The eighth chapter of Acts gives the sin its founder. Simon, a magician of Samaria who had amazed the city and accepted baptism, watches the apostles lay hands on believers who then receive the Holy Spirit, and makes the businessman's inference: he offers money, saying, Give me also this power. Peter's answer is one of the New Testament's thunderclaps: Thy money perish with thee, because thou hast thought that the gift of God may be purchased with money. The scene is brief, Simon even asks for prayer, but its logic proved permanent: the things of the Spirit are gifts, gratia, grace, and a gift sold is destroyed in the selling, converted into its opposite. Christian imagination kept Simon busy thereafter; apocryphal acts made him the arch-heretic flying over Rome until Peter's prayer brought him down, and patristic writers made simoniaca haeresis a heresy, not merely a crime, on the reasoning that the buyer of the sacred has already miscounted what it is.
The word's career tracked the church's wealth. Once bishoprics carried lands, armies and revenues, their sale became structurally tempting to every power that could arrange it, and the vocabulary of Acts 8 supplied the reformers' indictment. Dante gave the tradition its most enduring image: in the third bolgia of the eighth circle the simoniacs are planted head-down in rock, flames on their soles, in a parody of Pentecost, and Nicholas III, mistaking the visitor, asks whether Boniface VIII has arrived early, the poem holding a place in hell for a pope still alive and reigning.