Theology for the Masses

Friday we looked at how Thecla began her journey from the standard Roman passive feminity on through standard Roman active masculinity toward the early Christian ideal of nongendered activity.  Today, we will look at the second arc of the Acts of Thecla and see how she completes her journey.

The second arc begins in much the same way the first one does, but with a furthering of the themes presented at the conclusion of the first arc. Instead of merely passively watching Paul, Thecla is now actively following him. Paul, and therefore the branches of Christianity that claim him as an authority, claims to not know Thecla when Alexander asks about her, receding farther into femininity by becoming even more passive. When she is accosted by Alexander, “the first man of Antiochenes,” instead of tacitly rejecting him as she did her fiancé, she explicitly rejects the advances of this male, going so far as to “rip off his chlamys, an imperial or military mantle,” to “denude him of his crown, making him appear as one conquered,” [1] and to humiliate him in public. She effectively steals his honor at this point in the narrative.  We need to mention that power in antiquity was always taken from someone else, not earned or obtained by any other means.  In addition, she finally gains her voice. Up until this point she has been silent in the narrative. This rejection of male dominance enrages Alexander, the symbol of male and state dominance, at which point he hauls her in front of the governor demanding justice.

In the second episode of the second arc, the 2^nd trial of Thecla, maintains the same structure as the first trial, but continues add agency to Thecla and to further critique the standard notions of family and civic values. Queen Tryphaena becomes her replacement mother, Paul is nowhere to be found, and the female crowd comes to her defense against the absurd accusations of the court.

The climax of the second arc in the third episode is the most dramatic yet. Everything is aligned against Thecla. She is stripped naked, attacked by a lioness, an assortment of wild beasts, and almost pulled apart by the legs by two bulls that have fires lit under the “appropriate spot[s]”. Through each of these attacks on her honor and body, she is delivered by god or its agents. A cloud of fire reminiscent of the cloud that hid the glory of god during the 40 years of Israel wandering in the desert hides Thecla’s nakedness from the crowd. The lioness sent to attack befriends her and saves her from the assortment of wild animals. The cloud of fire burns the ropes connecting her to the bulls. Thus Thecla is saved once again. During the course of all of this and fearing for her life, Thecla performs the ultimate act of Christian agency, she baptizes herself. In doing so, she fulfills Paul’s foreshadowing speech in chapter 25. This climatic episode serves to signal the complete and utter victory of Thecla over her opponents.

The fourth episode brings resolution to the second arc and to the story as a whole. After her deliverance from her execution, she dresses like a male and finds Paul again. Paul still is concerned with her temptation, even though she has remained steadfast through incredible trials. Yet, perhaps because of the numbers of people who were thronging around to hear Thecla speak, Paul relents and commands her to go forth and preach. She, though her transformation, has won over that which she became enamored with at the beginning of the story.

On Wednesday we will sum up the effects of the rhetoric.  Stay tuned and tell me where I am wrong!

1. Ibid., 268. [↩]

Once upon a time, there were two men who were similar in many ways. Both were powerful and creative. Both were kind and loving. Both were well-respected in their towns. Both were fathers. And both were exceptional artists. In fact, the artistic community argued all the time as to which was the greatest, and the general consensus was that their crafts surpassed mere human judgment.

The first man announced an art show to be held in his private gallery at his home. He invited all the most prominent artists and art critics in the world, and promised that the revelation of his latest work would surpass all he’d done before. The night of the show arrived, and the artist’s home was truly a who’s who of the art world – everyone who was anyone was there. As the evening progressed, everyone agreed that these pieces were truly astounding, that they far surpassed the artist’s previous works. Frequently, guests were found weeping as they viewed various pieces, so moving was his mastery of his craft.

Several hours into the evening, the gallery door swung open and the artist’s young son came running into the gallery, clutching a piece of paper in his hand and saying, “Daddy! Daddy!” The artist was in front of the central display piece of his show, and when the son ran up, he excused himself from his conversation and bent down to his son.

“Yes, my boy,” he said softly, “what is it?” The boy excitedly waved his paper in front of his father.

“Look, Daddy! I did it just like you!” The artist took the piece of paper and turned it over. On it was a finger-painting, clearly crafted with all the patience and skill of a five-year-old.

“This is very nice, son. You did a good job,” the artist said, with the patronizing kindness unique to parents. “Why don’t you go show it to Mommy?”

“Put it on the wall, daddy! Put it by yours!” the boy begged.

“Son, this is a serious art show,” the artist replied. “Your daddy is a very important person, and he makes art that is beautiful and praiseworthy. You’ve just done a finger-painting. It wouldn’t be right for me to hang it in here, with all these glorious pieces of art that I’ve created. To display anything you’ve created in here would demean and devalue all of the glorious things I’ve done. I’ll hang this in my office.”

Dejected, the child left, finger-painting now crumpled in his small, unskilled fingers. As he shuffled out of the gallery, the crowd – which had been silently observing – began to whisper their approval. It would be a shame, they agreed, to tarnish the obvious brilliance of this room with such amateurish work. It was clear that the boy would never be half the artist his father was.

Shortly thereafter, the other artist also announced an opening, and he too promised work to surpass all that he’d done before. And once again, the cream of the art community crop gathered in a home gallery to experience an opening of epic proportions. And, as promised, the pieces were brilliant… each more beautiful and breathtaking than the last. And the final piece, the grandest of them all, the pinnacle of the opening surpassed everyone’s hopes. It was quite clearly one of the greatest masterpieces ever committed to canvas.

And once more, several hours into the opening, the door to the gallery cracked open, and this artist’s young daughter ran in, also with a painting in hand. “Daddy, Daddy!” she cried, “Look! I did just like you!”

The father swept his daughter up in his arms and with a growing smile looked down at his daughter’s crude, unskilled finger-painting. “It’s beautiful, honey. Simply beautiful. I know just where I’m going to hang it.”

With that, he set her down and handed the painting back to her. Then he walked over to his masterpiece, the central exhibit of his opening. As he approached it, the whispers in the room – which until now had been muted – grew into a low hum. The father grasped his painting and pulled it down off the wall and cast it to the floor, then turned to his daughter. “Honey,” he called, “may I have your painting?” The child brought her paper over to him and handed it up. The father took it and mounted it in the place where his crowning achievement had once stood. As he did so, the murmering grew to a dull roar, the outrage of the guests clear as they eyed the abandoned masterpiece.

Still smiling, but eyeing the crowd with comprehending eyes, the Father picked his daughter back up. “My dear child,” he began, never taking his eyes off of her, but addressing the crowd with his voice, “you are my greatest creation, the crowning joy of my life. Nothing else I have ever or will ever create could compare with you.” As he continued, voice choked with love and… yes pride, tears filled the corners of his eyes. “You made something the same way I do, and you did it as well as you could. Nothing could make me happier, or bring me greater glory and fame than this beautiful, talented person you’re becoming.”

The girl never left his side for the rest of the evening. And the father never ceased to display his most glorious masterpiece.