. The author does mention that Paul, after having traveled to the west, gave his testimony before the rulers (ἐπὶ τῶν ἡγουμένων [5:7]), which may be a reference to a trial in Rome. Eusebius (Hist. eccl. 2.22) solves the problem by arguing that Paul was tried in Rome in line with the account in Acts 28 and then was set free after two years (28:30), after which he was then able to preach until a second imprisonment that led to his martyrdom. That Paul did make it to Spain before his death was assumed by the Acts of Peter and the Muratorian Canon. For more on the traditions surrounding Paul's mission to Spain, see Otto F. A. Meinardus, “Paul's Missionary Journey to Spain: Tradition and Folklore,” BA 41 (1978) 61–63. Regardless, there is still no indication that the deaths of Peter or Paul in Rome were a means by which the Roman church (at the time 1 Clement was written) claimed its authority over other churches, as seems to have been the case with the letter to which Dionysios responded.

⁸⁰ Jones argues that the “wandering hero” as founder of cities was an important theme deployed in kinship diplomacy (Kinship Diplomacy, 11–12, 22): “The belief that such heroes [such as Odysseus or Perseus] were also the ultimate ancestors of cities or nations was widespread in Greek thought, and was then taken up by the Romans, who called themselves ‘Aeneadae’ as descendants of Aeneas. So also Jewish tradition held that Noah's sons were the ancestors of all the nations of the earth, and that Abraham was the patriarch of all Jews and their near relatives” (12). It is interesting to note that Corinth was singled out by several ancient writers as a city with two founding, patronal deities: Helios and Poseidon (Favorinus, “Corinthian Oration,” §11–15; Pausanias, Descr. 2.1.6).

⁸¹ See Jones, Kinship Diplomacy, 24.

⁸² Battistoni, “Rome, Kinship and Diplomacy,” 77–78.

⁸³ Jonathan M. Hall notes that ethnic groups often share notions of common ancestry, shared history, and shared culture (Ethnic Identity in Greek Antiquity [Cambridge, U.K.: Cambridge University Press, 1997] 25, following Smith, Anthony D., The Ethnic Origins of Nations [Oxford: Blackwell, 1986] 22–30Google Scholar). Buell argues as well for the role of religion as a marker of ethnic identity (Why This New Race?, 35–62). Taken together we might think of the claim to a shared and stable set of theological and dogmatic teachings as a means of marking identity alongside recourse to founding ancestors. One can see a similar set of concerns around Spartan invocation and practice of the “Lycurgan Laws” into the Hellenistic and Roman periods (Cartledge, Paul and Spawforth, Antony, Hellenistic and Roman Sparta: A Tale of Two Cities [2nd ed.; States and Cities of Ancient Greece; London: Routledge, 2002] 190–212Google Scholar). Though the practices associated with these laws were continually changing, the city continued to use the practice of the Lycurgan laws as a means of demonstrating that Sparta remained faithful to its ancestral laws and customs. Something similar is at play in Dionysios's letter, where the “teachings” of the initial founders of both communities serve as a means of demonstrating how both communities remain faithful to the traditions that have been handed down to them.

⁸⁴ Pervo also notes the temporal primacy that Dionysios's phrasing implies (The Making of Paul, 146). See also Ferguson, Everett, “The Church at Corinth Outside the New Testament,” ResQ 3 (1959) 169–72, at 170Google Scholar.

⁸⁵ This was noted by Goguel who saw evidence for both Corinth and Ephesos vying with Rome for leadership among the various churches (The Primitive Church, 182).

⁸⁶ ἄμϕω, ὁμοίως (twice), ὁμόσε, κατὰ τὸν αὐτὸν καιρόν (Hist. eccl. 4.23.10).

⁸⁷ A similar strategy is likely being employed in Dionysios's letter to the Athenians, though we only know of this through Eusebius's summary (Hist. eccl. 4.23.2–3). In this context, Dionysios makes recourse to the tradition in Acts that Paul converted Dionysios the Areopagite. On Dionysios's retelling, the Athenian church became divided after its Bishop Publius was martyred. The new bishop, Quadratus, has begun to turn the community back in a direction of which Dionysios approves.

⁸⁸ Nautin, Lettres et écrivains, 31. Noethlichs offers a similar estimation of the historical situation, arguing that Corinth and Rome stood in tension with one another as opposing apostolic sees into the early third century (“Bedeutung des Bischofs Dionysius,” 247 n. 85).