1. Can it be possible that Luke, the Greek physician of Antioch, the companion and fellow-worker of St. Paul, composed the Third Gospel and the Acts of the Apostles? “If the gospel were the only writing ascribed to his authorship,” writes a recent critic, “we should probably raise no objection against this record of ancient tradition; for we have no sufficient reasons for asserting that a disciple of St. Paul could not have composed this work.” The difficulty, therefore, is assumed to lie in the Acts of the Apostles. Jülicher feels compelled to regard the ascription of the book to St. Luke as a “romantic ideal.” Yet we find that even critics, in spite of their verdict, have actually made, and are still making, considerable strides towards a compromise with tradition. Certain passages are found in the Acts where the author introduces himself into the narrative with the word “we.” The more than rash hypothesis that this “we” is a literary forgery has been renounced long ago, and nowadays scarcely a voice is raised even against the hypothesis that this “we” proceeds from the pen of St. Luke, the companion of St. Paul.
2. The main structural feature of the latter half of the book is the presence of four extracts apparently from a diary kept by one of St. Paul's companions (Act_16:10-17; Act_20:4; Act_5:1-42; Act_6:1-15; Act_7:1-60; Act_8:1-40; Act_9:1-43; Act_10:1-48; Act_11:1-30; Act_12:1-25; Act_13:1-52; Act_14:1-28; Act_15:1-41; Act_21:1-18; Act_27:1-44; Act_28:1-16). It was customary for distinguished travellers, princes, and generals of the ancient Hellenic world to have short diaries kept by some companion as an aid to memory, in which the stations of the route and perhaps, here and there, notable experiences were cursorily set down. For instance, according to Hermann Diels, the Anabasis of Xenophon is founded on a diary of this description, which Xenophon himself developed into an historical work, inserting all kinds of narratives and speeches. No features of style or diction can be discovered in these passages sufficiently salient to differentiate them from the rest of the Lukan compositions. They contain over fifty words peculiar to, and over seventy specially characteristic of, St. Luke.
Now the author who wrote in the first instance for the “excellent” Theophilus was not unknown to his correspondent. If he, then, in the midst of his text introduced himself with a “we,” after he had begun his book with an “I” (Act_1:1), Theophilus would at once know where he was; it would scarcely be fresh news to him that the man who dedicated his book to him was once himself a companion of St. Paul. In these circumstances the literary fault of neglecting to make special mention of this fact at the right place would be quite pardonable; indeed, one might say that this modest expedient for introducing oneself into the course of one's narrative is entirely in harmony with the general objectivity of our author's style throughout his history.
The energetic subjectivity, which has faith in itself, which does not fear to be something particular and definite without any consciousness or shame of its subjective illusion, is unknown to me. I am, so far as the intellectual order is concerned, essentially objective, and my distinctive speciality is to be able to place myself in all points of view, to see through all eyes, to emancipate myself, that is to say, from the individual prison.1 [Note: Amiel's Journal (trans. by Mrs. Humphry Ward), 15.]
3. The Book of Acts was written by a great historian, a writer who set himself to record the facts as they occurred, a strong partisan, indeed, but raised above partiality by his perfect confidence that he had only to describe the facts as they occurred in order to make the truth of Christianity and the honour of St. Paul apparent. His style is compressed to the highest degree; and he expects a great deal from the reader. He does not attempt to sketch the surroundings and to set the whole scene like a picture before the reader; he states the bare facts that seem to him important, and leaves the reader to imagine the situation. Hence, though his style is simple and clear, it often becomes obscure from its brevity; and the meaning is lost, because the reader has an incomplete, or a positively false, idea of the situation.
A historian needs four kinds of capacity. First of all, accuracy, and a desire for the exact truth, which will grudge no time and pains in tracing out even what might seem a trivial matter. Secondly, keen observation, which can fasten upon small points, and discover in isolated data the basis for some generalisation, or the illustration of some principle. Thirdly, a sound and calm judgment, which will subject all inferences and generalisations, both one's own and other people's, to a searching review, and weigh in delicate scales their validity. Fourthly, the historian must have imagination, not indeed with that intensity which makes the poet, but in sufficient volume to let him feel the men of other ages and countries to be living and real like those among whom he moves.1 [Note: J. Bryce, Studies in Contemporary Biography, 148.]
4. Sir W. M. Ramsay has advanced a theory to account for St. Luke's introduction to St. Paul which adds a touch almost of romance to the incident recorded in Act_16:9-10. The position this close student of all matters Pauline adopts is that St. Luke and the man of Macedonia are identical. “When one reads the passage with that idea,” he writes, “it acquires new and increased beauty. We can imagine how Paul came to Troas in doubt as to what should be done. As a harbour, it formed the link between Asia and Macedonia. Here he met the Macedonian Luke; and with his view turned onwards he slept and beheld in a vision his Macedonian acquaintance beckoning him onward to his own country. Luke was attracted to Paul; and the vision was taken by Luke, as well as by Paul, for a sign. He left all, and followed his master.” It is a striking theory, and it challenges consideration; but it scarcely meets all the facts of the case.
Here standeth Luke, Physician once, and still;
Healer of souls whom God delights to save;
Wise-eyed in helpfulness; in pity brave;
For all diseases using blessèd skill;
To halt, maimed, blind, beneficent; until
From town obscure by Galilean wave
Flashed forth the Day-Star, born of God, and gave
New life to suppliants with a sweet “I will.”
At whose appearing Luke was straightly dumb,
Lost in the greater Light; nor found it hard;
But knelt and worshipped; and afterward
For thy monition, O Theophilus,
Wrote large his gospel, and for help of us,
On whom the last days of the world are come.2 [Note: E. C. Lefroy, Sonnets.]
An interesting detail of Luke's outward life is the old legend that represents him as a painter, and which has led to his being chosen as the patron-saint of so many academies of art. Certain very ancient pictures, notably a Madonna in the Church of S. Maria Maggiore at Rome, are actually claimed as his workmanship. But his influence over Christian art is placed on a surer footing, when we remember how readily painters, both in early and mediæval times, selected their subjects from the scenes depicted in the pages both of his Gospel and of the Acts.
Give honour unto Luke, Evangelist;
For he it was (the aged legends say)
Who first taught Art to fold her hands and pray.1 [Note: D.G. Rossetti.]