Mimetic Mediators in Mark: How Graeco-Roman Biographies Use Secondary Characters to Offer Multiple Patterns of Imitation

Introduction

It is a well-established narratological tradition to regard the Markan disciples as potential role models for the Gospel audience, who can learn from these characters as they strive to imitate Jesus. And there is a growing number of scholars who acknowledge the significant affinities between the Gospel of Mark and Graeco-Roman biographies (βίοι or vitae) with their often-recognised aim to present behavioural paradigms for the audience to imitate. But are these two traditions compatible? In her excellent monograph The First Biography of Jesus, Helen K. Bond (2020: 193–96) maintains that secondary characters in ancient biographies have no other purpose than to contribute to the portrait of the central character. Although Mark may occasionally use minor characters to exemplify certain aspects of discipleship (Bond 2020: 167, 220; 2023: 147), it would therefore be inappropriate for a first-century audience to look to the Twelve as behavioural examples, and doing so ‘would be to misunderstand the nature of ancient biography’, Bond (2020: 196; 2023: 147) argues. ¹

There is no question that the disciples frequently contribute to Mark’s portrait of Jesus. They give him occasion to teach on a particular subject (Mk 2.23; 8.14; 9.10, 34, 38; 10.13, 35; 13.1, 4), to clarify himself (4.10; 7.17; 10.24, 26, 28, 41; 11.21; 14.19), and to perform a particular miracle (4.38; 5.31; 6.35–36, 45–48), and are regularly present to listen to him and witness his miracles (4.35–42; 8.1–9; 9.2–8; 11.12–14, 20; cf. Klauck 1982: 12–15). ² As Bond (2020: 197, 200–209) argues, their presence establishes Jesus as an authoritative teacher, their ineptitude works as a pedagogical scheme to let Jesus explain his teachings, ³ and their eventual abandonment of their master serves to make his death all the more lonely and courageous. Viewing Mark’s portraits of secondary characters as subordinated to his characterisation of Jesus could also help explain why Peter, James, and John sometimes behave erratically or inconsistently (Bond 2020: 193–95; cf. de Campos 2021: 13–15). ⁴

Still, by limiting the role of followers in ancient biographies to what they make of the biographee, Bond rejects a long scholarly tradition of viewing the disciples as potential role models for Mark’s audience. Tannehill (1977: 392–93) famously argues that the Markan disciples make the audience evaluate their own attempts at discipleship. Danove (2005: 90–126), Rhoads, Michie, and Dewey (Rhoads et al. 2012: 123–30; Dewey 2019: 177) maintain that Mark’s audience is led to identify with the disciples and learn from their failures. Hurtado (1996: 9) takes the portrayal of the Twelve to be ‘meant to teach by example important points about following Jesus’. Malbon (2000: 70–71), Miller (2004: 166–68), and Aernie (2018: 34–43, 119–23) hold both male and female followers of Christ to be models of discipleship for Mark’s community. De Campos (2021: 15–16, 217–24) finds the disciples to complement the portrayal of Jesus by teaching Mark’s audience about the challenges of discipleship. Even Burridge (2007: 182), who is no foreigner to viewing Mark as a βίος, declares that the disciples ‘provide a further model for Mark’s audience to learn from and emulate’. ⁵

To give Bond’s rejection of such readings the scrutiny it deserves, this paper will demonstrate that other ancient biographers use followers and associates of their main characters not only to characterise them, but also to illuminate what it means to imitate them. ⁶ Applying this insight to Mark, I will argue that Mark offers three alternative patterns of behaviour for potential followers of Jesus: apostles, who abandon their family and livelihood for an itinerant life of preaching and healing; hosts, who provide Jesus and other itinerant teachers with food and shelter; and supporters, who support the Jesus movement in other ways more suited to their varying circumstances.

Genre, Biography, and Mimetic Mediators

How a writing is understood depends heavily on what expectations the reader brings to it (Hirsch 1967: 68–85). This is the basis of cognitive genre theory, where a genre is conceptualised as a set of expectations, informed by previous encounters with similar communication, that are used by writers and readers alike in the processes of expressing their thoughts and interpreting what has been written. This theory is less concerned with the categorisation of texts than with their interpretation and does not declare texts to belong to a particular genre, but to participate, to various extents, in one or more genres (Seitel 2003; Sheridan 2010: 293–96; Dinkler 2020).

It is therefore highly significant that the scholarly majority has shifted from regarding Mark as a unique writing with no relevant literary predecessors to view it as participating in the genre of Graeco-Roman biography, or at least acknowledge that it has substantial affinities with this genre. Votaw (1915: 45–73, 217–49) was first to argue this view, Talbert (1977) reinitiated the debate, and Burridge (2018 [1992]) turned the tide (Walton 2015: 86–88; Bond 2020: 29–37). Many have followed Burridge, ⁷ and even those disagreeing with him tend to accept ancient βίοι as valid comparative material for Mark. ⁸

When ancient audiences encountered a βίος, they expected it not only to commemorate a prominent individual, but also to depict him as a suitable role model—παραδείγμα or exemplum—for them to imitate (Momigliano 1993: 71–73; Hägg 2012: 30–35, 48, 295; Konstan and Walsh 2016: 30–32; Shively 2018: 286–87; Bond 2020: 45, 48). This expectation coheres with the prominent focus on imitation in Graeco-Roman education and learned culture (Marrou 1960; Cribiore 2001; Vegge 2006: 13–107), where students at all stages imitated literary style and moral content from the classics, ⁹ and orators provided their audiences with good examples to emulate and bad ones to avoid. Bond (2020: 46–49; 2023: 137) compares ancient biographies to such exempla writ large. Hägg (2012: 273–75) identifies a double process of μίμησις (‘representation’ or ‘imitation’) when the biographer first aims to represent the admirable traits of the biographee in writing, whereafter the audience strive to imitate them in their own lives.

This focus on imitation allowed ancient biographers to focus not on their most historically significant stories, but on those best illustrating their protagonist’s virtues, ¹⁰ and to reduce historically important figures to caricatures whose sole function is to support the biographer’s portrait of the protagonist (Pelling 1980; Licona 2017: 108–11). This is why Mark can reduce a Roman procurator to his role in Jesus’s death (Mk 15.1–15, 43–45) and cut down a tetrarch to a dystopic syncritic counterpart to Jesus’s kingship (6.14–29; Gelardini 2011; Bond 2020: 167–68, 178–89; Shedd 2021: 83–127).

But literary texts do not handle all expectations of their genres in the simplest possible way (Seitel 2003: 290–91; Sheridan 2010: 296; Shively 2018: 279–83; Dinkler 2020: 90–91). Some biographical writings may focus on vices rather than virtues, ¹¹ on wittiness rather than action, ¹² or on alternative ideals that question traditional values (Konstan and Walsh 2016: 32–39). Others may neglect to provide narrative closure (Shively 2018: 279–86). The same freedom pertained to the use of secondary characters. As we shall see, ancient biographers used secondary characters not only to build up their portrait of the central character, but also as complementary role models who illuminate what it may mean to imitate him. While the biographee embodies all of the biographer’s high ideals, other characters emulate those to varying degrees of success, thereby mediating their mimetic ideals to make them more accessible for the audience. In philosophical biographies, disciples of the protagonist would be the natural choice for such supplementary παραδεíγματα.

Chrysantas in Xenophon’s Cyropaedia

Xenophon (ca. 430–355 BCE) introduces his Cyropaedia by declaring that the character and leadership skills of Cyrus the Great (ca. 600–530 BCE) inspired many people to obey him enthusiastically, even when large distances made it impossible for him to enforce his will. ¹³ He lauds how Cyrus makes every effort to be the perfect example to his subordinates: ¹⁴ always demonstrating self-control, ¹⁵ never showing anger, ¹⁶ always exercising before dinner, ¹⁷ and never spitting or blowing his nose in public, ¹⁸ all in order to mould worthy men after his own image and build a lasting empire. ¹⁹

The biographical narrator asserts that the whole court eagerly excelled in imitating Cyrus, ²⁰ but especially emphasises Chrysantas, a nobleman he describes as φρονήσει διαφέρων (‘discerning in wisdom’). ²¹ The narrator lets Chrysantas introduce new topics for discussion, ²² pose perceptive questions, ²³ and speak in support of his master. ²⁴ Cyrus gives him command of his troops, ²⁵ and praises his way of promptly carrying out his orders. ²⁶ When Chrysantas asks his master to address the troops to prime them for battle (Gera 1993: 109–15; Nadon 2001: 144), Cyrus responds that no words of his can make them better than they already are, and if they forget their training in the heat of battle, the proper paradigm is already in place:

‘For my part’, he said, ‘I would not have trusted even those we have trained ourselves to stand fast, if not for the presence of you, who will be examples (παραδείγματα) for them of what they need to be and can prompt them if they forget anything.’ ²⁷

When Hystapas, another of Cyrus’s trusted lieutenants, questions why Chrysantas has been given such an honourable position in the court, Cyrus explains that Chrysantas takes care to be available even before he is called, and uses his own initiative and discernment to serve his master’s interest over and beyond his orders. ²⁸ Hystapas happily declares: κἀγὼ πειράσομαι ταῦτα ποιεῖν (‘I will also try to do that!’). ²⁹

Even though Cyrus is presented as the best possible example of a leader, his elevated position at the pinnacle of the Persian empire makes it impossible for him to be a usable model of subordinance and servitude (Nadon 2001: 131). Chrysantas complements Cyrus by being the model subordinate, and is therefore being held up as a παράδειγμα for both fellow commanders and common soldiers. The practice of using an associate of the protagonist to complement him as a role model is thus established in Graeco-Roman biography as early as in Xenophon, and we should expect later biographers to follow suit.

Plato in Plutarch’s Dion

Plutarch (ca. 45–120 CE) introduces his various biographies by promising to focus on what reveals the character (ἦθος) of Alexander the Great (356–323 BCE), ³⁰ pledging to collect anecdotes that illuminate the character and manner (τρόπος) of Nikias (ca. 470–413 BCE), ³¹ and expressing his hope that his dedicatee’s two sons will accept their noble ancestor Aratus (ca. 315–240 BCE) as a model (παράδειγμα) to mould their life after. ³² In Pericles, he declares his conviction that simply by observing the exemplary actions of his biographees, his audience will be given incentives to improve and the ability to choose the better way to act. ³³

In his biography of Dion of Syracuse (ca. 408–354 BCE), Plutarch introduces the Athenian philosopher Plato (ca. 429–347 BCE) as one of his secondary characters and presents him as a perfect παράδειγμα. Dion is presented as Plato’s personal disciple, ³⁴ and his elevated, magnanimous, and manly (ὑψηλός, μεγαλόφρων, ἀνδρώδης) character is said to be greatly enhanced by his swift grasp of the famous philosopher’s teachings. ³⁵ Thanks to his intellectual acuity, Dion advances to a position of the tyrant’s most trusted envoy, ³⁶ and when the throne is inherited by the young Dionysius II, Dion dazzles the new government with his perception and outspokenness. ³⁷ His most important advice to the young ruler is to appoint Plato as his teacher and role model:

Dion saw that [Dionysius’s] character was mutilated and deformed from lack of education, and urged him to turn to learning, to do his utmost to convince the foremost of all philosophers to come to Sicily, and to submit himself to him when he came, so that his character would be arranged according to the order of virtue, and made to resemble the best and most divine example (παράδειγμα) in existence. ³⁸

The young ruler initially complies, but soon prefers to emulate other role models, and eventually turns into a negative example for Plutarch’s audience. ³⁹

Although Plato’s great renown makes this an unusual case, it demonstrates that a secondary character can be upheld as even more exemplary than the protagonist. Dion’s alleged ability to imitate Plato contributes greatly to his characterisation and to his utility as a biographical role model, but cannot even in his own biography threaten Plato’s position as the ultimate παράδειγμα.

Rogatianus in Porphyry’s Life of Plotinus

Porphyry (ca. 234–305 CE) demonstrates his focus on imitation by opening his biography of Plotinus (ca 205–270 CE) ⁴⁰ by portraying his protagonist’s disdain for his physical body, ⁴¹ radical veganism, ⁴² and last moments, ⁴³ before discussing such basic but inimitable data as Plotinus’s birth date and teachers. ⁴⁴ By naming no less than fourteen of Plotinus’s disciples from a wide variety of backgrounds—senators, physicians, a poet, a banker, and several women ⁴⁵ —he broadens the image of a Neoplatonist disciple, and makes it clear that men and women in any occupation are welcome to join the movement.

He also illuminates the benefits of the school’s teachings by describing how one high-born disciple greatly improves his life by emulating Plotinus’s radical asceticism:

There was also Rogatianus, a senator, who so radically turned from his former life that he gave up all his property, disbanded his whole household, and renounced his rank. When the lictors arrived, and he was to take office as a praetor, he neither appeared publicly nor took charge of the proceedings. He did not even opt to live in a house of his own, but went around to his friends and acquaintances, eating here and sleeping there, although he ate only every other day. By this abstinence and disregard of life he, who was so swollen that he had to be carried in a chair, regained his strength and the ability to use his hands, which he had been unable to stretch out, much easier than those who practice the manual crafts. Plotinus approved of him, kept him in the highest regard, and held him up as a good example (ἀγαθὸν παράδειγμα) for those practicing philosophy. ⁴⁶

Rogatianus’s story suggests that followers of Plotinus should strive to emulate his ascetic lifestyle, which may improve a declining health considerably. ⁴⁷ Plotinus’s reported recommendation of Rogatianus as a good παράδειγμα for any practitioner of philosophy transcends the limitations of the narrative world, and presents Rogatianus as a secondary role model to Porphyry’s audience, guiding them in how best to imitate Plotinus.

Menippus in Philostratus’s Life of Apollonius

Philostratus (ca. 170–250 CE) lauds his biographee Apollonius of Tyana (ca. 3–97 CE) as a master of genuine wisdom, ⁴⁸ and portrays his most senior disciple, Damis, ⁴⁹ as an intelligent and valuable companion, ⁵⁰ who consistently poses insightful questions to his master ⁵¹ and engages him in many learned conversations. ⁵² But not all of Apollonius’s disciples are as competent. Another follower, Menippus, is lured by a beautiful vampire (ἔμπουσα) ⁵³ who wants to date him, marry him, and eventually eat him whole. Fortunately, Apollonius is able to rescue Menippus by revealing that the wedding table and servants are mere illusions. ⁵⁴ Thereby, he gains a disciple who can run errands for his master, ⁵⁵ prompt him to express his views, ⁵⁶ and overreact in order to let Apollonius demonstrate restraint. ⁵⁷ Menippus eventually grows into one of Apollonius’s most prominent disciples, ⁵⁸ and his ascending narrative arc makes him an excellent role model for aspiring philosophers.

The contrast between Menippus and Damis also gives the biographer a choice between two levels of philosophical aptitude in his dialogues. For many advanced topics, the insightful Damis is Apollonius’s preferred conversation partner, but when initiating a discourse on whether myths or fables are best suited to convey moral principles, ⁵⁹ Philostratus lets Menippus express the popular opinion that his master will disprove:

[Apollonius asked:] ‘Which kind of tales convey wisdom?’ ‘Those by the poets’, [Menippus] said, ‘since they praise it the way it happened’. ‘And what about those of Aesop?’ ‘Frogs’, he said, ‘and donkeys, and garbage, suitable only for old ladies and small children’. ‘But to my mind’, said Apollonius, ‘Aesop’s tales are the ones more suitable for wisdom’. ⁶⁰

This is an example of a particular narrative utility of an incompetent follower. To have Damis express this view, and then be gainsaid by his master, would undermine his characterisation as competent. Philostratus could have had Damis report popular opinion (cf. Mk 8.27–30), but using Menippus supports the inept disciple’s character development as slowly growing into competence, and teaches the audience that being corrected by one’s master is part of learning philosophy. In this way, Philostratus presents his audience with a range of increasingly challenging role models, inspiring them to aspire to proceed from the fumbling Menippus, via the more competent Damis, to the accomplished Apollonius.

Disciples of Philosophers in Diogenes Laertius’s Lives of Eminent Philosophers

Diogenes Laertius (third century CE) regularly elevates his biographees by depicting their disciples as highly competent philosophers in their own right. ⁶¹ For example, Epicurus’s (ca. 341–270 BCE) disciple Metrodorus (ca. 330–277 BCE) never leaves his master’s side, constantly exhibits his own excellence, and proves to be undaunted in the face of death—thereby illustrating a successful imitation of his master. ⁶²

Other followers demonstrate considerable creativity in seeking a philosophical life. Diogenes of Sinope’s (ca. 404–323 BCE) disciple Monimus (fourth century BCE) demonstrates his philosophical aptitude by playing mad in front of his employer, a banker, literally throwing out money from the banker’s table until he is dismissed from his position, and thereby gains the desired freedom to live a philosopher’s life. ⁶³ Crates’s (ca. 365–285 BCE) disciple Hipparchia (around 300 BCE), ⁶⁴ who has the limited agency of an unmarried young woman, uses her considerable willpower to gain a better position from which to study phi-los-o-phy:

She fell in love with Crates, with his teachings and his way of life, and turned away from all her suitors with their money, their nobility, and their beauty. Crates was everything for her, and she even threatened her parents that she would do away with herself unless she was given to him in marriage. ⁶⁵

As Crates’s wife, Hipparchia has unrestricted access to his tutorship. The narrator rewards her creativity by describing her work on a par with her male counterparts, and combines the masculine genitive φιλοσόφου with the feminine article τῆς to properly designate her a philosopher. ⁶⁶ Hipparchia is certainly depicted as more competent than her brother Metrocles (ca. 350–280 BCE) who embarrasses himself completely by breaking wind in public, and in his shame decides to go home and starve himself to death. Crates prepares himself by eating a suitable meal, visits Metrocles, repeats the offensive deed in his presence, and manages to gain another follower who in time grows into a competent philosopher. ⁶⁷

Followers of Jesus in the Gospel of Mark

So far, we can conclude that using secondary characters as supplementary role models is common practice in Graeco-Roman biography. By describing how followers successfully imitate the biographee’s learning, asceticism, and self-control, ancient biographers clarify that their audiences should strive to do the same. By depicting how men and women from widely different circumstances take up a philosophical way of life, biographers broaden the idea of who can become a philosopher. And by portraying fumbling disciples as well as competent ones, biographers offer a path to imitation that is accessible to mere mortals. Thus, associates and followers are recurrently used as mimetic mediators who mediate the high ideal of the central character to the audience. Ancient audiences sufficiently versed in this genre of literature should expect similar literary practices in Mark’s Gospel.

Mark lets Jesus attract followers from at least three different backgrounds—fishing (Mk 1.16–29), tax-collection (2.14), and wealth (10.17–22)—thereby broadening the idea of who can become a Christian disciple (cf. Malbon 2000: 72–78). He describes at least one instance (6.13, 20) where the disciples successfully imitate what they have seen their master do, indicating that the audience should strive to do the same. And he certainly depicts imperfect disciples who are more approachable role models than his formidable protagonist.

But while Philostratus and Diogenes Laertius create a contrast between more and less competent followers of Apollonius and Crates, Mark portrays the followers of Jesus as more or less universally fumbling (cf. Mk 8.17, 21; 9.18, 32; 10.13–16, 38; 14.50; 16.8). Even Peter, the most senior disciple, is twice criticised in front of the others, once for rebuking Jesus for teaching about his death and resurrection (8.33) and once for falling asleep under prayer (14.37; Danove 2005: 100, 107–8; cf. Stowasser 2023: 128). In the former scene, there is a hint that the criticism is grounded in a concern for the other disciples:

He began to teach his disciples that the Son of Man must suffer greatly and be rejected by the elders, the chief priests, and the scribes, be killed, and after three days rise again. He said this openly, and Peter took him aside and began to rebuke him. But after turning to look at his disciples, he rebuked Peter and said: ‘Get behind me, Satan, for you are not thinking about what is from God, but about what is from people.’ (Mk 8.31–33)

Jesus’s glance at the other disciples suggests that he is criticising Peter because he, as the senior disciple, sets a παράδειγμα for Jesus’s other followers, and might lead their thinking along the wrong path. In both scenes, Jesus’s criticism may be motivated by Peter’s position as an intermediary role model (Wiarda 1999: 29–32). In contrast, those whose behaviour the Markan Jesus lauds as exemplary are anonymous walk-on characters such as the woman donating her last two coins (12.43–44) and the woman anointing Jesus with a fortune in pure nard (14.6–9; Malbon 2000: 53–57; Miller 2004: 112–44; Kelhoffer 2010: 85–89).

This egalitarian streak where the last are encouraged and the first put down (cf. Mk 10.31) permits Mark to present all kinds of secondary characters as potential παραδείγματα, thereby giving the audience a number of alternative role models from which to choose. Without denying the rich complexity of his cast of characters, most of these examples can be sorted into one of three main behavioural patterns: apostles, who emulate Jesus’s itinerant lifestyle, hosts, who receive the apostles in their homes, and supporters, who support the movement in other ways.

Conclusion

This paper has questioned the notion that the long-standing narratological practice of viewing the Markan disciples as potential role models from which Gospel audiences may learn how to follow Christ would be incompatible with viewing Mark as participating in the Graeco-Roman genre of biography. In response to Bond’s (2020: 196; 2023: 147) claim that looking beyond the central character for behavioural examples would be to misunderstand the nature of ancient biography, I have presented several instances where Graeco-Roman biographers use secondary characters to complement the παραδείγματα provided by their protagonists. Xenophon uses Cyrus’s lieutenant Chrysantas as a model of subordinance and servitude, virtues that the king cannot plausibly embody. Plutarch brings in the arch-philosopher Plato as the best possible παράδειγμα for the young Dionysius II, even better than the protagonist Dion. Porphyry lifts up Plotinus’s disciple Rogatianus, a senator who discarded his privileges, as an exemplum of how to let Plotinus’s asceticism improve your health. Philostratus depicts Apollonius’s follower Menippus as a maturing philosophical student, whose imperfections do not block his path to competence. And Diogenes Laertius introduces a multitude of disciples of his biographees to demonstrate how people from widely different backgrounds can use their creativity to ascend on a path towards a philosophical life.

Applying these insights into how ancient biographers use secondary characters to broaden, clarify, and mitigate the ideals of their central characters to Mark’s narrative, I have found him to present three distinct behavioural patterns for followers of Christ: apostles, who emulate Jesus’s radically ascetic lifestyle in an itinerant life of preaching, healing, and exorcising; hosts, who support the apostles by providing them with food and shelter in their homes, and supporters, who serve the apostles and hosts in other ways, according to their varying abilities. By including disciples from various strands of life—four fishermen, a toll-collector, and several women—Mark explains that people of many different backgrounds can become followers of Christ. By presenting disciples who successfully copy Jesus’s life as an itinerant teacher and healer, Mark declares that such a radical life is not supposed to be unique to the founder of the Christian philosophy but emulated by his followers, who should preach, care for the ailing, and cast out demons. And by presenting three different behavioural patterns for followers of Jesus, all of which support the overall goal of spreading the message about the kingdom of God, Mark mediates these radical ideals of the Christian philosophy to the limitations of his audience.