Paul and Rhetoric 9780567661043, 9780567027047

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Preface For seven years, from 2002 to 2008, we had the privilege and pleasure to chair the Studiorum Novi Testamenti Societas (S.N.T.S.) Seminar “Paul and Rhetoric.” A selection of the papers offered at the conferences of Durham, Bonn, Barcelona, Halle, Aberdeen, Sibiu, and Lund is presented in this volume. Others have been already published in languages other than English, or the authors integrated them or will include them as chapters in one of their own books. The first essay in this volume, by Peter Lampe, sets the stage for our work, discussing, among other problems, the relationships between “New” and “Old” Rhetoric or between rhetorical and epistolographical analyses. The three following contributions, by Duane F. Watson and Troy W. Martin, continue critically describing where our discipline is by focussing on the problems and potentials of the classical rhetoric categories of the three speech genera, of “invention and arrangement,” and of the figures and tropes. The following three studies, by Christopher Forbes, Johannes Vos, and Peter Lampe, deepen the broad relational questions of rhetoric and epistolography, rhetoric and theology, and rhetoric and psychology. The last two contributions, by Michael Winger and Peter Lampe, focus on specific issues within letters: the rhetorical metaphor of life and death and the aggressive language of 2 Corinthians 10–13. We are indebted to Laura-Maria Hofmann and Peter Münch, both from Heidelberg, for the indexes, and we thank all members of the Seminar from the four corners of the globe for their active participation and the S.N.T.S. for the chance to run this project. The Editors Boston/Heidelberg, Winter 2008

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Foreword Ruminations Occasioned by the Publication of These Essays and the End of the Seminar J. Paul Sampley

If, as is commonly declared in antiquity and in modern times, rhetoric is the “art of persuasion,” then all of the unquestioned Pauline letters (Romans, 1 and 2 Corinthians, Galatians, Philippians, 1 Thessalonians, and Philemon) are rhetorical through and through, because the different letters are oriented toward future performance and try to move their audiences to live out the gospel more fully, or to amend their ways, or to behave better toward one another, or to refrain from judging one another. As will be seen in this volume’s articles, rhetorical features can sometimes be argued to structure a given letter; more frequently, certain sections of letters may correspond to the conventional parts of a speech (see Troy Martin). Beyond that, within any given section of a letter, Paul regularly employs tropes, figures, and styles (see Duane Watson). Accordingly, rhetorical interpretation of Paul’s letters is not just an option, or a sort of esoteric add-on that someone might be curious about, but a necessity, a requirement of any analysis that takes seriously Paul’s letters as attempting to affect, inform, and instruct readers or auditors, whether ancient or modern, in the life of faith.

Paul’s Letters as Letters and as Speech-Events Because Paul (and his scribe[s]) knew that at their destination, the letters were to be read aloud, that is, performed, it is a necessity for us to treat them as letters and as speeches, because they were both from their beginnings, and intentionally so. Furthermore, the Pauline pattern of letter delivery typically required one of his trusted agents to carry the letter to its destination, and we may readily suppose that this person, with insider cachet, would not only read the letter in its entirety to the assembly of believers in the appointed town but would also be there to lend authoritative ix

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interpretation and elaboration in whatever follow-up discussions there might be. Additionally, after its initial reading-performance the letter was presumably kept in the home of a church member so that it could be referred to and rehearsed in future deliberations within the community. So Pauline letters functioned not only as a focus of discussion when they were delivered but represented a continuing epistolary Pauline presence. Thus, any modern interpretive effort must always treat them as letters and as speeches. Thus, it is appropriate that we should ask whether a given Pauline speech-letter might conform in whole or in part to the traditional genres of speeches in that time: deliberative, judicial, and epideictic (see Duane Watson). But because every undeniably authentic Pauline letter seeks to move a congregation of believers to change or improve their lives, we may say that no matter how many features of a particular speech genre might be identifiable in a given letter, that letter is also finally and fundamentally a deliberative letter. A case in point would be Galatians, where the strongest argument has been made that its genre is judicial: even Galatians is finally also deliberative in its overall concern to keep the Galatians from falling off of what Paul perceives as a precipice. Or consider 1 Thessalonians: no matter how many features of consolation (a function of epideictic or demonstrative rhetoric), Paul’s overall purpose is to reassure the Thessalonian believers so that they walk properly in faith toward the parousia of Christ. Or Philemon: despite the considerable presence of praise (praise or blame are functions of epideictic/demonstrative rhetoric), the letter is ultimately deliberative in its concern that all of the church manifest its faith as Onesimus returns.

Frank Speech and Figured, Indirect Speech— And Some Cautions about Rhetoric and Historiography In the Roman world of Paul’s time, most criticism and most calls for different attitudes or behavior were framed as indirect speech. Of course, court cases were different because there particular charges were lodged against a certain individual or group. But among friends and in the politics of the larger world, safe criticism required an obliqueness that was available through indirect, figured speech. Typically, figured speech refers obliquely to a known, prickly situation and describes it more or less antiseptically as if it belonged to a parallel, uncontested universe. Oblique speech is especially useful when discussing something where contrary positions are entrenched and where rival interpretations or understandings are passionately held. Its connection to the actual, contested situation was thus always slightly veiled or transferred to an analogous situation that was not in dispute. The social counterpart to indirect speech in Paul’s time was “frank speech” (parrēsia; see Peter Lampe) where a friend might dare to call directly into question a friend’s deed or proposed action. Frank speech was decidedly less frequent than indirect speech not only because of abhorring shame but also because its requirements were much more restrictive: frank speech necessitated that the two be friends in good standing with each other and that the calling into question not only be

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appropriate to the quality of the friendship but also to the severity of the problem at issue between them. Paul’s ready resort to frank speech in most of his letters is extraordinary in his time, but, given its pervasiveness across the Pauline corpus, we interpreters might regard it as the norm for his time and culture. It is not. Furthermore, because Paul so frequently employs frankness with his followers, much as a parent would be expected to do with one’s children, we may sometimes fail to notice that Paul on occasion addresses his followers in indirect speech, especially if we are unaware of the conventions of indirect, figured speech. Indirect speech moves the discussion over to some less heated topic and leaves it to the readers or hearers to make its application to themselves and to the specific problem at hand. Rhetoricians roughly contemporary with Paul recognized that indirect speech was incredibly powerful because when auditors applied the veiled critique to themselves they would regularly be harsher on themselves than the speaker could dare to be directly. Let us briefly note one place in the Pauline correspondence where Paul indeed applies indirect, figured speech. It is found in 1 Corinthians 1–4, where Paul is laying a background for the rest of the letter. Right away in the letter appeal, Paul derides dissensions and references Chloe’s people’s report of their quarreling: “each one of you says ‘I myself belong to Paul,’ ‘I to Apollos,’ ‘I to Cephas,’ ‘I to Christ’” (1:12). This verse, and what follows, has caused many interpreters to imagine that there are four groups, or parties among the Corinthian believers; some interpreters have even fancied that they could divide the issues plaguing the Corinthians by assigning the different problems to the four groups. But there are difficulties with the four-party construction. First, after 1:12 the “Christ party” never shows up again anywhere in 1 Corinthians. Second, it is really difficult to imagine any sector of a Pauline congregation thinking that they exclusively or excessively belong to Christ, because in Paul’s construction all believers belong to Christ, equally. Because belonging to Christ as a special subgroup of believers never appears again in the Corinthian correspondence, not to mention in any of the other Pauline letters, combined with the observation that “belonging to Christ” is a Pauline signature claim for every believer, we may suggest that the “I belong to Christ” assertion is a Pauline appendage to the list to highlight the utter folly of divisions in the body of Christ based on allegiance to any leader. Third, the next time in 1 Corinthians when Paul explicitly returns to the “I belong to” theme, Cephas is pointedly missing; he is not mentioned at all. And, as we have established, belonging to Christ is missing. Instead, the focus is altogether on Paul and Apollos (3:1–9), and the Corinthians are chided for their divisiveness, for being like babies, for needing milk when they should be ready now for solid food, for being “of the flesh,” and for walking like ordinary—meaning nonbelieving—people (3:1–3): “For when a certain one says ‘I myself belong to Paul,’ and another ‘I to Apollos,’ are you not [simply] folks?” (3:4). Fourth, the Paul–Apollos picture in 3:1–9 is elaborated in a way that militates against any divisiveness among the believers, because Paul and Apollos are depicted as the ultimate cooperators who, on the basis of their different gifts and callings, divide the labors (3:5–9). Neither of them is anything special, Paul avers; both are

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simply diakonoi through whom the Corinthians believed, and both are simply doing what God gave them to do. One plants; the other waters; both are equal; and let there be no confusion: God gives the growth. Paul declares that he and Apollos are God’s fellow workers, and the Corinthians are God’s field, God’s building (3:9). Paul and Apollos are depicted as having modeled for the Corinthians how people with differing gifts and callings work together in a spirit of comity and in recognition that the whole enterprise is God’s. The encoded message is that the Corinthians, so prone to vaunting self-interests and promotion, ought to put all their pretensions aside and live in peace with one another, emulating Paul and Apollos. Fifth, the next time Paul explicitly reprises the theme of himself and Apollos (3:18–23), he once again includes Cephas but not Christ, but it is all in a warning that no one should deceive himself or herself—one might add just as Paul and Apollos, the laborers in God’s field among the Corinthians, did not deceive themselves but worked in joy alongside each other for the benefit of others. Paul concludes: no one should boast of folks. Why not? Because “all things belong to you” already in Christ. Paul’s inclusio, a rhetorical figure of some importance in his lingo, begins with “all things belong to you” and goes from there through a list of adiaphora, indifferent matters, that includes “Paul or Apollos or Cephas or the world or life or death or the present or the future” before repeating “all things belong to you.” In a sweep that puts “all things” in perspective, Paul extends the “all things are yours” to say “and you belong to Christ and Christ belongs to God” (3:23). So Paul has effectively shifted categories on the Corinthians, from schismatic allegiances with one another to the belonging that truly counts: belonging to Christ and ultimately to God. Sixth, and most importantly, when Paul brings this rhetorical figure to its conclusion and makes his application of it (4:6–7), it is Paul and Apollos alone again. So the Cephas addition was extraneous from the start. There was no Cephas group or “party” at Corinth at the time of writing 1 Corinthians, just as there was no Christ party there. Accordingly, neither was there a schism among the Corinthians based on competing allegiances to Paul and Apollos. Paul has simply concocted this pretend division so that the Corinthians could learn “not to be puffed up in favor of one against another” (4:6–7). Finally, the Greek term Paul uses in his application is metaschēmatizō, a term used precisely and explicitly to designate figured or indirect speech. The rhetorical handbooks regularly counsel that a rhetorician is ill-advised to make it obvious when a rhetorical figure is being used, but Paul is not operating as a rhetorician; he is the Corinthians’ father in the faith; he is their guide. So he openly declares that he has used figured, indirect speech and done this whole treatment of himself and Apollos so that the Corinthians could learn to cooperate and to use their God-given assignments as a place and way in which to live and work together in service to God, just as Apollos and Paul have so signally done in their midst and to their benefit. So in the face of Corinthian divisiveness Paul has employed indirect speech to teach and to set the pattern for the Corinthians to turn away from their tendencies to schism and to engage in the proper care of one another. Cephas and Christ were added to the list back in 1:12 as a way of signaling the beginning of the figure. The true, full purpose of the figure can most easily be seen from the end, that is, from the

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time when Paul makes explicit that he has employed figured speech to make a point (4:6–7), not about himself and Apollos, but to use what the Corinthians know and have experienced about the two of them to steer them into new territory of comity and peacefulness. Scholars who do a putative historical reconstruction on the basis of 1:12 and its listing of the four (Paul, Apollos, Cephas, and Christ) and come up with four “parties” have not taken Paul’s own word that he has applied the indirect speech to himself and to Apollos to make a point about how the Corinthians should behave toward one another—and they have missed the cues that someone of that culture would have understood instinctively because they would all have been exposed to indirect speech in their own lives and certainly also in the agora, even if Paul had not made it explicit in 4:6–7. Instead, those scholars mistakenly think they have found in 1:12 a window onto the historical situation at Corinth. These modern interpreters have built a fantasy on what the Corinthians would have had every reason to know, even explicitly in 4:6–7, was a rhetorical device creatively used by Paul. One final note: in 16:12, as Paul brings the letter to a close, he refers to Apollos as “the brother,” a term of endearment that Paul has used about himself and the Corinthians several times by then, and says he has been in touch with Apollos and fervently urged him to come to Corinth, but to no immediate avail. The reference is important because it shows that Paul welcomes Apollos to come to Corinth, a picture consonant with Paul’s earlier portrait of himself and Apollos in this letter as cooperating fellow workers for the Corinthians. If Paul and Apollos were the focus of rival groups, as the four-party reconstructionists would have it, he would be a fool to urge Apollos to go to Corinth—or he would have to be seen as dissembling! Our historical reconstructions need to steer clear of using rhetorical figures as evidence for positing what we think was going on among the believers.

The Relation of Theology and Rhetoric As can be seen across his letters, Paul had a fondness and the creative capacity for formulating the rhetorical figure and educational tool called maxims. From their frequency in 1 Corinthians, the Corinthians must have delighted in them too because one in particular seems to have become a slogan for at least some of the believers there: the motto “all things are permissible” is recited by Paul four times in 1 Corinthians (6:12 twice; 10:23 twice), emended by Pauline additions, and elaborated upon in the verses that follow each doubled occurrence. There is no reason to doubt that Paul is the creator of this maxim (because it does reflect a sort of bedrock teaching of his) and that some of the Corinthians have elaborated it and perhaps even thought they were carrying through on it in their daily lives. Indeed, Paul could have epitomized some of his moral teaching in the slogan “all things are permissible,” because the appropriateness of an action—or of not acting in a certain way—came down, first of all, to an individual believer’s weighing whether a given action or nonaction was a matter of that person’s being firmly convinced in his or her own mind as to the appropriateness of that deed for their own measure of

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faith. “All things are permissible” is a cryptic, shorthand statement, as all maxims are; maxims are a sort of moral crib-notes. The second, inextricably related Pauline consideration is whether the considered deed or action might harm a brother or sister for whom Christ died (Rom 14:13–23; 1 Cor 10:31–11:1). Believers must always weigh the potential effect of an action on another believer (1 Cor 8:4–13). Whatever you do, no matter how right it might be for you as an individual, cannot be done if it harms another believer, another for whom Christ has died (Rom 14:13, 15; 1 Cor 8:11; 10:31–11:1). “It is wrong for any one to make others fall by what he eats . . . to do anything that makes your brother stumble” (Rom 14:20–21). The exercise of one’s freedom is bordered by love and must be grounded in love. One of the limitations of maxims is that like bumper stickers they do not always make the whole picture explicit. Virgil’s and Augustine’s maxim, “Love and do as you please” (dilige et quod vis fac), may provide a helpful angle of interpretation for Paul’s “all things are permissible.” Their maxim would be elaborated in its fuller form as saying that whenever you are actually loving, whatever you please to do will be in accord with and an expression of that love of God; you can and will do no other. Similarly, for Paul, the larger statement that is epitomized in “all things are permissible” is: when you are in right relation to God and are fully living in the measure of faith that God has given to you at that stage in your moral progress, you can do whatever you want as long as it honors and does not compromise that measure of faith or cause a brother or sister in the faith to stumble. Understood in Paul’s picture is this: some believers are more like babies in their faith while others, like Paul, are more mature, but each and every person is responsible for deciding and choosing and acting within whatever measure of faith and maturity that person has (see Rom 12:3–8; 4:20; 14:1; 2 Cor 10:15; Phil 1:25). So, a person with maturity of faith can eat meat offered to idols and not worry about the idol and its power, while another believer who is not convinced about that cannot. The reason we learn about the Pauline maxim “all things are permissible” is that some Corinthians have had a heyday with this maxim and have, from Paul’s standpoint, been carried away with their new-found freedom in Christ. As a result, they are acting without the due consideration of love for their brothers and sisters. Now we come to the way in which any efforts at teasing Paul’s theology out of these intensely situational letters must take into consideration the rhetorical purposes and rhetorical devices that Paul employs—and especially how and why those purposes and devices function as they do in that particular letter. It is a fact of life that, when Paul is faced with what he views as unacceptable actions by an individual or a subgroup or an entire congregation, he will throw the weight of his argument over against their position. The more powerful and disastrous he thinks the position or action or attitude, the heavier he will inveigh against it. So, in the case before us, it appears that some Corinthians have taken Paul’s maxim, which in its simplest form would be “all things are permissible” with the “for me” being understood, and, given its repetition, they have stressed “for me” by adding it explicitly (6:12; 10:23). The trouble is that they are partly right because what is permissible for a believer is true for that believer, and cannot be generalized. If it

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were possible to generalize it, then all Roman believers should indeed come out on the same side of issues such as honoring Sabbaths and what can and cannot be eaten (Romans 14). Suffice it to report at this point that Paul is clearly at pains to push back against the Corinthians’ overexercise of their freedom at the expense of brothers and sisters in the faith who are weaker in their measures of faith. And push back he does, first in his immediate addition to the maxim at its every repetition (“but not everything is helpful,” “but I will not be enslaved by anything” [6:12], “but not all things are helpful,” “but not all things build up” [10:23]). He also puts his finger on the scales to correct the balance by a discourse in 6:13–20 that is replete with other maxims (two in 6:13 alone), a quotation of scripture (6:16), and other very basic Pauline teachings. Further, when this same maxim returns for further consideration in 10:23–11:1, he fires a salvo that includes specific advice about their freedom to eat meat (10:25) with a scripture quotation functioning as a maxim (10:26), and a pretend situation with specific guidance again (10:27–30). Then in a capstone argument he pushes toward a balanced view that he hopes the Corinthians will embrace, a view that not only honors individual freedom in Christ but also affirms the proper consideration of a brother or sister in Christ—and all of that climaxes in his call for them to imitate him as he imitates Christ. “So whatever you eat or drink, or whatever you do, do all to the glory of God. Give no offense to Jews or to Greeks or to the church of God, just as I try to please people in everything I do, not seeking my own advantage, but that of many, that they may be saved. Be imitators of me, as I am of Christ” (10:31–11:1). And if that is not enough, he composes his encomium of love, which is what he is already talking about in all these verses, in what we call chapter 13. When we know the power of rhetorical maxims in that culture and when we know Paul’s proclivity to overstress another side of an argument when he has displeasure with what his followers have done with his teaching, we are in a position to arrive at an overall interpretation of his theology or teaching that is not warped by the eccentricities of a particular part of his audience. So in cases such as this the analysis of Pauline theology is served by rhetorical studies and is enriched by them.

Paul’s Letters and Their Place in Paul’s Persuasion Finally, we need to address a matter relating to the occasion and purpose of Paul’s letters. The entry requirements for belonging to one of Paul’s communities seem almost nonexistent. Jesus had already died for everyone, so an implied claim on everyone was a part of Paul’s proclamation. Everyone was welcome; what counted out in the world, such as social standing and connections, made no difference for entry. Everyone was welcomed simply on God’s grace, which was experienced as some sort of call. All became God’s children through baptism and the reception of the Spirit. Whatever status had been operative in the world outside the community of faith was of no value inside. Once inside, however, Paul’s expectations abruptly rise, for everyone. Babies in the faith are supposed to be pressing on toward adulthood, like Paul does (Phil 3:12–

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16). All are expected to love and live in peace, insofar as it depends on them (Rom 12:18); they are to rejoice with one another and weep with one another (Rom 12:15; 1 Cor 12:26). Yes, some leaders do emerge. A coterie of them—like Titus and Timothy, Prisca and Aquila, and still others who are nameless but clearly important—bob in and out of Paul’s presence and broker matters with different churches. Other leaders such as Chloe, Phoebe, Sosthenes, Stephanas, Fortunatus, Achaicus, Gaius, Erastus, to name just a few, seem primarily resident in the local assemblies. With maybe an exception for a place such as Philippi or perhaps for the group to whom the Letter to Philemon is addressed, Paul seems better at evangelizing and founding communities than he was at hands-on guidance and nurturing. And because he would leave churches and go on about his evangelizing circuit, they would be left to their own deliberations and in the occasional care of Paul’s itinerant followers. Paul’s letters show abundantly that his followers had considerable problems with figuring how to live this new life in Christ. We have typically treated those letters as being occasioned by Paul’s absence and inability to be everywhere at the same time. Perhaps the time has come to encourage further reflection on a suggestion by Peter Lampe in the first essay in this volume: because Paul acknowledges that the Corinthians are right when they say his letters are powerful but his personal presence is not impressive (2 Cor 10:10), maybe he chooses letters even—or especially—when matters are delicate and he could have been present. When a problem breaks out in one of Paul’s churches, he has several options. He can go and deal with it himself. He can send representatives. Or he can send a letter (always with an interpreter). It is time we recognize some of the distinct advantages that a Pauline letter has over a personal visit. A letter allows Paul to formulate an overall assessment of the problem(s) and arrive at an appropriate strategy. Further, a letter, delivered and read in its entirety, allows him to lay out a full and reasoned analysis and prescription. A letter can tie together items and issues that might otherwise seem not interrelated. A letter can give attention to different sides of an argument and can recognize and include different groups and their vantage points. And a letter can try to move the assembled believers toward conciliation or toward a resolution of their differences. A letter allows no interruption. And not to be underestimated, a letter allows Paul to be more disciplined in his thinking and keeps him from losing the trail and wandering onto some side tracks. Many of these advantages probably played into Paul’s reliance on letters as a way of relating to the seemingly incorrigible Corinthians. Consider 1 Corinthians as an example. What a raucous group those Corinthians must have been, given Paul’s suggestion that their assemblies were like chaos and that they should almost take numbers for their turns to participate (1 Cor 14:16–33a)! Imagine the interruptions. And imagine Paul trying to honor each person. And though their issues seem at a glance like a random laundry list, Paul sees some underlying patterns so that with time and discipline he can craft a rhetorically powerful document that discloses and addresses the under- and cross-currents of that diverse community of faith. And when the letter is read, the assembled believers will hear, all in one sitting, his whole

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appeal for building one another up in love. Beyond that, they will have the document as a matter of reference for their deliberations in times to come. Similar observations could be made about other letters, but the fact that we have fragments or references to at least five letters to the Corinthians suggests (the likelihood?) that Paul might have chosen to write them a letter even when he could have gone there in person. We may have letters because Paul found them more effective.

Bibliographical Notes •

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On figured, indirect speech and its function in 1 Corinthians, see Peter Lampe, “Theological Wisdom and the ‘Word of the Cross’: The Rhetorical Scheme in 1 Corinthians 1–4,” Int 44 (1990): 117–31, and J. Paul Sampley “First Corinthians,” in L. E. Keck, ed., New Interpreter’s Bible (Nashville: Abingdon, 2002), 801–5. For a possible instance of indirect speech in Romans 14, see J. Paul Sampley, “The Weak and the Strong: Paul’s Careful and Crafty Strategy in Romans 14:1–15:13,” in L. M. White and O. L. Yarbrough, eds., The Social World of the First Christians: Essays in Honor of Wayne A. Meeks (Minneapolis: Augsburg-Fortress, 1995), 40–52 (and, in this article, see the reference to Frederick Ahl, “The Art of Safe Criticism in Greece and Rome,” American Journal of Philosophy 105 [1984]: 204, where he says that figured speech was the “normal mode of discourse throughout much of Greek and Roman antiquity”). On frank speech and its function in the Greco-Roman world and in Paul, see J. Paul Sampley, “Paul’s Frank Speech with the Galatians and the Corinthians,” in J. T. Fitzgerald, D. Obbink, G. S. Holland, eds., Philodemus and the New Testament World (Suppl. Nov. Test. 111; Leiden: Brill, 2004), 295–321; idem, “Paul and Frank Speech,” in idem, ed., Paul in the GrecoRoman World: A Handbook (Harrisburg, PA: Trinity Press International, 2003), 293–318. On maxims and their roles in the Greco-Roman world and in Paul, see Rollin A. Ramsaran, Liberating Words: Paul’s Use of Maxims in 1 Corinthians 1–10 (Valley Forge, PA: Trinity Press International, 1996); and idem, “Paul and Maxims,” in Sampley, ed., Paul in the Greco-Roman World, 429–56.

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chapter 1

Rhetorical Analysis of Pauline Texts—Quo Vadit? Methodological Reflections Peter Lampe

The label “rhetorical analysis of the Pauline letters” decorates a colorful spectrum of methodologically different research projects. Keeping an overview becomes increasingly difficult, even more so integrating the various approaches. Already the ambiguous term “rhetoric” is clouded in fog. On the one hand, it denotes the practice of orating; on the other, the theoretical reflection about it: the “oratology.” The discipline of New Testament studies does not account for this diffusiveness. The following essay attempts to pose questions for future research.

1. Rhetorical Analysis since Late Antiquity Since late antiquity, the Corpus Paulinum has been analyzed rhetorically—if “rhetorical analysis” is understood as identifying rhetorical structures and describing individual rhetorical elements in early Christian texts. Origen, Augustine, and John Chrysostom, who wrote a commentary on the Letter to the Galatians, as well as Melanchthon, Luther, and Calvin, deserve credit for detecting rhetorical phenomena in New Testament texts.1 In the same way, the exegesis of the nineteenth century used an explicitly “rhetorical” method by detecting tropes and figures, that is,

1. For the rhetorical analysis of the New Testament since late antiquity, see the bibliography in D. F. Watson and A. J. Hauser, eds., Rhetorical Criticism of the Bible: A Comprehensive Bibliography with Notes on History and Method, Biblical Interpretation Series 4 (Leiden: Brill, 1994), esp. 101–25; see also J. Fairweather, “The Epistle to the Galatians and Classical Rhetoric: Part 1,” Tyndale Bulletin 45 (1994): 1–22; C. J. Classen, “St. Paul’s Epistles and Ancient Greek and Roman Rhetoric,” in Rhetoric and the New Testament: Essays from the 1992 Heidelberg Conference, ed. S. E. Porter and T. H. Olbricht, JSNTSup 90 (Sheffield: JSOT Press, 1993), 270–80; idem, “Paulus und die antike Rhetorik,” ZNW 82 (1991): 16–26; additional literature in D. Sänger, “Vergeblich bemüht (Gal 4.11)? Zur paulinischen Argumentationsstrategie im Galaterbrief,” NTS 48 (2002): 379 n. 6.

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rhetorical ornament, in individual sentences,2 as well as by analyzing Paul’s way of piecing clauses and sentences together,3 or by debating Paul’s style and the level of his linguistic competence and cultivation.4 Thus, this kind of rhetorical analysis is neither new, nor is it exhausted.5 It should still be accepted as a useful approach. Today, though, in addition, we try to determine how the individual rhetorical elements, such as figures and tropes, function within a Pauline letter’s overall argumentative strategy, as is demonstrated by Duane Watson’s article “The Role of Style in the Pauline Epistles” in this volume.

2. Rhetorical Analysis since H. D. Betz and G. A. Kennedy What has been new in the last three decades is the attempt rhetorically to analyze a Pauline letter in its entirety and to understand the flow of thoughts and arguments within the framework of the entire structure of a letter. In 1975, Hans Dieter Betz discovered that the disposition of an ancient speech and the structure of the main part of Galatians are alike, thus laying the cornerstone for his groundbreaking commentary on Galatians.6 His method became popular7 also because Betz’s colleague 2. See, e.g., C. G. Wilke, Die neutestamentliche Rhetorik: Ein Seitenstück zur Grammatik des neutestamentlichen Sprachidioms (Dresden/Leipzig: Arnold, 1843). 3. See, e.g., J. Weiss, “Beiträge zur paulinischen Rhetorik,” in Theologische Studien, FS B. Weiss, ed. C. R. Gregory et al. (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1897), 165–247. 4. See, e.g., E. Norden, Die antike Kunstprosa vom VI. Jahrhundert v. Chr. bis in die Zeit der Renaissance (1898; repr., Darmstadt: Wissenschaftliche Buchgesellschaft, 1958), 492–510; C. F. G. Heinrici, “Zum Hellenismus des Paulus” (1898), in Der zweite Brief an die Korinther, KEK 6, 8th ed. (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1900), 436–58. 5. Cf. more recently, e.g., R. D. Anderson Jr., Ancient Rhetorical Theory and Paul, 2nd ed. (Leiden: Brill, 1999), 146, 150–57, 161–63, 170–71, 180, 182–83; P. Lampe, “Reticentia in der Argumentation: Gal 3,10–12 als Stipatio Enthymematum,” in Das Urchristentum in seiner literarischen Geschichte, FS J. Becker, ed. U. Mell and U. B. Müller, BZNW 100 (Berlin/New York: de Gruyter, 1999), 27–39; idem, “Theological Wisdom and the ‘Word About the Cross’: The Rhetorical Scheme in I Corinthians 1–4,” Interpretation 44 (1990): 117–31; R. I. H. Thomson, Chiasmus in the Pauline Letters, JSNTSup 111 (Sheffield: JSOT Press, 1995); anterior: J. Jeremias, “Chiasmus in den Paulusbriefen,” ZNW 49 (1958): 145–56 = ABBA: Studien zur neutestamentlichen Theologie und Zeitgeschichte (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1966), 276–90; N. Schneider, Die rhetorische Eigenart der paulinischen Antithese, HUT 11 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1970). 6. Hans Dieter Betz, “The Literary Composition and Function of Paul’s Letter to the Galatians,” NTS 21 (1975): 353–79 = Paulinische Studien: Gesammelte Aufsätze III (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1994), 63–97, as a program for his commentary on Galatians following in 1979: Galatians: A Commentary on Paul’s Letter to the Churches in Galatia, Hermeneia (Philadelphia: Fortress, 1979, 2nd ed., 1984) = Der Galaterbrief: Ein Kommentar zum Brief des Apostels Paulus an die Gemeinden in Galatien, trans. S. Ann (Munich: Kaiser, 1988). 7. Cf. the bibliography mentioned above in n. 1. For a history of research particularly focusing on Galatians, see Anderson, Ancient Rhetorical Theory (n. 5 above), 111–23. For monographs on Paul, see, e.g., M. Bünker, Briefformular und rhetorische Disposition im 1. Korintherbrief (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1984); H. Probst, Paulus und der Brief: Die Rhetorik des antiken Briefes als Form der paulinischen Korintherkorrespondenz (1Kor 8–10), WUNT 2/45 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1991); M. M. Mitchell, Paul and the Rhetoric of Reconciliation: An Exegetical Investigation of the Language and Composition of 1 Corinthians, HUT 28 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1991); further D. F. Watson, Invention, Arrangement, and

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George A. Kennedy formulated a handy, five-step guideline for the rhetorical analysis of early Christian texts.8 Within this branch of research, on the one hand, it has always been important to discover the structure of an ancient speech in a New Testament letter, from exordium to peroratio, and, on the other hand, to assign this letter to one of the three classical genres of oration (genera orationis): the forensic (genus iudiciale), the deliberative, advice-giving (genus deliberativum), or the demonstrative, lauding speech (genus demonstrativum). The school of research initiated by Betz and Kennedy intentionally remains within the framework of historical analysis; only categories of ancient rhetoric are used as tools for description, that is, the categories unfolded in ancient rhetorical guidelines such as those by Aristotle (Ars rhetorica), Cicero (De inventione; De oratore), Quintilian (Institutio oratoria), or, for example, in the Rhetorica ad Herennium. Exclusively ancient models and theories of text are applied to the Pauline letters—a principle that still is fruitful and whose possibilities have not yet been exhausted. However, in the twenty-first century, Betz’s and Kennedy’s course can no longer be followed without some corrections. Their school has been under fire from three different directions.

3. The Relation to the “New Rhetoric” At first, possible competition arose in the field of the so-called New Rhetoric. Based on classical rhetoric, but moving beyond it, New Rhetoric owes its profile to modern communication theories and language-philosophical reflections.9 In numerous variants,10 it was established apart from New Testament studies before radiating into

Style: Rhetorical Criticism of Jude and 2 Peter, SBLDS 104 (Atlanta: Scholars Press, 1988); L. Thurén, The Rhetorical Strategy of 1 Peter with Special Regard to Ambiguous Expressions (Åbo: Åbo Academy, 1990). Additional literature in Sänger, “Argumentationsstrategie” (n. 1 above), 378–80 nn. 4 and 7. 8. George A. Kennedy, New Testament Interpretation through Rhetorical Criticism (Chapel Hill/ London: University of North Carolina Press, 1984), 33–38. In more recent times, it was endorsed again by, e.g., W. B. Russell, “Rhetorical Analysis of the Book of Galatians,” Bibliotheca Sacra 150 (1993): 343–51. 9. For a first introduction into “New Rhetoric,” see, e.g., K.-H. Göttert, Einführung in die Rhetorik, 2nd ed. (Munich: Fink, 1994), 201–18. H. Holocher (Die Anfänge der “New Rhetoric,” Rhetorik-Forschungen 9 [Tübingen: Niemeyer, 1996]) mainly focuses on the primarily language-philosophical oriented beginnings (1936–1953) of the New Rhetoric in England and the United States: on I. A. Richards, S. I. Hayakawa, K. Burke, R. Weaver. “New Rhetoric” is a label that pools various different approaches (argumentation theories in the aftermath of C. Perelman, J. Habermas’s approach, deconstruction in the aftermath of J. Derrida, etc.). 10. This heterogeneity provoked G. Ueding and B. Steinbrink (Grundriß der Rhetorik: Geschichte, Technik, Methode, 3rd ed. [Stuttgart/Weimar: Metzler, 1994], 165) to charge the New Rhetoric with terminological false labeling. According to them, the label “New Rhetoric” subsumes very different ways of dealing with the tradition of the classical rhetoric. These different approaches have in common only that they verbally declare some common ground with the rhetorical tradition, and, second, they share the pathos of a new beginning. But this is all, according to Ueding and Steinbrink. In their overview, they concentrate mainly on (a) the psychological, communication-theoretical rhetoric, which, in the aftermath of Carl J. Hovland and others, deals with the processes involved in persuasion, (b) the philosophically oriented argumentation and communication theories that pick up Aristotelian rhetoric, (c) the linguisti-

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Pauline exegesis.11 Those who work “historically” and thus, at least at first, factor out this ahistorical approach, should not disclaim it in principle. They need only to differentiate cleanly between the two approaches and possibly use both, like the height and depth of a room, not mixing them onto one level. Parallel to and apart from my own “historical” analyses,12 I myself, in constructivist and sociology-of-knowledge studies,13 have tried to challenge the Platonically molded axiom of ancient rhetoric that res and verba, the matter of the speech and its verbal expression, the content and the form, can be clearly distinguished and that the verba “represent” the res. For many postmodern philosophers, the distinction between res and contingent verba has become problematic. These postmodernists no longer define the search for truth as a verbal rapprochement to a reality that is preset and given apart from language, but understand “reality” as constructs of human brains. For them, the verba do not “represent” reality, but “create” it; it is no longer the category of “representation” that characterizes the relationship between words and reality.14 From this language-

cally and/or semiotics-oriented rhetoric (especially I. A. Richards’s theory of metaphors, U. Eco’s concept of tropes, R. Barthes’s analysis of visual advertisements). 11. See esp. F. Siegert, Argumentation bei Paulus gezeigt an Römer 9–11, WUNT 34 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1985); S. E. Porter and T. H. Olbricht, eds., Rhetoric and the New Testament (see n. 1 above), therein, e.g., the introduction by Porter (21–28); J. D. H. Amador, Academic Constraints in Rhetorical Criticism of the New Testament: An Introduction to a Rhetoric of Power, JSNTSup 174 (Sheffield: JSOT Press, 1999). Inspired by deconstruction in the aftermath of Derrida and by Burke’s concept of rhetoric as an instrument of power, Amador developed a “rhetoric of power” that aims at exposing the power structures inherent in each text. The power of a text manifests itself in the behavior of the recipients who react to the text and are prompted to new statements and expressions. The history of interpretation and of the effects and impacts of the Bible, including today’s exegetical scholarship, are part of the text’s power web, and therefore part of the object of investigation by the “rhetoric of power.” 12. See n. 5 above. 13. E.g., P. Lampe, Die Wirklichkeit als Bild: Das Neue Testament im Lichte konstruktivistischer Epistemologie und Wissenssoziologie (Neukirchen-Vluyn: Neukirchener, 2006; Eng. trans. forthcoming in 2010 (from Continuum); idem, “Wissenssoziologische Annäherung an das Neue Testament,” NTS 43 (1997): 347–66; idem, “Die urchristliche Rede von der ‘Neuschöpfung des Menschen’ im Lichte konstruktivistischer Wissenssoziologie,” in Exegese und Methodendiskussion, ed. S. Alkier and R. Brucker, Texte und Arbeiten zum neutestamentlichen Zeitalter 23 (Tübingen: Narr, 1998), 21–32; idem, “Die Gleichnisverkündigung Jesu von Nazareth im Lichte konstruktivistischer Wissenssoziologie,” in Die Gleichnisreden Jesu 1899–1999: Beiträge zum Dialog mit Adolf Jülicher, ed. U. Mell, BZNW 103 (Berlin/New York: de Gruyter, 1999), 223–36; idem, “The Language of Equality in Early Christian House Churches: A Constructivist Approach,” in Early Christian Families in Context: An Interdisciplinary Dialogue, ed. D. L. Balch and C. Osiek (Grand Rapids/Cambridge: Eerdmans, 2003), 73–83. 14. The “New Rhetoric” drew consensus-theoretical consequences from this insight, e.g., Chaim Perelman in his argumentation theory (C. Perelman and L. Olbrechts-Tyteca, The New Rhetoric: A Treatise on Argumentation [Notre Dame, Ind./London: University of Notre Dame Press, 1971]; C. Perelman, Das Reich der Rhetorik: Rhetorik und Argumentation [Munich: Beck, 1980]). According to Perelman, if reality is understood as a construct, then any statement that this or that is “truth“ is based on consent to constructs, a consent that can always be revised: “Da sich die Argumentation auf Thesen richtet, denen unterschiedliche Öffentlichkeiten mit jeweils unterschiedlicher Intensität zustimmen, kann der Status der in eine Argumentation eingehenden Elemente nicht wie in einem formalen System unveränderlich sein, da er ja von der . . . Übereinstimmung des Auditoriums abhängt” (Reich der Rhetorik, 55). Similarly, e.g., S. Toulmin, Der Gebrauch von Argumenten (Kronberg: Scriptor, 1975): Truth is found in the consensus of people ready to dialogue, not in “ultimate criteria.”

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philosophical perspective, the foundation of classical rhetoric crumbles and with it the concepts of “artistic representation” and “objectivity.” The question arises why New Testament exegesis should still work on the basis of ancient rhetorical text theory at all. From the historical-critical point of view, the answer is that it still makes sense to confront the then-speaking and then-writing people with the then-current theories of text and language—no matter how adequate or inadequate, from today’s philosophical perspective, these ancient theories might have been. In other words, a New Testament interpretation method influenced by New Rhetoric does not rival a method molded by ancient rhetoric. Both approaches complement one another, and both should be applied.15 The New Rhetorical approach to confront the then-spoken and then-written with modern and postmodern theories of communication and literature remains a legitimate, even necessary, project. Furthermore, New Testament studies badly need to define the relationship between narratological methods, which draw heavily on modern theories of literature, on the one hand, and the various rhetorical-analytical methods, on the other, in a satisfactory manner. It remains a fascinating task to explore ancient texts anew through the lenses of today’s theories of literature, not just those of New Rhetoric.16 This volume, however, fades out the modern instruments, but it does so for economic reasons, not for reasons of principle.

4. The Relationship between Ancient Rhetoric and Ancient Narratological Beginnings Furthermore, within the “historical” approach itself, scholarship has not yet satisfactorily defined the relation between ancient rhetoric, on the one hand, and ancient poetics and historiographical reflections on the other—that is, between ancient theory of speech and the admittedly less elaborate ancient beginnings of a theory of narration. Paul’s letters comprise narrative and biographical parts (e.g., Gal 1:13– 2:21), and narrative works, such as Acts, comprise many rhetorical structures. How is ancient rhetoric to be related to ancient narratological beginnings, and how, in this combination, can both be made fruitful for New Testament research? This is still a theoretical task to be tackled. 15. Then each historical-critical, institutionally established scholarship about Paul (SNTS, chairs at renowned universities, etc.) also may be asked by deconstructivists like Amador (see n. 11 above, e.g. 289) if it focuses on the “historical” also for the purpose of maintaining its power: by stressing the historical importance of the biblical text (e.g., as one of the most important foundations of Western culture) and the importance of the historical expert knowledge that is needed to understand the text, biblical scholarship claims the status of an authoritative interpreter and thus, deliberately or unconsciously, tries to maintain power, ensuring research money, social recognition (academic titles), control of the hermeneutical access to the Bible in our culture, and so on. However, with all due respect to their critical potential, deconstructivists like Amador conversely may be asked where, in all of their celebration of chaos (cf. Amador, 123), there is a method of interpretation left that is clearly defined and therefore can be checked, criticized, and possibly even falsified. Because of its own presuppositions, Amador’s creativity suffocates itself. 16. For the field of classical philology, see, e.g., the introduction by T. A. Schmitz, Moderne Literaturtheorie und antike Texte (Darmstadt: Wissenschaftliche Buchgesellschaft, 2002).

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4.1. In the last quarter of the twentieth century, in a parallel movement to the rhetorical analysis of the Pauline corpus, the research of the Gospels increasingly used analogies in Greco-Roman literature for comparison. Especially Charles H. Talbert,17 since the middle 1970s and contemporary to Betz’s beginnings of his Galatians commentary, attempted an “architecture analysis” of Luke/Acts, trying to discover the structural composition of this literary work, its rhythms, and its literary patterns. His goal was to locate the Lukan narrative within the ancient history of literature. With his critique of composition, he contributed considerably to the especially AngloSaxon turn away from diachronic (redaction and source-critical) Gospel analysis to narrative criticism as a tool to analyze the conceptional design of the entirety of a Gospel. Parallel to the development of rhetorical exegesis of Pauline letters (see section 3 above), the narratological analysis of the Gospels and Acts very soon involved modern theories of literature, also because ancient theory building in the field of narratology was not as developed as in the field of ancient rhetoric. Today, the narrative-critical exegesis of the New Testament is fruitfully molded by modern theories of literature. 4.2. When it comes to defining the relation between ancient rhetorical theory and ancient narrative-theoretical beginnings, one cannot avoid entering into a dialogue with Vernon K. Robbins and other representatives of the so-called Socio-Rhetorical Criticism. It is not a coincidence that Robbins first presented his—historicalcritically oriented—method of interpretation by using Mark’s narrative Gospel as an example.18 At first, (a) Robbins analyzes the “rhetorical-literary” features of a New Testament text, whether of a logion or a narrative. (b) In a second, intertextual step, he compares these “rhetorical-literary” features with literary forms and contents of the Greco-Roman and Jewish cultural environment. Without a doubt, it is necessary for New Testament scholarship to draw on ancient conventions of giving speeches and of narrating, and to bring both into a relationship. But Robbins probably needs to be asked whether he should have rather named his method “socio-narratological” instead of “socio-rhetorical.” Why? It is not the evangelist’s redactional work that Robbins analyzes “rhetorically,” although his book’s subtitle insinuates this.19 He uses “rhetorical” analysis only when he looks at the narrated orator Jesus, asking in which way Jesus’ logia could be compared with the ancient rhetorical handbooks, 17. Charles H. Talbert, Literary Patterns, Theological Themes and the Genre of Luke-Acts, SBLMS 20 (Missoula, Mont.: Scholars Press, 1974); cf. M. C. Parsons, “Reading Talbert: New Perspectives on LukeActs,” SBLSP 26 (1987): 687–720; and U. E. Eisen, Die Poetik der Apostelgeschichte: Narratologische Studien, NTOA 58 (Fribourg: Academic Press; Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2006), 24–37. 18. Vernon K. Robbins, Jesus the Teacher: A Socio-Rhetorical Interpretation of Mark (Philadelphia: Fortress, 1984, 1992). See also his “rhetorical” studies of narrative texts (e.g., “Pronouncement Stories and Jesus’ Blessing of the Children: A Rhetorical Approach,” Semeia 29 [1983]: 43–74; “Pronouncement Stories from a Rhetorical Perspective,” Forum 4.2 [1988]: 3–32; about the makarisms: “Pragmatic Relations as a Criterion for Authentic Sayings,” Forum 1.3 [1985]: 35–63). The introduction of the 1992 edition of Jesus the Teacher presents Robbins’s method as a handy four-step procedure. Only the first three steps are reported here. 19. See n. 18.

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especially with their deliberations about the chreia. The chreia, the concise aphorism, is an excellent example to illustrate the combination of “speech” and “narrative,” because often the chreia is illustrated by an accompanying anecdotal narrative. However, as soon as a speech text shows such a combination, it is not a speech text but a narrative text, in which a speech element is quoted. It follows that the analysis of this text necessarily would be a narratological analysis, even if it could be shown that the quoted speech element uses rhetorical devices. The question whether Robbins should have labeled his method “narratological” rather than “rhetorical” lingers when we look at another example. Whoever wants to assign the Sermon on the Mount with its antitheses to one of the three ancient speech genera, as Robbins20 does (when he characterizes this text as a deliberate text for Matthew’s Christian readers), confounds the categories and contributes to terminological fog. The evangelist was no orator, but a narrator who, in his narrative, lets an orator enter the stage. And in the narrated situation, this orator addresses an audience other than that aimed for in Matthew’s Gospel. Given, the addressees of the Matthean narrative are supposed to identify with the narrated addressees of the Sermon on the Mount, but this does not make this Jesus sermon, which undoubtedly has a message to Matthew’s readers, a speech to the Matthean readers, a speech that could be assigned to one of the three ancient speech genera. The Sermon on the Mount, as a message to the Matthean audience, is adequately understood only if it is seen as a narrative, that is, if its narrative context is taken into account. The ethical claim of the Sermon on the Mount with its very demanding imperatives is embedded in stories that illustrate the indicative of grace. The Matthean Christians are strengthened by miracle stories that frame the Sermon on the Mount.21 In these narratives, Jesus heals; he helps the disciples “of little faith”; he walks with them on the path of “righteousness.” Christ is portrayed as the supportive Immanuel, the “God with us.”22 Thus, the Matthean Christians are not left alone with the burdening imperatives of the Sermon on the Mount. Immanuel himself lifts them up when they risk falling. He forgives when imperatives are not met.23 Thus, the Sermon on the Mount as a message to Matthew’s readers remains an integral part of a narrative, and the genus of a “deliberative narrative” did not exist in antiquity! It is legitimate, however, to ask, within the frame of a narratological analysis, whether a speech by Jesus that is woven into the Gospel narrative was meant by the narrator as a deliberative, juridical, or demonstrative speech in the imagined narrated rhetorical situation between Jesus and his listeners sitting on a mount. Because the narrated rhetorical situation is different from the communication situation

20. Vernon K. Robbins, “A Socio-Rhetorical Response: Contexts of Interaction and Forms of Exhortation,” Semeia 50 (1990): 261–71. 21. Matthew 4:23–25; 8:1–17, 23–34; 9:1–8. All of these stories show a caring Jesus as contrast or supplement to the teacher of radical imperatives. For the Sermon on the Mount and its radical ethics, see further, e.g., Peter Lampe, “Die matthäische Bergpredigt—Zumutung oder Ermutigung?” in Peter Lampe, Küsste Jesus Magdalenen mitten auf den Mund? Provokationen, Einsprüche, Klarstellungen (NeukirchenVluyn: Neukirchener, 2007), 45–48. 22. Matthew’s whole Gospel is framed by this title: 1:23; 28:20. 23. Matthew 9:2–8; 12:31; programmatically already in 1:21. Jesus takes over a traditional role of God when forgiving.

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between Matthew and his audience, the right methodological question to be asked is: what does the assignment of genre (as a “deliberative” or as a “juridical24 speech” for people sitting on a mount) mean for the understanding of the Gospel narrative? The categories should be clearly distinguished, not muddled. (c) Finally, Robbins adds a third step to his method by synthesizing the first two. This step allows him to call his method “socio-analytical.” Now the primary focus is not the text anymore, but the social environment of the text and its first recipients, which needs to be reconstructed. Which social structures, which belief systems, which implicit and explicit social values and norms, which behavioral conventions, and which literary forms characterized this environment from which the text emerged and to which it responded? And which expectations and which silently understood presuppositions of the author and of the first recipients can we infer from this reconstruction of the cultural environment? Last but not least, where does the biblical text also differ from the conventions of the environment? For Robbins, the reconstruction of the ancient environment of a text is important especially because texts do not possess meaning per se; they make sense only in connection with the knowledge that the readers already have.25 For Robbins, a historian, this means: the text’s meaning in the first century was dependent on the knowledge of the ancient recipients, that is, dependent on the ancient sociocultural context of the text. Correspondingly, for modern readers the text can make sense only if they learn about the (foreign) ancient sociocultural context of the text.26 From a methodological point of view, one can object that all of these steps (a-c) also have been and are being taken and combined by New Testament scholars without the Robbins label of “socio-rhetorical.” Even though I myself, also for the sake of a better understanding of texts, have been working in the important field (c), I do not think that, after steps (a) and (b) showed little basis for such labeling, step (c) qualifies as “rhetorical.” The tag “rhetorical” is still misleading. Robbins’s material results, however, are exciting, for example, his intertextual comparisons within the ancient Mediterranean world or his idea to use the chreia research for creating an additional criterion for identifying authentic sayings of the historical Jesus.27 It is his methodological terminology that provokes objection.

5. Critique of the Betz-Kennedy Approach from the Historical-Critical Camp: Dissimulatio Artis and Relationship to Epistolography A train of thought left in section 3 needs to be picked up again. Headwinds against the Betz-Kennedy approach are not only blowing from the direction of New Rhetoric.

24. In Matthew 5–7, the Matthean Jesus proclaims and interprets God’s will in an authoritative way, revealing God’s law, which seems to be more than just “deliberative.” 25. See, e.g., Robbins, Jesus the Teacher (1992; see n. 18 above), XXIX. 26. Whether this “only” is justified or not can be left open here. 27. See Robbins, “Pragmatic Relations” (n. 18 above).

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As pointed out above, the critique raised by the New Rhetoric is based only on using false either-or alternatives, that is, on a confusion of categories, which can be easily corrected. Other headwinds from the historical-critical corner itself, however, are blowing more strongly. There are two of them.

5.1. At first, exclusive focus on the ancient rhetorical handbooks is criticized; real speeches have to be considered as well. According to the self-understanding of ancient orators, handbook theory and actual rhetorical praxis were two pairs of shoes. With dissimulatio artis, speakers even strived to conceal the theoretical model that had inspired them, so that in praxis the speeches were more flexible and multifaceted than the theoretical rules pretended.28 Future research will have, theoretically and methodologically, to reflect this gap between ancient theory and praxis. That means, in the process of analyzing ancient texts rhetorically, it will no longer suffice only to point to this gap conveniently whenever we are irritated that theoretical norms of handbooks and other ancient instructions do not fit closely like a glove over a particular Pauline text. More profound theoretical-methodological work is needed. The analysis of narrative New Testament sections has to reckon with the same gap between theory and praxis. Even though Aristotle (Poet. 1451a) and Horace (Ars Poet. 23), on the basis of ancient poetic theory, called, for example, for the unity and coherence of narrative texts, ancient practice often happily differed from such theoretical designs.29 The narrative texts of the New Testament were no exception in this respect. Modern narrative critics, therefore, are well advised not to continue to force the Gospels into the harness of a coherency postulate.30 In the future, narratological as well as rhetorical analysts of New Testament texts will increasingly have to learn that we cannot read these texts only in a deductive way, that is, only with the guideline of certain principles of poetics and rhetoric in mind, but rather in a careful inductive way that helps also to highlight and appreciate the particularities of the texts and all those features that do not fit into the mold of theoretical standards. We can learn from the wisdom of the grand seigneur of narratology, Gérard Genette, who shied away from subjecting the entire object of his research (Marcel Proust’s “A la recherche du temps perdu”) to the dictatorship of his own method—which would have been an exclusively deductive way of interpreting.

28. See, e.g., Classen, “Paulus und die antike Rhetorik” (n. 1 above), esp. 31; F. Vouga, “Zur rhetorischen Gattung des Galaterbriefes,” ZNW 79 (1988): 291–93; G. Strecker, Literaturgeschichte des Neuen Testaments, UTB 1682 (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1992), 91. 29. See, e.g., M. Heath, Unity in Greek Poetics (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1989), 9. 30. See D. Rhoads, “Narrative Criticism: Practices and Prospects,” in Characterization in the Gospels: Reconceiving Narrative Criticism, ed. D. Rhoads and K. Syreeni, JSNTSup 184 (Sheffield: JSOT Press, 1999), 268; P. Merenlahti and R. Hakola, “Reconceiving Narrative Criticism,” in ibid., 23–33. In Pauline exegesis, Amador, for example, pushes to highlight the tensions within the Pauline writings more relentlessly und thus to dismantle the rhetorical genius Paul (J. D. H. Amador, “Interpretive Unity: The Drive toward Monological (Monotheistic) Rhetoric,” in The Rhetorical Interpretation of Scripture: Essays from the 1996 Malibu Conference, ed. S. E. Porter and D. L. Stamps, JSNTSup 180 [Sheffield: JSOT Press, 1999], 58, 61 et al.).

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5.2. An even stronger headwind blows from the following direction. These contesters also work strictly historically, that is, with only ancient text theories and ancient parallels in mind, but they subject the Corpus Paulinum to an epistolographical analysis.31 For many years, this alternative to rhetorical analysis has been circulating, voicing strong reservations against the school of “rhetorical criticism” initiated by Betz and Kennedy. Critics like S. E. Porter and C. J. Classen32 quoted ancient 31. Cf. ancient epistolographical theories assorted by P. Cugusi, Evoluzione e forme dell’epistolografia latina nella tarda repubblica e nei primi due secoli dell’Impero con cenni sull’epistolografia preciceroniana (Rome: Herder, 1983); A. Malherbe, Ancient Epistolary Theorists, SBLSBS 19 (Atlanta: Scholars Press, 1988). Epistolographical analyses, of course, include letters from everyday life, such as papyri or letters quoted in literary works, when they look for comparable material. See, e.g., J. A. D. Weima, Neglected Endings: The Significance of the Pauline Letter Closings, JSNTSup 101 (Sheffield: JSOT Press, 1994); M. L. Stirewalt, Studies in Ancient Greek Epistolography, SBLSBS 27 (Atlanta: Scholars Press, 1993); E. R. Richards, The Secretary in the Letters of Paul, WUNT 2/42 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1991); D. Trobisch, Die Entstehung der Paulusbriefsammlung: Studien zu den Anfängen christlicher Publizistik, NTOA 10 (Fribourg: Academic Press; Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1989); F. Schnider and W. Stenger, Studien zum neutestamentlichen Briefformular, NTTS 11 (Leiden: Brill, 1987); S. K. Stowers, Letter Writing in GrecoRoman Antiquity, Library of Early Christianity 5 (Philadelphia: Westminster, 1986); J. L. White, Light from Ancient Letters (Philadelphia: Fortress, 1986); R. Buzon, Die Briefe der Ptolemäerzeit: Ihre Struktur und ihre Formeln (Diss., Heidelberg, 1984); C.-H. Kim, “Index of Greek Papyrus Letters,” Semeia 22 (1981): 107–12 (incomplete); J. L. White and K. A. Kensinger, “Categories of Greek Papyrus Letters,” SBLASP 10 (1976): 79–91; T. Y. Mullins, “Formulas in New Testament Epistles,” JBL 91 (1972): 380–90; J. L. White, The Form and Function of the Body of the Greek Letter: A Study of the Letter-Body in the Non-Literary Papyri and in Paul the Apostle, SBLDS 2 (Missoula, Mont.: Scholars Press, 1972); idem, “Introductory Formulae in the Body of the Pauline Letter,” JBL 90 (1971): 91–97; K. Thraede, Grundzüge griechisch-römischer Brieftopik, Zetemata 48 (Munich: Beck, 1970); C. J. Bjerkelund, PARAKALO: Form, Funktion und Sinn der parakalo-Sätze in den paulinischen Briefen, BTN 1 (Oslo: University Press, 1967); G. J. Bahr, “Paul and Letterwriting in the First Century,” CBQ 28 (1966): 465–77; H. Koskenniemi, Studien zur Ideologie und Phraseologie des griechischen Briefes bis 400 n.Chr., AASFB 102.2 (Helsinki: Academy of Sciences, 1956); M. van den Hout, “Studies in Early Greek Letter-Writing,” Mnemosyne 4 (1949): 19–41, 138–53; O. Roller, Das Formular der paulinischen Briefe: Ein Beitrag zur Lehre vom antiken Brief, BWANT 58 (Stuttgart: Kohlhammer, 1933); F. X. J. Exler, The Form of the Ancient Greek Letter: A Study in Greek Epistolography (Washington, D.C.: Catholic University of America, 1923); F. Ziemann, “De epistularum Graecorum formulis sollemnibus quaestiones selectae,” Diss. Philolog. Halenses 18.4 (1910): 253–369; H. Peter, Der Brief in der römischen Literatur: Literaturgeschichtliche Untersuchungen und Zusammenfassungen (1901; repr., Hildesheim: Olms, 1965). Further literature in Sänger, “Argumentationsstrategie” (n. 1 above), 384 n. 25. For histories of research, see D. Dormeyer, Das Neue Testament im Rahmen der antiken Literaturgeschichte: Eine Einführung (Darmstadt: Wissenschaftliche Buchgesellschaft, 1993), 190–98; Strecker, Literaturgeschichte (n. 28 above), 66–95; J. Schoon-Janssen, Umstrittene “Apologien” in den Paulusbriefen: Studien zur rhetorischen Situation des 1. Thessalonicherbriefes, des Galaterbriefes und des Philipperbriefes (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1991), 14–19; K. H. Schelkle, Paulus: Leben–Briefe–Theologie, EdF 152, 2nd ed. (Darmstadt: Wissenschaftliche Buchgesellschaft, 1988), 3–6; D. E. Aune, The New Testament in Its Literary Environment, Library of Early Christianity 8 (Philadelphia: Westminster, 1987), 158–225. For the various genres of letters—the instructing letter (e.g., Epicurus), the artistic letter (e.g., Ovid), the various forms of private letters—see, e.g., the collections of sample letters by Pseudo-Demetrius (Formae epistolicae, ed. Weichert) and Pseudo-Libanius (Libanii opera 9: Libanii qui feruntur characteres epistolici prolegomena ad epistulas, ed. R. Foerster [Hildesheim: Olms, 1963]). 32. S. E. Porter, “The Theoretical Justification for Application of Rhetorical Categories to Pauline Epistolary Literature,” in Porter and Olbricht, Rhetoric and the New Testament (n. 1 above), 100–103, 115–16; Classen, “Paulus und die antike Rhetorik” (n. 1 above), 13 et al.; idem, “Zur rhetorischen Analyse der Paulusbriefe,” ZNW 86 (1995): 120–21. For the discussion, see also Strecker, Literaturgeschichte (n. 28

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theorists who clearly distinguished the written from the spoken word and thus made it look inadequate to analyze written letters with the categories of ancient rhetoric, that is, with a theory of orally delivered speeches. Demetrius (De elocutione 224–26, 229–31, 235) concedes that one has to put an effort into the elaboration of a letter, like into finding a present, but that it would be ridiculous if we, in a letter, tried to compose sentences similar to those in our speeches in court. According to him, the epistolary style differs completely from commemorative, demonstrative speeches, from forensic speeches or public disputes. Cicero can use jargon of ordinary people in letters, because speech and letter, according to him, are very dissimilar (quid enim simile habet epistula aut iudicio aut contioni? Ad fam. 24.1; cf. Orat. 64). And Seneca, in letters, prefers the casual tone of friends taking a walk together instead of careful stylizing (Ep. 75.1). In Pauline exegesis, is all “rhetorical criticism” out of place,33 an inappropriate wardrobe, a tailcoat at a county fair? Epistolography, indeed, teaches that letter writers have to follow certain patterns only when formulating the pre- and postscripts as well as some introductory and transitional formulas, but that otherwise one is free to do what one wants. Why, of all things, should letter authors, in this zone of freedom, follow rhetorical models?34 New Testament scholarship has maneuvered itself into a corner. In the topography of research, epistolographical and rhetorical analyses for the most part stand unconnectedly side by side.35 And instead of working more intensely on their above), 89–95; Thurén, Rhetorical Strategy (n. 7 above), 57–64. Additional literature in Sänger, “Argumentationsstrategie” (n. 1 above), 380 n. 9. 33. Thus esp. P. H. Kern, “Rhetoric, Scholarship und Galatians: Assessing an Approach to Paul’s Epistle,” Tyndale Bulletin 46 (1995): 201–3. 34. As Cicero’s secretary Tiro demonstrates, the freedom even goes to such lengths that letter authors delegate some of the shaping and formulating work to their secretaries (cf. Richards, Secretary [n. 31 above]; also J. D. Hester [Amador], “The Use and Influence of Rhetoric in Galatians 2:1–14,” TZ 42 [1986]: 386–408). This might yield far-reaching consequences for the interpretation of the Pauline letters, for example, for the understanding of the Letter to the Colossians, which E. Schweizer attributes to a coworker of Paul (Der Brief an die Kolosser, EKK 12 [Zurich: Benziger, 1976]). Schweizer’s hypothesis could be reinforced by this epistolographical finding. Can 2 Thessalonians be interpreted analogously? Both in Colossians and 2 Thessalonians Paul’s signature with “his own hand” might secure his de jure authorship despite the far-reaching freedom of the secretary (Col 4:18; 2 Thess 3:17). Maybe the phenomenon of the Pauline pseudepigraphy needs to be revisited from this angle. 35. Sometimes even in one and the same study (cf., e.g., the two beginning chapters in V. JegherBucher, Der Galaterbrief auf dem Hintergrund antiker Epistolographie und Rhetorik: Ein anderes Paulusbild, ATANT 78 [Zurich: TVZ, 1989, 1991]). On the other hand, interesting bridges between the art of letter writing and legal certifications are explored. R. Buzon (Die Briefe der Ptolemäerzeit [n. 31 above]) demonstrated how close the standard forms of ancient letters were to legal documents. On the basis of this insight, (a) D. Kremendahl (Die Botschaft der Form: Zum Verhältnis von antiker Epistolographie und Rhetorik im Galaterbrief, NTOA 46 [Friburg: Academy Press; Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2000], 32–119) hypothesizes that Paul’s letter to the Galatians claims to be a quasi-officially binding writing that highlights Paul’s apostolic authority. I also place Phlm 18 in this context, where Paul certifies his own indebtedness in a legally binding way (although Philemon never would have used this piece of paper to obtain money from Paul, given his status in relation to the apostle). Yes, Phlm 18 is purely rhetorical, but in regard to its format it is at the same time legally binding (cf. P. Lampe, “Der Brief an Philemon,” in N. Walter, E. Reinmuth, and P. Lampe, Die Briefe an die Philipper, Thessalonicher und an Philemon, NTD 8/2 [Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1998], 224–26). In both cases, in Galatians and Phlm 18, it is especially Paul’s “own hand” that creates the impression of legal bindingness (Phlm 19; Gal 6:11; cf. also 1 Cor

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integration, the drifting apart of both analytical methods is sped up by mutual accusations that the respective other method is inadequate. For the integration of both approaches, theoretical work is needed. Only very rudimentarily has New Testament scholarship worked on theoretically reflected bridging. Let us put some building blocks together for this bridge. (a) On the one hand, the freedom of an ancient letter writer prevents the modern exegete from postulating a priori that the corpus of a letter must have been molded by rhetorical models. That means whoever plans to analyze ancient letters rhetorically needs to be aware that this project could be doomed to failure. (b) On the other hand, the freedom of the letter author also included the liberty to follow rhetorical models in the letter corpus. Indeed, all analyses of letter corpora (either in New Testament scholarship or in classical philology) that actually succeeded in detecting rhetorical patterns prove that the freedom often was used in exactly this way. Classical philology succeeded in finding typical speech elements even in a short letter by Pliny that only comprises a few lines (Ep. 1.11; cf. also 2.6)— with an introductory thesis, an objection, an argumentatio, and a peroratio. Even in some letters by Seneca, a classic speech structure can be discovered, although Seneca, as we saw, did not like to stylize letters, but preferred to talk informally when he wrote letters.36 Like Paul, who explicitly distanced himself from using rhetorical means,37 Seneca shows a discrepancy between what he says and what he does. (c) In view of the prominent role of orality in ancient culture, it is likely that Paul’s letters were read aloud in the congregations.38 In other words, at least secondarily, there was a rhetorical situation that Paul as author could count on and anticipate. It is therefore impossible to reject the possibility of interpreting the Pauline letters as written speeches framed by typically epistolary elements. The messengers who carried the letters to the congregations delivered Paul’s writings orally in front of the addressed audiences. And even Paul himself delivered them orally when he dictated them, at least some of them (Rom 16:22). (d) Ancient authors themselves have tried to bridge epistolography and rhetoric,

16:21; Col 4:18; 2 Thess 3:17). (b) Second, the bridge to the world of official writings and legal documents allows Kremendahl to explain the epistolary particularities of Galatians, which supposedly surprised the Galatians (no thanksgiving, no names of co-senders, no plans to visit, no greetings; instead an unusually long ending in his own hand). Since Kremendahl labels Galatians a quasi-officially binding writing, he identifies several verses as standard elements borrowed from the judiciary: the two subscriptiones 5:2–6 and 6:11–15 (see below), the assimilated oath formula in 1:20, the personal description in 6:17b, the theologically reinterpreted threat of punishment in 1:8–9, and the quotation of a document in 2:7–8. 36. For Pliny, see M. v. Albrecht, Geschichte der römischen Literatur: Von Andronicus bis Boethius, 2nd ed. (Munich: DTV, 1994), 409–14, esp. 411. For the thirteenth, fourtieth, and fiftieth Epistula moralis by Seneca, see Kremendahl, Botschaft (n. 35 above), 27 n. 26. For the first Demosthenes letter, see F. W. Hughes, Early Christian Rhetoric and 2 Thessalonians, JSNTSup 30 (Sheffield: JSOT Press, 1989), 47–50. 37. 1 Corinthians 2:1, 4; Gal 1:10; 1 Thess 2:5; cf. 1:5. In 2 Cor 11:6, Paul excludes ever having enjoyed the highest levels of rhetorical education. 38. Furthermore, the bearers of letters often supplemented them with oral news. See W. Riepl, Das Nachrichtenwesen des Altertums mit besonderer Rücksicht auf die Römer (Leipzig: Teubner, 1913); S.  R. Llewelyn, “Sending Letters in the Ancient World: Paul and the Philippians,” Tyndale Bulletin 46 (1995): 337–56.

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even though only hesitantly and late. As A. Malherbe correctly observed,39 the ancient professors of rhetoric themselves slowly also began to plow the field of letter theory, although this piece of land originally had not belonged to their theoretical territory; it is absent from the earliest extant rhetorical handbooks.40 Apparently, rhetoric professors perceived how much the practice of letter writing had become influenced by rhetorical theory and therefore had to include epistolography in their theoretical reflections. Already in the first or second century c.e., the Progymnasmata of Theon of Alexandria, a teacher’s handbook, tried to bridge rhetoric and epistolography. Theon recommended composing fictive letters in the classroom, and he lists this activity under the rhetorical rubric of prosopopoeia. This is an interesting attempt to combine rhetorical exercise with letter writing (10, p. 115, ed. Spengel). Prosopopoeia and also ethopoeia, the shaping of a character, stand for the rhetorical art of developing the roles of persons in an authentic way and of putting words into the mouths of these characters that fit the respective situations. The students of rhetoric were required to learn the empathic ability of walking in the shoes of others if they later wanted to be able to relate to their audience in effective ways, anticipating feelings and reactions. For Theon, practicing fictive letters was a method of prosopopoeia; in this exercise, the students had to place themselves in the situations of other persons, that is, fictive letter authors, and to imitate their ways of speaking. The authors of the Pauline “school” practiced this very enterprise when they wrote letters such as Colossians, Ephesians, and the Pastoral Epistles that re-presented Paul to congregations after his demise. Even though this bridge between rhetoric and episotolography is only sporadic, it shows an interesting pursuit of integration already in the first or second century c.e. Furthermore, in my view, it marks a fascinating point where ancient rhetoric and epistolography were tangent to ancient narratological and historiographical theory. Luke, for example, exercises prosopopoeia when he intersperses fictive letters into his narrative; when he uses mimesis in the speeches of Acts, choosing optatives on the Athenian Areopagus and having Peter talk in a language that has a Septuagint-Semitic touch, and shows the patina of the early days of Christianity, of a period gone by for Luke;41 when he, in his narrative, skillfully paints authentic local color into narratives

39. Malherbe, Epistolary Theorists (n. 31 above), 2. 40. For the at-least-loose theoretical bridge between rhetoric and epistolography already in antiquity, see also J. T. Reed, “The Epistle,” in Handbook of Classical Rhetoric in the Hellenistic Period (330 b.c.–a.d. 400), ed. S. E. Porter (Leiden: Brill, 1997), 171–93; Sänger, “Argumentationsstrategie” (n. 1 above), 381–82, with reference to the late authors (fourth cent. c.e.) Libanius (Ep. 528:4) and C. Julius Victor (Ars rhetorica 447–48 = C. Julii Victoris Ars rhetorica, ed. R. Giovini and M. S. Cementano, BSGRT [Leipzig: Teubner, 1980], 105.10–106.20). More than two centuries earlier, Quintilian cared only little about letter writing and held that the letter has its own nature compared to the speech (Inst. orat. 9.4.19–20). 41. See P. Lampe and U. Luz, “Nachpaulinisches Christentum und pagane Gesellschaft,” in J. Becker et al., Die Anfänge des Christentums: Alte Welt und neue Hoffnung (Stuttgart: Kohlhammer, 1987), 185–216, esp. 205–6; Eng. trans. P. Lampe and U. Luz, “Post-Pauline Christianity and Pagan Society,” in Christian Beginnings: Word and Community from Jesus to Post-Apostolic Times, ed. J. Becker (Louisville: Westminster John Knox, 1993), 242–80.

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that play, for example, in Athens or Ephesus.42 All narrators use prosopopoeia when breathing life into the persons of their stories and when forming them into “rounded characters.” Once again, it remains a desideratum to define the relationship between ancient rhetoric and ancient theoretical beginnings of a narratology. (e) Luckily, we do not have to work from scratch when trying to combine the rhetorical and epistolographical methods of analysis. F. Schnider and W. Stenger, although in a disputable way, attempted a rhetorical-epistolographical analysis by interpreting the standardized part between the thanksgiving and the letter corpus, which they called “epistolary self-recommendation” (briefliche Selbstempfehlung), as an analog to the exordium of a speech.43 Other researchers examined the rhetorical function of Paul’s typically epistolographic postscripts.44 On an even broader scale, the Galatians dissertation of the classical philologist and theologian Dieter Kremendahl45 (1999) tried to combine both analytical methods. Kremendahl applied both methods to the entire text of Galatians and thus tried to synthesize epistolography and rhetoric.46 In this way, he succeeded in appreciating adequately the fact that Paul’s messages for his congregations are put in writing and not just oral presentations, a simple but important fact that Paul himself highlights twice in meta-communications (Gal 1:20; 6:11).47 In my view, Paul’s written communication with his congregations was not just a lesser evil due to geographical distance; his letters were not just would-be oral speeches. For the apostle, the written medium was a welcome alternative to oral communication, a gladly embraced compensation for the problems that he had when delivering in person. He and his audiences seemed to know about weaknesses of his when speaking and about problems he faced when they responded to his oral-personal appearances (cf. 2 Cor 11:6; 10:1, 10–11; 13:10). In this perspective, the written status regains its own importance and value for interpretation, which rhetorical analysis alone cannot appreciate. Only both approaches, the epistolographical analysis, which considers the written status, and the rhetorical, which reflects oral speeches, do justice to the text— but only if both work together in scholarship. Kremendahl presents an example of a synthesis of the two approaches.48 From a rhetorical point of view, the parenetic passage of Gal 5:1–6:10 is an unfitting, perturbing block within the flow of Galatians, a crux for the rhetorical exegesis of Galatians.

42. See P. Lampe, “Acta 19 im Spiegel der ephesischen Inschriften,” Biblische Zeitschrift 36 (1992): 59–76.  43. Both epistolary self-recommendation and exordium allegedly helped to create ethos: Schnider and Stenger, Briefformular (n. 31 above), 50ff. 44. See I.-G. Hong, The Law in Galatians, JSNTSup 81 (Sheffield: JSOT Press, 1993); A. Pitta, Disposizione e messagio della lettera ai Galati: Analisi retorico-letteraria, Analecta Biblica 131 (Rome: Pontifical Biblical Institute, 1992); Jegher-Bucher, Galaterbrief (n. 35 above); B. H. Brinsmead, Galatians: Dialogical Response to Opponents, SBLDS 65 (Chico, Calif.: Scholars Press, 1982), 57–87. For typical epistolary elements also in parts other than the post- and prescripts, see G. W. Hansen, Abraham in Galatians: Epistolary and Rhetorical Contexts, JSNTSup 29 (Sheffield: JSOT Press, 1989), 19–94. 45. See n. 35 above (= Diss., Marburg, 1999). 46. Similarly, in regard to the entire First Letter of Peter, see Thurén, Rhetorical Strategy (n. 7 above), 58. 47. See n. 35 above. 48. Kremendahl, Die Botschaft der Form, 120–50.

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Can it be explained convincingly? The passage impedes a satisfactory rhetorical structuring of the letter; it prevents ancient rhetorical theory from fitting like a glove on Galatians. Correspondingly, modern rhetorical exegetes attempting to determine the rhetorical genre of Galatians—an apologetic, juridical speech (Betz) or a deliberate speech (Kennedy)—differ significantly; their solutions depend exactly on how this parenetic piece is weighted. If we analyze epistolographically, this rhetorical-analytical aporia can be overcome. From an epistolographical perspective, Gal 5:6 is a preliminary endpoint of the apology, and 5:7–6:18 is the postscript of the entire letter.49 That means, considered epistolographically, that 5:7 is a new beginning. Between 5:6 and 5:7, Paul places a formal caesura and changes the genre from rhetorical apology to epistolary parenesis. In the praxis of writing and of orally delivering the letter, this caesura would have corresponded to a short pause while taking a deep breath, as was customary before postscripts.50 All the objections using the parenetic part of Galatians as an argument against Betz’s classification of Galatians as an “apology” lose ground once we integrate epistolography and rhetoric and identify the ending of the apology in 5:6. Furthermore, Kremendahl,51 with his integrative approach, overcomes Betz’s narrow forensic focus. He pays tribute to the apologetic character of Galatians52 by convincingly documenting the genre of an “apologetic letter.” Especially the second Demosthenes letter and the corresponding note in Demetrius’s collection of sample letters evidence this genre. The apologetic letter served the self-defending self-portrayal of an author, and, differently from the forensic apologetic speech, it could abstain from mentioning the names of the opponents and from specifying the accusations in detail. This explains Paul’s restraint at this point.53 For all Pauline letters, it is worth further pursuing this integrative path that Kremendahl chose for Galatians. We might be able to solve impasses of an exclusively rhetorical analysis. The articles by Troy Martin and Christopher Forbes in this volume lead us further into this minefield.

49. With epistolary parallels, Kremendahl convincingly proves that not only 6:11–15 but also the structurally similar passage 5:2–6 meets the requirements of a subscriptio (writing with his own hand, the author personally formulates and concisely recapitulates the content). As legally binding authorizations, such subscriptions can be also found particularly at the end of legal documents (see n. 35 above). Consequently, the part of the letter that was written with his own hand already begins in 5:2, not in 6:11. 50. Even before the formulation of the first subscriptio with its recapitulation of content (5:2–6), Paul probably went over the previously written part of the letter; see Kremendahl, Die Botschaft der Form (n. 35 above), 268; cf. 146: “Paulus hat mit 5,6 seine Verteidigung abgeschlossen und—wenn man antizipiert, dass sie von den Galatern akzeptiert wurde—zugleich auch seine Position als maßgebliche Autorität in der Gemeinde behaupten können. Erst im Rang dieser zurückgewonnenen Autorität und aufgrund des damit gegebenen Hierarchiegefälles zwischen Apostel und Gemeinde fügt er die Paränese an.” From a rhetorical point of view, the parenesis of 5:7–6:18 is a second complete speech that, like the first one in 1:6–5:6, runs through a whole speech program from exordium to peroratio. In this way, the results of epistolographical and rhetorical analysis supplement each other seamlessly. 51. Kremendahl, Die Botschaft der Form, 127ff. 52. Every association of a fictive “court” in front of whose “judges,” the Galatians, Paul defends himself is presumably to be discarded—pace Betz. 53. In the past, this restraint served as an argument against Betz’s genre categorization as an “apology.” See, e.g., Aune, Literary Environment (n. 31 above), 207.

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6. Manifold Tendencies within Ancient Rhetoric Rhetoric is not the same as rhetoric. Already in antiquity, rhetoric presented a multicolored picture. New Testament scholarship has to do greater justice to the hues and shades.54 As a starting point, it makes sense to choose the mentioned discrepancy between Paul’s expressed distancing of himself from rhetoric (e.g., 1 Cor 2:1,4) and his actual practice of using rhetorical means. F. Siegert hit the nail on the head when characterizing this critical distance of Paul: the apostle rejects a “logos” that assimilates to the standards of the rhetorical guild and to the stylistic criteria of the educated by pursuing the ultimate goal of manipulating the audience by means of emotions without respect to the truth.55 Thus, Paul does not rebuff any rhetorical art in general, but the one that specifically tries to invoke pistis in Christ by means of bedazzling and seductive rhetoric. But if the gospel, when clothed in modest and humble rhetorical attire, reaches the people and nonetheless awakens pistis in them, then Christians may be confident that God’s own power, and not human persuasion, is at work here (1 Cor 2:5). Ancient readers must have understood Paul’s attitude. They were aware of the difference between the rhetoric of the sophists, on the one hand, and the Platonic56 and Aristotelian rhetoric, on the other. Thus, Paul abhors a sophistic complacency that manipulatively aimed at quick success in the listeners’ minds and was uninterested in the quest for truth. With radical skepticism, sophists even denied in principle that truth can be found. For them, only subjective opinions standing side by side existed, and whoever was able to pump a weak position into a strong one was the better orator.57 This attitude, which is still used in today’s advertising industry, alienated platonically or peripatetically oriented rhetoricians. Ancient rhetoric, with its different camps, was divided, and this furnishes the background for understanding the Pauline discrepancy at stake.58 1 Thessalonians 2:5 rejects very clearly the sophistic kolakeia, which Plato also criticized, using the same term (Gorgias 463B).59 But this Pauline critique did not preclude that Paul, especially when he organized his material, felt free to use rhetorical structures that had been described already by Aristotle and in imperial times were known even by schoolboys.60 The alleged tension in Paul mirrors a discrepancy within the ancient rhetorical world at large. In conclusion, whoever prepares to analyze Pauline texts rhetorically by comparing them with ancient rhetorical documents first has to account for the heteroge-

54. See, e.g., Betz who prematurely identified rhetoric in general and sophistic rhetoric in particular (Galaterbrief [n. 6 above], 70). 55. Siegert, Argumentation (n. 11 above), 250. 56. See esp. the dialogues Phaidros and Gorgias. 57. See Aristotle, Rhet. 1402a,24: to; to;n h{ttw de; lovgon kreivttw poiei'n. 58. Cf. thus also Siegert, Argumentation (note 11 above), 249 ff. 59. Cf. similarly Seneca’s critique of the empty sophistic drivel and cavil (cavillatio), of quibble, hair splitting, and false rhetorical syllogisms that impede ethical progress (Ep. 45.5; 49.5–6; 48.6ff; 108; 111). The critique of a particular camp of rhetoric does not prevent Seneca—or Paul—from using rhetorical means anyway, such as rhetorical ornament and well-thought-through structuring of the material. 60. See, e.g., the material in Kremendahl, Die Botschaft der Form (n. 35 above), 28ff.

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neity of these ancient benchmarks. What is needed is a clearly differentiating eye for the rhetorical landscape of antiquity.61 Its entire spectrum needs to be kept in mind.

7. Greco-Roman and Jewish Art of Speaking The term “entire spectrum” needs to be understood in an even more radical sense than described so far. When comparing ancient rhetoric with early Christian literature, we need to have in mind not only the pagan Greco-Roman culture, but also the Jewish rhetorical (and epistolary) practice, both in its Hellenistically influenced and its apocalyptic specifications. However, lacking convenient handbooks that were meta-communicative systematizations already in antiquity, we mainly need to observe the Jewish rhetorical and epistolary communication praxis, trying to systematize it and then compare it with the New Testament. Some work has already been done in this field.62 Studies of Jewish-Aramaic epistolography,63 for example, are at hand. In the future, we will have to use such tools more intensively for the exegesis of the Pauline letters. There might be still a lot to discover—also in the overlapping zones of pagan and Jewish rhetoric.

8. Christian Rhetoric? We approach the end of the tour by discussing a last aspect of the dissimulatio artis. Future research should carefully note also the features of Paul’s rhetoric that cannot be “compared” and thus have become typically Pauline and Christian rhetoric. W.  Harnisch dubs Pauline rhetoric a “language of love.”64 K. Berger identified the genre of the Pauline letters as a genuinely Christian genre (“apostolic letters”), whose roots at best can be traced back to Jewish models.65 Whatever one thinks of such 61. A well-done differentiation between sophistic, Platonic, and Aristotelian rhetorical elements in the Pauline letters can be found in Kremendahl, Die Botschaft der Form (n. 35 above), 25–27. 62. See, e.g., K. Berger (“Apostelbrief und apostolische Rede: Zum Formular frühchristlicher Briefe,” ZNW 65 [1974]: 231). Already decades ago, he tried to compare the allegedly genuinely Christian genre of “apostolic letter” with written speeches of Jewish religious authorities. Whatever one wants to think about Berger’s essay, the direction of his quest deserved recognition. Also V. Robbins, within the framework of his socio-rhetorical method, compared, for example, literary structures in Mark with elements of prophetic literature in the Hebrew Bible, or Mark 13 with Jewish valedictories. See Robbins, Jesus the Teacher (n. 18 above), 58, 173–78, etc. Further, see the works by H. A. Fischel, e.g., “Story and History: Observations on Greco-Roman Rhetoric and Pharisaism,” in Essays in Greco-Roman and Related Talmudic Literature, ed. H. A. Fischel (New York: Ktav, 1977), 443–72; Rabbinic Literature and Greco-Roman Philosophy: A Study of Epicurea and Rhetorica in Early Midrash (Leiden: Brill, 1973); “The Uses of Sorites (Climax, Gradatio) in the Tannaitic Period,” Hebrew University College Annual 44 (1973): 119–51. 63. E.g., I. Taatz, Frühjüdische Briefe: Die paulinischen Briefe im Rahmen der offiziellen religiösen Briefe des Frühjudentums, NTOA 16 (Fribourg: Academic Press; Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1991). 64. W. Harnisch, “‘Toleranz’ im Denken des Paulus? Eine exegetisch-hermeneutische Vergewisserung,” EvTh 56 (1996): 74ff. 65. See n. 62 above. See also already Kennedy’s deliberations about a specifically religious, that is, “radical Christian,” rhetoric (New Testament Interpretation [n. 8 above], 6, 158, etc.).

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positions, the question is legitimate: Does a genuinely early Christian rhetoric begin to emerge already in New Testament times? Christians in later antiquity, especially Augustine, clearly developed their own rhetoric. In his rhetoric, Augustine put forward a revolutionarily single-handed text theory for the Bible, a hermeneutical and kerygmatic-homiletic theory. It no longer circled around finding the truth in dialogue or even around pondering probabilities. Under the influence of the Platonicontological concept of truth, it rather aimed at conveying an eternally preset and given truth. But again, can beginnings of a genuinely Christian rhetoric be detected already in early Christianity? The answer requires a great deal of work, because proof of dissimulationes can be given only when all possibly comparable texts have been examined. Nevertheless, the more intense look at dissimilitudines might yield fascinating results, even theologically. Beyond the dissimilarities between Pauline rhetoric and the pagan or Jewish rhetoric, it will be theologically and hermeneutically equally exciting to ask what happens if we subtract the conformities and similarities with ancient rhetoric from Paul’s letters. L. Thurén postulated not only demythologizing, like the Bultmann school, but also “derhetorizing” the biblical texts.66 According to him, the rhetorical, persuasive character of the ancient biblical texts obstructs the understanding of today’s readers, even more than the mythological language does. However, we might want to ask critically if it is possible at all to subtract the rhetorical language from the thoughts. In my view, this program of emancipation from the situational, contingent persuasive character is based ironically on an ancient axiom that in itself was contingent and out of date: the platonically oriented axiom that res and verba can be distinguished from each other (see above). Does liberation from the rhetorical (and mythological)67 attire of Pauline letters have to be much more radical than Thurén imagined so that today’s readers gain access to the text? At this point, interesting dialogues are still to come. In this volume, especially J. S. Vos reflects on the relationship between theology and rhetoric.68

9. Can We Still Talk about Intention of the Author and Deliberate Use of Rhetorical Means? Finally, a quick glance at the development of the secular studies of literature is advisable. At the beginning of the twentieth century, scholars still centered their literary studies on the author and his or her intentions. In this focus only did it seem possible

66. L. Thurén, “Was Paul Angry? Derhetorizing Galatians,” in The Rhetorical Interpretation of Scripture, ed. Porter and Stamps (n. 30 above), 302–20; idem, Derhetorizing Paul: A Dynamic Perspective on Pauline Theology and the Law, WUNT 124 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2000). 67. Do the mythological contents and thoughts themselves belong to the contingent verba, and not to the res? Or is the alternative verba/res simply wrong? Making a crystal clear definition of the relationship between “mythological” and “rhetorical” is another task still ahead of us. 68. See also Vos’s corresponding German article “Theologie als Rhetorik,” in Aufgabe und Durchführung einer Theologie des neuen Testaments, ed. C. Breytenbach and J. Frey, WUNT 205 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2007), 247–71.

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to make sense of texts. In the first half of the last century, however, the concentration turned away from the author to the text itself, to the structures immanent in the text, its intrinsic structures, which helped to create “sense,” possibly even apart from or against the authors’ intentions. At the end of the twentieth century, we finally experienced the turn to the recipient: reader-response criticism, Rezeptionsästhetik, historiography of the effects and impacts of a text, of the different ways it has been received throughout history (Wirkungsgeschichte)—all of these methods focus on the readers, who alone produce “sense” and “meaning.” In philosophical epistemology, the weights have shifted in a parallel movement. The active subject of perception now stands in the center: the recipient of sense data creatively constructs his or her reality. An “objective reality” is lost and, with it, the cognitive possibility to get close to it in an assured way (see above).69 All of the three “secular” approaches to literature are being practiced in biblical scholarship; they supplement one another. I propose using all three of them as avenues into the rhetorical analysis of biblical writings, particularly the second and third ones. Then the question becomes obsolete whether or not Paul deliberately and consciously used rhetorical building blocks when creating his texts. The confining concentration on the author’s intentions, still prominent in Kennedy’s concept,70 becomes superfluous. The important question is: which rhetorical elements could ancient recipients, on the basis of their previous rhetorical knowledge, detect in Paul’s letters, independently of what Paul himself had in mind? Such possibilities of discovery should be pursued—discoveries of, for example, various instruments of deliberate or apologetic speech or even of double meanings of texts.71 “New Rhetoricians,” moving beyond this approach, will explore which rhetorical elements today’s readers, on the basis of their modern or postmodern rhetorical knowledge, can detect in the Pauline writings. This exciting question, however, reaches far beyond the present scope into the neighboring field of New Testament hermeneutics.

69. See further, e.g., Lampe, Die Wirklichkeit als Bild (n. 13 above). 70. According to Kennedy (New Testament Interpretation [n. 8 above], 12; cf. 3–4), rhetorical analysis aims at “the discovery of the author’s intent and of how that is transmitted through a text to an audience.” Nevertheless, Kennedy and Betz already conceded that the ancient recipients need to be considered too so that the historical rhetorical situation to which the text responded can be reconstructed. See Betz, Galaterbrief (n. 6 above), 47; Kennedy, New Testament Interpretation, 4: “Rhetorical criticism . . . looks at it [i.e., the text] from the point of view of the author’s . . . intent, . . . and how it would be perceived by an audience of near contemporaries.” Amador (“Interpretive Unity” [n. 30 above], 48–62) acidly deconstructs the concept of a singular author intent. According to him, exegetes are in danger of imposing their own intentions on a construct of an author. The exegete needs to consider several possible intentions inherent in the text. 71. For 1 Corinthians 1–4 as an example, see Lampe, “Theological Wisdom and the ‘Word About the Cross’” (n. 5 above). 1 Corinthians 1–4 contains long passages that conceal a second, unspoken meaning in their background.

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chapter 2

The Three Species of Rhetoric and the Study of the Pauline Epistles Duane F. Watson

The role of the three species of Greco-Roman rhetoric in the study of the Pauline epistles is the subject of this study. First, I will give a brief overview of the three species of Greco-Roman rhetoric to serve as a point of reference. Second, I will survey works on the rhetoric of each of Paul’s undisputed epistles that have played a central role in the discussion of the species of these epistles. I will try to delimit the current state of the discussion, looking for areas of consensus as well as points of continued dispute. Third, I will delineate and discuss the broader issues central to the discussion of the rhetorical species of the Pauline epistles. Finally, some suggestions for future use of rhetorical species in Pauline studies will be offered.

1. The Three Species of Greco-Roman Rhetoric While in antiquity there was ample discussion of how many species and subspecies there were in rhetoric,1 the discussion in the Greco-Roman rhetorical handbooks focused primarily on three species:2 judicial (forensic),3 deliberative,4

1. George A. Kennedy, “The Genres of Rhetoric,” in Handbook of Classical Rhetoric in the Hellenistic Period 330 b.c.–a.d. 400, ed. Stanley E. Porter (Boston: Brill Academic Publishers, 1997), 43–45. 2. Aristotle Rhet. 1.3.15; Rhet. ad Alex. 1.1421b.7ff.; Cicero Inv. 2.4.12–59.178; De Or. 2.81.333–85.349; Quintilian 3.4; Heinrich Lausberg, Handbuch der literarischen Rhetorik: Eine Grundlegung der Literaturwissenschaft, 2 vols., 2nd ed. (Munich: Max Heuber, 1973), 1:51–61, §§53–65; Josef Martin, Antike Rhetorik: Technik und Methode, HbAltW 2.3 (Munich: C. H. Beck, 1974), 9–10, 15–210; George A. Kennedy, The Art of Rhetoric in the Roman World: 300 b.c.–a.d. 300 (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1972), 7–23; idem, “Genres of Rhetoric,” 43–50. For more bibliography, see Duane F. Watson, The Rhetoric of the New Testament: A Bibliographic Survey, Tools for Biblical Study 8 (Blandford Forum: Deo, 2006), 30–32. 3. Aristotle Rhet. 1.10–15; Rhet. ad Alex. 4, 36; Cicero Inv. 2.4.14–51.154; Part. Or. 4.14–15, 28–37; Top. 24.92–26.96; Quintilian 3.9; Lausberg, Handbuch, 1:86–123, §§140–223; Martin, Antike Rhetorik, 15–166; Kennedy, Art of Rhetoric, 7–18. 4. Aristotle Rhet. 1.4–8; Rhet. ad Alex. 1–2, 29–34; Cicero De Or. 2.81.333–83.340; Inv. 2.51.155–58.176;

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and epideictic.5 Judicial rhetoric is concerned with accusation and defense, particularly in the legal setting,6 and its end is the just and the unjust.7 Its time reference is the past because it pertains to actions in the past for which accusation and defense are made.8 Deliberative rhetoric is advice giving, persuasion, and dissuasion,9 and its end is the possible or impossible, advantageous or harmful, necessary or unnecessary, expedient or inexpedient.10 Its time reference is mainly future because advice is generally given about future things,11 although the present is sometimes appropriate.12 Epideictic rhetoric praises and blames someone or something,13 and its end is the honorable or the dishonorable with a view to increasing or decreasing assent to some value.14 Its characteristic time reference is present because persons and things are praised or blamed for what they are doing, but the past is often recalled and the future anticipated.15 Epideictic rhetoric is often used purely for pleasure.16 All three species of rhetoric rely on one another, each typically using the other.17 Praise and blame are found in every type of oratory.18 Praise and blame are often utilized in both deliberative and judicial rhetoric.19 Deliberative and epideictic rhetoric are complementary because what deliberative rhetoric advises and dissuades, epideictic rhetoric praises and blames.20 Topoi typical of one species can be used in the service of another. For example, what is honorable is primarily a topic of epideictic rhetoric, but it can be used in judicial rhetoric when building up or tearing down the ethos of a person involved in a court case, or in deliberative rhetoric to establish that the course of action being advocated will bring honor or shame.

Part. Or. 4.13, 24–27; Her. 3.2–5; Quintilian 3.8; Lausberg, Handbuch, 1:23–29, §§224–38; Martin, Antike Rhetorik, 167–76; Kennedy, Art of Rhetoric, 18–21. 5. Aristotle Rhet. 1.9; Rhet. ad Alex. 3, 35; Cicero Inv. 2.59.177–78; De Or. 2.11.45–6; 2.84–85; Or. 11.37; 13.42; Part. Or. 4.12, 21–23; Her. 3.6–8; Quintilian 3.4.3; 3.7; Lausberg, Handbuch, 1:129–38, §§239–54; Martin, Antike Rhetorik, 177–210; Kennedy, Art of Rhetoric, 21–23. 6. Aristotle Rhet. 1.3.1358b.3; Rhet. ad Alex. 4.1426b.22ff; Cicero Inv. 1.5.7; Quintilian 3.4.6–7, 9. 7. Aristotle Rhet. 1.3.1358b.5; Cicero Inv. 2.4.12; 2.51.155–56; Top. 24.91; cf. Quintilian 3.4.15–16. 8. Aristotle Rhet. 1.3.1358b.4; 2.18.1392a.5; Cicero Part. Or. 20.69; cf. Part. Or. 3.10. 9. Aristotle Rhet. 1.3.1358b.3; Rhet. ad Alex. 1.1421b.17–23; Cicero Inv. 1.5.7; Part. Or. 24.83ff.; Her. 1.2.2; Quintilian 3.4.6, 9; 3.8.1–6, 67–70; cf. Cicero De Or. 1.31.141. 10. Aristotle Rhet. 1.3.1358b.5; Rhet. ad Alex. 1.1421b.21ff; Cicero Inv. 2.4.12; 2.51.155–58.176; Part. Or. 24.83–87; Top. 24.91; Her. 3.2.3–5.9; Quintilian 3.8.1–6, 22–35; cf. Cicero De Or. 2.82.333–36; Quintilian 3.4.15–16. 11. Aristotle Rhet. 1.3.1358b.4; 1.4.1359a.1–2; 2.18.1392a.5; Quintilian 3.4.7; 3.8.6; Cicero Part. Or. 3.10; 20.69. 12. Aristotle Rhet. 1.6.1362a.1; 1.8.1366a.7. 13. Aristotle Rhet. 1.3.1358b.3; Cicero Inv. 1.5.7; 2.4.12; Part. Or. 21.70; Her. 1.2.2; Quintilian 3.4.6–9, 12–14; cf. Rhet. ad Alex. 3.1425.3; Cicero Inv. 2.59.177; De Or. 1.31.141. 14. Aristotle Rhet. 1.3.1358b.5; Rhet. ad Alex. 3.1425b.36–39; Cicero Inv. 2.4.12; 2.51.155–56; Top. 24.91; Her. 3.6.10; cf. Quintilian 3.4.15–16. 15. Aristotle Rhet. 1.3.1358b.4; Quintilian 3.4.7; cf. Cicero Part. Or. 21.71. 16. Cicero Part. Or. 3.10–4.12. 17. Rhet. ad Alex. 5.1427b.31ff; Quintilian 3.4.16. 18. Quintilian 3.4.11. 19. Aristotle Rhet. 1.9.1367b.36–1368a.38; Her. 3.8.15. 20. Quintilian 3.7.28.

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2. A Survey of the Classification of the Species of Rhetoric of the Undisputed Pauline Epistles The Pauline epistles have been analyzed in part and in whole with classification of their rhetorical species. This analysis assumes that Paul was familiar with rhetorical conventions of his time. The discussion of Paul’s education and whether he had any formal rhetorical training is beyond the scope of this paper. Suffice it to say that rhetorical finesse is indeed present in all of his epistles. These rhetorical features may have originated from conscious application of rhetorical theory as gained from formal rhetorical training and/or the imitation of written or spoken communication (such as the Hebrew Scriptures and Jewish sources that are rhetorically sensitive)— all perhaps coupled with a natural gift for effective communication. Species or genre classification is one more important tool for interpretation. It is a window on the social situation of Paul and his addresses. As Karl Paul Donfried rightly points out, “To recognise . . . which of the three types (genera) of rhetoric— deliberative, judicial or epideictic— a document is employing already gives important clues to its social situation as well as its intention.”21 Rhetoricians chose an approach to the addresses based on their perception of the audience, its expectations, and the situation addressed. As Elisabeth Schüssler Fiorenza states, “An exploration of rhetorical genre and its function can thus contribute to an understanding of the rhetorical situation insofar as arrangement and style reveal the speaker’s perception of the audience and the ways chosen to influence it.”22 While all the Pauline epistles exhibit all three species of rhetoric, one species predominates in each letter. Identifying the dominant species, and how the other species interact with it, is a further refinement in using rhetoric for interpreting Paul’s epistles. Kennedy writes, “Although many written discourses, such as epistles, combine features of deliberative, judicial, or epideictic rhetoric, it is often useful to consider the dominant rhetorical genre of a work in determining the intent of the author and the effect upon the audience in the original social situation.”23 The following is a survey of the classification of the rhetorical species of the undisputed Pauline epistles and their associated rhetorical situations. I will begin with those letters in which genre identification is not as central and move on to those where the key issue of species classification emerges. Due to space restraints and the large volume of literature, my focus is on the earlier scholarly works in which the issue was initially raised and debated, those later works that advanced the discussion considerably, and in most cases, those focusing on a complete epistle or significant portions of it.24 21. Karl Donfried, “The Theology of 1 Thessalonians,” in The Theology of the Shorter Pauline Letters, ed. Karl P. Donfried and I. Howard Marshall, New Testament Theology (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1993), 3–4. 22. Elisabeth Schüssler Fiorenza, “Rhetorical Situation and Historical Reconstruction in 1 Corinthians,” NTS 33 (1987): 386–403, esp. 391; repr. in eadem, Rhetoric and Ethic: The Politics of Biblical Studies (Minneapolis: Fortress, 1999), 105–28. 23. Kennedy, “Genres of Rhetoric,” 45–46. 24. For resources on the rhetoric of all of the Pauline epistles, see Watson, Rhetoric of the New Testament, 121–72.

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2.1. Philemon Paul’s epistle to Philemon has been classified as deliberative rhetoric, and this classification has received virtually unanimous support among exegetes. This classification has helped to yield significant advances in our understanding of specific verses and of the purpose of the epistle as a whole. F. Forrester Church provided the initial rhetorical analysis of Philemon. He argued that Paul’s petition to Philemon to receive the runaway slave Onesimus back as a brother in Christ is structured as a deliberative speech. The focus is on establishing two primary motives for action: honor and advantage. All proofs of ethos, pathos, and logos are used to persuade Philemon that the reception of Onesimus would be honorable and advantageous, especially in light of Paul’s relationship with Philemon, their shared relationship with Onesimus, and the relationship of all three with God and Christian ministry.25 Building on Church’s deliberative classification of Philemon, Clarice Martin argues that Paul’s use of commercial language and his offer of financial compensation (v. 18) is rhetorical anticipation. With this figure Paul invalidates possible objections to his petition to Philemon to accept Onesimus back. Also, the use of anticipation does not necessitate the conclusion that Onesimus actually stole something from Philemon.26 Ronald Hock, also assuming that Philemon is deliberative rhetoric, more narrowly defines the purpose of the letter. Paul appeals to Philemon to make a decision in a public setting, an assembly (ekklēsia, v. 2), in which the public will witness or even participate in that decision. They will judge Philemon’s actions against the honor that he has among them (v. 5). Paul presents himself as an old man and Onesimus as his child (vv. 9–10). Paul needs his child’s support and urges Philemon to return Onesimus to him to fulfill his familial responsibility to his aged “parent.” Philemon will find it difficult to press the master–slave relationship over the familial needs without losing honor before the assembly in his household.27

2.2. Philippians George Kennedy classified Philippians as “largely epideictic.”28 Claudio Basevi and Juan Chapa concur. They understand the Christ hymn as an encomium of Christ

25. F. Forrester Church, “Rhetorical Structure and Design in Paul’s Letter to Philemon,” HTR 71 (1978): 17–33. 26. Clarice Martin, “The Rhetorical Function of Commercial Language in Paul’s Letter to Philemon (Verse 18),” in Persuasive Artistry: Studies in New Testament Rhetoric in Honor of George A. Kennedy, ed. Duane F. Watson (Sheffield: JSOT Press, 1991), 321–37. 27. Ronald Hock, “A Support for His Old Age: Paul’s Plea on Behalf of Onesimus,” in The Social World of the First Christians: Essays in Honor of Wayne A. Meeks, ed. L. Michael White and O. Larry Yarbrough (Minneapolis: Fortress, 1995), 67–81, esp. 75. 28. George Kennedy, New Testament Interpretation through Rhetorical Criticism (Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press, 1984), 77.

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in which Christ is more than an example of steadfastness in suffering. He is also the motive for Paul’s exhortation to unity in suffering. Christ suffered to save and be in unity with the Philippians, and the Philippians should strive to be in unity with each other in their suffering.29 However, the attempt to classify Philippians as epideictic rhetoric is not persuasive because exhortation supported by example is much more characteristic of deliberative rhetoric. Certainly choosing someone like Christ as a positive example is inherent praise and is inherently epideictic, but it is more natural to understand the Christ hymn of 2:6–11 as an example of humble service that Paul expects the Philippians to imitate, that is, as exemplification within deliberative argumentation. I first argued that Philippians is deliberative rhetoric.30 Paul is trying to dissuade the Philippians from following the gospel of Judaizing Christians and persuade them to continue adhering to his gospel. The main proposition is expressed as an exhortation in 1:27–30: “Only, live your life in a manner worthy of the gospel of Christ. . . .” As is typical of deliberative rhetoric, this proposition is developed in 2:1–3:21 using example and comparison of examples of living in a manner worthy of the gospel. Exemplification is provided by Christ, Timothy, Epaphroditus, and Paul. With minor modifications this deliberative classification has been accepted by the field. Timothy Geoffrion demonstrates how Paul uses political and military topics to exhort the Philippians to identify steadfastly with and give allegiance to their heavenly rather than earthly citizenship. More closely affirming a corporate identity is the goal of deliberative rhetoric.31 John Marshall notes that while some passages of Philippians may be epideictic (e.g., 2:6–11), their ultimate purpose is deliberative and they support the epistle’s purpose to give advice on the future conduct of the Philippians.32 This is a good illustration of how the three species of rhetoric work together, with one usually predominating. L. Gregory Bloomquist notes that Paul offers the Philippians choices involving what is dignified and honorable, choices that Paul has argued that Christ, Timothy, Epaphroditus, and he himself have made. Bloomquist, like Marshall, rightly allows for some epideictic and forensic elements in Philippians.33 A. H. Snyman notes that Paul’s advice on the conduct of life makes Philippians deliberative, but epideictic elements celebrate the result in peoples’ lives when they live by that advice.34

29. Claudio Basevi and Juan Chapa, “Philippians 2.6–11: The Rhetorical Function of a Pauline ‘Hymn,’” in Rhetoric and the New Testament: Essays from the 1992 Heidelberg Conference, ed. Stanley E. Porter and Thomas H. Olbricht, JSNTSup 90 (Sheffield: JSOT Press, 1993), 338–56, esp. 347–49. 30. Duane Watson, “A Rhetorical Analysis of Philippians and Its Implications for the Unity Question,” NovT 30 (1988): 57–88. 31. Timothy Geoffrion, The Rhetorical Purpose and the Political and Military Character of Philippians: A Call to Stand Firm (Lewiston, N.Y.: Mellen Biblical, 1993), esp. 20–22. 32. John Marshall, “Paul’s Ethical Appeal in Philippians,” in Porter and Olbricht, Rhetoric and the New Testament 357–74, esp. 363. 33. L. Gregory Bloomquist, The Function of Suffering in Philippians, JSNTSup 78 (Sheffield: JSOT Press, 1993), 119–20. 34. A. H. Snyman, “Persuasion in Philippians 4.1–20,” in Porter and Olbricht, Rhetoric and the New Testament, 325–37, esp. 327–28.

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2.3. 1 Thessalonians As the first to analyze 1 Thessalonians in recent times, George Kennedy argues that the epistle is deliberative speech aimed at persuading the Thessalonians to stand firm (3:8) and providing practical advice for the Christian life (chs. 4–5).35 Bruce Johanson also classifies 1 Thessalonians as deliberative rhetoric. He identifies 4:13–5:11 as the main exigence of 1 Thessalonians: perplexity over death in the face of the expectation of bodily assumption at the imminent parousia. The exhortation in 4:1–12 and 5:12– 24 enhances the ethos of Paul and his gospel that this perplexity has eroded. It does so through a strategy of consolation and correction without reproof, a deliberative strategy.36 The deliberative classification is logical if 4:13–5:11 and its heavy reliance on exhortation are perceived to be the main exigence, but that is questionable. In spite of these studies, there is considerable agreement among scholars that 1 Thessalonians is best classified as epideictic rhetoric. It is the rhetoric of praise and blame, with a prominent emphasis on thanksgiving to God for the relationship between Paul and the Thessalonians. Paul is trying to persuade the Thessalonians to reaffirm or adhere more closely to received values and theology. With the choice of epideictic rhetoric Paul functions as a consoling pastor addressing congregational concerns, with no adversaries or polemic in mind. Robert Jewett classifies 1 Thessalonians as epideictic, a letter of thanksgiving which type often directed praise to the gods. Paul thanks God for granting the Thessalonians a place in the new age (1:6–3:13), with the remainder of the letter devoted to discussing community issues in relation to behavior suited to the new age.37 Frank Hughes and Charles Wanamaker accept Jewett’s assessment that 1 Thessalonians is epideictic, the purpose being to praise the Thessalonians and encourage them in their construction of a new Christian viewpoint.38 Karl Donfried also agrees with the epideictic classification and points out similarities between 1 Thessalonians and the funeral speech (epitaphios) and the consolatory speech (paramythetikos), which are also epideictic. Paul is not defending himself against any opposition (judicial), but praising and consoling the Thessalonians in the face of persecution and death of some of the community (epideictic).39 George Lyons argues that parenesis characteristic of 1 Thessalonians can be either deliberative or epideictic, and the overall motive of the oration is the deciding factor. Since chs. 1–3 are praise, he classifies 1 Thessalonians as epideictic.40 Wilhelm Wuellner classifies 1 Thessalonians as a paradoxical encomium, a subgenre of epideictic rhetoric. The 35. Kennedy, New Testament Interpretation, 142–44. 36. Bruce Johanson, To All the Brethren: A Text-Linguistic and Rhetorical Approach to 1 Thessalonians, ConBNT 16 (Stockholm: Almqvist & Wiksell, 1987), esp. 165–67. 37. Robert Jewett, The Thessalonian Correspondence: Pauline Rhetoric and Millenarian Piety, FF (Philadelphia: Fortress, 1986), esp. 71–72. 38. Frank Hughes, “The Rhetoric of 1 Thessalonians,” in The Thessalonian Correspondence, ed. Raymond F. Collins, BETL 87 (Leuven: Leuven University Press, 1990), 94–116, esp. 97; Charles Wanamaker, Commentary on 1 & 2 Thessalonians, NIGTC (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1990), esp. 46–48. 39. Donfried, “Theology of 1 Thessalonians,” 3–5. 40. George Lyons, Pauline Autobiography: Toward a New Understanding, SBLDS 73 (Atlanta: Scholars Press, 1985), 219–21.

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dual paradox is that tribulation validates service to God, and the Christian can experience a full spiritual life while waiting for a fuller one at the parousia.41 Thomas Olbricht uses Aristotelian rhetoric—especially its awareness of the imprecision of rhetorical categories and the need to shape rhetoric to the matter at hand—to create a new genre for 1 Thessalonians of “church rhetoric” that recognizes that God works in the world to carry out God’s purposes.42 “Reconfirmational” is his corresponding subclassification of the church rhetoric of 1 Thessalonians. To put it more traditionally, the rhetoric focuses on exhortation and parenesis. Paul seeks deeper commitment on the part of the Thessalonians by encouraging them to lead a life worthy of God (2:12). Reluctant to assume Paul’s use of handbook rhetoric, Abraham Malherbe agrees with Olbricht’s classification of 1 Thessalonians as “church rhetoric.”43 I argue that 1 Thessalonians is epideictic rhetoric. The Thessalonians were being persecuted by their neighbors, and some Thessalonians had died. The impact of both was amplified by the delay of the second coming of Christ, which could end the persecution and answer the question about the fate of the souls of the dead. Paul uses an apocalyptic perspective to guide his rhetorical strategy as he addresses the situation. He provides the Thessalonians with a new symbolic world in which they can see that their situation is part of Satan’s forces arrayed against God and God’s righteous followers in an end-time battle. In the midst of this struggle Paul is not persuading the Thessalonians to adopt another course of action, but rather is encouraging them to adhere to values they have already come to hold.44

2.4. 1 Corinthians Early in the discussion, the rhetorical species of 1 Corinthians was identified as epideictic rhetoric. After examining the digressions in 1 Corinthians (1:19–3:21; 9:1–10:13; 13:1–13) and noting that they are common to epideictic rhetoric, Wilhelm Wuellner argued that the letter is epideictic rhetoric. Paul’s digressions clarify issues and support his appeal for unity by intensifying the Corinthians’ adherence to previously shared values.45 However, lately the opinion prevails that 1 Corinthians is primarily deliberative 41. Wilhelm Wuellner, “The Argumentative Structure of 1 Thessalonians as Paradoxical Encomium,” in Collins, Thessalonian Correspondence, 117–36, esp. 123–28. 42. Thomas Olbricht, “An Aristotelian Rhetorical Analysis of 1 Thessalonians,” in Greeks, Romans, and Christians: Essays in Honor of Abraham J. Malherbe, ed. David L. Balch, Everett Ferguson, and Wayne A. Meeks (Minneapolis: Fortress, 1990), 216–36, esp. 224–27. 43. Abraham Malherbe, The Letters to the Thessalonians: A New Translation with Introduction and Commentary (AB 32B; New York: Doubleday, 2000), 96. 44. Duane Watson, “Paul’s Appropriation of Apocalyptic Discourse: The Rhetorical Strategy of 1 Thessalonians,” in Vision and Persuasion: Rhetorical Dimensions of Apocalyptic Discourse, ed. Greg Carey and L. Gregory Bloomquist (St. Louis: Chalice, 1999), 61–65. 45. William Wuellner, “Greek Rhetoric and Pauline Argumentation,” in Early Christian Literature and the Classical Intellectual Tradition: In Honorem Robert M. Grant, ed. William R. Schoedel and Robert L. Wilken, ThH 54 (Paris: Beauchesne, 1979), 177–88, esp. 184–85.

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rhetoric that Paul is using to persuade the Corinthians to change their values regarding several issues. Debating with Wuellner, Elisabeth Schüssler Fiorenza argues that 1 Corinthians is deliberative with some judicial passages. It is an appeal for unity (1:10) regarding a variety of issues (chs. 5–14) with some judicial apology (chs. 1–4).46 Michael Bünker analyzes 1:10–4:21 and ch. 15, claiming that these sections are judicial rhetoric aimed at the Corinthians who are well-educated and therefore of high status in hopes of changing their beliefs.47 Using rhetorical handbooks as well as actual deliberative speeches and letters for comparison, Margaret Mitchell identifies 1 Corinthians as deliberative rhetoric based on its future time frame; appeal to advantage; use of example, especially in calls to imitation; and the use of the topics of factionalism and concord common in deliberative rhetoric of the imperial period to reunite divided groups. With this arsenal Paul appeals to the Corinthians to forsake factionalism and be in concord (1:10).48 Anders Eriksson concurs that 1 Corinthians is primarily deliberative rhetoric, especially in light of its appeal to advantage. He adds that it also contains elements of judicial and epideictic rhetoric (e.g., the encomium of ch. 13).49 J. F. M. Smit has written several articles on 1 Corinthians. He designates 8:1–6 as a partitio for a deliberative discourse on meat offered to idols that comprises 8:1–11:1. This discourse proposes policy to be followed with regard to idol meat. Paul seeks to persuade and dissuade such eating using topics of loss/profit and danger/safety with argumentation drawn from his own example.50 In another study Smit argues that 1 Corinthians 12 is deliberative rhetoric aimed at persuading the Corinthians that charismata (“spiritual gifts”) are subservient to the ministries of the church. The chapter contains an insinuatio that the tongue-speakers should acquiesce to Paul’s authority as an apostle.51 In two other studies Smit identifies 1 Corinthians 12:21–13:13 as epideictic rhetoric. It is a depreciatory speech that Paul uses to devalue the charismata in order to counter the Corinthians’ obsession with and misuse of them. The style of the passage, as well is its use of topics and comparison as a strategy, is a characteristic of epideictic rhetoric.52 These studies show that we can expect to find a blend of the species of rhetoric

46. Elisabeth Schüssler Fiorenza, “Rhetorical Situation and Historical Reconstruction in 1 Corinthians,” NTS 33 (1987): 390–93. 47. M. Bünker, Briefformular und rhetorische Disposition im 1. Korintherbrief, GTA 28 (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1983), 48–76. 48. Margaret Mitchell, Paul and the Rhetoric of Reconciliation: An Exegetical Investigation of the Language and Composition of 1 Corinthians (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck; Louisville: Westminster John Knox, 1991), 20–64. 49. Anders Eriksson, Traditions as Rhetorical Proof: Pauline Argumentation in 1 Corinthians, ConBNT 29 (Stockholm: Almqvist & Wiksell, 1998), 68–69, 146–47, 178, 208, 244–45. 50. J. F. M. Smit, “1 Cor 8,1–6: A Rhetorical Partitio: A Contribution to the Coherence of 1 Cor 8,1–11,1,” in The Corinthian Correspondence, ed. R. Bieringer (Leuven: Leuven University Press, 1996), 577–91, esp. 589. 51. J. F. M. Smit, “De rangorde in de kerk: Retorische analyse van 1 Kor. 12,” TvT 29 (1989): 325–43. 52. J. F. M. Smit, “The Genre of 1 Corinthians 13 in the Light of Classical Rhetoric,” NovT 33 (1991): 193–216; “Two Puzzles: 1 Corinthians 12.31 and 13.3: A Rhetorical Solution,” NTS 39 (1993): 246–64, esp. 246.

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within a rhetorical work, with one typically predominating. Deliberative rhetoric predominates in 1 Corinthians, but epideictic and judicial rhetoric lend their support.

2.5. 2 Corinthians The apparently composite nature of 2 Corinthians complicates the discussion of its rhetorical species. How letters are delineated within the epistle, and within the broader relationship between Paul and the Corinthians, determines how portions are identified rhetorically. Frank Hughes argues that the rhetorical coherence of 1:1–2:13 and 7:5–8:24 makes the reconstruction of a letter of reconciliation from these sections plausible. Although using the topics common to letters of consolation (epideictic), Paul’s appeal to honor and advantage classifies this letter fragment as deliberative.53 Hans Dieter Betz analyzes 2 Corinthians 8 and 9 as separate letters about the collection for Jerusalem and compares them to administrative correspondence from the Hellenistic period. He argues that ch. 8 is a mixed letter, being both advisory and deliberative (vv. 1–15) and administrative and judicial (vv. 16–23). Chapter 9 is a deliberative letter to the Christians of Achaia, urging them to complete the collection and to perceive it in spiritual terms.54 Kieran O’Mahony argues that there are some elements of judicial and epideictic rhetoric in 2 Corinthians 8–9, but it is primarily deliberative rhetoric. This is indicated by its use of examples and comparison of examples in argumentation, as well as the topics of what is advantageous and harmful.55 Much of the rhetorical analysis of 2 Corinthians centers on Paul’s boasting and irony in chs. 10–13, and the consensus is that it is primarily deliberative rhetoric with elements of judicial rhetoric in a supporting role. Mario DiCicco classifies 2 Corinthians 10–13 as deliberative rhetoric. Paul is exhorting the Corinthians to what is expedient and advantageous in regard to false wisdom and false allegiance.56 Working closely with stasis theory, Brian K. Peterson argues that 2 Corinthians 10–13 is primarily deliberative rhetoric, but Paul switches in 11:1–12:18 to judicial rhetoric to defend his apostleship.57 Most recently Fred Long provides a detailed study of 2 Corinthians as judicial rhetoric. He argues that the letter is a unified apology created by Paul to answer charges leveled against him by opponents and is constructed using the topics, argumentation, and strategies of judicial rhetoric.58 53. Frank Hughes, “Rhetorical Criticism and the Corinthian Correspondence,” in The Rhetorical Analysis of Scripture: Essays from the 1995 London Conference, ed. Stanley E. Porter and Thomas H. Olbricht, JSNTSup 146 (Shefflield: Sheffield Academic, 1997), 336–50. 54. Hans Dieter Betz, 2 Corinthians 8 and 9: A Commentary on Two Administrative Letters of the Apostle Paul, ed. George W. MacRae, Hermeneia (Philadelphia: Fortress, 1985), 129–40. 55. Kieran O’Mahoney, Pauline Persuasion: A Sounding in 2 Corinthians 8–9, JSNTSup 199 (Sheffield: Sheffield Academic, 2000), 145–47. 56. Mario DiCicco, Paul’s Use of Ethos, Pathos, and Logos in 2 Corinthians 10–13, Mellen Biblical Press Series 31 (Lewiston, N.Y.: Mellen Biblical, 1995), 267. 57. Brian K. Peterson, Eloquence and the Proclamation of the Gospel in Corinth, SBLDS 163 (Atlanta: Scholars Press, 1998), 162–63. 58. Fred Long, Ancient Rhetoric and Paul’s Apology: The Compositional Unity of 2 Corinthians, SNTSMS 131 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2004).

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2.6. Romans There is considerable debate about the literary, epistolary, and rhetorical classification of Romans.59 George Kennedy argues that Romans is epideictic. With the epistle Paul introduces himself and his gospel to the Romans while anticipating objections to his gospel.60 Wilhelm Wuellner also identifies Romans as epideictic. He states that the function of Romans is determined not by debating its literary genre but by examining its rhetorical argumentation. Paul is calling the Romans to affirm their shared values as the agents of faith in the world. Romans is thus non-missionary (deliberative) in intention. 61 Building on Wuellner, Robert Jewett agrees that Romans is epideictic rhetoric, but he defines it more specifically as an ambassadorial letter. He looks to the ambassadorial speech, a subtype of epideictic rhetoric, and the diplomatic letter that Pseudo-Libanius includes in his listing of the types of letters.62 Paul as an ambassador for God (an apostle) writes Romans to unify competing Roman house churches so that they could cooperate in his Spanish mission, a purpose intimated in 1:9–15 and made explicit in 15:22–24.63 There is danger here of relying too heavily on genre classifications of ancient works (which are not highly nuanced) as well as moving from classifications of speeches to classifications of epistles. Genre classifications in antiquity were abstractions from actual practice, which was far more diverse. Letter genres had a long history in which types of letters were not carefully distinguished and in which the style appropriate to each type of letter was the focus. Speeches and letters were constructed for use in different cultural locations. David Aune argues that, in its original context and delivery, Romans would function as epideictic rhetoric. Paul is presenting his gospel to those already convinced of the truth of the gospel. However, the literary form of Romans is deliberative rhetoric. Romans 1:16–15:13 is a logos protreptikos, a speech of exhortation, placed in an epistolary framework. The logos protreptikos is a deliberative speech commonly found in the Hellenistic philosophical schools. It is intended to win converts to a particular way of life by demonstrating the truth of the way being advocated and the error of other ways. In subsequent use beyond its original context Romans is deliberative rhetoric seeking to persuade the minds of the unconverted to the truth of Christianity.64 This illustrates well that the roles of rhetorical forms can 59. For an overview of the discussion, see Christopher Bryan, A Preface to Romans: Notes on the Epistle in Its Literary and Cultural Setting (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2000), 18–29. 60. Kennedy, New Testament Interpretation, 152. 61. Wilhelm Wuellner, “Paul’s Rhetoric of Argumentation in Romans: An Alternative to the Donfried–Karris Debate over Romans,” CBQ 38 (1976): 330–51, esp. 337; repr. in The Romans Debate, ed. Karl P. Donfried, rev. ed. (Peabody, Mass.: Hendrickson, 1991), 128–46. 62. Pseudo-Libanius §§29, 76, as cited by A. J. Malherbe, Ancient Epistolary Theorists, SBLSBS 19 (Atlanta: Scholars Press, 1988), 71, 79. 63. Robert Jewett, “Romans as an Ambassadorial Letter,” Int 36 (1982): 5–20; idem, Romans: A Commentary, ed. Eldon Jay Epp, Hermeneia (Minneapolis: Fortress, 2007), 42–46. 64. David Aune, The New Testament in Its Literary Environment, Library of Early Christianity (Philadelphia: Westminster, 1987), 219–21; idem, “Romans as a Logos Protreptikos in the Context of Ancient Religious and Philosophical Propaganda,” in Paulus und das antike Judentum, ed. Martin Hengel

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vary within the confines of a larger rhetorical strategy and different rhetorical situations. Anthony Guerra builds on the identification of Romans as a logos protreptikos, refining that identification and noting that this genre contains elements of all three species of rhetoric.65 Christopher Bryan makes the point that the logos protreptikos and the diatribe, as educational tools, have a persuasive and dissuasive intent, that is, are deliberative.66 Yet not all scholars agree that Romans is epideictic or deliberative rhetoric. François Vouga argues that Romans is judicial rhetoric. It is Paul’s apologetic for his apostolate and gospel and is structured with diatribal elements.67 Jean-Noël Aletti understands 1:18–3:20 as a unified section of judicial rhetoric in which Paul dismisses objections to his claim that God’s eternal retribution does not favor the Jews but will be meted out equally to Jews and Greeks alike.68 There are still those who do not assign Romans to any of the three rhetorical species. Neil Elliott examines Paul’s use of rhetoric in Romans (especially chs. 1–4) to address the issue of its double character: dialogue with Judaism directed to a Gentile Christian audience. However, he does not discuss rhetorical species, noting the problem of aligning parenesis with classical rhetorical genres.69 Parenesis is a combination of deliberative and epideictic rhetoric and is at home in works classified as either. Ira Jolivet proposes that because topics typical of all three species of rhetoric are woven into Paul’s argumentation in Romans, the epistle cannot be classified as any of the three. Rather Romans is to be considered a type of ancient speech with the primary argument being from the letter and intent of the Law. Paul champions the intent of the Law—justification—over the letter of the Law—Torah obedience.70 Thomas Tobin provides an extensive examination of the rhetoric of Romans. He considers the center section of Romans, 1:16–11:36, to be best classified as a diatribe. However, he does not classify Romans by rhetorical species, focusing instead on the subspecies of diatribe and identifying the conventions and expectations shared by Romans and the diatribe.71

and Ulrich Heckel, WUNT 58 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1991), 91–121; abbreviated version in Donfried, Romans Debate, 278–96. See also K. Berger, Formgeschichte des Neuen Testaments (Heidelberg: Quelle & Meyer, 1984), 217–18. 65. Anthony Guerra, Romans and the Apologetic Tradition: The Purpose, Genre and Audience of Paul’s Letter, SNTSMS 81 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1995), 1–22, esp. 4. 66. Bryan, Preface to Romans, 21–28. 67. François Vouga, “Römer 1, 18–3, 20 als narratio,” TGl 77 (1987): 225–36; idem, “Romains 1,18–3,20 comme narratio,” in La Narration. Quand le récit devient communication, ed. P. Bühler and J.-F. Habermacher, Lieux Théologiques 12 (Geneva: Labor et Fides, 1988), 145–61. 68. Jean-Noël Aletti, “Rm 1,18–3,20: Incohérence ou cohérence de l’argumentation paulinienne?” Bib 69 (1988): 47–62. 69. Neil Elliott, The Rhetoric of Romans: Argumentative Constraint and Strategy and Paul’s Dialogue with Judaism, JSNTSup 45 (Sheffield: JSOT Press, 1990), 64. 70. Ira Jolivet, “An Argument from the Letter and Intent of the Law as the Primary Argumentative Strategy in Romans,” in Porter and Olbricht, Rhetorical Analysis of Scripture 309–35, esp. 310–11. 71. Thomas Tobin, Paul’s Rhetoric in Its Contexts: The Argument of Romans (Peabody, Mass.; Hendrickson, 2004), 88–98.

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2.7. Galatians The earnest reintroduction of rhetorical criticism of the Pauline epistles is attributed to Hans Dieter Betz’s work on Galatians, both in articles and in his commentary in the Hermeneia series.72 He classified Galatians as an “apologetic letter,” a synthesis between a literary epistle and an apologetic speech using judicial rhetoric. Paul assumes the role of the defendant; his opponents are the accusers; and the Galatians constitute the jury. The arrangement of the epistle is delineated within the rhetorical strategy of a judicial speech: epistolary prescript (1:1–5), exordium (1:6–11), narratio (1:12–2:14), propositio (2:15–21), probatio (3:1–4:31), exhortatio (5:1–6:10), and epistolary postscript or conclusio (6:11–18). The main reason Paul writes is found in the propositio—to defend his gospel based on faith. Betz’s classification of Galatians as judicial rhetoric has received some support, and his work was refined with that classification in mind. Bernard Brinsmead reclassifies 5:1–6:10 as refutatio rather than exhortatio and argues that this section is aimed at destroying arguments of the opponents. Overall Galatians is an apology against an apocalyptic and sectarian Judaism.73 James Hester refines the narratio as 1:15–2:14, most notably labeling 1:11–12 as the stasis.74 The stasis is one of quality: opponents have claimed that Paul’s gospel was inferior because it came from secondhand instruction of the Jerusalem church rather than firsthand personal experience. Paul counters that his gospel has quality because it came by revelation.75 Troy Martin also determines that the stasis of the argumentation in Galatians is quality and that the epistle as a controversiae, an issue that can be argued in a court of law. It is judicial rhetoric, a pretrial letter written to an offending party to summon it back to an original agreement. It is written in part in the prophetic tradition of the rîb (or controversy) discourse in which the prophets called Israel back to the stipulations of covenant.76 Although a pioneering work, Betz’s analysis failed to persuade many New Testament scholars. He offered no example of an apologetic letter for comparison and genre analysis. It was argued that, while the identification of chs. 1–2 as judicial rhetoric seems appropriate, it is forced for chs. 3–6. Because epistles address the multifaceted

72. Hans Dieter Betz, “The Literary Composition and Function of Paul’s Letter to the Galatians,” NTS 21 (1975): 353–79; repr. in The Galatians Debate: Contemporary Issues in Rhetorical and Historical Interpretation, ed. Mark D. Nanos (Peabody, Mass.: Hendrickson, 2002), 3–28; idem, “In Defense of the Spirit: Paul’s Letter to the Galatians as a Document of Early Christian Apologetics,” in Aspects of Religious Propaganda in Judaism and Early Christianity, ed. Elisabeth Schüssler Fiorenza (Notre Dame, Ind.: University of Notre Dame Press, 1976), 99–114; idem, Galatians: A Commentary on Paul’s Letter to the Churches in Galatia, Hermeneia (Philadelphia: Fortress, 1979), esp. 14–25. 73. Hans Dieter Betz, Galatians—Dialogical Response to Opponents, SBLDS 65 (Chico, Calif.: Scholars Press, 1982), 37–55. 74. For a more extended treatment of stasis, see the article by Troy W. Martin, in this volume. 75. James Hester, “The Rhetorical Structure of Galatians 1.11–2.14,” JBL 103 (1984): 223–33. Hester also accepts the judicial classification of Galatians in “The Use and Influence of Rhetoric in Galatians 2:1–14,” TZ 42 (1986): 386–400. 76. Troy Martin, “Apostasy to Paganism: The Rhetorical Stasis of the Galatian Controversy,” JBL 114 (1995): 437–61; repr. in Nanos, The Galatians Debate, 73–94.

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relationship between sender and addressee, the type of rhetoric often varies within a single epistle. While containing some judicial rhetoric, Galatians overall is deliberative rhetoric that seeks to persuade or dissuade an audience regarding a desired action or point of view. Further, exhortatio is not a recognized category of rhetorical arrangement and is better understood as part of a deliberative strategy.77 There is an emerging consensus that Galatians is best classified as deliberative rhetoric.78 This has considerable implications for our understanding of the arrangement of the letter and how it functions within the Galatian house churches. If the letter is deliberative rhetoric, Paul is not defending himself against accusations of opponents, but seeking to dissuade the Galatians from turning away from the gospel of grace to another gospel. Kennedy was one of the first to challenge Betz’s classification of Galatians. He argued that Paul is preaching the gospel, not defending himself against charges directed against him. Paul’s use of narrative in chs. 1–2 is not a part of judicial rhetoric’s need to establish the facts of the case and refute charges, but supports his claim that the gospel he preached is from God rather than a human gospel (1:11). The exhortation of 5:1–6:10, with its purpose to sway an audience, strongly suggests deliberative rhetoric.79 Robert Hall also reclassifies Galatians as deliberative rhetoric. He argues that Paul is not defending himself against the accusations of opponents, as in judicial rhetoric, but persuading the Galatians to adhere to his gospel rather than the gospel of the opponents, as in deliberative rhetoric. The main reason Paul deliberates is given in the proposition of 1:6–9, where he urges the Corinthians to adhere to the gospel he preached, for there is no other.80 Hall’s reclassification of Galatians also better explains 3:1–6:18, where Paul does not defend past actions, as expected in judicial rhetoric, but lays down future actions he wants the Galatians to take, as expected in deliberative rhetoric. Paul uses the deliberative topic of what is advantageous to the Galatians’ Christian lives, not the judicial topic of what is just. The deliberative classification also better explains the exhortation of 5:1–6:10 which does not fit the judicial classification. Rather it is part of an appeal integral to the probatio of deliberative rhetoric that seeks to persuade an audience to take a particular course of action. Even Paul’s narration of past events and defensive posture in chs. 1–2 do not present facts of a case, as in judicial rhetoric, but seek to reestablish his credibility (ethos) and the credibility of his gospel, increasing the likelihood that the Galatians will adhere to that gospel. Joop Smit likewise classifies Galatians as deliberative rhetoric and outlines it accordingly. Smit’s deliberative classification does not eliminate all the problems of the outline and purpose of Galatians, for he does not include the parenetic section of

77. For a useful survey of the classification of the species of Galatians, see D. François Tolmie, Persuading the Galatians, WUNT 190 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2005), 3–10. 78. For early, important short studies making this point, see François Vouga, “Zur rhetorischen Gattung des Galaterbriefes,” ZNW 79 (1988): 291–92; Benoît Standaert, “Le rhétorique antique et l’Épître aux Galates,” FoiVie 84/5 (1985): 33–40. 79. Kennedy, New Testament Interpretation, 144–52. 80. Robert Hall, “The Rhetorical Outline for Galatians: A Reconsideration,” JBL 106 (1987): 277–87; repr. in Nanos, Galatians Debate, 29–38.

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5:13–6:10 and instead identifies it as a textual addition.81 Smit’s study is a good illustration that finding the overall rhetorical species of a Pauline letter does not mean that the arrangement will conform entirely to the species. G. Walter Hansen classifies Galatians as a mixed rebuke-request letter and divides the letter into rebuke that uses judicial rhetoric (1:6–4:11) and request that uses deliberative rhetoric (4:12–6:10).82 His work recognizes that deliberative and judicial rhetoric can work together in a letter and that epistolary analysis can give clues to the type of rhetoric in play in a letter and its overall rhetorical species. Johannes Schoon-Janssen also recognizes Galatians to be deliberative with an apologetic intent. It is a mixture of judicial and deliberative rhetoric with the latter predominating.83 There are exceptions to classifying Galatians as deliberative rhetoric. James Hester argues that Galatians 1–2 in particular, and Galatians as a whole, are epideictic rhetoric, thus reversing his earlier conclusion that it was judicial. The narrative in 1:13–2:21 is a self-referent encomium in which Paul holds himself up as a model of the character of the gospel he preached and wants the Galatians to retain.84 In another article Hester builds on the observations of Dale Sullivan and Christian Anible, among others, to argue that Galatians 1–2 is epideictic. However, this time he does so based on observing a constellation of epideictic forms that the text is using and epideictic functions it is performing. He sees Paul creating a persona that reasserts his authority and reflects the values of the community addressed—both functions of epideictic rhetoric.85 Still others do not want to classify Galatians by the three species of rhetoric at all. Mark Nanos argues that Galatians “does not seem to represent a formal example of any of the three classical species of oration, nor have the situations for which this letter was invented been to date clarified by these approaches.”86 He argues that Galatians is an ironic rebuke, which is a strategy to call the Galatians to adhere to

81. Joop Smit, “The Letter of Paul to the Galatians: A Deliberative Speech,” NTS 35 (1989): 1–26; repr. in Nanos, Galatians Debate, 39–59. 82. G. Walter Hansen, Abraham in Galatians: Epistolary and Rhetorical Contexts, JSNTSup 29 (Sheffield: JSOT Press, 1989), 21–71. 83. Johannes Schoon-Janssen, Umstrittene “Apologien” in den Paulusbriefen: Studien zur rhetorischen Situation des 1.Thessalonicherbriefes, des Galaterbriefes und des Philipperbriefes, GTA 45 (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1991), 70–82. 84. James Hester, “Placing the Blame: The Presence of Epideictic in Galatians 1 and 2,” in Watson, Persuasive Artistry, 281–307. Dale Sullivan and Christian Anible (“The Epideictic Dimension of Galatians as Formative Rhetoric: The Inscription of Early Christian Community,” Rhetorica 18 [2000]: 117–45) also identify Galatians as epideictic rhetoric, but do so by using conceptualizations of the epideictic genre drawn from modern rhetorical and literary theory. This theory understands epideictic rhetoric as creating and sustaining values by addressing issues of legitimacy, inclusion, exclusion, and virtue. Paul has an epideictic strategy that establishes his legitimacy and authority, constructs an orthodox doctrine, creates a sense of community, protects the purity of the community, and encourages lives lived in consistency with orthodoxy. Here modern rhetoric, built on the foundation of ancient rhetoric, reaches a similar classification of Galatians. 85. Hester, “Epideictic Rhetoric and Persona in Galatians 1 and 2,” in Nanos, Galatians Debate, 181–96. 86. Mark Nanos, The Irony of Galatians: Paul’s Letter in First-Century Context (Minneapolis: Fortress, 2002), 16, 323–31.

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the values they already embraced in the light of rival values. In this sense the letter functions like epideictic rhetoric.87 To round out the discussion, Philip Kern argues that Galatians does not conform to any of the three species and should be analyzed by the species as reconceptualized in the New Rhetoric.88

3. Issues to Consider When Classifying the Pauline Epistles according to Rhetorical Species I have briefly surveyed the state of the art in classifying the undisputed Pauline epistles according to rhetorical species. This survey raises many questions about the rhetorical classification of the Pauline epistles. Analysis of this classification is usually given in very brief portions of studies, often being only a paragraph to a couple of pages in length. Here I would like to gather these scattered and valuable insights together. I hope to emphasize that it is important to view Paul’s epistles in light of several influences: the history of interpretation; the role of parenesis; epistolary and rhetorical theory and their relationship; the limitation of the three species classification of rhetoric; the newness of Christianity, the content of the gospel, and the creation of a new genre; and Paul, his audiences, and his rhetorical situations.

3.1. The Influence of the History of Interpretation Often the history of interpretation directs the classification of the rhetorical species of a Pauline epistle more than a detailed rhetorical analysis. This problem arises from our distance from the original historical situation— a situation that we know very little about and must of necessity always reconstruct in our interpretation. In relation to the situation that a rhetor faced, Aristotle wrote, “First of all, then, it must be understood that, in regard to the subject of our speech or reasoning, whether it be political or of any other kind, it is necessary to be also acquainted with the elements of the question, either entirely or in part; for if you know none of these things, you will have nothing from which to draw a conclusion” (Rhet. 2.22.1396a.4). Having cited this passage from Aristotle, Olbricht cautions that “it is questionable whether experts in rhetoric can make perceptive observations about a discourse, the content and context of which they know little or nothing.”89 It is true that we know little about any of Paul’s exigencies or the reasons for his rhetorical responses. We are prone to create that exigence from the historical situation that has to be constructed from both the text and our general knowledge of the Greco-Roman world. Classifying the species of Paul’s rhetoric is often built on this prior construction of the historical situation.

87. Ibid., 330–31. 88. Philip Kern, Rhetoric and Galatians: Assessing an Approach to Paul’s Epistle, SNTSMS 101 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1998) 120–66. 89. Olbricht, “Aristotelian Rhetorical Analysis of 1 Thessalonians,” 224.

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This problem is exacerbated by the fact that a text gives us immediate access to the rhetorical situation, not the historical situation. The text is written according to what a rhetor like Paul believed was the situation that needed to be addressed. The rhetorical situation typically shares elements with the historical situation, but is not identical to it. Identification of the species of Paul’s rhetoric in any given epistle or portion of an epistle should be grounded in the rhetorical situation indicated by the text first, and only then should the historical situation enter interpretation. Paul knew the situation he addressed—and even his knowledge of it might be skewed by his sources or by his predispositions. It is through the rhetorical strategy of his letters that we gain a glimpse of the rhetorical situations of his epistles and from which we can hope to recreate both the rhetorical and historical situations to account for all the evidence presented inside and outside the texts.90 Like any other method of biblical criticism, rhetorical criticism needs to be on guard against personal bias created by the history of interpretation until the rhetoric is examined in detail on its own merits.

3.2. The Rhetorical Role of Parenesis Parenesis (that is, exhortation with a broad-ranging application), so central to Paul’s epistles, has often been given too much emphasis in determining the rhetorical species of his epistles. The presence of parenesis does not by itself determine an epistle’s rhetorical species, whether deliberative or epideictic. Many types of letters contain exhortation, and in turn exhortation was only marginally related to rhetorical theory.91 Parenesis is a combination of deliberative and epideictic rhetoric and may be incorporated into epideictic or deliberative works.92 It is not easily classified by rhetorical species.93 This explains why scholars can look at letters like Romans and 1 Thessalonians and classify them as epideictic or deliberative rhetoric based on the presence of parenesis. Whether a Pauline epistle is deliberative or epideictic rhetoric depends on the epistle as a whole. Parenesis, with its more universal application, can be molded to meet the more specific rhetorical situation of that epistle and serve its overall

90. Duane F. Watson, “The Contributions and Limitations of Greco-Roman Rhetorical Theory for Constructing the Rhetorical and Historical Situations of a Pauline Epistle,” in The Rhetorical Interpretation of Scripture: Essays form the 1996 Malibu Conference, ed. Stanley E. Porter and Dennis L. Stamps, JSNTSup 180 (Sheffield: Sheffield Academic, 1999), 125–51. For related discussion, see Schüssler Fiorenza, “Rhetorical Situation and Historical Reconstruction in 1 Corinthians,” 386–403; eadem, “The Rhetoricity of Historical Knowledge: Pauline Discourse and Its Contextualizations,” in Religious Propaganda and Missionary Competition in the New Testament World: Essays Honoring Dieter Georgi, ed. Lukas Bormann, K. Del Tredici, and Angela Standhartinger (Leiden: Brill, 1994), 443–70; repr. in Elisabeth Schüssler Fiorenza, Rhetoric and Ethic, 129–48. 91. Stanley K. Stowers, Letter Writing in Greco-Roman Antiquity, Library of Early Christianity (Philadelphia: Westminster, 1986), 52. 92. Theodore Burgess, Epideictic Literature (New York: Garland, 1987), 112, 228–34. 93. Mitchell, Paul and the Rhetoric of Reconciliation, 50–53; Aune, New Testament in Its Literary Environment, 191.

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species.94 As Charles Wanamaker points out, “paraenesis may either be directed to confirming people in their present form of behavior, the function of demonstrative rhetoric in parenetic contexts, or to altering people’s behavior, the function of deliberative rhetoric in parenetic contexts.”95 In classifying an epistle we need to look at all its rhetorical characteristics and how parenesis functions within it, but not let the presence of parenesis alone determine our classification of species.96

3.3. The Relationship of Epistolary and Rhetorical Theory Owing to similar communication needs within ancient culture, many epistles have functional parallels to the three species of rhetoric. To some degree ancient epistles can be classified according to the three species of rhetoric.97 Scholars often use epistolary classification to determine the rhetorical species of a Pauline epistle. For example, an apologetic letter is judicial rhetoric, a parenetic letter is deliberative rhetoric, and a consolation letter is epideictic rhetoric. However, this is a very precarious practice owing to the nature of epistolary theory and the relationship between epistolary and rhetorical theory.98 Epistolary theory is mainly found in epistolary handbooks.99 These provide classifications or types of letters that are abstractions from letters addressed to real-life situations. However, these situations may require a complicated rhetorical strategy and may make the classification of a letter difficult. Most ancient letters were mixed types performing a variety of rhetorical functions, and this is true of New Testament letters as well. “Most early Christian letters are multifunctional and have a ‘mixed’ character, combining elements from two or more epistolary types.”100 Because a letter may have numerous rhetorical functions, any effort to assign a letter an epistolary classification does not necessarily determine its rhetorical species. For example, depending on the rhetorical situation, a parenetic letter can function to affirm and confirm people in their current behavior and be epideictic rhetoric, or it can persuade them to adopt another form of behavior and be deliberative rhetoric.101 Thus, epistolary classification is of only limited help in establishing the rhetorical species of a letter. In antiquity, epistolary theory and rhetorical theory developed independently and were not integrated. Although Stanley Stowers classifies ancient letters according to the three rhetorical species, he admits that the classification only partially 94. Mitchell, Paul and the Rhetoric of Reconciliation, 52–53. 95. Wanamaker, Commentary on 1 & 2 Thessalonians, 48. 96. Steve Walton, “What Has Aristotle to Do with Paul? Rhetorical Criticism and 1 Thessalonians,” TynBul 46 (1995): 249–50. 97. Stowers, Letter Writing in Antiquity, 51–52; Aune, New Testament in Its Literary Environment, 203–4. 98. For a helpful discussion of the relationship between epistles and rhetoric, see Jeffrey T. Reed, “The Epistle,” in Porter, Handbook of Classical Rhetoric in the Hellenistic Period 330 b.c.–a.d. 400, 171–93. 99. For ancient epistolary handbooks in translation, see Malherbe, Ancient Epistolary Theorists. 100. Aune, New Testament in Its Literary Environment, 203. 101. Wanamaker, Commentary on 1 & 2 Thessalonians, 46–47.

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works because of this lack of integration.102 Rhetorical theory concerns itself with speeches in the public domain—the judicial speeches of the courtroom, the deliberative speeches of the public assembly, and the epideictic speeches of ceremonial occasions. Rhetorical handbooks rarely discuss the rhetoric of epistles and certainly do not provide a systematic treatment of how to write a rhetorical letter. Epistolary handbooks do not discuss the rhetoric of letters, but instead classify letters by function and the style appropriate to that function. Rhetorical and epistolary concerns ostensibly were not integrated until the fourth and fifth centuries c.e.103 More specifically in regard to rhetorical species, rhetorical handbooks discussed the three species primarily in relation to oral speech, not written works, and in relation to social situations that are not addressed by letters.104 Thus, it is expected that speeches and letters will differ in matters of invention, arrangement, and style. For example, while epistolary theory discusses the selection of topics in relation to the type of letter, rhetorical theory discusses the selection of topics in relation to the needs of argumentation. While epistles utilize ethos and pathos almost exclusively, speeches rely frequently on logos.105

3.4. The Limitations of the Three-Species Classification of Rhetoric Trying to assign one of Paul’s epistles rigidly to a particular rhetorical species is a venture fraught with pitfalls. How rhetorical species work in a Pauline epistle depends on the nature and complexity of the rhetorical situation addressed. Because epistles address the multifaceted relationship between sender and addressees, the type of rhetoric often varies within a single letter. One species may predominate if the situation has a single or few facets (e.g., Philemon). Or the species may vary from one section to another if the situation has many facets (e.g., 1 Corinthians). Paul’s epistles are typically not a single rhetorical species, but rather a mix of species. This is partly due to the complexity of the situations he addresses and his own creativity as a skilled rhetorician. This complexity of identifying the rhetorical species of a Pauline epistle is especially true in longer epistles which address multiple exigencies, address different portions of the audience at different junctures, and use sophisticated figures like irony and ambiguity that can serve several purposes simultaneously. A more foundational problem in the rhetorical classification of the Pauline epistles is the presupposition articulated by Kennedy that pervaded early rhetorical analysis of Paul’s epistles—these three species of rhetoric as articulated by Aristotle are “applicable to all discourse.”106 However, Aristotle’s classifications are an abstraction from speeches

102. Stowers, Letter Writing in Antiquity, 51–57, esp. 52. 103. Malherbe, Ancient Epistolary Theorists, 2–6. 104. Hughes, Early Christian Rhetoric and 2 Thessalonians, 28–29; R. Dean Anderson, Jr., Ancient Rhetorical Theory and Paul, rev. ed., CBET18 (Leuven: Peeters, 1999), 109–27. 105. Jeffrey T. Reed, “Using Ancient Rhetorical Categories to Interpret Paul’s Letters: A Question of Genre,” in Porter and Olbricht, Rhetoric and the New Testament: Essays from the 1992 Heidelberg Conference, 297–304. 106. Kennedy, New Testament Interpretation, 19.

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in the courtroom, political forum, and civil ceremonies of his time. The three species are historically conditioned, not comprehensive, and certainly not universal. In fact, they were not very well nuanced at all in the rhetorical handbooks. Judicial rhetoric was the more carefully nuanced because it was honed daily in the practice of the law courts. Epideictic and deliberative rhetoric were not carefully prescribed because they were treated as subsidiaries of judicial rhetoric to help make judicial arguments more persuasive or the audience more pliable. The epideictic species became a catchall category for whatever was not judicial and deliberative rhetoric, including everything from ceremonial speeches to a general’s summation of his success in battle. The rhetorical discourse produced by many particular persons within ancient Mediterranean culture may not be adequately classified by the three species. Religious discourse is one such example, especially a new religion seeking to define itself against other religions and the world at large with values at odds, even antithetical to that world! The rhetorical situations of early Christianity do not correspond to those assumed by the practitioners of the three species of rhetoric, and therefore species classification often fails.107 Johanson argues that Paul’s epistles cannot be classified using the three rhetorical species. “While forensic, deliberative and epideictic characteristics may appear more or less prominently in such discourse, depending on the particular exigence(s) occasioning Paul’s letters, it is doubtful whether any of them can be adequate generic categories strait [sic] across the board.”108 Further, each of Aristotle’s three species is not a “genre” in the sense of established rules for making oral or written discourse. He did not deduce genres from works. Rather he created them from the expectations that audiences bring to various situations. As Thomas Conley states, “it would probably be accurate to say that, in the Rhetoric, ‘genre’ is a function of the conditions of the reception of the work rather than anything distinctive of the work itself. It is not as much something constituted by a set of rules to be followed as it is a problem which is solved in a new way by each successful work.”109 New Testament scholars often treat rhetorical species as firm genres. They look to see how the characteristics of Paul’s epistles “fit” the features of the three rhetorical species. However, scholars can free themselves from rigid genre analysis by examining Paul’s rhetorical strategies on their own merits. They can work to determine just what his strategies imply about his perception of the expectations of the audiences addressed. Scholars can discover both where Paul conforms to the abstraction of rhetorical species and where he is creatively different.

3.5. The Newness of Christianity, the Gospel, and the Creation of a New Genre Three things are crucial for the discussion of the rhetorical species of Paul’s epistles: the uniqueness and multifaceted character of his rhetorical situations; the nature of 107. Burton L. Mack, Rhetoric and the New Testament, GBS (Minneapolis: Fortress, 1990), 35. 108. Johanson, To All the Brethren, 41. 109. Thomas Conley, “Ancient Rhetoric and Modern Genre Criticism,” Communication Quarterly 27 (1979): 47–48.

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the gospel; and his modification of existing genres, which resulted in the creation of a new genre. Paul is an apostle of a new gospel, an apostle who uses epistles to praise, guide, and correct his churches. He is interested in preaching, preserving, and applying his gospel and creating and strengthening new communities. By his own admission he overrode the concern for rhetorical convention for the sake of the preaching of the gospel without emptying its power (1 Cor 1:17). As Janet Fairweather has pointed out, while Paul does employ many features of classical rhetoric in his epistles, his conceptual framework and the bases of his argumentation are distinct and innovative. It is a Christ-based logic that diverges from pagan sophistic.110 Paul also uses what Kennedy calls “radical Christian rhetoric,” that is, rhetoric that proclaims something as true without supporting reasons.111 He does give supporting reasons sometimes, but they are his own distinctive reasons. Not only are the content and rhetorical setting of Paul’s epistles different from those prescribed for the rhetorical species, but so are the epistles themselves. Paul created a new genre that does not neatly fit classical categories. Paul is not writing a speech or a letter per se, but a speech in an epistolary form to be delivered orally by his co-workers. We expect Paul to utilize rhetoric within the epistles as he anticipates the situations addressed and the impact of the epistles when presented orally. His epistles need to be as persuasive as a speech. They do not strictly adhere to formal matters of rhetorical invention, arrangement, and style or epistolary form. As Malherbe writes, “while Paul did use rhetorical elements in his letters, they are generally not those of the handbooks, nor did he construct his letters in the way an orator like Cicero did his speeches.”112 As Helmut Koester notes, “when 1 Thessalonians was composed, no species or genre of the Christian letter existed, nor was there a pattern for the incorporation of particular sub-genres and forms, nor had the literary vocabulary and terminology for this type of writing been established.”113 The rhetorical species of Paul’s epistles conform to epistolary and rhetorical conventions only when they meet his rhetorical purposes. Otherwise he is creating something new.

3.6. Paul, His Audiences, and His Rhetorical Situations Paul is multicultural. He is a Jew who speaks Greek and travels among the Jews, Greeks, and Romans. As a Jew, Paul will use rhetorical forms and argumentation that are not typical of the handbooks and derive from his own Pharisaic background (e.g., midrash), and he will modify Greco-Roman rhetorical forms—all to meet the needs of his purposes with varied audiences. Jewish rhetorical ele110. Janet Fairweather, “The Epistle to the Galatians and Classical Rhetoric: Part 3,” TynBul 45 (1994): 213–43. 111. Kennedy, New Testament Interpretation, 7. 112. Malherbe, Letters to the Thessalonians, 96. 113. Helmut Koester, “1 Thessalonians—Experiment in Christian Writing,” in Continuity and Discontinuity in Church History: Essays Presented to George Huntston Williams, ed. F. Forrester Church and Timothy George (Leiden: Brill, 1979), 33.

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ments will have influence on invention and arrangement as Paul counters Jewish opponents and, like a good rhetorician, meets his opposition on their own turf.114 (The relationship of Paul’s rhetoric to Jewish rhetoric remains a neglected area of study.) Paul’s audiences are peculiar ethnic, social, and political mixes of people who did not necessarily mix so intimately before their conversion and formation into a community of faith. Some members of the audiences are Jewish and some are Gentile. Some are from the upper class and some from the lower. Some are loyal to him, some in opposition. Some have full and some have partial understanding of his gospel. These audiences present a complex exigence with many facets. Paul’s rhetorical situations are not as pure as those presumed in Greco-Roman handbooks. While a judicial speech may have only a single question such as, “Did this man murder his wife?,” Paul has to answer many questions in one letter, and some of these questions have more applicability to one part of his audience than another. As a good rhetorician Paul draws from his own experience and tailors his epistles to meet the specific needs of the audience addressed. His approach may call for the use of several rhetorical species in one epistle and unique modifications of them. Attempts to classify one or another of Paul’s letters as either judicial or deliberative or epideictic (or one of their subtypes) run the risk of imposing external categories on Paul and thereby obscuring the real purpose and structure of his letters. Paul in particular was both a creative and eclectic letter writer. The epistolary situations he faced were often more complex than the ordinary rhetorical situations faced by most rhetoricians.115 Paul creatively uses rhetoric to preach the gospel within the setting of a new faith community. There is some similarity with studied rhetoric of the handbooks because they are based on observation of the practice of rhetoric and so is Paul’s use of rhetoric. Yet Paul uses rhetoric creatively and moves in new directions. Adaptability and flexibility are the hallmarks of Pauline rhetoric. The recognition of this basic fact forces the rhetorical critic to align handbook apriora with Pauline praxis. There are profound discontinuities between the accounts of how rhetoric ought to be practiced and how Paul practices rhetoric. . . . As Paul sees it, rhetorical forms are adjusted to fit the persuasive context his letter(s) address. Thus the inventive and not the mimetic aspects of rhetoric are what interest him.116

114. A point well made by Richard N. Longenecker, Galatians, WBC 41 (Waco, Tex.; Word, 1990), cxii. 115. Aune, New Testament in Its Literary Environment, 203. 116. Robert M. Berchman, “Galatians (1:1–5): Paul and Greco-Roman Rhetoric,” in Judaic and Christian Interpretation of Texts, ed. Jacob Neusner and Ernest S. Frerichs, New Perspectives on Ancient Judaism 3 (Lanhan, Md.: University Press of America, 1987), 4; repr. in Nanos, Galatians Debate, 62.

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4. Suggestions for the Future Use of Rhetorical Species in Pauline Studies Determination of the rhetorical species of portions of a Pauline epistle and an epistle as a whole is an important enterprise. Rhetorical classification still provides some window on how Paul perceived the audience’s expectations within each rhetorical situation, and a window on the audience itself. Such classification must be done: (1) without unmindfully supporting favorite conclusions from the history of interpretation, (2) without overemphasizing the role of parenesis in genre classification; (3) without simplistically allowing epistolary analysis to determine rhetorical classification, (4) without forgetting that the three rhetorical species are historically conditioned and did not adequately classify all the rhetoric even of their own day, (5) while understanding that the proclamation of the gospel from a distance using an epistle required a complex combination of epistolary and rhetorical conventions, and (6) while acknowledging that Paul is a creative rhetorician addressing rhetorical situations more complex and from social locations different from those discussed for rhetorical species. I think these six pitfalls can be avoided if analysis of rhetorical species is made from a detailed examination of invention and arrangement, working from topics to broader rhetorical strategies. What types of topics are drawn into argumentation? In what species of rhetoric do these topics play a prominent role? This approach is advocated by Frank Hughes and demonstrated by Robert Berchman in his study of Galatians where topics and their affiliated species are identified.117 Are the topics of advantage and honor used, as in deliberative rhetoric, or the just and unjust, as in judicial? In what contexts do these topics function in rhetorical works of the period? What types of arguments utilize them? What species of rhetoric typically rely on these types of topics and arguments? What types of broader rhetorical strategies are created by the use of these topics and argumentation? In what sorts of literature are these broader strategies most commonly found? This approach is demonstrated by D. François Tolmie where the argumentative strategy of Galatians is the central focus.118 While not abandoning this useful tool of determining the rhetorical species of a Pauline epistle, perhaps we should begin to work with a new understanding of species of rhetoric. Literary genres were not carefully defined in antiquity; they overlapped and could be adapted to rhetorical needs—a move that shifted their function. Why not begin to take the implications of this seriously? Why not begin to develop the rhetorical species of “early Christian rhetoric” or “Pauline rhetoric”—a rhetoric that utilized existing species and rhetorical forms for the sake of preaching of the gospel,

117. Frank Hughes, “The Gospel and Its Rhetoric in Galatians,” in Gospel in Paul: Studies on Corinthians, Galatians and Romans for Richard N. Longenecker, ed. L. Ann Jervis and Peter Richardson, JSNTSup 108 (Sheffield: Sheffield Academic, 1994), 214; Berchman, “Galatians,” 1–15. 118. Tolmie, Persuading the Galatians.

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and establishing, maintaining, and defending a new community? As discussed above in relation to 1 Thessalonians, Olbricht suggests the species “church rhetoric.” Studies of Romans illustrate that linking a Pauline epistle to a particular rhetorical species is unwise and looking toward a Christian rhetoric may a better solution. Having shown the similarities between Romans and the logos protreptikos, Aune states, Although the main section of Romans is not precisely similar to other surviving examples of the logos protreptikos, that is not only because of the inherent flexibility of the genre, but also because Paul has Christianised it by adapting it as a means for persuading people of the truth of the gospel. Further, in Romans as in his other letters, Paul used and combined genres and forms in distinctive ways.119 If this is true, then why not begin to define Romans—and each of Paul’s other letters—as a rhetorical species unto itself, drawing attention to both its conformity with, and creative breaks from, the three standard rhetorical species?

119. Aune, “Romans as Logos Protreptikos,” 119.

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chapter 3

Invention and Arrangement in Recent Pauline Rhetorical Studies A Survey of the Practices and the Problems Troy W. Martin

1. Exordium I have been asked to survey the practices and problems of Pauline rhetorical critics investigating rhetorical invention and arrangement in Paul’s letters. Preparing such a report has forced me to exclaim along with the Apostle Paul, “Gevgona a[frwn” (“I have been a fool!” 2 Cor 12:11). Indeed, some may indict me on the charge of foolishness for attempting the formidable task of surveying the numerous rhetorical studies of Paul’s letters that have “increased exponentially” over the past thirty years.1 While grateful to prior surveys,2 the present survey finds justification not only

1. J. David Hester Amador, Academic Constraints in the Rhetorical Criticism of the New Testament: An Introduction to a Rhetoric of Power, JSNTSup 174 (Sheffield: Sheffield Academic, 1999), 16. 2. In particular, Duane F. Watson’s comprehensive bibliographies of Pauline rhetorical studies have provided much substance for my survey. See Duane F. Watson, “The New Testament and Greco-Roman Rhetoric: A Bibliography,” JETS 31 (1988): 465–72; idem, “The New Testament and Greco-Roman Rhetoric: A Bibliographical Update,” JETS 33 (1990): 513–24; idem and Alan J. Hauser, Rhetorical Criticism of the Bible: A Comprehensive Bibliography with Notes on History and Method, Biblical Interpretation Series 4 (Leiden: Brill, 1994), 178–202; and idem, The Rhetoric of the New Testament: A Bibliographic Survey, Tools for Biblical Study 8 (Blandford Forum: Deo, 2006), 121–72. Watson’s article “Rhetorical Criticism of the Pauline Epistles Since 1975,” CurBS 3 (1995): 219–48 not only set a precedent for such surveys but also described the state of Pauline rhetorical research until 1995. Stanley E. Porter’s extensive although still not exhaustive survey of Pauline rhetorical studies has also proven most helpful, as have several entries in David E. Aune’s rhetorical dictionary. See Stanley E. Porter, “Paul of Tarsus and His Letters,” in Handbook of Classical Rhetoric in the Hellenistic Period, 330 b.c.–a.d. 400, ed. Stanley E. Porter (Leiden: Brill, 1997), 533–85; and David E. Aune, The Westminster Dictionary of New Testament and Early Christian Literature and Rhetoric (Louisville: Westminster John Knox, 2003). For other helpful surveys, see Burton L. Mack,

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by updating the history of research to 2007 but also by focusing on invention and arrangement rather than trying to account for the entire sweep of Pauline rhetorical criticism, as others have done. This limited focus makes possible a more complete survey of studies that utilize rhetorical invention and arrangement in the investigation of Paul’s letters and perhaps somewhat minimizes the foolishness of engaging such a formidable task. Nevertheless, keeping foolishness within reasonable bounds requires some additional limitations. Following Stanley E. Porter’s precedent, this survey is limited to studies investigating the undisputed letters of Paul.3 Also following Porter’s lead, this survey is limited to studies that employ classical, “diachronic” Greco-Roman rhetoric and does not include studies that utilize modern, “synchronic,” universal rhetorical approaches.4 Such approaches arise from general communication theory and transcend culturally specific rhetorical systems.5 This limitation does not imply that studies using modern rhetorical theories such as the New Rhetoric of Chaim Perelman and Lucie Olbrechts-Tyteca or the socio-rhetorical criticism of Vernon Robbins are unimportant or irrelevant. Surveys of these significant directions in Pauline rhetorical criticism are greatly needed but for sanity’s sake lie outside the scope of the present survey. Invention and arrangement as categories of Greco-Roman rhetoric are historically conditioned and more specific than the broader categories of compositional structure and rhetorical argumentation, both of which would include subsequent approaches to rhetoric such as the New Rhetoric and socio-rhetorical criticism. Thus, the following survey describes the practices and problems of Pauline scholars using classical rhetoric to investigate the rhetorical arrangement and invention of Paul’s undisputed letters.

Rhetoric and the New Testament, GBS (Minneapolis: Fortress, 1990); George W. Hansen, “Rhetorical Criticism,” in Dictionary of Paul and His Letters, ed. Gerald F. Hawthorne and Ralph P. Martin (Downers Grove, IL: InterVarsity, 2003), 822–26; Bruce W. Winter, “Rhetoric,” in Hawthorne and Martin, Dictionary of Paul and His Letters, 820–22; Vernon K. Robbins, “From Heidelberg to Heidelberg: Rhetorical Interpretation of the Bible at the Seven ‘Pepperdine’ Conferences from 1992–2002,” in Rhetoric, Ethic, and Moral Persuasion in Biblical Discourse: Essays from the 2002 Heidelberg Conference, ed. Thomas H. Olbricht and Anders Eriksson, ESEC 11 (New York: T&T Clark, 2005), 335–77; Mark P. Surburg, “Ancient Rhetorical Criticism, Galatians, and Paul at Twenty-Five Years,” Concordia Journal 30 (2004): 13–39; D. Francois Tolmie, “The Rhetorical Analysis of the Letter to the Galatians: 1995–2005,” in Exploring New Rhetorical Approaches to Galatians: Papers Presented at an International Conference University of the Free State, Bloemfontein, March 13–14, 2006, ed. D. Francois Tolmie, Acta Theologica Supplementum 9 (Bloemfontein: Publications Office of the University of the Free State, 2007), 1–28; and idem, Persuading the Galatians: A Text-Centered Rhetorical Analysis of a Pauline Letter, WUNT 2.190 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2005), 1–23. 3. Porter, “Paul of Tarsus,” 538–39. 4. Ibid., 540. For the distinction between these two types of rhetoric, see Stanley E. Porter, “The Theoretical Justification for Application of Rhetorical Categories to Pauline Epistolary Literature,” in Rhetoric and the New Testament: Essays from the 1992 Heidelberg Conference, ed. Stanley E. Porter and Thomas H. Olbricht, JSNTSup 90 (Sheffield: Sheffield Academic, 1993), 106–7. 5. Lauri Thurén, “Romans 7 Derhetorized,” in Rhetorical Criticism and the Bible, ed. Stanley E. Porter and Dennis L. Stamps JSNTSup 195 (Sheffield: Sheffield Academic, 2002), 430. See the earlier version of this article “Rom 7 Avretoriserat,” SEÅ 64 (1999): 89–100.

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2. Narratio Over three decades have passed since Hans Dieter Betz’s influential lecture at the Twenty-ninth General Meeting of the Studiorum Novi Testamenti Societas at Sigtuna, Sweden. His lecture and subsequent article on the literary composition and function of Paul’s letter to the Galatians eventuated in his Hermeneia commentary on Galatians and created a renewed interest in the rhetorical analysis of Pauline letters.6 In almost every way, Betz anticipated the practices and the problems of rhetorical critics’ applying rhetorical criticism to Paul’s letters. Betz established three distinct foci in the subsequent application of rhetorical criticism. First, Betz’s identification of the genre of Galatians as one of the three species of ancient rhetoric induced successive studies to categorize Pauline epistles in either the judicial, deliberative, or epideictic rhetorical species. Second, Betz’s analysis of the structure of Galatians according to the rhetorical arrangement of an ancient speech disposed succeeding studies to engage in similar analyses. Third, Betz’s explanation of the argumentation of Galatians as rhetorical invention inclined subsequent studies to explain Paul’s argumentation by the ancient rhetorical recommendations for discovering and inventing arguments. For the past three decades, these three foci have dominated Pauline rhetorical criticism.7

3. Probatio/Argumentatio 3.1. Arrangement Wilhelm Wuellner described arrangement as “the ordering of the substance of what was accomplished in the process of eu{resi"/inventio for the purpose of serving the

6. Some mistakenly credited Betz with introducing rhetoric into Pauline studies, but rhetoric in Pauline studies definitely antedated Betz’s article, as numerous investigations have shown and even Betz himself makes clear. See Betz, Paulinische Studien: Gesammelte Aufsätze III (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1994), 126–62; repr. from H. D. Betz, “The Problem of Rhetoric and Theology according to the Apostle Paul,” in L’apôtre Paul: Personnalité, style et conception du ministère, ed. A. Vanhoye, BETL 73 (Leuven: Leuven University Press, 1986), 16–48. See also Carl Joachim Classen, “Paulus und die antike Rhetorik,” ZNW 82 (1991): 15–27 and idem, “St. Paul’s Epistles and Ancient Greek and Roman Rhetoric,” in The Galatians Debate: Contemporary Issues in Rhetorical and Historical Interpretation, ed. Mark D. Nanos (Peabody, Mass.: Hendrickson, 2002), 98–104; repr. from C. Joachim Classen, Rhetorical Criticism of the New Testament (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2000), 1–28. See an earlier version of this article in Rhetorica 10 (1992): 319–44 and in Porter and Olbricht, Rhetoric and the New Testament, 265–91. In addition, see Janet Fairweather, “The Epistle to the Galatians and Classical Rhetoric: Parts 1 & 2,” TynBul 45 (1994): 2–22. Wilhelm Wuellner (“Paul’s Rhetoric of Argumentation in Romans: An Alternative to the Donfried– Karris Debate over Romans,” in The Romans Debate: Revised and Expanded Edition, ed. Karl P. Donfried [Peabody, Mass: Hendrickson, 1995], 130–31), even described some possible rhetorical precursors to Betz in the Paul Seminar of the Society of Biblical Literature. 7. Robert Jewett (The Thessalonian Correspondence: Pauline Rhetoric and Millenarian Piety [Philadelphia: Fortress, 1986], 64) noted, “The tendency to construe rhetoric largely in terms of the invention and arrangement of the arguments .  .  . is characteristic of the important recent work of Hans Dieter Betz.”

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partiality/utilitas in the discourse’s aim.” He further stated that “arrangement is the necessary complement to eu{resi"/inventio with focus on arrangement of thoughts or ideas . . . in terms of the ‘parts of speech.’”8 Even though invention therefore preceded arrangement in the production of an ancient speech, the present survey treats arrangement first, for Pauline rhetorical critics initially concentrated on arrangement after Betz’s lecture and only later on invention.9 The three issues that have dominated the discussion of rhetorical arrangement in Pauline letters are the relation between the parts of speech and letter conventions, the criteria used to identify the parts of a speech, and the place of parenesis in rhetorical arrangement.10 3.1.1. The Debate: Rhetorical Arrangement vs. Epistolary Conventions At the beginning of his lecture, Betz stated, “In the process of my studies I also found that the letter of the Galatians can be analyzed according to Graeco-Roman rhetoric and epistolography.” Betz then explained, “The epistolary framework of the Galatian epistle can be easily recognized and separated from the ‘body’—in fact, it separates so easily that it appears almost as a kind of external bracket for the body of the letter.” Betz identified the epistolary prescript as Gal 1:1–5 and the epistolary postscript as 6:11–18. Betz limited the prescript to epistolary convention but related the postscript to the rhetorical peroratio. Betz asserted: In vi.11–18 Paul adds a postscript in his own handwriting. This conforms to the epistolary convention of the time. . . . The postscript must be examined not only as an epistolographic convention but also as a rhetorical feature. As a rhetorical feature, the postscript of the letter to the Galatians serves as the peroratio or conclusio, that is, the end and conclusion of the apologetic speech forming the body of the letter. . . . When we look at Paul’s postscript (vi.11–18) as a peroratio, some very interesting structures emerge, all confirming that we do, in fact, have this part of a speech before us.11 Betz’s analysis “according to Graeco-Roman rhetoric and epistolography” initiated a lively debate about the relationship of rhetoric to epistolography.12 8. Wilhelm Wuellner, “Arrangement,” in Porter, Handbook of Classical Rhetoric, 51. Wuellner’s entire chapter described the development and diversity of arrangement in ancient rhetorical theory. David Hellholm (“Amplificatio in the Macro-Structure of Romans,” in Porter and Olbricht, Rhetoric and the New Testament, 126) translated Lausberg’s explanation, “The relationship between the dispositio and the inventio is characterized by H. Lausberg in an illuminating and succinct way, when he points out that ‘the dispositio is the necessary supplement to the inventio that without the dispositio would be a phenomenon without relations.” See also Insawn Saw, Paul’s Rhetoric in 1 Corinthians 15: An Analysis Utilizing the Theories of Classical Rhetoric (Lewiston, N.Y.: Mellen Biblical, 1995), 126–40. 9. Thomas H. Olbricht observed this initial emphasis on arrangement (“Classical Rhetorical Criticism and Historical Reconstructions: A Critique,” in The Rhetorical Interpretation of Scripture: Essays from the 1996 Malibu Conference, ed. Stanley E. Porter and Dennis L. Stamps, JSNTSup 180 [Sheffield: Sheffield Academic, 1999], 109–10). 10. All three of these issues were raised by Betz’s lecture and subsequent article, “The Literary Composition and Function of Paul’s Letter to the Galatians,” NTS 21 (1975): 353–79. 11. Betz, “Literary Composition,” 353, 355, 357. 12. Some accepted Betz’s analysis without any significant changes. See, e.g., Gerd Lüdemann, Paul

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Astutely identifying the one word used by Betz that occasioned this debate, Hans Hübner pointed out, “The problem .  .  . is the ‘and’ between rhetoric and epistolography.”13 Indeed, Carl Joachim Classen complained that Betz did “not pay attention sufficiently” to the precise relationship between rhetoric and epistolography.14 Noting that even Betz’s Hermeneia commentary did not resolve this imprecise relationship, Hübner described the unfinished agenda, “What scholarship must further investigate is the relationship of rhetoric and epistolography in reference to the Pauline letters.”15 Pauline scholarship assumed this agenda with such intensity that this debate has become one of the most energetic and vigorous controversies in all of Pauline studies.16 For the most part, this debate was highly polarized, as Norman Petersen noted, “Epistolographers, who read Paul’s letters as letters, and recent rhetorical critics, who read them as speeches, do not agree about much.”17 Watson and Hauser explained this polarity: Interpreters find themselves either embracing one of the following positions, or standing between them: 1) the New Testament epistles are just that—epistles—and rhetoric has only a secondary influence. Rhetorical influence is mostly limited to matters of style and some invention, and 2) the epistles of the New Testament are speeches in epistolary form and can be analyzed using Greco-Roman rhetorical theory in its three main parts: invention, arrangement, and style.18 The central issue in this debate was whether the epistolographic conventions “are” formally parts of a speech or only functionally “serve as” or resemble the parts of a speech, to use Betz’s terminology. Thus, Betz’s terminology that the epistolographic conventions “are” or “serve as” the parts of a speech established the two poles of this debate, which consisted of five basic issues. The first issue was whether Paul’s letters were speeches or not. The proponents of rhetorical arrangement argued that Paul’s letters were indeed speeches and proceeded to identify in these letters the parts of speech such as exordium, narratio, propositio,

Apostle to the Gentiles: Studies in Chronology (Philadelphia: Fortress, 1984), 48. Others made some modification, while still others in the debate rejected Betz’s analysis entirely. 13. Hans Hübner, “Der Galaterbrief und das Verhältnis von antiker Rhetorik und Epistolographie,” TLZ 109 (1984): 242 (translation mine). 14. Classen, “St. Paul’s Epistles,” 98; see also idem, “St Paul’s Epistles,” in Porter and Olbricht, Rhetoric and the New Testament, 269. 15. Hübner, “Der Galaterbrief,” 249 (translation mine). 16. Watson and Hauser, Rhetorical Criticism of the Bible, 120–25; Watson, “Rhetorical Criticism since 1975,” 222–24; Brian K. Peterson, Eloquence and the Proclamation of the Gospel in Corinth, SBLDS 163 (Atlanta: Scholars Press, 1998), 16–23; Edgar Krentz, “1 Thessalonians: Rhetorical Flourishes and Formal Constraints,” in The Thessalonians Debate: Methodological Discord or Methodological Synthesis?, ed. Karl P. Donfried and Johannes Beutler (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2000), 283–94. 17. Norman R. Petersen, “On the Ending(s) to Paul’s Letter to Rome,” in The Future of Early Christianity: Essays in Honor of Helmut Koester, ed. Birger A. Pearson (Minneapolis: Fortress, 1991), 337. 18. Watson and Hauser, Rhetorical Criticism of the Bible, 120–21.

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probatio, and peroratio.19 Stanley Porter noted that Betz “has been so influential that one of the newest sub-genres of commentary writing is the rhetorical analysis of a Pauline epistle.”20 Samuel Byrskog explained, “The basic assumption has been that the ancient letter was a substitute for the speech, and as such it is open for rhetorical analysis.”21 The theoretical justification for this assumption was an ancient conception that letters were one half of a dialogue and were therefore speeches within an epistolary frame of prescript and postscript.22 Margaret Mitchell figuratively expressed the sentiments of these proponents of rhetorical arrangement, “So the marriage of epistolary and rhetorical forms in this way is a comfortable one.”23 Not feeling so comfortable with this marriage, however, the opponents of rhetorical arrangement countered that Paul’s letters were not speeches but letters. One of the staunchest opponents of this marriage has been the classicist Carl Joachim Classen, who repeatedly published his contribution to the 1992 Heidelberg Conference.24 He advised:

19. See, e.g., Chinedu Adolphus Amadi-Azuogu, Paul and the Law in the Arguments of Galatians: A Rhetorical and Exegetical Analysis of Galatians 2,14–6,2, BBB 104 (Weinheim: Beltz Athenäum Verlag, 1996), 25–36. Amadi-Azuogu (p. 26) began his analysis of Galatians with the comment, “We shall begin with the commencement of the speech.” He referred to Galatians as a speech rather than a letter. 20. Stanley E. Porter, “The Theoretical Justification,” in Porter and Olbricht, Rhetoric and the New Testament, 102. This “newest sub-genre,” however, fell on hard times in the subsequent shifts in the debate, and only a few dozen commentaries actually present an outline of a Pauline letter in the form of a rhetorical arrangement. Examples of such commentaries are Raymond F. Collins, First Corinthians, Sacra Pagina 7 (Collegeville, Minn.: Liturgical Press, 1999), 17–20; Charles A. Wanamaker, Commentary on 1 & 2 Thessalonians, NIGTC (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1990), 48–52; Jewett, Thessalonian Correspondence, 72–76; and idem, Romans: A Commentary, Hermeneia (Minneapolis: Fortress, 2007), vii-x, 29–30. Many commentators expressed doubts about the usefulness of rhetorical analysis and adopted other approaches. See Markus Bockmuehl, The Epistle to the Philippians, BNTC (Peabody, Mass.: Hendrickson, 1998), 39–40; and Peter Wick, Der Philipperbrief: Der formale Aufbau des Briefs als Schlüssel zum Verständnis seines Inhalts, BWANT 135 (Stuttgart: Kohlhammer, 1994), 161–65. See also Bruce C. Johanson, To All the Brethren: A Text-Linguistic and Rhetorical Approach to 1 Thessalonians, ConBNT 16 (Stockholm: Almqvist & Wiksell, 1987), 42–43. Of the two most influential commentaries on Galatians since Betz’s commentary, one cautiously uses rhetorical arrangement while the other explicitly rejects it. See Richard N. Longenecker, Galatians, WBC 41 (Dallas: Word, 1990), cix–cxix; and J. Louis Martyn, Galatians: A New Translation with Introduction and Commentary, AB 33A (New York: Doubleday, 1997), 22–23. The rise of the socio-rhetorical genre of commentaries partially explains the short-lived classical rhetorical approach even though socio-rhetorical commentaries often rely on a classical rhetorical arrangement. From the numerous examples, see Ben Witherington III, Conflict and Community in Corinth: A Socio-Rhetorical Commentary on 1 and 2 Corinthians (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans 1995), 73–77; idem, Grace in Galatia: A Commentary on Paul’s Letter to the Galatians (London: T&T Clark, 1998), 34–35; and idem with Darlene Hyatt, Paul’s Letter to the Romans: A Socio-Rhetorical Commentary (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2004), 16–22. 21. Samuel Byrskog, “Epistolography, Rhetoric and Letter Prescript: Romans 1.1–7 as a Test Case,” JSNT 65 (1997): 27. 22. See Klaus Berger, “Apostelbrief und apostolische Rede: Zum Formular frühchristlicher Briefe,” ZNW 65 (1974): 190–231; idem, Formgeschichte des Neuen Testaments (Heidelberg: Quelle & Meyer, 1984), 216–17; G. A. Kennedy, New Testament Interpretation through Rhetorical Criticism (Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press, 1984), 86–87. 23. Margaret M. Mitchell, Paul and the Rhetoric of Reconciliation: An Exegetical Investigation of the Language and Composition of 1 Corinthians (Louisville: Westminister John Knox, 1993), 195. 24. For the bibliography, see n. 6 above. See also Carl Joachim Classen, “Zur rhetorischen Analyse der Paulusbriefe,” ZNW 86 (1995): 120–21.

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Paul and Rhetoric Paul is not making a speech [and the] rules for speeches and other types of compositions cannot be expected . . . in all respects to be applicable to letters. . . . It is not surprising that the categories of ancient rhetoric fail us with respect to the structure of this epistle [Galatians], because it is an epistle, and they were not made nor meant to fit such kinds of composition.25

Jeffrey T. Reed added, “In part, the reason epistolary theorists do not prescribe rhetorical arrangements to epistolary structures is due to the formulaic traditions long established in letter writing. . . . There is no necessary connection between the basic theory of epistolary structure and the technical teachings about rhetorical arrangement.” Reed concluded, “Paul probably did not incorporate a system of ancient rhetoric into the epistolary genre.”26 On this first issue of the debate, both sides received some legitimacy from the ambiguous nature of letters. James Hester succinctly summarized this ambiguity: One problem facing the rhetorical critic when dealing with Paul’s letters is that, as everyone recognizes, they are not “speeches.” Clearly they are a kind of discourse, but that discourse comes to the audience in the form of a letter. Paul’s letters acted as a substitute for the writer’s presence and were oral (or, perhaps, “aural”) in their immediate context. His letters were a way of bringing the speech, instead of the speaker, to the audience.27 The proponents of rhetorical arrangement found some legitimacy in Paul’s letters as “a kind of discourse,” as Raymond F. Collins illustrated, “Paul’s language betrays the self-consciousness that he is addressing a lovgo" to the Corinthians by means of his letter. On nine occasions he writes that he is saying something (levgw). In similar fashion Paul writes that he is speaking (lalevw) to the Corinthians or that he is asserting (fhmiv) something.”28 Rudolf Hoppe could counter, “If 1 Thessalonians is a letter of Paul the messenger, then it can in principle be read rhetorically. However, that still does not make it a speech. Methodologically, therefore, classifying the parts of a letter into the categories preset by ancient rhetorical handbooks can be challenged.”29 Thus, the opposition also felt entirely justified in their

25. Classen, “St. Paul’s Epistles,” in Nanos, Galatians Debate, 106, 109. 26. Jeffrey T. Reed, “Using Ancient Rhetorical Categories to Interpret Paul’s Letters: A Question of Genre,” in Porter and Olbricht, Rhetoric and the New Testament, 304, 308, 323. 27. James D. Hester, “The Invention of 1 Thessalonians: A Proposal,” in Rhetoric, Scripture and Theology: Essays from the 1994 Pretoria Conference, ed. Stanley E. Porter and Thomas H. Olbricht, JSNTSup 131 (Sheffield: Sheffield Academic, 1996), 253. Hübner (“Der Galaterbrief,” 245) described the problem similarly. 28. Raymond F. Collins, “Reflections on 1 Corinthians as a Hellenistic Letter,” in The Corinthian Correspondence, ed. R. Bieringer, BETL 125 (Leuven: Leuven University Press, 1996), 44. 29. Rudolf Hoppe, “Der erste Thessalonicherbrief und die antike Rhetorik: Eine Problemskizze,” BZ n.s. 41 (1997): 229–37 (translation mine). Hoppe made a similar comment in his article “The Epistolary and Rhetorical Context of 1 Thessalonians 2:1–12: A Response to Karl P. Donfried,” in Donfried and Beutler, Thessalonians Debate, 63.

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position on this first issue because Paul’s discourse always came “in the form of a letter.”30 The second issue in this debate was whether Paul’s letters conformed to the prescriptions of the ancient rhetorical theorists, especially the rhetorical handbooks. The proponents of rhetorical arrangement inherited from Betz a positive assessment regarding this conformity and produced numerous studies demonstrating that almost every section of Paul’s letters could be identified as one of the parts of speech described by the handbooks.31 Evaluating the same evidence, opponents reached the opposite conclusion. Classen commented, “I know of no ancient handbook that recommends such a scheme or pattern for a letter.”32 Philip Kern concluded, “In the end it appears that the actual structure of Galatians does not conform to the handbooks in anything more than a superficial way. Indeed, one should expect some degree of similarity since oratory and Paul’s epistles overlap somewhat in function, i.e., both seek to persuade the audience to adopt a certain point of view.”33 Opponents further objected that the handbooks failed to mention letters in their treatment of arrangement and that rhetorical and epistolary theory were not combined until Julius Victor in the fourth century c.e.34 Proponents countered by citing what little evidence there was and explaining that the handbooks’ limited focus on the courtroom, the assembly, and the special occasion caused them to omit a treatment of letters. This omission therefore did not rule out the strong influence of rhetoric on letter composition.35 Opponents responded that whatever influence rhetoric exerted on letter composition did not replicate the parts of speech in a letter. Porter summarized: “There is, therefore, little if any theoretical justification in the ancient handbooks for application of the formal categories of the species and organization of rhetoric to analysis of the Pauline epistles.”36 On this second issue, the proponents and opponents of rhetorical arrangement simply reached an impasse based on their differing assessments of the evidence.

30. Hester, “Invention of 1 Thessalonians,” 253. 31. For summaries of the various proposals, see Porter, “Paul of Tarsus,” in idem, Handbook of Classical Rhetoric, 541–67; and Jerome Murphy-O’Connor, Paul the Letter-Writer: His World, His Options, His Skills (Collegeville, Minn.: Liturgical Press, 1995), 77–79. See also the next section of the present survey for the criteria used to identify the parts of speech in a Pauline letter. 32. Classen, “Paulus und die antike Rhetorik,” 14 (translation mine). 33. Philip H. Kern, “Rhetoric, Scholarship and Galatians: Assessing an Approach to Paul’s Epistle,” TynBul 46 (1995): 202. See also idem, Rhetoric and Galatians: Assessing an Approach to Paul’s Epistle, SNTSMS 101 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1998), 119. 34. Stanley E. Porter, “Paul as Epistolographer and Rhetorician?” in Porter and Stamps, Rhetorical Interpretation of Scripture, 232; and idem, “The Theoretical Justification,” 115–16. Byrskog (“Epistolography,” 33) wrote, “Rhetoric and epistolography belonged evidently to different theoretical systems. The first rhetorician to discuss epistolary theory at some length was the fourth-century Julius Victor, in an appendix (De Epistolis) to his Ars Rhetorica (§27). Even here, however, its relegation to an appendix implies that it did not properly belong to a discussion of rhetoric.” See also Classen, “Paulus und die antike Rhetorik,” 6, 13, and Jeffrey T. Reed, “The Epistle,” in Porter, Handbook of Classical Rhetoric, 191–92. 35. Frank W. Hughes, “The Rhetoric of Letters,” in Donfried and Beutler, Thessalonians Debate, 194–99; Watson and Hauser, Rhetorical Criticism of the Bible, 122–23; Watson, “Rhetorical Criticism Since 1975,” 223. 36. Porter, “Theoretical Justification,” 115–16.

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The third issue in this debate was whether the ancients themselves would condone epistolary rhetorical arrangement. Porter posed the issue, “If the terms of rhetorical and epistolary analysis are not to be equated, did the ancients recognize a cross-over between these two sets of categories and use rhetorical theory to discuss the composition and analysis of letters?” Porter, a staunch opponent of rhetorical arrangement, responded negatively and categorically proclaimed, “Such evidence is clearly lacking.”37 In reaction, Frank W. Hughes, perhaps the most ardent proponent of rhetorical arrangement, presented the handbook evidence and then stated, “Perhaps the best proof of the use of rhetoric in ancient letters is not statements about letters in the various handbooks, or even epistolary handbooks, but actual letters written by prominent rhetors. . . . Goldstein showed that Demonsthenes’ Epistle 1 was conceived and executed in the style of deliberative rhetoric.”38 Hughes then relied on Jonathan A. Goldstein to present the rhetorical arrangement of Demosthenes’ letter, including exordium, partitio, probatio, peroratio, exhortation, and epistolary postscript.39 In contrast to Betz’s arrangement of Galatians, however, Hughes included the epistolary prescript but excluded the epistolary postscript from the rhetorical arrangement of Demosthenes’ letter. In contrast to Paul’s letters, furthermore, an invocation for divine inspiration for writer and reader preceded the epistolary prescript in this letter. These variations, along with the charge that the parts of speech were again simply superimposed or that such letters are not relevant for Paul, detracted from the persuasiveness of Demosthenes’ letter to prove rhetorical arrangement in Paul’s letters. Nevertheless, proponents of rhetorical arrangement hailed Hughes’s discovery of rhetorical arrangement in this letter as decisive proof that the ancients themselves were aware of the rhetorical arrangement of letters.40 Even though not completely conclusive, Hughes’s evidence had some impact on the opposition, for Reed recognized several rhetorical letters in addition to those of Demosthenes. However, Reed emphasized that such letters “represent only a small portion of the extant epistolary literature” and that “most letters do not reveal a rhetorical structure.”41 Furthermore, Reed pointed out that such letters lack the many epistolary formulas and the style of the familiar letters. He admitted that such rhetorical letters left open the possibility that letters could be analyzed into the parts of speech but “with methodological caution.”42 Not yielding so much ground, Porter

37. Porter, “Paul as Epistolographer,” 231; see also idem, “Paul of Tarsus,” 566–67. 38. Hughes, “Rhetoric of Letters,” 236. Hughes relied on Jonathan A. Goldstein, The Letters of Demosthenes (New York: Columbia University Press, 1968), 176–81, 204–7. See also Fredrick J. Long, Ancient Rhetoric and Paul’s Apology: The Compositional Unity of 2 Corinthians, SNTSMS 131 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2004). Long (p. 102) agreed that Goldstein’s work is “paramount in this discussion.” Long (pp. 24–33) provided additional examples of forensic speeches in written or epistolary form and commented (p. 27), “Epistolography likewise could merge with rhetoric.” 39. Hughes, “Rhetoric of Letters,” 237–40. 40. Watson and Hauser (Rhetorical Criticism of the Bible, 123) wrote, “Hughes demonstrates that the epistles of Demosthenes were written according to rhetorical conventions in their full form.” See also Watson, “Rhetorical Criticism Since 1975,” 223–24. 41. Reed, “Epistle,” 188; see also Romano Penna, “La questione della dispositio rhetorica nella lettera di Paolo ai Romani: confronto con la lettera 7 di Platone e la lettera 95 di Seneca,” Bib 84 (2003): 61–88. 42. Reed, “Epistle,” 187, 190.

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nevertheless later modified his categorical statement that “such evidence is clearly lacking” to “there is little to no evidence that the ancients viewed letters in terms of the categories of rhetoric.”43 In the end, debate on this third issue failed to persuade decisively either side to abandon entrenched positions, even though proponents of rhetorical arrangement were able to provide some evidence that the ancients were not totally oblivious to epistolary rhetorical arrangement. The fourth issue in this debate was whether the rhetorical arrangement of Paul’s letters has been useful. Again, Porter summarized the issue, “The .  .  . question is whether the categories of Greco-Roman rhetoric provide useful tools for understanding the Pauline letters.”44 Watson and Hauser answered: The position restricting the role of rhetoric in the Pauline epistles is challenged by convincing rhetorical analyses of entire Pauline epistles or significant portions of them. Romans, 1 and 2 Corinthians, Galatians, Philippians, 1 and 2 Thessalonians, and Philemon have been, in varying degrees, successfully analyzed according to the conventions of invention, arrangement, and style.45 For proponents, the successes of their analyses sufficiently demonstrated the usefulness of rhetorical arrangement.46 The point of contention became the degree to which Paul’s letters have indeed been successfully analyzed. Edgar Krentz cautioned: One should guard against making rhetorical theory a Procrustean bed to which, willy-nilly, texts must conform. Rhetorical criticism is most fruitful when it does not overpress its claims. That applies especially to the use of the divisions of an oration, when applied to a nonoratorical genre. I am not convinced that the partitiones orationis are as useful as some think, and feel that their application without attention to Aristotle’s three modes of proof is not productive.47

43. Stanley E. Porter and Matthew Brook O’Donnell, “Semantics and Patterns of Argumentation in the Book of Romans: Definitions, Proposals, Data and Experiments,” in Diglossia and Other Topics in New Testament Linguistics, ed. Stanley E. Porter, JSNTSup 193, Studies in New Testament Greek 6 (Sheffield: Sheffield Academic, 2000), 171. 44. Porter, “Paul of Tarsus,” 562. 45. Watson and Hauser, Rhetorical Criticism of the Bible, 124–25. 46. For example, see Cynthia Briggs Kittredge, Community and Authority: The Rhetoric of Obedience in the Pauline Tradition, Harvard Theological Studies 45 (Harrisburg, Pa.: Trinity Press International, 1998), 66; and Ben Witherington III, Friendship and Finances in Philippi: The Letter of Paul to the Philippians, New Testament in Context (Valley Forge, Pa.: Trinity Press International, 1994), 11–20. Not all proponents evaluated the usefulness the same way. For example, Thomas H. Olbricht (“An Aristotelian Rhetorical Analysis of 1 Thessalonians,” in Greeks, Romans, and Christians: Essays in Honor of Abraham J. Malherbe, ed. David L. Balch, Everett Ferguson, and Wayne A. Meeks [Minneapolis: Fortress, 1990], 235) presented a rhetorical analysis of 1 Thessalonians but concluded it was not as useful as Betz’s analysis of Galatians. 47. Krentz, “1 Thessalonians,” 316.

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A. B. du Toit more emphatically warned that it is methodologically wrong to superimpose rhetorical arrangement on Paul’s letter protocol, and R. Dean Anderson Jr. concurred by writing, “It is vain to attempt to strictly apply a scheme of classification designed for speeches to letters.”48 Although some proponents recognized the problem of superimposing rhetorical arrangement on letters, the two sides obviously disagreed about the success and usefulness of rhetorical arrangement in analyzing Paul’s letters.49 In response, proponents made some progress by arguing that rhetorical arrangement explained certain features of Paul’s letters that transcended epistolary theory.50 Wuellner observed, “The student of ancient epistolography can only comment on the significant expansions in the ‘letter opening’ and their recurrence in the ‘bodyclosing.’ But he cannot account for this unusual feature on purely epistolographic grounds. The student of rhetoric, however, can account for the necessary connections between an argument’s exordium and peroration.”51 Hester agreed that Paul’s letters were not like other ancient letters and that conventional letter structure could not “always account for Paul’s structuring of a letter.”52 Of course, Hester proposed rhetorical analysis as the completion of what was lacking in epistolary analysis. Nevertheless, opponents minimized this contribution by emphasizing that rhetorical analyses have not produced consistent rhetorical arrangements of Paul’s letters.53 Porter described this objection:

48. A. B. du Toit, “Persuasion in Romans 1:1–17,” BZ 33 (1990): 194–95; R. Dean Anderson Jr., Ancient Rhetorical Theory and Paul: Revised Edition, CBET 18 (Leuven: Peeters, 1999), 117. 49. Even Mitchell (Rhetoric of Reconciliation, 9–11) criticized proponents for relying too exclusively on the handbooks. She warned, “The mechanistic approach to rhetorical criticism which results from sole reliance on the handbooks requires one, for example, to hunt down a narratio, despite the lack (or at least rarity) of a narratio in epideictic discourses as specified by the handbooks and evident in actual speeches. Such an approach renders rhetorical criticism a quest for the ‘divisions’ of a text as specified in a frozen model, without attention to the varied requirements of genre, content and rhetorical situation.” Jean-Noël Aletti also criticized the rigid adherence to the disposition of exordium, narratio, propositio, probatio, and peroratio. He agreed with Mitchell that some parts might not be present in every letter but that these parts when present are nevertheless useful for analyzing Paul’s letters. The criticism of confusing a label with an explanation was appropriate to the excesses of some who celebrated too freely the marriage of letter conventions and parts of a speech. See Jean-Noël Aletti, “La presence d’un modèle rhétorique en Romains,” Bib 71 (1990): 5–7; idem, “La Dispositio Rhétorique dans les Épitres Pauliniennes,” NTS 38 (1992): 391–400; idem, “The Rhetoric of Romans 5–8,” in The Rhetorical Analysis of Scripture: Essays from the 1995 London Conference, ed. Stanley E. Porter and Thomas H. Olbricht, JSNTSup 146 (Sheffield: Sheffield Academic, 1997), 294–95; and idem, “Paul et la rhétorique: État de la question et propositions,” in Paul de Tarse, ed. J. Schlosser, LD 165 (Paris: Cerf, 1996), 27–50. 50. Charles A. Wanamaker, “Epistolary vs. Rhetorical Analysis: Is a Synthesis Possible?” in Donfried and Beutler, Thessalonians Debate, 285–86. 51. Wuellner, “Paul’s Rhetoric of Argumentation,” 135. 52. James D. Hester, “The Use and Influence of Rhetoric in Galatians 2:1–14,” TZ 42 (1986): 387. See also Bernard H. Brinsmead, Galatians—Dialogical Response to Opponents, SBLDS 65 (Chico, Calif.: Scholars Press, 1982), 39. 53. As an example of the differences among Pauline rhetorical critics, see John Fotopoulos’s disagreement with Joop Smit over the partitio and narratio of 1 Cor 8:1–11:1 as summarized by Fotopoulos, “Arguments Concerning Food Offered to Idols: Corinthian Quotations and Pauline Refutations in a Rhetorical Partitio,” CBQ 67 (2005): 611–12 n. 1. See Joop Smit, “1 Corinthians 8, 1–6: A Rhetorical Partitio: A Contribution to the Coherence of 1 Cor 8,1–11,1,” in Bieringer, Corinthian Correspondence, 577–91;

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Even by those who wish to “find” rhetorical categories appropriate to the Pauline letters there is widespread divergence regarding what these categories are and the extent of their presence in a given letter. A survey of the rhetorical outlines of Paul’s letters reveals virtually no two analyses the same, even by those who have worked together in the common task of doing such analyses. Although this failure to arrive at common results does not necessarily mitigate the task, it does raise questions about the usefulness of the categories.54 Porter concluded, “Often quite dissimilar findings result from the analyses. . . . This should make any interpreter cautious about claims made for rhetorical analysis.”55 Perhaps the best illustration of the difference of opinion on this fourth issue of the debate was the contrasting perspectives of Watson and Porter on the rhetorical arrangement of Philippians. Celebrating the analytical success of rhetorical arrangement, Watson claimed, “There is considerable agreement on the rhetorical outline of Philippians.”56 Questioning this claim of success for Philippians, Porter stated, “The wide diversity among those who treat the entire letter throws into serious question any claim that ancient rhetorical analysis can arrive at an objective estimation of structure.”57 The two sides clearly had a profound difference of opinion regarding the degree of success in analyzing the rhetorical arrangement of Paul’s letters. The debate on this fourth issue ended in an ambiguity aptly captured by Rudolf Hoppe: In a positive manner, rhetorical analysis is capable of recognizing and overcoming the imprecise divisions of previous approaches. Yet to this day the rhetorical approach has not led to consensus in questions of structure. Despite this situation, rhetorical analysis can at least be one of several steps toward analyzing the text. To attempt more than this would mean that rhetorical criticism would risk both overextending itself and, perhaps, even abandoning its ultimate task.58 In the minds of proponents, analysis of Paul’s letters according to rhetorical arrangement is useful and a proper extension of rhetorical criticism, but in the minds of opponents, it is not useful and an overextension. idem, “The Rhetorical Disposition of First Corinthians 8:7–9:27,” CBQ 59 (1997): 476–91. Smit’s articles are reprinted in idem, “About the Idol Offerings”: Rhetoric, Social Context and Theology of Paul’s Discourse in First Corinthians 8:1–11:1 (Leuven: Peeters, 2000). See also John Fotopoulos, “The Rhetorical Situation, Arrangement, and Argumentation of 1 Corinthians 8:1–13: Insights into Paul’s Instructions on Idol-Food in Greco-Roman Context,” Greek Orthodox Theological Review 47 (2002): 165–98. 54. Porter, “Paul as Epistolographer,” 230. 55. Porter, “Paul of Tarsus,” 561. 56. Duane F. Watson, “The Integration of Epistolary and Rhetorical Analysis of Philippians,” in Porter and Olbricht, Rhetorical Analysis of Scripture, 404. Watson’s analysis was adopted by Timothy C. Geoffrion, The Rhetorical Purpose and the Political and Military Character of Philippians: A Call to Stand Firm (Lewiston, N.Y.: Mellen, 1993), 20–22. 57. Porter, “Paul of Tarsus,” 555. 58. Hoppe, “Epistolary and Rhetorical Context,” in Donfried and Beutler, Thessalonians Debate, 62. See also Traugott Holtz, “On the Background of 1 Thessalonians 2:1–12,” in ibid., 69–70.

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A final issue in this debate was whether Paul was a rhetorician or not.59 This hotly debated issue forms a debate in its own right and can only receive the briefest of summaries here. Opinions on this issue ranged from Paul’s formal instruction in Greco-Roman rhetoric to his informal rhetorical inculturation to his complete insulation from rhetorical training and practice.60 Proponents of rhetorical arrangement found either of the first two options acceptable while opponents preferred either of the latter two options. Neither side could sway the other on this issue, and as Watson and Hauser noted, “This question will undoubtedly continue to be debated.”61 Calling attention to the polar positions in this debate should not silence the mediating voices that were occasionally raised. A few proposed that epistolary and rhetorical theory provided different types of analysis and that both were relevant.62 Samuel Byrskog conciliated the positions: It seems that both have their advantages and disadvantages, but we cannot . . . disregard either of them. The epistolographic approach takes seriously the genre of the text as letter and provides an essential understanding of the basic structure and relational function of the prescript. The rhetorical approach helps significantly in comprehending the features that are strange to the letter genre and relates them accurately to other parts of the letter.63 Hans-Josef Klauck agreed that both types of analysis are useful but warned, “Rhetorical analysis must not be pursued at the expense of the unique features of the letter genre that epistolography has helped us understand.”64 Hoppe also saw the value in

59. Ronald F. Hock, “Paul and Greco-Roman Education,” in Paul in the Greco-Roman World: A Handbook, ed. J. Paul Sampley (Harrisburg, Pa.: Trinity Press International, 2003), 213–15. 60. Duane Litfin (St. Paul’s Theology of Proclamation: 1 Corinthians 1–4 and Greco-Roman Rhetoric, SNTSMS 79 [Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1994], 137–38 nn. 3–4), listed many of the important contributors to this issue in the debate. Dale B. Martin (The Corinthian Body [New Haven: Yale University Press, 1995], 49), stated, “It would have been impossible for an urban person of Paul’s day to avoid exposure to a great deal of rhetoric.” 61. Watson and Hauser, Rhetorical Criticism and the Bible, 124. 62. See, e.g., G. Walter Hansen, Abraham in Galatians: Epistolary and Rhetorical Contexts, JSNTSup 29 (Sheffield: Sheffield Academic, 1989), 1–71; Longenecker, Galatians, c-cxix; Johannes Schoon-Janssen, Umstrittene “Apologien” in den Paulusbriefen: Studien zur rhetorischen Situation des 1. Thessalonicherbriefes, des Galaterbriefes und des Philipperbriefes, GTA 45 (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1991), 14–25; Verena Jegher-Bucher, Der Galaterbrief auf dem Hintergrund antiker Epistolographie und Rhetorik: Ein anderes Paulusbild, AThANT 78 (Zurich: Theologischer Verlag, 1991), passim; Dieter Mitternacht, Forum für Sprachlose: Eine kommunikationspsychologische und epistolar-rhetorische Untersuchung des Galaterbriefs, ConBNT 30 (Stockholm: Almqvist & Wiksell, 1999), 156–205; idem, “A Structure of Persuasion in Galatians: Epistolary and Rhetorical Appeal in an Aural Setting,” in Tolmie, Exploring New Rhetorical Approaches to Galatians, 53–98; and Dieter Kremendahl, Die Botschaft der Form: Zum Verhältnis von antiker Epistolographie und Rhetorik im Galaterbrief, NTOA 46 (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2000), passim. 63. Byrskog, “Epistolography,” 45. 64. Hans-Josef Klauck, Ancient Letters and the New Testament: A Guide to Context and Exegesis (Waco, Tex.: Baylor University Press, 2006), 225.

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both types of analysis but emphasized that rhetorical analysis must be subsumed to epistolary analysis.65 Neither should highlighting the polarities of this debate obscure some of the more nuanced positions that participants took. Porter recognized two different “schools of thought” among the proponents of rhetorical arrangement: For those who utilize the categories of ancient rhetoric, there are two major though closely related models. One, represented by Kennedy, approaches the letters as essentially speeches, with the epistolary openings and closings treated as almost incidental features. The other, represented by Betz, and following the handbook tradition, wishes to assert the epistolary integrity of the letter but with full consideration of the rhetorical features as well.66 Even though Porter’s generalization itself obscured some of the nuances within these two schools, it nevertheless illustrated that neither the proponents nor the opponents in this debate always saw things exactly the same way. Finally, concentrating on the polarities should not detract from the most important contribution of this debate to the rhetorical investigation of Pauline letters. Petersen correctly noted that the polarized participants in this debate did not agree about much, but they eventually did reach one significant agreement that the letter conventions possessed some functional similarities with the parts of a speech. The opponents “admitted” this functionality while the proponents “adopted” functionality as the most important correlation between letter conventions and the parts of speech. Even the staunchest opponents such as Reed, Porter, and Classen admitted that certain functional similarities existed between some letter conventions and some parts of a speech. Reed conceded, “The three standard epistolary components (opening, body, closing) share some similarity with the four principal patterns of rhetorical arrangement (exordium, narratio, confirmatio, conclusio). But the similarity is functional, not formal.”67 Reed quickly pointed out, however, that there was no one-to-one correspondence between letter conventions and the parts of a speech, and both Classen and Porter emphasized that the functional similarities could not be used to prove that Paul gave his letters the structure of a logos.68 Ardent proponents such as Hughes and Watson agreed on the functionality but maintained a closer correspondence between letter conventions and the parts of a speech than the staunch opponents were willing to concede.69 The vigorous debate about the relationship of Greco-Roman rhetoric to epis-

65. Hoppe, “Der erste Thessalonicherbrief,” 237. 66. Porter, “Paul of Tarsus,” 540. 67. Reed, “Using Ancient Rhetorical Categories,” 307–8; see also idem, “Epistle,” 181–82. 68. Reed, “Epistle,” 179–81; Classen, “St. Paul’s Epistles,” in Nanos, Galatians Debate, 110; Porter, “Paul as Epistolographer,” 232–33. 69. Hughes, “Rhetoric of Letters,” 198; Watson, “Epistolary and Rhetorical Analysis,” 406–9. Attempting a peaceful solution, Watson applied rhetorical arrangement in strictly functional terms to Philippians. He consciously tried to use language that indicated that a letter convention only functioned as a part of a speech (pp. 410–26). Several times in his rhetorical analysis, however, he slipped into the formal language that a letter convention or a particular passage in Philippians was a part of a speech.

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tolography subsided without a decisive victory by either side. A consensus about whether letter conventions “are,” in Betz’s terminology, formally parts of a speech or only to some degree functionally “serve as” parts of a speech was never reached. Nevertheless, this debate cooled the initial fervor for the marriage of letter conventions and parts of a speech as Pauline rhetorical studies placed less and less emphasis on the formal identification of the letter conventions with the parts of a speech and increasingly concentrated on the functional relationship. The polarized participants in this debate, therefore, achieved partial consensus that the letter conventions possessed some functional similarities with the parts of a speech. This tenuous consensus enabled some Pauline rhetorical critics to continue pursuing rhetorical arrangement in the investigation of Paul’s letters and identifying the parts of a speech by the criteria Betz introduced. 3.1.2. Identifying the Parts of a Speech Kieran O’Mahony observed, “Betz presents no theory of rhetorical methodology in regard to dispositio. However, it would be unfair to say that he simply asserts this outline.”70 Indeed, Betz established in his lecture three essential criteria drawn from the rhetorical handbooks for identifying the parts of speech in Galatians. Identifying the propositio of Galatians, Betz commented, “Gal. ii. 15–21 conforms to the form, function, and requirements of the propositio.”71 Earlier Betz stated that a requirement of the propositio was its position between the narratio and the probatio. Position, form, and function were thus three essential criteria on which Betz based his rhetorical arrangement of Galatians. Frequently, Betz appealed to position as substantiation for his identification of a part of speech. Identifying the exordium, Betz commented, “Generally speaking this first part of the body of the Galatian letter [1:6–11] conforms to the customary exordium, which is otherwise known as the prooemium or principium.” He made a similar comment about the epistolary postscript’s (6:11–18) serving as the peroratio or conclusio of the speech.72 According to Betz, the beginning and ending of the letter corresponded to the beginning and ending of a speech. Betz argued similarly on the basis of position for identifying the narratio (1:12–2:14), propositio (2:15–21), and probatio (3:1–4:31) of Galatians. Thus, position was an essential criterion Betz introduced for identifying the parts of speech. No less frequently, however, Betz appealed to form and function. After identifying enumeratio (recapitulatio), indignatio, and conquestio as the three conventional

70. Kieran J. O’Mahony, Pauline Persuasion: A Sounding in 2 Corinthians 8–9, JSNTSup 199 (Sheffield: Sheffield Academic, 2000) 64. Of course, O’Mahony’s observation pertained to Betz’s rhetorical analysis of 2 Corinthians 8–9 rather than of Galatians, but Betz used similar criteria in both analyses. On pp. 64–69, O’Mahony presented an epitome of Betz’s rationale. See Hans Dieter Betz, 2 Corinthians 8 and 9: A Commentary on Two Administrative Letters of the Apostle Paul, Hermeneia (Philadelphia: Fortress, 1985). The unfairness O’Mahony mentioned may refer to Classen’s assessment that Betz applied labels without providing supporting argumentation. See Classen, “St. Paul’s Epistles,” in Nanos, Galatians Debate, 109–10. 71. Betz, “Literary Composition,” 368. 72. Ibid., 359, 368.

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parts of the peroratio, Betz stated, “When we look at Paul’s postscript (vi. 11–18) as a peroratio, some very interesting structures emerge, all confirming that we do, in fact, have this part of a speech before us.” Betz concluded, “The final section of Galatians conforms to the enumeratio [vi. 12–17], indignatio [vi. 12–13], and conquestio [vi. 17].”73 Betz explained that this tripartite form performs the twofold function of the peroratio to remind the listeners of the case and to make a strong emotional appeal to them. Betz concluded that Gal 6:11–18 is the peroratio because it conforms to the form and performs the function of a peroratio. In addition to position, therefore, form and function were essential criteria Betz introduced to identify the parts of speech in Galatians. Rhetorical critics after Betz continued utilizing these same three criteria in their identifications of the parts of a speech. Regarding position, for example, Hughes noted, “What is important is that the section of a letter designated as an exordium be at the beginning of the letter.”74 Watson and Hauser explained, “The body opening, middle, and closing roughly parallel exordium, narratio-confirmatio, and peroratio respectively.”75 Thus, rhetorical critics relied heavily on Betz’s criterion of position as determined by the tavxi" of a speech as an essential indicator of where to find a particular part of speech in Paul’s letters. Problems with this criterion, however, soon became evident. Rhetorical critics quickly encountered difficulties specifying the extent of the parts of speech. These critics were divided over whether the exordium began at the very beginning of Paul’s letters and included the epistolary prescript. They were also divided over whether the peroratio extended to the very end of Paul’s letters and included the epistolary postscript. Some subsumed the epistolary conventions under rhetorical arrangement and identified both prescript and postscript as parts of speech. Thus, Wuellner included both prescript and postscript in his identification of the exordium and peroratio of Romans.76 Similarly, Robert Jewett identified the exordium of Romans as 1:1–12 and the peroratio as 15:14–16:27.77 Others sought to maintain the integrity of both epistolary conventions and rhetorical arrangement and excluded both prescript and postscript from the parts of speech. David Hellholm advised, “It is necessary to separate the prescript and the postscript from the rest of the text and analyze these separately . . . since in the case of a letter we have to do with a sermo absentis ad absentem. . . . It is further necessary to analyse the remaining text into its mevrh tou' lovgou, its partes orationis.”78 Taking a 73. Ibid., 357, 357 n. 7. 74. Hughes, “Rhetoric of Letters,” 198. 75. Watson and Hauser, Rhetorical Criticism and the Bible, 122. 76. Wuellner, “Paul’s Rhetoric of Argumentation,” 133–41. In his arrangement of 1 Thessalonians, Wuellner (“The Argumentative Structure of 1 Thessalonians as Paradoxical Encomium,” in The Thessalonian Correspondence, ed. Raymond F. Collins, BETL 87 [Leuven: Leuven University Press, 1990], 128–29, 134–35), also included the prescript in the exordium and the postscript in the peroratio. 77. Robert Jewett, “Following the Argument of Romans,” in Donfried, Romans Debate, 267–68. Jewett, however, included the final benediction in Rom 16:24–27 in his rhetorical arrangement while Wuellner excluded it. See also Robert Jewett, “Ecumenical Theology for the Sake of Mission: Romans 1:1–17 + 15:14–16:24,” SBLSP 31 (1992): 599–600. 78. Hellholm, “Amplificatio,” 125–26.

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similar position, David Aune identified the central section of Romans (1:16–15:13) as a lovgo" protreptikov" in an epistolary frame (1:1–15; 15:14–16:27).79 Still others adopted a mixed position by identifying either the prescript or the postscript but not both as a part of speech. In his arrangement of 1 Thessalonians, for example, Hughes included the epistolary prescript in the exordium (1:1–10) but excluded the epistolary postscript (5:23–28) from the peroratio (5:4–11).80 Interestingly, Betz had done just the opposite in his arrangement of Galatians by excluding the prescript from the exordium but including the postscript in the peroratio.81 Perhaps, Betz’s description of both prescript and postscript as the epistolary framework but his identification of only the latter as a part of speech explains the ambiguity of subsequent rhetorical critics. This ambiguity was well illustrated by Marty Reid’s identification of Rom 1:1–7 as a quasi-exordium. He pondered whether to include the prescript in the exordium since he recognized that the exordium of a speech must come first but in letters the prescript occupied that position: Even though the ancient handbooks do not include the prescript as part of the rhetorical discourse, it does function much like the exordium by establishing the ethos of the speaker, introducing topics, and making the audience well-disposed. For this reason, we should perhaps categorize the prescript as a quasi-exordium. . . . For the sake of simplicity, however, and because of its rhetorical function within the letter, I have chosen to view the prescript as beginning the exordium.82 In an article published three years later, Reid moved the substance of this note into the text and commented, “Romans 1:1–15 represents Paul’s adaptation of the exordium. Since the handbooks do not include the salutation as part of the speech we can characterize the prescript (vv. 1–7) as a quasi-exordium. Romans 1:8–15, then, functions as the exordium to Paul’s argument.”83 79. David E. Aune, “Romans as a Logos Protreptikos in the Context of Ancient Religious and Philosophical Propaganda,” in Paulus und das antike Judentum: Tübingen-Durham-Symposium im Gedenken an den 50. Todestag Adolf Schlatters (†19.Mai 1938), ed. Martin Hengel and Ulrich Heckel, WUNT 58 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1991), 91. See also Anthony J. Guerra, Romans and the Apologetic Tradition: The Purpose, Genre and Audience of Paul’s Letter, SNTSMS 81 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1995), 8–12. 80. Frank W. Hughes, “The Rhetoric of 1 Thessalonians,” in Collins, Thessalonian Correspondence, 109, 115–16. 81. Betz, “Literary Composition,” 355–59. Walter B. Russell (“Rhetorical Analysis of the Book of Galatians Part 2,” BSac 150 [1993]: 436–37) treated the prescript and postscript similarly. 82. Marty L. Reid, “A Rhetorical Analysis of Romans 1:1–5:21 with Attention Given to the Rhetorical Function of 5:1–21,” PRSt 19 (1992): 264 n. 43. Reid credited the notion of a quasi-exordium to Duane F. Watson, Invention, Arrangement, and Style: Rhetorical Criticism of Jude and 2 Peter, SBLDS 104 (Atlanta: Scholars Press, 1988), 40–43. 83. Marty L. Reid, “A Consideration of the Function of Rom 1:8–15 in Light of Greco-Roman Rhetoric,” JETS 38 (1995): 187–88. By the time Reid published his book in 1996, Rom 1:1–7 served only a rhetorical purpose and the heading “Exordium” included only Rom 1:8–15. The notion of a quasi-exordium, however, again appeared in a footnote with the remark that this category is not recognized in rhetorical

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Rhetorical critics’ reliance on position to identify the parts of speech led to the problem of determining the extent of the parts of speech. Position pointed them to the general portion of Paul’s letters where a part of speech was likely to occur but failed to specify the extent of that part of speech. This problem pertained not only to the identification of the exordium and peroratio but also to the identification of the narratio, propositio, and probatio as revealed in the various rhetorical analyses.84 This dilemma led some opponents of rhetorical arrangement to question the value of position as an analytical criterion. Porter commented: The epistolary features of the Pauline letters are the clear generic features that allow identification of the literary form. . . . The rhetorical features are less clearly perceived, as can be seen in the simple fact that some rhetorical analysts include the epistolary opening, others exclude it and others still relabel it. There is no consistency at this point, because the rhetorical features are not clear features in the same way that the epistolary opening and closing are. There is further lack of agreement when the other parts of the letter/speech are analyzed.85 In addition to this problem, rhetorical critics’ relying on position encountered other problems as well. Regarding position, rhetorical critics had difficulty selecting an appropriate tavxi" to determine the position of the parts of speech. Betz had arranged Galatians into the five parts of a forensic speech including exordium, narratio, propositio, probatio, and peroratio.86 Rhetorical critics soon realized, however, that even the ancient rhetorical handbooks disagreed about both the number and the names of these parts of speech.87 Cicero’s De inventione rhetorica (1.14.19) and the Rhetorica ad Herennium (1.3.4) opted for six, Quintilian’s Institutio oratoria (3.9.1) for five, and Cicero’s later works and Aristotle’s Ars rhetorica (3.13.4) for four or preferably, according to Aristotle (3.13.1) even two. In addition, each rhetorical species required a different tavxi" for a speech.88 Opponents of rhetorical arrangement were quick to point out arrangement. See Reid, Augustinian and Pauline Rhetoric in Romans Five: A Study in Early Christian Rhetoric, MBP Series 30 (Lewiston, N.Y.: Mellen Biblical, 1996), 154 and n. 10. The relationship of the epistolary prescript to the exordium clearly posed a problem for Reid. 84. For varying rhetorical arrangements for each of Paul’s letters, see Porter, “Paul of Tarsus,” 541– 61. 85. Porter, “Paul as Epistolographer,” 228. 86. Of course, David E. Aune (review of Hans Dieter Betz, Galatians: A Commentary on Paul’s Letter to the Churches of Galatia, RelSRev 7 [1981]: 326), pointed out that Betz’s categories were not all drawn from judicial rhetoric but included deliberative and epideictic ones as well. Porter (“Paul of Tarsus,” 542) criticized Betz: “There is no systematic discussion in the rhetorical handbooks of what he labels the probatio in a forensic speech.” Also the parenetic section did not fit a judicial speech, but if exhortatio were part of an ancient speech, then Betz identified six parts. See the discussion of parenesis below. 87. A. H. Snyman (“Persuasion in Philippians 4:1–20,” in Porter and Olbricht, Rhetoric and the New Testament, 335) stated, “A uniform or unified system of classical rhetoric has never existed.” See also George Lyons, Pauline Autobiography: Toward a New Understanding, SBLDS 73 (Atlanta: Scholars Press, 1985), 64–65; and Hughes, “Rhetoric of Letters,” 218–20. 88. For a discussion, see Aristotle Rhet. 3.13.1–5.

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that Betz’s five parts did not exactly match the five parts described by Quintilian and criticized those who simply superimposed Betz’s five parts on Paul’s letters without considering a letter’s rhetorical species or the appropriateness of relating rhetorical tavxi" to a letter.89 Responding to this problem, rhetorical critics became increasingly specialized in analyzing the rhetorical arrangement of Paul’s letters. They realized that the judicial tavxi" Betz identified for Galatians could not be applied to every letter. Raymond F. Collins wrote, “Aristotle described as foolish the efforts of those who would try to find all of the rhetorical components of the argument appropriate to the juridical sphere in discourse proclaimed in the epideictic or deliberative style.”90 Thus, F. Forrester Church analyzed Philemon according to the simpler tavxi" of a deliberative speech including exordium (4–7), proof (8–16), and peroration (17–22).91 Calvin Porter identified an epideictic arrangement in Rom 1:18–32 of introduction (1:18), statement of the facts (1:19–21), division (1:22–31), and conclusion (1:32).92 Robert G. Hall even reconsidered the rhetorical arrangement of Galatians according to the deliberative rather than the judicial species.93 Analyses became even more specialized by moving beyond the usual parts of speech in the handbooks to other alternatives. David Aune arranged Romans according to the three parts of a logos protreptikos including a protreptic ejlegktikov" (1:16–4:25), ejndeiktikov" (5:1–8:39), and protreptikov" or paravklhsi" (12:1–15:13).94 89. Kern, Rhetoric and Galatians, 90–119. Preferring modern rhetorical categories, Snyman (“Persuasion in Philippians,” 330) wrote, “I venture to suggest that Watson’s analysis of the peroration is an example of forcing New Testament material into categories of classical rhetoric. He could have proved his point just as well without the rigid use of these categories.” James D. Hester (“Epideictic Rhetoric and Persona in Galatians 1 and 2,” in Nanos, Galatians Debate, 181) recognized the determinative relationship between rhetorical species and arrangement when he reported, “In an article written in 1984, I followed Hans Dieter Betz in identifying Galatians as an apologetic letter cast in the form of a defensive or forensic speech. I also argued for an outline of Gal 1:11–2:14 that identified 2:11–14 as a digression . . . But by the time I wrote my essay for the Kennedy Festschrift, I had come to believe that Galatians could not be easily assigned to any one of the three genera of ancient rhetoric. . . . Abandonment of my belief in the forensic genre for Galatians undermined my earlier arguments for 2:11–14 as a digression. . . . I now believe that Gal 2:11–14 is a response chreia.” The articles to which he refers are Hester, “The Rhetorical Structure of Galatians 1:11–2:14,” JBL 103 (1984): 223–33; and idem, “Placing the Blame: The Presence of Epideictic in Galatians 1–2,” in Persuasive Artistry: Studies in New Testament Rhetoric in Honor of George A. Kennedy, ed. Duane F. Watson, JSNTSup 50 (Sheffield: Sheffield Academic, 1991), 281–307. 90. Collins, “1 Corinthians,” in Bieringer, Corinthian Correspondence, 58. Collins accepted Mitchell’s identification of the rhetorical species of 1 Corinthians as deliberative, but he preferred Aristotle’s two parts of speech, statement and proof, as the most efficient analytical tool. 91. F. Forrester Church, “Rhetorical Structure and Design in Paul’s Letter to Philemon,” HTR 71 (1978): 20–21. 92. Calvin L. Porter, “Romans 1.18–32: Its Role in the Developing Argument,” NTS 40 (1994): 217– 19. 93. Taking issue with Betz, Robert G. Hall (“The Rhetorical Outline for Galatians: A Reconsideration,” in Nanos, Galatians Debate, 29) wrote, “I hope to show that Galatians fits the deliberative species of rhetoric better than the judicial. Since a deliberative speech customarily follows an outline different from a judicial one, I will also present an alternative rhetorical outline for Galatians.” Kennedy (New Testament Interpretation, 145) and Joop Smit (“The Letter of Paul to the Galatians: A Deliberative Speech,” in Nanos, Galatians Debate, 56–57) also analyzed Galatians as deliberative rhetoric. 94. Aune, “Romans as a Logos Protreptikos,” 114–19.

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Several studies sought to expose the encomiastic arrangement of 1 Corinthians 13.95 James G. Sigountos identified the divisions as prooi?mion (13:1–3), pravxei" (13:4–7), suvgkrisi" (13:8–12), and ejpivlogo" (13:13).96 Joop Smit identified 1 Cor 10:23–30 as a rhetorical anticipation, a special part of speech described by the Rhetorica ad Alexandrum.97 This increasing specialization caused Stanley Porter to complain of “wide divergence in the categories used” that often mixed Greek and Roman categories and combined them in ways “not found in the ancient handbooks themselves.”98 Another difficult problem regarding position was the possibility that a full rhetorical arrangement might be found in only one portion of a Pauline letter. Jean-Noël Aletti has been a persistent advocate that each argumentative unit in Paul’s letters has its own independent disposition. Aletti summarized: With regard to the argumentation of Romans, .  .  . one has to renounce applying a standard scheme to it (exordium, narratio, probatio, peroratio) that covers, without any nuance, the eleven chapters. . . . Paul proceeds by relatively short argumentative units . . . which, while being strongly linked, have each in them a dispositio that is quite complete and autonomous (with most of the following elements: an introduction, some subpropositiones, several proofs, a conclusion).99 Aletti’s approach presented rhetorical critics with yet another quandary in using position to determine the parts of a speech. If a part of speech can occur almost anywhere in Paul’s letters then the usefulness of the criterion of position is obviously minimized. Nevertheless, Aletti’s suggestion influenced several rhetorical critics who found more or less complete rhetorical arrangements in portions of Paul’s letters, especially in the Corinthian correspondence.100 Joop Smit analyzed 1 Corinthians 12–14 and discovered an exordium (12:1–3), sections of argumentatio (12:4–30; 14:1–33a), a digressio (12:31–13:13), and a peroratio (14:37–40).101 Smit also analyzed 1 Corinthians 8:7–9:27 95. Barbara E. Bowe, “The Rhetoric of Love in Corinth: From Paul to Clement of Rome,” in Common Life in the Early Church: Essays Honoring Graydon F. Snyder, ed. Julian V. Hills (Harrisburg, Pa.: Trinity Press International, 1998), 253–55. 96. James G. Sigountos, “The Genre of 1 Corinthians 13,” NTS 40 (1994): 251. Camille Focant (“1 Corinthians 13 Analyse Rhétorique et Analyse de Structures,” in Bieringer, Corinthian Correspondence, 210–11) agreed with Sigountos’s identification of the pravxei" and ejpivlogo" but questioned his identification of the prooi??mion and suvgkrisi". 97. Joop Smit, “The Function of First Corinthians 10,23–30: A Rhetorical Anticipation,” Bib 78 (1997): 387–88. 98. Porter, “Paul of Tarsus,” 561; see also idem, “Paul as Epistolographer,” 231. 99. Aletti, “Rhetoric of Romans,” 295; see also idem, “La Dispositio Rhétorique,” 392; and idem, “La presence d’un modèle rhétorique en Romains,” passim. 100. Aletti’s approach has also influenced investigations of parts of Philippians and Romans. For example, Johann D. Kim (God, Israel, and the Gentiles: Rhetoric and Situation in Romans 9–11, SBLDS 176 [Atlanta: Society of Biblical Literature, 2000], 116–17) presented a rhetorical arrangement of Romans 9–11. 101. Joop Smit, “Argument and Genre,” in Porter and Olbricht, Rhetoric and the New Testament, 227–30. Compare Smit’s arrangement with that of B. Standaert, “Analyse rhétorique des chapitres 12 à 14

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and stated, “This passage resembles, on a small scale, the articulation of the classical speech, for it contains a narratio (8:7), a propositio (8:8), a reprehensio (8:9–12), a confirmatio (8:13–9:23), and a peroratio (9:24–27).”102 In an earlier article, Smit had identified 1 Cor 8:1–6 as the partitio.103 Sometimes Smit’s language indicates that he took these passages to represent independent letters, but in a decisive passage, he wrote, “I reluctantly arrived at what looked like the standard pattern of a speech. I am very well aware of the need for caution in this matter and of the danger of forcing texts, time and again, into conforming to this pattern; nevertheless, parts of an argumentation also need a convincing disposition.”104 Thus, Smit did not think these full rhetorical arrangements indicated separate letters, and several agreed with Smit that a full rhetorical arrangement of a portion was possible while maintaining the unity of the whole. Insawn Saw accepted the unity of 1 Corinthians but still presented a full rhetorical arrangement of ch. 15.105 Anders Eriksson also accepted the unity of 1 Corinthians while identifying a complete rhetorical arrangement in chs. 8–10.106 Others disagreed and thought that a complete rhetorical arrangement could support or undermine partition theories.107 Frank Hughes commented, “An assumption of this study is that rhetorical criticism could help to confirm or refute the results of theories of partition or interpolation.”108 After completing his rhetorical analysis of Paul’s letter of reconciliation (2 Cor 1:1–2:13; 7:5–8:24), Hughes concluded, “Since de 1 Co,” in Charisma und Agape (1 Ko 12–14), ed. L. De Lorenzi, Monographische Reihe von Benedictina; Biblisch-ökumenische Abteilung 7 (Rome: Abbey of St. Paul Outside the Wall, 1983), 23–50. Standaert’s rhetorical arrangement included propositio (12:1–3), exordium (12:4–11), narratio (12:12–30), digressio (12:31–13:13), argumentatio (14:1–36), and peroratio (14:37–40). See also Bo Frid, “Structure and Argumentation in 1 Cor 12,” SEÅ 60 (1995): 96, for a different rhetorical arrangement of 1 Corinthians 12. 102. Smit, “Rhetorical Disposition,” 491. 103. Smit, “1 Corinthians 8,1–6, a Rhetorical Partitio,” 577–91. 104. Smit, “Rhetorical Disposition,” 479. 105. Saw, Paul’s Rhetoric, 180–81. See the outline of his rhetorical disposition on pp. 223–26. See also the rhetorical arrangement of 1 Corinthians 15 by Michael Bünker, Briefformular und rhetorische Disposition im 1. Korintherbrief, GTA 28 (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1984), 99, and Duane F. Watson, “Paul’s Rhetorical Strategy in 1 Corinthians 15,” in Porter and Olbricht, Rhetoric and the New Testament, 248–49. Bünker’s analysis included exordium (15:1–3a), narratio (15:3b-11), argumentatio (15:12–28), peroratio (15:29–34), argumentatio (15:35–49), and peroratio (15:50–58). Bünker also presented a rhetorical dispositio of 1 Corinthians 1–4. Compare Bünker’s rhetorical arrangement of 1 Corinthians 1–4 (exordium [1:10–17], narratio [1:18–2:16], argumentatio [3:1–17], peroratio [3:18–23], argumentatio [4:1–15], and peroratio [4:16–21]) with that of Johan S. Vos, “Die Argumentation des Paulus in 1 Kor 1,10–3,4,” in Bieringer, Corinthian Correspondence, 87–114 (propositio [1:10], narratio [1:11–12], argumentatio [1:13–3:4]). 106. Anders Eriksson, “Special Topics in 1 Corinthians 8–10,” in Porter and Stamps, Rhetorical Interpretation of Scripture, 278 (summary on pp. 281–82). 107. Mitchell, Rhetoric of Reconciliation, 17 n. 55. 108. Frank Witt Hughes, “The Rhetoric of Reconciliation: 2 Corinthians 1.1–2.13 and 7.5–8.24,” in Watson, Persuasive Artistry, 247. Duane F. Watson (“A Rhetorical Analysis of Philippians and Its Implications for the Unity Question,” NovT 30 [1988]: 57–88), had earlier used this method to demonstrate the unity of Philippians. On p. 84, Watson commented, “Partition and composition theories are much harder to maintain in light of the demonstration of Paul’s use of Greco-Roman rhetoric.” In contrast, John Reumann used rhetorical disposition to argue that chapter 3 was a separate letter (“Christology in Philippians, Especially Chapter 3,” in Anfänge der Christologie: Festschrift für Ferdinand Hahn zum 65. Geburtstag, ed. Cilliers Breytenbach and Henning Paulsen [Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1991], 137).

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there is a clear thematic unity which is matched by a demonstrable unity of rhetorical structure, it is likely that 1.1–2.13 and 7.5–8.24 are an integral letter.”109 Of course, Betz himself had earlier demonstrated the independence of 2 Corinthians 8 and 9 from the rest of 2 Corinthians by producing a rhetorical arrangement for each letter.110 In contrast, a number of scholars argued for the unity of 2 Corinthians on the basis of a complete rhetorical arrangement in the letter.111 Still others viewed rhetorical arrangement as irrelevant to the partition issue. Presenting a full rhetorical arrangement of 2 Corinthians 10–13, Brian Peterson commented, “Our investigation . . . does not depend upon chapters 10–13 being part of or separate from chapters 1–9, nor on the order of these letters if they are separate.”112 Whether or not Aletti’s approach contributed anything to the question of partition theories, it certainly increased the problems of using the criterion of position in identifying parts of a speech because these could now be said to occur anywhere in a Pauline letter.113 While rhetorical critics encountered difficult problems in applying Betz’s criterion of position, they encountered even more problems in applying his criterion of form, for the parts of speech lack formal structure and possess only indeterminate formal characteristics. Betz himself realized that a part of speech could “take many different forms.” Nevertheless, he argued that a proper identification was possible based on the formal elements within a part of speech.114 Johan S. Vos accurately portrayed the problem with Betz’s criterion of form: Hans Dieter Betz mentions several elements of Gal 1:6–9 that, according to the rhetorical handbooks, may constitute parts of an exordium: summarizing the causa, discrediting the adversaries, blaming the audience, expressing astonishment, and frightening the judges by threats. Although most of

109. Hughes, “Rhetoric of Reconciliation,” 260. Hughes (“Rhetorical Criticism and the Corinthian Correspondence,” in Porter and Olbricht, Rhetorical Analysis of Scripture, 336–50) also produced a rhetorical arrangement of the letter fragment in 2 Cor 2:14–6:13; 7:2–4. 110. Betz, 2 Corinthians 8 and 9, 37–140. 111. See Frances Young and David F. Ford, Meaning and Truth in 2 Corinthians (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1987), 38–39; J. D. H(ester) Amador, “Revisiting 2 Corinthians: Rhetoric and the Case for Unity,” NTS 46 (2000): 95; and Long, Ancient Rhetoric, passim. 112. Peterson, Eloquence and the Proclamation of the Gospel, 57. Peterson, however, accepted the partition of 2 Corinthians 10–13 on other grounds. O’Mahony (Pauline Persuasion, 103) also thought rhetorical arrangement irrelevant to partition theories in his rhetorical arrangement of 2 Corinthians 8–9. 113. Surprisingly, Aletti’s approach has received few challenges. In his defense of Aletti, Eriksson (“Special Topics in 1 Corinthians 8–10,” 278 n. 5) cited Mitchell, Rhetoric of Reconciliation, 16 n. 52, as the only one voicing an objection. Eriksson cited Kennedy, New Testament Interpretation, 33–34, in support of Aletti’s approach. Eriksson could have also cited Quintilian Inst. 3.9.3, which allowed a partitio at the beginning of each question in a speech, and Rhetorica ad Herennium 2.30.47, which allowed a conclusio or epilogos to conclude a proof in addition to the entire speech. Nevertheless, there is some validity to Mitchell’s objection that subsections of a larger argument must be somewhat different from the parts of the rhetorical whole. 114. Betz, “Literary Composition,” 357–58.

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The lack of both a fixed form and constitutive elements proved problematic. Joop Smit faced the problem described by Vos in his identification of 1 Cor 14:37–40 as a peroratio. After noting that the peroratio usually consisted of recapitulatio or enumeratio, indignatio, and conquestio, Smit noted, “It is evident that 1 Cor 14:37–40 cannot be formally divided into recapitulatio, indignatio and conquestio, the three parts a peroratio normally consists of. It is clear, however, that this passage positively displays the characteristics of the peroratio as described in the handbooks and therefore may justly be called by this technical term of rhetoric.”116 Because these three formal elements are not restricted to a peroratio but can occur in other parts of the speech, however, they are not formally constitutive of a concluding peroratio.117 Lacking fixed formal structures and constitutive formal elements, the parts of speech proved difficult to identify consistently as the varying rhetorical arrangements demonstrate. Encountering troubles with Betz’s criteria of position and form, rhetorical critics increasingly relied on his criterion of function in identifying the parts of speech. Hughes explained the use of this principle in his comments on Demosthenes’ Letter 1: One can see that the partes orationis do function in this letter in ways that one would expect from reading about the partes orationis in the rhetorical handbooks. .  .  . Just as the identification and exposition of the partes of Demosthenes’ letter are central to the understanding of what and how the writer intended to persuade, so are the identification and exposition of the partes of 1 Thessalonians central to the understanding of the rhetoric of this letter.118 Citing conformity of function, Hughes substantiated his identification of 1 Thess 1:1–2 as the exordium by saying, “It is important to note the fact that the exordium not only has the rhetorical function of the captatio benevolentiae, but also the rhetorical function of introducing various themes that will be dealt with later on in the discourse.”119 Examples of rhetorical critics’ use of function to identify the parts of speech 115. Johan S. Vos, “Paul’s Argumentation in Galatians 1–2,” in Nanos, Galatians Debate, 172. Smit (“Letter of Paul to the Galatians,” 40–42) gave several examples of the lack of constitutive formal characteristics in Betz’s analysis. 116. Smit, “Argument and Genre,” 216. For similar examples of this approach, see the collection of articles in idem, About the Idol Offerings, passim. 117. Quintilian (Inst. 4.1.8) stated that recapitulatio may be employed in other parts of the speech as well, and the Rhetorica ad Herennium 2.30.47 prescribed four places in a speech where tripartite conclusions could be used, including in the opening, after the statement of facts or the strongest proof, and at the conclusion of the speech. 118. Hughes, “Rhetoric of Letters,” 240. 119. Hughes “Rhetoric of 1 Thessalonians,” 98.

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increased dramatically. In his rhetorical arrangement of 1 Cor 12:1–3, Vos explained, “Verse 1 should be designated as a praefatio. In a speech that treats more than a single subject, there can be according to Quintilian several introductory beginnings, which often only have a transitional function. Verse 2 has the function of a short narratio. . . . Verse 3 has the function of a propositio.”120 In his identification of the exordium in Philemon, Church reasoned, “Three things appropriate to the exordium in deliberative rhetoric are accomplished here by Paul. . . . If, as Quintilian writes, ‘the sole purpose of the exordium is to prepare our audience in such a way that they will be disposed to lend a ready ear to the rest of our speech,’ Paul accomplishes this with economy and tact.”121 In his analysis of 2 Corinthians 1–7, David A. deSilva concluded, “The rhetorical handbooks provide the background against which 2 Cor 1:1–2:11 appears to fulfill the role of the exordium.”122 Robert Jewett defended his rhetorical analysis against other analyses of 1 Thessalonians by a sustained appeal to the function of the parts of speech.123 Similar examples could be multiplied, but these are sufficient to illustrate rhetorical critics’ heavy reliance upon the criterion of function for identification of the parts of a speech. The scholarship that followed Betz relied on his criteria of position and form but eventually came to rely more heavily on his criterion of function to identify the parts of a speech.124 Even opponents of rhetorical arrangement could accept this criterion as the most legitimate way of relating the parts of a speech to passages in Paul’s letters.125 Given his staunch opposition to rhetorical arrangement, Porter surprisingly wrote: There are nevertheless functional correspondences between these epistolary parts and those of the oration. For example, the epistolary opening has a number of formal features . . . which are part of performing certain functions in the letter, such as establishing and maintaining contact between the sender and recipients and clarifying their respective statuses and relationships. It is not surprising that some have wanted to see this as corresponding to the exordium or prooimion.126 Once again, this survey has demonstrated that Pauline rhetorical critics came to emphasize function rather than form as the most advantageous exegetical use of rhetorical arrangement. One part of Paul’s letters, however, that continued to defy 120. Johan S. Vos, “Das Rätsel von 1 Kor 12:1–3,” NovT 35 (1993): 268 (translation mine). 121. Church, “Rhetorical Structure,” 22. 122. David A. deSilva, “Meeting the Exigency of a Complex Rhetorical Situation: Paul’s Strategy in 2 Corinthians 1 through 7,” AUSS 34 (1996): 16. 123. Jewett, Thessalonian Correspondence, 76–78. 124. See, e.g., Hermann Probst, Paulus und der Brief: Die Rhetorik des antiken Briefes als Form der paulinischen Korintherkorrespondenz (1 Kor 8–10), WUNT 2/45 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1991), 99–107. 125. Opponents often did not agree, however, on every application of the criterion of function. For example, Hoppe (“Der erste Thessalonicherbrief,” 234–35) wrote, “The function pertaining to the exordium in rhetorical disposition is not however present in 1 Thessalonians . . . 1:6–10 also does not appear to me to be an elaboration of the ejkloghv as for example Robert Jewett thought” (translation mine).” 126. Porter, “Paul of Tarsus,” 569–70.

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the categories of rhetorical arrangement even in a functional sense was Betz’s identification of parenesis as exhortatio. 3.1.3. Parenesis in Rhetorical Arrangement In his lecture, Betz himself recognized the difficulty of including parenesis in the rhetorical arrangement by saying, “It is rather puzzling to see that paraenesis plays only a marginal role in the ancient rhetorical handbooks, if not in rhetoric itself. Consequently, modern studies of ancient rhetoric also do not pay much attention to it.”127 In his commentary, he designated Gal 5:1–6:10 by the Latin term exhortatio, which prompted Hans Hübner to write, “In his commentary, he entitles the passage exhortatio, but once again declares there what he had said about parenesis already in 1974.”128 The use of the Latin term exhortatio, which was consistent with the other Latin labels of arrangement, did not resolve the difficulty, and Hübner described Betz’s treatment of parenesis as the weakest part of his rhetorical arrangement of Galatians. Numerous articulations of this problem raised by Betz’s inclusion of parenesis in rhetorical arrangement occurred in the subsequent literature.129 Calling the problem a “ticklish” one, Aletti wrote, “A ticklish question, that of the pertinence of exhortations to a rhetorical model, is not addressed there. . . . The difficulty arises from the long sections of exhortations in Romans 12–15 and Galatians 5–6, for if one relies on the rhetorical manuals, these sections do not appear to pertain to the dispositio of ancient discourse.”130 Smit described the issue similarly, “Gal 5:1–6:10 is considered by Betz as the paraenesis. This part creates, as he himself remarks, a serious problem for his rhetorical analysis. In classical rhetoric an exhortative passage such as this is completely unknown as a separate part of a normal speech.”131 Numerous solutions to this dilemma were proposed. Betz himself appealed to the philosophical letters that end with a parenetic section.132 Several pointed out, however, that such parallels did not constitute proof that the rhetorical categories were applicable to parenesis, and some proposed excluding parenesis from rhetorical arrangement altogether.133 Aletti wrote, “The discourse models of ancient rhetoric did not have long exhortations like those of Galatians and Romans. In other words, one should not see in these exhortations elements belonging to the dispositio of the speech, but they should rather be seen as epistolary components, surely inherited

127. Betz, “Literary Composition,” 375–76. 128. Hübner, “Der Galaterbrief,” 244 (translation mine). See Betz, Galatians, 22–23. 129. See, e.g., François Vouga, “Zur rhetorischen Gattung des Galaterbriefes,” ZNW 79 (1988): 291. 130. Aletti, “La Dispositio Rhétorique,” 400 (translation mine). 131. Smit, “The Letter of Paul to the Galatians,” in Nanos, Galatians Debate, 42. 132. Betz, “Literary Composition,” 376. 133. Wolfgang Harnisch (“Einübung des neuen Seins: Paulinische Paränese am Beispiel des Galaterbriefs,” ZTK 84 [1987]: 286) commented, “If one wants to define the rhetorical form of Galatians, the parenetic part appears strange. As Betz must also take into account, the Pauline exhortatio has no fitting equivalent in the structure of a forensic speech and his reference to certain analogies in the ancient tradition of philosophical letters is scarcely able to compensate for that deficit” (translation mine). See also Porter, “Paul of Tarsus,” 562–63, and idem, “Rhetorical Categories,” 104.

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from the typos nouthetètikos.”134 Smit even suggested that the parenetic section could be a later addition to the letter.135 Hughes excluded parenesis from the parts of speech but nevertheless thought it was compatible with the function of deliberative discourses and offered some examples.136 His rhetorical analysis of 1 Thessalonians thus placed the parenetic section after the peroratio but within the frame of the letter.137 Others also perceived a functional connection between parenesis and deliberative speeches but proposed solutions that integrated parenesis and rhetorical arrangement more closely.138 Wolfgang Harnisch commented: The speech acts of advice and warning, which characterize the parenetic diction of Galatians, call to mind in a conspicuous manner the rhetorical antithesis of persuasion and dissuasion. They are speech acts that are characteristic not of forensic speeches but rather deliberative speeches.139 Harnisch relied on Aristotle (Rhet. 1.3.3), who established the two functions of a deliberative speech as protrophv and ajpotrophv. Thus, Aune saw the parenetic section of Romans as a fitting conclusion to a lovgo" protreptikov", and Hellholm integrated parenesis into rhetorical arrangement as a practical-nonlogical argument related to ethos.140 Betz himself had considered but rejected the possibility of solving the problem by an appeal to deliberative speeches, which in his opinion had “no apparent connection to paraenesis.”141 Others agreed with Betz and assigned parenesis to epideictic rhetoric.142 In spite of the numerous suggested solutions, integrating parenesis into rhetorical arrangement remained a ticklish question. If parenesis can be integrated into rhetorical arrangement, the functional approaches of Aune, Harnisch, and Hellholm provided the best options, as Neil Elliott explained: Attention is thus shifted from formal characteristics of text segments, treated in isolation, to the rhetorical function of argumentative parts . . . within a purposeful whole. This new perspective on rhetorical and social aspects

134. Aletti, “Rhetoric of Romans,” 295. 135. Joop Smit, “Redactie in de brief aan de Galaten: Retorische analyze van Gal. 4,12–6,18,” TvT 26 (1986): 113–14. For a summary, see idem, “Letter of Paul to the Galatians,” 45. 136. Hughes, “Rhetoric of Letters,” 237; and idem, “Rhetoric of 1 Thessalonians,” 106. 137. Hughes, “Rhetoric of 1 Thessalonians,” 115–16. 138. Wanamaker (“Epistolary vs. Rhetorical Analysis,” 275) criticized Hughes for leaving parenesis outside the rhetorical arrangement and thus undermining the careful arrangement that Hughes had found in the rest of 1 Thessalonians. 139. Harnisch, “Einübung des neuen Seins,” 286 (translation mine). 140. Aune, “Romans as a Logos Protreptikos,” 119; David Hellholm, “Enthymemic Argumentation in Paul: The Case of Romans 6,” in Paul and His Hellenistic Context, ed. Troels Engberg-Pedersen (Minneapolis: Fortress, 1995), 135–38, and idem, “Amplificatio,” 141. 141. Betz, “Literary Composition,” 375 n. 9. 142. Lauri Thurén, “Motivation as the Core of Paraenesis—Remarks on Peter and Paul as Persuaders,” in Early Christian Paraenesis in Context, ed. James Starr and Troels Engberg-Pedersen, BZNW 125 (Berlin: de Gruyter, 2005), 354–56.

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Paul and Rhetoric of paraenesis alerts us to the importance of the social world in which the paraenetic activity makes cognitive and affective sense.143

Once again, Pauline rhetorical critics came to emphasize function rather than form as a solution to the problems encountered when analyzing the rhetorical arrangement of Paul’s letters. 3.1.4. Evaluative Summary This survey has demonstrated how Betz’s 1974 lecture anticipated both the practices and the problems of rhetorical critics’ investigating the arrangement of Paul’s undisputed letters. The ambiguity of a single word “and” in Betz’s lecture sparked the lively debate about the relationship of the parts of speech and letter conventions. The criteria Betz introduced to identify the parts of speech in a Pauline letter were repeatedly used by subsequent rhetorical critics. Betz’s difficulty of finding a place for parenesis in rhetorical arrangement continued to challenge rhetorical critics. In responding to the problems posed by these issues, rhetorical critics moved away from a formal application of rhetorical arrangement to a functional approach of relating the parts of speech to letter conventions. C. Clifton Black II noted, “Rhetorical models function best as heuristic guides: particular texts often resist preset patterns.”144 Snyman advised: Classical rhetoric with all its categories can be of help in understanding any written document, provided it is not followed rigidly but rather used as a frame of reference for empirical study. . . . This being the case, classical rhetorical theory must be employed . . . provided that we do not force any rhetorical system upon a text; the more so, since a uniform or unified system of classical rhetoric has never existed, despite the efforts of many modern studies of classical rhetoric to present such a system.145 Hughes specified the assistance that classical rhetoric could lend: “The question that rhetorical analysis of letters can answer, that epistolographic analysis alone does not appear to answer very well, is this: Just how are the structure and function of a letter related to its content and the intention of its writer?”146 This focus on function not only provided common ground for proponents and

143. Neil Elliott, The Rhetoric of Romans, JSNTSup 45 (Sheffield: Sheffield Academic, 1990), 101. Elliott (p. 66) comments, “These parts of the epistolary ‘frame’, we will argue, correspond functionally to the rhetorical exordium and peroratio.” See also Probst, Paulus und der Brief, 99–107; and the following articles from Starr and Engberg-Pedersen, Early Christian Paraenesis in Context: Wiard Popkes, “Paraenesis in the New Testament: An Exercise in Conceptuality,” 13–46; Troels Engberg-Pedersen, “The Concept of Paraenesis,” 47–72; and especially James Starr, “Was Paraenesis for Beginners?” 73–111. 144. C. Clifton Black II, “Rhetorical Questions: The New Testament, Classical Rhetoric, and Current Interpretation,” Dialog 29 (1990): 69. 145. Snyman, “Persuasion in Philippians,” 335. 146. Hughes, “Rhetoric of Letters,” 215.

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opponents of rhetorical arrangement but also provided a transition to the next phase of rhetorical criticism. Porter commented: Functional correlations between the various categories of rhetoric can be found with the various parts of the Pauline letters. These functional correlations, especially in terms of arrangement and invention, provide a way forward in the study of Pauline rhetoric, since they give access to the underlying nature and purpose of argumentation, and the effect that this argumentation may have on the shape of an entire work and its defined audience.147 Emphasizing the functional correlations between the parts of speech and letter conventions indeed pointed the way forward as Eriksson heralded a new phase in Pauline rhetorical criticism, “This interest in the text’s power to persuade is distinctive for the present-day phase of rhetorical criticism. Interest in the dispositio of the text has given way to an interest in the inventio that is, the rhetorical situation, the rhetorical strategy and the argumentation in the text.”148 As late as 1988, J. Paul Sampley could write, “We have not inquired very much how people in Paul’s time carried on their arguments, how they made their cases, and how they tried to persuade one another.”149 In the decade of the 1990s, rhetorical critics sought to supply this deficiency. The present survey turns now to follow this “new” inventio phase of Pauline rhetorical studies.

3.2. Invention Malcolm Heath defined rhetorical invention by writing, “‘Invention’ (inventio, eu{resi") means ‘discovery’. In rhetoric it designates the discovery of the resources for discursive persuasion latent in any given rhetorical problem. This process of discovery was extensively theorized by ancient rhetoricians.”150 In his lecture, Betz 147. Porter, “Paul of Tarsus,” 584. 148. Eriksson, “Special Topics in 1 Corinthians 8–10,” 272–73. On p. 277, Eriksson explained this new development, “During the era of form-critical investigation of the pre-Pauline traditions in the Pauline text, attention was focused on the pre-history of the text. . . . In the new inventio phase of rhetorical criticism, attention is focused upon how these traditions function as rhetorical proofs in Paul’s argumentation.” See also Eriksson, Traditions as Rhetorical Proof: Pauline Argumentation in 1 Corinthians, ConBNT 29 (Stockholm: Amqvist & Wiksell, 1998), 10. For examples of this shift of emphasis, see Anthony C. Thiselton, The First Epistle to the Corinthians: A Commentary on the Greek Text, NIGTC (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2000), 41–52; Dieter Sänger, “‘Vergeblich bemüht’ (Gal 4.11)? Zur paulinischen Argumentationsstrategie im Galaterbrief,” NTS 48 (2002): 377–99; and Klauck, Ancient Letters, 225. 149. J. Paul Sampley, “Paul, His Opponents in 2 Corinthians 10–13 and the Rhetorical Handbooks,” in The Social World of Formative Christianity and Judaism: Essays in Tribute to Howard Clark Kee, ed. Jacob Neusner (Philadelphia: Fortress, 1988), 162. 150. Malcolm Heath, “Invention,” in Porter, Handbook of Classical Rhetoric, 89. Useful descriptions of the theory of invention include Hester, “Invention of 1 Thessalonians,” 254–61; Robert M. Berchman, “Galatians (1:1–5): Paul and Greco-Roman Rhetoric,” in Nanos, Galatians Debate, 62–63; and Saw, Paul’s Rhetoric, 106–26.

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correctly noted that invention, or the selection and marshaling of proofs, was “the most decisive part of the speech.”151 He insisted that Paul’s letter to the Galatians had a coherent flow of thought that responded persuasively to the causa of the case. Betz concentrated on logical means of argument but also mentioned ethical and pathetic as well as topical argumentation. Subsequent rhetorical studies of Paul’s letters explored all of these aspects of invention. Thus, the “new” inventio phase of Pauline rhetorical studies reached back at least to Betz’s lecture even though Pauline rhetorical critics initially overlooked Betz’s emphasis on inventio and concentrated on arrangement. Space restrictions necessitate some exclusion in surveying studies investigating invention in Paul’s letters. David Hellholm commented, “The manner of Paul’s argumentation in his letters has always been the topic of exegetical work. Luckily, in recent times, exegetes engaged with the related disciplines of philology, theoretical linguistics, and rhetoric have also shown an interest in the apostle’s argumentative strategy.”152 Hellholm correctly noted that investigation of Pauline argumentation has always been a subject of Pauline exegetical studies. Such studies, however, transcend the more limited scope of rhetorical invention, which is only one approach to analyzing Pauline argumentation.153 Thus, the studies that analyzed Paul’s arguments without using rhetorical categories are excluded from the present survey. Also excluded are those studies or portions of studies that only mention rhetorical categories but do not use them as the primary means of analysis. For example, Richard N. Longenecker commented on Rom 5:1–8:39, “It is in this section that the three basic features of classical rhetoric—that is, logos (content or argument), ethos (the personal character of the speaker or writer), and pathos (the power to stir the emotions)—come most fully to the expression in Paul’s letter to the Romans.”154 This comment came at the end of Longenecker’s analysis, which did not specifically identify any argument as arising from one of these three sources of argumentation. More difficult to exclude are those studies or portions of studies that investigate Pauline style, for classical rhetorical theory often blurred the boundaries between elocutio/ levxi" and inventio/eu{resi". For example, Aristotle (Rhet. 2.21) treated the maxim (gnwvmh/sententia) as a tool of logical argument, whereas Quintilian (Inst. 8.5) treated it as a stylistic device primarily providing ornamentation.155 Another example is Aristotle’s (Rhet. 2.18.4–5) equation of amplification with his third koinovn of argu-

151. Betz, “Literary Composition,” 368. 152. David Hellholm, “Die Argumentative Funktion von Römer 7.1–6,” NTS 43 (1997): 385 (translation mine). 153. Johan S. Vos, Die Kunst der Argumentation bei Paulus: Studien zur antiken Rhetorik, WUNT 149 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2002). 154. Richard N. Longenecker, “The Focus of Romans: The Central Role of 5:1–8:39 in the Argument of the Letter,” in Romans and the People of God: Essays in Honor of Gordon D. Fee on the Occasion of His 65th Birthday, ed. Sven K. Sonderlund and Nicholas T. Wright (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1999), 49–69. See also Thomas H. Tobin, Paul’s Rhetoric in Its Contexts: The Argument of Romans (Peabody, Mass.: Hendrickson, 2004). 155. See George A. Kennedy, Aristotle On Rhetoric: A Theory of Civic Discourse (New York: Oxford University Press, 1991), 182.

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mentation.156 Yet another example of the overlap between invention and style is Rhetorica ad Herennium (2.18.28), which included exornatio as one of the five parts of an epicheireme as a means of enriching and adorning the argument after the proof had been established.157 Perhaps, the most significant example is the enthymeme, which was foundational to Aristotle’s inventional theory but was treated as an element of style by other theorists.158 Examples could be multiplied, but these are sufficient to demonstrate that invention often overlapped with matters of style in classical theory. Nevertheless, the present survey excludes studies of Pauline style such as those of Peter Lampe, who investigated the rhetorical schema in the argument of 1 Cor 1:18–2:16; J. Paul Sampley, who studied Paul’s figured speech in Rom 14:1–15:13; and Sampley’s student Rollin A. Ramsaran, who probed the rhetorical maxim in 1 Cor 7:25–26.159 Neither shall this survey include studies such as those of Douglas A. Campbell on elocutio in Rom 3:21–26 or of Wilhelm Wuellner and Duane F. Watson on the role of rhetorical questions in Pauline argumentation.160 All of these studies of Pauline style are important to Pauline rhetorical criticism but will be left to other surveys.161 Finally, this survey shall also exclude studies of Pauline argumentation that used modern rhetorical methods of analyses.162 Admittedly, this exclusion means ignoring many significant works on Pauline argumentation such as that of F. Siegert, who applied C. Perelman and L. Olbrecht-Tyteca’s model of argumentation to Romans

156. See R. Dean Anderson Jr., Glossary of Greek Rhetorical Terms Connected to Methods of Argumentation, Figures and Tropes from Anaximenes to Quintilian (Louvain: Peeters, 2000), 26–29. This koinovn would be the fourth if past fact and future fact are considered the second and third rather than a single koinovn. 157. George A. Kennedy, “Historical Survey of Rhetoric,” in Porter, Handbook of Classical Rhetoric, 24. 158. See O’Mahony, Pauline Persuasion, 119–20, and Paul A. Holloway, “The Enthymeme as an Element of Style in Paul,” JBL 120 (2001): 329–39. 159. Peter Lampe, “Theological Wisdom and the ‘Word about the Cross’: The Rhetorical Scheme in 1 Corinthians 1–4,” Int 44 (1990): 117–31; J. Paul Sampley, “The Weak and the Strong: Paul’s Careful and Crafty Rhetorical Strategy in Romans 14:1–15:13,” in The Social World of the First Christians: Essays in Honor of Wayne A. Meeks, ed. Michael White and O. Larry Yarbrough (Minneapolis: Fortress, 1995), 40–52; Rollin A. Ramsaran, “More Than an Opinion: Paul’s Rhetorical Maxim in First Corinthians 7:25– 26,” CBQ 57 (1995): 531–41. 160. Douglas A. Campbell, The Rhetoric of Righteousness in Romans 3:21–26, JSNTSup 65 (Sheffield: Sheffield Academic, 1992), 77–101; Wilhelm Wuellner, “Paul as Pastor: The Function of Rhetorical Questions in First Corinthians,” in Vanhoye, L’apotre Paul, 49–77; Duane F. Watson, “1 Corinthians 10:23–11:1 in the Light of Greco-Roman Rhetoric: The Role of Rhetorical Questions,” JBL 108 (1989): 301–18. On pp. 313–15, Watson described the treatment of rhetorical questions as both invention and style but identified the rhetorical questions in his study as figures of thought. The so-called figures of thought provide a natural overlap between invention and style. 161. See especially Galen O. Rowe, “Style,” in Porter, Handbook of Classical Rhetoric, 121–157. 162. Dennis L. Stamps (“The Theological Rhetoric of the Pauline Epistles: Prolegomenon,” in Porter and Stamps, Rhetorical Interpretation of Scripture, 255) observed, “Rhetorical analyses of Pauline argumentation abound. One strand primarily uses aspects of modern rhetorical theory to illumine Pauline argumentation. Another strand primarily utilizes the categories of ancient Graeco-Roman rhetorical theory.” The present survey is restricted to the latter.

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9–11, but such works do not belong to a survey of classical theories of invention.163 What this survey does include are those studies of Pauline invention that followed Betz’s lead and investigated Paul’s use of classical invention, which included the logical, pathetic, ethical, and topical means of arguing the causa or argumentative issue. 3.2.1. Determining the Causa In his lecture, Betz commented on Gal 1:6, “This statement of the causa of the case, the reason why the letter was written, contains the ‘facts’ that occasioned the letter.” Apart from this brief comment, Betz proposed no method for identifying the causa of Paul’s arguments even though such identification was crucial for understanding Pauline argumentation.164 Betz’s reticence left subsequent rhetorical critics with the problem of determining the causa or argumentative issue. These critics sought to find the causa in the parts of speech, in the exigence of the rhetorical situation, or in the stasis of the case. 3.2.1.1. Causa in the Parts of Speech A few rhetorical critics attempted to find the causa in one of the parts of speech. Duane F. Watson explained: The partitio is the element of arrangement which enumerates the propositions of the orator to be developed in the probatio. . . . It usually follows the narratio and, as a listing of propositions, is perhaps the greatest indicator of the issues involved in the historical situation. The partitio is not needed if only one proposition is involved. . . . If a Pauline epistle contains no partitio, the main issue is probably found in the narratio.165 Margaret Mitchell provided an excellent example of this attempt when she wrote: I shall first demonstrate that 1 Cor 1:10 . . . is the provqesi" (thesis statement), the rhetorical part which announces what is to be demonstrated in an argument, I shall then show that the entire letter of 1 Corinthians is indeed consonant with this thesis statement . . . as a letter which throughout seeks to persuade the church community to work for unity in all the areas of church life where their divisions are now manifest.166 This attempt to find the causa in one of the parts of speech possessed a natural simplicity that eclipsed its complexity in actual practice. 163. F. Siegert, Argumentation bei Paulus—gezeigt an Röm 9–11, WUNT 34 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1985). 164. Hellholm (“Enthymemic Argumentation,” 139) explained, “In argumentation analyses one must first establish the thesis of the proponent. Only then is it meaningful to relate the pro- and counterarguments of the disputing parties to each other.” 165. Watson, “Contributions and Limitations of Greco-Roman Rhetorical Theory,” in Porter and Stamps, Rhetorical Interpretation of Scripture, 144. 166. Mitchell, Rhetoric of Reconciliation, 65–66.

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The varying points of view among Wilhelm Wuellner, Robert Jewett, and David Hellholm in regard to the causa of Romans illustrated this complexity well. Jewett responded to Wueller’s perspective: His analysis rests on the difficult premise that Romans 1:13–15 is the causa which in a traditional exordium states the purpose which the letter or speech intends to achieve. It appears more likely that the causa is stated in 1:9–10 and is elaborated in verses 11–12, while verses 13–15 provide the background of this purpose, namely Paul’s repeated efforts to mount a mission to Rome and beyond.167 Although both Wuellner and Jewett located the causa in the exordium, they disagreed about the extent of the exordium. Wuellner found the causa in 1:13–15, which he included in the exordium, whereas Jewett placed these verses in the narratio and perceived the causa in 1:9–10 as part of a more limited exordium. In contrast, Hellholm did not find the central thesis of Romans in the exordium at all but stated, “The central thesis that Paul is advocating in Romans is justification by faith. This thesis is formulated both negatively and positively throughout the letter. Positively it is first and foremost encountered in the propositio (1:16–17).”168 Jewett also identified 1:16–17 as the propositio of Romans but thought that it expressed only the thesis of the main argument but not the causa of the letter.169 These differing points of view illustrated the difficulty of identifying the causa by one of the parts of speech. Such studies disagreed not only about the extent of the parts of speech in a given Pauline letter but also about which part of speech expressed the causa.170 Consequently, the majority of other studies opted to find the causa in the exigence of the rhetorical situation rather than in one of the parts of speech.171 3.2.1.2. Causa in the Rhetorical Situation George A. Kennedy was probably responsible for the popularity of finding the causa in the exigence of the rhetorical situation. In his programmatic book on rhetorical criticism for New Testament critics, he wrote:

167. Robert Jewett, “Romans as an Ambassadorial Letter,” Int 36 (1982): 7. On pp. 13–14, Jewett commented, “The thanksgiving continues the role of an exordium in formal Greco-Roman rhetoric, stating the purpose of the writer or speaker . . . the diplomatic thrust of the preceding section leads into the prayerful causa for the letter; ‘whether at last I may perhaps be directed in the will of God to come to you’ (1:10).” 168. Hellholm, “Enthymemic Argumentation,” 139. 169. Robert Jewett, “Following the Argument of Romans,” in Donfried, Romans Debate, 268, 272. See also idem, “Romans as an Ambassadorial Letter,” 13–15. 170. Another good example was Betz’s and Normand Bonneau’s description of the causa of Galatians. Both found the causa in 1:6–7, but Betz placed this passage in the exordium whereas Bonneau identified this passage as the propositio. See Betz, Galatians, 16; and Bonneau, “The Logic of Paul’s Argument of the Curse of the Law in Galatians 3:10–14,” NovT 39 (1997): 63. 171. Mark D. Given, Paul’s True Rhetoric: Ambiguity, Cunning, and Deception in Greece and Rome, Emory Studies in Early Christianity 7 (Harrisburg, Pa.: Trinity Press International, 2001), 91–95. Given identifies 1 Cor 1:10 as the provqesi" but in a section entitled “The Rhetorical Situation.”

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Paul and Rhetoric Once a preliminary determination of the rhetorical unit has been made, the critic should attempt to define the rhetorical situation of the unit. . . . Lloyd F. Bitzer . . . defines rhetorical situation as “a complex of persons, events, objects, and relations presenting an actual or potential exigence which can be completely or partially removed if discourse, introduced into the situation, can so constrain human decision or action as to bring about the significant modification of the exigence.”172

For Bitzer, an exigence was “an imperfection marked by urgency .  .  . a defect, an obstacle, something waiting to be done, a thing which is other than it should be.”173 According to Bitzer, the rhetorical situation along with its exigence was also historical. He explained, “The exigence and the complex of persons, objects, events, and relations which generate rhetorical discourse are located in reality, are objective and publicly observable historic facts in the world we experience.”174 Sanctioned by Kennedy’s programmatic instruction, rhetorical critics equated Bitzer’s exigence with the causa of Paul’s arguments and sought to find the argumentative issue in the rhetorical situation.175 Indeed, the exigence of the rhetorical situation seemed to be an efficient way to determine the causa of Paul’s arguments.176 After discussing the first stage of identifying the rhetorical unit, Wuellner explained: Kennedy follows L. F. Bitzer’s understanding of the argumentative or rhetorical situation as that specific condition or situation which invites utterance. This stage is the most crucial one. It has been so since antiquity where the rhetorical situation underlying or preceding a text was discussed as the crucial initial step of invention. H. Lausberg outlines the problems involved in terms of Situationsfrage: given a specific “case” (causa), what options are available and what choice is best suited to deal with it for maximal effect?177 Differences in understanding the rhetorical situation itself, however, undermined this efficiency. In particular, understanding the relationship between the rhetorical situation and the historical situation became problematic.178 Many rhetorical critics followed Bitzer as sanctioned by Kennedy and under172. Kennedy, New Testament Interpretation, 34–35. See Lloyd F. Bitzer, “The Rhetorical Situation,” Philosophy and Rhetoric 1 (1968): 6. 173. Bitzer, “Rhetorical Situation,” 6–7. 174. Ibid., 11. 175. See, e.g., Philip F. Esler, Galatians, New Testament Readings (London: Routledge, 1998), 69–75. 176. See, e.g., Abraham Smith, Comfort One Another: Reconstructing the Rhetoric and Audience of 1 Thessalonians, Literary Currents in Biblical Interpretation (Louisville: Westminster John Knox, 1995), 62–66. 177. Wilhelm Wuellner, “Where Is Rhetorical Criticism Taking Us?” CBQ 49 (1987): 455–56. 178. In his survey of this problem, Kim (God, Israel, and the Gentiles, 40–48) listed four different understandings of this relationship that were reflected in the practices of rhetorical critics.

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stood the rhetorical situation as the historical situation. In his study of 2 Corinthians 10–13, Brian Peterson noted: Rhetorical activity takes place within social structures, group conflicts, and struggles for power. We now turn to consider the most important of the social structures and forces that make up the “exigence” that has prompted Paul’s response in 2 Corinthians 10–13. . . . We will examine each of these to gain some idea of the rhetorical situation for 2 Corinthians 10–13.179 Regarding the rhetorical situation in 1 Thessalonians, John Kloppenborg argued, “In the rhetorical situation of the letter, hospitality and filadelfiva are related to the issue of persecution. . . . This relationship exists not at the level of the logic of Paul’s response but has to do rather with the social setting of Pauline Christianity.” Using numismatics and inscriptions, Kloppenborg concluded, “The allusion to the Dioscuri is particularly pertinent to the rhetorical situation of the letter. The Dioscuri exemplify the familial solidarity and selfless sharing that Paul wished to encourage.”180 Kloppenborg understood the rhetorical situation and the historical situation as one. In his investigation of the purpose of Romans, Jeffrey Crafton stated: A rhetorical approach to Paul’s letters will attempt to account for the way in which Paul’s own situation and person, and the congregation, are integrated. A rhetorical-critical method will synthesize historical and sociological hypotheses with theological conceptions, for all are part of the rhetorical act. Authors and audiences are real and historical, and rhetorical texts engage both.181 Crafton then described the rhetorical situation in Romans in terms of the historical situation. These and many other rhetorical critics primarily understood the rhetorical situation as the historical situation.182 In his searing critique of Bitzer, Richard Vatz severed the connection between the rhetorical and historical situations by arguing that meaning neither resided in historical events nor was discovered in historical situations but rather was created by rhetors.183 Vatz’s critique sparked a decade of discussion among rhetorical theorists

179. Peterson, Eloquence and the Proclamation of the Gospel, 58. 180. John S. Kloppenborg, “FILADELFIA, QEODIDAKTOS and the Dioscuri: Rhetorical Engagement in 1 Thessalonians 4:9–12,” NTS 39 (1993): 274, 287. 181. Jeffrey A. Crafton, “Paul’s Rhetorical Vision and the Purpose of Romans: Toward a New Understanding,” NovT 32 (1990): 318. See also idem, The Agency of the Apostle: A Dramatic Analysis of Paul’s Responses to Conflict in 2 Corinthians, JSNTSup 51 (Sheffield: Sheffield Academic, 1991), 59, 103–4. 182. In addition to numerous other studies, see also Richard Horsley, “Rhetoric and Empire—and 1 Corinthians,” in Paul and Politics: Ekklesia, Israel, Imperium, Interpretation, ed. Richard Horsley (Harrisburg, Pa.: Trinity Press International, 2000), 82–87; Jewett, Thessalonian Correspondence, 91–109, 113–32; Litfin, St. Paul’s Theology of Proclamation, 160 n. 1; Reid, “Rhetorical Analysis,” 258–60; and idem, “Consideration of the Function,” 183–84. 183. Richard E. Vatz, “The Myth of the Rhetorical Situation,” Philosophy and Rhetoric 6 (1973): 154– 61.

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about the precise relationship between the rhetorical and historical situations.184 The impact of this debate on Pauline rhetorical critics prompted distinctions between the rhetorical situation and the historical situation by variously relating the text to the rhetorical situation. Three basic approaches to a textual understanding of the rhetorical situation became evident. First, Wuellner in his rhetorical study of 1 Corinthians 9 distinguished the rhetorical situation from the historical situation by concentrating on the argument in the text. He commented, “The rhetorical situation differs both from the historical situation of a given author and reader and from the generic situation or conventions of the Sitz im Leben or forms or genres in one point: the rhetorical critic looks foremost for the premises of a text as appeal or argument.”185 For Wuellner, the rhetorical situation is found in the intentionality with respect to the audience and its values that produced and shaped the argument in the text rather than in the historical circumstances of the text. Hence, Wuellner preferred to designate the rhetorical situation as the argumentative situation, which is “distinct from, though indisputably related to, ‘the’ historical situation” although Wuellner did not specify this relationship.186 Second, Elisabeth Schüssler Fiorenza distinguished the rhetorical situation from the historical situation by contrasting the actual writer/reader with the implied writer/reader. According to her, the rhetorical situation was implied by Paul and inscribed in the text of his letters in contrast to the actual historical argumentative situation. She explained, “In the rhetorical act speakers/writers seek to convey an image of themselves as well as to define the rhetorical problem and situation in such a way that . . . the audience/reader will be moved to their standpoint by participating in their construction of the world.”187 She proposed that the rhetorical situation conceived and inscribed by Paul could only possess persuasive power if it were a “fitting” response to the historical argumentative situation. She argued that the rhetorical situation had something to say about the actual historical situation and that it could be used to “move from the ‘world of the text’ of Paul to the actual world of the Corinthian community.”188 For Schüssler Fiorenza, therefore, the rhetorical situation provided important information for reconstructing the historical situation, but the two were distinct. Third, Dennis Stamps built upon the distinctions of Wuellner and Schüssler Fiorenza and distinguished the rhetorical situation from the historical situation: While it may be granted that   .  .  . an ancient New Testament epistle .  .  . stems from certain historical and social contingencies which contribute to 184. For summaries of this debate, see Kim, God, Israel, and the Gentiles, 35–40; and (Hester) Amador, Academic Constraints, 30 n. 18. 185. Wuellner, “Where Is Rhetorical Criticism Taking Us?” 456. 186. Wuellner, “Argumentative Structure of 1 Thessalonians,” 124. 187. Elisabeth Schüssler Fiorenza, “Rhetorical Situation and Historical Reconstruction in 1 Corinthians,” NTS 33 (1987): 388. 188. Ibid., 387–88. For the relationship of rhetorical and historical situation, see also Paul A. Holloway, Consolation in Philippians: Philosophical Sources and Rhetorical Strategy, SNTSMS 112 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2001), 39–40. However, Holloway attributed his position to Scott Consigny, “Rhetoric and Its Situations,” Philosophy and Rhetoric 7 (1974): 175–86.

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the rhetorical situation of a text, it is also true that a text presents a selected, limited and crafted entextualization of the situation. The entextualized situation is not the historical situation which generates the text and/or which the text responds to or addresses; rather, at this level, it is that situation embedded in the text and created by the text which contributes to the rhetorical effect of the text.189 Stamps referred to the rhetorical situation as a literary construct embedded in the text and commented, “It is the textual presentation of the inscribed situation which is crucial to the argument of the letter. The rhetoric of the letter operates from the situation as it is constructed and presented in the text. The argument of the letter, then, is a response to the situation which is presented in the text.”190 He agreed with Schüssler Fiorenza that the persuasive power of 1 Corinthians relied on the close correspondence between the embedded rhetorical situation and the historical situation but allowed that Paul’s perspective of the historical situation may not have been accurate.191 For Stamps, therefore, the entextualized rhetorical situation may or may not correspond to the actual historical situation, which has little relevance to the argument of a Pauline letter anyway. In practice, Pauline rhetorical critics selectively utilized and eclectically combined these three approaches to a textual understanding of the rhetorical situation. The idiosyncratic practices make systematization difficult. Nevertheless, some general observations about Wuellner’s rhetorical situation as textual argument, Schüssler Fiorenza’s rhetorical situation as authorial perspective, and Stamps’s rhetorical situation as embedded literary construct are possible. Those who utilized Wuellner’s argumentative situation emphasized the role of the audience in the rhetorical situation and were influenced by Perelman and Olbrechts-Tyteca’s “new rhetoric.”192 A prominent example is James D. Hester, who wrote: There is, in fact, one other important phenomenon we must understand. It is what has been called by W. Wuellner, borrowing from Ch. Perelman and the proponents of the “new rhetoric,” the argumentative situation. Loosely understood, the argumentative situation is “. . . the influence of the earlier stages of the discussion on the argumentative possibilities open to the speaker . . . Based on a knowledge of the argumentative situation, the speaker/writer will try to anticipate the impact his arguments will have on the audience and the arguments that will be generated by his choosing the argumentative techniques that will best address them.”193

189. Dennis L. Stamps, “Rethinking the Rhetorical Situation: The Entexualization of the Situation in New Testament Epistles,” in Porter and Olbricht, Rhetoric and the New Testament, 199. 190. Ibid., 210. 191. Ibid., 199–200. 192. See B. C. Lategan, “The Argumentative Situation of Galatians,” in Nanos, Galatians Debate, 383–84. 193. Hester, “Use of Influence of Rhetoric in Galatians,” 391.

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Those who followed Wuellner’s distinguishing between a static rhetorical situation and the dynamic and developing argumentative situation tended to de-emphasize the connection between the historical and argumentative situations.194 In contrast, those who followed Schüssler Fiorenza tended to emphasize the close connection between Paul’s perspective of the rhetorical situation and the historical situation.195 A good example is Christopher Stanley, who explained: The “rhetorical situation,” in other words, includes not only the particular historical situation within which a given dialogue between speaker and hearers (or author and readers) takes place, but also the speaker/author’s perception of that situation as one that requires change, a change that the speaker/author feels can (perhaps) be brought about by verbal argumentation of a particular sort.196 Another example is Stephen Pogoloff, “Neither the implied author nor reader is a fiction divorced from the actual author or reader. They are distinguished from the actual writer and reader not by a dichotomy of fact or fiction, but by the phenomenology of writing and reading.”197 Still another example is Cynthia Briggs Kittredge, who argued that reconstructing the historical situation from the rhetorical situation required only a consideration of “other information from outside the text in order to gain a more accurate picture of the audience for the letter.198 Clearly, those who followed Schüssler Fiorenza perceived a close connection between the implied rhetorical situation and the historical situation. Duane F. Watson even developed a detailed method for moving from the rhetoric of the text to the implied rhetorical situation and ultimately to the historical situation. He concluded:

194. Hester, “Placing the Blame,” 282–83. After criticizing Schüssler Fiorenza for confusing the historical with the argumentative situation, Hester (“Re-Discovering and Re-Inventing Rhetoric,” Scriptura 50 [1994]: 5) pointed out, “A rhetorical analysis of an ancient text whose historical context is not known outside of the perspective of argumentation directed to it must consider questions of . . . argumentative strategies which develop the ‘contexts’ in which the audience is supposed to find itself.” He then stated on p. 8, “Rhetorical situation is not historical situation, but the perspective of the exigence as understood and interpreted in the argument by the orator/author (and later critic).” For a slightly different distinction, see Lategan, “Argumentative Situation,” 384. 195. Mark D. Nanos (The Irony of Galatians: Paul’s Letter in First-Century Context [Minneapolis: Fortress, 2002], 29) explained, “We can thus seek to construct a view of the historical situation or situations that is or are presupposed by an interpretation of the rhetorical situation or situations implied by Paul’s argumentative response to the seemingly singular exigence as he is understood to perceive it in this letter addressed to several groups, not just one.” See also Jan Botha, Subject to Whose Authority? Multiple Readings of Romans 13, ESEC (Atlanta: Scholars Press, 1994), 140–53; idem, “Creation of New Meaning: Rhetorical Situation and the Reception of Romans,” JTSA 79 (1992): 24–37; Andy Johnson, “Firstfruits and Death’s Defeat: Metaphor in Paul’s Rhetorical Strategy in 1 Cor 15:20–28,” WW 16 (1996): 457–58. 196. Christopher D. Stanley, “‘Under a Curse’: A Fresh Reading of Galatians 3:10–14,” NTS 36 (1990): 488. 197. Stephen M. Pogoloff, Logos and Sophia: The Rhetorical Situation of 1 Corinthians, SBLDS 134 (Atlanta: Scholars Press, 1992), 80. 198. Kittredge, Community and Authority, 101.

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Paul had freedom in reading the historical situation and creating the exigence and rhetorical situation of each epistle. He may not have interpreted the facts of the historical situation and created the exigence exactly as his audience would in every instance. . . . However, his rhetorical exigence would certainly be tied to the facts of the historical situation in order for him to communicate with an audience working with the same historical situation.199 Watson then optimistically affirmed, “Once the rhetorical situation of a Pauline epistle is constructed the historical situation can also be constructed.”200 Stamps, of course, did not share the optimism of Schüssler Fiorenza’s followers, and his approach to the rhetorical situation as an embedded literary construct essentially ignored the historical situation. Consequently, few if any Pauline rhetorical critics have followed him even though they use his terminology of embedded or entextualized to describe the rhetorical situation.201 Not surprisingly, Amador exempts Stamps from his critique of other rhetorical critics who represent the “historical hermeneutic turn” and transform rhetoric into a “means for furthering historical inquiry and reconstruction.”202 The three approaches of Wuellner, Schüssler Fiorenza, and Stamps, as well as the differing understandings of the rhetorical situation, not only diminished the efficiency of determining the causa of Paul’s arguments from the exigence of the rhetorical situation but also obscured a much more serious difficulty, namely, the lack of a consistent method for identifying the exigence in a Pauline letter. Johan Vos noted: If one wants to specify the rhetorical situation, one can hardly get around doing this on the basis of inferences from the apostle’s argumentation and also with the help of other texts, if necessary. The manifold results of such analyses in the history of scholarship can predispose skepticism about such undertakings. In this contribution, I shall proceed methodologically as carefully as possible, but the area of the hypothetical cannot be entirely avoided.203 Similarly, Hester listed the differing exigencies identified by Robert Jewett and Michael Goulder in 1 Thessalonians: The comparison of just these two lists of exigencies shows how difficult it is to find clear inventional markers in the text. . . . I want to suggest another

199. Watson, “Contributions and Limitations of Greco-Roman Rhetorical Theory,” 150. 200. Not sharing this optimism, Olbricht (“Classical Rhetorical Criticism and Historical Reconstructions,” 124) wrote, “I conclude therefore that help from rhetorical analysis so as to reconstruct an audience situation as yet is more a hope than a reality.” 201. See, e.g., Bowe, “Rhetoric of Love,” 249; Lambert Jacobs, “Establishing a New Value System in Corinth,” in Porter and Olbricht, Rhetorical Analysis of Scripture, 380; and Troy W. Martin, “Entextualized and Implied Rhetorical Situations: The Case of 1 Timothy and Titus,” BR 45 (2000): 5–24. 202. (Hester) Amador, Academic Constraints, 25–36. 203. Vos, “Die Argumentation des Paulus,” 87 (translation mine).

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Paul and Rhetoric way of grouping the inferences that produces a slightly different perspective on our understanding of the exigencies and how they function as an inventional source for Paul.204

Both Vos and Hester astutely recognized the lack of a consistent method for identifying the exigence of a Pauline letter as evidenced by the varying proposals.205 This lack of a consistent method was illustrated also by the identification of exigencies for one Pauline letter that appear very similar to another. David Black described the exigence of Philippians in terms very similar to Mitchell’s argumentative issue in 1 Corinthians. He wrote, “The bulk of the letter [Philippians] is directed toward solving the issue of disunity arising from the exigence reflected most clearly in 4:2–3. ‘Unity for the sake of the gospel’ provides the overarching framework and motif within which the other themes and concerns are introduced and elucidated.”206 In contrast, Watson described the exigence of Philippians in terms similar to the exigence of Galatians. He wrote, “The exigence, the problem needing solution, which Paul seeks to counter is the appearance of a rival gospel in Philippi. . . . This rival gospel may belong to Judaizing Christian itinerants who have begun to influence the Philippian church, espousing the observance of circumcision (3:2), food laws (3:19), and a righteousness based upon works (3:2–11, 19).” When Watson stated that “the Judaizers are not yet firmly entrenched” in Philippi, one could wonder if they are there at all.207 While Paul’s letters could certainly share a common exigence, such similarities nevertheless indicated the possible influence of one letter upon a rhetorical critic’s attempt to identify the exigence of a different letter. Finally, the lack of consistency in method became apparent in the disagreement of whether a Pauline letter or portion of a letter contained one exigence or many. In his study of 1 Corinthians 5–6, Lambert Jacobs perceptively asked, “What would the rhetorical situation, the ‘intentionality’, then be of our two chapters? And then again, is there only one to be found?”208 Indeed, Pogoloff identified divisions in the community as the single exigence for 1 Corinthians 1–4 and remarked, “These divisions are to Paul a serious ‘imperfection marked by urgency’ and the ostensive occasion for his letter.”209 In contrast, Peterson identified three different exigencies in 2 Corinthians 10–13 and stated, “The problem cannot be reduced to a single cause.”210 By not

204. Hester, “Invention of 1 Thessalonians,” 264. See Jewett, Thessalonian Correspondence, 93–109; and Michael Goulder, “Silas in Thessalonica,” JSNT 48 (1992): 88–94. 205. See also Schoon-Janssen, Umstrittene ‘Apologien’ in den Paulusbriefen; and idem, “On the Use of Elements of Ancient Epistolography in 1 Thessalonians,” in Donfried and Beutler, Thessalonians Debate, 192–93. Watson (“Paul’s Rhetorical Strategy in 1  Corinthians 15,” in Porter and Olbricht, Rhetoric and the New Testament, 233) noted, “The exact nature of the rhetorical situation behind 1 Corinthians 15 has eluded interpreters. A multitude of reconstructions exists, each with many nuances.” 206. David A. Black, “The Discourse Structure of Philippians: A Study in Textlinguistics,” NovT 37 (1995): 16. 207. Watson, “Rhetorical Analysis of Philippians,” 58–59. 208. Jacobs, “Establishing a New Value System in Corinth,” 381. 209. Pogoloff, Logos and Sophia, 99. 210. Peterson, Eloquence and the Proclamation of the Gospel, 58.

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specifying whether the rhetorical critic should seek a single or many exigencies, the method generated many different practices. In addition to differences in understanding the rhetorical situation and lack of a consistent method for identifying the exigence, the efficiency of identifying the causae of Pauline argumentation through the exigence of situational theory was also undermined by the realization among a few rhetorical critics that the rhetorical situation was a modern, not an ancient, construct. Kennedy’s sanction of the rhetorical situation in his programmatic book probably obscured this fact for some interpreters. For example, David deSilva stated that he would employ ancient rhetorical theory to investigate 2 Corinthians 1–7 but included a discussion of the rhetorical situation.211 However, some realized the novelty of Bitzer’s notion of the rhetorical situation. Robert Hall noted, “Although modern rhetorical theory has advanced beyond ancient rhetoric [Notably in the concept of ‘rhetorical situation’], I have employed only the classical categories.”212 Edgar Krentz stated more emphatically, “Some recent scholarship seeks the rhetorical situation under the categories exigence, audience, and constraints, terms not drawn from classical rhetoric but from modern theoreticians.”213 However, even Kennedy himself recognized, “The concept of rhetorical situation was first promulgated by Lloyd F. Bitzer.”214 Rather than the concept of the rhetorical situation, ancient theorists developed stasis theory to determine the argumentative issue in certain cases, and a few rhetorical critics have sought to find the causae of Pauline argumentation by using this theory.215 3.2.1.3. Causa in the Stasis Jeffrey Reed explained the importance of stasis theory, “Rhetorical invention (inventio) concerns the speaker’s attempt to select or find (eu{resi") valid arguments to render a thesis plausible. This could be accomplished, first of all, by determining the ‘status’ or ‘issue’ to be resolved.”216 Classical theorists proposed three or four classifications of stases. The stasis of conjecture (coniectura/stocasmov") arose when the performance of an alleged act was denied by the accused. If the accused admitted but redefined the act, a stasis of definition (definitiva/o{ro") occurred. If both the act and the definition of the act were accepted by the accused, the accused could appeal to some mitigating circumstances such as that the victim deserved death or some benefit accrued from the victim’s death. This appeal to extenuating circumstances represented a stasis of quality (generalis or qualitas/poiovth"). When a defendant did not pursue any of the preceding options but objected to the entire legal proceedings because of a technicality, the case rested on a stasis of objection (translativa/metavlhyi"). According to the ancient rhetorical theorists, the principal stasis in every

211. DeSilva, “Meeting the Exigency of a Complex Rhetorical Situation,” 6–8. See also Saw, Paul’s Rhetoric in 1 Corinthians 15, 18–19, 198–201. 212. Hall, “Rhetorical Outline for Galatians,” 29. 213. Krentz, “1 Thessalonians,” 287. 214. Kennedy, New Testament Interpretation, 34. 215. The ancient theorists also developed a case classification theory for identifying the argumentative issue. See Eriksson, “Special Topics in 1 Corinthians 8–10,” 280. 216. Reed, “Epistle,” 176.

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controversy assumed one of these four classifications, identified the nature of the argumentative issue, and controlled the arguments that were advanced.217 Just as Kennedy’s programmatic book was responsible for the popularity of finding the causa in the exigence of the rhetorical situation, so also his book was probably responsible for the neglect of determining the causa through stasis theory. Kennedy wrote, “Inventional theory after Aristotle, but before the first century of the Christian era, was much complicated by the development of what is known as stasis theory. A speaker in planning a speech, or a critic in analyzing it, was encouraged to define the stasis, or basic issue of the case.” A few pages later, he recommended, “Stasis theory is exceedingly complex, and discussion of it probably should not be undertaken by a student before extensive reading in the rhetorical sources.”218 Whether or not Kennedy’s negative comments had any impact, Pauline rhetorical critics were reticent to determine the causa through stasis theory. Indeed, Peterson lists the studies that apply stasis theory to Paul’s letters in a single paragraph: Given the importance and stability of stasis theory in ancient rhetoric, it is surprising that the modern revival of rhetorical analysis in New Testament studies has not paid more attention to it. Kennedy’s outline of methodology passes over stasis theory, which he notes is “useful,” with a single sentence, and even that is buried in a longer discussion of identifying the species of rhetoric. Betz’s commentary of Galatians has some brief comments about the stasis of Galatians 3. Duane Watson has written a rhetorical analysis of Philippians which contains a subheading “The Species of Rhetoric, the Question, and the Stasis,” but the discussion of stasis is limited to two sentences. James D. Hester has written an article that pays careful attention to the issue of stasis in understanding the opening sections of Galatians. Troy Martin is also careful and explicit about his use of stasis theory to explore the rhetorical situation addressed by Galatians.219 Peterson noted that Kennedy briefly identified the stasis of 2 Corinthians 2 as a stasis of quality and of Galatians as a stasis of fact.220 Peterson also mentioned Ben Witherington and J. Paul Sampley as using stasis theory without specifically mentioning it.221 These are all the studies Peterson found that apply stasis theory to Paul’s letters. 217. For a description of stasis theory, see Troy W. Martin, “Apostasy to Paganism: The Rhetorical Stasis of the Galatian Controversy,” in Nanos, Galatians Debate, 74–75. See also Heath, “Invention,” 100–103; Kim, God, Israel, and the Gentiles, 17–24; Peterson, Eloquence and the Proclamation of the Gospel, 32–36; and Saw, Paul’s Rhetoric, 94–102. 218. Kennedy, New Testament Interpretation, 18, 36. 219. Peterson, Eloquence and the Proclamation of the Gospel, 36–37. The studies listed by Peterson include Kennedy, New Testament Interpretation, 36; Betz, Galatians, 129; Watson, “Rhetorical Analysis of Philippians,” 60; James D. Hester, “The Rhetorical Structure of Galatians 1:1–2:14,” JBL 103 (1984): 225–28; and Martin, “Apostasy to Paganism,” 73–94. 220. See Kennedy, New Testament Interpretation, 88, 147. 221. Witherington, Conflict and Community in Corinth, 261, 271; Sampley, “Paul, His Opponents in 2 Corinthians,” 162–77.

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Peterson overlooked a few studies. In her investigation of the rhetorical situation of 1 Corinthians, Elisabeth Schüssler Fiorenza commented, “In 1 Corinthians stasis seems to be understood best as status translationis that is given when the speaker’s/ writer’s auctoritas or jurisdiction to address or settle the issue at hand is in doubt and needs to be established.”222 In his inquiry into 1 Corinthians 15, Watson noted: The stasis or basis of the case in deliberative rhetoric is usually quality, because it is concerned with the nature or import of something. However, here the stasis is fact (conjecture), the question being whether something is real or exists. . . . In ch. 15 Paul defends the reality of the resurrection he preached (v. 12) by using the consequences of denying it (vv. 12–19).223 In contrast to Schüssler Fiorenza and Watson, Hester identified the stasis of 1 Corinthians as quality: We are now in a position to classify the letter and to suggest its stasis. . . . Its stasis, or major point, is found in 1:10: Quality of unity. (The stasis of quality was used when there was agreement on what had been done but disagreement on the interpretation of that action). . . . Paul sees himself as wrestling with a community who knows and has accepted his gospel, but who is at odds with him concerning its message and implications. He is struggling to unite that community back under his understanding of the message.224 These studies are easy to overlook because they only address stasis theory in a few sentences or a paragraph at most.225 A few studies that briefly mention stasis theory have appeared since Peterson’s listing.226 Eriksson commented on his analysis of the argument in 1 Corinthians 15, “This argumentative move could be explained in terms of classical stasis theory as Paul treating the issue of the resurrection of the dead in the stasis of definition, giving his own definition of the case as consisting of two events.”227 Amador described the stasis of 2 Corinthians 10–13, “The argument of chapters 10–13 is best understood as an apostolic apologia. That is, employing the ancient rhetorical genre of a forensic speech of defence, under the stasis of definitio, Paul is defending his ethos before the Corinthian community. .  .  . His argumentative strategy is to redefine the founda-

222. Schüssler Fiorenza, “Rhetorical Situation,” 394. Watson, “Paul’s Rhetorical Strategy in 1 Corinthians 15,” 234 n. 13, wrote, “Fiorenza . . . incorrectly identifies the stasis as that of status translationis. . . . Paul does not defend his authority in order to defend a doctrine. Rather he defends a doctrine while assuming his authority.” 223. Watson, “Paul’s Rhetorical Strategy in 1 Corinthians 15,” 234–35. 224. Hester, “Re-discovering and Re-inventing Rhetoric,” 17. 225. The slightly more substantial studies of Jolivet and Wuellner that Peterson overlooked are discussed below. 226. In addition to Eriksson and (Hester) Amador, Kim and O’Mahony have written since Peterson. See the discussion of their studies below. 227. Anders Eriksson, “Elaboration of Argument in 1 Cor 15:20–34,” SEÅ 64 (1999): 106.

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tional values of his audience.”228 Perhaps this list could be expanded, but such brief references to stasis theory in Pauline rhetorical studies are often difficult to locate. In contrast to a minimal use of stasis theory, some studies including Peterson’s concentrated on stasis theory to determine the issues of Paul’s arguments. Regarding Galatians, Hester wrote: I believe it is in 1:11–12 where we discover the stasis that Paul is defining. . . . The charge against him is that he is inferior and preaches an inferior gospel because he was dependent on Jerusalem for his instruction in the gospel. His rebuttal is that his gospel is not according to man, that is, he did not receive it from anyone. . . . Now, what is the stasis? . . . That leads me to suggest that in 1:11–12, Paul is defining his stasis as one dealing with ‘quality.’ While he does speak to issues raised by a stasis of definition, he is much more concerned with describing the quality of the meetings in Jerusalem.229 Hester then stated that 1:11–12 functioned “to make clear the stasis upon which Paul would base his arguments.”230 Responding to Hester, I wrote that I thought Gal 1:11– 12 was part of the proof to establish the proposition in Gal 1:10 and that the primary stasis was in 4:8–11 with a secondary stasis in1:6–9.231 Hester and I agreed that the stasis was one of quality, but for him the quality resided in the nature of Paul’s Jerusalem visits whereas for me it resided in the nature of the Galatians’ abandoning Christianity and returning to their former paganism as well as exchanging Paul’s gospel for another.232 In contrast to Hester, I then explained in specific detail how Galatians argued this stasis.233 Two studies explicitly identified argumentative issues in Romans through stasis theory. Ira Jolivet Jr. isolated a stasis of conjecture from Paul’s accusation in Romans 2:1 that the one judging does the same things for which others are condemned. Jolivet proposed that the accused would deny the charge and that this stasis of conjecture functioned as an important line of reasoning in support of Paul’s argument from the letter and intent of the law.234 In his study of Romans 9–11, Kim identified several stases generating Paul’s arguments. Kim labeled the basis of Paul’s argument to establish the definition of Israel (9:6b-13) as a stasis of definition, the basis of his argument to justify God’s election (9:14–18) as a stasis of counterplea, which is a subcategory of the stasis of quality, and the basis of his argument to exempt God from judgment (9:19–29) as a stasis of objection. Furthermore, Kim designated a stasis of transference as the basis for Paul’s argument of reversal of the charge (10:14–21) and a stasis

228. (Hester) Amador, “Revisiting 2 Corinthians,” 95. 229. Hester, “Rhetorical Structure of Galatians,” 227. 230. Ibid., 227–28. 231. Martin, “Apostasy to Paganism,” 76 n. 14. 232. Ibid., 75–80. 233. Ibid., 80–92. 234. Ira J. Jolivet Jr., “An Argument from the Letter and Intent of the Law as the Primary Argumentative Strategy in Romans,” in Porter and Olbricht, Rhetorical Analysis of Scripture, 321–34.

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of conjecture underlying his argument denying the charge that God had rejected the Jewish people (11:1–10, 11–24).235 These two studies used stasis theory to explain argumentative issues in portions of Paul’s arguments rather than to explain the basis for the entire argument. In contrast, Peterson identified the stasis of jurisdiction as a primary stasis underlying Paul’s arguments in 1 Corinthians 1–4 and 2 Corinthians 10–13. Peterson wrote, “The analysis below will show that this stasis is key not only to Paul’s position in 1 Corinthians 1–4, but also key to his strategy in 2 Corinthians 10–13.”236 According to Peterson, Paul’s basic line of argumentation is not to allow the Corinthians to pass judgment upon him or his ministry. By recognizing the presence of secondary stases that supported this primary stasis, Peterson applied stasis theory more consistently than either Jolivet or Kim and explained the coherence of Paul’s line of reasoning. A few additional studies used stasis theory but added the quaestiones infinitas aut finitas according to the prescriptions of Quintilian (Inst. 3.5.5–18) and Cicero (Inv. 1.12.17). Saw explained this addition: An orator should first determine what the issue (stavsi", status) is. . . . After finding the type of issue, the orator must also determine the question for decision (quaestio). . . . After having determined the question (quaestio) or the point to adjudicate (iudicatio/krinovmenon), the orator seeks to persuade the audience or the judge.237 Hellholm described the distinction between the two basic types of questions: With the help of the status-doctrine . . . we can distinguish between two sets of proofs: (a) the abstract, theoretical and principal treatment of a question, which was called qevsi"/quaestio infinita or quaestio generalis; (b) the concrete, non-theoretical and practical treatment of a question, which is called uJpovqesi"/quaestio finita or quaestio particularis.238 The studies of Eriksson, O’Mahony, and Wuellner similarly employed stasis theory with the addition of these questions but the precise role of the stases and the questions in determining the argumentative issue was often unclear.239 Given the small number of studies that employ stasis theory, there are few assessments of the effectiveness of identifying Pauline argumentative issues through this theory. Dean Anderson categorically asserted:

235. Kim, God, Israel, and the Gentiles, 125–39. 236. Peterson, Eloquence and the Proclamation of the Gospel, 148. 237. Saw, Paul’s Rhetoric in 1 Corinthians, 105–6. 238. Hellholm, “Amplificatio,” 132. 239. Anders Eriksson, “‘Women Tongue Speakers, Be Silent’: A Reconstruction through Paul’s Rhetoric,” BibInt 6 (1998): 84–85; idem, Tradition as Rhetorical Proof, 43–48; O’Mahony, Pauline Persuasion, 142–45; and Wuellner, “Argumentative Structure of 1 Thessalonians,” 120–21.

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Paul and Rhetoric The intricate details of stavsi" doctrine and its use to pinpoint the precise issue at stake is of little relevance to Paul’s letters. Discussion of stavsi" doctrine in the treatises is invariably specifically related to the kind of complex (legal) questions arising in the courts. In this respect, the lists of specific tovpoi which are provided for the various stavsei" . . . have little in common with the kinds of subjects dealt with in the letters of Paul.240

Quintilian’s (Inst. 3.6.1) argument that stasis theory applied to all three species of rhetoric and was not limited to the judicial does not support the premise of Anderson’s categorical assertion. The effectiveness of stasis theory for determining the causae of Paul’s arguments remains to be determined and more work needs to be done. 3.2.1.4. Evaluative Summary Betz’s lecture analyzed the argumentation of Galatians as a response to “the causa of the case” but proposed no method for identifying the causae of Paul’s arguments. Subsequent rhetorical critics responded by trying to find the causa in the parts of speech, in the exigence of the rhetorical situation, or in the stasis of the case. However, these critics have neither established the precise relationship among the parts of speech, the exigence, and the stasis nor explored the criteria for selecting one or the other, nor assessed how the preference for one or the other affected the analysis of Paul’s argumentation. Three studies illustrate these problems. In his rhetorical analysis of Philippians, Watson wrote, “The exigence, the problem needing solution, which Paul seeks to counter is the appearance of a rival gospel in Philippi.”241 Then Watson designated the question, “There is only one question behind Paul’s rhetoric in Philippians, and thus it is a simple rather than complex case. The question, as will be demonstrated fully below, is ‘What is a manner of life worthy of the gospel?’(1:27–30).” Next, he described the stasis, “As is typical of deliberative rhetoric, the stasis of the rhetoric which underlies the question is the stasis of quality. The nature of a thing is the primary concern, for the focus is upon the characteristics of a life worthy of the gospel.” Finally, he identified the cause of the exordium, “Of the five causes which may underlie the exordium, the honorable cause underlies Philippians. Paul’s cause is the honorable type because he defends and attacks what is generally perceived as worthy of either by his audience.” A discussion of precisely how the exigence, the question, the stasis, and the cause of the exordium relate to each other would have been helpful for understanding the role each played in the selection of the arguments. However, Watson did not provide such a discussion.242 Neither did Hester or Kim. Hester wrote, “The larger issue is the quality of the

240. Anderson, Ancient Rhetorical Theory and Paul, 103. 241. Watson, “Rhetorical Analysis of Philippians,” 58–61. 242. Watson (“Contributions and Limitations of Greco-Roman Rhetorical Theory,” 134) argued that the rhetorical situation could be constructed at least in part from the stasis of the argument: “In general the main stasis of the argument presented by Paul at any point in an epistle is indicative of the conflict of causes which underlies the argument within the rhetorical situation.” He relied upon the work of J. N. Vorster, “Toward an Interactional Model for the Analysis of Letters,” NeoT 24 (1990): 107–30. Again, however, Watson did not explain how stasis related to exigence.

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relationship Paul had with the Galatians and the values that were the foundation of that relationship. In that sense, the stasis gives insight into both the rhetorical and argumentative situations Paul faced and addressed.”243 Hester must undoubtedly be right, but he neither specified exactly what this insight might be nor did he explain how the stasis related to the exigence.244 Neither did Kim, when he wrote, “Deciphering the way Paul structures his argumentation in Rom 9–11 holds the key to understanding its exigence. The most crucial aspect that has been neglected in modern scholarship on Romans in general and Rom 9–11 in particular is Paul’s use of the rhetorical tool called stasis.”245 Kim moved quickly from exigence to stasis but did not explain the relationship between the two. These observations are not meant to be critical but simply to point out the varied practices and problems of Pauline rhetorical critics regarding the identification of the causa of a Pauline argument. Betz did not provide a method for identification, and subsequent rhetorical critics have proposed the parts of speech, exigence, and stasis as means for identifying the argumentative issue, but the relationship among these and the interactive role each plays in a Pauline argument are still unspecified. Clearly, more work needs to be done in integrating these proposals and developing a method for identifying the causa of the case in Paul’s letters. Once the causa is identified, however, analysis of the means of Paul’s argumentation follows. 3.2.2. The Means of Argumentation In his 1974 lecture, Betz used the Aristotelian categories of logos, ethos, pathos, and topos as well as the theories of other ancient rhetoricians to describe the means of argumentation in Paul’s letter to the Galatians that responded to the causa of the case. Even though Betz concentrated on logical means of argumentation, he also mentioned ethical and pathetic means as well as some topical sources of argumentation. In the “new phase” of Pauline rhetorical studies, rhetorical critics have focused on these three means of argumentation as well as the topics as sources of arguments.246 Dennis L. Stamps observed three distinctive assessments of the means of persuasion in Pauline argumentation as exemplified in the studies of Burton Mack, Anders Eriksson, and Thomas Olbricht. Stamps summarized: 1. Mack finds Christian rhetoric as nonrational (that is non-Aristotelian) authoritative appeal to core Christian convictions. 2. Eriksson finds Christian rhetoric as Aristotelian argument with appeal to special topics, specifically the kerygma or Christian tradition(s).

243. Hester, “Placing the Blame,” 281. 244. In another article (“Invention of 1 Thessalonians,” 260), Hester noted, “He [Bitzer] has also maintained the importance of stasis but has re-cast it slightly so that it can be generated by event as well as argument; ‘exigence’ is a more comprehensive generative concept.” One reading of Hester’s statement is that he understands stasis to be a more restricted exigence, but other readings are also possible. 245. Kim, God, Israel, and the Gentiles, 113–14. 246. See Johan S. Vos, “Paul and Sophistic Rhetoric: A Perspective on His Argumentation in the Letter to the Galatians,” in Tolmie, Exploring New Rhetorical Approaches to Galatians, 29–52.

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Paul and Rhetoric 3. Olbricht finds Aristotelian rhetoric as a means to begin assessing Christian rhetoric, but Christian rhetoric has a distinctive worldview which distinguishes it from Aristotelian rhetoric and thereby makes Aristotelian rhetorical theory insufficient for a full analysis of Christian rhetorical strategies.247

Each of these distinctive assessments related in some way to Aristotle’s Rhetoric, which not only was foundational to ancient rhetorical invention but also has principally provided the analytical categories for Pauline rhetorical critics’ investigation of the Pauline means of argumentation.248 Aristotle (Rhet. 1.1.11; cf. 1.2.3) analyzed the means of argumentation into three modes of persuasion or proofs (pivstei"), and he limited these modes to the logical, ethical, and pathetic. The logical pertains to the speech itself and uses deduction (enthymeme) and induction (example) to prove a truth or apparent truth. The ethical pertains to the speaker and establishes his credibility with the audience. The pathetic (Rhet. 1.2.4–6) pertains to the hearers themselves and stirs their emotions to render the appropriate judgment. Aristotle (Rhet. 1.2.7) explained that to use these three means of effecting persuasion, one must be familiar with the common and special topics that enable one to reason logically, to understand human character, and to know the causes of emotions and how they are excited. Of these three proofs, Aristotle (Rhet. 1.1.4; cf. 1.1.11; 3.1.5) considered the logical the most important because it demonstrated the actual facts of the case while the ethical and pathetic only addressed the attendant circumstances of the speaker and audience respectively. Corresponding to Aristotle’s evaluation, Pauline rhetorical critics have investigated the logical means of argumentation more extensively than the ethical while ignoring the pathetic almost entirely, at least until recently.249 3.2.2.1. Logical Argumentation Aristotle related but distinguished rhetoric from dialectic and criticized other rhetorical theorists of his day for ignoring logical argumentation and focusing on external matters such as arousing the emotions or stressing the parts of speech. Aristotle (Rhet. 1.2.8) placed great emphasis on the logical means of argument: In the case of persuasion through proving or seeming to prove something, just as in dialectic there is on the one hand induction . . . and on the other the syllogism and the apparent syllogism, so the situation is similar in rhetoric; for the paradeigma [“example”] is an induction, the enthymema a

247. Dennis L. Stamps, “The Christological Premise in Pauline Theological Rhetoric: 1 Corinthians 1,2–2,5 as an Example,” in Porter and Stamps, Rhetorical Criticism and the Bible, 443. 248. See, e.g., Mario M. DiCicco, Paul’s Use of Ethos, Pathos, and Logos in 2 Corinthians 10–13, MBP Series 31 (Lewiston, N.Y.: Mellen, 1995). In the course of his analysis (p. 210), he comments, “My applications and conclusions will be tentative, since the use of this methodology is relatively new.” 249. Olbricht (“Classical Rhetorical Criticism and Historical Reconstructions,” 123) lamented, “There is a sense in which biblical scholars have classically examined the logos of biblical materials in exegetical work, but only in passing ethos and pathos. . . . I think the categories of ethos and pathos especially may add insight previously unnoticed by the exegetes.”

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syllogism. I call a rhetorical syllogism an enthymeme, a rhetorical induction a paradigm. And all [speakers] produce logical persuasion by means of paradigms or enthymemes and by nothing other than these.250 Aristotle’s comment influenced Pauline rhetorical critics who have usually emphasized either the enthymeme or the paradigm in their studies of Paul’s logical argumentation. 3.2.2.1.1. The Enthymeme In his keynote address to the 1995 London Conference on Rhetorical Criticism, Vernon Robbins outlined an agenda for rhetorical critics and stated, “The first place I see us working together is with assertions and rationales—the components of the rhetorical enthymeme.”251 A few rhetorical critics had already engaged this agenda but several more now responded and pursued enthymematic analyses of Paul’s logical argumentation.252 Even though the enthymeme is not necessarily restricted to logical argumentation, these critics focused on the enthymeme and encountered three major problems.253 The first was establishing a definition for the enthymeme.254 Anders Eriksson perceptively asked, “What then is an enthymeme?”255 In his important study of the enthymeme, Thomas Conley discussed three different definitions among ancient authors: the stylistic, the psychological-situational, and the logical.256 All three of these definitions are referenced by Pauline rhetorical critics. In his analysis of the enthymemes in Romans 1–8, John Moores adopted the stylistic definition that an enthymeme is a truncated syllogism with one or more of its premises unstated.257 250. Translated by Kennedy, Aristotle On Rhetoric, 40. 251. Vernon K. Robbins, “The Present and Future of Rhetorical Analysis,” in Porter and Olbricht, Rhetorical Analysis of Scripture, 33. 252. See, e.g., John D. Moores, Wrestling with Rationality in Paul: Romans 1–8 in a New Perspective, SNTSMS 82 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1995); Peter Lampe, “Reticentia in der Argumentation: Gal 3,10–12 als Stipatio Enthymematum,” in Das Urchristentum in seiner literarischen Geschichte: Festschrift für Jürgen Becker zum 65. Geburtstag, ed. Ulrich Mell and Ulrich B. Müller (Berlin: Walter de Gruyter, 1999), 27–39; and Jewett, Romans, 28–29. 253. The precise relationship of the enthymeme to the logical, ethical, and pathetic means of persuasion is debated. Some restrict the enthymeme to the logical means of persuasion. Others regard all three means of persuasion as enthymematic. Jakob Wisse (Ethos and Pathos from Aristotle to Cicero [Amsterdam: Hakkert, 1989], 20–21) discussed these two views and suggested a compromise solution that logos, ethos, and pathos “may be expressed by enthymemes, but also by other means.” 254. See the important article of Manfred Kraus, “Theories and Practice of the Enthymeme in the First Centuries b.c.e. and c.e.,” in Rhetorical Argumentation in Biblical Texts: Essays from the Lund 2000 Conference, ed. Anders Eriksson, Thomas H. Olbricht, and Walter Übelacker, ESEC 8 (Harrisburg, Pa.: Trinity Press International, 2002), 95–111. See also David E. Aune, “The Use and Abuse of the Enthymeme in New Testament Scholarship,” NTS 49 (2003): 299–320, and idem, “Enthymeme,” in Westminster Dictionary, 150–57. 255. Anders Eriksson, “Enthymenes in Pauline Argumentation: Reading between the Lines in 1 Corinthians,” in Eriksson et al., Rhetorical Argumentation in Biblical Texts, 245. 256. Thomas Conley, “The Enthymeme in Perspective,” Quarterly Journal of Speech 70 (1984): 168– 87. 257. Moores, Wrestling with Rationality, 33–37.

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Recognizing the stylistic definition, David Hellholm preferred the psychologicalsituational and noted, “According to Aristotle, that which is the differentia specifica distinguishing the enthymeme from the syllogism is its foundation on probabilities (eijkovta)—that is, the reputable opinions (e[ndoxa).”258 Eriksson understood both of these definitions and responded to the stylistic definition by pointing out that the enthymeme did not necessarily contain a suppressed premise, although it could. He also responded to the psychological-situational and admitted that enthymemes only persuade those who accept the underlying premises, but Eriksson nevertheless asserted, “The enthymeme is a universal mode of human expression in argumentation.”259 For Eriksson, therefore, the logical character of the enthymeme provided the essential definition. Even though each of these definitions expressed characteristics of enthymemes, none expressed a constituent characteristic that would distinguish the enthymeme from non-enthymematic arguments. The stylistic definition was inadequate because, as Eriksson noted, enthymemes often do not contain a suppressed premise. In fact, Eriksson, revealed, “In my analysis of Paul’s enthymemes in 1  Corinthians I have found that often all three parts of the enthymeme are expressed, albeit sometimes in rudimentary form.”260 The failure of the psychological-situational definition was its limited application. This definition was extremely useful in distinguishing the enthymeme from dialectical reasoning, as Hellholm noted, but not so useful in distinguishing the enthymeme from other types of reasoning based on less than absolute fact. Nor did the logical definition specify what made an enthymeme rhetorical by distinguishing it as a rhetorical syllogism from other types of syllogisms based on opinions. Attempting to find a solution to the difficult problem of definition, Marc Debanné proposed, “One way to do this is to suspend the question: rather than starting from a definition of enthymeme . . . would it not be preferable to adopt a broad ‘rule of thumb’. . . . This ‘rule of thumb’ is not hard to find: few would disagree with Vernon Robbins’s basic description of the enthymeme as an assertion supported by another statement (or rationale).”261 Debanné suggested that this rule of thumb could be used as a “broad recognition rule” to collect samples of enthymemes from texts for analysis that would reveal “the diversity of possible logical or non-logical argumentative connections that can exist between statement and rationale.”262 In the end, Debanné did not suspend the question of definition but simply adopted Robbins’s definition, which is a type of logical definition. Debanné correctly perceived the circularity of developing a definition from a sample, for selecting the sample depends

258. Hellholm, “Enthymemic Argumentation in Paul,” 131–32. 259. Eriksson, “Enthymemes in Pauline Argumentation,” 246–47. 260. Ibid., 247. 261. Marc J. Debanné, “An Enthymematic Reading of Philippians: Towards a Typology of Pauline Arguments,” in Eriksson et al., Rhetorical Argumentation in Biblical Texts, 486. Debanné developed his “rule of thumb” approach to analyze the enthymemes in all seven of Paul’s letters. See his monograph entitled Enthymemes in the Letters of Paul, Library of New Testament Studies 303 (London: T&T Clark, 2006), esp. 36–49. 262. Debanné, “Enthymematic Reading of Philippians,” 487.

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on a definition.263 Debanné’s summary of the problem is still apropos, “The definition of the enthymeme and its exact contours as a rhetorical and logical concept have varied considerably throughout history, and scholars today are unsure as to which one to opt for, or whether to craft a new definition from synthesis, or to discard the concept altogether.”264 In the absence of a generally accepted definition, developing a determinative set of criteria for identifying enthymemes posed the second problem for Pauline rhetorical critics. Olbricht noted, “It is not simple to describe Paul’s logical proofs in 1 Thessalonians on Aristotelian grounds. With the exception of the argument on eschatology (4:13–5:11), in which enthymemes are obviously operative, the rest of the letter seems best depicted as rhetorical induction couched in the framework of an ‘umbrella’ enthymeme.” Whatever an “umbrella” enthymeme might mean, Olbricht explained how he identified these enthymemes, “One manner by which to pinpoint these enthymemes is to lay out the underlying syllogisms so as to reveal the hidden assumptions. There are three basic arguments. In each case, it is only the conclusion or perhaps the minor premise of the syllogism that is explicit. The rest of the syllogism, as Aristotle noted, is unstated.”265 Identifying an enthymeme from only an explicit conclusion or minor premise epitomized the problem of identification. Eriksson and Anderson also encountered the problem of identification. Eriksson confessed, “When I first started looking for enthymemes, I thought they were ordinarily marked by hypotactic particles like gavr, ou\n, o{ti and w{ste. Sometimes these particles are present in enthymemes, but not always.” Eriksson then described his procedure for finding enthymemes, “Enthymemes are only found in argumentative texts. . . . The first step in finding enthymemes is therefore to look for assertions and rationales. .  .  . The next step is to find the argumentative link, which makes the rationale a support for this particular assertion.”266 Eriksson’s procedure mirrored his definition, and others with different definitions arrived at different conclusions and procedures for identifying enthymemes. Analyzing the many assertions and rationales in Gal 3:6–14, Anderson concluded, “Clear ejpiceirhvmata (rhetorical syllogisms) these arguments are not, despite the fact that our rhetorical sources allow for the omission of premises, explanations, or even the conclusion if they are self-evident. Too much is left unstated. . . . Furthermore, many aspects of the argument are not proved, but merely stated.”267 Again, Debanné succinctly summarized the problem, “Identification of enthymemes in a text struggles with the problem of criteria—are there any formal characteristics . . . which indicate the presence of an enthymeme? Or must one look rather for something more abstract related to argumentative content?”268 The third problem encountered by rhetorical critics was the proper way to analyze an enthymeme once it was identified. Debanné observed, “Biblical scholars have 263. 264. 265. 266. 267. 268.

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Ibid., 487 n. 17. Debanné mistakenly thought he had escaped circularity. Ibid., 485. Olbricht, “An Aristotelian Rhetorical Analysis of 1 Thessalonians,” 231, 232. Eriksson, “Enthymemes in Pauline Argumentation,” 247, 248. Anderson, Ancient Rhetorical Theory and Paul, 160–61. Debanné, “Enthymematic Reading of Philippians,” 485–86.

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tended to limit the argumentative analysis of enthymemes to a single logical scheme, the categorical syllogism.”269 In his analysis of Gal 1:10–12 as an enthymematic confirmatio, Vos analyzed two enthymemes as syllogisms complete with major and minor premises and conclusions.270 In his rhetorical analysis of 1 Thessalonians, Olbricht analyzed three enthymemes in 4:13–5:11 in a similar manner.271 Criticizing this syllogistic analytical scheme for not allowing enthymemes a looser logical structure, Eriksson adopted a different analytical scheme, “For my analysis I have chosen the recent adaptation . . . Vernon Robbins has adopted for the analysis of enthymemes. In this adaptation, the conclusion to the argument is called the ‘Result,’ the evidence is called the ‘Case,’ and the argumentative link is called the ‘Rule.’”272 Debanné cited other analytical schemes and once again summarized the problem, “Once an enthymeme has been pinpointed, what is the correct way to analyze it? There is considerable hesitation regarding logical content and analysis, with some scholars holding fast to the popular treatment of enthymemes as truncated categorical syllogisms, while others attempt to integrate other logical schemes.”273 Eriksson’s description of the enthymemes in 1 Cor 1:4–9 illustrated the complexity of analysis. He presented the enthymeme in vv. 4–5: RESULT: “I give thanks to my God always for you” (1:4a) CASE: “because of the grace of God that has been given you in Christ Jesus” (1:4b), SUPPORT: “for in every way you have been enriched in him, in speech and knowledge of every kind” (1:5) [RULE: Thanks are due the giver of gifts]274 Eriksson’s category of “SUPPORT” is vague, and an alternative analysis could also identify his “SUPPORT” as the “CASE” of an enthymeme within the enthymeme he presented. This enthymeme could be outlined as follows: RESULT: “The grace of God has been given you in Christ Jesus” (1:4b) CASE: “for in every way you have been enriched in him” (1:5) [RULE: The grace of God enriches those in Christ] Thus, the CASE and the SUPPORT of Eriksson’s enthymeme would function respectively as the RESULT and CASE of the enthymeme within his enthymeme. Eriksson himself admitted the possibility that enthymemes could share statements that do not function in the same way in both enthymemes.275 In spite of encountering these three problems of definition, identification,

269. 270. 271. 272. 273. 274. 275.

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Ibid., 488. Vos, “Paul’s Argumentation in Galatians 1–2,” 174–78. Olbricht, “Aristotelian Rhetorical Analysis of 1 Thessalonians,” 232. Eriksson, “Enthymemes in Pauline Argumentation,” 246. Debanné, “Enthymematic Reading of Philippians,” 486. Eriksson, “Enthymemes in Pauline Argumentation,” 246. Ibid.

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and analysis, Pauline rhetorical critics forged ahead in the enthymematic analysis of Paul’s logical argumentation. In addition to the rhetorical critics already mentioned, Edgar Krentz among others decoded enthymemes in 1 Thessalonians, Robert Berchman in Galatians, A. H. Snyman in Philippians, and both A. B. du Toit and Marty Reid in Romans.276 Eriksson and Hellholm also produced additional studies of the enthymeme in Paul’s arguments.277 All of these studies raised the issue of the role enthymematic analysis plays in the understanding of Paul’s logical arguments because prior exegetical decisions independent from enthymematic analysis informed their explication of the enthymemes. Eriksson’s presentation of the enthymeme in 1 Cor 1:9 is a good example of the influence of previous exegetical decisions on the analysis of the enthymeme. He presented the enthymeme as follows: RESULT: “God is Faithful” (1:9); CASE: “by him you were called into the fellowship of his Son, Jesus Christ our Lord.” [RULE: God’s calling supports his faithfulness].278 Eriksson explained his rationale, “Election is a strong theme in the Hebrew Bible and for the early Christians God’s faithfulness to his promises was shown by his calling of both Jews and Gentiles.” Eriksson’s rationale certainly fits Romans, but its relevance to 1 Corinthians is not so evident. Indeed, other exegetes who conclude that Paul’s point is not to establish the faithfulness of God but to use God’s faithfulness as evidence to certify the authenticity of the Corinthians’ calling might present the enthymeme as follows: RESULT: You were [authentically] called into the fellowship of his Son CASE: God is faithful [RULE: A faithful God issues authentic calls]. Clearly, prior exegetical decisions affect the explication of enthymemes. The precise role of enthymematic analysis in understanding Paul’s logical arguments remains to be established.279 Minimally, this type of analysis provides only a format in which to present exegetical conclusions; maximally, this type of analysis controls the exegetical conclusions. A range of options exists between these two

276. Krentz, “1 Thessalonians,” 314; Berchman, “Galatians (1:1–5),” 63–72; Snyman, “Persuasion in Philippians 4:1–20,” 331–33; du Toit, “Persuasion in Romans 1:1–17,” 194, 208; and Reid, “Rhetorical Analysis,” 266. 277. Anders Eriksson, “Contrary Arguments in Paul’s Letters,” in Porter and Stamps, Rhetorical Criticism and the Bible, 340–45, 347; idem, “Elaboration of Argument in 1 Cor 15:20–34,” 103–14; Hellholm, “Argumentative Funktion,” 402–6; idem, “Enthymemic Argumentation,” 119–79. 278. Eriksson, “Enthymemes in Pauline Argumentation,” 250. 279. One issue is the relation between the enthymeme and the epicheireme. See Fredrick J. Long, “From Epicheiremes to Exhortation: A Pauline Method for Moral Persuasion in 1 Thessalonians,” in Olbricht and Eriksson, Rhetoric, Ethic, and Moral Persuasion, 181–84.

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extremes. Debanné raised some additional questions about the exegetical role of enthymematic analysis: What is the nature of the information that the unpacking of enthymemes provides to the exegete? Some will see it as a window into the rhetorical training of the author, others will speak of argumentative technique, and yet others of shared rhetorical conventions and values within the particular speech community of author and audience.280 Clearly, Robbins’s agenda regarding the enthymeme in his keynote address at the 1995 London Conference has yet to reach completion. Nevertheless, Pauline rhetorical critics have pursued other agendas such as the investigation of the paradigm in Paul’s logical arguments. 3.2.2.1.2. The Paradigm Devoting his attention to the enthymeme, Aristotle treated the paradigm only briefly.281 First, he (Rhet. 1.2.9) distinguished the two: To show on the basis of many similar instances that something is so is in dialectic induction, in rhetoric paradigm; but to show that if some premises are true, something else [the conclusion] beyond them results from these because they are true, either universally or for the most part, in dialectic is called syllogism and in rhetoric enthymeme.282 Later, he (Rhet. 2.20.2) described two species of paradigms, “For to speak of things that have happened before is one species of paradigm and to make up [an illustration] is another. Of the latter, comparison [parabole] is one kind, fables [logoi] another.”283 Aristotle concluded his brief treatment of induction as a means of persuasion by making some remarks about when to use paradigms. Given the brevity of Aristotle’s description and the manifold ways induction is treated in ancient rhetoric, it is not surprising that Pauline rhetorical critics identify a great number of different paradigms in Paul’s logical arguments. David Black outlined Paul’s inductive argument in Philippians: Paul proceeds to prove (probatio) his main thesis—unity begins with humility (2:1–4)—and presents three examples (paradeivgmata) in the persons of Christ himself (2:5–11), Timothy (2:19–24), and Epaphroditus (2:25–30) as additional proofs for his thesis after the classical fashion of exempla. Then he introduces an important subthesis (3:1–21) . . . to refute those who demonstrate its antithesis (3:19). Following this refutatio, based largely on Paul’s own example, the apostle brings his argument to a close (peroratio) 280. 281. 282. 283.

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Debanné, “Enthymematic Reading of Philippians,” 486. Krentz, “1 Thessalonians,” 312–14. Translated by Kennedy, Aristotle On Rhetoric, 40. Translated by Kennedy, Aristotle On Rhetoric, 179.

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with an exhortation, first to Euodia and Syntyche (4:2–3), then to the entire community.284 Thus, Black understood Paul’s inductive argument in Philippians to use the examples of Christ, Timothy, Epaphroditus, and Paul himself as proofs. In his studies of 1 Corinthians, Joop Smit identified not only Paul but also Israel as exempla in Paul’s argument. Smit wrote, “Handbooks of classical rhetoric include a systematic exposition of the different kinds of proof. Within that section the use of examples (exempla) is amply discussed. That section throws light on the manner in which Paul holds himself up as an example to the Corinthians in 1 Cor 9:1–23.” Smit then explained the purpose of Paul’s example “to urge the Corinthians to follow in his steps.”285 In his comments on 1 Cor 10:1–21, Smit wrote, “In 10:1–13 the example of ‘our fathers’ plays an important role. .  .  . Paul joins an established tradition in employing as a warning example, Israel’s adventures during the passage through the sea and the desert.”286 To these exempla of Paul and Israel that Smit identified in Paul, Porter added the example of Abraham: The exemplum or paravdeigma is a further form of appeal to logos or reason. The exemplum served as a rhetorical proof through illustration of similarities, from either particular to universal or even particular to particular, of a situation or person. The most important of Paul’s exempla is probably his use of Abraham in Galatians 2 and Romans 4 . . . although there are differences in how the figure is used in the two passages.287 While many may disagree with Porter’s assessment that Abraham is Paul’s most important exemplum, few would disagree that Pauline rhetorical critics have identified many different exempla in Paul’s logical arguments. While rhetorical critics identified many different paradigms in Paul’s arguments, they usually assigned a common exhortative function to these paradigms. For example, Rollin Ramsaran explained: Paul’s exemplification begins boldly. He brings forth his own work and circumstances as exemplary for faithful believers in his location (Phil 1:12–14), and for the Philippians as well. . . . In Philippians 1:19–26, Paul returns to his example and artfully casts it in the form of suicide contemplation. Such reflection signals Paul’s intention to do serious moral reckoning.288 284. David Alan Black, "The Discourse Structure of Philippians: A Study in Textlinguistics," NovT 37 (1995): 47. 285. Smit, “Rhetorical Disposition of First Corinthians 8:7–9:27,” 488, 491. 286. Joop Smit, “‘Do Not Be Idolators’: Paul’s Rhetoric in First Corinthians 10:1–22,” NovT 39 (1997): 49. 287. Porter, “Paul of Tarsus,” 573. 288. Rollin A. Ramsaran, “Living and Dying, Living is Dying (Philippians 1:21): Paul’s Maxim and Exemplary Argumentation in Philippians,” in Eriksson et al., Rhetorical Argumentation in Biblical Texts, 333.

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Ramsaran continued, “Paul concludes 1:12–4:1 by encouraging the community to imitate the common example of him, Timothy, and Epaphroditus . . . their example being patterned by the ‘living as dying’ modeled in Jesus.”289 Obviously, Ramsaran has assigned a moral function to the paradigms he identified in Philippians. Similarly, Otto Schwankl assigned a moral function to the exemplum he identified in 1 Cor 9:24–27. He stated: According to the rules of ancient rhetoric, we have an exemplum before us. It illustrates the thought with an image drawn from life that is familiar to the Corinthian recipients in a two fold way. On the one hand, the stadium as a place of competition is for them a well-known and beloved place. On the other hand, competition at least to the educated among them is common as a topos of moral philosophy.290 Schwankl specified the important points in this exemplum as “goal-oriented behavior, total commitment, and necessary renunciation.” He concluded, “The competition metaphor with which Paul works in 1 Corinithians 9 has an attractive Sitz-im-Leben and therefore a high communicative force. .  .  . With its use, Paul meets not only an interest in sports, but also an ethical-religious interest.”291 Similar to Ramsaran, Schwankl assigned a moral function to Paul’s exemplum. The restriction of so many different paradigms in Paul’s argumentation to a single function leaves some lingering issues about Paul’s use of inductive arguments. Perhaps other paradigms and other functions of the paradigm remain to be discovered in Paul’s letters or perhaps the ancient rhetorical notion of paradigm has been inappropriately applied to Paul. Anderson commented on Paul’s use of Abraham as a paradigm: The argumentation Paul attaches to the presentation of his paravdeigma is much more than is envisaged by rhetorical theory, which suggests that the presentation of the paravdeigma itself should be sufficient. .  .  . Paul’s argumentation is, however, relevant and necessary due to the nature of the paravdeigma he has chosen. His argumentation does not so much concern what Abraham did, as how this event is described by Scripture. It is this emphasis, requiring the explanation, which makes the paravdeigma rather atypical in terms of rhetorical theory.292 These lingering issues indicate that, as with the enthymeme, more work is needed on the paradigm to assess adequately its role in Paul’s logical argumentation. In contrast to the enormous amount of work on logical argumentation, Pauline rhetorical critics have devoted less effort to the investigation of Paul’s ethical argumentation. 289. Ramsaran, “Living and Dying,” 337. 290. Otto Schwankl, “‘Lauft so, dass ihr gewinnt’: Zur Wettkampfmetaphorik in 1  Kor 9,” BZ 41 (1997): 183–84 (translation mine). 291. Ibid., 190 (translation mine). 292. Anderson, Ancient Rhetorical Theory and Paul, 223.

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3.2.2.2. Ethical Argumentation John Marshall observed, “Though ethos is almost universally praised as an extremely powerful means of persuasion, it has received only cursory treatment in both ancient and modern theories and applications of rhetoric, and what treatment it has received is confused and confusing.”293 Perhaps this state of affairs explains why Pauline rhetorical critics have been slow to investigate ethos as a means of persuasion in Paul’s letters. Indeed, Watson’s survey of Pauline rhetorical studies from 1975 to 1995 cited Marshall’s article on Philippians as “one of the few discussions of ethos in biblical argumentation.”294 In this article, Marshall accepted Aristotle’s treatment of ethos as basic to his study. In his discussion of ethical argumentation, Aristotle (Rhet. 1.2.3–5; 2.1.5–7) limited ethos to one of the three rhetorical proofs (pivstei"), its goal to rendering a speaker worthy of belief (ajxiovpisto"), and its means to a presentation of a speaker’s wisdom (frovnhsi"), virtue (ajrethv), and goodwill (eu[noia).295 Aristotle further limited ethos to the speech itself and excluded a speaker’s socially ascribed reputation external to the speech. Other rhetorical theorists treated ethos more broadly, mainly under disposition rather than invention as Aristotle had done.296 Their treatments located ethos primarily in the prooemium or prologue of the speech and identified the goal of ethos as inducing the audience’s goodwill or sympathy for the speaker.297 This broader treatment accepted as relevant to ethos each and every quality of the speaker that could win the sympathy of the audience.298 A notable difference between these theorists and Aristotle is that whereas Aristotle emphasized the goodwill of the speaker toward the audience, these other theorists emphasized the goodwill of the audience toward the speaker. Whereas Aristotle treated ethos as a rational argument, these other theorists treated ethos as an emotional appeal to win the sympathy and goodwill of the audience. Steven Kraftchick correctly observed, “The terminology Aristotle used to describe the portions of rhetoric continued to be used, but not the theories that gave content to these terms . . . while the ideas of ethical and emotional appeal were often considered, the distinctions and understandings that Aristotle employed were not.”299

293. John W. Marshall, “Paul’s Ethical Appeal in Philippians,” in Porter and Olbricht, Rhetoric and the New Testament, 358. 294. Watson, “Rhetorical Criticism since 1975,” 235. Aune (“Ethos,” in Westminster Dictionary, 169– 73) mentioned only DiCicco as a Pauline rhetorical critic who has investigated ethos in a Pauline letter. Overlooked, however, was Lyons, Pauline Autobiography, 191–201. Lyons was one of the first to examine ethos as a proof in 1 Thessalonians. 295. William Fortenbaugh, “Ethos,” Historisches Wörterbuch der Rhetorik, ed. Gert Ueding (Tübingen: Max Niemeyer, 1994), 2:1518; and idem, “Aristotle on Persuasion through Character,” Rhetorica 10 (1992): 207–44. See also Manfred Kraus, “Ethos as a Technical Means of Persuasion in Ancient Rhetorical Theory,” in Olbricht and Eriksson, Rhetoric, Ethic, and Moral Persuasion, 79–82. 296. Kraus, “Ethos,” 84–85. 297. See Rhetorica ad Herennium 1.7 and Quintilian Inst. 4.1.5–22 as examples. 298. See Wisse, Ethos, 7; and James M. May, Trials of Character: The Eloquence of Ciceronian Ethos (Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press, 1988), 5. 299. Steven J. Kraftchick, “Pavqh in Paul: The Emotional Logic of ‘Original Argument,’” in Paul and

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Ignoring these other theorists, Marshall, Olbricht, and Krentz all followed Aristotle’s suggestions for analyzing ethical argumentation. 300 They specified the function of Paul’s ethos argument as rendering him worthy of confidence by his readers. They pointed to various features of his self-presentation that established his ethos through his wisdom or good sense, virtue, and goodwill. Furthermore, they understood this goodwill in Aristotelian terms as expressed by Paul for his readers and not the other way around, as in the other theorists. They also traced Paul’s ethos argument throughout the letters they were investigating rather than locating it in the introductory parts of the letter. Several Pauline rhetorical critics, however, followed theorists other than Aristotle and located Paul’s ethical appeals primarily in the exordium or beginning parts of his letters. Wuellner wrote, “The exordium of Paul’s argumentation in Romans . . . shows the speaker in a continuing effort at establishing an ethos. . . . We see Paul working at what Brandt calls one of the basic functions of the exordium which is ‘chiefly to project a character for the orator, an ethos, which would persuade the audience to trust him.’”301 Similarly, du Toit wrote, “What the apostle does in these opening verses of Romans is exactly what an able orator was accustomed to do . . . viz. to establish or strengthen a positive relationship, to create an ethos.”302 Observations such as these often occurred in Pauline rhetorical studies and reflected a reliance on theorists other than Aristotle.303 Many of these critics also followed these other theorists and assigned to Paul’s ethos appeals the function of eliciting the goodwill of his readers. Kennedy commented on 1 Corinthians, “After a formal salutation, which is amplified with topics important for the ethos and logos of the letter, Paul begins with a proem (1:4–9) revealing none of his anxiety about the Corinthians and aiming to secure their goodwill.”304 Watson made a similar comment about Philippians, “The epistolary prescript functions much like the exordium. The exordium is the beginning element of rhetorical arrangement which prepares the audience for what follows by obtaining its attention, receptivity, and goodwill. The expanded . . . formula helps establish Paul’s ethos.”305 These critics were clearly not following Aristotle, who refused to assign the function of eliciting the goodwill of the audience for fear of confusing ethical and pathetic argumentation.306

Pathos, ed. Thomas H. Olbricht and Jerry L. Sumney, SBLSymS 16 (Atlanta: Society of Biblical Literature, 2001), 52. 300. Marshall, “Paul’s Ethical Appeal in Philippians,” 263–371; Olbricht, “An Aristotelian Rhetorical Analysis of 1 Thessalonians,” 228–30; Krentz, “1 Thessalonians,” 308–10. DiCicco (Paul’s Use of Ethos) probably also belongs here, although he blends Aristotle’s and Cicero’s statements about ethos. See the critique of his approach by Aune, “Ethos,” 172. 301. Wuellner, “Paul’s Rhetoric of Argumentation in Romans,” 133–34. 302. Du Toit, “Persuasion in Romans 1:1–17,” 203. 303. Saw, Paul’s Rhetoric, 206. Karl P. Donfried (“The Epistolary and Rhetorical Context of 1 Thessalonians 2:1–12,” in Donfried and Beutler, Thessalonians Debate, 52–53) located the ethos argument of 1 Thessalonians in the narratio. 304. Kennedy, New Testament Interpretation, 24. 305. Watson, “Epistolary and Rhetorical Analysis,” 410–11. 306. William W. Fortenbaugh (“Benevolentiam conciliare and animos permovere: Some Remarks

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A number of these critics followed neither Aristotle nor these other theorists but assigned a parenetic function to Paul’s use of ethos.307 Regarding 1 Corinthians 9, Schwankl commented, “The apostolic ethos of Paul is a model for the self-understanding of the Christian. The Pauline self-representation has a parenetic purpose.”308 In a section entitled ethos, Snyman stated, “Various actions in the past . . . contributed to the creation of a certain image of Paul. In this way he substantiates his right to exhort them to live a life worthy of the gospel.”309 Eriksson noted, “The one who refutes and rebukes must have a strong ethos to be heeded.”310 Among the ancient theorists, ethos functioned more to lend credibility or sympathy to a speaker than to assert a speaker’s authority. Some rhetorical critics assigned other functions that also transcended the ancient theorists. Donfried viewed Paul’s use of ethos as a way of distinguishing himself from his enemies.311 Weima argued that Paul’s ethos served an apologetic function, and Wanamaker understood confirmation of the community as the primary function of Paul’s ethos.312 Ancient rhetorical theory did not encompass such functions. A number of these critics also departed from both Aristotle and other theorists by identifying various ways Paul used to enhance his ethos that ancient rhetorical theorists never imagined. Schwankl and du Toit pointed to Paul’s apostleship as a way of establishing his ethos, while Gary Selby argued that Paul established his ethos by presenting himself as an apocalyptic seer and Rollin Ramsaran as a Hellenistic moralist.313 Vos described Paul’s ethos as a military general, Mark D. Given exposed Paul’s ethos as an “undercover” agent of God; and Russell B. Sisson presented Paul’s ethos as an athlete.314 Eriksson proposed that Paul tried to hide his own disputed ethos behind the accepted ethos of the tradition, and Todd Penner and Caroline

on Cicero’s De oratore 2.178–216,” Rhetorica 6 [1988]: 261) explained that Aristotle excludes this goal from ethos to maintain a clear distinction between persuasion through character and persuasion through the emotions of the audience. Fortenbaugh (pp. 260–61) noted that Cicero did not maintain this distinction. See Wisse, Ethos, 50–59; Elaine Fantham, “Ciceronian Conciliare and Aristotelian Ethos,” Phoenix 27 (1973): 262–75; and Richard L. Enos and Karen R. Schnakenberg, “Cicero Latinizes Hellenic Ethos,” in Ethos: New Essays in Rhetorical and Critical Theory, ed. James S. Baumlin and Tita French Baumlin, Composition and Rhetoric (Dallas: Southern Methodist University Press, 1994), 191–206. 307. This approach to Paul’s ethos is closely associated with the paradigm of logical argumentation. See Brian J. Dodd, “Paul’s Paradigmatic ‘I’ and 1 Corinthians 6.12,” JSNT 59 (1995): 49. 308. Schwankl, “Lauft so,” 191 (translation mine). 309. Snyman, “Persuasion in Philippians 4:1–20,” 331. 310. Eriksson, “Special Topics in 1 Corinthians 8–10,” 292. 311. Donfried, “The Epistolary and Rhetorical Context of 1 Thessalonians 2:1–12,” 60. 312. Jeffrey A. D. Weima, “An Apology for the Apologetic Function of 1 Thessalonians 2.1–12,” JSNT 68 (1997): 88–89; Wanamaker, “Epistolary vs. Rhetorical Analysis,” 279. 313. Schwankl, “Lauft so,” 182–85; du Toit, “Persuasion in Romans 1:1–17,” 203–6; Gary S. Selby, “Paul, the Seer: The Rhetorical Persona in 1 Corinthians 2.1–16,” in Porter and Olbricht, Rhetorical Analysis of Scripture, 365–71; Rollin Ramsaran, “In the Steps of the Moralists: Paul’s Rhetorical Argumentation in Philippians 4,” in Olbricht and Eriksson, Rhetoric, Ethic, and Moral Persuasion, 284–300. 314. See the following articles in Olbricht and Eriksson, Rhetoric, Ethic, and Moral Persuasion: Johan S. Vos, “Philippians 1:12–26 and the Rhetoric of Success,” 274–83; Mark D. Given, “On His Majesty’s Secret Service: The Undercover Ēthos of Paul,” 196–213; Russell B. Sisson, “Authorial Ethos in Philippians: The Agōn Topos in Paul and Hellenistic Moralists,” 238–54.

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Vander Stichele explored Paul’s ethos as a gendered Roman male.315 André Resner Jr. suggested that Paul established his ethos by undermining the Corinthians’ prior understanding of ethos.316 These means of establishing ethos not only transcend Aristotle’s wisdom, virtue, and goodwill but also go beyond anything the other theorists ever discussed. The varied practices of Pauline rhetorical critics have indicated that neither Aristotle’s nor the other theorists’ treatment of ethos was sufficient to analyze these types of arguments in Paul’s letters. These critics presumed that these theorists’ treatment of ethical arguments or appeals failed to comprehend the manifold and diverse use of ethos or characterization in Paul’s letters. Aristotle may have limited ethos to one of the three rhetorical proofs, to rendering a speaker worthy of belief, and to being realized only through the presentation of a speaker’s wisdom, virtue, and goodwill, but in Paul’s letters ethos served many other purposes and included many more of Paul’s characteristics than the three Aristotle mentioned. Aristotle’s additional limitation of ethos to the speech itself and his exclusion of a speaker’s socially ascribed reputation external to the speech further removed his treatment from the actual practice in Paul’s letters, which usually presumed knowledge of Paul’s moral reputation and status as an apostle. Aristotle may have described ethos as the controlling proof, but his limited treatment of ethos is inadequate for a complete analysis of characterization in Paul’s letters, at least in the view of these rhetorical critics. Olbricht has made a strong case for this position by arguing that Paul’s rhetorical ethos differed both in social location and in its vision of the ideal person so that the insights of classical rhetoric are of limited value for understanding Pauline ethos.317 Donald Walker correctly stated, “The use of ethical argumentation ran far ahead of rhetorical handbooks. . . . Reliance on handbooks will not reveal the potential for creativity in an orator’s presentation of himself or his client.”318 The practices of Pauline rhetorical critics that transcended the ancient rhetorical theorists raised several issues pertinent to the analysis of ethical argumentation. First, leaving the ancient theorists behind introduced the issue of just what constituted an ethical argument or appeal. Should all references to Paul’s character in an argumentative context be considered an ethical argument? Second, identifying the function of an ethical argument as parenetic posed the question of the relationship of these arguments to the paradigms of logical argumentation. What were the differences and where should the boundaries lie between Paul’s self-presentation for moral imitation and his self-presentation in an ethos argument or appeal?319 Third, 315. Eriksson, “Special Topics in 1 Corinthians 8–10,” 292; Todd Penner and Caroline Vander Stichele, “Unveiling Paul: Gendering Ēthos in 1 Corinthians 11:2–16,” in Olbricht and Eriksson, Rhetoric, Ethic, and Moral Persuasion, 214–37. 316. André Resner Jr., Preacher and Cross: Person and Message in Theology and Rhetoric (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1999), 105–6. 317. Thomas H. Olbricht, “The Foundations of the Ethos in Paul and in the Classical Rhetoricians,” in Olbricht and Eriksson, Rhetoric, Ethic, and Moral Persuasion, 138–59. 318. Donald D. Walker, Paul’s Offer of Leniency (2 Cor 10:1): Populist Ideology and Rhetoric in a Pauline Letter Fragment, WUNT 152 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2002), 356. 319. So great is the dissonance between the treatment of ethos in the rhetorical handbook tradition and the use of ethos in texts engaged in moral persuasion that Dionysius of Halicarnassus or the writer of

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transcending the prescriptions of the ancient theorists led to a question about the proper way to analyze an ethical argument or appeal. Those who accepted Aristotle’s treatment as adequate, however, avoided many if not all of these issues but raised the issue of the relevance of Aristotelian analysis for every ethical argument or appeal. I have argued that certain aspects of Aristotelian analysis are relevant while others are not.320 After some neglect, Pauline rhetorical critics have finally recognized the importance of Paul’s ethical argumentation. Steven Kraftchick has argued that Paul’s argument in Galatians rests on ethos and pathos rather than logos because Paul’s case was no more logical than his opponents.321 While some have disagreed with Kraftchick, more have agreed with Olbricht’s designation of ethos as the basic argument of 1 Thessalonians.322 A number of Pauline rhetorical critics have recently turned their attention to ethos, but a comprehensive investigation of the role of ethos in Paul’s letters is still needed, for as Marshall remarked, “There can be no adequate understanding of Paul’s persuasive power which does not incorporate an understanding of his ethos.”323 Of course, Marshall’s remark could apply to pathos as well. 3.2.2.3. Pathetic Argumentation In his introduction to the recent volume entitled Paul and Pathos, Thomas Olbricht justified the volume by writing, “This volume undertakes to address a neglected aspect of the rhetorical analysis of the Scriptures, that is, emotional appeal, or as designated by the Greek rhetoricians pathos.” He explained this neglect, “The reason, in part, has no doubt been the question as to whether audiences should be won by rational reflection or by the emotions. Emotional appeal, even among the Greeks and Romans, was suspect and thought to border on the irrational and perhaps result more in manipulation than informed change.” Noting the importance of pathos in persuasion, Olbricht continued, “This is patently true of biblical materials even though biblical critics have given little systematic attention to pathos.”324 Indeed,

the Ars Rhetorica 11.396–397, attributed to Dionysius, recognizes two types of ethos, the common and the individual. Common ethos was the purview of philosophy and pursued the ethical goal of leading people to virtue and away from evil by distinguishing between justice, self-control, courage, wisdom, and gentleness and their opposites. Individual ethos was the purview of rhetoric and pursued the amoral goals of establishing the trustworthiness of the speaker or soliciting sympathy for him by presenting the speaker’s nationality, family, age, and occupation. See Walker, Paul’s Offer of Leniency, 358. 320. Troy W. Martin, “Veiled Exhortations Regarding the Veil: Ethos as the Controlling Proof in Moral Persuasion (1 Cor 11:2–16),” in Olbricht and Eriksson, Rhetoric, Ethic, and Moral Persuasion, 255– 73. 321. Steven J. Kraftchick, “Ethos and Pathos Appeals in Galatians Five and Six: A Rhetorical Analysis” (Ph.D. diss., Emory University, 1985), 215. See also Kennedy, New Testament Interpretation, 149–50. 322. Robert G. Hall (“Arguing like an Apocalypse: Galatians and an Ancient Topos outside the Greco-Roman Rhetorical Tradition,” NTS 42 [1996]: 434–35) disagreed with Kraftchick while Wanamaker (“Epistolary vs. Rhetorical Analysis,” 279) agreed with Olbricht. 323. Marshall, “Paul’s Ethical Appeal in Philippians,” 371. Alan Brinton (“Ethotic Argument,” History of Philosophy Quarterly 3 [1986]: 245–58) provided a notion of ethotic argument that might be useful in analyzing moral arguments in the Pauline corpus. 324. Thomas H. Olbricht, “Introduction,” in Olbricht and Sumney, Paul and Pathos, 1. For a summary of pathos in early Christian literature, see Aune, “Ethos,” 339–42.

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Pauline rhetorical critics had paid even less attention to pathos than ethos until the publication of Paul and Pathos.325 In his introduction, Olbricht further wrote, “Aristotle’s catalogue of the emotions and his detailed reflections upon them still remains a significant formula for the rhetorical analysis of emotional appeal.”326 In spite of Aristotle’s (Rhet. 1.2.4) apparently lower evaluation of pathetic persuasion, he (Rhet. 2.1.1–2.11.7) nevertheless devoted significant attention to it. Aristotle stated that the goal of pathetic persuasion was to elicit the audience’s emotions favorable to the desired decision and, by implication, to expel unfavorable emotions. He limited his treatment of the emotions to only those that were “open to reason” and affected decisions pertaining to other people by the experience of either pain (luvph) or pleasure (hJdonhv). He observed that humans usually make decisions to avoid the former but pursue the latter. Hence, he treated the emotions as a set of contraries with, for example, anger (ojrghv) being the contrary of “settling down” (praovth"), enmity (e[cqra) the contrary of friendly feelings (filiva), envy (fqovno") the contrary of emulation (zh'lo"), and shame (aijscuvnh) the contrary of shamelessness (ajnaiscuntiva). Aristotle noted that in general, the former of each contrary was experienced with pain, the latter with pleasure; and humans usually sought to escape or avoid the former but experience the latter. According to Aristotle, these emotions affected decisions, and the orator must know how to elicit one emotion and dispel its contrary or vice versa and so guide his audience to the decision he desires. Olbricht noted, “Various rhetorical critics down through the centuries have seen the need to go beyond Aristotle, but no formula has emerged as a major counter to, or improvement upon, his insights.”327 As with ethos, other rhetorical theorists did indeed depart from Aristotle’s rational approach to pathos.328 Kraftchick contrasted Cicero’s approach to Aristotle’s: Cicero divides the forms of the arguments differently from Aristotle. Only logos proofs are considered as rational proofs; ethos and pathos proofs are not. . . . In Cicero’s system, ethos and pathos lose their rational component and remain primarily appeals to the emotions. . . . For Cicero, ethos appeals are simply appeals to the milder forms of emotions, while pathos . . . appeals to the more violent, deeply felt emotions.329 In contrast to Aristotle’s reasoned approach for eliciting the emotion conducive to the desired decision, these other theorists recommended that the rhetor induce the desired emotion in those making the decision by displaying that emotion himself.330 325. In the same year in which this volume appeared, L. L. Welborn published his essay “Paul’s Appeal to the Emotions in 2 Corinthians 1.1–2.13; 7.5–6,” JSNT 82 (2001): 31–60. Welborn used an Aristotelian approach to identify appeals to pity, anger, and zeal in Paul’s argument. 326. Olbricht, “Introduction,” in Paul and Pathos, 1. 327. Ibid., 1–2. 328. Thomas H. Olbricht, “Pathos as Proof in Greco-Roman Rhetoric,” in Olbricht and Sumney, Paul and Pathos, 17–21, and Kraftchick (“Pavqh in Paul,” 52–57) concisely summarized the positions of Cicero and Quintilian on pathos. 329. Kraftchick, “Pavqh in Paul,” 53. 330. Ibid., 55.

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These theorists also located pathos appeals primarily in the peroration of the speech as a fitting conclusion to the ethos appeals with which the speech began.331 As with ethos, the practices of Pauline rhetorical critics varied in their approaches to pathos. Some critics followed Aristotle’s rational approach for analyzing Paul’s pathetic arguments. In his Aristotelian rhetorical analysis of 1 Thessalonians, Olbricht commented, “Paul utilizes very little pathos in 1  Thessalonians in the Aristotelian sense of proof. Many of his statements, no doubt, have affective overtones, but he does not draw often on the wellsprings of emotion explicitly as a strategy.”332 Olbricht noted that when Paul did use pathos, he sought to arouse friendly feelings among the Thessalonians by drawing on family and community metaphors that transcended anything Aristotle had anticipated. In his investigation of Paul’s rhetoric in 1 Corinthians 15, Insawn Saw identified several emotions treated by Aristotle such as anger, fear, pity, and shame.333 Nevertheless, Saw did not analyze these emotions according to Aristotle’s threefold treatment of the mental state of those experiencing such emotions, the persons toward whom these emotions are directed, and the occasions that produce such emotions. Neither did Saw specify how these emotions related to the decision Paul desired the Corinthians to make. In my analysis of Gal 4:12–20, I used Aristotle’s treatment to demonstrate how Paul attempted to move the Galatians from enmity toward Paul to friendly feelings, from shamelessness for their apostasy to shame, and from calmness toward the agitators to anger. I concluded, “Even though many commentators consider that Gal 4:12–20 defies analysis, Aristotle’s Rhetoric provides an effective tool for analyzing Paul’s pathetic persuasion in this passage.”334 Many more Pauline rhetorical critics, however, followed Cicero’s or Quintilian’s approach for analyzing Paul’s pathetic appeals. Bart Bruehler commented on 2 Corinthians 9, “In vv. 12–15, Paul moves from logos (the careful argument in 9.6–10) to pathos, a more emotional appeal, when describing the effects of the gift.”335 Bruehler then used Cicero’s prescriptions for emotional appeals to assess Paul’s attempts to arouse the Corinthians’ compassion (2 Cor 9:12; Cicero De or. 2.206–7), interest in their own reputation (2 Cor 9:13; Cicero De or. 2.211) and goodwill and friendship (2 Cor 9:14; Cicero De or. 2.185–86). After citing Quintilian’s (Inst. 6.1.52) recommendation that pathos be especially prominent in the peroration, F. Forrester Church commented on the peroration in Philemon, “Paul’s closing statement .  .  . sets the hearer in an emotional frame of mind (v 20); and . . . secures the hearer’s favor (vv 21–22). This is done with a maximum of pathos, as is appropriate to the close of a deliberative appeal.”336 Watson cited both Quintilian (Inst. 4.1.28; 6.1.9–10, 12, 51–52) and Cicero ( De or. 2.77.311; Part. Or. 1.4) to substantiate his claim that the peroratio

331. Ibid., 56. 332. Olbricht, “Aristotelian Rhetorical Analysis of 1 Thessalonians,” 230. Krentz, “1 Thessalonians,” 310–11. 333. Saw, Paul’s Rhetoric, 215. 334. Troy W. Martin, “The Voice of Emotion: Paul’s Pathetic Persuasion (Gal 4:12–20),” in Olbricht and Sumney, Paul and Pathos, 189–201; quotation from 201. 335. Bart B. Bruehler, “Proverbs, Persuasion and People: A Three-Dimensional Investigation of 2 Corinthians 9.6–15,” NTS 48 (2002): 222. 336. Church, “Rhetorical Structure,” 28.

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of Philippians (4:10–20) “seeks to elicit the same pathos as the exordium, but to a greater degree.”337 The majority of Pauline rhetorical critics took an eclectic approach and drew on various ancient rhetorical theorists as needed to analyze Paul’s pathos. In his analysis of pathos in 2 Corinthians, James Thompson primarily used Aristotle’s analytical scheme but also relied on other theorists, especially Quintilian.338 Jerry Sumney concluded his own investigation of pathos in 2 Corinthians, “This study has found that Paul uses many of the means rhetoricians recognized as ways to affect the pavqo" of the hearers. He used these tools to try to change their view of him and his rivals. . . . He is drawing on widely known and practiced conventions of rhetoric.”339 Kraftchick sanctioned this eclectic approach by writing: Reading Paul’s letters suggests that he is a sort of hybrid of Aristotle and the Roman traditions. On the one hand, most of his appeals to the emotions are closer in form to those found in the Roman tradition; that is, they are more appeals to the emotions than arguments from them. On the other hand . . . there are instances of actual logical arguments framed in the ways Aristotle suggests (e.g., 1 Cor 10:1–12; 2 Cor 7).340 Kraftchick’s sanction legitimated the eclectic use of Aristotle, Cicero, Quintilian, and others in the analysis of Pauline pathos. Recognizing the inadequacy of these ancient theorists, a few Pauline rhetorical critics analyzed Pauline pathos in ways that abandon these theorists’ analytical schemes. For example, Michael Cosby began his article, “When Paul dictated Galatians, he was under attack. His honor had been challenged. His feelings were hurt, and he responded like an erupting volcano. We should not expect a polished, logical explanation of theological concepts from a man in this frame of mind.” Cosby continued, “To relegate Paul’s emotional language to calculated use of rhetorical techniques .  .  . is to miss a vital source of the letter’s power.”341 Cosby then analyzed Paul’s emotional state neither as an Aristotelian rational argument nor as a Ciceronian display of the desired emotion but simply as an angry author. Cosby disagreed with Lauri Thurén, who had more judiciously concluded that Paul was probably not overwhelmed by emotions but as an effective rhetorician knew exactly what he was doing.342 The analytical schemes of these ancient theorists may indeed be inadequate, but abandoning them altogether left a methodological void as Cosby’s study demonstrated. 337. Watson, “Rhetorical Analysis of Philippians,” 77. 338. James W. Thompson, “Paul’s Argument from Pathos in 2 Corinthians,” in Olbricht and Sumney, Paul and Pathos, 131–45. 339. Jerry L. Sumney, “Paul’s Use of Pavqo" in His Argument against the Opponents of 2 Corinthians,” in Olbricht and Sumney, Paul and Pathos, 159. 340. Kraftchick, “Pavqh in Paul,” 56. 341. Michael R. Cosby, “Galatians: Red-Hot Rhetoric,” in Eriksson et al., Rhetorical Argumentation in Biblical Texts, 296, 299. 342. Lauri Thurén, “Was Paul Angry? Derhetorizing Galatians,” in Porter and Stamps, The Rhetorical Interpretation of Scripture, 309–10.

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The practices of Pauline rhetorical critics have displayed diversity not only in the analytical schemes they employ but also in what constitutes a pathetic argument or appeal. Some have seen a close relationship between ethos and pathos. Leander Keck commented on Romans 9–11, “As in 1:18–31, here too Paul’s ethos appeal seems to be fused with the text’s pathos, for the vigor of his self-disclosure suggests that it is designed to elicit a similar response even before the hearers have heard him out. . . . One can only surmise why the ethos appears to function as pathos as well here.”343 Similarly, Krentz stated, “It should be clear from this that pathos is the reverse of the coin named ethos, and that the same passages will produce both.”344 I along with others such as Eriksson, Olbricht, and Saw have clearly distinguished between the two types of arguments or appeals.345 Of course, the differences between Aristotle and other ancient theorists have provided the basis for this disagreement about what constitutes a pathetic argument or appeal. In addition to varieties of analytical schemes and different understandings of what constituted a pathetic argument or appeal, the practices of Pauline rhetorical critics have also identified several different techniques Paul used to arouse the emotions. Lauri Thurén and Larry Welborn discussed Paul’s use of exaggeration to create or intensify positive emotions among his addressees.346 Eriksson pointed to the e[kfrasi" of the Maranatha prayer in 1 Cor 16:22 as a way of engendering fear among some of the Corinthians.347 Keck designated the climax in Rom 8:29–30 with its asyndetic structure as intensifying the pathos of the passage.348 Sumney saw the peristaseis catalogue in 2 Cor 4:1–15 as an effective way for Paul to elicit pity from the Corinthians.349 Pauline rhetorical critics have identified these and many other techniques Paul used to arouse the emotions. Finally, the practices of these critics have utilized various methods for recognizing emotional arguments or appeals. Welborn asked the pertinent question, “How are the pathetic proofs . . . to be identified?” Welborn then answered this question by proposing two distinguishing criteria for pathetic arguments or appeals: “The emotions that belong to the pathetic proofs are (1) those Paul seeks to arouse in his readers and (2) those to which sustained appeal is made.”350 Keck suggested a threestage process in the identification of pathetic arguments, “The quest for pathos in Romans will succeed if one can answer three questions: What emotion does Paul seek to elicit? How does he attempt to do so? And, what is its role in the whole

343. Leander E. Keck, “Pathos in Romans? Mostly Preliminary Remarks,” in Olbricht and Sumney, Paul and Pathos, 92. 344. Krentz, “1 Thessalonians,” 311. Krentz’s statement is unexpected because he claimed to follow Aristotle, who clearly distinguished between the two. 345. Martin, “Paul’s Pathetic Persuasion,” 189; Anders Eriksson, “Fear of Eternal Damnation: Pathos Appeal in 1 Corinthians 15 and 16,” in Olbricht and Sumney, Paul and Pathos, 118–25; Olbricht, “Aristotelian Rhetorical Analysis of 1 Thessalonians,” 228–30; Saw, Paul’s Rhetoric, 207–16. 346. Lauri Thurén, “‘By Means of Hyperbole’ (1 Cor 12:31 ),” in Olbricht and Sumney, Paul and Pathos, 97, 108–9; Welborn, “Paul’s Appeal to the Emotions,” 43–44. 347. Eriksson, “Fear of Eternal Damnation,” 121–25. 348. Keck, “Pathos in Romans,” 90–91. 349. Sumney, “Paul’s Use of Pavqo",” 150–51. 350. Welborn, “Paul’s Appeal to the Emotions,” 37.

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undertaking?”351 I have followed Aristotle in suggesting that an analysis of Paul’s pathetic persuasion should first determine Paul’s assessment of his addressees’ current emotional state and whether or not this state was conducive to the decision Paul desired. If their emotional state was not conducive, then Aristotle’s treatment suggested the contrary emotion that Paul must elicit. The analysis should then examine how Paul attempted to elicit this emotion in his addressees by shaping the appropriate opinion. For each emotion relevant to Paul’s pathetic argument, the analysis should demonstrate how Paul’s knowledge of the state of mind characteristic of a particular emotion, his knowledge of the persons toward whom this emotion is expressed, and his knowledge of the causes of this emotion enabled him to shape his addressees’ opinion and thus arouse the emotion he thought would lead them to the appropriate decision.352 The methods of Welborn and Keck as well as my own may diverge in some details, but they all converge in the centrality of the addressees when identifying pathetic arguments and appeals. Paul’s own emotional state should be relevant only if it displayed the emotion he sought to elicit in his addressees. Thus, these various methods placed some boundaries on the identification of arguments and appeals from pathos. Significant advances have indeed been made in the investigation of pathos in Paul’s letters, but much uncertainty remains. Welborn commented: Aristotle, Cicero, and other rhetorical theorists provide a helpful framework. But Aristotle acknowledges that his list of emotions is not exhaustive (Rhet. 2.1.8). Nor should one assume that Paul’s understanding of the emotions coincides with that of Aristotle or other rhetorical theorists at every point. . . . Ancient rhetorical theorists offer pointers, but the pointers are always open to question.353 Similarly, Keck warned rhetorical critics investigating pathos to “be prepared for ambiguity and uncertainty,” for the use of pathos in Paul’s letters is not “totally congruent with the rhetoricians’ understanding.” Keck concluded, “The more one ponders these differences, the more fascinating, and potentially significant for exegesis, the quest for pathos in Romans becomes.”354 The exegetical importance of pathos and the uncertainties that remain in its investigation mean that this aspect of the rhetorical analysis of Paul’s letters can no longer be neglected as it has in the past. After some period of neglect, Pauline rhetorical critics have finally turned their attention to pathos in studies of Pauline invention. Although the investigation of pathos in Paul is only in the beginning stages, recent studies have already raised several important issues relevant to the investigation of pathetic persuasion. Especially important is selecting an appropriate analytical scheme for studying Paul’s pathetic arguments and appeals. Perhaps no less important are the issues of what constitutes a pathetic argument, of which techniques Paul used to arouse the emotions, and of 351. 352. 353. 354.

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Keck, “Pathos in Romans,” 87–88. Martin, “Paul’s Pathetic Persuasion,” 189. Welborn, “Paul’s Appeal to the Emotions,” 38. Keck, “Pathos in Romans,” 88.

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the methods for identifying pathetic arguments or appeals. As with ethos, these and other issues require further study by Pauline rhetorical critics. 3.2.2.4. Topical Argumentation Criticisms of various authors’ analyses of topical argumentation have demonstrated a confused understanding of topos and consequently of topical argumentation among Pauline rhetorical critics.355 In his classic article addressing topical argumentation, Wuellner wrote: What H. D. Betz introduced at the S.N.T.S. Meeting in Sigtuna, Sweden, in 1974 in regard to the method of exegeting Galatians in general and of interpreting Paul’s view of the law in this letter in particular shall here be expanded and in part corrected. The correction refers to what was said there about rhetorical topos in particular and about rhetoric in general.356 In this article, Wuellner neither explicitly engaged Betz nor specifically stated his criticisms of Betz’s analysis of the topical argumentation in Galatians. Instead, Wuellner simply presented his own topical analysis and left the reader of his article to supply the necessary corrections to Betz’s analysis. Wuellner’s criticism demonstrated once again how Betz’s lecture anticipated many of the practices and problems of Pauline rhetorical critics. In his lecture, Betz commented on the interpretive difficulties of Gal 4:12–20 and then stated: However, the section becomes understandable when interpreted in the light of epistolography: iv. 12–20 contains a string of topoi belonging to the theme of friendship. . . . It was customary to use material from the topos peri; filiva" in the probatio section of speeches as well as in letters. Quintilian includes the material among the various types of exempla. The argumentative value of such topoi results from the fact that their truth was to be taken for granted. Compared with the preceding arguments, however, the friendship topos can claim only a lower degree of persuasiveness.357 Perhaps Wuellner thought Betz’s ambivalence about whether topoi were epistolary or rhetorical or both needed correction. Perhaps Wuellner considered Betz’s treatment of topoi only in the probatio section too limiting and in need of revision.358 355. Heath (“Invention,” 95) correctly noted, “Topics . . . are not arguments but (literally) ‘places’ where we can look for arguments.” 356. Wilhelm H. Wuellner, “Toposforschung und Torahinterpretation bei Paulus und Jesus,” NTS 24 (1978): 463 (translation mine). 357. Betz, “Literary Composition,” 372. L. Michael White (“Rhetoric and Reality in Galatians: Framing the Social Demands of Friendship,” in Early Christianity and Classical Culture: Comparative Studies in Honor of Abraham J. Malherbe, ed. John T. Fitzgerald, Thomas H. Olbricht, and L. Michael White [Leiden: Brill, 2003], 311–12, 323) agrees with Betz about the topos of friendship but disagrees with how the topos functions rhetorically. 358. Wuellner (“Toposforschung,” 473) mentioned Betz only once in the body of his article and

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Perhaps Wuellner assessed Betz’s connection of topoi with exempla or paradigms as too indiscriminate and needing correction. Perhaps Wuellner concluded that Betz’s lower estimation of topical argumentation in relation to logical, ethical, and pathetic argumentation was in need of some modification. Perhaps, but Wuellner’s subtle approach has obscured the corrections he envisioned. What was clear was that Wuellner considered Betz’s understanding of topoi and his analysis of topical argumentation confused, and these confusions have continued to plague Pauline rhetorical critics in analyzing Paul’s topical argumentation. Wuellner’s own understanding of topoi and his analysis of Paul’s topical argumentation, however, did not even escape criticism. In his article on the topos as a New Testament form, John Brunt criticized David Bradley’s seminal work on the topos by writing, “The use of the term topos is confusing because of the disparity between its ancient and modern use.”359 Brunt included Wuellner in this criticism and wrote: The confusion can be seen when Wuellner speaks of topoi in Romans 12 and uses the term in the same way that Bradley did . . . but then adds references to ancient sources and modern texts where the term is discussed in the sense in which Aristotle and Cicero used it. Yet the term topos does not appear to have been used at all in classical sources for the kind of general teachings that make up the subjects of Bradley’s topoi. Thus, although . . . Bradley . . . was simply using the term topos in a different sense, the choice of the term is unfortunate because of the possibility of confusion.360 Brunt assessed Bradley and Wuellner’s confusion as a lack of specific methodological criteria for analyzing the topos that permitted “almost anything” to count as a topos.361 Brunt’s assessment was also apropos to many Pauline rhetorical critics whose practices reflected wide diversity in their understandings of the topos and consequently of Paul’s topical argumentation. In his survey of the rhetorical analysis of Paul’s letters, Porter noted, “The topos has been a misunderstood category in analysis of the Pauline letters.” He observed, “Paul makes use of a variety of topoi or topics in his writings, including drawing upon some of the standard figures of the ancient world but often developing his own.”362 Porter then simply listed a “small sample” of the kinds of topoi Pauline rhetorical critics had identified in Paul’s letters without providing any organizational or comparative scheme. These critics, however, have generally relied on Aristotle’s treatment of the topoi, and

approved of Betz’s brief reference of a topos in the peroratio of Galatians. 359. John C. Brunt, “More on the Topos as a New Testament Form,” JBL 104 (1985): 500. See David G. Bradley, “The Topos as a New Testament Form in the Pauline Paraenesis,” JBL 72 (1953): 238–46; and Terence Y. Mullins, “Topos as a New Testament Form,” JBL 99 (1980): 541–47. 360. Brunt, “More on Topos,” 498. See Wuellner, “Paul’s Rhetoric of Argumentation,” 152–74. 361. Brunt, “More on Topos,” 500. 362. Porter, “Paul of Tausus,” 571 n. 87, 571.

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his categories provide a useful framework for organizing the diverse practices of Pauline rhetorical critics.363 Even though Aristotle never defined topos, he used this term in reference to assumptions that were so commonly understood as valid that they needed no proof but could be used to construct enthymemes and paradigms. He distinguished common assumptions about propositions, about lines of argument, and about specific subjects. He (Rhet. 1.3.7–9; 2.19.1–27; cf. 2.18.2–4) discussed three commonly assumed propositions that he called koinav (“common things,” “commonalities).364 These koinav included whether something was possible or not, whether something happened in the past or not or will or will not happen in the future, and whether something was important or not. Kennedy correctly noted that “whether something is possible, actually true, or important are fundamental issues” in any argument. Kennedy also noted that these koinav were often called “common topics” but that they were distinct, for the twenty-eight common topics Aristotle (Rhet. 2.23.1–30) listed were lines of arguments such as arguing from opposites, correlates, or consequences rather than the general propositions of the koinav.365 Whereas both the koinav and the common topics could apply to all three species of rhetoric, the idia (specific or special topics; Rhet. 1.4–15) were commonly held opinions about subjects pertaining to either the judicial, deliberative, or epideictic species of rhetoric. The kinds of topoi Pauline rhetorical critics identify in Paul’s letters fall into one or another of Aristotle’s three categories. Robert Berchman has been one of the few rhetorical critics to concentrate on the koinav in Pauline letters and even then he called the koinav common topics while referring to Aristotle’s common topics as strategic topics and his special topics as material topics. Berchman wrote on Gal 1:1–5, “In this pericope, the common topics are fact, and the impossible; the material topic is the question of apostleship; and the strategic topics are from opposites, from authority, from relation, from the more and the less, and from parallel cases.” Berchman used these topoi to argue that the first five verses of Galatians “were composed under the genres of forensic, deliberative, and epideictic oratory.”366 Porter’s reservations about the categories of rhetoric being correctly applied could certainly pertain to Berchman’s identification of the koinav and common and special topics in Gal 1:1–5.367 Nevertheless, Berchman’s identifications fall neatly into Aristotle’s three categories. Other Pauline rhetorical critics have focused on Aristotle’s common topics or lines of argument in Paul’s letters. Eriksson identified the common topos of oppo363. Some studies of topoi nevertheless fall outside of Aristotle’s framework. For example, Hall (“Arguing like an Apocalypse,” 436–39) identified a Jewish revelatory/apocalyptic topos in Galatians that was outside the Greco-Roman rhetorical tradition. The relationship between Jewish and Greco-Roman rhetoric is debatable, and Jewish rhetoric in the Greco-Roman world was probably influenced to some degree by the broader culture. 364. Kennedy, Aristotle On Rhetoric, 50. Kennedy numbered these commonalities as four by separating past fact from future fact. Anderson (Ancient Rhetorical Theory, 47) numbered three by including past and future fact as one commonality. 365. Kennedy, Aristotle On Rhetoric, 50, 66–67. 366. Berchman, “Paul and Greco-Roman Rhetoric,” 64, 63–64. 367. Porter, “Paul of Tausus,” 571.

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sites in seeking one’s own interests rather the interests of Christ (Phil 2:21), in walking in the Spirit rather than the flesh (Gal 5:16), in God’s calling to holiness rather than impurity (1 Thess 4:7), in rejecting human authority rather than God (1 Thess 4:8), in being children of the day rather than the night (1 Thess 5:4–5), among others. Eriksson concluded, “Paul uses many contrary arguments in his letters . . . The terms he posits as contraries can be either conventional or contraries he has created himself.”368 A methodological issue raised by Eriksson’s identifications would be whether every antithesis or antinomy in Paul’s thought should be classified as the common topos of opposites. In his study of 1 Corinthians, Karl Sandnes also identified a common topos used by Paul: The argument from the advantage or common benefit is a frequently used topos in First Corinthians (6:12; 7:35; 8:1; 10:3–24; 13:5). The aim of this terminology in Paul’s context is not primarily to combat factionalism, but to persuade the Corinthians to prophesy at the expense of speaking in tongues. . . . This topos of advantage and benefit corresponds to a common rhetorical topos described by Aristotle, namely that of “employing the consequence to exhort or dissuade, accuse or defend, praise or blame” (Rhet. II.23,14).369 Sandnes then commented that Aristotle (Rhet. 1.6.1–1.7.41) related and subordinated this common topos to a special topos in deliberative rhetoric as well as to the koinav of the greater and lesser. Sandnes’s identification raised the issue of why this topos of advantage should be classified as a common topos rather than as a special topos or even a koinovn. Nevertheless, the options open to Sandnes still fell within the confines of the categories established by Aristotle. The majority of Pauline rhetorical critics have concentrated on identifying special topoi in Paul’s letters. Regarding topoi appropriate to deliberative rhetoric, Mitchell identified several political topoi in 1 Cor 1:11–4:21, and Bruehler pointed out “three topoi common in Hellenistic literature on benevolence in 2 Cor 9:6–15.370 Regarding topoi appropriate to judicial rhetoric, Thomas Tobin commented, “While Romans as a whole may be epideictic, Paul’s rhetorical stance in Rom 1:18–3:20 is quite judicial. . . . Even the techniques that Paul used to make his case involved an interweaving of rhetorical ‘topics’. . . . The two most important of these rhetorical topics were (1) the argument from authority and (2) the argument from previous judgments in similar cases.”371 Finally, James Jaquette ascribed epideictic functions to the ajdiavfora topos he identified in several of Paul’s letters, and Hughes identified an epideictic topos of consolation as well as a deliberative topos of advantage and honor in 2 Cor 1:1–2:13 and 7:5–8:24.372

368. Eriksson, Contrary Arguments,” 347–54; quotation from 354. 369. Karl Olav Sandnes, “Prophecy—A Sign for Believers (1 Cor 14,20–25),” Bib 77 (1996): 5–6. 370. Mitchell, Rhetoric of Reconciliation, 81–111; Bruehler, “Proverbs, Persuasion and People,” 223. 371. Thomas H. Tobin, “Controversy and Continuity in Romans 1:18–3:20,” CBQ 55 (1993): 302. 372. James L. Jaquette, “Life and Death, Adiaphora, and Paul’s Rhetorical Strategies,” NovT 38 (1996): 53; Hughes, “Rhetoric of Reconciliation,” 260.

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Watson’s topical analysis of Philippians illustrated the issue raised by these identifications of special topoi. Watson designated the rhetorical species of Philippians as deliberative and then identified a vast array of special topics including citizenship (1:27–30), humility (2:3, 8; 3:21; 4:12), suffering (1:28–30; 3:10; 4:14), blamelessness (1:27– 30; 2:15), joyfulness (2:19, 28, 29), service (2:25, 30), and many others.373 Watson made it seem as though every single subject treated by Paul could be classified as a special topos. Even though Watson’s classification scheme is open to question, all of the topoi identified by him as well as these other Pauline rhetorical critics would belong in Aristotle’s category of special topoi if indeed they should be classified as topoi at all. As with the logical, ethical, and pathetic means of persuasion, the practices of Pauline rhetorical critics have encountered several problems related to Paul’s topical argumentation. These critics have struggled with what constituted a topos and how rhetorical topoi differed from epistolary topoi or subjects of discussion in general. Watson has stated, “Whereas both rhetorical and epistolary theory urge selection of topics to address specific social contexts, the former does so for purposes of argumentation while the latter does so according to the type of epistle selected.”374 Clearly, much more should be said about the distinguishing characteristics of rhetorical topoi. These critics have often labored with an imprecise integration of koinav and common and special topics. According to Aristotle, a special topos not only can but also should be presented in one of the lines of reasoning represented by the common topoi and within the argumentative context of one or more of the three koinav. Pauline rhetorical critics need a much more integrative approach to Paul’s topical argumentation than simple identification or labeling of the topoi. 3.2.2.5. Evaluative Summary Betz’s lecture over three decades ago anticipated almost all of the practices and problems of Pauline rhetorical critics investigating the means of argumentation in Paul’s letters. Just as Betz had done, these critics used the Aristotelian categories of logos, ethos, pathos, and topos as well as the theories of other ancient rhetoricians in their studies of the means of Paul’s argumentation. Betz’s pioneering probing of the invention of Galatians left many problems for subsequent rhetorical critics to solve. These critics struggled to develop definitions of logical, ethical, pathetic, and topical arguments and appeals. They also wrestled to provide criteria for identifying these various types of arguments as well as methods for analyzing them. Even though these critics have made much progress since Betz’s lecture, much more remains to be done in this new “inventio phase” of Pauline rhetorical studies.

4. Peroratio In his review of Betz’s commentary, David Aune predicted, “Despite the problems in the overall analysis of the composition of Galatians which Betz has proposed, it is 373. Watson, “Rhetorical Analysis of Philippians,” in Porter and Olbricht, Rhetorical Analysis of Scripture, 60–79. 374. Watson, “Rhetorical Criticism since 1975,” 223.

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clear that this must be regarded as a groundbreaking commentary which will doubtless dominate the discussion of Galatians for the next generation.”375 Indeed, Betz’s work was groundbreaking, and it has dominated the discussion for almost a generation. Aune further predicted: The single most innovative feature of this commentary is, I would judge, the author’s proposed analysis of the surface structure of Paul’s letter to the Galatians in terms of Greco-Roman rhetorical theory. . . . In several respects this commentary of Galatians is a groundbreaking enterprise which sets the direction of future investigation but cannot itself fully enter into the promised land.376 Indeed, Betz’s work did set the direction of the future rhetorical investigation not only of Galatians but also of the other Pauline letters. In almost every way, Betz’s lecture and eventual commentary anticipated the practices and problems of rhetorical critics’ applying rhetorical criticism to Paul’s genuine letters as this survey has amply demonstrated. If it is appropriate to use the conceptual framework of “scholarly generations,” then the next generation of Pauline rhetorical critics is quite prepared to extend, expand, and modify Betz’s initial insights. D. Francois Tolmie, for example, begins his article by writing, “To a large extent the rhetorical analysis of the Letter to the Galatians has reached an impasse.” He then proceeds to develop “a text-centered descriptive analysis” that reconstructs Paul’s rhetorical strategy from the text itself and avoids both ancient and modern rhetorical models.377 Others of this “second generation” apparently agree with Tolmie, for they supplement classical rhetorical criticism with social analysis, discourse analysis, text-linguistics, and a number of other approaches. Khiok-Khng Yeo summarizes the “second generational” milieu: “This chapter will delineate and clarify my own definition of rhetorical criticism on the following aspects: rhetorical criticism and literary-form criticism; classical and new rhetorical traditions; Greco-Roman and Jewish rhetoric; and rhetoric, semantic (linguistics-semiotics) and sociology, focusing on the rhetorical genre, intent and context.”378 Indeed, this next generation is already writing the second chapter of rhetorical criticism, but the first chapter will always belong to Hans Dieter Betz and his provocative insights over three decades ago.

375. Aune, review of Betz, Galatians, 328. 376. Ibid., 323–24. 377. D. Francois Tolmie, “The Rhetorical Analysis of Galatians: Is There Another Way?” in One Text, A Thousand Methods: Studies in Memory of Sjef van Tilborg, ed. Patrick Chatelion Counet and Ulrich Berges, Biblical Interpretation Series 71 (Leiden: Brill, 2005), 275, 276. Tolmie developed this approach further in his monograph Persuading the Galatians, passim. 378. Khiok-Khng Yeo, Rhetorical Interaction in 1 Corinthians 8 and 9: A Formal Analysis with Preliminary Suggestions for a Chinese, Cross-Cultural Hermeneutic, Biblical Interpretation Series 9 (Leiden: Brill, 1995), 50.

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chapter 4

The Role of Style in the Pauline Epistles From Ornamentation to Argumentative Strategies Duane F. Watson

The style of the Pauline epistles has been the subject of both passing comment and concentrated study since they were written. Paul’s use of style did not escape the notice of exegetes such as Chrysostom, Jerome, Augustine, Melanchthon, and a host of others. These observations have ranged from discussion of individual figures and tropes to classification of the overall style of the epistles according to the GrecoRoman rhetorical tradition. However, the more complex use of style for argumentation and argumentative strategies is not as well studied. For most of the twentieth century the discussion of the style of the Pauline epistles was stymied, being dependent on the conclusion of Adolf Deissmann that Paul's epistles were nonliterary letters.1 There was not much interest in studying the epistles according to Greco-Roman standards of style. With the more recent recognition that the Pauline epistles are more akin to the literary letters, there has been increasing interest in examining them for stylistic elements found in such letters. However, the analysis of Pauline style and use of figures and tropes still does not often move beyond the mere identification and classification that characterized the past. Often studies of Pauline style are narrowly focused, with stylistic devices merely given labels from Greco-Roman rhetorical handbooks and never discussed beyond their role in embellishment. Few scholars exploit the potential of style to facilitate exegesis and to determine how it functions within Paul’s rhetorical strategies. As A. H. Snyman so aptly states, Although the classification of figures and the study of their (mainly aesthetic) functions in Hellenistic textbooks are important, they are not the 1. Adolf Deissmann, Light from the Ancient East: The New Testament Illustrated by Recently Discovered Texts of the Graeco-Roman World, trans. Lionel R. M. Strachan; 4th ed. (New York: George H. Doran, 1927), 233–42.

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Paul and Rhetoric only or even the proper ways of studying the figures in the NT. Questions about the possible text-strategical functions of the figures are far more weighty, but they have hardly been raised. The fact is these really are the proper questions to ask, because the NT does not claim to be a piece of fine literature, but of argumentative and narrative discourse.2

The survey of literature below indicates that Pauline scholars are beginning to move from mere identification and classification of figures and tropes in the Pauline letters to analysis of their function. Questions such as Why does Paul use these figures? and How do they facilitate his argumentation? are beginning to be asked. Style is proving to be a useful tool of interpretation, especially for the study of argumentation. In the following discussion I have focused on the use of style as found in Judaism and in the Greco-Roman world of Paul’s time, not upon stylistics and more modern conceptions of style. The essay will examine the following topics: (1) the role of style in Greco-Roman and Jewish literature; (2) the study of the style of the Pauline epistles in recent literature; (3) Paul’s use of style in his letters; and (4) suggestions for further research.

1. The Role of Style in Greco-Roman and Jewish Literature Before examining style in the Pauline epistles, a brief overview of style in GrecoRoman and Jewish rhetoric will be helpful, especially to define its content and role in ancient oratory and to note its pertinent bibliography. Many secondary resources discuss figures, tropes, and overall style and their functions in speeches and ancient life.3 Most important are the rhetorical handbooks of Aristotle, Longinus, Demetrius,

2. A. H. Snyman, “On Studying the Figures (schēmata) in the New Testament,” Bib 69 (1988): 93–107. 3. J. H. W. Atkins, Literary Criticism in Antiquity, 2 vols. (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1934; repr. Gloucester, Mass.: Peter Smith, 1961); Steven M. Cerutti, Cicero’s Accretive Style: Rhetorical Strategies in the Exordia of the Judicial Speeches (Lanham, Md.: University Press of America, 1996); Scott Consigny, “The Styles of Gorgias,” RSQ 22, no. 3 (1992): 43–53; J. D. Denniston, Greek Literary Criticism (London: J. M. Dent & Sons/New York: E. P. Dutton, 1924); idem, Greek Prose Style (Oxford: Clarendon, 1952; repr., Westport, Conn.: Greenwood, 1979); H. L. F. Drijepondt, Die antike Theorie der varietas: Dynamik und Wechsel im Auf und Ab als Charakteristikum von Stil und Struktur, Spudasmata: Studien zur klassischen Philologie und ihren Grenzgebieten 37 (Hildesheim and New York: Georg Olms, 1979); G. M. A. Grube, A Greek Critic: Demetrius on Style, Phoenix Supplementary Volume 4 (Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 1961); idem, The Greek and Roman Critics (Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 1965); G. L. Hendrickson, “The Origin and Meaning of the Ancient Characters of Style,” AJP 26 (1905): 249–90; idem, “The Peripatetic Mean of Style and the Three Stylistic Characters,” AJP 25 (1904): 125–46; H. M. Hubbell, “Cicero on Styles of Oratory,” in Yale Classical Studies 19, ed. L. Richardson, Jr. (New Haven and London: Yale University Press, 1966), 171–86; D. Innes, “Cicero on Tropes,” Rhetorica 6 (1988): 307–25; idem, “Theophrastus and the Theory of Style,” in Theophrastus of Eresus. On His Life and Work, ed. W. W. Fortenbaugh, P. M. Huby, and A. A. Long; Rutgers University Studies in Classical Humanities 2 (Brunswick, N.J.: Transaction Books, 1985), 251–67; A. D. Leeman, Orationis Ratio: The Stylistic Theories and Practice of the Roman Orators, Historians, and Philosophers, 2 vols. (Amsterdam: Adolf M. Hakkert, 1963); Michael C. Leff, “The Latin Stylistic Rhetorics of Antiquity,” SM 40 (1973): 273–79; Marsh H. McCall, Ancient Rhetorical Theories of Simile and Comparison, Loeb Classical Monographs (Cambridge, Mass.:

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Cicero, and Quintilian. Quintilian’s Institutio Oratoria is particularly helpful for our purposes because it is contemporary with the Pauline letters and is a synopsis of the rhetorical practice of that time. Style is defined as “the fitting of the proper language to the invented matter” (Cicero Inv. 1.7.9) and “the adaptation of suitable words and sentences to the matter devised” (Ad Her. 1.2.3).4 In other words, style helps effectively execute the invention of arguments and the arrangement of the parts of a rhetorical work. In the ancient rhetorical handbooks, style is typically discussed under the headings of lexis (diction) and synthesis (composition). Lexis is the correct choice of words, while synthesis is putting words together in larger units. It is the study of synthesis that includes figures and tropes. A trope is “the transference of expression from their natural and principal significance to another, with a view to the embellishment of style…the transference of words and phrases from the place which is strictly theirs to another to which they do not properly belong” (Quintilian Inst. 9.1.4; cf. 8.6.1).5 Tropes include metaphor, metonymy, antonomasia, metalepsis, synecdoche, catachresis, allegory, hyperbole, onomatopoeia, periphrasis, and epithet (Quintilian Inst. 9.1.3, 5–6). A figure occurs “when we give our language a conformation other than the obvious and ordinary” (Quintilian Inst. 9.1.4).6 Figures include those of speech and thought.7 Figures of speech disappear if the words are altered, but figures of thought remain whatever words are used (Cicero De or. 3.52.200; 24.81). A figure of thought derives from an idea, not from specific words (Ad Her. 4.13.18). There are three basic styles: the grand, the middle, and the plain (Cicero De or. 3.52.199–200; 3.45.177; 5.20–6.21; 21.69–29.101; Cic. Opt. gen. 1.2; Ad Her. 4.8.11; Quintilian Inst. 12.10.58–72).8 The three styles are often mixed in a single work, as the situation, audience, and purpose of the discourse require (Cicero De or. 3.52.199; Harvard University Press, 1969); Galen O. Rowe, “Style,” in Handbook of Classical Rhetoric in the Hellenistic Period 330 B.C.–A.D. 400, ed. Stanley E. Porter (Boston: Brill Academic Publishers, 2001), 121–57; D. A. Russell, Criticism in Antiquity (Berkeley/Los Angeles: University of California Press, 1981), 129–47; U. von Wilamowitz-Möllendorff, “Asianismus und Atticismus,” Hermes 35 (1900): 1–52; repr. in Rhetorika: Schriften zur aristotelischen und hellenistischen Rhetorik, ed. R. Stark; Olms Studien 2 (Hildesheim: Georg Olms, 1968), 350–401; Duane F. Watson, The Rhetoric of the New Testament: A Bibliographic Survey, Tools for Biblical Study 8 (Blandford Forum: Deo, 2006), 43–46. 4. For more on style in primary sources, see Aristotle Rhet. 3.1–12; Rhet. ad Alex. 22.1434a.35– 28.1436a.13; Longinus Subl.; Demetrius Eloc.; Cicero De or. 3.5.19–55.212 (except 3.20.74–24.90 and 3.28– 36); Cic. De or. 19.61–31.112; 35.123–25; 39.134–71.237; Cicero Part or. 5.16–7.24; Cicero Opt. gen.; Ad Her. 4; Quintilian Inst. 1.5; 8–9. 5. For more on tropes, see Quintilian Inst. 8.6; 9.1.1–9; Heinrich Lausberg, Handbook of Literary Rhetoric: A Foundation for Literary Study, ed. David E. Orton and R. Dean Anderson (Leiden: Brill, 1998), 248–71, §§552–99; Josef Martin, Antike Rhetorik: Technik und Methode (Munich: C. H. Beck, 1974), 261– 70. 6. For more on figures, see Quintilian Inst. 9.1.1–36. See also Lausberg, Handbook of Literary Rhetoric, 271–460, §§600–1054; Martin, Antike Rhetorik, 247–345. 7. For more on figures of speech, see Demetrius Eloc. 2.59–67; Cicero De or. 3.54.206–8; 24.80; 39.134–35; Ad Her. 4.13–34; Quintilian Inst.9.3.1–99. For more on figures of thought, see Cicero De or. 3.53.202–54.206; 24.81; 39.136–40.139; Ad Her. 4.35–55; Quintilian Inst.9.2. 8. See also Lausberg, Handbook of Literary Rhetoric, 471–78, §§1078–82; Martin, Antike Rhetorik, 331–45.

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21.70–22.74; 28.99–31.112; 35.123; Ad Her. 4.11.16; Quintilian Inst. 12.10.69–72). The grand style uses all the figures of speech and thought, especially hyperbole, and is amplified throughout. The middle style uses most of the figures of speech and many figures of thought. It is especially fond of metaphor. The plain style is concise and uses colloquial language. It employs few figures, but is enamored of metaphors because they are often a mainstay of colloquial language. Paroisosis, homoeoteleuton, paronomasia, and figures of repetition are not used in the plain style because they obviously derive from the artful use of language. Style in Jewish literature is also an important component of studying the epistles of Paul. Clearly certain stylistic features are prominent in the Jewish Scriptures, such as metaphor, parallelism, antithesis, and chiasm. However, this study is a bit complicated because the boundaries are not easily established between Jewish and Greco-Roman rhetoric. They share rhetorical features either found effective because of the nature of human communication (like those mentioned above that work well in oral presentation) or because Jewish rhetoric had been influenced by Hellenistic rhetoric in the three centuries prior to Paul. This study is also difficult because there is no comprehensive study of Jewish rhetoric in this period. A few isolated studies of Jewish rhetoric in the Pauline letters have emerged. For example, Richard Lemmer argues for elements of rabbinical rhetoric in Galatians.9 However, more study is needed, for it is in the intersection of Jewish and Greco-Roman rhetoric that we may discover the unique contributions of Paul to the style of his epistles.

2. The Study of the Style of the Pauline Epistles in Recent Literature Pauline style has most often comprised the study of individual figures of speech, figures of thought, and tropes. These can be discussed in major studies of the rhetoric of the New Testament.10 They are also found in studies of individual rhetorical features of the New Testament and the Pauline letters specifically. Such studies include the figures of hendiadys, metonymy, irony, metaphor, hyperbole, prosopopoiia, antithesis, parallelism, rhetorical question, and chiasm.11 These are often studied in con9. R. Lemmer, “Why Should the Possibility of Rabbinical Rhetorical Elements in Pauline Writings (E.g. Galatians) be Reconsidered?” in Rhetoric, Scripture and Theology: Essays from the 1994 Pretoria Conference, ed. Stanley E. Porter and Thomas H. Olbricht; JSNTSup 131 (Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 1996), 161–79. 10. Friedrich Blass and Albert Debrunner, A Greek Grammar of the New Testament and Other Early Christian Literature, ed. Robert W. Funk (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1961), §§458–96; Ethelbert W. Bullinger, Figures of Speech Used in the Bible Explained and Illustrated (London: Eyre & Spottiswoode, 1898; repr., Grand Rapids: Baker, 1968); Walter Bühlmann and Karl Scherer, Stilfiguren der Bibel: Ein kleines Nachschlagewerk, BibB 10; Fribourg: Schweizerisches Katholisches Bibelwerk, 1973); Nils W. Lund, “Paul’s Figures of Speech,” CovQ 6, no. 2 (1946): 97–108; E. A. Nida, et al., Style and Discourse with Special Reference to the Text of the Greek New Testament (Cape Town: Bible Society, 1983); A. H. Snyman, ed., Oor styl en retoriek by Paulus, Acta academica 6 (Bloemfontein: Universiteit van die Oranje-Vrystaat, 1986). 11. Hendiadys: L.-M. Dewailley, “Finns det många hendiadys i Nya Testamentet?,” SEÅ 51/52 (1986): 50–56.

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nection with more elaborate rhetorical constructs and argumentative schemes, such Metonymy: Victor Heylen, “Les metaphors et les métonymies dans les épîtres pauliniennes,” ETL 11 (1935): 253–90; S. Vernon McCasland, “Some New Testament Metonyms for God,” JBL 68 (1949): 99–113. Irony: Christopher Forbes, “Comparison, Self-Praise and Irony: Paul’s Boasting and the Conventions of Hellenistic Rhetoric,” NTS 32 (1986): 1–30; Glenn S. Holland, Divine Irony (Selinsgrove, Pa.: Susquehanna University, 2000); idem, “Paul’s Use of Irony as a Rhetorical Technique,” in The Rhetorical Analysis of Scripture: Essays from the 1995 London Conference, ed. Stanley E. Porter and Thomas H. Olbricht; JSNTSup 146 (Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 1997), 234–48; Jakob Jónsson, Humour and Irony in the New Testament: Illuminated by Parallels in the Talmud and Midrash (Reykjavík: Bókaútgáfa Menningarsjóts, 1965; repr. ZRGG 28; Leiden: Brill, 1985); Anselmo Mattioli, “Le sorridente ironia di Paolo: Frasi e expressioni argute negli Atti e nelle Lettere,” Teresianum 46 (1995): 367–411; John Reumann, “St. Paul’s Use of Irony,” LQ 7 (1955): 140–45. Metaphor: Heylen, “Les metaphors et les metonymies”; Marjorie Crofts, “Metaphors in the Five Ts,” Notes on Translation 8, no. 4 (1994) 35–52; Peter Mackey, The Centrality of Metaphors to Biblical Thought: A Method for Interpreting the Bible (Macon, Ga.: Mellen Biblical, 1990); H. Weder, “Metapher und Gleichnis: Bemerkungen zur Reichweite des Bildes in religiöser Sprache,” ZTK 90 (1993): 382–408; David J. Williams, Paul’s Metaphors: Their Context and Character (Peabody, Mass.: Hendrickson, 1999). Hyperbole: C. C. Douglas, Overstatement in the New Testament (New York: Henry Holt, 1931); A. B. Du Toit, “Hyperbolic Contrasts: A Neglected Aspect of Paul’s Style,” in A South African Perspective on the New Testament, ed. J. H. Petzer and P. J. Hartin (Leiden: Brill, 1986), 178–86. Prosōpopoiia: Stanley K. Stowers, “Apostrophe, Prosōpopoiia and Paul’s Rhetorical Education,” in Early Christianity and Classical Culture: Comparative Studies in Honor of Abraham J. Malherbe, ed. John T. Fitzgerald, Thomas H. Olbricht, and L. Michael White; NovTSup 110 (Leiden: Brill, 2003), 351–69. Antithesis: Jean Nélis, “Les antithèses littéraires dans les épîtres de saint Paul,” NRTh 70 (1948): 360– 87; Norbert Schneider, Die rhetorische Eigenart der paulinischen Antithese (Tübingen: J. C. B. Mohr [Paul Siebeck], 1970). Parallelism: Adele Berlin, “Parallelism,” in ABD 5:155–62; Olof Linton, “Le parallelismus membrorum dans le Nouveau Testament: Simples Remarques,” in Mélanges Bibliques en hommage au R.P. Béda Rigaux, ed. A. Descamps and R. P. André de Halleux (Gembloux: J. Duculot, 1970), 489–507; L. I. Newman and W. Popper, Studies in Biblical Parallelism, 3 vols. (Berkeley: University of California, 1918); J. Niemirska-Pliszczyńska, “Paralelizm stylistyczny w listach pawla z tarsu jako kontynuacja retoryki antycznej,” Roczniki Humanistyczne 20 (1972): 31–53; Friedrich Rehkopf, “Der ‘Parallelismus’ im NT: Versuch einer Sprachregelung,” ZNW 71 (1980): 46–57; Roland Schütz, Der parallele Bau der Satzgleider im Neuen Testament (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1920); Stanislav Segert, “Semitic Poetic Structures in the New Testament,” ANRW II. Principat 25,2. Religion, ed. Hildegard Temporini and Wolfgang Haase (Berlin and New York: Walter de Gruyter, 1984), 1433–62. Rhetorical question: Jaroslav Konopásek, “Les ‘questions rhétoriques’ dans le Nouveau Testament,” RHPR 12 (1932): 47–66, 141–61. Chiasm: John Breck, “Biblical Chiasmus: Exploring Structure for Meaning,” BTB 17 (1987): 70–74; idem, The Shape of Biblical Language: Chiasmus in the Scriptures and Beyond (Crestwood, N.Y.: St. Vladimir’s Seminary, 1994); John J. Collins, “Chiasmus, the ‘ABA’ Pattern and the Text of Paul,” in Studiorum Paulinorum Congressus Internationalis Catholicus 1961, 2 vols.; AnBib 17–18 (Rome: Pontifical Biblical Institute, 1963), 2:575–83; Angelico Di Marco, “Der Chiasmus in der Bibel. 4 Teil,” LB 44 (1979): 3–70; Joachim Jeremias, “Chiasmus in den Paulusbriefen,” ZNW 49 (1958): 145–56; expanded version (by C. Burchard) in J. Jeremias, Abba: Studien zur neutestamentlichen Theologie und Zeitgeschichte (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1966), 276–90; Nils W. Lund, Chiasmus in the New Testament: A Study in Formgeschichte (Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press, 1942; repr., Peabody, Mass.: Hendrickson, 1992); idem, “The Presence of Chiasmus in the New Testament,” JR 10 (1930): 74–93. idem, “The Significance of Chiasmus for Interpretation,” Crozer Quarterly 20 (1943): 105–23; Ronald E. Man, “Chiasm in the New Testament” (Th.M. thesis, Dallas Theological Seminary, 1982); idem, “The Value of Chiasm for New Testament Interpretation,” BSac 141 (1984): 146–57; Roland Meynet, “The Question at the Center: A Specific Device of Rhetorical Argumentation in Scripture,” in Rhetorical Argumentation in Biblical Texts: Essays from the Lund 2000 Conference, ed. Anders Eriksson, Thomas H. Olbricht, and Walter Übelacker;

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as the diatribe.12 The following is a survey of specific works on the style of the seven undisputed Pauline epistles. I will concentrate on works that focus on Greco-Roman or Jewish rhetoric and that were published in approximately the last thirty years.13

2.1. Romans The study of style in Romans centers on the figures of antithesis, irony, chiasm, and those rhetorical figures utilized by the diatribe. Almost a century ago M.-J. Lagrange provided a brief overview of the style of Romans, noting its roots in Judaism and Greco-Roman rhetoric.14 He was followed by W. A. Jennrich who examined the rhetoric of Romans, emphasizing Paul’s careful selection of words and the abundant use of simile and metaphor. He concluded that Romans was good Attic prose that did not fall short of the prose of Isocrates.15 R. Dean Anderson also surveys the style of Romans, noting that it lacks the stylistic virtue of clarity.16 André Feuillet studies the antitheses in Romans 1–8,17 and Philippe Rolland examines antitheses in the smaller pericope of Romans 5–8.18 Using ancient and modern understandings of language, Mark Schoeni uncovers the role of hyperbole as a master trope in Romans. Hyperbole, litotes, and ellipsis work together to produce the sublime and counter-sublime in Romans.19 Emory Studies in Early Christianity 8 (Harrisburg, Pa.: Trinity Press International, 2002), 200–14.; Donald R. Miesner, “Chiasm and the Composition and Message of Paul’s Missionary Sermons” (Th.D. thesis, Concordia Seminary in Exile [Seminex] in cooperation with Lutheran School of Theology at Chicago, 1974); Jerome Murphy-O’Connor, Paul the Letter-Writer: His World, His Options, His Skills (Collegeville, Minn.: Liturgical Press, 1995), esp. pp. 86–95, which discuss chiasm and concentric composition; Ian H. Thomson, Chiasmus in the Pauline Letters, JSNTSup 111 (Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 1995); John W. Welch, “Chiasmus in the New Testament,” in Chiasmus in Antiquity: Structures, Analyses, Exegesis, ed. John W. Welch (Hildesheim: Gerstenberg, 1981), 211–49; repr. Provo, Utah: Research Press at Brigham Young University, 1999. 12. A. Bonhöffer, Epiktet und das Neue Testament, Religionsgeschichtliche Versuche und Vorarbeiten 10 (Giessen: Alfred Töpelmann, 1911), esp. pp. 136–46, pertaining to Paul and the diatribe; R. Bultmann, Der Stil der paulinischen Predigt und die kynisch-stoische Diatribe, FRLANT 13 (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1910; repr. 1984); Thomas Schmeller, Paulus und die “Diatribe”: Eine vergleichende Stilinterpretation, NTAbh n.s. 19 (Munster: Aschendorff, 1987); Stanley K. Stowers, “Diatribe,” ABD 2:190–93; idem, “The Diatribe,” in Greco-Roman Literature and the New Testament: Selected Forms and Genres, ed. David Aune; SBLSBS 21 (Atlanta: Scholars, 1988), 71–83; idem, The Diatribe and Paul’s Letter to the Romans, SBLDS 57 (Chico, Calif.: Scholars Press, 1981). 13. For further studies of Pauline style, see Watson, The Rhetoric of the New Testament, 121–72 passim. 14. M.-J. Lagrange, “Langue, Style, Argumentation dans L’Épître aux Romains,” RB 12 (1915): 220–28. 15. W. A. Jennrich, “Rhetoric in the New Testament: The Diction in Romans and Hebrews,” CTM 20 (1949): 518–31; idem, “The Rhetorical Style in the New Testament: Romans and Hebrews” (Ph.D. diss., Washington University, 1947). 16. R. Dean Anderson, Jr., Ancient Rhetorical Theory and Paul, rev. ed.; CBET 18 (Leuven: Peeters, 1999), 238–41. 17. A. Feuillet, “Les attaches bibliques des antithèses Pauliniennes dans la priemière partie de l’épître aux Romains (1–8),” in Mélanges bibliques en homage au R. P. Béda Rigaux, 323–49. 18. Philippe Rolland, “L’antithèse de Rm 5–8,” Bib 69 (1988): 396–400. 19. Mark Schoeni, “The Hyperbolic Sublime as a Master Trope in Romans,” in Rhetoric and the New

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In a recent study, T. L. Carter makes the intriguing proposal that in Romans 13 Paul is “censuring with counterfeit praise.” He is using irony to subvert the authority of the very government he appears to be commending. In light of Nero’s ruthless early reign, Paul’s supportive words about the government would appear quite implausible to the Romans—so much so that Paul’s real point would actually be obvious to the readers.20 Kendrick Grobel finds a sevenfold chiastic inversion retribution formula in Rom 2:7-11. He argues that it is patterned on similar retribution formulas in the Hebrew Scriptures.21 Charles D. Myers rejects the common idea that Paul progresses in a linear fashion in Romans. He identifies a chiasm in Romans 3–8 within which the subunits are also chiasms. This arrangement allows Paul to introduce subjects and develop them, and then reiterate in reverse order, not only in the subchiasms, but in the overall chiasm as well. 22 Stanley Stowers has produced the classic modern study on diatribe in Romans. He demonstrates that diatribe relies on a variety of stylistic figures, including apostrophe, rhetorical questions, and personification. Romans 1–11 exhibits just these features. 23 Stowers also studied prosōpopoiia and dialogue introduced by apostrophe in Rom 2:1–4:2, a pattern also found in other ancient sources such as Philo and Epictetus. The writer giving the speech addresses an imagined person with apostrophe, and continues the conversation with prosōpopoiia and dialogue.24 In addition Stowers argues for prosōpopoiia in Rom 7:7–25 and finds a similar analysis by Origen.25 Another scholar, Stanley E. Porter, examines the stylistic elements of diatribe in Romans 5.26 Movements toward a more comprehensive use of style in the interpretation of Romans are being taken. A. H. Snyman has produced three articles of note in this regard. In one he uses Hellenistic rhetoric and stylistics of modern literary analysis to examine the style and its meaning in Rom 8:31–39. While identifying the stylistic features of this pericope, he moves beyond mere identification to try to determine how the stylistic features function. He argues that the style works to signal an association of the writer with the readers, strong emotions, tension, or persuasion. 27 In a related article, Snyman examines how the style of Rom 8:31-39 helps address the rhetorical situation of Romans. Utilizing modern as well as Greco-Roman rhetoric in

Testament: Essays from the 1992 Heidelberg Conference, ed. Stanley E. Porter and Thomas H. Olbricht; JSNTSup 90 (Sheffield: JSOT Press, 1993), 171–92. 20. T. L. Carter, “The Irony of Romans 13,” NovT 46 (2004): 209-28. 21. Kendrick Grobel, “A Chiastic Retribution-Formula in Romans 2,” in Zeit und Geschichte. Dankesgabe an Rudolf Bultmann zum 80. Geburtstag, ed. E. Dinkler (Tübingen: J. C. B. Mohr, 1964), 255–61. 22. Charles D. Myers, “Chiastic Inversion in the Argument of Romans 3–8,” NovT 35 (1993): 30–47. 23. Stowers, The Diatribe and Paul’s Letter to the Romans. 24. Stowers, “Apostrophe, Prosōpopoiia and Paul’s Rhetorical Education.” 25. Stanley Stowers, “Romans 7.7–25 as a Speech-in-Character (prosōpopoiia),” in Paul in His Hellenistic Context, ed. Troels Engberg-Pedersen (Minneapolis: Fortress, 1995), 180–202. 26. Stanley E. Porter, “The Argument of Romans 5: Can a Rhetorical Question Make a Difference,” JBL 110 (1991): 655–77. 27. A. H. Snyman, “Style and Meaning in Romans 8:31–39,” Neot 18 (1984): 94–103.

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his analysis, he shows how the style supports the stasis of quality and the epideictic nature of the text. 28

2.2. 1 Corinthians As early as 1926, Thomas Duncan demonstrated Paul’s use of rhetorical figures in 1 Corinthians. These figures include antithesis, homoioteleuton, anaphora, synonymy, paronomasia, asyndeton, polysyndeton, parisosis, paromoiosis, cyclosis, epanastrophe, antistrophe, etymologica, objection, and rhetorical question. 29 He classified Paul’s style as Asian (a highly embellished rhetoric originating in Asia Minor) and rightly stated that with Paul style was “rarely pure ornament” but rather developed themes worthy of the “flowers of speech.”30 Although Paul’s rhetoric is not Asian, Duncan was right to point out the significant role that style plays in Paul’s argumentation. More recent studies of the style of 1 Corinthians focus on the use of chiasm and irony (particularly in chaps. 1-4), rhetorical questions, the diatribe, and the style of the hymn to love in chap. 13. Kenneth E. Bailey recovers the poetic structure of 1:17–2:2. Through a sophisticated use of the poetical form akin to the prophecy of the Hebrew Scriptures, Paul proclaims Christ as the power and wisdom of God. Parallelism, chiasm, and careful repetition of topics abound.31 Karl Plank studies irony within the context of the rhetorical situation of chaps. 1–4. Paul’s ironical self-description of affliction in 4:9–13 is both apologetic and homiletic. It is apologetic for his apostleship in light of charges of his weakness, and homiletic in light of the need to reorient the Corinthians’ understanding of their calling in terms of their own weakness. Paul uses irony to create a paradoxical value system in which weakness is no longer understood as powerlessness, but rather as the presence of divine power. 32 Benjamin Fiore studies the role of covert allusion (logos eschēmatismenos) in 1 Corinthians 1–4. This approach utilizes a host of stylistic devices including hyperbole, irony, contrast, metaphors, similes, and allegory, which are all found in abundance in these chapters. Paul uses this approach to enable the audience to address the factionalism over wisdom and knowledge.33 F. S. Malan provides a rather detailed

28. A. H. Snyman, “Style and the Rhetorical Situation of Romans 8.31–39,” NTS 34 (1988): 218–31. Snyman also supplies a stylistic analysis of Rom 7:7–13 in “Stilistiese tegnieke in Romeine 7:7–13,” NGTT 27 (1986): 23–28. 29. Thomas Duncan, “The Style and Language of Saint Paul in His First Letter to the Corinthians,” BSac 83 (1926): 129–43. 30. Duncan, “Style and Language,” 143. 31. Kenneth E. Bailey, “Recovering the Poetic Structure of 1 Cor. i 17– ii 2,” NovT 17 (1975): 265–96. 32. Karl Plank, Paul and the Irony of Affliction, SBLSS (Atlanta: Scholars Press, 1987). 33. Benjamin Fiore, “‘Covert Allusion’ in 1 Corinthians 1–4,” CBQ 47 (1985): 85–102. John Fitzgerald, Cracks in an Earthen Vessel: An Examination of the Catalogues of Hardships in the Corinthian Correspondence, SBLDS 99 (Atlanta: Scholars Press, 1988) 127.

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analysis of the style of 1 Corinthians 4, but it does not move beyond mere identification of figures to demonstrate their purpose in Paul’s argumentation.34 Rhetorical questions have also been a focus of the style of 1 Corinthians. I argue that Paul is using rhetorical questions in 10:23–11:1 in several of the prescribed ways to recapitulate the previous argumentation from 8:1, to anticipate the objections of his opponents to his argumentation, and to enable argumentation to move from the particular to more general principles.35 Joop Smit attempts to further clarify this difficult passage by suggesting that it is the figure of anticipation coupled with rhetorical questions. Paul anticipates the objections of the addressees to his prohibition against participation in sacrificial meals.36 Wilhelm Wuellner examines the role of rhetorical questions in all of 1 Corinthians. He studies Paul’s use of rhetorical questions in the framework of Paul’s argumentation where they are used as premises for arguments, as argumentative techniques, and in the larger sequence of argumentation.37 Will Deming interprets 7:21–22 in light of a diatribe pattern. This pattern consists of a statement of fact given in the form of a rhetorical question, an imperative that denies that the statement of fact has any bearing on the life of the person addressed, and an explanation as to why the statement of fact should be treated indifferently. With this pattern Paul teaches that slaves should regard slavery as a matter of indifference, but should not forgo an opportunity to gain their freedom.38 The style of the hymn to love, 1 Corinthians 13, has received considerable attention. Nils Lund uncovered a chiastic structure in the hymn. He argued that three main parts of the chapter are arranged chiastically, as are individual lines and subsections. The chiastic structure is accompanied by symmetry and euphony, with similar-sounding words beginning and ending lines. He traced the chiastic form to Hebrew rather than Greek rhetoric.39 In his discussion of the genre of 1 Corinthians 13, Joop Smit provides a detailed stylistic analysis of the hymn. Having identified the chapter as epideictic rhetoric, he shows that key stylistic features of that genre are present: conspicuous words and metaphors, parallelism, antithesis, repetition, and a euphonic rhythm. The chapter is aimed at strengthening the Corinthians’ values and moving them to take action. 40 Building on some of the insights of Smit among others, Lauri Thurén demonstrates how hyperbole in 1 Corinthians 13 is a central part of Paul’s strategy for creating

34. F. S. Malan, “Rhetorical Analysis of 1 Corinthians 4,” ThViat 20 (1993): 100–114. 35. Duane Watson, “1 Corinthians 10:23–11:1 in the Light of Greco-Roman Rhetoric: The Role of Rhetorical Questions,” JBL 108 (1989): 301–18. 36. Joop Smit, “The Function of First Corinthians 10,23-30: A Rhetorical Anticipation,” Bib 78 (1997): 377–88. 37. Wilhelm Wuellner, “Paul as Pastor: The Function of Rhetorical Questions in First Corinthians,” in L’Apôtre Paul: Personnalité, style et conception du ministère, ed. A. Vanhoye; BETL 73 (Leuven: Leuven University Press, 1986), 49–77. 38. Will Deming, “A Diatribe Pattern in 1 Cor. 7:21–22: A New Perspective on Paul’s Directions to Slaves,” NovT 37 (1995): 130–37. 39. Nils Lund, “The Literary Structure of Paul’s Hymn to Love,” JBL 50 (1931): 266–76. 40. Joop Smit, “The Genre of 1 Corinthians 13 in the Light of Classical Rhetoric,” NovT 33 (1991): 193–216. Cf. J. G. Sigountos, “The Genre of 1 Corinthians 13,” NTS 40 (1994): 246-60.

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pathos. He uses hyperbole to move the Corinthians’ emotions so that they will more readily accept the centrality of love in the use of spiritual gifts.41

2.3. 2 Corinthians Much of the rhetorical analysis of 2 Corinthians centers on Paul’s boasting and irony in all or part of chaps. 10–13 as well as his use of metaphor throughout the epistle. Josef Zmijewski provides a comprehensive stylistic analysis of the “foolish discourse” of 11:1–12:10 using modern literary theory.42 Aida B. Spencer shows how Paul used style in the fool’s speech of chaps. 10-13 to communicate to a hostile audience a message of what it considered weakness. His message is found in rhetorical devices, logic, images, adverbial clauses, and sentence transformations. Rhetorical devices used include metaphor, irony, parallelism, ellipsis, asyndeton, and polysyndeton. A key to his style is metaphor and associated imagery. 43 This study provided a foundation for many other examinations of this passage. J. A. Loubser investigates chaps. 10–13 and Paul’s use of irony to support his apostleship. Paul’s paradoxical interpretation of authority based on weakness forces the Corinthians to reinterpret authority. 44 Glenn Holland argues that Paul’s irony in the foolish discourse is aimed at prompting the Corinthians to look beyond the flesh and use their spiritual insight to see that Paul’s foolishness and weakness is really a demonstration of his apostolic authority.45 Christopher Forbes focuses on comparison, boasting, and irony in chaps. 10–13. He proves that in Paul’s time irony was appropriate in contexts of invective and judicial rhetoric when the rhetor has been mistreated, his achievements credited to others, and his good name tarnished. By using irony Paul can embrace the accusations of his opponents and simultaneously parody their self-praise and comparison. Through irony he can subtly persuade the Corinthians to embrace a different value system— strength in weakness. Hopefully Paul can increase his apostolic authority as one who exemplifies these values.46 In part building on Forbes’s work, I argue that Paul’s use of irony in chaps. 10–13 is a very sophisticated rhetorical mix.47 Paul is utilizing Greco-Roman conventions

41. Lauri Thurén, “‘By Means of Hyperbole’ (1 Cor 12:31b)” in Paul and Pathos, ed. Thomas H. Olbricht and Jerry L. Sumney; SBLSymS 16 (Atlanta: Scholars Press, 2001), 97-13. 42. Josef Zmijewski, Der Stil der paulinischen “Narrenrede”: Analyse der Sprachgestaltung in 2 Kor 11,1–2,10 als Beitrag zur Methodik von Stiluntersuchungen neutestamentlicher Texte, BBB 52 (Cologne: Peter Hanstein, 1978). 43. Aida B. Spencer, “The Wise Fool (and the Foolish Wise): A Study of Irony in Paul,” NovT 23 (1981): 349–60. 44. J. A. Loubser, “A New Look at Paradox and Irony in 2 Corinthians 10–13,” Neot 26 (1992): 507–21. 45. Glenn Holland, “Speaking Like a Fool: Irony in 2 Corinthians 10–13,” in Rhetoric and the New Testament, 250–64. 46. Christopher Forbes, “Comparison, Self-Praise and Irony: Paul’s Boasting and the Conventions of Hellenistic Rhetoric,” NTS 32 (1986): 1–30. 47. Duane Watson, “Paul’s Boasting in 2 Corinthians 10–13 as Defense of His Honor: A SocioRhetorical Analysis,” in Rhetorical Argumentation in Biblical Texts, 260–75; idem, “Paul and Boasting,” in

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of boasting as systematized in Plutarch’s De Se Ipsum Citra Invidiam Laudando and Quintilian’s Institutio Oratoria (11.1.15–28). A central part of his strategy is an ironic parody of comparison and self-praise as exhibited by his opponents. Irony also characterizes his boasting in weakness and suffering in direct conflict with social values. Irony helps show that the opponents’ comparative self-praise and its content are inappropriate. Other studies of 2 Corinthians have centered on Paul’s use of metaphor. Stephen Heiny examines the metaphors in 2:14–4:6 and their uses. Paul employs three key metaphors: himself and his co-workers as an aroma of Christ (euōdia, 2:15), the Corinthians as his letter of Christ (epistolē, 3:2-3), and his proclamation as the light of the gospel of the glory of Christ and the light of the knowledge of the glory of God (phōtismos, 4:4, 6). With these and other metaphors Paul builds his ethos within his apologetic strategy.48 Peter Marshall argues that the metaphor of “to display” (thriambeuein) in 2:14 is a metaphor of shame. It refers to the vanquished being led captive in shame in a conqueror’s triumphal procession. Paul portrays himself as a figure of shame as part of his argumentative scheme to prove that weakness is strength.49 In a similar study of the same year, David Park observes the four triumphal metaphors of 2:14– 17: thriambeuō, osmē, eiōdia, and kapēleuō. Unlike Marshall, Park interprets these metaphors as those of honor rather than shame. Christ leads Christians in triumphal procession as conquered enemies of God who serve Jesus (v. 14). The procession is a reminder of the death of those who refuse to be conquered by God (vv. 15–16a).50 Paul B. Duff moves the study of the metaphor “led in triumph” in 2:14 in a different direction. Although it seems that with this metaphor Paul compares himself to a captured prisoner of war being lead by the triumphant general to his execution, the metaphor may refer to the triumphal/epiphany processions of the gods. Paul is led captive by the love of Christ (5:14a). He is a devotee in an epiphany procession of a deity. He redefines his suffering in an honorable way in contrast to his opponents who see it as shameful.51 Kieran O’Mahony provides a detailed study of all the figures of speech and thought in 2 Corinthians 8–9.52 These are then integrated into a synthesis that includes invention and arrangement where the function of style in the overall argumentation

Paul in the Greco-Roman World: A Handbook, ed. J. Paul Sampley (Harrisburg, Pa.: Trinity Press International, 2003), 77–100. 48. Stephen Heiny, “2 Corinthians 2:14–4:6: The Motive for Metaphor,” in SBL 1987 Seminar Papers, ed. Kent H. Richards (Atlanta: Scholars Press, 1987), 1–22. 49. Peter Marshall, “A Metaphor of Social Shame: Thriambeuein in 2 Cor. 2.14,” NovT 25 (1983): 302–17. 50. David Park, “The Value of Biblical Metaphors: II Cor. 2:14–17,” in Metaphor and Religion (Theolinguistics 2), ed. J. P. van Noppen; Study Series of the Vrije Universiteit Brussel n.s. 12 (Brussels: Vrije Universiteit Brussel, 1983), 253–68. 51. Paul B. Duff, “Metaphor, Motif, and Meaning: The Rhetorical Strategy behind the Image ‘Led in Triumph’ in 2 Corinthians 2:14,” CBQ 53 (1991): 79–92. 52. Kieran O’Mahoney, Pauline Persuasion: A Sounding in 2 Corinthians 8–9, JSNTSup 199 (Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 2000), 105–27, 148–63.

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is explored. This is a very positive and mature move in the use of style in the analysis of a Pauline epistle and a considerable advance for the study of 2 Corinthians.

2.4. Galatians The rhetorical study of Galatians has focused on determining its rhetorical species. Less analysis of the style of Galatians per se has been conducted. Even so, there are some important studies of various aspects of its style. R. Dean Anderson provides a brief overview of the style in Galatians, noting that it exhibits a forceful style, but not the periodic structure required by that style.53 G. Walter Hansen reviews proposals for chiastic structure in Galatians and argues for a chiasm in 3:1–4:11.54 D. François Tolmie scrutinizes the role of the paidagōgos metaphor in 3:23–26. He shows that Paul uses the metaphor to express, through analogy, the temporary and restrictive nature of life under the Law. The metaphor surprises readers with a view of the Law that urges them to return to Paul’s gospel of faith as the means of salvation.55 J. van W. Cronjé analyzes how the rhetorical questions in Galatians function. He especially looks at 4:9-10 where Paul employs the erōtēma type of rhetorical question that is used to make a response difficult. This type of rhetorical question allows the speaker to express feelings about what is indicated in the more formal argumentation. Thus pathos, rather than logos, is in the forefront when such rhetorical questions are used. In 4:9–10 Paul is expressing his disappointment with the Galatians within the context of his personal relationship with them.56 Several studies of the style of Galatians have concentrated on the use of antithesis. G. M. M. Pelser looks at the opposition of faith and works in Gal 3:6–14 as a persuasive device. Paul uses rebuke, interrogation, experience, example, authority, disclosure, dissociation, and severance to drive home the point that it is only by faith that a right relationship with God is established, and in no way do works of the Law establish this right relationship57 J. A. Loubser observes the antithesis of slavery and freedom in Galatians. The antithesis is discussed in regard to its distribution in the letter, its use in speech act of Gal 4:21–31, the underlying conflict of value systems in the text, and its referential function.58 The antithesis of pneuma and sarx is the focus of a study by E. A. C. Pretorius. The antithesis is used to apply the working of 53. R. Dean Anderson, Ancient Rhetorical Theory and Paul, 183–88. 54. G. Walter Hansen, Abraham in Galatians: Epistolary and Rhetorical Contexts, JSNTSup 29 (Sheffield: JSOT Press, 1989), 73–79. 55. D. François Tolmie, “Ho Nomos Paidagōgos hymōn gegonen eis Christon: The Persuasive Force of a Pauline Metaphor,” (GL 3:23–26),” Neot 26 (1992): 407–16. 56. J. van W. Cronjé, “The Strategem of the Rhetorical Question in Galatians 4:9–10 as a Means Towards Persuasion,” Neot 26 (1992): 417–24. 57. G. M. M. Pelser, “The Opposition Faith and Works as Persuasive Device in Galatians (3:6–14),” Neot 26 (1992): 389–405. 58. J. A. Loubser, “The Contrast of Slavery/Freedom as Persuasive Device in Galatians,” Neot 28 (1994): 163–76.

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the Spirit and flesh to the topics of peace and unity, strife and disunity respectively in order to persuade the Galatians to make a choice for the Spirit. This antithesis is part of Paul’s strategy to be sure that his stress of faith over the Law has not left the Galatians unprotected against the flesh. 59 James D. Hester provides an excellent example of the use of style to clarify the argumentation of a text.60 He looks at several figures and tropes in 2:1–14, including irony, paralipsis, aposiopesis, antithesis, metonymy, periphrasis, and epiphonema. He notes how they are used in argumentation and are part of the strategy for addressing the situation. Most recently M. D. Nanos has produced an intriguing monograph arguing that Galatians as a whole is an ironic rebuke.61 This work deserves much attention, but for our purposes let it suffice to say that while it does not focus on the style of Galatians per se, it demonstrates the pervasive role that style in general or a specific figure can play in an ancient work such as Galatians.

2.5. Philippians The study of style in Philippians has focused on chiasm, metaphor, repetitive figures, and features of the friendship letter. A. Boyd Luter and Michelle V. Lee argue that Philippians is constructed as a grand chiasm with 2:17–3:1a as the pivot point. These verses indicate that the main reason Paul is writing is to offer Timothy and Epaphroditus as examples of the main theme of the letter— partnership in the gospel. Although not convincing because the sections of the chiasm are too generally conceived, this argument does point out the importance of repetition of topics in the construction of Philippians.62 Steven Kraftchick argues that Paul has applied a metaphorical hermeneutic in his use of the Philippian hymn. The hymn allows Paul to clarify the situation in Philippi and the necessary course of action, while at the same time relating the experiences of Christ and the Philippians without obscuring the obvious distinctions between their experiences. The cosmic drama of the hymn addresses Christians in the argumentation and informs them of the course of action to take.63 Edgar Krentz inspects Paul’s use of military language and metaphors in Philippians. He notes that the narratio of the letter (1:27–30) is the main proposition and is loaded with military terminology that would be understood in the context of a

59. E. A. C. Pretorius, “The Opposition Pneuma and Sarx as Persuasive Summons (Galatians 5:13– 6:10),” Neot 26 (1992): 441–60. 60. James D. Hester, “The Use and Influence of Rhetoric in Galatians 2:1–14,” TZ 42 (1986): 386– 408. 61. Mark D. Nanos, The Irony of Galatians: Paul’s Letter in First-Century Context (Minneapolis: Fortress, 2002). 62. A. Boyd Luter and Michelle V. Lee, “Philippians as Chiasmus: Key to the Structure, Unity and Theme Questions,” NTS 41 (1995): 89–101. 63. Stephen Kraftchick, “A Necessary Detour: Paul’s Metaphorical Understanding of the Philippian Hymn,” HBT 15 (1993): 1–37.

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military colony like Philippi. Paul uses these military metaphors to encourage the Philippians to stand fast as a unified army fighting those opposed to the gospel.64 I examine style in Philippians as it pertains to invention and arrangement. Figures of note include those providing imagery and repetition. The former include military metaphors. The latter include the figures of paronomasia, transplacement, refining, reduplication, regression, and commoratio (dwelling on a point), which all work to develop and amplify key topics. The figure of exemplification is also central with the example of Christ and Paul’s co-workers being used to embellish, clarify, and vivify the main topics.65 C. Wayne Davis provides a more thorough analysis of the style of Philippians. He makes the helpful point that many stylistic features of rhetoric were created in an oral setting and many are by nature repetitive. Knowing that his letters were to be read to an audience, Paul incorporated repetitive, stylistic features common to oral discourse. He used the figures of speech of antithesis, synonymy, vagueness, and metaphor. He also used many repetitive patterns, including those of sounds, grammatical construction, words, and topics.66 J. L. Jaquette examines the style of Philippians 1:21–26 in relation to the letter of friendship.67 He concludes that as part of his rhetorical strategy Paul uses figured speech to deal with a problematic issue such as suicide. The Philippians are allowed to draw their own conclusions about what Paul is saying. Also, in this letter of friendship Paul is offering positive and negative exemplification in moral protrepsis. The audience is allowed to see what choices Paul really has and how he chooses not to die for the benefit of his friends, in spite of his own suffering.68

2.6. 1 Thessalonians The role of style in 1 Thessalonians is clearly a neglected area of study. I found one work specifically on the style of 1 Thessalonians, a thesis by C. J. Vermaak, but it is unavailable to me.69 Other than this work, I did not find any significant use of style in any rhetorical study of the epistle.

64. Edgar Krentz, “Military Language and Metaphors in Philippians,” in Origins and Method: Towards a New Understanding of Judaism and Christianity. Essays in Honour of John C. Hurd, ed. Bradley H. McLean; JSNTSup 86 (Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 1993), 105–27. 65. Duane Watson, “A Rhetorical Analysis of Philippians and Its Implications for the Unity Question,” NovT 30 (1988): 57–88. 66. C. Wayne Davis, Oral Biblical Criticism: The Influence of the Principles of Orality on the Literary Structure of Paul’s Epistles to the Philippians, JSNTSup 172 (Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 1999), 64–97. 67. For resources on letters of friendship, see John T. Fitzgerald, ed., Friendship, Flattery, and Frankness of Speech: Studies on Friendship in the New Testament World, NovTSup 82 (Leiden: E. J. Brill, 1996); idem, ed., Greco-Roman Perspectives on Friendship, SBLRBS 34 (Atlanta: Scholars Press, 1997). 68. J. L. Jaquette, “A Not-So-Noble Death: Figured Speech, Friendship and Suicide in Philippians 1:21–26,” Neot 28 (1994): 177–92. 69. C. J. Vermaak, “An Analysis of Style of Paul’s First Letter to the Thessalonians” (M.A. thesis, University of the Orange Free State, Bloemfontein, 1989).

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2.7. Philemon John Heil views the Epistle to Philemon through the lens of chiastic structure. He rightly moves beyond merely identifying chiasm in a Pauline epistle to trying to determine its rhetorical function and what it indicates for the purpose and meaning of the letter. He finds v. 14 to be the pivot of the chiasm and therefore the purpose of the letter. As an act of benevolence to all the saints, Paul wants Philemon to grant Onesimus to him as a partner in the gospel.70 G. J. Steyn identifies several figures in Philemon and their role in persuasion. These include pleonasm, assonance, polysyndeton, inclusio, ellipsis, hyperbole, chiasmus, repetition, antithesis, isocolon, climax, paronomasia, homoioteleuton, assonance, pleonasm, anacoluthon, and metaphor. Antithesis and contrast play a major role in the epistle in defining Paul’s authoritative position, the status of Onesimus, the action Paul desires from Philemon, and the relationship between Paul and Onesimus.71

3. Paul’s Use of Style in His Epistles From the above studies of style in the undisputed Pauline epistles, it can be stated that Paul does not typically use style merely for ornamentation. He is not trying to demonstrate his rhetorical prowess for the sake of demonstration only. Paul uses style as a conscientious rhetor would use it to meet the exigencies of his rhetorical situation. He is concerned with the message he is proclaiming or refuting. He uses style to accomplish his goals of persuasion and dissuasion, affirmation and reorientation. Paul makes considerable use of metaphor, parallelism, antithesis, chiasm, figures of repetition, anticipation, apostrophe, prosōpopoiia, rhetorical questions, and personification. The latter four are often used in the larger strategy of the diatribe. Paul’s use of all these particular stylistic features is a natural extension of his living in a largely oral culture. The stylistic devices were devised as mnemonic devices. These repetitive figures play an enormous role in the poetic and prophetic literature of the Hebrew Scriptures with which Paul was so familiar. These figures arose in GrecoRoman culture as well for the same reason, to facilitate memory (although chiasm was not as prevalent nor was it discussed in the rhetorical handbooks). Thus Paul’s use of style is keyed in great part to the rhetoric developed in oral cultures and to the necessities of the oral presentation of his epistles to his audiences.72 Ancient rhetoric was composed of the five main divisions of invention, arrangement, style, memory, and delivery. The former three are closely interwoven and pertain especially to rhetorical texts like the Pauline epistles. Paul uses style for the

70. John Heil, “The Chiastic Structure and Meaning of Paul’s Letter to Philemon,” Bib 82 (2001): 178–206. 71. G. J. Steyn, “Some Figures of Style in the Epistle to Philemon: Their Contribution Towards the Persuasive Nature of the Epistle.” Ekklesiastikos Pharos 77, no. 1 n.s. (1995): 64–80. 72. C.-B. Amphoux, “Le style oral dans le Nouveau Testament,” ETR 63 (1988): 379–84.

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purposes of invention of proofs, for arrangement, and for larger rhetorical strategies. It is at the interaction of invention, arrangement, and style where the payoff for Pauline studies is being found. We now turn our attention to current investigation into the role of style in this intersection.

3.1. Style and Invention Paul uses style to support invention in all three of its modes of ethos, pathos, and logos. Ethos is the moral character of a speaker and competence in oratory, particularly as assessed by the audience. Ethos affects how persuasive a speaker will be with a given audience.73 An effective use of style indicates that a speaker is trained and competent, which in turn enhances his ethos and his effectiveness in persuasion. This is especially true in a culture that ascribes authority to those who speak well. Paul’s use of style to enhance his ethos has not received the attention that it clearly deserves, but we can illustrate this use with a couple of examples. As mentioned above, Paul’s display of style in 2 Corinthians 10–13 is a smart and sophisticated blend of comparison and irony according to the best rhetoric of the day. It provides an example of how style enhances ethos. The Corinthians have recognized that Paul’s letters are strong (2 Cor 10:10), and here he demonstrates a mastery of Greco-Roman rhetoric that makes him worthy of further respect (cf. 1 Cor 1:12). (It also demonstrates that style can be used according to convention even while the values it is upholding are radically unconventional.) Another example of Paul working with style to increase his ethos is his use of metaphorical language drawn from Greek athletic contests in Phil 1:27-30; 2:16; and 3:12-16. He presents himself as someone struggling as in an athletic competition against opponents as he emulates Christ’s suffering. With this analogy Paul is a model for the Philippians to imitate in their struggle with opponents. The metaphorical language and larger analogy are borrowed from Hellenistic moralists who described the moral life in terms of an athletic contest. Those able to compete are those worthy of greater ethos—Paul included.74 Pathos is eliciting the audience’s emotions for or against the subject at hand. Paul certainly works to elicit emotion with his letters. Rhetoricians understood that audiences were persuaded to take action, not only by logical argument, but by emotion as well (Aristotle Rhet. 1.2.1356a.3, 5; Cicero De or. 2.42.178; 2.44.185-87; Quintilian Inst. 6.2.20-24). A good example is provided by Phil 1:21–26, where Paul uses figured speech to allow the Philippians to perceive that he has choices and, in spite of his suffering, chooses not to die so he can further benefit them as friends. Another example of style supporting pathos is Paul’s use of family metaphors, especially his 73. For studies in ethos, see Thomas H. Olbricht and Anders Eriksson, eds., Rhetoric, Ethic, and Moral Persuasion in Biblical Discourse, ESEC 11 (New York: T&T Clark, 2005). 74. See Russell B. Sisson, “A Common Agōn: Ideology and Rhetorical Intertexture in Philippians,” in Fabrics of Discourse: Essays in Honor of Vernon K. Robbins, ed. David B. Gowler, L. Gregory Bloomquist, and Duane F. Watson (Harrisburg, Pa.: Trinity Press International, 2003), 242-83; idem, “Authorial Ethos in Philippians: The Agōn Topos in Paul and Hellenistic Moralists,” in Olbricht and Eriksson, eds., Rhetoric, Ethic, and Moral Persuasion in Biblical Discourse, 238-54.

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presentation of himself as the father of his converts, his children in Christ, as in Phlm 10. (This metaphor also works to establish ethos.) Paul fully employs style for logos as well. Logos is argument from induction or deduction, that is, example or argument respectively. Some figures are well suited to certain types of argument. Antithesis and parallelism are very useful in arguments from logos based on the comparison of examples because features of the things being compared can be set up side by side to clarify the similarities and differences. A fine example is the proof by comparison of Hagar and Sarah in Gal 4:21–5:1, which contains antithesis, comparison, and parallelism. Comparison, metaphor, and repetition are used in the argumentation in 1 Cor 15:20–28, in the proposition that Christ has been raised from the dead as the first fruits of those who have died (v. 20), in the supporting reasons (vv. 21–24), and in the embellishment of the proposition (vv. 25–28).

3.2. Style and Arrangement Paul uses style to structure his argumentation. Figures of antithesis, parallelism, and chiasm are suited to structuring smaller and larger units of argumentation. These figures developed in oral culture and greatly facilitated grasping and retaining what was spoken. To cite one of many examples of the use of antithesis, the antithesis and contrast between Hagar and Sarah are not only used in Gal 4:21–5:1 as figures, but they also provide the overall arrangement of the pericope. As noted in the literature review above, there are many portions of the Pauline epistles that are organized in chiastic fashion. Here I want to inject a note of caution. The chiasm has been rightly seen as structuring individual verses and blocks of text. However, I doubt that chiasm structures entire Pauline epistles (as has been argued for Philippians), especially if it is concluded that Greco-Roman conventions have played a significant role in their construction. Greco-Roman rhetoric did not discuss chiasm and certainly not as an organizing principle of larger works. Besides, the conventions in play for invention and arrangement make chiasm a very difficult form of arrangement to maintain. Greco-Roman rhetoric, as it is incorporated into a speech or a document, is based on a linear unfolding of a series of topics and propositions guided by the exigencies of a rhetorical situation. This approach makes a chiastic arrangement for an entire epistle extremely difficult and unlikely.

3.3. Style and Rhetorical Strategy Style also plays a major role in Paul’s rhetorical strategies. These strategies commonly rely on repetitive style integral to oral discourse. The use of these strategies is part of Paul’s recognition that his letters were to be presented orally to his audiences. The repetition of key sounds, words, and topics through figures and tropes could help the audiences understand the message and retain the key points. Figures common to oral presentation and suited to larger strategies of rhetori-

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cal argumentation include rhetorical questions, comparison, contrast, parallelism, antithesis, irony, and personification. That rhetorical questions are major components of diatribe in Romans is now well established. In 1 Cor 15:36–44a, comparison and antitheses structure the elaborate proof from example. In 2 Corinthians 10–13, comparison and irony provide the structure within which Paul subtly works to persuade the Corinthians to see weakness as strength.

3.4. Style and Amplification One aspect of Pauline style that is almost completely missing from the studies surveyed above is the role of style in amplification (Aristotle Rhet. 1.9.1368a.38–40; Cicero De or. 3.26.104–27.107; Cicero Part. or. 15.52–17.58; Longinus Subl. 11.1–12.2; Quintilian Inst. 8.4).75 This lacuna is unfortunate because Paul so often uses style for amplification. David Hellholm provides one of the few analyses of amplification in a Pauline epistle, looking at the amplificatory techniques in Romans and how style contributes to amplification.76 By definition, “Amplification … is a sort of weightier affirmation, designed to win credence in the source of speaking by arousing emotion” (Cicero Part. or. 15.52). It is “a sort of forcible method of arguing, argument being aimed at effecting proof, amplification at exercising influence” (Cicero Part. or. 8.27). Amplification highlights the positive and attenuation stresses the negative. Methods used for amplification and attenuation are virtually the same and are numerous (Quintilian Inst. 8.4.28). These methods include the following. Employing strong words. These words can be ordinary words, synonyms, exaggerated words, or words used metaphorically. This method of amplification can be made even stronger by comparing a strong word with an even stronger word that could take its place. In Galatians, having set forth the principle that justification comes by faith in Christ (2:15-21), Paul then drives home the disparity between this reality and the Judaizing tendencies of the Galatians with the strong interjection, “You foolish Galatians! Who has bewitched you?” (3:1). In Phil 3:2 he launches an attack upon Judaizers with this powerful warning, “Beware of the dogs, beware of the evil workers, beware of those who mutilate the flesh!” (Cicero Part. or. 15.53; Quintilian Inst. 8.4.1–3). Paul’s use of metaphor in particular creates strong language because of its oralscribal and social-cultural connections with other texts and society in general. A metaphor may be drawn from other texts (oral-scribal) or be drawn from daily life (social-cultural). These connections create images and evoke emotions associated with these texts or experiences which in turn contribute to the persuasive force of his argumentation. For example, Paul refers to his possible impending death as “being poured out as a libation over the sacrifice and the offering of your faith” (Phil 2:17).

75. See also Lausberg, Handbook, 1:220–27, §§400–403; Martin, Antike Rhetorik, 153–58, 208–10. 76. David Hellholm, “Amplificatio in the Macro-Structure of Romans,” in Rhetoric and the New Testament, 123–51.

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This metaphor brings to mind the sacrificial systems of antiquity and Paul as the libation. This metaphor elicits pathos for Paul’s plight and ethos because he is willing to die for the Philippians. Augmentation. Augmentation is effected in four ways: (1) present a series of things that increase in intensity to the highest degree and then emphasize that the subject under discussion goes beyond the highest degree; (2) begin with a superlative and superimpose something of a higher degree; (3) clarify that there is no greater degree than what you are discussing; and (4) present a series in which successive words are stronger (Cicero Part. or. 15.54; Quintilian Inst. 8.4.3–9). Comparison. With this method a greater thing is amplified by comparison with a lesser thing (Quintilian Inst. 8.4.9–14). Reasoning. Reasoning magnifies something and magnifies something else that corresponds. Reasoning may use physical characteristics, subsequent events, antecedent and horrible circumstances, allusion, reference to something said for another purpose, and description (Quintilian Inst. 8.4.15–26). Accumulation. Accumulation gathers words and sentences that are identical in meaning. This gathering itself suffices for amplification, but making each member stronger in a series intensifies the amplification (Longinus Subl. 12.2; Quintilian Inst. 8.4.26–27; cf. Cicero Part. or. 15.54; 16.55; Ad Her. 4.40.52–53). Use of topics or commonplaces. This approach attacks the vices and offenses of another using proof, depreciates charges that have been made, and gives the pro and con on topics of “virtue, duty, equity and good, moral worth and utility, honour and disgrace, reward and punishment” (Cicero De or. 3.27.106–107; also Longinus Subl. 11.2; Cicero De or. 3.27.104–107) Use of facts with topics of proof. This method includes accumulation of definitions, recapitulation of consequences, juxtaposition of contraries, discrepant and contradictory statements, causes and consequences, analogies and instances, and personification of imaginary persons and objects (Cicero De or. 16.55). Discussion of matters of great importance. Important matters to be discussed include heavenly and divine objects, things with obscure causes, wonders of the earth and sky, things advantageous or detrimental to humankind, love of god, affection for relatives, and moral considerations such as virtue (Cicero Part. or. 16.55–56). Miscellaneous methods. Such methods include praise and blame, exaggeration, personification, asyndeton, repetition, doubling of words, and rise from lower to higher terms (Longinus Subl. 11.2; Cicero De or. 3.27.105; 3.53.205; Cicero Part. or. 15.53–54; 16.55). In general, amplification should be used appropriately. If it is used for pleasure, it should arouse emotion; if for exhortation, it should enumerate things good and evil. It should be used throughout a speech, especially after proof or refutation. It should also be used in the midst of arguments, especially in the peroratio (Aristotle Rhet. 3.2.1404b.4; Cicero Part. or. 8.27; 15.52; 17.58; Cicero De or. 36.126–27). Paul’s use of strong words, metaphors, comparison, parallelism, antithesis, synonymy, asyndeton, climax, and personification are suited to develop and amplify his argumentation. The figures of repetition such as reduplication, refining, regressio, and interlacement are often used by Paul to amplify the argumentation. These figures

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augment topics through repetition by reintroducing the topics over a longer portion of text and through new connections made with other topics that further elaborate the meaning of both by association. Paying closer attention to the connection of style and amplification is one important move that the analysis of Paul’s style needs to make.

4. Suggestions for Further Research The study of style in the Pauline epistle is a valuable tool for interpretation. Identifying rhetorical figures, tropes, and stylistic techniques can be very useful in determining the exegetical thrust of a passage or of an entire letter. The last thirty years of investigation have witnessed a promising shift from mere identification of stylistic devices in a Pauline epistle to trying to determine their function within the letter’s invention and arrangement. Paying attention to amplification and its connection to style will add a further dimension to the determination of function. We should also consider moving beyond mainly the use of style in classical Jewish and Greco-Roman rhetoric to consider style in modern rhetoric and literary theory. For example, the few studies above that try to find the function of metaphor in Paul have used the modern study of metaphor to great advantage. More modern theory may help us get a tighter grip on the purpose and function of style in argumentation in general. In modern rhetoric, rhetorical figures can be classified as either stylistic or argumentative. Stylistic figures are embellishments, but argumentative figures change the perspective of the reader and can only be understood by the requirements of the argumentation that is incorporating them.77 We can gain further insights for style in the Pauline epistles from this perspective. Wuellner’s work on rhetorical questions in 1 Corinthians is pioneering in this regard, for he understood the role of rhetorical questions as not being just figures but as performing many functions within Paul’s argumentation.78 More work can be done using style as a window on the rhetorical and historical situations of the Pauline epistles. James Hester points out that the “argumentative situation controls not only the selection of rhetorical conventions but also the vocabulary and style used to carry the argument.”79 Like other features of the rhetoric of a letter, an analysis of style helps us understand the rhetorical situation as Paul understood it and allows us to make inferences on the actual historical communicative situation in which Paul is writing. The degree of amplification and the types of figures employed in argumentation are indicative of Paul’s perception of the nature of the situation he is addressing. Preliminary work has been done on this approach to style.80 77. Chaim Perelman and L. Olbrechts-Tyteca, The New Rhetoric: A Treatise on Argumentation, trans. John Wilkinson and Purcell Weaver (Notre Dame, Ind.: University of Notre Dame Press, 1969), 167–71. 78. Wuellner, “Paul as Pastor: The Function of Rhetorical Questions in First Corinthians.” 79. Hester, “Use and Influence of Rhetoric,” 402. 80. Duane F. Watson, “The Contributions and Limitations of Greco-Roman Rhetorical Theory for Constructing the Rhetorical and Historical Situations of a Pauline Epistle,” in The Rhetorical Interpretation

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Another facet of the study of style in the Pauline epistles that can be explored is its role in the formation of Christian community. How does style contribute to Christian education, to formation of Christian cohesion, to creation of Christian identity in relation to other Christian and non-Christian groups, and to setting up boundaries between a Pauline community and those of his opposition and the world outside? Here the social-historical and social-scientific study of the New Testament may be very helpful dialogue partners. Also related to the role of style in the Pauline letters is what the style indicates about Paul’s education. What was its level? What influences are detected from his Jewish background and from Hellenism in general? After examining apostrophe, prosōpopoiia, and dialogue in Romans, Stanley Stowers reiterates his position that Paul had instruction from a grammaticus, or teacher of letters, and had further study in letter writing and elementary rhetoric, including progymnastic exercises.81 Jerome Neyrey recently used a study of Paul’s style, among many other things, to determine that Paul has a tertiary level education that included rhetorical and philosophical training.82 The assumption we make on this issue has an important role in the assumptions we use when analyzing Paul’s epistles. Finally, the study of the distinctions between Jewish and Greco-Roman rhetoric in the first century may help us more fully appreciate how Paul negotiated the two and just what his unique contribution to the development of Christian rhetoric may have been. Christian rhetoric won the day. Why? What was Paul’s contribution to this new rhetoric? What forms of style and discourse in general met the demands on the gospel as it spread out into the Mediterranean world? Determining this will give us further insight into the development of early Christianity.

of Scripture: Essays from the 1996 Malibu Conference, ed. Stanley E. Porter and Dennis L. Stamps; JSNTSup 180 (Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 1999), 125–51, esp. 149–50. 81. Stowers, “Apostrophe, Prosōpopoiia and Paul’s Rhetorical Education,” 367–69. 82. Jerome Neyrey, “The Social Location of Paul: Education as the Key,” in Fabrics of Discourse, 126– 64. Based on Paul’s use of invention and arrangement, Ronald Hock reaches the same conclusion about Paul’s education (“Paul and Greco-Roman Education,” in Paul in the Greco-Roman World: A Handbook, ed. J. Paul Sampley [Harrisburg, Pa.: Trinity Press International, 2003], 198–227).

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chapter 5

Ancient Rhetoric and Ancient Letters Models for Reading Paul, and Their Limits Christopher Forbes

Many recent studies of the formal structure of the Pauline letters have focused on either ancient epistolographic or rhetorical categories. Yet these rival hermeneutical models are largely incompatible, or at least incommensurable. No consensus has developed as to which provides a superior hermeneutical tool for understanding the Pauline letters. This paper will compare the two models, critique one widely practiced approach to rhetorical criticism, and suggest new reasons why a more focused rhetorical approach should be accepted. It will also highlight one crucial way in which the Pauline letters stand apart from virtually the entire genre of Greek letter writing.

Comparing the Models In favor of the epistolographic approach, it can be simply urged that letters are what we are dealing with. The Pauline letters are obviously shaped by the conventions of Greco-Roman letter writing, notably the introductory greetings and wishes, and the farewells. Paul creatively develops his personal epistolary style within the patterns of known conventions. More pragmatically, the epistolographic approach to the Pauline corpus has been encouraged by the huge body of papyrus, literary and epigraphically preserved letters available for comparative study. On the negative side, it must be admitted that the ancient sources on the theory of letter writing are sparse. The best source is Pseudo-Libanius, written in the fourth century c.e. For the first century we have Pseudo-Demetrius’s brief discussion, but only that. We know that training in letter writing was a major feature of GrecoRoman education, but we do not have detailed evidence about the nature of that training. Further, the epistolographic approach has had its greatest successes in the 143

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study of the introductory greetings and the concluding farewell formulae of the Pauline letters.1 It has proved far less useful for studying the extended and complex “body” sections, which are precisely where the focus of historical and theological interest in Pauline scholarship lies. In favor of the rhetorical approach is the ready availability of both actual examples and theoretical discussions of rhetoric from the immediate historical environment of the Pauline letters. The tools to undertake a rhetorical analysis of Paul are at hand. Not only so, but the tools seem appropriate to the analysis of the complex argument which is such a feature of Paul’s style. Paul so often writes to persuade, and rhetoric was first and foremost the art of persuasion. The apparent hermeneutical success of a number of recent rhetorical readings of Paul speaks in favor of the approach.2 Many, however, continue to express serious doubt about the validity of the rhetorical approach to Paul. C. J. Classen, for example, comments that “It is certainly advisable at this stage to remember that St. Paul was not making a speech, and that rules for speeches and other types of composition cannot be expected always to be easily applicable to letters.”3 Likewise R. Dean Anderson cautiously argues that “the rhetorical situation for the presentation of a speech is quite a different scenario to that of writing a letter.”4 S. E. Porter has also argued forcefully against the (over?)use of rhetorical categories in the interpretation of Paul.5 Certainly the method can suffer from a degree of subjectivity and artificiality.

Rhetoric and the Three Aristotelian Genera Rhetorical study of the Pauline letters tends to take one of two directions. One can attempt to determine the rhetorical genre of a passage or of a whole letter, or one can attempt to analyze the structure of a letter (and hence the development of the 1. On this see the useful recent survey of M. L. Stirewalt, Jr., Paul the Letter Writer (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2003), 33–55. 2. A good example of such a study of a whole letter is Margaret Mitchell’s Paul and the Rhetoric of Reconciliation (Tübingen: Mohr-Siebeck, 1991). Rhetorical studies of briefer units within Pauline letters include S. K. Stowers, “Romans 7.7–25 as a Speech-in-Character,” in Paul in His Hellenistic Context, ed. T. Engberg-Pedersen, (Edinburgh: T.&T. Clark, 1994), 180–202; R. Dean Anderson, Ancient Rhetorical Theory and Paul, 2nd ed. (Leuven: Peeters, 1999); B. Fiore, “‘Covert Allusion’ in 1 Corinthians 1–4,” CBQ 47 (1985): 85–102; and (independently) P. Lampe, “Theological Wisdom and the ‘Word about the Cross,’” Int 44 (1990): 117–31 (esp. 128ff.); and C. Forbes, “Comparison, Self-Praise and Irony: Paul’s Boasting and the Conventions of Hellenistic Rhetoric,” NTS 32 (1986): 1–30; and idem, “Paul and Rhetorical Comparison,” in Paul in the Greco-Roman World: A Handbook, ed. J. P. Sampley (Harrisburg, Pa.: Trinity Press International, 2003), 134–71. 3. “St. Paul’s Epistles and Ancient Greek and Roman Rhetoric,” in Rhetoric and the New Testament, ed. S. E. Porter and T. H. Olbricht (Sheffield: Sheffield Academic, 1993), 282. 4. Anderson, Ancient Rhetorical Theory and Paul, 117. 5. S.  E. Porter, “The Theoretical Justification for Application of Rhetorical Categories to Pauline Epistolary Literature,” in Porter and Olbricht, Rhetoric and the New Testament, 100–122; and Porter, “Paul of Tarsus and his Letters” in Handbook of Classical Rhetoric in the Hellenistic Period, ed. S. E. Porter (Leiden: Brill, 1997), 533–85.

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argument) using the categories of the ancient rhetoricians. The two approaches are often combined. However, despite intensive research over the last twenty years and more, there seems to be no scholarly agreement, and little methodological clarity, over how rhetorical features, and even broad rhetorical genres, are to be detected in the New Testament.6 Immense effort has been expended attempting to determine whether a particular Pauline letter, or a passage within a letter, is to be characterized as forensic, deliberative, or epideictic. This is so despite the fact that in antiquity these categories, though mainstream, were (a) not uncontroversial themselves,7 (b) normally determined by the social Sitz im Leben of the courtroom, the political assembly, and the ceremonial occasion, and (c) never intended (by Aristotle) to be watertight in any case. T. H. Olbricht aptly comments that Aristotle was well aware of imprecision in categories and strategies. His famous situation genres—deliberative, forensic and epideictic (Rhet. 1.2.3)—have been applied far more perfunctorily by biblical critics than Aristotle contemplated. . . . Aristotle warned that the categories overlap and that praise and blame may be indispensable, as well, to both deliberative and forensic discourse (1.9).8

6. Implicit in many studies is the presumption that the detection of rhetorical features of a particular “genre” is sufficient. Others essentially use the hermeneutical value of their analysis as confirmation of that analysis, while still others insist on features related to the implied audience or situation. One such is C. J. Classen, who argues that Galatians cannot be said to be deliberative, “for the addressees are not called upon to take a decision as a group as, for example, the Athenian assembly, or the Roman senate” (“St Paul’s Epistles and Graeco-Roman Rhetoric,” in Porter and Olbricht, Rhetoric and the New Testament, 287 n. 67). Such criteria are rarely critically discussed. Two striking exceptions are Margaret Mitchell’s Paul and the Rhetoric of Reconciliation, 20ff., and R. Dean Anderson’s Ancient Rhetorical Theory and Paul, 96ff. and 109ff. 7. The claim that the three Aristotelian categories are “universally found in subsequent writers” is made by G. A. Kennedy in his New Testament Interpretation through Rhetorical Criticism (Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press, 1984), 19. Compare D. Dormeyer, The New Testament among the Writings of Antiquity (Sheffield, Sheffield Academic, 1998), 45: “Aristotle’s differentiation . . . remained binding for the whole of antiquity.” In this, as in other areas, the influence of Aristotle cannot be simply presumed. Quintilian (Inst. 3.4.1–11) mentions the alternative schemes of Protagoras, Plato, and Isocrates. He also reports that Anaximenes of Lampsacus (possibly the author of the Rhetorica ad Alexandrum) distinguished only two broad types, forensic and public, but then subdivided them into exhortation, dissuasion, praise, denunciation, accusation, defense, and inquiry. Aristotle’s pupil Demetrius of Phaleron argued for four broad genres: political, legal, sophistic, and “enteuctic” (conversational? colloquial?) oratory. See W. W. Fortenbaugh and E. Schütrumpf, eds., Demetrius of Phalerum: Texts, Translation and Discussion (New Brunswick, Transaction, 2000), 222–23 (Fragment 130, from Philodemus, De Rhetorica IV). Two other authors likewise suggest four-way distinctions. Maximus of Tyre 25.6 distinguishes the oratory of the assembly, the law court, the panegyric, and the classroom (see M. B. Trapp, Maximus of Tyre: The Philosophical Orations [Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1997], 211–12; Anderson, Ancient Rhetorical Theory and Paul, 97 n. 187, refers to the numeration of the older Teubner edition, hence giving a reference to 31.6). Rufus, Rhetoric 2, distinguishes the rhetoric of the courtroom, deliberative rhetoric, encomiastic rhetoric, and historical rhetoric (L. Spengel, Rhetores Graeci [Leipzig: Teubner, 1853–56; repr. Frankfurt: Minerva, 1966], 1:463). D. A. Russell, Greek Declamation (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1983), 10 n. 35 lays out the alternative categorization of Minucianus, a rhetorical writer of the second, or possibly the third century c.e., who argued for five types: epideictic, forensic, “character-subjects,” emotional, and mixed types. 8. T. H. Olbricht, “An Aristotelian Rhetorical Analysis of 1 Thessalonians,” in Greeks, Romans and Christians, ed. D. L. Balch et al. (Minneapolis: Fortress, 1990), 224.

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The third criterion often cited for determining the rhetorical genre of a work (the focus on events in the past for forensic speech, attitudes in the present for epideictic speech, and decisions with regard to the future for deliberative speech)9 is too broad to be truly diagnostic, as Aristotle was clearly aware. He argued that in epideictic the narratio should relate “most appropriately to the present. . . . It is not uncommon, however, for epideictic speakers to avail themselves of other times, of the past by way of recalling it, or of the future by way of anticipating it.”10 Speakers and writers blend the past, present, and future in ways too complex to fit simple analysis.11 Furthermore, at least two other of the ancient theorists clearly show an awareness of the limitations of the Aristotelian categories. In the first century b.c.e. the Auctor ad Herennium comments that “if epideictic is only seldom employed by itself independently, still in judicial and deliberative causes extensive sections are often devoted to praise and censure” (3.4.8). At the end of the first century c.e. Quintilian (Inst. 3.3.14–15; 3.4.6ff.) makes a similar point in greater detail. Musing on the threefold division, he comments that though some theoreticians have thought it better to say that there are three kinds of oratory, those whom Cicero has followed seem to me to have taken the wisest course in terming them kinds of causes.12 In other words, for Quintilian there is really only one kind of oratory, applied to various different types of situations. Further, he draws together various criteria by which the three genres might be distinguished. He comments as follows: The defenders of antiquity point out that there are three kinds of audience: one which comes simply for the sake of getting pleasure, a second which meets to receive advice, and a third to give judgements on causes. In the course of a thorough inquiry into the question it has occurred to me that the tasks of oratory must either be concerned with the law-courts or with themes lying outside the law-courts. The nature of the questions into which inquiry is made in the courts is obvious. As regards those matters which do not come before a judge, they must necessarily be concerned with either the past or the future. We praise or denounce past actions, we deliberate about the future. Again, everything on which we have to speak must be either certain or doubtful. We praise or blame what is certain, as our inclination leads us: on the other hand, where doubt exists, in some cases we are free 9. For this characterization see G. A. Kennedy, New Testament Interpretation, 19, Aristotle, Rhetorica 1366a29ff., and, for example, Cicero, Partitiones oratoriae 10. 10. Aristotle, Rhet. 1358b4. 11. Thus, very sanely, R. Dean Anderson, Ancient Rhetorical Theory and Paul, 32; M. Harding, What Are They Saying about the Pastoral Epistles? (New York: Paulist, 2001), 85–86; J. Murphy O’Connor, Paul the Letter-Writer: His World, His Options, His Skills (Collegeville, Minn.: Liturgical, 1995), 66ff., 83–86, and most particularly T. H. Olbricht, “An Aristotelian Rhetorical Analysis,” 224–25. If Olbricht’s caution in this article had been noted as carefully as the style of his analysis, a great deal of paper and ink might have been saved. 12. The translation is that of H. E. Butler’s Loeb edition of 1920–22, emphasis original.

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to form our own views, and it is here that deliberation comes in, while in others, we leave the problem to the decision of others, and it is on these that litigation takes place. Anaximenes regarded forensic and public oratory as genera but held that there were seven species:—exhortation, dissuasion, praise, denunciation, accusation, defence, inquiry, or as he calls it ejxetastikovn. The first two, however, clearly belong to deliberative, the next to demonstrative, the three last to forensic oratory. I say nothing of Protagoras, who held that oratory was to be divided only into the following heads: question and answer, command and entreaty, or as he calls it eujcwlhv. Plato in his Sophist in addition to public and forensic oratory introduces a third kind which he styles prosomilhtikhv, which I will permit myself to translate by “conversational.” . . . Isocrates held that praise and blame find a place in every kind of oratory. The safest and most rational course seems to be to follow the authority of the majority. There is, then, as I have said, one kind concerned with praise and blame. . . . Will anyone deny the title of epideictic to panegyric? But yet panegyrics are advisory in form and frequently discuss the interests of Greece. We may therefore conclude that, while there are three kinds of oratory, all three devote themselves in part to the matter in hand, and in part to display (ostentatione). . . . The second kind is deliberative, the third forensic oratory. All other species fall under these three genera: you will not find one in which we have not to praise or blame, to advise or dissuade, to drive home or refute a charge, while conciliation, narration, proof, exaggeration, extenuation and the moulding of the minds of the audience by exciting or allaying their passions, are common to all three kinds of oratory. I cannot even agree with those who hold that laudatory subjects are concerned with the question of what is honourable, deliberative with the question of what is expedient, and forensic with the question of what is just: the division thus made is easy and neat rather than true [emphasis added by present author] for all three kinds rely on the mutual assistance of the other. For we deal with justice and expediency in panegyric and with honour in deliberations, while you will rarely find a forensic case, in part of which at any rate something of those questions just mentioned is not to be found. In other words, analyses differ, but for Quintilian, as for Aristotle, the three-way analysis is a useful analytical simplification for the classroom, and perhaps the majority view. But virtually all real-world cases demonstrate that it is a simplification. Quintilian is clearly correct: real speeches (and real Pauline letters) regularly draw on features of all three of the Aristotelian genera.13 Formal analyses of the structure 13. This is almost certainly the reason that, as Porter, “Paul of Tarsus and His Letters,” 554, points out, “Smit argues that 1 Corinthians 12–14 constitutes a piece of deliberative rhetoric, Bünker that 1 Corinthians 15 is judicial, and Watson and Saw that 1 Corinthians 15 is deliberative.” A similar list could easily be drawn up for 1 Thessalonians: F. W. Hughes has a brief overview of research in his “The Social Situations Implied by Rhetoric,” in The Thessalonian Debate: Methodological Discord or Methodological Synthesis? ed. K. P. Donfried and J. Beutler (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2999), 249ff., as does E. Krentz, in his “1 Thessalo-

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of the letters in terms of the rhetorical conventions of the three genera are likewise often simplistic. In brief, then, I have doubts about the historical usefulness of much current macro-level rhetorical analysis. At the micro-level of topoi and tropes, however, the problem of identifying ancient rhetorical patterns in the Pauline literature is in principle no more difficult than that of identifying them in any other ancient writing. We identify them by their context, their formal characteristics, their function, and sometimes via technical vocabulary.14 The question remains, however: to what degree ought we to expect Paul’s letters to evince ancient rhetorical forms, when ancient rhetoric’s categories developed out of the analysis of oratory, not letter writing? This difficult question has been examined by a number of recent writers. Doubtless any number of reasonable analyses of rhetoric could be applied to the Pauline letters, and yield hermeneutically interesting results. But would such results resemble anything that Paul himself, or his first audience, might recognize? My own suggestion is as follows. Paul is not, in Greco-Roman terms, an anēr logios (Acts 18:24). It seems very unlikely that his formal education extended to the upper levels. Paul was, however, a highly experienced speaker, and, from what we can tell, in his own time and place, a persuasive one. He may or may not have had formal rhetorical training, but he certainly knew from observation and experience which styles of argument would, and would not, hold the attention of his “target audience.” Further, ancient oratorical conventions were far more accessible to the casual observer than were formal epistolary conventions, by the very fact that oratory was a prominent feature of public life. Arguments that Paul’s letters ought to be expected to conform more to epistolary than to rhetorical conventions have this weakness: Paul was not writing letters to individuals, to be read at their leisure.15 He was writing letters to Christian assem-

nians: Rhetorical Flourishes and Formal Constraints,” in The Thessalonian Debate, ed. Donfried and Beutler, 295ff. By far the most detailed attempt to determine the rhetorical genre of a Pauline letter known to me is Margaret Mitchell’s treatment of 1 Corinthians in Paul and the Rhetoric of Reconciliation. Here multiple criteria drawn not only from rhetorical handbooks but also from large numbers of actual speeches are used in a highly sophisticated fashion. Mitchell’s thoroughly documented case (24–64) draws on the future orientation of deliberative rhetoric, the appeal to advantage (rightly held to be characteristic of the genre), the use of both general and personal examples as argumentative material, and the focus on the themes of faction and unity. But one still has the sense, when all is said and done, and a rhetorical genre has been assigned (in this case, very plausibly, “deliberative rhetoric”), that little beyond the formal point has been achieved. Mitchell’s analysis of the particular topoi used by Paul is in the end far more exegetically productive. On a different front, Kennedy (New Testament Interpretation, 19) argues that though the three categories “specifically refer to the circumstances of classical civic oratory, they are in fact applicable to all discourse.” Such an argument, though perhaps applicable at the level of literary criticism, can hardly be made within a historical framework. 14. See, for example, the lists in S. E. Porter, “Paul of Tarsus and His Letters,” 578–83. Anderson, Ancient Rhetorical Theory and Paul, 104, rightly points out, however, that “the [rhetorical] treatises are written to aid an orator in the preparation of speeches, and were not designed as an analytical tool for speeches already written.” Emphasis added. 15. In my view this point undercuts the otherwise strong case of Porter, “Paul of Tarsus and his

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blies, where his letter would be read aloud, often in quite polemical situations.16 I know of no discussion of such letters—addressed to a group and designed to be read aloud to that group—in any Greco-Roman epistolary theorist.17 Not only can I find no theoretical discussion of such letters, but letters addressed to groups are extremely rare among the papyrus letters preserved from antiquity. They are also reasonably rare among the letters preserved in literary contexts. This is true whether they are genuine letters, resemble genuine letters, or are highly artificial literary constructions. One of the most obvious facts about the Pauline congregational letters, the fact that they are letters to churches, turns out to be something remarkable which ought not to be taken for granted. Three points need to be illustrated to draw out the significance of what is being claimed here. First, the significance of the “group address” of the Pauline letters needs to be emphasized. Second, the rarity of group address within the corpus of papyrus letters needs to be demonstrated. Third, the surviving letters preserved in literary contexts need to be examined. When these three points have been dealt with, we will

Letters,” 565–67. As Porter himself comments (540), “it is somewhat surprising that more attention has not been given to delivery, since these letters were almost assuredly designed to be read before a church congregation.” Likewise, Anderson misses the point when he notes that “the rhetorical situation for the presentation of a speech is quite a different scenario to that of writing a letter” (Ancient Rhetorical Theory and Paul, 117). His discussion on 119–20 does, however, pick up the issue. 16. As F.  W. Hughes shows (“The Rhetoric of Letters,” in The Thessalonian Debate, ed. Donfried and Beutler, 202), this central insight goes back at least as far as J. Weiss in 1897. See particularly 1 Thess 5:27, though the same general point can and should be made of the entire corpus. Thus in my view C. J. Classen (“St. Paul’s Epistles and Ancient Greek and Roman Rhetoric,” in Porter and Olbricht, Rhetoric and the New Testament, 282) is only half right when he comments that “It is certainly advisable at this stage to remember that St. Paul was not making a speech, and that rules for speeches and other types of composition cannot be expected always to be easily applicable to letters.” True: but neither was Paul writing a “pure” letter to an individual reader. The epistolary conventions of the literary elite may not have been easily applicable either, and may have been less accessible. As J. T. Reed observes, Cicero notes the distinction between the private and the public letter (pro Flacco 37), and various other kinds (ad Fam. 2.4.1, 4.13.1, 5.5.1). Oddly, Reed argues that “If the letter was read to a gathering of Christians, the speaker may have been concerned with these features [of rhetoric: memory and delivery] of speech. But it is doubtful that Paul the letter writer was” (“Using Ancient Rhetorical Categories to Interpret Paul’s Letters: A Question of Genre,” in Porter and Olbricht, Rhetoric and the New Testament, 206 n. 14). Far more persuasive is the view of P. Botha (in the same volume), “The Verbal Art of the Pauline Letters: Rhetoric, Performance and Presence,” 409ff., of the social context of the reception of Paul’s letters. He argues forcefully that “Paul’s dictation of his letter was, in all probability, also a coaching of the letter carrier and eventual reader. The carrier of the letter would most likely have seen to it that it be read like Paul wanted it to be read” (417). See similarly Ben Witherington III, Conflict and Community (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1994), 36 and 38: “He may have chosen couriers such as Timothy or Titus who would be able to read aloud a letter in a way that conformed to his own rhetorical strategy and intent.” Compare 107, 387 nn. 6–7, and 434. 17. The nearest approximation to such letters in terms of social context would probably be the “open letter,” or the letter written to a civic assembly. The letters of Isocrates to Philip of Macedon and Demosthenes’ letter to the Athenians are possible examples, but the topic deserves separate treatment. Demetrius, De elocutione 233, notes that “Since occasionally we write to states [poleis] or royal personages, such letters must be composed in a slightly heightened tone.” But he adds immediately: “It is right to have regard to the person [tou prosopou, singular] to whom the letter is addressed” (the translation is that of A. J. Malherbe, Ancient Epistolary Theorists [Atlanta: Scholars Press, 1988], 19). In other words, nothing other than an individual recipient is considered in any detail at all.

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be in a better position to consider both the question of rhetorical readings of Paul and the peculiar nature of the Pauline congregational letters themselves.

The Pauline “Communal Address” The congregational address of Paul’s letters is no mere formality. The address to the entire group goes well beyond the introductory greetings. One only has to think of the continual address of “brothers”: ten times in Romans, twenty times in 1 Corinthians, three times in 2 Corinthians, eight times in Galatians, six times in Philippians, fourteen times in 1 Thessalonians, and seven times in 2 Thessalonians. Further, as is well known, references to persons in positions of authority are rare in Paul. Phoebe is mentioned once as a diavkono" in Rom 16:1; the diavkonoi are greeted in Phil 1:1, and though Paul occasionally uses the term of himself or of his colleagues, outside the two references given above it is never used of a person holding a position within a congregation. The ejpivskopoi in Philippians are even more isolated. “Elders” do not appear in the congregational letters at all. Not only so, but attempts to show that Paul is addressing particular leadership groups in his letters under the term “brothers” must be judged unpersuasive.18 I can find no example within the Pauline corpus where Paul addresses any responsible group other than the congregation as a whole. Paul may occasionally make suggestions to “those of us who are mature” (Phil 3:15) or to “those of you who are spiritual” (Gal 6:1), but that is all. Notably, in the case of the Corinthian church, he firmly restrains those who think of themselves as “prophets, spiritual,” and insists on the competence of the congregation as a whole to manage its own meetings (1 Cor 14:26–38).19 When Paul addresses the congregation of one of his churches, he addresses it as a responsible community.20

Ancient Letter-Writers and Group Address How common was it for ancient letter writers to address letters to groups? As far as I have been able to tell, this apparently obvious question has simply never been asked in the context of Pauline scholarship. The answer, in brief, is: not common at all. An exhaustive survey would be an immense undertaking, but even a brief exploration will show how rarely letters were written to groups. Not only so, but those that do

18. See W. A. Meeks, The First Urban Christians (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1983), 75–77; and E. E. Ellis, Prophecy and Hermeneutic in Early Christianity (Tübingen; Mohr-Siebeck, 1978; Grand Rapids: Baker, 1993), 16–22. For a critique of Ellis’s position see C. Forbes, Prophecy and Inspired Speech in Early Christianity and Its Hellenistic Environment (Tübingen: Mohr-Siebeck, 1995), 255–57. 19. For the exegesis of 1 Corinthians 14 that lies behind this reading of the passage, see C. Forbes, Prophecy and Inspired Speech, 251–69. 20. On this point see particularly J. D. G. Dunn, “The Responsible Congregation (1 Corinthians 14:26–40),” in Charisma und Agape (1 Ko 10–14), ed. L. De Lorenzi (Rome, 1983), 201–36, now reprinted in The Christ and the Spirit, vol. 2, Pneumatology (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1998), 260–90.

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exist lack the intensity of personal involvement with the group that (with the exception of Romans and Ephesians) so characterizes the Pauline letters. (a) The papyri. The first volume of the Loeb edition of select papyri contains 169 letters, only one of which has multiple addressees. This is no. 103, from one Petosouchos to two of his brothers and four of his friends, though the address on the outside of the letter is to his brother Peteharsemtheos only.21 Volume 2 contains twenty-five letters, of which two (nos. 417 and 418) are official letters directed to the inhabitants of Pathyris by Platon the epistrategos, and one (no. 424) from Apollonius the uJphrevth" to the Oxyrhynchus market clerks who regulated buying and selling (agoranomoi).22 J. L. White’s collection of 117 papyrus letters provides a useful small corpus for comparison, though there are some overlaps with the examples from the Loeb collection.23 In several cases men write to sets of brothers (their own or other people’s), for various purposes.24 In one instance a man writes to his parents.25 In four examples people write to two or more people whose relationship with them is unknown.26 In three other letters individuals write to officials or to priestly groups.27 But in no instance is there a letter to a group suggesting a genuine engagement with the life of the group. I have drawn a third sample from the series New Documents Illustrating Early Christianity. Here, out of a total of fifty-five papyrus letters, I could find no examples of letters written to nonfamily groups.28 I have considered a fourth sample from the Oxyrhynchus Papyri, vols. 1–10. Out of a total of 186 letters, I found 123 private letters, sixty letters dealing with public business, and three of uncertain status.29 Among the sixty letters dealing with public business, thirty-nine are sent to a single addressee, six to two addressees (named in each case),30 one to three named addressees,31 and one to six named address-

21. A. S. Hunt and C. C. Edgar, eds., Select Papyri, vol. 1 (London: Heinemann, 1932). For this papyrus see also J. L. White, Light from Ancient Letters (Philadelphia: Fortress, 1986), no. 55, pp. 90–91. 22. A. S. Hunt and C. C. Edgar, eds., Select Papyri, vol. 2 (London: Heinemann, 1934). 23. J. L. White, Light from Ancient Letters. White’s letters 56 and 58 are the Loeb vol. 2’s 417 and 418, from Platon to the inhabitants of Pathyris. 24. See nos. 40 (p. 73), 52 (p. 88), and 55 (pp. 90–91). 25. See no. 43 (pp. 77–78). 26. See no. 66 (p. 106), no. 68 (pp. 107–8), no. 72 (pp. 111–12), and no. 100 (p. 156). 27. See no. 47 (pp. 83–84), no. 54 (pp. 89–90), and no. 61 (pp. 101–2). 28. The letters were gathered from vols. 1–9 of New Documents Illustrating Early Christianity (Sydney: Macquarie University, 1981–2002); from vol. 1, documents nos. 11, 13, 15, 16, 17, 18, 20, 21, 26, 29, 83, 84, and 85; from vol. 2, documents nos. 3, 20, 21, and 103; from vol. 4, nos. 15, 17, and 18; from vol. 6, p. 58, p. 60, p. 100, p. 101, no. 21 p. 156 and no. 25 p. 169. From vol. 7, no. 2 (eleven examples), no. 3 (five examples), no. 4, and no. 6; from vol. 9, nos. 14, 20, 24, and 30. 29. There is an unavoidable degree of subjectivity in the decision as to what constitutes a “letter” among the papyri. Various official documents use elements of letter form, primarily the introductory greeting formula. I have primarily followed the categories used by Grenfell and Hunt. However, the significant results of this survey are in no way undermined by this subjectivity, as no letter to multiple addressees is in doubt as to its categorization. 30. P. Oxy. 34, 58, 75, 897, 1190, and 1256. 31. P. Oxy. 1188.

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ees.32 Then there are twelve letters to groups of officials or “boards” of officials who are addressed by their titles (agoranomoi, sitologoi, comarchs, strategoi, police and scribes of various ranks).33 On only one occasion (P. Oxy. 60) is a letter addressed to a responsible civic body: the Council (boulē) of Oxyrhynchus. Among the 123 private letters, 3 are addressed to two people,34 in each case close family members, one (P. Oxy. 744) is addressed to three family members, and only one to a group. This is P. Oxy. 1162, from the fourth century, where Leon the presbyter writes to the presbyters and deacons of a nearby church. It can hardly be insignificant that our sole example of communal address in a private letter is from a Christian context and may well be modelling after Paul. In brief, among the sample of more than 520 papyrus letters I have examined, I can find no close parallels to the communal address of the Pauline letters. Private letters were normally written to one, or at most two or three, named people. It is true that “family letters” regularly contain extensive greetings to multiple family members, similar to the greetings to fellow-Christians in the Pauline letters. That, however, is quite a different phenomenon from the Pauline communal address, reflecting a different social context. Sending greetings to a wider circle than the addressee is not the same as communal address, which involves a higher level of engagement with the addressees. The only letters written addressed to groups are those few letters written by officials to bodies or communities with whom they have official dealings, or which fall under their jurisdiction. Even then, however, we see nothing of (a) the personal involvement in community life that so characterizes Paul’s letters, and (b) the opportunity for, or likelihood of, rhetorical delivery. Letters to nonfamily groups are very rare among the papyri, and letters of the Pauline variety seem to be virtually unknown. Finally, by chance I came across the letter of one Mnesiergos, writing in the fourth century b.c.e., who in the first line of a letter addressed to “Nausias or Thrasycles or his son,” sends greetings and wishes of good health “to those at home” (toi'" oi[kou).35 This combination of group address and greeting, which modern people take so much for granted, is extremely rare among the papyri. (b) Letters in literary contexts. This category deals not with documentary papyrus letters, but with letters, whether genuine or literary constructs, preserved in literary contexts. Once again we need to distinguish between private letters and letters written by officials. On the Jewish side, the Hebrew Bible and the LXX provide a range of examples.36 Jeremiah 29:1–23 tells us of Jeremiah’s “letter to the exiles in Babylon,” though Jezebel’s use of Ahab’s authority by letter (1 Kgs 21:8f.) may be an earlier example.

32. P. Oxy. 1028. 33. P. Oxy. 45–49, 60, 64, 65, 88, 474 (two letters), and 1188. 34. P. Oxy. 115, 116, and 533. 35. M. Trapp, ed., Greek and Latin Letters: An Anthology with Translation (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2003), 50–51. The text is from SIG3 III 1259; the letter, written on a sheet of lead, was found in Athens. 36. There also exists evidence for the use of letters within rabbinic Judaism, for example, the letters

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Ezra 4:11–16 is a more standard example of an official letter. Daniel 4:1–37 uses a letter from Nebuchadnezzar to “the peoples, nations and men of every language who live in all the world” to frame its account of the king’s dream and his madness. In Daniel 6:26 Darius issues a letter with a decree to all the people in his kingdom, though it has no such elaborate literary structure as that in Daniel 4. Esther 9:20 has Mordecai’s letter to all the Jews of the Persian Empire. In 1 Maccabees 1:41, Antiochus IV wrote his decree “to his whole kingdom,” but in a rather different mood from either Nebuchadnezzar or Darius. In 1 Maccabees 12 Jonathan writes to the Spartans.37 The preface to 2 Maccabees takes the form of a letter from the Jewish people in Judea to “their Jewish kindred in Egypt” (1:1), but v. 10 narrows the letter’s address to “Aristobulus the priest,” apparently a significant community leader. In 2 Maccabees 9:18, Antiochus IV, in desperation, “wrote to the Jews the letter transcribed below .  .  . ‘To the excellent Jews his citizens, Antiochus, King and commander-in-chief, sends hearty greetings. . . .’” This literary fiction makes little effort to conform to the norms of royal correspondence, but does at least show an awareness of such letters. The works of Josephus likewise contain citations of a number of letters, mainly diplomatic correspondence, some fictional and some likely to be historical. He cites more than twenty letters (all in his Jewish Antiquities): A.J. 8.2.6–7, Solomon to Hiram and Hiram’s reply; A.J. 11.5.1, Xerxes to Ezra, and his governors of Syria; A.J. 11.6.12, Xerxes to Adeus, governor of Syria, for Nehemiah; A.J. 12.2.4, Demetrius of Phaleron to Ptolemy; A.J. 12.2.5, Ptolemy to Eleazar; A.J. 12.3.3, Antiochus III to his generals and friends; A.J. 12.5.5, the Samaritans to Antiochus IV; A.J. 13.2.2, Alexander Balas to Jonathan; A.J. 13.3.1, Onias to Ptolemy Philometor and Cleopatra (and their reply); A.J. 13.4.9, Demetrius to Jonathan; A.J. 13.5.8, Jonathan to the Spartans (noted above: the addressees [the ephors, the gerousia, and the people] are given in detail); A.J. 14.10.2ff., Julius Caesar to the “magistrates, senate, and people of Sidon”; A.J. 14.10.8, to “the magistrates, senate, and people of Paros”; A.J. 14.10.11, Dolabella to all Asia, particularly Ephesus; A.J. 14.10.15, Gaius Phanius to the magistrates of Cos; A.J. 14.10.17, Lucius Antonius to “the magistrates, senate, and people of Sardis”; A.J. 14.10.20, the Laodicean magistrates to Gaius Rubilius; A.J. 14.10.21, Publius Servilius to the “magistrates, senate, and people of Miletus”; A.J. 14.12.3, Marcus Antonius to Hyrcanus; and A.J. 14.12.4, Marcus Antonius to the “magistrates, senate, and people of Tyre” (and a second one in 14.12.5). Of these letters, then, approximately half have a plural address; this is virtually always the result of the letters’ function as correspondence between officials and communities. On the Greco-Roman side we find a wider range of material,38 and also a larger proportion of letters with a plural address. Whether these provide useful parallels

of Gamaliel reported in b. San. 11a-b, “To our brethren.” The problems of dating and provenance associated with this material put its consideration outside the range of this limited survey. 37. See also Josephus, A.J. 13.5.8, where the addressees (the ephors, the gerousia, and the people) are given in more detail. 38. The standard collection is that of R. Hercher, Epistolographi graeci (Paris, 1873; repr., Amsterdam: Hakkert, 1965). For updates and the best recent survey of the material, see H-J. Klauck, Ancient Letters and the New Testament (Waco, Tex.: Baylor University, 2006).

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to the Pauline letters is a more complex question. Once again, the following survey cannot hope to be exhaustive; some trends, however, will become clear. As early as Homer we find mention of letters, embedded in other forms of literature.39 Herodotus reports several letters (e.g., 1.123.1, 3.128.1, 5.14.1, 8.128.1), and in Thucydides 7.11.1 Nicias writes to the Athenian ekklēsia; Thucydides gives what appears to be a transcript, though his reservations about the precise words of speeches may apply here as well. Among the extant letters attributed to historical persons, thirteen letters have been preserved in Plato’s name, though their authenticity is disputed. Of these Letter 1, to Dionysius, is clearly addressed both to him and his supporters; Letters 2 and 3 are addressed to Dionysius; Letter 4 is addressed to Dion; Letter 5 to King Perdiccas of Macedon; Letter 9 to Archytas of Tarentum; Letter 10 to Aristodorus; Letter 11 to Laodamas; Letter 12 to Archytas again (Diogenes Laertius 8.79–80 also quotes one letter of Archytas to Plato); and Letter 13 to Dionysius. Letter 6, however, is addressed to “Hermeias and Erastus and Coriscus,” attempting to bring the three together: the situation envisaged would require one copy to be sent to Hermeias in Atarneus, and another to Erastus and Coriscus, in nearby Skepsis. Letters 7 and 8 are addressed to the associates and friends (oijkeivoi" te kai; eJtaivroi") of Dion. Of the thirteen letters, then, four have some form of plural address. Nine letters attributed to Isocrates are extant; of these, two, nos. 6 and 8, have a plural address. No. 6 is addressed to the adult children of Jason of Pherae, Thebe and Tisiphonus, and no. 8 is addressed to the oligarchic rulers of Mytilene as a group. Six letters of Demosthenes are extant, and all but one (no. 5, to Heracleodorus) have a plural address, specifically, to the boulē and dēmos of the Athenians. Twelve letters attributed to Aeschines are known, of which seven are similarly addressed to the boulē and dēmos of the Athenians.40 Letters attributed to philosophers later than Plato are also known. R. Hercher reports six letters of Aristotle,41 though none has a plural address. Diogenes Laertius42 reports that Aristotle wrote letters to Philip (of Macedon), letters “of the Selymbrians,”43 four books of letters to Alexander, nine books of letters to Antipater, and one book each to Mentor, Ariston, Olympias, Hephaestion, Themistagoras, and Philoxenus. He also reports letters of Strato to Arsinoë (5.60), letters of Demetrius the Peripatetic (5.81), a book of letters of Crates (5.98), four books of letters of Ariston to Cleanthes (7.163), letters of Sphaerus (7.178), and one pair of letters between Heraclitus of Ephesus and King Darius (9.14). Again, none of these has a plural address. Twenty-seven letters are attributed to Hippocrates; nos. 10 and 11 are addressed to the boulē and dēmos of Abdera, and nos. 25–27 are addressed to the boulē and dēmos of Athens.

39. Homer, Iliad 6.168f. 40. Hercher, Epistolographi graeci, 33–43. 41. Hercher, Epistolographi graeci, 172–74. 42. Diogenes Laertius, Lives 5.27. 43. An alternative interpretation would be: letters about the Selymbrians, perhaps to Philip, as that would leave both Diogenes Laertius and Hesychius talking about twenty books of letters; see G. M. A. Grube, “The Date of Demetrius on Style,” Phoenix 18 (1964): 298f., but the interpretation is not decisive.

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One of the most interesting cases of a plural address, parallel to the Pauline letters, is noted by Wayne Meeks. This is the case of the letters of Epicurus to groups of his philosophical disciples.44 A collection of Epicurus’s letters was available to Plutarch (Mor. 1101b), but we know nothing about its range, except that it contained a letter to “the friends in Egypt,” “in Asia,” and “in Lampsakos” (Mor. 1128; cf. Strabo 13.589).45 We also know, from Diogenes Laertius 10.136, that he wrote to “the philosophers in Mytilene,” with two roughly sentence-long fragments attributed to the letter in Bailey’s edition. Frustratingly, as Meeks notes, not a single one of these letters is extant. From the second century c.e., Diogenes of Oenoanda gives us evidence of the ongoing importance of letter writing in Epicureanism (though with no cases of plural address) with his inclusion in his inscription of a letter to Dionysius (and possibly Carus), and also to Antipater or Dionysos.46 The letters of Cicero form a defined corpus that can be examined easily. The sixteen books of “Letters to His Friends” contain a total of 477 letters, though this total contains a number of letters to Cicero as well as letters from him.47 Of this number, book 10 contains a letter (no. 8) of Lucius Munatius Plancus, dated to late March of 43 b.c.e., addressed to “the Consuls, Praetors, Tribunes of the Plebs, Senate, and People of Rome.” Book 13 no. 76 is a letter of Cicero commending one C. Vulgius Hippianus to “the Quattuorviri and the Decurions.” Book 14 is made up of his letters to his wife, Terentia, and in some cases also to his children, Tullia and Cicero. Letter 1 is formally addressed to all three, but is written primarily to Terentia, with references to the children in the third person. Letters 2–4 are also addressed to all three; Letter 5 is from father and son to mother and daughter; Letters 6, 7, 14, and 18 are addressed to Terentia and Tullia; fifteen letters are addressed to Terentia alone. Out of a total of twenty-four letters to his family, then, nine have a plural address. Finally, in book 15, Letters 1 and 2 are written by Cicero as proconsul to “the Consuls, Praetors, Tribunes of the Plebs, and the Senate.” In summary, out of the 477 letters, thirteen have a plural address; nine of these are personal, family letters, and four are official letters to the governing officials of the Roman state. By contrast, in the early second century c.e., of the 247 letters of the younger Pliny collected in books 1–9,48 not one is addressed to other than a single named individual. The so-called Cynic letters collected in Abraham Malherbe’s edition provide a useful contrast. It needs to be noted that it is most unlikely that any of these “letters” actually originated as a real letter. Rather, they seem to be examples of the literary

44. Meeks, The First Urban Christians, 83–84. Epicurus’s letters to Menoeceus, Herodotus, and Pythocles are, of course, well known. 45. H. Usener, Epicurea (Rome: L’Erma, 1963; reprint of the 1887 edition), 135ff. 46. Diogenes of Oenoanda, Fr. 68–74, in M. F. Smith, The Philosophical Inscription of Diogenes of Oinoanda (Vienna: Verlag der Österreichischen Akademie der Wissenschaften, 1996), 143ff. 47. I have used the four Loeb edition volumes of M. Gwynn Williams, M. Cary, and M. Henderson (Harvard University, 1926–1929 and 1954). I have not made use of the Letters to Atticus precisely because that is what they are: collected letters to a single addressee. 48. I have excluded from consideration the letters between Pliny and Trajan in book 10; there are, in any case, no examples of plural or communal address among them.

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exercise of prosopopoiia,49 imaginative attempts to present the character and teachings of the idealized Cynic sages. Among the ten letters attributed to Anarchasis, one is addressed to the Athenians. Among the thirty-six letters attributed to Crates, fifteen are addressed to groups: eight to his students, one to the wealthy, one to the young men (toi'" nevoi"), one to the younger men (toi'" neanivskoi"), one to the Thessalians, and three to the Athenians.50 Of the fifty-one letters attributed to Diogenes, three are addressed to groups: no. 1 to the people of Sinope, no. 28 to the “so-called Greeks,” and no. 43 to the Maroneans. One of the nine letters associated with the name of Heraclitus, no. 3 is addressed to the Ephesians. Of the thirty-five “letters of Socrates” and the Socratics, only one (no. 22, to Simmias and Cebes) has a plural address, but that is to two individuals, not to a wider group. A collection of nearly one hundred letters attributed to Apollonius of Tyana survives from antiquity.51 Of these, forty-one, by my count, have a plural address of one kind or another.52 This is easily the highest ratio I have seen. Of the twenty letters quoted or mentioned in Philostratus’s Life of Apollonius, five have a plural address.53 When placed alongside the other letters attributed to philosophers, the ratio raises the question whether “letters of philosophers” with the plural or communal address ought to be thought of as the nearest parallel to the Pauline congregational letters. In purely formal terms, this claim is reasonable. Two issues, however, complicate the picture. The first is that few of the letters attributed to philosophers have any serious claim to historical authenticity. “Letters of philosophers” are mostly literary fictions.54 The second has to do with the content of the letters themselves. The let-

49. Prosopopoiia is systematically studied to great effect in the context of Romans 7 by S. K. Stowers, for which see above, n. 2. 50. The “letters to his students” are nos. 2, 3, 5, 6, 11, 15, 16, and 17; no. 7 is to “the wealthy”; no. 14 is to the young men; no. 18 to the younger men; no. 24 to the Thessalians; and nos. 25, 26, and 27 to the Athenians. 51. See R. J. Penella, “An Unpublished Letter of Apollonius of Tyana to the Sardians,” Harvard Studies in Classical Philology 79 (1975): 305–11, and idem, The Letters of Apollonius of Tyana: A Critical Text with Prolegomena, Translation and Commentary (Leiden, Brill, 1979); Maria Dzielska, Apollonius of Tyana in Legend and History (Rome: Bretschneider, 1986); Jaap-Jan Flinterman, Power, Paideia and Pythagoreanism (Amsterdam: J. C. Gieben, 1995); and E. L. Bowie (“Apollonius of Tyana: Tradition and Reality,” ANRW II.16.2 1683), who argues that the letters “were either assembled or fabricated in Athens ca. 140 A.D. and in either case are to be treated as documentation of that era’s currents of thought.” He adds (1691): “While admitting proof to be impossible I should without hesitation regard the letters of the castigatory genre as forgeries.” I have not had access to C. P. Jones, ed., Philostratus. Apollonius of Tyana: Letters of Apollonius; Ancient Testimonia; Eusebius’s Reply to Hierocles, LCL 458 (Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 2006). 52. These are nos. 11–13, 24–27, 30–34, 38–43, 47, 53–54, 56–57, 63–71, 74–78, 81–82, 84, and 91. They include letters to political assemblies (e.g., 11–13), priesthoods (26–27), Roman officials (30–31), scholars from the Musaion (34), Platonist philosophers (42), Stoic philosophers (74), his own disciples (81–82, 84), and his brothers (91). 53. Philostratus, Life of Apollonius 2.41, King Phraotes to Iarchus and those with him; 3.51, Apollonius to Iarchus and the other sages; 4.5, Apollonius to the koinon of the Ionians; 4.22, Apollonius to the Athenians; and 4.27, Apollonius to the Spartan ephors. 54. The question arises whether the existence of a genre of fictitious letters attributed to philosophers might throw any light on the question of the authorship of the disputed Pauline letters. Might the

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ters attributed to Apollonius are invariably extremely short. Apollonius’s refusal to embellish his letters with any form of rhetorical elaboration is several times noted. Similarly the “Cynic letters” are far shorter than the Pauline letters, though generally longer and more elaborate than those attributed to Apollonius. However, like the Pauline letters, the Cynic letters appear to be written for oral performance. But they lack the immediate sense of real persons in relationship so characteristic of Paul’s letters. In brief, then, the parallel is real, but only very partial. Letters also occur in a range of other literary forms. The epistolary novel attributed to Chion of Heraclea is probably to be dated to the first century c.e.55 It is made up entirely of seventeen letters, all to named individuals. There are, of course, various other literary works that make use of the letter form, but cross genres in other ways. It is reasonably clear that Seneca’s letters, for example, are real letters to a real Lucilius, but were also written with a wider literary and philosophical agenda and audience in mind. Alciphron and Aelian wrote wide-ranging collections of literary letters in the late second century c.e.; none of these, however, has any form of plural address. A collection of seventy-three “love letters” is attributed to Philostratus; one of these (no. 70) is addressed “to Cleophon and Gaius,” but the letter itself is only four lines of Greek. Chariton’s novel Chaereas and Callirhoe makes use of quoted letters several times as a critical plot device.56 The purpose of this brief survey has been to indicate the remarkable rarity of plural or communal address in Greco-Roman letters. Letters with a plural or communal address are known in the Greco-Roman tradition, but they are far from common, making up less than 5 percent of the sample of the documentary letters I have investigated, and only a slightly higher percentage of the literary letters. The Pauline congregational letters, with their communal mode of address, stand out as remarkable in this context. In brief, only two categories of letters suggest themselves as parallels for the Pauline corpus in terms of the rhetorical presentation implicit in their mode of delivery. These are official letters to communities, and some examples of letters of philosophers to their disciples or to communities they wish to address. Family letters such as those of Cicero provide no real parallel, as they address an actual family and are far less (likely to be?) rhetorically elaborate.

Pastoral Letters, for example, be, like the Cynic letters, later presentations of Paul and his ideas by disciples of his teachings? Though there are some similarities, there are also striking differences. The Cynic letters are sometimes addressed to known disciples of the Cynic philosopher in question (e.g., Crates to Metrocles, nos. 20, 21, 22, and 34), as with Timothy or Titus for Paul. However, the authors have made little or no effort to create a credible historical atmosphere, or (for that matter) a credible letter form. The doubtful Pauline letters may not be genuinely Pauline, but they are not transparently pseudonymous vehicles for Pauline teaching. If pseudonymous, they put considerably more effort into appearing genuine, and “letterlike,” than do the Cynic letters. It also seems unlikely that any of the Cynic letters was written within a generation of the life of the supposed author, as is usually argued to be the case with deutero-Pauline letters. The authors of the Cynic letters write from a far greater historical distance. In brief, then, the case for or against the doubtful Pauline letters will need to be made on other grounds. 55. See I. Düring, Chion of Heraclea, A Novel in Letters (New York: Arno, 1979); for the date, see 16. 56. Chariton, Chaereas and Callirhoe 4.4, 4.5, 4.6 and 8.4, trans. B. P. Reardon, in Collected Ancient Greek Novels, ed. B.P. Reardon (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1989), 21ff.

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But what kinds of parallels do they provide? Do the parallels go beyond the plural address, and if they do, what do they mean? Do the formal parallels arise out of parallel social situations, or are they coincidental?57 And are the parallels such as to suggest that Paul is, deliberately or unconsciously, drawing on an earlier tradition? As has been noted above, M. L. Stirewalt, Jr., has recently made a case for the parallels between the Pauline letters and the “official letter form.”58 My concern with his case is that it combines too many different kinds of parallels. That Paul had a group of friends and colleagues who regularly acted as couriers for him (and often co-authored the letters) suggests only that Paul was a leader of a highly motivated group, and wrote letters more often than the average person. That Paul “adapted the conventions of official correspondence” in “identification of primary sender, naming of co-senders, multiple address, dual structure of the body, and subscriptions,” however, is a more substantial case.59 But only one point, “dual structure” (the combination of background information and the letter’s message), deals with the extended letter body.60 E. R. Richards, commenting on “letters to a delegate” (L. T. Johnson’s category for 1 Timothy and Titus), comments that While most letters to a delegate were official documents, commonly carried by a governmental appointee to his new place of service, there were also a few private examples. When Cicero was appointed proconsul of Cilicia in 51 b.c., his friend Atticus wrote him a letter with many of the same elements. Atticus was not the commissioning authority. His letter was another example of an individual adopting a public letter form for personal use.61 This, I think, is a better understanding for the “official letter” features of the Pauline letters than that proposed by Stirewalt. Stirewalt argues that Paul’s use of the “official letter form” reflects his understanding of his own apostolic authority. J. L. White has suggested more helpfully that we must balance “Paul’s authoritative presence” with the “more egalitarian aspect to

57. See the cautious comments of Meeks, The First Urban Christians, 83–84: “Moreover, it is recorded that Epicurus undertook to maintain that unity among groups of his followers settled in different places, by writing letters ‘to the friends’ in those places. In a number of ways, then, the groups founded by Paul and his circle and the groups that traced their basis to Epicurus seem to have arrived at similar solutions for a number of parallel goals and practical requirements.” 58. Stirewalt, Jr., Paul the Letter Writer, 54: “He rejects the laconic form of the personal letter, choosing instead to modify the official one.” 59. Ibid. 60. Stirewalt, Jr., Paul the Letter Writer, 46. On p. 75 he implicitly admits that his hypothesis is of little assistance in analyzing the body of 1 Corinthians. “Regarding the letter-body, in a seriatim letter—a letter made up of a series of responses to problems and questions—the body as a whole does not readily allow the twofold division of background and message.” He notes as an exception to his admission 1 Cor 5:1–13 (pp. 76–77). 61. E. R. Richards, Paul and First-Century Letter-Writing (Downer’s Grove, Ill.: Intervarsity, 2004), 204. Richards is citing L. T. Johnson, The First and Second Letters to Timothy (New York: Doubleday, 2001), 141.

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Paul’s sense of presence,” represented, for example, by his family terminology.62 Paul could and did present himself as an authority, but as an authority who tried at all times to persuade, and fell back on command only as a final resort. He argued wherever possible on the basis of deductions from shared values. He could cajole, exhort, and threaten. But he actually had no wider socially sanctioned power structure to fall back on, and his understanding of his own authority was not based on such sanctions. In this sense, his letters function more as rhetoric in epistolary form than in parallel to the letters of government officials.63 Paul’s congregational letters, then, are a remarkably isolated phenomenon in their cultural context. This is true both at a purely literary level and in terms of the social context that generated them. As the leader of a loose group of travelling missionaries and as a community founder, Paul set himself to build and maintain a network of remarkably heterogeneous small groups. They were held together by shared experience, shared beliefs and values, and a regular flow of communication, both in terms of personal visits and via letters. His own prestige as a founder figure and his ability to persuade were his primary tools of “social control.” He could cajole, exhort, threaten, or even command, but his whole understanding of Christian community required him to rely on the decisions of his churches.64 It would seem that, to deal with the exigencies of his task, he developed a highly personal letter type, the “congregational letter,” which over time became a model for other Christian leaders working in similar circumstances. It worked within the flexible boundaries of the conventional interpersonal letter, appropriating and modifying conventional introductory and greeting formulae, health wishes and transitional forms, and farewell formulae as well. But within these conventional structures, variously modified, Paul stretches the letter form almost to breaking point. He writes elaborate theological arguments, personal appeals, denunciations, and ethical parenesis, all designed to be delivered in speech to the assemblies of his converts. Paul’s letters were not written to be read, but to be performed. As such they function as speeches, as rhetoric, every bit as much as they function as conventional letters. They are thoroughly atypical letters, in size, in content, and in style, precisely because they are letters designed to be delivered orally to (thoroughly atypical) groups. On this basis, epistolographic models can be fruitfully applied to some features of his letters; but rhetorical models will also very definitely have their place. Nonetheless, in my view we ought not to look in Paul’s letters for the elegance 62. White, Light from Ancient Letters, 219. 63. R. Jewett notes, citing C. J. Bjerkelund, that Paul’s parakalō-terminology has its closest parallels in “diplomatic and epistolary materials” (“Romans as an Ambassadorial Letter,” Int 36 [1982]: 11–12). The important distinction, however, remains. Ambassadors and officials, for all that they chose diplomatic language, had real, socially sanctioned power backing up their requests. 64. See again, particularly J. D. G. Dunn, “The Responsible Congregation (1 Corinthians 14:26–40).” One important exception to these generalizations is Paul’s striking consciousness of his own role as a miracle worker, or “man of power.” On several occasions in his congregational letters Paul forcefully contrasts “mere words” with “real power” (notably 1 Thess 1:5f.; 1 Cor 2:5ff.; and 1 Cor 4:18ff.). Clearly he believes that as a last resort he does have the power (expressed how?) to act decisively in communal affairs. But this is the subject for a different paper.

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of the litterateur, or the tightly woven rhetoric of the trained and self-consciously stylish Greco-Roman orator. In the Corinthian correspondence he claimed that he deliberately avoided such a style (1 Cor 2:1–5), though apparently even some of his cultured despisers in Corinth found his letters impressive (2 Cor 10:10). But we are justified in looking for rhetorical patterns that were widely known and accepted within his cultural environment. Paul wrote letters to function as speeches. His letters draw on both epistolographic conventions, primarily (but not exclusively) in their openings and closings, and rhetorical patterns and conventions, primarily (but not exclusively) in the letter body. He wrote flexibly and freely, switching between topics and modes of address at need. Attempting to understand the whole of one of his letters against classroom rhetorical genres is artificial, in modern as well as ancient terms. Identifying particular rhetorical features on a smaller scale is a different matter. Paul wrote to persuade, and Greco-Roman rhetoric often provided the culturally appropriate means of persuasion. But not always, and not in all ways. Paul is sharply aware that, though the network of communities he is building are to live in the world, they are not to be of the world. For him their ultimate basis and their values are not to be those of their neighbors. They live in normal households, but they make up the “household of faith” (Gal 6:10). They live in cities, but their citizenship is in heaven (Phil 3:20). The “god of this world” (2 Cor 4:4) is not to be their god. They may or may not attend a civic ekklēsia, but their primary loyalty must be to the ekklēsia of God. For all his finely tuned social and rhetorical skills, Paul insists on his status as an outsider, and draws his converts into his own self-conscious marginality. He will both use and disown rhetoric, as he both uses and stands apart from so much else in his cultural context. The highly rhetorical triple formulation of 1 Cor 1:18–25, 26–31, and 2:1–5 may stand as his summary of his own position, and that which he urges on his communities. The folly and weakness of God, of God’s apostle, and of God’s communities are wiser and stronger than human strength and wisdom. The form of this world is passing away (1 Cor 7:31), and its replacement is already to be found in the meetings in the homes of believers where his letters are heard and discussed.

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chapter 6

Rhetoric and Theology in the Letters of Paul1 Johan S. Vos

New Testament scholars have taken different positions about the relationship between “rhetoric” and “theology” in Paul’s letters. The purpose of this contribution is to identify various models from the history of research (part 1), and to discuss some fundamental issues on the basis of these examples (part 2).

1. Conceptions about the Relationship of Rhetoric and Theology in the History of Research 1.1. Theology without Rhetoric (Hahn, Dunn) In many studies of Paul’s theology, rhetorical analysis plays only a marginal role, if any at all. This goes not only for the bulk of literature published in the nineteenth and twentieth centuries but also for more recent studies. The theology of the New Testament authored by Ferdinand Hahn,2 for example, deals with Paul’s theology without giving any attention to rhetoric. Of the studies concentrating primarily on Paul’s theology, I would like to refer only to that of James Dunn.3 Dunn dedicates a small paragraph to the subject (§ 1.2c), but is rather critical of the usefulness of a rhetorical analysis of Paul’s letters. Consequently, in his presentation of Paul’s theology, rhetorical analysis does not play any role.

1. A German variant of this paper has been published in Aufgabe und Durchführung einer Theologie des Neuen Testaments, ed. C. Breytenbach and J. Frey, WUNT 205 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2007), 247–71. 2. Theologie des Neuen Testaments, Band I-II (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2002). 3. The Theology of Paul the Apostle (Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1998).

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1.2. Rhetoric and Theology as Relatively Separate Chapters (Weiss, Lohse) 1.2.1. Johannes Weiss Some scholars of Paul’s life and theology devote attention both to his rhetoric and his theology, though in separate chapters. The underlying idea is that rhetoric is something external, the form of expression Paul gave to his thoughts. The relationship between theology and rhetoric is seen as one of content and form. Johannes Weiss is a case in point. In his article “Beiträge zur Paulinischen Rhetorik,”4 Weiss makes some remarks about the relationship between rhetoric and theology: At the very least, one should ask whether the demand of sound and the charm of tone do not carry more weight with regard to the choice and arrangement of words than considerations of doctrine. Often, what is truly essential to biblical theology is not the equal treatment of every single passage in paragraphs, but rather a sensitive assessment of the value and scope of a thought for Paul. For that purpose, one should discern between an occasional rhetorical point and a doctrine that is already fixed and pronounced. (4)5 In his section on synthetic parallelism, he uses Rom 4:25 as an example: Here, exegesis and biblical theology will never simmer down, unless it is understood that the distribution of death and resurrection to redemption of sin and justification is not theologically, but entirely rhetorically motivated. (10) One would expect Weiss to apply these insights in dealing with Paul’s theological thinking in his book Das Urchristentum (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1917);6 however, that is not the case. The section on “Paul the Christian and Theologian” opens with a chapter about Paul “The Writer,” in which he deals with the epistolary forms of Paul’s letters, his literary style, especially his use of antitheses, his affinity for the so-called diatribe, the relationship between conventional rhetorical forms and personal style, and similar topics. This chapter occasionally touches on the relationship between rhetorical form and content: The preliminary condition for a correct evaluation, and the needful protection against an all too strong systematization (of his doctrine and religion) is a proper feeling for the literary values. (417; German orig., 317) 4. Sonderdruck aus den Theologische(n) Studien, FS Bernard Weiss (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1897). 5. Unless otherwise indicated, the translations from the German are mine. 6. I quote from the English translation: Earliest Christianity, I-II (New York/Evanston: Harper & Row, 1959; orig., 1937).

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Weiss regards the speaker’s and writer’s “sensitivity to the seductive charm of antithesis” as “a real danger for truth”: It must be described as nothing less than fateful that Paul has bequeathed to Christian theology and preaching the tendency to establish conclusions by the method of sharp contradiction, and to fail to take into consideration the transitions at hand and the apparent modifications—with the result that much confusion is furnished for those of fine feeling and tender conscience. (413; German orig., 314) Nevertheless, the chapter about Paul’s literary form and method and the chapters about Paul’s theology basically end up as separate items. In the chapters about the apostle’s theology, Weiss discusses Paul’s thought forms and their origins before dealing with the main theological concepts. In his presentation of Paul’s christological, soteriological, and eschatological concepts, he never refers back to his chapter on Paul “The Writer.” For Weiss, rhetoric is almost identical to elocutio. The aspects of inventio and argumentation play no essential role within his conception of rhetoric. He is aware of the fact that rhetorical analysis has a bearing on the understanding of Paul’s theology, but in practice, rhetoric and theology remain separate chapters. 1.2.2. Eduard Lohse Among recent literature, Eduard Lohse’s book Paulus: Eine Biographie (Munich: C. H. Beck, 1996) is another example of this approach. The chapter on “Paul’s missionary preaching” contains a paragraph about the “rhetorical fashioning” (rhetorische Gestaltung) of Paul’s preaching. In it, Lohse deals mainly with issues such as genre and style (108–15). The chapters on theological topics present the contents of Paul’s preaching, but devote no attention to rhetorical fashioning. Lohse appears to view the relationship between theology and rhetoric as one of content and form. He sees Paul’s rhetorical skills primarily as his capacity for persuasion in presenting his message.

1.3. Rhetoric Restricted to Polemical Argumentation (Becker) In Jürgen Becker’s book Paulus: Der Apostel der Völker (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1989), the relationship between rhetoric and theology plays a fundamental role in one particular chapter, namely the one on polemical passages in Paul’s letters. According to Becker, Paul’s struggle with his opponents is qualified by apologetic partiality. The letter to the Galatians, for example, is an apologetic letter with all the characteristics of this genre, not only in the arrangement of the argument, but also in the use of persuasive means. Paul pulls out all the stops in this genre and uses typical polemical strategies (170–79, 288–94). Galatians 3:1–5:12 is not a dogmatically well-balanced treatment about law and faith, but an extremely polemical text. In Becker’s view, Paul sometimes goes too far, and even contradicts himself. This rhetoric may provoke criticism. Consequently, to understand Paul, one must

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discern between his concern for the subject matter (Sachanliegen) and his polemical attacks (320–21). From this perspective, rhetoric and content are intrinsically interwoven: for rhetorical reasons, Paul uses arguments and defends theological views, which according to Becker, do not correspond with his true Sachanliegen. This, however, concerns only one aspect of Paul’s theological argumentation. Rhetoric plays hardly any role in the other chapters in Becker’s study—either in the chapters regarding the theology in Paul’s individual letters or in those outlining Becker’s basic ideas about the apostle’s theology.

1.4. Rhetoric as the Contingent Interpretation of the Coherent Core of the Gospel (Beker, Thurén, Hübner, Meyer) 1.4.1. J. Christiaan Beker In his book Paul the Apostle (Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1980), Christiaan Beker proposes a method that attempts to maintain both the coherence, or inner consistency, of Paul’s thought and the contingency of its different expressions. While his book devotes hardly any attention to rhetorical analysis, Beker does broach the subject in his article “Paul’s Theology: Consistent or Inconsistent” (NTS 34 [1988]: 364–77). Here, he defends his coherence-contingency method as a via media between two extremes: a purely sociological and rhetorical analysis and a dogmatic imposition of a specific focus in Paul’s thought. He welcomes the attention recent research devotes to the contingency of Paul’s thought, the diversity of his letters and their multiple sociological contents, and the variety of rhetorical devices Paul employed in different “rhetorical situations.” He puts forth a warning, however, about a danger this entails: “the contingent situations of the letters threaten to eclipse the abiding message of Paul, i.e. ‘the truth of the gospel’” (365). If we were to regard Paul’s gospel as an entirely contingent structure, “Paul [would] degenerate into a purely opportunistic theologian, who, with the help of various rhetorical skills, adapts the gospel to whatever the sociological situation demands” (367–68). Beker reminds the reader of “the legitimate value of the Reformers’ search for a Mitte [a center] in Paul’s gospel, which they saw as a search to clarify the truth of the gospel” (368). Beker’s treatment of rhetoric and rhetorical analysis concentrates only on the contingent aspect of Paul’s gospel, not on its coherent core.7 As far as it illuminates one aspect of Paul’s gospel it is legitimate. In Beker’s view, however, it should not dominate the whole field.

7. Typical of Beker’s understanding of rhetoric is the following statement: “Paul is a pragmatic hermeneutician—a missionary and propagandist, who interweaves thought with praxis and a convictional basis of logos with the rhetoric of ethos and pathos” (“Paul’s Theology,” 370). Although logos, ethos, and pathos are rhetorical categories, Beker seems to suggest that logos does not belong to “rhetoric,” but to the “convictional basis.”

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1.4.2. Lauri Thurén In Lauri Thurén’s study Derhetorizing Paul: A Dynamic Perspective on Pauline Theology and the Law (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2000), we find a similar conception of the relationship between rhetoric and theology. Thurén seeks to steer a course between two outlooks: (1) the dogmatic interpretation that views the theology in Paul’s letters as timeless, and universal; and (2) the “contextual” alternative that depicts Paul not so much as a systematic theologian, but rather, as a pragmatic writer who wrote each of his letters for a specific purpose and a specific audience. Thurén admits that Paul “wrote his texts in complex, many-sided tensions of starting-points and goals.” He is adamant, however, that the apostle had an indisputably “organized, coherent theological system of thoughts, which is partly reflected in his texts” (13, 17). Thurén’s attempt to reconstruct this system appears to be marked by a certain tension: On the one hand, he wants to proceed “from the context to the text itself,” and to explain to what extent it is possible to identify theological thoughts “in” the texts of the apostle (14). On the other hand, his book aims to clarify the theology “behind” or “beyond” the texts and the actual expressions, and to uncover the system of religious thoughts “beneath the surface level” (17, 26, 28, 93, 181). This approach requires a “derhetorized” text. To achieve that, Thurén tries “to identify the persuasive devices in the text and to filter out their effect on the ideas expressed” (28). His starting point is what he terms a “dynamic view” of Paul’s text. In this view, the author does not use the text solely to inform the readers about his opinions. Instead, his goal is to affect them and to influence their thoughts and actions. We must take into account the fact that in Paul’s letters, “strategic goals and tactical moves confuse and exaggerate the thoughts presented, as compared with neutral description” (25). It is doubtful, therefore, whether we can take his expressions at face value. Although Paul’s ideas appear to be different, sometimes even within the same letter, in Thurén’s view, he was not a sophist without any firm stance nor did he compromise the truth (36, 182). Rather, he expressed himself in a one-sided and exaggerated manner, and operated “with radical images instead of well-balanced, neutral descriptions of reality, though for the sake of rhetoric” (88). By and large, Thurén creates the impression that there is no problem in distinguishing between rhetoric and theology, or in identifying the “persuasive devices” in the text and filtering out their effect on the “ideas” expressed. Concerning the function of the law in the letters to the Galatians, the Corinthians, and the Romans, he finds “a simple de-rhetorized ideological structure” (130). At the end of his book, he concludes “that Paul’s view about the law per se is fairly clear and solid, if it is inferred from the conditions of communication in which his statements occur and the internal dynamics of his texts” (185). Throughout Thurén’s book, the reader gets the impression that “theology” refers to the coherent system of religious thoughts behind the actual expressions, and that “rhetoric” is mainly a matter of communicating these thoughts in a one-sided and exaggerated manner for the sake of affecting the addressees in their specific situation. At certain points, however, Thurén seems to be aware of the fact that the matter is much more complicated. In a segment on “Law and Paraenesis,” he concludes that Paul does not, in principle, accept the moral side of the law as a guideline for

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the addressees’ life—either in his letter to the Galatians, or in that to the Romans. In practice, however, the apostle does more or less accept that in the latter letter (137). He proposes that “the profound connection between rhetoric and theology may well play a central role in this case.” It can be assumed, he states, “that the rhetorically motivated complete rejection of the law in Gal[atians], viz. failure to use it as a guideline, has resulted in a theological principle in Romans” (137). The reader of this passage may draw the conclusion that the rhetoric in Galatians and Romans affects Paul’s theological system on this point in a decisive way. In the same vein, Thurén’s principal statement in the summary at the end of his study can be understood as follows: “Paul’s theology is not a solid, tension-free theory, which is only expressed in different ways. Obviously, the often overstated and exaggerated manner of speech has its equivalent in his thinking” (181). Here, he appears to view Paul’s rhetoric as more than a situation-bound expression of his coherent theology “behind” or “beyond” the texts. The reader gets the impression that Paul’s often confusing rhetoric is inherently connected to his thinking. Thurén himself, however, does not draw any fundamental conclusions from this insight. In the next sentence, he suggests “that theology is always rhetorical by nature.” In explaining this statement, however, he implies that rhetoric is no more than a simplified manner of expressing theological or ideological concepts in order to facilitate their understanding (182). 1.4.3. Hans Hübner In his article “Die Rhetorik und die Theologie,” (in Die Macht des Wortes. Aspekte gegenwärtiger Rhetorikforschung, ed. C. J. Classen and H.-J. Müllenbrock, Ars Rhetorica 4 [Munich: Hitzeroth, 1992] 165–79), Hübner uses the letter to the Romans as an example to illustrate how rhetoric and theology are connected in Paul’s letters. The second volume of his Biblische Theologie des Neuen Testaments (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1993), which was published almost simultaneously, is the only theology of the New Testament to use rhetorical analysis systematically in describing Paul’s theology. By analyzing his letters in chronological order and by applying rhetorical analysis to each letter, Hübner tries to illuminate the dynamic character of Paul’s theology. According to Hübner, theological thinking for Paul meant theological arguing. Argumentation is the development of thought about theological questions. In his argumentation, the apostle shows rhetorical competence (Biblische Theologie, 26–28). Paul’s letters to the Galatians and the Romans contain clear examples of a development process marked by a considerable degree of modification and rectification. The letter to the Romans is a response to objections about the “unfortunate” letter to the Galatians. Paul has to justify himself against the accusation that he severed the theological tie between himself and the congregation in Jerusalem. He does so by writing a letter, expounding on his “theological essential” (theologisches essential), namely, the proclamation of the justification solely by faith, but in such a way as to nullify the antinomian interpretation. Using rhetorical means, Paul makes a theological about-face without revoking his “fundamental religious conviction” (theologische Grundüberzeugung). The letter to the Romans is “a rhetorical masterpiece of theological argumentation.” Its dynamic character not only indicates a process of

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development in Paul’s thought, but also hints at contradictory theologies in his letters. The apostle, however, has a “theological essential,” a “fundamental religious conviction” that he does not renounce: justification solely by faith (“Rhetorik,” 168–69). Following Wilhelm Wuellner,8 Hübner describes Paul’s rhetoric in the letter to the Romans as “the rhetoric of faith argumentation,” that is, an argumentation that presupposes the faith and the authority of scripture. Theologizing is basically the process of developing convincing arguments in a given rhetorical situation (Biblische Theologie, 29). In the letter to the Romans “the process of theological thinking unfolds while arguments stipulated by the exigency of the historical situation are skillfully presented” (“Rhetorik,” 169). The reader may infer from this statement that the theological content cannot be separated from the rhetorical means. Hübner, however, does not see theology as totally absorbed by rhetoric. For one thing, he contends that Paul does not use rhetoric to proclaim the gospel but only to explain matters of faith to those who are already believers (“Rhetorik,” 178). Likewise, he makes a distinction between the “theology of justification” and the “proclamation of justification.” According to Hübner, Paul modified his theology of justification in the letter to the Romans but retained his proclamation of justification (Biblische Theologie, 232). It is not entirely clear to the reader, however, how Hübner can maintain this distinction because he views the proclamation of the justification solely by faith as Paul’s “theological essential” (“Rhetorik,” 169). It would appear that Hübner does not see the justificatio impii—be it as a proclamation or as Paul’s theological essential—as part of Paul’s rhetoric at all. Second, Hübner makes a distinction between Paul’s argumentation and its theological underpinning. In a review of Folkert Siegert’s book Argumentation bei Paulus,9 he poses some fundamental theological questions concerning the relationship between theology and secular science. Can theology arrive at the essence of Pauline theological thinking by means of the concept of argumentation? Where does Paul’s argumentation originate? How do argumentation and the understanding of faith inspired by the Holy Spirit belong together theologically? In this context, Hübner does not give explicit answers. Rather, he leaves the reader to infer from his approach that his answer to the first question is negative: theology cannot arrive at the essence of Pauline theological thinking by means of the concept of argumentation, at least not with a secular concept of argumentation. Summarizing, we can say that Hübner regards rhetoric as an essential part of Paul’s theology, where its dynamic character is concerned. His theology is rhetorical insofar as the apostle develops arguments stipulated by the exigency of the historical situation. From this perspective, there is an intrinsic relationship between the theological content and the rhetorical means. Aside from this perspective, however, it appears that rhetoric does not belong to the essence of Paul’s theology: it originates from a source inaccessible to human argumentation, and its core, Paul’s proclamation of the gospel and his theological essentials, does not fall within the realm of rhetoric. I have dealt here only with one essential element of Paul’s theology, justification by faith alone, because Hübner is very explicit about this point. Other points 8. “Paul’s Rhetoric of Argumentation in Romans,” CBQ 38 (1976): 330–51, esp. 351. 9. “Methodologie und Theologie I,” KuD 33 (1987): 150–75, esp. 173–75.

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about which the author does not theorize could be added. Actually, Hübner focuses only on the dynamic and rhetorical character of Paul’s theologizing in his interpretation of the letters to the Galatians and the Romans, where the question of the law is at stake. In other chapters, Paul’s theology seems to be much more static, as Hübner concentrates more on “existiale Interpretation” than on rhetorical criticism. A look at Hübner’s approach to rhetorical analysis would reveal it to be another variant of the coherence-contingency method. 1.4.4. Paul W. Meyer Paul Meyer goes a step further along these lines in his contribution to the SBL Pauline Theology Group.10 In evaluating the material produced by the group since 1985, Meyer discusses several treatments of the coherence-contingency problem in Paul’s theology. He concludes that many of these work on the assumption that Paul’s relatively coherent thought world “is always the starting point, the storehouse, the repertoire, the competence out of which Paul addresses each of the particular crises he confronts” (148). As an alternative, he proposes that instead of assuming that Paul’s “theology” or “conviction” is the resource or starting point from which he addresses the issues placed before him, one should think of where he arrives in the process of his argument: the outcome. According to this line of thought, the “coherence” of Pauline theology is itself the product of a historical process and is “contingent.” This is demonstrated by the fact that the end result of one line of theologizing is not always logically compatible in all respects with that of another. Nor can it be made to be so (150). The most important implication of this in regard to our subject is “that no clear line can be drawn in Paul’s letters between argument, rhetoric . . . and theology” (italics mine). According to Meyer, this point of view also raises doubts as to how far we can take the distinction between proclamation and theology in Paul’s letters (153). These are exactly the points about which Hübner’s statements appeared somewhat confusing. However, much like Beker, Thurén, and Hübner, Meyer is also looking for something “that not only gives coherence to this multi-faceted body of Pauline literature, but also transcends the contextual situation of that literature, such that it still calls for a hearing today.” He is aware that there is no “non-contingent bedrock of Pauline theological convictions” and that every reference to the cross and resurrection in Paul’s letters, every “affirmation,” “conviction,” or “belief ” is shaped by historical, cultural, and personal circumstances and context (156). Nonetheless, he feels, at the same time, that a crucial distinction must be drawn between human belief, affirmation, and conviction, on the one hand, and the “compelling datum” that calls forth these human responses on the other (156). The foundational conviction of Christianity is that God raised Jesus from the dead after his crucifixion. In Meyer’s view the essential ingredient in this conviction is the certainty that it is not self-generating, that it has been called into being and derives its warrant and authorization from something God has done. As an act of God, this is the “bedrock” that elicits and shapes “convictions,” but is not itself a “conviction” (157). God and the Spirit of Christ

10. “Pauline Theology,” in Pauline Theology, IV: Looking Back, Pressing On, ed. E. E. Johnson and D. M. Hay, SBL Symposium Series 4 (Atlanta, Ga.: Scholars Press, 1997), 140–60.

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are at work in the process of human persuasion and confessing (160). In acknowledging the rhetoricity of Paul’s theology, Meyer goes a step further than Hübner. Ultimately, however, he, like Hübner, seeks a transcendent warrant for Paul’s rhetorical theology by referring to the act of God and the inspiration from the Holy Spirit.

1.5. Rhetoric as the Construction of a Symbolic Universe (Lincoln) In the introduction to his short outline of the theology in the letter to the Ephesians in the series New Testament Theology,11 Andrew T. Lincoln poses the question: What does one look for in asking questions about the theology of Ephesians? He finds that this document is not primarily interested in setting out coherent ideas. Rather, it is a letter intended to accomplish pastoral purposes in addressing its readers. It achieves its purposes by rhetorical means, by adopting a strategy of persuasion. In his attempt to persuade, the writer constructs a symbolic universe, which the readers are expected to share to a large extent, but which is also meant to continue to shape their values, their perception of themselves and their role in the world. (76) Lincoln announces that questions about the letter’s perspective on God, Christ, salvation, the church, and ethics will be asked and answered, but that they will not necessarily provide the determinative structure for the discussion: “Rather the attempt will be made to see these issues as part of the letter’s overall symbolic universe, as that serves the writer’s pastoral and rhetorical purposes” (76). From this perspective, the relationship between theology and rhetoric is not one of content and form. Nor is rhetoric mainly associated with the dynamic or contingent aspect of Paul’s gospel. Rather, the theological content as a whole is part of the rhetorical strategy. Lincoln sees the construction of a symbolic universe with its theological topics as part of the author’s rhetorical means in attaining his practical goal. In the case of the letter to the Ephesians, this purpose is “strengthening the self-understanding and promoting the distinctive behavior of its readers as members of the Church in the world” (91). Lincoln does not go into the fundamental epistemological questions. We find more reflection on this matter in the work of Elisabeth Schüssler Fiorenza.

1.6. Biblical Theology as a Critical Theo-ethical Rhetoric (Schüssler Fiorenza) In her book Rhetoric and Ethic (Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 1999) Elisabeth Schüssler Fiorenza devotes a chapter to “Pauline Theology and the Politics of Meaning,” which 11. A. T. Lincoln and A. J. M. Wedderburn, The Theology of the Later Pauline Letters (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1993).

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focuses on the relationship between theology and rhetoric. Here, as in other writings, she understands “rhetoric” in a very comprehensive sense. In her view, “language and knowledge of the world are rhetorical; that is, they are articulated in specific situations, by particular people, for a certain audience, and with certain articulated or suppressed goals and interests in mind” (93). Language is not descriptive, but performative. “It creates and shapes the symbolic worlds it professes to evoke and describe” (93). From this perspective, “theological language is best understood in the classical sense of rhetoric as speech that constructs and shapes reality, rather than reflecting it” (177). To make clear what this means I will cite two examples related to the theology of the New Testament. Schüssler Fiorenza views the early Christian interpretations of Jesus’ death as rhetorical accounts, as interpretative strategies and attempts at “meaning-making,” rather than as presentations of historical facts, or as doctrinal reflections on redemption and atonement. “They were articulated in a sociohistorical situation where the followers of Jesus had to ‘make sense’ out of his brutal death as a condemned criminal.” Similarly, she does not conceive the christological titles as definitions of the true being or nature of Jesus. “Rather they are best understood as language models and metaphors that seek to ‘make sense’ out of the terrible fate of Jesus.”12 Language is not just performative; it is political (93). Discourse creates a world of pluriform meanings and a pluralism of symbolic universes. This raises the question of power. “How is meaning constructed? Whose interests are served? . . . Which social-political practices are legitimated?” (27). Thus, a critical intratextual analysis of the language and rhetoric of texts must be complemented by a critical systematic analysis of socio-political and religious structures of domination and exclusion (93). Such an analysis concerns not only the texts of the Bible, but also that of the biblical interpreters. To that end, a “rhetoric of inquiry” is needed, which pays special attention to the argumentative discourse of scholars and their theoretical presuppositions. As Schüssler Fiorenza understands theology not as a system but as a rhetorical practice, she proposes that the subdiscipline of biblical theology must be reconceptualized in rhetorical terms. More specifically, since she views the central theological question today as an ethical question as to what kind of God religious communities and their Scriptures proclaim, she understands biblical theology as a “critical theoethical rhetoric.” Biblical theology has the task of critically mapping and reflecting on how the Scriptures speak of the divine. Its task is to inquire “not only as to how the Scriptures construct theological meaning and speak about the living God, but also as to how biblical interpreters construct the theology of biblical writings” (Rhetoric and Ethic, 176–79). Using a “rhetoric of inquiry” to examine the politics of hegemonic biblical theology in order to demonstrate the distinctiveness of her own model, Schüssler Fiorenza discusses three characteristics of the hegemonic politics of theological interpretation, all of which have to do with authority:

12. Jesus: Miriam’s Child, Sophia’s Prophet (New York: Continuum, 1994), 107–19, esp. 108 and 119.

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1. The politics of “othering” and its tendencies of marginalization and vilification. Scholars understand canonical voices as right and true, but vilify their submerged alternative arguments as false and heretical. The majority of scholars have constructed Paul’s argument as “normative” over and against Paul’s so-called Gnostic, libertine, or Jewish legalistic “opponents.” 2. The politics and logics of identity. The “logic of identity” consists of an unrelenting urge to formulate “an essence that brings concrete particulars into unity.”13 According to Schüssler Fiorenza, the drive toward coherence, unity, and identity is also the motivating ideological force in the construction of a Pauline theology. By way of illustration, she refers to Christiaan Beker’s coherence-contingency model. In her view, his attempt to find a central core in the variety of Paul’s theological expressions as “the abiding truth” of the gospel springs from “his concern with safeguarding the theological mastervoice of Paul” (Rhetoric and Ethic, 185). 3. The politics of identification. Scholars tend to read Paul’s letters as authoritative rather than as argumentative interventions in the theological discourses of his audience. According to Schüssler Fiorenza, such an identification with Paul’s theological rhetoric allows ecclesial and academic ‘fathers’ to claim Paul’s authority for themselves (180–88). Schlüssler Fiorenza understands biblical theology vis-à-vis the hegemonic politics of interpretation as the rhetoric of ekklēsia. She demands that not only early Christian communities but also contemporary reading practices be reconceptualized “as sites of communicative persuasion, emancipatory struggles, and theological visions that are shared by all participants” (188). She propagates a model that “valorizes difference, plurivocity, argument, persuasion, and the democratic participation of all those excluded from or subordinated by theological discourses” (188). In short, Schüssler Fiorenza argues that biblical theology should be revisioned as both a critical reflection on the religious-communal and social-political practices encoded in Scripture and as a critical rhetoric of inquiry that is able to explore the rhetorical function of biblical texts and contemporary interpretations. The task of biblical theology would then not only be descriptive-analytic utilizing all the critical methods of exegetical, historical, and literary scholarship but also hermeneutic, ideology critical, evaluative, and theological ones. (191)

13. Schüssler Fiorenza quotes Iris Marion Young, “Impartiality and the Civic Public,” in Feminism as Critique, ed. S. Benhabib and D. Cornell (Cambridge: Polity, 1986), 56–76, esp. 61, who for her part refers to Theodor Adorno. Young adds: “It is not the unifying force of concepts per se that Adorno finds dangerous. The logic of identity goes beyond such an attempt to order and describe the particulars of experience. It constructs total systems that seek to engulf the alterity of things in the unity of thought.”

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2. Fundamental Issues 2.1. Platonic and (Neo-)sophistic Position in Philosophy and Theology Broadly speaking, two antipodal positions can be found in rhetorical criticism. The first one is the “Platonic” view, which is characterized by binary oppositions such as inner/outer, deep/surface, essential/peripheral, necessary/contingent, things/words, realities/illusions, fact/opinion, neutral/partisan.14 In this view, rhetoric is associated with the second part of these oppositions. The verba are the contingent representations of the res. Rhetoric is subordinate to content and concerns only the way this content is presented. Platonists believe that “truth” exists independently of human opinions about it and the variety of words in which these opinions are expressed. They also assume that there are criteria for the distinction of truth from falsity that are independent of linguistic statements. The second one is the “(neo-)sophistic”15 or “social-constructivist” view,16 which does not accept such a separation between res and verba. From this perspective, “rhetoric may be viewed not as a matter of giving effectiveness to truth but of creating truth.”17 It is “speech that constructs and shapes reality, rather than reflecting it.”18 “Truth” itself is contingent. It is not found but “created moment by moment in the circumstances in which [man] finds himself and with which he has to cope.”19 It is conceived as what communities are persuaded of at any particular time.20 Arguments are the materials of such a construction of truth. The orator is able to “make the weaker logos the stronger”; from a Platonic perspective he does this “seemingly”;21 from a sophistic perspective, however, rhetoric has the power to create and transform realities. Stronger arguments mean a stronger cause. Lawyers use every means 14. S. Fish, “Rhetoric,” Critical Terms for Literary Study, ed. F. Lentricchia and Th. McLaughlin; 2nd ed. (Chicago/London: University of Chicago Press, 1995), 203–22, esp. 205. 15. On the relationship between modern neo-sophistic theory and the historical reconstruction of sophistic doctrines, see E. Schiappa, “Neo-Sophistic Criticism or the Historical Reconstruction of Sophistic Doctrines?” Philosophy and Rhetoric 23, no. 3 (1990): 192–217; and B. McComiskey Gorgias and the New Sophistic Rhetoric (Carbondale and Edwardsville: Southern Illinois University, 2002). 16. On the relationship between neo-sophism and social constructivism, see S. Fish, in G. A. Olson, “Fish Tales: A Conversation with ‘the Contemporary Sophist,’” in G. A. Olson, Justifying Belief: Stanley Fish and the Work of Rhetoric (Albany: State University of New York Press, 2002), 85–113, esp. 85–87, 94–96. 17. R. L. Scott, “On Viewing Rhetoric as Epistemic,” Central States Speech Journal 18 (1967): 9–17, esp. 13; cf. idem, “Rhetoric Is Epistemic: What Difference Does That Make?” in Defining the New Rhetorics, ed. Th. Enos and S. C. Brown, Sage Series in Written Communication 7 (Newbury Park, Ca.: Sage, 1993), 120–36, esp. 126. 18. Schüssler Fiorenza, Rhetoric and Ethic, 177. 19. Scott, “On Viewing Rhetoric as Epistemic,” 17. 20. W. K. C. Guthrie, The Sophists (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1971) 51; Fish, “Rhetoric,” 207. 21. P. Valesio, Novantiqua: Rhetorics as a Contemporary Theory, Advances in Semiotics (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1980), 92.

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available to reach their goals, such as obtaining an acquittal for a client. To that end they create realities and truths. In this case, the content is subordinate to the rhetorical goal. In the same way, in philosophy and theology symbolic universes are created with a view to influencing people’s behavior. From this perspective, (neo-)sophists are moving “rhetoric from the disreputable periphery to the necessary center.”22

2.2. Pauline Rhetoric from a Platonic and a (Neo-)sophistic Perspective 2.2.1. A Platonic Perspective A typical example of a more Platonic view of rhetoric is Lauri Thúren’s Derhetorizing Paul. Thurén sees rhetoric as the contingent expression of coherent contents. He makes little—if any—mention of the rhetorical character of the “coherent” system of thoughts. He looks behind Paul’s words, not only for his belief system, but apparently also for the truth. He is eager to deny that Paul is “a sophist without any firm stance” (38), “an opportunist” or a “situational thinker” (20). Paul may—like other theologians or adherents of any particular ideology—simplify his concepts, but Thurén is adamant that this does not involve “compromising the truth” (182). This truth can be found beyond the texts and the actual expressions. I agree entirely with J. David Hester, who in his review of Thurén’s book states that his description of “derhetorization” suggests “a near Platonic view of rhetoric.” Thurén embraces “what Perelman/Olbrechts-Tyteca describe as the philosophical pair ‘appearance/reality,’ where ‘rhetoric’ is the ‘apparent’ performance of a ‘real’ truth.” According to Hester, this description of ‘derhetorization’ suggests “that rhetoric is something that is tenuous, contextual, an afterthought that strategizes upon an already present theological truth. ‘Rhetoric’ is contingent, theology fundamental.”23 In a similar vein Peter Lampe questions whether Thurén’s attempt to strip the linguistic form from the thinking is not founded on the outdated axiom that res and verba can be distinguished from each other. From the standpoint of constructivism and the sociology of knowledge, he himself has become skeptical that res and verba are clearly distinguishable from each other.24 This Platonic view of rhetoric also underlies Beker’s attempt to find “Paul’s abiding message” in the contingency of its various expressions. Hübner’s view is not univocal. On the one hand, the reader gets the impression that in his conception of rhetoric, the res or theological content cannot be isolated from the verba, the rhetorical means. Hübner views theologizing basically as the process of developing convinc-

22. Fish, in Olson, Justifying Belief, 95. 23. Review of Derhetorizing Paul, JBL 123 (2004): 171–77, esp. 175. 24. Peter Lampe, “Rhetorical Analysis of Pauline Texts—Quo Vadit? Methodological Reflections,” in this volume, 3–21; cf. also P. Lampe, Die Wirklichkeit als Bild: Das Neue Testament als ein Grunddokument abendländischer Kultur im Lichte konstruktivistischer Epistemologie und Wissenssoziologie (NeukirchenVluyn: Neukirchener, 2006), 42–43 (Eng. trans. forthcoming by Continuum International Publishing Group).

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ing arguments in a given rhetorical situation. This is a creative process that sometimes results in contrasting theologies in Paul’s letters. Hübner, on the other hand, can distinguish Paul’s theological “essential” or his “fundamental conviction” from its rhetorical presentation. Occasionally, Hübner also makes a distinction between Paul’s exaggerated form of expression and “the true core of his argumentation.”25 Like Thurén, Beker and Hübner are convinced that Paul is not a sophist, an opportunist or an orator who tries “to make the weaker logos the stronger.”26 Paul Meyer observes the following regarding such attempts to distinguish between the “contingent” form and the “coherent” elements in Paul’s theology: what is at stake is to identify not only what controls or shapes the apostle’s argument at any given moment but also what can so transcend the limitations of historical contingency as to supply warrant for its truth and reliability.27 His own view, however, is also based on the traditional distinction between res and verba. He seeks the warrant for the truth of the gospel by separating God’s act of confirming and vindicating the crucified Jesus on the one hand from the human convictions about this act on the other, and by finding an access to this act of God beyond the human preaching about it.28 2.2.2. A (Neo-)sophistic Perspective Those with a (neo-)sophistic view of Paul’s rhetoric are very reluctant to make a distinction between the res, the content or the true core of his theology, and the verba, the rhetorical means the apostle uses to reach his goal. In this perception, Paul is very competent in the art of “making the weaker logos the stronger.” His theological arguments are always a means to an end. Depending on his goal, he creates realities and constructs symbolic worlds. Paul’s theological constructions concerning the relationship between the law, sin, and death are a case in point. I see at least four such constructions.29 First, in the context of Rom 1:18–3:21, the law is a primal factor with regard to the origin of sin and death. The basic principle of the law is that those who transgress its commandments deserve to die (Rom 1:32). Death is a consequence of the transgression of the law. Second, according to Rom 5:12–13, because of to Adam’s transgression, sin and death were already in the world before the law was promulgated. To maintain the negative function of the law, however, Paul makes a dissociation between two kinds of sin, namely, between accounted sin and sin that is not accounted: “sin is 25. E.g., Biblische Theologie II, 274. 26. Beker, “Paul’s Theology,” 367–68; Hübner, “Rhetorik,” 178. 27. “Pauline Theology,” 147. 28. “Pauline Theology,” 156–57. 29. Cf. my article ”Die Schattenseite der Auferstehung im Evangelium des Paulus,” in Resurrection in the New Testament, FS J. Lambrecht, ed. R. Bieringer et al., BETL 165 (Leuven: University Press/Peeters, 2002), 301–13, esp. 306–9.

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not accounted in the absence of the law.” Here, the negative function of the law is a secondary one; we could term it “imputative.” Third, in 1 Cor 15:44–57 we find another model: death is neither a consequence of the transgression of the law nor of Adam’s trespass. Because God created the first Adam, in contrast with the second one, not as an immortal, but as a mortal being, death entered the world with the creation of human beings. Nonetheless, Paul depicts the role of the law as a negative one with regard to death and sin: “The sting of death is sin, and the power of sin is the law.” Here also the negative function of the law in the death-sin-law chain is a secondary one. Its function is not “imputative,” but rather “activating.” Fourth, in the letter to the Philippians, Paul presents yet another model concerning the function of the law. According to this model, there is no inevitable connection between the law and sin. Before the apostle knew Christ, it was possible for him to be blameless according to the law. To maintain the negative function of the law, however, the apostle makes a dissociation between two forms of righteousness: between the “righteousness of his own that comes from the law” and the ”righteousness of God that comes through faith in Christ,” that is, between a human and a divine righteousness (Phil 3:2–11). We could term the negative function of the law in this construction “pseudo-soteriological.” The aim of all these constructions is to convince his readers that salvation is only possible through Christ. It seems as though the apostle has a bag of arguments and chooses whatever he needs to that end. In all these cases, he is creating theological realities as rhetorical means with a rhetorical aim. In this particular case, the result is a variety of constructions. From a sophistic point of view, however, the case is not fundamentally different where we find less variety and more fixed theological constructions. A fundamental distinction between essential and less essential points, or between coherent and contingent topics, should not be drawn. We can question the higher aim with regard to each theological topic. I will now present a few examples to illustrate this point. According to Hübner, the justificatio impii (“justification of the ungodly”) is Paul’s theological essential, and as such, this “fundamental conviction” is not a part of Paul’s rhetoric. Hübner’s logic does not convince everyone, as the following two examples demonstrate. According to Krister Stendahl, “the doctrine of justification by faith was hammered out by Paul for the very specific and limited purpose of defending the rights of Gentile converts to be full and genuine heirs to the promise of God to Israel.”30 Francis Watson contends that it is completely wrong to regard the phrase sola gratia as the key to Paul’s theology: “Paul does not believe that salvation is by grace alone. The view that he does so springs from a failure to recognize that the faith-works contrast is primarily sociological, rather than theological, in meaning.”31

30. Krister Stendahl, Paul among Jews and Gentiles and other Essays (London: SCM, 1977) 2; cf. also W. Wrede, Paulus (1904; reprint in Das Paulusbild in der neueren Deutschen Forschung, ed. K. H. Rengstorf and U. Luck; WdF 24 [Darmstadt: Wissenschaftliche Buchgesellschaft, 1964], 1–97, esp. 69). 31. Francis Watson, Paul, Judaism and the Gentiles, MSSNTS 56 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1986), 179.

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In both views the doctrine of the justification by faith alone is a rhetorical means to a higher end, be it a practical or a sociological one. A second example is Paul’s so-called theologia crucis (“theology of the cross”). Hübner regards this as the focal topic in 1 Corinthians 1–4. In his treatment of these chapters, however, he deals with this topic exclusively in theological categories. The rhetorical situation and Paul’s rhetorical strategy play no role in his exegesis. It seems as though Hübner sees the theologia crucis, like the iustificatio impii, as part of Paul’s theological essentials, which fall beyond the scope of his rhetoric. From the perspective of sophistic rhetoric, we gain a totally different picture. In this approach, the questions into the rhetorical situation, the rhetorical aim, and the rhetorical strategy are essential.32 The rhetorical situation is typically one where we can assume that Paul has to defend himself against a group among the Corinthians that does not credit him with the same authority it does the other apostles because it feels he lacks rhetorical ability and makes a weak impression. Accordingly, Paul’s rhetorical aim is to strengthen his authority. To that end, he uses two different rhetorical strategies. He begins by admitting that he came to the Corinthians in weakness and that his preaching was not marked by wise, eloquent words. He goes on, however, to justify this deficiency by using the criterion of the aptum, the appropriate: the display of power, eloquence, or superior wisdom does not belong to the message of the cross. The real divine wisdom and power is manifested in human weakness and foolishness (1:17–2:5). At this point, however, the apostle changes his strategy: he is the one who preached the gospel with superior wisdom to the Corinthians, but they cannot understand it because they are people of the flesh, who are unable to understand spiritual words and wisdom (2:6–16). In the first part of his defense, Paul adopts the attitude of an eiron, a self-deprecator; in the second part, he dons the mask of an alazon, a braggart. And while he uses a theologia crucis to defend himself in the first part, he adopts a theologia gloriae (“theology of glory”) in the second. This ability to switch masks to achieve one’s aim typifies the sophistic repertory. From this perspective, Paul’s so-called theologia crucis in 1 Corinthians 1–4 is a rhetorical strategy toward a practical goal: the defense of his authority. Moreover, it is one strategy among others. Paul can use also the opposite strategy. In both cases, Paul’s theology is a rhetorical means toward a higher end. Christology is another case in point. According to Wilfred Knox, Paul substituted cosmogony for apocalyptic in his earlier letters as a means of converting the Gentiles: “The change meant nothing for him, for he was not concerned with philosophy, and any system of thought and language that expressed the position of Jesus as Lord was equally acceptable.”33 But the effect of the Colossian controversy was to substitute philosophy for homiletic as the basis of Christian preaching. The divine Wisdom, the divine Mind permeating the cosmos, was identified with Jesus as an eternal truth in the realm of metaphysics. “For only so could the supremacy of Jesus

32. For a detailed analysis, see my book Die Kunst der Argumentation bei Paulus (WUNT I/149 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2002), 29–64. 33. Wilfred Knox, St Paul and the Church of the Gentiles (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1939), 178.

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be asserted as against such potent beings as the rulers of the stars in their courses.”34 Knox sees the different christological conceptions in Paul’s letters simply as means toward a higher end, the confirmation of the supremacy of Jesus as Lord. In this christological example, the question of the authenticity of the letter to the Colossians plays a role in the evaluation of Paul’s theology. An interpreter who regards Paul’s theology largely as sophistic rhetoric will be reluctant to use theological arguments in a discussion about the authenticity of a particular letter. There are topics in Paul’s letters about which his thoughts seem to be more fixed than about others. But that is no guarantee that he would never have constructed another system about some topic. When theological arguments and theological conceptions are persuasive means toward an end, the question arises: What is the ultimate goal? From a secular neosophistic point of view it suggests itself that the ultimate goal is nontheological. If we were to regard theology as a rhetorical system of constructing symbolic worlds in the service of a nontheological goal, then the whole system would be dynamic and we could look for the driving force behind it. The ultimate goal might be identical to the ultimate source that generates the system. According to George Kennedy, rhetoric in the most general sense can be identified with the energy inherent in communication: Driven by human desires and fears, by a search for meaning in life and above all, by the fear of death, religious and philosophical codes generate great energy, like that of a magnetic field or that induced in a closed circuit. This energy, expressed in language, is what has traditionally been described as rhetoric.35 We can search for this energy, or a driving force of this nature, from any number of angles, including from a psychological, a sociological, or an ideology-critical perspective. I will present a model here that is based on an ideology-critical view. This model combines a constructionist view of Paul’s theology with a “rhetoric of power,” which raises the question: What systems of power are at work in systems of thought?36 Taking the confession “Jesus is Lord” as a starting point, this model works on the assumption that the driving force behind Paul’s theology is the expansion of power, the elementary imperialistic drive that determines most of world history. In Paul’s case, it is expressed in the symbol of a national deity that has the ambition to conquer the world. The national God of Israel makes a self-revelation on Mount Sinai as a jealous God who does not tolerate worship of other gods and service to idols. Paul did not see this as a commandment for Jews only. He understood his “revela-

34. Knox, St Paul and the Church of the Gentiles, 178. 35. George Kennedy, “ ‘Truth’ and ‘Rhetoric’ in the Pauline Epistles,” in The Bible as Rhetoric, ed. M. Warner (London/New York: Routledge, 1990), 195–202, esp. 196; see also idem, “A Hoot in the Dark: The Evolution of Generic Rhetoric,” Philosophy and Rhetoric 25 (1992): 1–21, esp. 2; idem, Comparative Rhetoric (New York/Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1998), 3–5. 36. Cf. J. David Hester Amador, Academic Constraints in Rhetorical Criticism of the New Testament. An Introduction to a Rhetoric of Power, JSNTSup 174 (Sheffield: Sheffield Academic, 1999).

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tion” on the road to Damascus as an assignment to proclaim the Son of God to the Gentiles. He perceived Jesus Christ, the heavenly son of God, as God’s viceroy, who was assigned to destroy the enemies and to establish the universal kingdom of God, “so that God may be all in all” (1 Cor 15:24–28). It was Paul’s mission as an apostle of Jesus Christ “to bring about the obedience of faith among all the Gentiles” (Rom 1:5), or to win “obedience from the Gentiles” (Rom 15:18). The ultimate aim of Paul’s mission was the dominion of Israel’s God over the whole world. Paul’s rhetoric is the most powerful weapon of his warfare: “we destroy arguments and every proud obstacle raised up against the knowledge of God; we take every thought captive to obey Christ” (2 Cor 10:4–5). The apostle uses every argument that serves this goal. With this goal in mind, he creates a new symbolic universe with its characteristic power structure, building on existing symbolic worlds. From this perspective the whole world is split into two parts. One is characterized by light, truth, justice, life, and spirit, the other by darkness, falsehood, sin, death, and flesh. Whatever fits Paul’s purpose is assigned to the first category: whatever does not fit this purpose is relegated to the latter category. These categories were common in Paul’s world, but the apostle applies them in a manner that serves his aim. These categories are means of persuasion. Whether Paul chooses them from his traditions, or puts his own stamp on them, he uses them to convince his readers of his point of view. From this perspective, Paul pictures the reality of Jews and Gentiles. His concept of the sinfulness of Jews and Gentiles is a construction that fits into the power structure of his symbolic universe: declaring them all guilty is part of the rhetorical strategy that aims at their subjection. Threatening with the wrath of God is a very effective means in the rhetoric of power. Since salvation is possible only through Christ in Paul’s gospel, Paul has to deny salvific power for all rival instances, most of all for the Jewish law. As forgiveness of sin, justice, and life come solely through the death and resurrection of Christ, Paul depicts the law as the origin of sin and death. As we have already seen, he uses various models to that end. A great deal of Paul’s soteriology is formulated in terms of dominion and power. He divides the world mainly into two realms of power. People are either “under the law” or “under grace” (Rom 6:15); either “enslaved to sin” or “slaves of righteousness” (Rom 6:17–18); either “slaves to the law of sin” or “slaves to the law of God” (Rom 7:22); either “enslaved to beings that by nature are not gods” or “enslaved to God” (Gal 4:8; Rom 6:22). While he describes the first enslavement as imprisonment, he depicts the second as freedom (Rom 6:20; Gal 3:22; 4:21–31). In the same way, the work of Christ is depicted in terms of dominion and power. According to Paul, Christ, by his resurrection from the dead, was “appointed as Son of God with power” (Rom 1:4). For Paul, this meant that he had received from God the mandate and the power “to put all his enemies under his feet” and to “destroy every ruler, authority and power.” From his place at the right hand of God, the resurrected Son of God exercises his power to establish the kingdom of God (1 Cor 15:23–28). The mission of the Son of God will be fulfilled when “at the name of Jesus, every knee will bend, in heaven and on earth and under the earth” (Phil 2:10). At first sight, Christ’s death on the cross does not appear to fit into this structure of power and dominion. Using his rhetoric, however, Paul transforms the reality of this visible

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world into a reality of another order. With his paradoxical logic, he transforms weakness into power. For those who are perishing, the message about the cross is foolishness, but for those who are saved, it is the power of God. It is possible to give other elements of Paul’s theology a place in this structure of power. As an illustration of the combination of a constructionist view of Paul’s theology with a “rhetoric of power,” however, this sketch may suffice. Clearly, every model discussed in this paper is the result of the readers’ constructions—constructions where their presuppositions and interpretation interests are decisive. In light of this, we must pose certain questions. Is the interpreter’s outlook generally Platonic or sophistic? Does the reader champion a secular or a Christian— Paulinist or more catholic, Lutheran, or Reformed—view of the world? All interpretations presented in this paper reflect the worldviews of the interpreters, whether those are explicitly expressed or not. Thus, the discussion about the relationship between rhetoric and theology in Paul’s letters invites us to engage in a discussion about our own perceptions of the world.37

37. I fully agree with H. Räisänen (Beyond New Testament Theology, 2nd ed. [London: SCM, 2000], 166): “it should be clear after the discussion in hermeneutics and the philosophy of science this century that the person of the scholar cannot be wholly bracketted out in historical work. The scholar’s perception is influenced by his or her own situation and interests. A contemporizing concern always exists, consciously or unconsciously. But the concerns of the reader can be kept under control within certain limits.” I hope this essay may contribute to the process of keeping these concerns under control.

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chapter 7

Quintilian’s Psychological Insights in his Institutio Oratoria1 Peter Lampe

What convinces and wins over the listeners? Under this leitmotiv, the article deals with (1) the authenticity of the speaker as well as the techniques (2) of visualizing, (3) of influencing affects, and (4) of leaving room for the creativity of the listener. Quintilian’s insights into these four aspects can be illustrated with Pauline material and may lay the ground for further studies of Paul’s letters. Finally, we examine (5) the orator’s creativity and (6) the importance of memory. Once in a while, Quintilian glances into the depths of the human psyche. He is no psychologist and does not develop psychological theories. He writes as a teacher who instructs students of rhetoric, as a forum-experienced speaker, whose toga often is wet with the sweat of the practitioner. Of course, he has no clue about modern psychological theories. In his instructions, he scatters nuggets of experiential wisdom that often are similar to our everyday experience and that make us feel that the psyche of Western people has not altered much even after two thousand years of cultural change.2 Often when reading his work, we get the impression of standing beside Quintilian on the forum. We understand—because we are similar. However, it is not my goal to define the relation between his ancient psychological wisdom and modern psychology though it would be a rewarding task to illuminate Quintilian’s insights within the framework of today’s psychological theories. The open waters of assessing the relation between ancient rhetoric and modern psychology are tempting, as is the ocean of modern rhetoric that integrates modern psychology. We observe the sails of others cruising out there in the sunlight.3 But in this article we refrain from joining them and stay moored in the harbor. We will

1. All references without specification of author or work are taken from Quintilian’s Institutio. 2. Some basic universalities probably exist, at least within the sphere of Western culture, that have lasted more than two thousand years. This article does not venture into the debate about general human universalities. 3. Cf., e.g., the collection of essays Rhetorik und Psychologie, ed. Joachim Dyck, Walter Jens, and Gert Ueding, Rhetorik: Ein internationales Jahrbuch 6 (Tübingen: Niemeyer, 1987). Most psychologi-

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not even compare Quintilian’s boat to other veteran ships at the pier, such as the psychological aspects of Aristotelian rhetoric that could be confronted with what Quintilian knew about the human psyche.4 At first, we need to explore Quintilian’s mahogany boat itself, to peek into its portholes, to open its chests and try to get to know the owner better. Without emptying Quintilian’s treasure chests of psychological pieces of wisdom, I select six subjects for display—but before I turn to these topics that structure the paper, I will briefly inventory some of the other interesting psychological contents of the chests. Quintilian observes, for instance, that shyness, although a “likeable mistake,” timidity, and a nonpugnacious nature stand in the orator’s way. To overcome a shy nature, the speaker ought to have self-confidence, constancy, and courage, which, however, according to Quintilian, have nothing to do with arrogance, temerity, impudence, and presumption. Nor should these features be confused with being hardened, because the speaker who is aware of his5 great responsibility and of the speech’s risk needs to show signs of nervousness and anxiety; he ought to have some stage fright, change the color of the face, and stand up restlessly from his seat before entering the stage. This has nothing to do with fear (12.5.2–4). It is characteristic of a moralist like Quintilian to put into opposition, for example, self-confidence and arrogance, courage and temerity, because the moral education and refinement of a person determine the directions in which a positive self-image or courage evolves. The speaker also needs to overcome the human pursuit of safeness, the tendency to stick with the things he is good at, instead of taking off to new shores and learning what he has not yet mastered (12.10.14, 20–21). Quintilian offers further pieces of wisdom. When preparing a case, a good attorney puts himself in the position of both the accuser and the judge in order to understand the facts of the case completely and to design a promising strategy of defense (role reversal: 12.8.10, 15; 7.1.4; 6.1.11, 20). Similar empathy is practiced when he tries to endear the judge by adapting his style and manner of speaking to the judge’s taste. Sometimes he can push this method to the extreme of self-denial—but then he should not publish such a speech (12.10.55–56; cf. also 11.1.43–45, 50, 52, 61–72, 75–76, 78; 3.7.25; 4.1.17–18, 20, 45–46; 4.3.11; 5.12.11; 5.7.26). A young orator should not start his practice in court too late, “because the fear increases from day to day” the longer he waits. In his perception, the task lying ahead of him becomes bigger and scarier every day, and when he still mulls over the time when to begin public court appearances “it is already too late to begin at all.” “The fruit of our studies should be brought before the public eye while it is still fresh . . . , cally oriented seminars for managers combine the topics of “communication” and “moderating” with an intensive training in rhetoric. 4. For Aristotelian psychology, see, e.g., the dissertation by Euthymios Papadimitriu, Ethische und psychologische Grundlagen der aristotelischen Rhetorik, Europäische Hochschulschriften 20/43 (Frankfurt: Lang, 1977), e.g., 79, 146–47, 164, 195–229. Aristotle shows a keen sense of psychological issues, especially when unfolding his ideas about the affects or looking at the gnome and the koinoi topoi as means to convince the audience. If an orator, e.g., uses convictions and opinions of the hearers (doxai) as premises of his rhetorical syllogisms, each listener is delighted, feels assured and flattered, and therefore even more willingly accepts what the speaker says (Rhetor. 1371a 25, 1371b 27, 1395b 2). 5. Quintilian always has a male speaker in mind—although we tacitly imply both genders.

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while it may be assured of a kindly disposition in the audience, while boldness is not unbecoming and youth compensates for all defects, and boyish extravagance is regarded as a sign of natural vigor” (12.6.3). The young orator should begin in court with an easy and favorable case. He then will know what it means to fight and should get some rest and refreshment before pleading new cases. In this way, he will get over the beginner’s timidity. However, the easiness of the first case should not seduce him to underestimate the task of pleading in court in the future (12.6.6–7). Covetousness, greediness, and envy occupy the mind so excessively that they disturb the hours of slumber and dreams; bad thoughts “tear the mind apart” (12.1.6– 7). Ambition, amor laudis, on the other hand, is welcome as an incentive to enjoy reading and writing (12.1.8; 1.2.22). Similarly, an off-the-cuff speech gains momentum through both the speaker’s desire to be applauded and his fear to lose face. Furthermore, the situational pressure of the impromptu speech surprisingly causes the thoughts to flow more freely than in the situation of writing in isolation, where thoughts often only trickle (10.7.16–17). For practice purposes, the orator, on a daily basis, should declaim not only alone, but also in front of an audience whose judgment he values, “because seldom does one have the necessary respect of oneself ” (10.7.24–25). Quintilian’s advice for educating children seems almost modern. Children need to learn playfully (lusus), having fun and receiving lots of rewards and praise (laudetur, gaudeat). Rivalry between children can be used as an incentive (1.1.20; 1.2.22, 26; 1.3.6, 10; 3.1.3; 2.4.12; the text of 1.2.29–31 also pleads against one-on-one instruction). The teacher should praise neither stingily nor overabundantly in order to avoid both aversion toward hard work in the drought of too rare praise, and complacency and fading diligence because of too much (2.2.6, 10). A fond, loving relationship (ament, carissimi) should evolve between the teacher and the pupils. When the instructor is loved, cheerfulness abounds, and learning is facilitated. A beloved teacher can guide the students more easily, and they accept his corrections more readily; he becomes a model (2.9.1–2; 2.2.8), which is important because one grows to be a good orator mainly through imitating role models (10.5.19). The teacher should not correct too harshly lest the pupil loses courage (2.4.10, 12); reproving rebuke often angers the student and falls short of its goal (2.6.3; 2.2.7: “some teachers fuss as if they hated the pupil”). Usually, coercion impedes mental initiative (1.3.9). From time to time, the teacher should let the children act on their own authority (2.6.6). He should descend to the level of students who have weak comprehension instead of asking too much (1.2.27). Relaxation breaks are important (1.3.8). But, for Quintilian, all this does not mean that the quality of accomplishment is diminished. On the contrary, according to him, such an environment, cultivated with psychological insight, facilitates great accomplishment, and, for example, may inspire students to learn many pages by heart (2.7.2–4). Quintilian was driven by an almost unlimited pedagogical optimism6 behind 6. E.g., in 12.2.1; 12.11.11–13. The passage 12.11.23 appears quite modern (even elderly people can study and grasp what they really desire to learn); correspondingly 1.1.16–17, 19 (mental training and education conveying both mores and litteras need to begin already in the first years of childhood and not as late as at the age of seven). In 12.1.42, Quintilian pleads for a liberal, pedagogically oriented criminal justice system

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which the stoic doctrine of individual progress toward wise perfection can be discerned. He nurtures a perplexingly optimistic, if not naive, image of humankind; for example, in 12.1.4: “vileness and virtue cannot jointly inhabit in the selfsame heart, and it is as impossible for one and the same mind to harbor good and evil thoughts as it is for one man to be at once both good and evil.” This optimistic image of the human being and its flipside, the almost unlimited pedagogical optimism, would have caused Paul to shake his head. For the apostle, the natural human being is a sin-dominated old Adam, lost forever, who needs to be changed radically by God into a new human being (e.g., Romans 6). For the Christian apostle, pedagogics was meaningless without this divine “new creation.” Quintilian is able to discern subtlety between conscious processes in the orator’s mind and unconscious ones in the listener. “Who has ever possessed such a gift of charm [as Cicero]? He seems to obtain as a boon what in reality he extorts by force, and when he wrests the judge from the path of his own judgment, the latter seems not to be swept away, but merely to follow” voluntarily (10.1.110). As will be shown below, the best figures of speech for Quintilian are those that influence the listener subconsciously. The first four of the six themes that the article will embark upon (authenticity, visualizing, emotionalizing, creativity of the listener, creativity of the orator, and memory) are guided by the central question: What convinces the listeners? What wins over their hearts? A part of the last theme also involves this leitmotiv.

1. Authenticity of the Orator as the Primary Means of Convincing 1.1. The Vir Bonus As Quintilian defines it, rhetoric is the art of orating well as a good person. And he means: whoever wants to master the art of rhetoric needs to be a good human being at the same time.7 For Quintilian, the ideal of a speaker is the vir bonus dicendi peritus, the man of honor able to orate (12.1.1). He therefore dedicates more than one chapter to giving a solid foothold for the moral conduct of the student of rhetoric (if culprits, “as commonly conceded,” can meliorate their ethos, then it is in the public’s interest not to punish these delinquents; cf. also 7.4.18). Quintilian admits that the genetic disposition of a person plays an important role, but the enhancements by learning and practice are as crucial (e.g., 12.1.32; 12.2.2–4; 10.7.8–9, 24–25, 29; 11.2.1, 50; 11.3.11, 19; 10.2.20; in 10.2.21 Quintilian, however, admits that further labors are useless where the teacher runs “against nature”). For Quintilian’s pedagogics, see furthermore, e.g., 1.1.1–2, 16–17; 1.2.18; 2.4.3–9, 13. A study of his pedagogics should differentiate between the different age groups of students even more decidedly than possible here. 7. 2.15.34 (cum bene dicere non possit nisi bonus); 1 prooem. 9; 2.3.12 (tam eloquentia quam moribus praestantissimus .  .  . dicere et facere, with a reference to Homer, Il. 9.442–443: master of words and of deeds); 2.15.2–3, 20, 27–33 (with a reference to Plato, Gorg. 460c, 508c; Phaedr. 267a); 2.17.43; 2.21.12; 3.8.1; 12.11.9; 12.11.31 (bonam voluntatem, “the will to do well,” are the last two words of the Institutio). Quintilian knows how much harm the sharp weapons of eloquence can do in the hands of bad people (12.1.1; 2.15.30; 2.16.4, 10).

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(12.1–2).8 Why? In regard to the rhetorical goal of convincing the audience the reason is easy: “It often happens that even when [morally bad persons] tell the truth they fail to win belief ” (12.1.13). As soon as a vir bonus, on the other hand, with the weight of his respectability and achievement, appears in front of a crowd that has been throwing rocks and firebrands, it becomes silent, heads lifted to listen intently.9

1.2. Modesty The authenticity that wins over the audience is, however, energized by more than just generally being “good.” To be “good” in the specificity of the rhetorical situation means, for example, to display modesty. Modesty lends the speaker a maximum of respect and trust (12.9.12; cf. 12.5.2a). Therefore, Quintilian frequently admonishes orators to use artifices and rhetorical flourishes only in moderation,10 an exhortation that 12.10.47 puts into an image: The orator does not need to shave himself bald, but he should not show up with “curly locks” either. It is important not to put one’s own art on show, but to let it be effective in unnoticed ways.11 In this manner, the speaker earns trust and disperses many judges’ mistrust of attorneys’ tricks (12.9.5–6).12 8. Quintilian’s educational program to combine the teaching of rhetoric and the formation of an ethically “good” person, who is fit for life and not only for declamatory games in the school room, was approved by the highest authorities when Domitian appointed him educator of imperial princes (cf. 4 prooem. 2). 9. 12.1.27 (reflecting Virgil, Aen. 1.151–53). Cf. also 5.12.9 (one pleads before the court and argues most effectively when one is an ethically proper person; reference to Aristotle, Rhetor. 1.2.4); 6.2.18–19 (kindness and virtue win the listener’s confidence); 7.2.33; 10.1.111; 11.3.154–55; 4.2.125; 5.13.52; 3.8.12–13, 48; 8.5.8. However, the concept of the speaker having to be virtuous also shows some cracks: in certain cases, Quintilian allows the orator “to conceal the truth from the judge” (12.1.36; 12.7.7; cf. 4.2.91–93; 4.5.5–6; 5.14.29). He tries to seal the fissures: “there are many things which are made honorable . . . not by the nature of the deeds, but by the causes from which they spring” (12.1.36). Apparently, for Quintilian, this also applied to the deceit that the orator sometimes uses. “Even the sternest Stoics admit that the good man will sometimes tell a lie” (12.1.38; referring to Stoicorum Veterum Fragmenta, ed. H. von Arnim; 4 vols. [Leipzig, 1903–1924], 3.555). If a judge, e.g., “wants to convict certain laudable deeds,” the honorable orator’s task is to convince the judge with lies that “the deeds did not happen at all.” In this way, a respectable citizen can be saved (12.1.41; similarly 2.17.27, 29; 3.7.25; 3.8.63; 4.1.33). Here a tension builds with Quintilian’s concept of honesty that will be discussed below (in 1.3.). Quintilian is ready to endure this tension. 10. E.g., 12.10.79, 46; 9.3.27, 101; 5.12.8. 11. Cf. also 8.3.2: “More demanding artifices are generally concealed, since unconcealed they would cease to be artifices.” Similarly, 9.2.69; 9.3.102; 10.1.20–21; 4.1.60. It is true, the human desire to be applauded (12.9.1) is not served immediately when artifices are employed unnoticed, but “the reward comes after they have been carried to a successful termination” of the speech (12.9.4). 12. Psychologically, humility has an appealing effect, for “people have a natural prejudice in favor of the weak who are struggling” (4.1.8–9, 11; cf. further 11.1.15–17). Quintilian’s comment about the lack of humility and the intellectual vainglory of some orators is timeless (2.3.8–9; cf. 2.12.3–11): “The less talented a man is, the more he will strive to exalt and dilate himself. . . . As for those whose style is inflated or degenerate, and whose language reveals a passion for high-sounding words, or labors under any other form of affectation, in my opinion they suffer from weakness . . . like bodies swollen with disease. . . . The worse a speaker is, the harder he will be to understand.” 1.8.18–19: Furthermore, “it is a sign of . . . hollow pomposity to ferret out everything that has ever been said on the subject even by the most worthless writers. . . . Who pores over every page even though it be wholly unworthy of reading, can as well devote

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1.3. Identification with Content and with Emotions To be “good” in the specificity of the rhetorical situation finally means that the orator is totally convinced by the content of which he tries to persuade the audience. “However we strive to conceal it, insincerity will always betray itself, and there was never in any man so great eloquence as he would not begin to stumble and hesitate as soon as his words ran counter to his inmost thoughts.” Honesty wins over the heart (12.1.29–31). Also the speaker needs genuinely to feel in himself the sentiments he wants to evoke in the audience; his inmost self needs to be steeped in these emotions in the moment of his speaking. Will the judge “shed tears if the pleader’s eyes are dry?” “Fire alone can kindle.”13 In order to ignite the audience, the orator, when speaking, has to imagine the contents of his speech in a most animated way and to incorporate these vivid imaginations (fantasivai) into his feelings (in adfectus recipienda); “our inmost (pectus) makes us eloquent” (10.7.14–15; as well as 6.2.29–32; 11.3.62). From there alone emerges electrifying verve. Therefore, also when the orator presents previously prepared thoughts, he needs to make sure that the authentic feelings that he had when writing can show the same heat when he delivers the speech and that those feelings have not cooled down between writing and presentation (10.7.14).

2. Authenticity of the Speech: Visualization as a Means to Convince Discussing authenticity that wins over the audience, Quintilian concentrates not only on the orator’s personality, but, of course, also on the speech itself. Every written or spoken text becomes particularly authentic when it uses the method of visualizing. The objects of the speech need to be presented before the listener’s eyes in most graphic and concrete ways so that they become incarnate in the words.14 The speaker needs to enable the audience to “form mental pictures (imagines) of the objects”;15 therefore, he should intently observe nature (naturam intueamur, hanc sequamur 8.3.71), so that everything he says seems drawn from life and authentic. In this way,

his attention to the investigation of old wives’ tales. The commentaries of the grammatikoi are full of such dead weight!” Nevertheless, one should avoid false modesty, which is a concealed form of ostentatiousness (illa in iactatione perversa); we see it when rich persons call themselves poor or an eloquent orator claims to be totally inexperienced (11.1.21). 13. 6.2.26–29. Similarly, 11.1.56 or 6.2.34–36: “When we desire to awaken pity [for clients], we must actually believe that the ills of which we complain have befallen our own selves, and must persuade our minds that this is really the case. . . . For a brief time, we must feel their suffering as though it were our own.” Quintilian confesses: “I have often been so much moved while speaking that I have not merely been brought to tears, but have turned pale and shown all the symptoms of genuine grief.” Similarly Cicero, De Orat. 2.45.189–90; Horace, Ars poetica 102. The speaker, however, should avoid irascibility, for, even when it is genuine, it blocks rational thinking, carries him away to scolding, and sets the judge against the speaker (6.4.10). 14. In the fantasivai mentioned above; 10.7.15. Cf. 6.2.32. 15. 8.3.64; cf. also 8.3.88 (visionibus); 12.10.43.

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the audience is won over, for “the mind is always readiest to accept what it recognizes to be true to nature” (8.3.71). As he often does, Quintilian leaves it to his master Cicero to supply examples: “I seemed to see . . . some reeling under the influence of the wine, others yawning with yesterday’s potations. The floor was foul with wine smears, covered with wreaths half withered and littered with fish bones.”16 “There on the shore stood the praetor, the representative of the Roman people, in his slippers, robed in a purple cloak, a tunic streaming to his heels, and leaning on the arm of this worthless woman.”17 Enargeia (vivid illustration) is possible when things are described in a way that they “seem to be clearly seen with the eyes (cerni). For oratory fails to reach its full effect . . . if its appeal is merely to the hearing.” The audience needs to get the impression that the objects of the speech are “displayed in their living truth to the eyes of the mind (oculis mentis).”18 We have become accustomed to seeing the Roman imperial culture as an oral culture in which the written did not rank first.19 Quintilian to some extent confirms this impression. He advises, for example, never to peek at a prepared sheet of paper during an impromptu speech, because verve and momentum would get lost. During the delivery of the speech, “what is written ties down the mind” (12.9.17–18). One should not summarize a hammered-out written speech in keywords on a slip of paper and then, during the oral presentation, keep this cheat sheet within reach. Such a crutch slows down the mental momentum rather than giving it wings. In addition, the trust in written aids seduces one to become lazy in memorizing.20 “Once we have committed a thing to writing, we cease to guard it in our memory and lose it because of the feeling of [written] security.”21 However, this impression should not lead us to confuse orality with a culture that is geared to the sense of hearing. Drawing from his long experience in the lecture room and on the forum, Quintilian repeatedly demonstrates that the ancient psyche was primarily visually oriented. Below we will discover this especially in his teachings about human memory. The difference from today is simply that what was “seen” was not printed on paper or on digital screens, but most often imprinted into the brain’s memory instead. Our mnemonic brain areas have lost a lot “because of the feeling of [written] security” (see 11.2.9 above). Luke’s court official of the Candace, seated in his chariot and reading Isaiah aloud to himself (Acts 8:30), does not confirm an auricular culture, but only dem16. 8.3.66: Cicero, Frgm. Orat. 6.1 Schol. 17. 8.3.64: Cicero, Verr. 5.33.86. 18. 8.3.61–62, emphasis added. In 9.1.27, cf. “setting forth our facts in such a striking manner that they seem to be placed before the eyes as vividly as if they were taking place in our actual presence” (quasi gerantur sub adspectum paene subiectio). Similarly, 9.1.45; 9.2.40; 4.2.123. In a broader sense, also the mimesis technique belongs here: the speaker enthrals and conquers the hearts by vividly impersonating characters and imitating ways of life or manners of speaking (morum ac vitae imitatio; 9.1.30, 45). 19. Cf., e.g., Paul J. Achtemeier, “Omne Verbum Sonat: The New Testament and the Oral Environment of Late Western Antiquity,” JBL 109 (1990): 3–27. 20. 10.7.32. According to 11.2.45, the same is true for the trust in stage prompters. 21. 11.2.9, a reference to Plato, Phaedr. 275a.

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onstrates the commonly used trick, documented also by Quintilian,22 of enhancing concentration by reading aloud. For the eunuch, this concentration technique was all the more advisable as he is described as having a hard time understanding what he read (Acts 8:31).

3. Emotionalizing as the Most Effective23 Means to Conquer the Listener In order to stir up emotions and fervor, the speaker generally turns to the style of the genus grande (aJdrovn), the “grand and forcible” (12.10.58–62): a river that sweeps along rocks “does not tolerate a bridge,”24 finds the limits of its shores on its own, and, thundering along, carries the judge away with it. The latter will feel sympathy or wrath; he will pale or weep; he will follow the speaker “wherever he sweeps him from one emotion to another and no longer asks merely for instruction” (12.10.62; cf. 6.2.3). However, also the refined and crafty25 figures of speech influence the feelings of the listening judge if they remain unnoticed (9.1.19–21): “There is no more effective method of guiding the emotions (adfectus nihil magis ducit). For if the expression of brow, eyes and hands has a powerful effect in stirring the passions (ad motum animorum valent),26 how much more effective must be the ‘facial expression’ (vultus) [the style] of our speech itself.” No matter whether the speech with its figures tries to “win approval,” “to win favor . . . , to relieve monotony by variation of our language, or to indicate our meaning [about possibly embarrassing subjects] in the safest or most seemly way,” the feeling of the listener, secretly guided by means of the figures, goes along. As music with its different meters can put us in various moods, enliven or placate, so especially the artistic structure of the sentences also secretly leads the emotions. Artistic structure bestows special momentum to the thoughts—just as the throwing-sling does to the spear (9.4.9–10). Violent themes, for example, should be expressed in rough rhythms to make the listeners shiver (9.4.126); the accelerating pulse of the two-syllable iambs would be effective, for example (9.4.136). In order to radiate solidity, the speaker who wants to present evidence needs to put his proofs on metrical feet that walk along energetically and rapidly and mix short syllables with— less frequent—long ones (9.4.135, 138). 22. 11.2.33 (exitandus est voce); see below for more details. 23. According to 6.2.2, 5–6; 5.8.3; 4.1.14; 3.5.2, nothing can lend more clout to a speech than influencing the feelings of the audience. “There is some advantage to be gained by pleasing our audience and a great deal by stirring their emotions” (5.8.3). “As soon as [the judges] begin to be angry, to feel favorably disposed, to hate or pity, they begin to take a personal interest in the case” (6.2.6). 24. Virgil, Aen. 8.728. 25. See note 11 above, and cf. 10.1.20–21: Often we see speeches “whose merits are deliberately disguised. The orator frequently . . . sets a trap.” 26. How much facial expressions, body posture and the tone of the voice, its rising, lowering and modulating, influence the emotions of an audience, is also reflected in 9.3.2; 4.2.77; 11.3.64, 67, 116, 170 (162, 166, 169); 1.10.25, 27, 31f.; (1.11.12).

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Fervor is expressed in word figures such as asyndeton and brachylogy. They allow articulating thoughts more energetically and insistently (9.3.50–54). Feelings are particularly well kindled by means of prosopopoeia or impersonations, that is, fictive direct speeches that the orator, when pleading before the court, puts into clients’ mouths: “The judge seems no longer to be listening to a voice [such as the lawyer’s] bewailing another’s ills, but to hear the voice and feelings of the unhappy victims themselves.”27 Also without prosopopoeia, the orator stirs affects as long as he allows himself to be moved and harbors genuine feelings himself.28 If he cannot, the speaker’s influence on the audience’s emotions can at least be enforced by figures that rely on dissimulation (simulatione). The orator then pretends to be angry, delighted, timid, astonished, or grim (9.2.26). But these feelings should be simulated as “authentically” as possible (5.12.9).29 Anger, for example, can be well expressed by means of aposiopesis, a sudden breaking off in the middle of a sentence (9.2.54), shame, on the other hand, by means of an ellipsis, by decently omitting an embarrassing word (9.3.59–60). Equally long and similar-sounding sentences should be avoided whenever anger, horror, disgust, or pity should be felt by the audience (9.3.102). When compassion and pity are evoked,30 Quintilian advises, along with his master Cicero, not to let this effect last too long. As soon as the climax of this emotion is reached, the speaker needs to turn to something else. Nobody is willing to bemoan somebody else’s misery for a long time. “If we spend too much time over such portrayal our hearer grows weary of his tears.” The effect produced falls flat. Nothing dries so quickly as tears.31 An effective means of persuading, finally, is to infuse fear of evil, which is more potent than evoking hope of good (3.8.39–40; cf. 4.1.21; Aristoteles, Eth. Nic. 10.9.4). Positive feelings can be roused by means of entertainment, of creating pleasure (12.10.43–48):32 Often delectatio wins over the audience (48: delectatione persuadent), provided that the entertaining rhetorical embellishments are not used too frequently lest they mutually destroy their own effects (12.10.46).33 Quintilian ranks utilitas before entertainment, but, like Cicero, he acknowledges the useful role of entertain27. 6.1.25–27; 4.1.28. In 9.2.58–59, see also the emotion-evoking techniques of ethopoeia/mimesis. 28. See section 1.3 above. 29. Cf. also 11.3.61–62, 156. In note 9, we already saw that Quintilian can portray a vir bonus as not completely honest; but he does not problematize this tension. At the end, in another context, we will encounter the same disaccord again. 30. This can also be achieved nonverbally: wounds are bared, abused bodies uncloaked, the defendant is presented in pitiable attire, or his parents and children are summoned, all visibly suffering from the trial (6.1.30; 4.1.28). 31. 6.1.27–29; Cicero, De Inv. 1.56.109; Ad Her. 2.31.50. The pity-evoking effect also falls flat when the speaker in the same moment tries to display self-confidence and artistic eloquence (11.1.50, 52, 54). 32. Making the audience laugh (6.3.1–112) is only one way of creating pleasure; in fact, most rhetorical ornaments please the audience. Laughing though not only evokes positive feelings, it also distracts the judge from the facts if so desired. Or it can help him to overcome fatigue and mental repletion, thus reviving his interest (6.3.1). 33. Cf. in note 10 above the advice to use artifices only moderately. In addition, 8.6.42 criticizes the mistake of wordiness, which reminds of “an army that has as many camp-followers as soldiers; it has doubled its numbers without doubling its strength.”

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ing: The orator helps his client when the audience applauds the enjoyable speech (12.10.45). If the rhetorical ornaments make the audience “listen gladly, their attention and their readiness to believe what they hear are both increased; most often they are won over by the very fact of being entertained, and sometimes even transported by admiration.”34

4. Creativity of the Audience—as a Means to Involve the Listeners and in this Way to Win Them Over Quintilian does not know the literary critical term of Leerstelle (“empty space”), but he knows what it stands for35—in all its ambivalence. The Leerstelle can particularly help to win over an audience. Quite a number of first-century listeners were fond of opaque formulations: “The fact that they can provide an answer to the riddle fills them with an ecstasy of self-congratulation, as if they had not merely heard the phrase, but invented it” (8.2.21). The hearer is won over by being drawn into identification with the inventing orator. In 8.5.12, Quintilian pulls an example of veiled speech from the repertoire of declamation themes. It illustrates how much, in rhetorical schooling, these themes could be psychologically loaded: A woman repeatedly bought her brother’s way out of gladiator fights. At another occasion, however, she chopped off one of his thumbs during his sleep. The brother sued her, and she defended herself by using an opaque formulation: “You deserve to have an intact hand.” The rhetoric professor’s question for the students is: What is the noema, the unspoken underlying thought with which the listeners have to fill the Leerstelle? Answer: You deserve to have an intact hand in order to fight for your life in the gladiators’ arena (ut depugnares), i.e., I repeatedly saved your life. So what, why do you sue me?

34. 8.3.5; cf. 5.14.35; 4.2.46; 1.8.11. According to Quintilian’s experience, the most advantageous place to stir emotions is the last part of the speech. Now the judge definitely has to be won over. The prooemium is the second best spot, but there the speaker has to move more cautiously, just enough to find access to the hearts of the listeners (in animum) and to make them “benevolent, curious and receptive” (4.1.5; 6.1.9–14, 51–52; 7.1.10; cf. 6.4.22; 11.3.170; 4 prooem. 6; 4.1.14, 28; 4.2.112, 115, 120). However, the speaker’s task is not only to stir desired emotions, but also to extinguish undesired ones, for example, to dissolve anger, hatred, or pity by means of a joke (6.1.46; 6.3.9–10; cf. 4.1.29) or to allay fears (2.16.8; 4.1.20, 51). Quintilian’s teachings about the affects represent the then-mainstream rhetorical education, which treated the affects merely as a means to influence the hearers. Aristotle’s concept of the affects (Rhetor. 2.1–11), in contrast, was more impressive, as it was part of an overall anthropological conception. For Aristotle, the affects were connected to the nonrational capability of “striving” and “wanting” as well as to the intellectual capacities, thus building a unifying bridge between both sides of the personality. Furthermore, Aristotle developed a socio- and age-specific concept of the affects; he observed that they function differently in varied social and age groups. Cf. further Papadimitriu, Ethische und psychologische Grundlagen (note 4 above), 195–229. 35. Cf. only 2.13.13–14!

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As much as the speaker, the hearer needs to become active, too, so that meaning can be created—when the speaker uses bagatelles such as noema, synecdoche, metonymy, or antonomasia,36 or an allegory,37 or keeps quiet about something,38 or uses “dissimulation,” which means that “we say one thing and mean another,”39 or insinuation, when he “suggests more than is actually said,”40 or parables, such as Jesus did. The listener always has to cooperate and thus become a coauthor, a coauctor minor. According to Quintilian, it is exactly this gratifying role that wins him over. Quintilian reports (9.2.65, 68, 77, 79; 9.1.14) that the rhetorical strategy of the schema (in its narrow sense) was particularly popular in the first century c.e., even among ordinary people in the streets (vulgo). When a schema was used, the audience had to puzzle a little in order to discover the double meaning of a passage. But when the listeners detected the hidden, second meaning, they could pat themselves on the shoulders and be proud of their own cleverness. Because of their own contribution to the creation of meaning, they were easily persuaded by the text, more easily than if the text had conveyed its message in an unconcealed way.41 The successfulness of the psychological component—the audience gets a chance to flatter itself—explains why orators grew fond of the schema strategy. In modern literary criticism (in a short exception to saying I would not look at modern theories), Wolfgang Iser emphasizes in a surprising parallel42 that the activity that a Leerstelle requires of the listeners effectively underpins the credibility of the text because recipients generally are inclined to perceive as true and real what they themselves produce. “The empty spaces (Leerstellen) let the audience creatively participate in making sense of events.”43 They “make the text adaptable and enable the readers to make the extrinsic experiences of the texts their own when reading.”44 The quoted Quintilian passages in 8.2.21 and 9.1–2 show how close the Roman professor of rhetoric came to modern readers’ response criticism, which cannot get by without psychological insights either. However, danger also lurks in each Leerstelle: “The attention of the judge is not always so keen that he will dispel obscurities without assistance and bring the light of his intelligence to bear on the dark places of our speech. On the contrary, often he will have many other thoughts to distract him unless what we say is so clear that our

36. Cf. 8.5.12; 8.6.21, 23, 29. 37. Cf., e.g., 9.2.92. 38. Reticentia 9.1.31. 39. According to Quintilian, dissimulation is the most effective means of stealing into the minds of the audience: illa, quae maxime quasi inrepit in hominum mentes, alia dicentis ac significantis dissimulatio (9.1.29). A special case of dissimulation is irony; the orator means the exact opposite of what he says (cf., e.g., 9.1.43; 9.2.44–46). 40. Plus ad intellegendum quam dixeris significatio (9.1.28; similarly 9.1.45; 9.2.3 e[;mfasi"). 41. See, e.g., 9.2.71: The listening judge “believes in that which he thinks he has found out for himself.” 9.2.78: “The hearer takes pleasure in detecting the speaker’s concealed meaning, applauds his own smartness and regards the other person’s eloquence as a compliment to himself,” while the other is speaking. 42. “Die Appellstruktur der Texte,” in Rezeptionsästhetik: Theorie und Praxis, ed. Rainer Warning (Munich: Fink, 41993), 228–52, here 236. 43. Ibid. 44. Ibid., 249.

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words will thrust themselves into his mind. . . . Therefore, our aim must be . . . that he by no means can misunderstand” (8.2.23–24).

5. Examples from Paul’s Letters Within the deliberately narrow framework of this article, I leave it to the creativity of the readers to bring to mind the abundance of Pauline examples that would fit into the four categories treated so far. A few remarks must suffice. Point 4. In a 1990 study, I explained an example of the fourth category, the schema (sch'ma) in 1 Corinthians 1–4. Figured speech was the normal mode of discourse in Greek and Roman antiquity, not the exception.45 Point 3. The so-called letter of tears, 2 Corinthians 10–13, presents the classical Pauline example of emotionalizing.46 Also in the Letter to Philemon, Paul adroitly uses affects to calm Philemon’s anger toward Onesimus. As I have explained in my psychologically oriented commentary on Philemon, Paul capitalizes on the amicable feelings between him and Philemon and steps in as interceder between the slave and his master, thus deflecting the latter’s aggressive emotions toward Onesimus. Quintilian calls this a flectere (a deflecting) of the recipient’s agitation (6.1.9)—at first onto the surrogate object Paul, but ultimately onto Philemon himself, because Philemon could never vent anger onto his friend, brother, and spiritual father, Paul himself. Thus, internalization of aggressive feelings is the solution.47 Point 2. In regard to visualization, three exemplary quotations might suffice. In 2 Cor 12:7, Paul puts his physical handicap before the readers’ eyes: “A thorn was given me in the flesh, a messenger of Satan to beat me, to keep me from exalting myself.” “At Damascus, the governor under King Aretas was guarding the city of Damascus in order to seize me, but I was let down in a basket through a window in the wall and escaped his hands” (2 Cor 11:32–33). “To the present hour we hunger and thirst, we are in rags and buffeted and homeless, we labor, working with our own hands. . . . We have become like the rubbish of the world, the scum of all things” (1 Cor 4:11–13). Point 1. It hardly needs to be demonstrated that Paul was totally convinced by the content of what he wrote in his letters and that he did not feign the feelings that he verbalized (point 1.3.). Humility (point 1.2.) can be exemplified by 1 Cor 15:9: “I am the least of the apostles, and not worthy to be called an apostle, because I persecuted the church of God.” 45. “Theological Wisdom and the ‘Word About the Cross’: The Rhetorical Scheme in I Corinthians 1–4,” Interpretation 44 (1990): 117–31. See also F. Ahl, “The Art of Safe Criticism in Greece and Rome,” American Journal of Philosophy 105 (1984): 174–208; B. Fiore, “ ‘Covert Allusion’ in 1 Corinthians 1–4,” CBQ 47 (1985): 85–102; D. R. Hall, “A Disguise for the Wise: metaschmatismov" in 1 Corinthians 4:6,” NTS 40 (1994) 143–49; J. P. Sampley, “The Weak and the Strong: Paul’s Careful and Crafty Strategy in Romans 14:1–15:13,” in The Social World of the First Christians, FS W. A. Meeks, ed. L. M. White and O. L. Yarbrough (Minneapolis: Augsburg-Fortress, 1995), 40–52. 46. See my study of this text, entitled “Can Words Be Violent or Do They Only Sound That Way?,” at the end of this volume. 47. See in detail P. Lampe, “Der Brief an Philemon,” in N. Walter, E. Reinmuth, P. Lampe, Die Briefe an die Philipper, Thessalonicher und an Philemon, NTD 8/2 (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1998), 203–32. 

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The apostle Paul’s authenticity was based not only on the call and grace that he had received from the Lord himself at Damascus, where he had been granted seeing the last apparition of the risen Lord, as the congregations believed. It was also based on his success as a missionary; the Corinthian congregation itself, founded by him, served as a living letter of recommendation for Paul (2 Cor 3:3). Last but not least, his entire life, which, as a cruciform existence, conformed to the content of his preaching, that is, the crucified Christ (“I bear on my body the brand marks of Jesus” [Gal 6:17; cf. 1 Cor 2:1–5, as well as the catalogs of his sufferings, such as 1 Cor 4:9–13]), gave the apostle a peculiar authenticity that intrigues people even today, although we have nothing else left before our eyes but his letters. However, this very cross-formed existence (“my power is made perfect in weakness,” 2 Cor 12:9) could also offend opponents, such as those behind the collection of fragments called 2 Corinthians who took his cruciform existence and weakness as a reason to doubt his authenticity as an apostle. This document shows how important it was for Paul to restore this authenticity with the Corinthians—fortunately a successful restoration; otherwise he would have lost the Corinthian congregation. It does not make sense to increase and elaborate on the examples here. As Quintilian notes, if you add more camp followers to an army, you increase its numbers without augmenting its strength (8.6.42). What is important here is the foreseeable result that Pauline material easily fits into the framework of the four categories treated.

6. Creativity of the Orator—Psychological Factors Advancing or Impeding the Creative Process “It is an ordinance of nature that nothing great can be achieved quickly and that all the fairest tasks are attended with difficulty.”48 For the student of rhetoric, this translates into assiduous training, especially written style exercises. When Quintilian describes the creative process of writing, he pays attention to psychological aspects. (a) “We love all the offspring of our thought at the moment of their birth; were that not so, we would never commit them to writing. [For that very reason], we must, however, give them a critical revision, and go carefully over any passage where we have reason to regard our fluency with suspicion” (10.3.7). The best is “to put aside for a certain time what we have written, so that when we return to it after an interval it will have the air of novelty and of being another’s handiwork, for thus we may prevent ourselves from regarding our writings with all the affection that we lavish on a newborn child.”49 The question, however, is: how much revision, how much rasping is appropriate for an orator’s preparing a speech for a trial? He does not have time to age and grow gray hair in this situation. He is no Virgil, who allegedly wrote only a few verses a day. “Procras48. 10.3.4, alluding to Hesiod, Erga 289. 49. 10.4.2. Cf. also the dedication at the beginning of the first volume (2): “Following the precept of Horace who in his Art of Poetry (388) deprecates hasty publication and urges the would-be author‚ ‘To withhold his work till nine long years have passed away,’ I proposed to give [my books] time, in order that the ardor of creation might cool and that I might revive them with all the consideration of a dispassionate reader.”

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tination and anxious endeavor” are only allowed at the beginning of a rhetorical career. According to Quintilian, the torture of self-chastening (“They want to change everything!” “They consider it diligence to make writing really hard for themselves”) shows lack of confidence and ingratitude in regard to one’s own talent; finally, it condemns to silence.50 “To make any real progress, we need assiduous striving, not self-accusation” (ad profectum . . . opus est studio, non indignatione, 10.3.15). The goal is to become fast through continuous exercising, with the principle being: “Write quickly and you will never write well, write well and you will soon write quickly”; “speed will come with practice” (10.3.9–10). But, then, how much quickness in writing is good? As he often does, Quintilian advocates moderation: “We must . . . curb the horses that would run away with us. This will not delay our progress so much as lend us fresh vigor” (10.3.10). Translated into specifics, this bridling means “to exercise care from the very beginning and to form the work from the outset in such a manner that it merely requires to be chiseled into shape, not fashioned anew” (10.3.18).51 (b) The orator should learn to write with more speediness not only by assiduous training, but also by concentrating. That is, he should not “stretch out and stare at the ceiling,” mutter some thoughts under his breath and just wait to see what happens (10.3.15). To discipline oneself in the art of concentrating implies that “we must not fling aside our notebooks at once, if disturbed by some noise, and lament that we have lost a day” (10.3.28). In late-first-century Rome, Quintilian tried to stamp Roman discipline onto intellectual activity, thus opposing artists’ hypersensitivity that came along with Greek education. “We must make a firm stand against such inconveniences and train ourselves so to concentrate our thoughts that we rise above all impediments to study. If only you direct all your attention to the work that you have in hand, no sight or sound will ever penetrate to your mind” (10.3.28). Quintilian bases this optimism on everyday experience: When we go for a walk, it can happen that our thoughts are struck by a fascinating idea. Then suddenly, without an effort of will, we may not see the people around us in the street anymore—or even get lost in the streets of the city (10.3.29). Because the human psychic capability to filter out perceptions and thereby to concentrate can be triggered without effort of will, Quintilian concludes that it also can be activated deliberately (non consequemur idem, si et voluerimus? 10.3.29). In the middle of busy street and forum crowds, even during a dinner party, the orator needs to learn to dedicate such moments of isola-

50. 10.3.9–12. Similarly 12.10.77: The timidity that tantalizes the speaker to change his words over and over again will never lift him up to speaking powerfully. Further 10.4.3–4: “There are some who return to everything they write with the presumption that it is full of faults and, assuming that a first draft must necessarily be incorrect, think every change an improvement and make some alterations as often as they have the manuscript in their hands. They are, in fact, like doctors who use the knife even where the flesh is perfectly healthy. The result . . . is that the finished work is full of scars, bloodless. . . . No! Let there be something in all our writing which, if it does not actually please us, at least passes muster, so that the file may only polish our work, not wear it away. There must also be a limit to the time that we spend on its revision.” Quintilian consoles the carvers: “Even great authors have their blemishes” (10.2.15). 51. Building anew is painful. The damages done by “the superficiality resulting from the speed with which the matter was thrown together” can be repaired only in time-consuming and laborious work; the raw material (silva) that some writers, “in the heat and impulse of the moment,” threw on paper has to be remodelled, its words and rhythms corrected (10.3.17).

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tion to concentrated reflection—such as Demosthenes practicing on the beach the art of focusing, pondering his speeches in the noisy boom of the ocean’s surf. Thus trained, his concentration also held up when speaking in the drone and buzz of the city’s assembly (10.3.30). (c) When formulating and experimenting with word order and rhythm, it is advisable “repeatedly to go over what we have just written.” Only then “the warmth of thought which has cooled down while we were writing it down is revived anew and gathers fresh impetus from going over the ground [i.e., the previously written text] again” (10.3.6). Even the choice of writing material helps to maintain the warmth and the impetus of thought. Wax tablets, not parchment, should be chosen. With parchment, one often has to dip the pen into ink, thus halting the hand, and the flow of the thoughts loses momentum (10.3.31). (d) Quintilian opposes the dictating of thoughts, which is also practiced by the apostle Paul (Rom 16:22). Quintilian has several reasons. •

•

•

When the stenographer wants to hurry on, “we feel ashamed to hesitate or pause, or make some alteration, as though we were afraid to display such weakness before a witness. As a result, our language tends not merely to be haphazard and formless, but in our desire to produce a continuous flow, we let slip positive improprieties of diction” (10.3.19–20). On the other hand, when the stenographer is too slow, “our speed is checked.” By the delay, which is annoying and sometimes makes us angry, “the thread of our ideas is interrupted” (10.3.20). We saw (above, c) how important it is to keep the momentum alive, “the heat and impetus of the moment” (10.3.17). The impetus of the moment often is supported by bodily movement. The mind is animated when the author, trying to invent thoughts, lets his hands, arms, and facial expressions move more freely, for example, lifts his hand, frowns, hits his chest or hip with his palm, knocks his knuckles on the desk, or chews his nails. “All this is ridiculous unless we are not alone” (10.3.21).

(e) Thus, seclusion, deep silence, best at night with books by the oil lamp, is the ideal environment for creativity, when nobody is looking over the shoulder, no critics are present yet, and nothing distracts (10.3.22, 25, 27). However, Quintilian sneers at solitary working outdoors, somewhere in pleasant nature. He visits lovely forests and picturesque rivers and enjoys the song of the birds in order to relax, not to concentrate and strain his brain. “Whatever causes us delight must necessarily distract us from the concentration due to our work” (10.3.22–24). He admits that many contemporaries disagree on this point. For them, “the freedom of the sky and the charm of the surroundings” inspire mind and soul. (f) “Sometimes the best thoughts break upon us at a time when we cannot insert them in what we currently are writing.” Therefore, the author, when writing a speech, always should leave some free space on the tablet or papyrus for making notes about such ideas. If we do not jot down these ideas instantly, we forget them. Or we try to

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imprint them in our memory, but then we are distracted from the train of thoughts that we just were in the process of inventing. Jotted down on free space, they are conserved, and later will be placed somewhere else in the speech (10.3.33). (g) With Roman discipline, Quintilian finally fights the author’s natural laziness. “We must not give way to pretexts for sloth. For if we suppose that we can approach our studies only when we are fresh, cheerful and free from all other care, then we shall always find some excuse for idleness” (10.3.29).52 Quintilian knows the open flanks of the human psyche and its mechanisms of rationalization.

7. The Memory as Thesaurus Eloquentiae53 7.1. Training Methods before the Delivery of the Speech We train the memory by (a) “at first learning only a little at a time, in amounts not sufficient to create disgust.” Then slowly we increase the amount, “every day a few lines,” so that the increase of pain is not sensed (11.2.41; 10.6.3). In other words, we need to trick ourselves when fighting our natural dislike of necessary labors.54 (b) Quintilian’s advice to memorize poetry first, then artistically, rhythmically constructed prose, and only then plain prose, is a trick, too, because it preprograms initial feelings of success (11.2.39, 41). Poetic verses are easier to learn by heart than prose, and within prose, the rhythmically constructed texts are less strenuous (11.2.39). Quintilian observes this phenomenon; he does not try to explain it. (c) As the pinnacle, one has to learn by rote the most difficult texts to memorize: the less rhythmically structured ones, not akin to ordinary speech, texts from legal authors, for instance. “For passages intended as an exercise should be more difficult (difficiliora) in character” than the more rhythmically, artistically constructed court speeches for which the orator exercises. Only more difficult exercises “make it easy to achieve the end for which the exercise is designed.” In the same manner, ath52. Another mistake abetting laziness is not to leave enough empty space for later corrections when writing. Improvements are left undone because of lack of room on the manuscript (10.3.32). 53. For this expression, see 11.2.1. Quintilian’s elaborations about memory again have a limited scope. They aim solely at giving the student enough technical skills to memorize things easily. Other possible subjects of teachings about memory (collective and cultural memory, reminiscence, etc.) are left untouched. It might seem that the memory theme is irrelevant for Paul, because his letters were always delivered by someone else. However, to be able to dictate long letters such as Romans or 1 Corinthians (see Rom 16:22) presupposes that Paul premeditated these texts and their compositions before dictating. Paul’s dictations came close to the delivery of speeches! They required memory skills. In addition to premeditated, long letter texts, Paul had many more or less fixed text modules on various themes stored in his memory on which when dictating he could draw in different contexts at discretion and which he then adapted to the specific purposes of a letter. E.g., the midrash 1 Cor 10:1–12; 1 Corinthians 13; Phil 2:6–11; traditional formulas such as 1 Cor 15:3–7; 11:23–25; Rom 1:3–4 or set pieces such as the body image (1 Corinthians 12; Rom 12:4–5) or the Abraham motif (Galatians 3; Romans 4). For the use of topics and maxims by Paul, see, e.g., R. A. Ramsaran, “Paul and Maxims,” in Paul in the Greco-Roman World, ed. J. P. Sampley (Harrisburg, Pa.: Trinity Press International, 2003), 429–56, and the bibliography there. 54. Cf. further 11.2.41: From the outset, speakers need to eradicate aversion “to read and re-read what they have written or read, a process which we may compare to chewing the cud.”

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letes train by carrying weights of lead in their hands, although in the actual contests their hands are empty (11.2.41–42; cf. Heb 12:1). In pedagogics, too, the conclusion a maiore has a certain validity.55 (d) Today we still are familiar with the trick of memorizing a text immediately before we fall asleep at night. Quintilian observes: “It is a curious fact, of which the reason is not obvious, that the interval of a single night will greatly increase the strength of the memory. . . . Things that could not be recalled on the spot are easily recollected the next day. Time itself, which is generally accounted one of the causes of forgetfulness, actually serves to strengthen the memory” (11.2.43). Quintilian tries to explain the phenomenon: During sleep, the memory rests from the labor and its fatigue, which was responsible for the failure on the previous day. During the night, the power of recollection (recordatio), “the most important element of memory,” “ripens” and “matures” (11.2.43). (e) A well-known method of increasing memory power when learning lists by heart is to associate the various topics of the speech with localities (11.2.17–22). The orator chooses a spacious and multifaceted real locality, for instance, a house with many rooms or a town. When taking a walk through the house or town, he commits significant items in the rooms or places (topoi) in town to memory. He then repeats this list from memory over and over until he does not stumble anymore (“statue in the hall, pool in the atrium,” etc.). This framework needs to be firmly anchored in the memory, because, as a clever mnemonic framework, it will have to carry the burden of other things later. The orator then condenses individual topics or sections of his speech material into specific terms (e.g., “seafaring”),56 and, if possible, visualizes these as symbols (e.g., “anchor”). In his mind, he then attaches these symbols or terms to the external topoi of the locality, for example, “statue with anchor,” or simply “statue seafaring.” In this way, he imprints the speech materials into his memory while he, in his mind, envisions himself walking through the external locality. Instead of the real locality, he can, of course, also make up a locality, to whose details he affixes the topics of the speech when practicing it. This method shows again how much Quintilian worked with visualizations. Apparently, most ancient orators relied on a visual, not an acoustic memory. 11.2.34 states: “If we attempt to learn by heart from another person reading aloud, . . . the process of learning will be slower, because the perception of the eye adheres more [in the memory] than that of the ear” (acrior est oculorum quam aurium sensus). However, this method, useful for learning listed topics, also has limits (11.2.24– 26) when one has “to memorize a continuous speech. For thoughts do not call up the same images as [listed] topics; such symbols require being specially invented for them.”57 Plausible images cannot always be found. To know the catalog of individual topics of a speech (seafaring, pirates, etc.) is not the same as memorizing the speech 55. Similarly 2.7.3. Or 10.5.15–16: Whoever wants to plead in court also should practice composing poetry and history accounts lest his arm become stiff and his mind dull in the everyday verbal fights in the forum. 56. “In cases of forgetfulness, one single word will serve to restore the memory” (11.2.19). 57. Quintilian’s critique of the symbol method is confirmed by modern research: F. L. Müller,

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itself. Therefore, Quintilian gives alternative suggestions for the word-by-word memorizing of a longer speech: (f) The text needs to be broken down into sections, not too short though, lest it become fragmented. It needs to be imprinted section by section into the memory (11.2.27). (g) Symbolic markers should be used for portions that the orator has difficulty keeping in mind. In the best case, they can be associated with the content of thoughts (e.g., an anchor for a passage dealing with maritime trade). They stimulate the memory. However, Quintilian even uses markers that have no relation to the content, for example, a ring that he changes from the usual finger to another or around which he ties a string; it “reminds us of the reason for doing so” (11.2.28–30). (h) When an unknown person’s name needs to be remembered, it helps to associate a well-known person of the same name. Names with a meaning, for example, Ursus and Crispus, are easily kept in mind when simply a bear (ursus) or a curly head (crispus) is imagined (11.2.30–31). (i) When practicing by heart, it is useful always to use the same wax tablets on which the text originally was written. The student sees—again the visual memory is addressed—“not only the pages in front of the mind’s eye, but almost as well the individual lines themselves, and at times he will speak as though he were reading aloud.” Secondary changes in the manuscript, which disturb the optical evenness of the writing, might be esthetically ugly, but prove to be beautiful in a mnemotechnic sense, because they are useful markers for the eye (11.2.32). (j) Silently learning by heart should be avoided because it tempts the thoughts to stray. Our voice keeps us alert and concentrated “so that the memory may profit from the double effort of speaking and listening. But our voice should be subdued, rising scarcely above a murmur” (11.2.33). This reconfirms the visual fixation. The speaking does not serve to imprint the text into the memory through the ear; it simply keeps the mind focused (exitandus est voce).58 (k) Lest time is wasted, primarily the portions that do not yet stick well in the memory should be rehearsed. But even “the mere fact that these passages once slipped our memory usually makes us ultimately remember them with special accuracy” (11.2.35). (l) A teacher such as Quintilian has a holistic, even psychosomatic approach: In order to succeed when memorizing, we should not only have “a head free from other thoughts,” but also “a healthy physical condition and a well-regulated digestion!”59

7.2. Memory Activities during the Delivery of the Speech There also is a middle road between a speech that was written down word for word and then memorized and “the gamble of the impromptu speech” (10.6.1). Quintilian Kritische Gedanken zur antiken Mnemotechnik und zum Auctor ad Herennium (Stuttgart: Steiner, 1996), 9f., 73–77. 58. People who do not need help to concentrate read silently. For references documenting silent reading, see Carsten Burfeind, “Wen hörte Philippus?“ ZNW 93 (2002): 138–45. 59. 11.2.35. Similarly 10.3.26–27: Good health, enough sleep, and simple food further the mental activity of writing.

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calls it the cogitatio: the premeditation of the speech material (10.6); it even allows preparing long lawsuit orations in a few hours (10.6.1). In your mind, not on paper, you plan the structure of the speech, you connect some crucial words that will be used, and “bring the general texture of your speech to such a stage of completion that nothing further is required beyond the finishing touches” by your writing hand (10.6.2). However, you actually do not write anything down, because the memory suffices. When you orally present the unwritten, premeditated speech, it is important not to look back nervously at the premeditated thoughts, and not to rely exclusively on the memory. If you look back in this way, you obstruct a free forward view. For if the flow of words ever runs dry, you should not dig around in your memory, but look straight ahead and invent something new (10.6.6–7).60 All oral presentations—whether of prewritten and memorized texts, or of premeditated speeches, or of off-the-cuff inventions—require a good short-term memory, which Quintilian describes aptly. As the eyes hurry far ahead of the feet when we go for a walk, in the same way, the mind, while we speak, already sets up the words that will be said a little later (10.7.8). “For our mental activities must range far ahead and pursue the ideas that are still in front. In the same proportion as the speaker pays out what he has in hand, he must make advances to himself from his reserve funds,” if he does not want to stumble (10.7.10). “While we are saying one thing, we must be considering something else that we are going to say: consequently, since the mind is always looking ahead, it is continually in search of something that is more remote. But whatever it discovers, it deposits by some mysterious process in the safe keeping of memory, which acts as a transmitting agent and which hands on to delivery what it has received from the imagination” of the mind (11.2.3). According to Quintilian, the same unconscious capability of looking ahead is used when we write and read. The mind grasps the words or even entire sentences in advance before they are pronounced or written down (10.7.11). Already children should practice this skill (1.1.34).

7.3. Short-Term versus Long-Term Memory Comparing short- versus long-term memory, we all have experienced “that we cannot recall what happened yesterday and yet retain a vivid impression of the acts of our childhood” (11.2.6; cf. 1.1.5; 1.2.20) and “that in the case of a slower type of mind, the memory of recent events is far from being exact” (11.2.42). Furthermore, “the very rapid memory [i.e., the short-term memory] as a rule quickly fades and takes its 60. Cf. also 11.2.48: If the memory that nature has given to a speaker is too porous or if time is lacking, it is useless to memorize word by word, because if only one word slips the mind, the speaker stumbles in an embarrassing way. According to Quintilian, these orators play it safer when they master the subject matter well in their heads and then do not look backwards at bits and pieces they memorized, but deliver a free speech. Furthermore, they may take comfort in the fact that words that they especially handpicked during their preparations usually are anchored firmly in the memory (11.2.49). For Quintilian, emotion explains this phenomenon: Everybody is reluctant (invitus; nec facile) to let go of something that he or she scrabbled hard for earlier.

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leave as though, its immediate task accomplished, it had no further duties to perform” (11.2.44). On the other hand, the long-term memory is to be applauded: “Things that have been implanted in the memory for some time have a greater tendency to stay there” (11.2.44; cf. 1.1.5). We are also familiar with the vexing experience “that some things we search for refuse to present themselves, but then eventually occur to us by chance” (11.2.7). In spite of these common weaknesses, the pedagogically oriented Quintilian keeps his optimism: if a more or less gifted orator assiduously exercises, preferably every day,61 he can confidently “rely on what he has premeditated and on what he has written out and learned by heart” (10.6.4; cf. 11.2.1, 40). “Even in the longest pleadings, the patience of the audience flags long before the memory of the speaker does” (11.2.8; cf. also 11.2.39).

7.4. Memory as a Means to Build the Audience’s Confidence What wins the audience over? This was the leading question. Quintilian replies in 11.2.46–47: “The memory will give us credit for quick-wittedness by creating the illusive impression (videamur) that our words have not been prepared in the seclusion of a study, but are due to the inspiration of the moment, an impression that is of the utmost assistance both to the orator and to his cause. For the judge admires those words more and fears them less that he does not suspect of having been specially prepared beforehand to outwit him” (nam et magis miratur et minus timet iudex, quae non putat adversus se praeparata). Therefore, it is a principle of pleading in court “to deliver certain passages, which [in our preparation] have been constructed with the utmost care, in such manner as to make it appear that they are but casually strung together, and to suggest that we are thinking out and hesitating over words that we have, as a matter of fact, carefully prepared in advance.”62 The orator, for Quintilian, is a vir bonus and gentleman, even if he sometimes sails into the heart of the audience with the jib of pia fraus (upright deceit).63

61. “There is nothing that is more increased by practice or impaired by neglect than memory.” Memorizing and premeditating should be practiced every day, regardless of how old one is (11.2.40–41). 62. Similarly 9.2.19: “Hesitation may lend an impression of truth to our statements, when, for example, we pretend (simulamus) to be at a loss where to begin or end, or to decide what especially requires to be said or not to be said at all.” Cf. further 9.4.143–44, 147; 4.1.54. 63. Cf. also notes 9 and 29 above.

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chapter 8

Paul as Poet Death and Life as Metaphors Michael Winger

!Egw; g;ar dia; novmou novmw/ ajpevqanon, i{na qew/' zhvsw, writes Paul in Gal 2:19: “For I through law died to law, that I might live to God.” The claim is enigmatic. “Died to law” is a metaphor, but for what? From the letter as a whole we know that Paul has, at least to some extent, broken his connection with Jewish law, but why should this be described as Paul’s death? Indeed the initial, grammatically unnecessary “I” in this verse is emphatic; Paul says, I myself have done this. And to die “through law”—what does that mean? The figure of life and death introduced in v. 19 is developed in v. 20: “It is no longer I that live; but Christ lives in me.” In all, the forty-two words of these two verses include “die” (ajpoqnh/vskw) once, “live” (zavw) five times (once in the negative), and “crucify with” (sunestauvrwmai) once. In itself brief, this is one of many passages in Paul’s letters that treat death and life. The terms qavnato", qanatovw, ajpoqnh/vskw, and zavw (death, to die, to live) are all used much more frequently in Paul’s undisputed letters than elsewhere in the New Testament, and usually as metaphors.1 Paul also uses some other terms related to death, such as σταυρόω or συσταυρόω (crucify, crucify with), in a metaphorical sense not used by other New Testament writers.2 These terms are not scattered uniformly through Paul’s letters, however, but concentrated in a few places such as Gal 2:19–20, including also discrete passages in 2 Corinthians, and, most extensively, Rom 5:12–8:13, actually a series of passages in which Paul’s metaphors of life and death vary, as we shall see. All of these passages present, to one degree or another, the kind of issues already noted in Gal 2:19. A metaphor raises standard issues: What does the metaphor suggest? What is its effect, contrasted with some other, more direct form of expression? How are metaphors to be understood?3 1. Conversely, when Paul speaks of his own literal death he typically uses other metaphors for this purpose, such as the clothing imagery of 2 Cor 5:1–9. 2. Not all death-related terminology is Pauline. For example, ajpokteivnw (to kill) appears only five times in Paul (including once in Ephesians), sixty-nine times elsewhere in the New Testament. 3. Defining metaphor presents a number of issues, but for this paper a simple definition will suffice:

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Interpreters of Paul’s letters do not agree on how to interpret particular metaphors, but they generally do agree on the goal of interpretation: to select a particular interpretation that fits the context of the metaphor, and thereby to translate the metaphor into a straightforward declarative statement that advances Paul’s argument.4 As Margaret E. Thrall puts it in her discussion of a metaphor in 2 Cor 5:17, “Each suggestion presents some difficulties; but a choice has to be made.”5 But does it? Thrall’s approach seems reasonable for reading an argument; it is natural to think that clarity is an aspect of argument, and metaphor is clarified when it is read as a kind of simple code, in which a metaphorical term x stands for some particular thing y. Yet this entails treating metaphors differently than is usual in other contexts. A reader of poetry does not translate it into prose, nor revise away

a figure of speech in which we understand a term to be used inconsistently with its literal sense. While the sharp literal/metaphorical distinction which this implies does not always exist, it fits the passages to be considered here. More will be said about the operation of metaphor as we proceed, but that goes beyond definition. For other definitions, see Janet Martin Soskice, Metaphor and Religious Language (Oxford: Clarendon, 1985), 15 (emphasis in the original), “that figure of speech whereby we speak about one thing in terms which are seen to be suggestive of another,” and similarly Aristotle, Poet. 21 1457b6, metafora; de; ejstin ojnovmato" ajllotrivou ejpiforav, “metaphor is the giving of a name which belongs to something else.” This is the writer’s perspective; the reader does not begin with what the writer is speaking of (and may not know what that is), but rather with the term that the reader sees does not fit. That perception starts everything. 4. Taking Gal 2:19 as an example, Hans Dieter Betz, Galatians; A Commentary on Paul’s Letter to the Churches in Galatia, Hermeneia (Philadelphia: Fortress, 1979), 122, understands “through the Torah I died to the Torah” to refer to the Torah’s part in bringing about salvation and thus ending its own role as a guardian (paidagwgov"), as described in 3:22–25. Ernest De Witt Burton’s interpretation, A Critical and Exegetical Commentary on the Epistle to the Galatians, ICC (Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1920), 132–33, is that because of his experience of the law, Paul no longer has any relation to the law as a legal system. For F. F. Bruce, The Epistle to the Galatians, NIGTC (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1982), 142–43, the law put Christ to death; believers died with Christ; thus they no longer have any relation to the law (however, there may also be a reference to the law leading Paul into the sin of persecuting the church). For J. Louis Martyn, Galatians, AB 33A (New York: Doubleday, 1997), 256–57, the law’s role in the crucifixion separated Paul from the law insofar as it “distinguishes holy from profane.” The interpretation of this verse is considered further below. Similarly, “It is no longer I that live, but Christ lives in me” (Gal 2:20) has been interpreted: “‘Christ lives in me’ means substantially the same as ‘I live by faith in Christ’ ” (C. K. Barrett, Freedom and Obligation: A Study of the Epistle to the Galatians [Philadelphia: Westminster, 1985],  20); “Christ” means the Spirit (Betz, Galatians, 124; Burton, Galatians, 137; Franz Mussner, Der Galaterbrief, HTKNT 9 (Freiburg: Herder, 1977], 182–83; Richard N. Longenecker, Galatians, WBC 41 [Dallas: Word, 1990], 93). These suggestions are not precisely wrong, but they rewrite Paul, using terms that he chose not to use, and closing out possibilities he left open. Note also James D. G. Dunn’s comment, The Epistle to the Galatians, HNTC (Peabody, Mass.: Hendrickson, 1995), 145: “The language is startling, and of course exaggerated.” Very well; but would one say of Milton or Keats that a figure he used was “exaggerated”? The term comes to mind only if one’s task is the absorption of a metaphor into a simple—and precise!—declarative sentence. Luther glosses Gal 2:20 in an interesting way: “Christ clings and dwells in us as closely and intimately as light or whiteness clings to a wall” (Martin Luther, Lectures on Galatians, 1525, Chapters 1–4, Luther’s Works 26 [Saint Louis: Concordia, 1963], 167). To explain Paul’s metaphor Luther employs his own, quite different metaphor. If metaphor requires translation it would be a remarkable tour de force to translate Paul’s and Luther’s in the same way—and yet Luther considers that they point to the same reality. 5. Margaret E. Thrall, A Critical and Exegetical Commentary on the Second Epistle to the Corinthians, ICC (Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1994), 1.426.

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its metaphors; in poetry, when a metaphor conveys or hints at multiple meanings it is valued for this, rather than distilled into some different, simpler or more precise form. In poetry, the substance of an expression is not taken to be separable from the expression itself. No one rewrites John Milton or Emily Dickinson or T. S. Eliot to make them plainer. If Paul’s metaphors are read differently, it is because Paul writes to a different purpose than the poets. In poetry, metaphorical puzzles may be tolerated or even valued; but does complexity—perhaps ambiguity or even confusion— serve an intent to persuade? Is it not better brought under control? And yet, Paul certainly chose metaphorical expressions, with all their complexity. I propose, therefore, to ask a different question: Is it true that metaphor functions differently in rhetoric than in poetry? Suppose we read Paul’s metaphors of life and death as poetic: how then would we understand them? What contribution would such poetry make to Paul’s rhetoric?6 The usefulness of this approach will depend chiefly on its results, but it is worth noting some theoretical support at the outset. While the division of texts into rhetoric and poetic goes back at least as far as Aristotle, who treats metaphor in both Rhet. 3 (especially 2.6–15 and 10.7–11.5) and Poet. 21, he does not appear to read metaphor differently in these fields; rather, in his Rhetoric he draws examples from Euripides and Homer.7 Janet Martin Soskice likewise sees a unified view of metaphor in Aristotle (and not the “substitution view” permitting the translation of a metaphor into an equivalent prosaic expression).8 Paul Ricoeur comments, “Let us say provisionally that the difference [between prose and poetry] lies not in the process but in the end that is envisaged.”9 Donald Davidson observes that in metaphor, “We imagine there is a content to be captured when all the while we are in fact focusing on what the metaphor makes us notice”; he adds, “There is no limit to what a metaphor calls

6. The division between poetry and rhetoric is imprecise. Aristotle understands rhetoric to be defense and accusation (Rhet. 1.1.1, 1354a), and poetry as a kind of representation (mimhvsi"; Poet. 1447a13– 16), functions that may overlap, and he notes that dialectic—the analysis of arguments—is another class (ibid.). Thus, we might understand one of Paul’s letters as serving all of these functions, and different parts as doing so to different degrees. Moreover, all of these terms refer to genres and not to fragments of discourse; any individual sentence could be employed in any of these genres. 7. Rhet. 3.11.2–4, 1411b.30–1412a.9. Aristotle places poihtikh'", along with comedy and music, within mimh'si", which may loosely be rendered as “imitation,” provided we understand that this is not simply a copying of reality but rather creative representation. Poet. 1447a.13–16; see Paul Ricoeur, The Rule of Metaphor: Multi-Disciplinary Studies of the Creation of Meaning in Language (Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 1977), 37–40. 8. Soskice, Metaphor and Religious Language, 10. On the appropriateness of reading ancient metaphors by modern standards, an interesting example is offered in David West, The Imagery and Poetry of Lucretius (Edinburgh: University of Edinburgh Press, 1969), 3: in the line that he translates “stirs up human life from the very bottom suffusing everything with the blackness of death” (funditus humanam qui vitam turbat ab imo omnia suffundans nortis nigrose), “Lucretius is obviously thinking of a clear pool or well with black mud at the bottom of it,” a point entirely missed by another translation, “utterly confounds the life of men from the very root.” See also Deborah Steiner, The Crown of Song: Metaphor in Pindar (London: Duckworth, 1986). 9. Ricoeur, Rule of Metaphor, 35.

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to our attention, and much of what we are caused to notice is not propositional in character.”10 How, then, should we be prepared to understand Paul’s metaphors? There have been many detailed studies of metaphor, among them those of Ricoeur, Soskice, and Davidson just mentioned, and from them I draw (provisionally) a few basic principles. Soskice calls attention to the open-ended nature of metaphor: “Each metaphor involves at least two different networks of associations.”11 “Associations” is a key term here, suggesting the indefinite nature of what a metaphor calls to mind. Similarly Ricoeur: “Metaphor’s power of reorganizing our perception of things develops from transposition of an entire ‘realm.’ ”12 Ricoeur illustrates this with the use of sound to represent visual experience; not simply two objects but two “realms” intersect—or “networks,” a term he too employs.13 Thus, the metaphor of death may be expected to evoke not a simple concept but a network of things associated with death. Does a metaphor then evoke every part of such a network? If so, it risks dissolution in vagueness, leaving no definite contribution to the passage where it appears. When effective, metaphors must do something else. For one thing, they catch the reader’s attention. Quoting Aristotle, Ricoeur writes, “People like what strikes them, and they are struck by what is out of the way.”14 He adds: “For this is the function of metaphor, to instruct by suddenly combining elements that have not been put together before.”15 In doing so, metaphors may be more than striking. As Soskice explains, “The interesting thing about metaphors, or at least about some metaphors, is that they are used not to redescribe, but to describe for the first time.”16 For example, “lamb of God,” or “son of God”: “The metaphor has to be used because something new is being talked about.”17 Extending the point beyond metaphor, the poet Louise Glück invites us to read poetry according to the principle that “the dream of art is not to assert what is already known, but to illuminate what is hidden.”18 She adds: “And the path to the hidden world is not inscribed by will”; clear, definite statements will not necessarily

10. Donald Davidson, “What Metaphors Mean,” in Pragmatics: A Reader, ed. Steven Davis (New York and Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1991),  504. Davidson’s essay is part of a large literature on metaphor in the fields of philosophy and linguistics, of which other representatives appear in Davis’s collection, at 485–539. Davidson is an exception to the general tendency of this literature to focus on propositional meaning. For other essays on metaphor, see Andrew Ortony, ed., Metaphor and Thought (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1993); Sheldon Sacks, ed., On Metaphor (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1978). 11. Soskice, Metaphor and Religious Language, 49 (emphasis added). 12. Ricoeur, Rule of Metaphor, 236. 13. Ibid., 244. 14. Ibid., 33; Rhet. 1404b.12 (following W. D. Ross, The Works of Aristotle [Oxford: Clarendon, 1924], vol. 11). 15. Ricoeur, Rule of Metaphor, 33. 16. Soskice, Metaphor and Religious Language, 89. 17. Ibid. 18. Louise Glück, “Education of the Poet,” in Proofs and Theories: Essays on Poetry (Hopewell, N.J.: Ecco, 1994), 7. Glück does not discuss the rhetorical use of metaphor, and might not agree that her analysis applies to a writer like Paul.

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take readers where the writer wishes them to go.19 Another suggestion of Glück is also instructive: “The source of art is experience, the end product truth, and the artist, surveying the actual, constantly intervenes and manages, lies and deletes, all in the service of truth.”20 That is, the artist writes out of experience, but not by giving a straightforward account of that experience; and one of the devices for manipulating experience in the interest of truth—for illuminating what is hidden—is metaphor. In many of the places where Paul speaks of life and death he writes either of his own life or of Christian life generally, so that the possibility of underlying personal experience is usually close at hand—only, to use Paul’s language (resembling Glück’s), it may be experience seen di! ejsovptrou ejn aijnivgmati—“in a mirror, in riddles.”21 Glück writes from the side of the poet, and viewing the matter as readers we should add a note about the importance in reading (not only writing) of what may loosely be described as imagination—the requirement that the reader enter the world evoked by the poet and apprehend or even construct this world by putting together a picture that has the greater meaning for the reader because of the personal effort and involvement required to attain it. I think there is some element of “Eureka!” in the appreciation of poetry, an effect lost if interpretation is arrived at by a shortcut. Of course—to return for a moment to the poet’s side—appeals to the imagination create the risk that a particular reader, or even most readers, will misconstrue what the poet intended. This is part of the bargain. To use metaphor means to invoke the imagination, and whoever invites that fierce spirit into the world must accept the consequences.22

19. Ibid. 20. Louise Glück, “Against Sincerity,” in Proofs & Theories, 34. Glück explains, in language suitable to Paul, that by “truth” she means “the embodied vision, illumination or enduring discovery which is the ideal of art” (ibid., 33). See also Emily Dickinson: Tell all the Truth but tell it slant— Success in Circuit lies Too bright for our infirm Delight The Truth’s superb surprise As Lightning to the Children eased With explanation kind The truth must dazzle gradually Or every man be blind— Emily Dickinson, in The Complete Poems of Emily Dickinson, ed. Thomas H. Johnson (Boston: Little, Brown, 1960), 506–7 [no. 1129]; Emily Dickinson, in The Poems of Emily Dickinson, ed. R. W. Franklin (Cambridge: Belknap, 1999), 494 [no. 1263]. Glück and Dickinson imply that this operation is deliberate, but contrast Plato: “For not by art do they say these things, but by divine power. . . . The god takes away their mind and uses them as servants” (Ion 534C). 21. Aristotle (Poet. 1458a22) warns against ai[nigma as the consequence of too much metaphor. As he describes it, however, ai[nigma (“attach[ing] impossibilities to a description of real things,” 1458a26) is inseparable from metaphor, and thus proper so long as not excessive—a way of avoiding banality while retaining clarity (1458a30). 22. See Ricoeur (Rule of Metaphor, 13): “The mass of images is beyond all voluntary control; the image arises, occurs, and there is no rule to be learned for ‘having images.’ One sees, or one does not see.” William Empson writes, “The reason why [particular] facts should have been selected for a poem is

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I propose to read Paul as an artist who made this bargain, thus accepting a lack of clarity, valuing open-ended meaning, retaining images without distilling them into propositions, in order to speak of something new, which he felt he could not convey more straightforwardly. I take the concept of Paul as an artist for a hypothesis, which I will explore here. On this hypothesis, several guidelines—some of them negative—suggest themselves for reading the metaphorical texts that lie before us: (1) they are likely to draw on a network of various associated ideas; (2)  they may lack single or definitive interpretations; (3) any paraphrase is liable to distort them; (4) suggestions may be more important than declarations; and (5) as a corollary, a metaphor need not always have the same effect. In short, I wish to explore whether it is productive to read the passages in which Paul employs metaphors of life and death as we would read poetry.23

Second Corinthians I begin with 2 Corinthians, and then take up Galatians and Romans. The order is not chronological, but groups Galatians with Romans because of their similarity of themes. The five passages on my list from 2 Corinthians are brief—three verses at most with the terms that concern us—and all employ these terms in opposing pairs, highlighting the contrast essential to their meaning: death/life, kill/make alive, die/ live, as well as the slightly more elliptical pair save/lose in 2:14. 24 But there are important differences. In 3:6–8, we have the well-known contrast between writing which kills—that is, the law given at Sinai—and spirit which makes alive:25 6

[God] has qualified us as ministers of a new covenant, not written but of spirit; for the writing kills, but the spirit makes alive. 7Now if the ministry of death, in letters carved on stone, came in such glory that the children of Israel could not look on Moses’ face because of the fading glory of that face, how much greater will be the glory of the ministry of the spirit?

left for [the reader] to invent; he will invent a variety of reasons and order them in his own mind. This, I think, is the essential fact about the poetical use of language” (Seven Types of Ambiguity [New York: New Directions, 1947], 25). 23. For a treatment of a different group of related metaphors in Paul’s letters, see Beverley R. Gaventa, “Our Mother Saint Paul: Toward the Recovery of a Neglected Theme,” Princeton Seminary Bulletin 17 (1996): 29–44, reprinted in Amy-Jill Levine, A Feminist Companion to Paul (Cleveland: Pilgrim, 2004), 85–97. 24. Note that all of these texts are within 2 Cor 2:14–6:13, usually (although not universally) considered to be from the same letter, even if other parts of 2 Corinthians are not. See generally Thrall, Second Corinthians, 47–49. 25. “Spirit” in Paul’s letters sometimes refers to the Holy Spirit, sometimes not; see, for example, the NRSV of 2 Cor 3:6: “not of letter, but of spirit; for the letter kills, but the Spirit gives life.” This must be determined from context, and not all agree; thus the NJB capitalizes both instances in this verse. For simplicity’s sake I leave “spirit” uncapitalized throughout, leaving the reader to judge the intended sense.

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At the simplest level we can say several things: physical death and life are not meant; death is understood as bad, life as good; moreover, this metaphor makes that contrast in the strongest terms, with no concession that in some respects the writing is good, or that the spirit may be imperfect or limited in its effect. Death and life offer an absolute contrast, each meaning in the strictest sense the absence of the other, so that any suggestion of a compound or mixture is ruled out. (Except in paradox; of which more later. The absolute opposition creates the possibility of paradox.) Elsewhere—using different language—Paul readily concedes that the relation of law and spirit is more complicated, and, at least by implication, that the spirit has limits; but not here.26 Further, the metaphor operates at an abstract level; that is, while we may assume that Paul refers to effects of the writing and of the spirit which are experienced by Christians, the metaphor he uses to describe these effects is not drawn from experience. All our personal experience is of life, none of death. The metaphor of 3:6–8 develops and sharpens the contrast between two writings presented in the closely related metaphor of 3:1–3: “You are our epistle . . . written not with ink but with the spirit of the living God, not on stone tablets but on tablets of hearts of flesh”—one epistle on lifeless stone and another on living hearts of flesh (although the terms “lifeless” and “living” are not used). Both of these writings are described as epistles from God (or Christ); the first is an allusion to the stone tablets given at Sinai, and the second to the law that, according to Jer 31:33 (LXX 38:33), the Lord declares he will write on his people’s hearts. Also in the background here is the Lord’s word to Ezekiel in 11:19–20, that he will replace the people’s heart of stone (again Sinai) with one of flesh, “that they may walk in my commandments. . . .” To this metaphor, the explicit death/life imagery of vv. 6–7 adds another layer, and it recasts Jeremiah’s and Ezekiel’s metaphorical contrast between law now engraved on stone and law that will be engraved on hearts into the absolute, death/life contrast we have noted.27 In one interesting and suggestive respect the metaphor of vv. 6–7 departs from the natural order, where there is passage from life to death, but not in the other direction; here, when the spirit supplants the writing it brings life to the dead (cf. Rom 4:17). This unnatural effect testifies to a powerful cause, surely God—or, in the language of 3:3, “the spirit of the living God.” There is also an implicit analogy with God’s resurrection of Jesus; in other places, as we shall see, this analogy is explicit. Then in 2 Cor 4:10–12 and 6:9 Paul exploits the stark opposition of life and death through paradox: 26. For the relation of spirit to law, see Rom 7:14, Oi[damen ga;r o{ti oJ novmo" pneumatikov" ejstin. (That Paul uses novmo" rather than gravmma here is significant, but the connection of gravmma to law in 2 Cor 3:6 is made clear by 3:7, referring to the tablets given Moses at Sinai.) For the limited effect of the spirit, see Gal 5:16, 25, where Paul must urge the Galatians to follow the spirit. It is not all-powerful. 27. In 3:1–2 the living epistle is said to be (a) a letter recommending Paul (sustatikh; ejpistolhv) and (b) the Corinthians themselves. Exactly how this works is not clear, partly because it is unclear whether the heart(s) on which the letter is written is Paul’s (so most manuscripts) or the Corinthians’ (so Codex Sinaiticus). It is probably best not to force consistency on these overlapping epistolary metaphors, but to take them separately: the Corinthians are an epistle demonstrating Paul’s ministry (v. 2); Christ has written on their hearts in place of the written law (v. 3), thus animating them and constituting them the epistle mentioned in v. 2. Neither the hearts nor the writing of v. 2 need be the same as those of v. 3.

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always carrying in the body the deadness of Jesus, so that the life of Jesus may also be displayed in our bodies. 11For we the living are always being delivered through Jesus to death, so that the life of Jesus may be displayed in our mortal flesh; so death works in us, but life in you. * . . . as dying, and behold we live.

6:9

*

*

Here death appears in a catalog of the sufferings of the apostles, exhibiting the apostles’ weakness in order to demonstrate the power of God (see 4:7). There are different degrees of paradox here; in 6:9 the apostles are dying, yet they live, which is not quite a contradiction; but in 4:10 they carry in their (living) bodies the death of Jesus— νέκρωσις, which does not mean dying but deadness—in order to display his life.28 One can interpret the paradox away, for example by identifying death with suffering and life with victory over suffering; but the possibility of translating Paul’s paradoxical formulation into one without paradox does not cancel out the paradox. The point of a paradox, however difficult it may be to discover, lies in what it adds to a nonparadoxical formulation. Paul declares that one cannot have Jesus’ life without his death. It is natural to think here of the crucifixion, without which there is no resurrection—another nice, nonparadoxical reading, which likely will have occurred to the Corinthians too—but Paul avoids this familiar terminology, and his paradox cannot be simply reduced to it.29 Any paradox suggests that the opposition it presents has somehow been transcended—transcended but not destroyed; the opposition remains in the language used to convey its transcendence. Thus, here (as in Rom 14:8–9), Paul suggests that life and death are not the poles of existence; yet he repeatedly invokes life and death in these verses, with a careful alternation of concepts (v. 10: nevkrwsi"/zwhv; v. 11: zw'nte"/qavnaton/zwhv/qnhth/'; v. 12: qavnato"/zwhv). Both the world of life and death

28. Nevkrwsi" is often taken to refer to Jesus’ execution; e.g., C. K. Barrett, The Second Epistle to the Corinthians, HNTC (New York: Harper & Row, 1973), 139–40; Alfred Plummer, A Critical and Exegetical Commentary on the Second Epistle of St Paul to the Corinthians, ICC (Edinburgh: T&T Clark, n.d.), 129; Walter Bauer et al., A Greek-English Lexicon of the New Testament and other Early Christian Literature, 3rd ed. [“BDAG”] (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2000), s.v. 1. But this shows insufficient attention to Paul’s language. In the first place, the lexical evidence for the sense “putting to death” is ambiguous; see the texts cited by BDAG, s.v. 1, and James Hope Moulton and George Milligan, The Vocabulary of the Greek Testament (1930; reprint, Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1980), s.v.; and note that neither H. G. Liddell and R. Scott, Greek-English Lexicon, 9th ed. with new supplement [“LSJ”] (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1996), s.v., nor G. W. H. Lampe, A Patristic Greek Lexicon (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1961), s.v., records this sense at all (LSJ, s.v. II, gives the sense in 2 Cor 4:10 as “death,” without further explanation). Second, according to 4:10 the apostles are “always carrying” the nevkrwsi" of Jesus, which implies a state, not an action. Finally, the full metaphor is decisive: nevkrwsi" is contrasted here to zwhv, a state. Paul could have spoken here of crucifixion and resurrection—he knew how to do that—but he did not. 29. Resurrection appears in 4:14, both the resurrection of Jesus and the coming resurrection of believers; the future resurrection is also anticipated in vv. 17–18. Barrett (Second Corinthians, 140) reads this future reference into vv. 10–12 as well, but these verses have a plain present reference: Paul refers twice to the manifestation of Jesus’s life in the apostles’ “bodies” and “mortal flesh” (vv. 10–11), the latter clearly meaning their present, unresurrected bodies, and concludes “death works [ejnergevtai, present tense] in us, life in you” (v. 12). The present tense presses the paradox.

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and the world beyond life and death are held firmly in view. Moreover, the causal link (asserted by i{na) between carrying death and displaying life assumes rather than challenges the meaning of these terms. We return then to this link, which in v. 10 is between the death and life of Jesus, but by v. 12 is expressed in terms of death and life, unqualified.30 If we read v. 12 as the climax of the passage, then the language of death and life has been used to emphasize what the Corinthians owe to Paul, with both Paul’s enabling sacrifice (= death) and the Corinthians’ consequent gain (= life) heightened not only by this language but by the links of death and life to Christ.31 I have saved for last consideration 2:14–16, the first but most complex metaphor of life and death in 2 Corinthians. In full, the passage reads as follows: 14

But thanks be to God, who always leads us in a triumphal procession in Christ, and makes known through us the odor of the knowledge of him in every place. 15For we are the fragrance of Christ for God32 among those being saved and those being lost, 16to the ones an odor from death to death, to the others an odor from life to life. And who is sufficient for these things? The final sentence of this passage might serve as an epigram for this study. Who indeed is sufficient for such things, what language is sufficient to describe them? In such a predicament, Paul naturally reaches out to metaphor—multiple, overlapping metaphors: the triumphal procession; being saved and being lost; odors of knowledge, of Christ, of death and life. Some interpreters find a hint of death already in v. 14, on the ground that it was customary following a triumphal procession to execute the captives whose presence gave evidence of the triumph—a further proof of the triumph.33 Yet a role for this here is doubtful. The end of this procession is not in view at all—it goes to “every place,” always—and in any case, that God’s triumph should be underscored 30. There are more ambiguities here than I can pursue. Verse 12 can also be read strictly in terms of the death and life of Jesus, but Paul’s language does not require this. And we can take the link to be not that death enables life but that displaying death displays life; the latter is what Paul says in vv. 10–11, but this could be because death enables life. A wide range of understandings is open to Paul’s audience, and, in keeping with the premises of this essay, my purpose is to keep them open, not close them off; for I think Paul has opened them. 31. Metaphor also plays a minor role in 2 Cor 5:14–15, which refers to the literal death of Christ and the literal life of believers, but adds in v. 14 that “all died” because Christ died for all. A straightforward interpretation of this metaphor appears in v. 15, where the believers’ death means the end of their life “for themselves,” and the reference to death emphasizes the extent to which believers are thereby remade. Here Paul does not connect the believers’ death to suffering, or to the “death of Jesus,” which 4:10–12 links to sufferings (the sufferings of the apostles, not of believers; in that passage believers are connected only to life, not to death). 32. tw/' qew/'. Usually this is translated as “to God,” which is grammatically sound but makes a confusing digression. The subject here is the effect of the apostles on those to whom they preach, not on God, as vv. 14 and 16 make clear. But all of this is done for God. 33. That was the Roman custom, according to Scott J. Hafemann, Suffering and the Spirit: An Exegetical Study of II Cor. 2:14–3:3 within the Context of the Corinthian Correspondence (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1986), 39. But see now Mary Beard, The Roman Triumph (Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 2007), 130: “In fact, more often than not, even the most illustrious captives are said to have escaped death.” Beard recognizes, however, that stories of execution were common (ibid., 140).

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by executing God’s apostles seems to me an unlikely thought. A metaphor does not bring to life every idea that might be associated with it, but only those that fit the context in which the metaphor is used.34 While death certainly figures in this passage, the execution of apostles does not. In this passage the metaphor of life and death is overlaid by a metaphor of odors. The interplay of the two is complex, the more so as each metaphor shifts within the passage. We begin with the odor of the knowledge of Christ, accompanying the triumphal procession of v. 14; incense may be thought of here, as incense might be used in such a processions.35 We might suppose that knowledge as an aroma evokes a concrete, physical source of pleasure; but the invocation of death in v. 16 suggests a less pleasant odor.36 In v. 15 Paul declares that the apostles are the fragrance of Christ, but it would be a mistake to see this as a shift in the metaphor; as Paul says in v. 14, the apostles are the means by which the knowledge of Christ is spread, and to refer to the latter by means of the former is simply metonymy. In v. 16 Paul gives the metaphor another twist; we find that this fragrance is perceived in opposite ways by different people. At the same time, the metaphor of odors is linked to that of life and death, first alluded to in v. 15, where Paul speaks of those being saved (sw/zomevnoi") and those being lost (ajpollumevnoi")—two terms which, like their English equivalents, sometimes though not always refer to death.37 It is tempting to see these groups of people as believers and unbelievers—unbelief thus being a kind of death—but though this is surely more or less correct, Paul’s account of what these terms refer to is more interesting. They describe, on the one hand, those who perceive the fragrance of Christ as an odor from death to death, and on the other, those who perceive it as an odor from life to life. It is interesting that Paul does not specify which group is which. Almost all translations fix this by specifying that those being saved receive the odor of Christ as a matter of life, and I take this to be right; but, where Christ is concerned, the literal terms life and death lose their usual clarity. Indeed, one might think that a more suitable phrasing would be an odor from death to life. Instead, Paul chooses both to affirm the ordinary, stark opposition of these terms, and at the same time to suggest that in the presence of Christ these realities exceed our powers of perception, or comprehension; or perhaps, as Paul suggests in Romans 14, that when we are in Christ life and death are matters of indifference. Is Christ death, or life? Paul’s sensory metaphor may help here, because the different terms for odor and fragrance play on a familiar ambiguity; one may see, or hear, or smell something one cannot quite identify. There is also a question of interpretation, with an illustration lying just beneath the surface of the text: the odor 34. Though I have argued against the forced limitation of a metaphor to yield a single interpretation, meaning (both metaphorical and literal) is always limited by context. 35. Thrall, 2 Corinthians, 1.197. 36. There are other possible associations; for instance, aroma is ineffable, perhaps the wind will carry it far away; on the other hand, Paul assures the reader that it is found “in every place.” I think that here the thought of a procession is left behind. 37. For ajpovllumi = “lose,” see, for example, Luke 15:8–9 (parable of the lost coin). There is no clear example of this sense in Paul, but there are many metaphorical uses in which, as here, the sense could be either “lost” or “perished”(e.g., 1 Cor 8:11). The same phenomenon is found with sw/vzw, which often, if it refers to salvation from death, does so metaphorically; for example, 1 Cor 1:21; Rom 5:9.

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of burning flesh may convey death, or it may convey an appeal to the gods.38 But Paul makes no explicit reference here to sacrifice, and sacrifice does not quite fit the metaphor of the triumphal procession where this odor is said to be found; it does not appear that sacrifices were part of triumphal processions as such.39 Neither of these considerations excludes sacrifice, but they make it somewhat less likely that a reader will think in such terms, however logical sacrifice might be as a construction of vv. 15–16. There are other possible understandings: perhaps the fragrance is incense; or perhaps an emanation of the divine presence, as Rudolf Bultmann and Victor Furnish suggest.40 Or perhaps the mechanics (sacrifice, incense, or something else) by which the fragrance arises are not the point here, and we should simply take it that the knowledge of Christ, spread by Paul and others, is pleasant as a fragrance is pleasant. For “odor” here we might read intimation. To settle on a single, precise interpretation drains Paul’s language of imaginative power. Paul addresses differences in perception elsewhere too. According to 1 Cor 1:18, “the word of the cross is foolishness to those being lost, but to those who are being saved it is the power of God.”41 Again the stark contrast in the understanding of the same two groups, stated however in terms that are not quite opposing; for Paul affirms (in a certain sense) both halves of the opposition: the gospel is foolishness in human terms, yet also power. Parallel to the question “whose foolishness?” identified in vv. 19–29 is the question “whose power?” Each question is answered in one way by those being lost, and in another by those being saved. And unspoken but near at hand, for anyone who knows Paul’s history (cf. Gal 1:13–24), is Paul’s own personal testimony about the perception of both those perishing (as he once was) and those being rescued (as he is now). In this history there is an intimation that Paul always saw that the word of the cross had power; why else would he have been so zealous to resist it? Only later he came to a new understanding of whose power and whose foolishness were at stake. So there is ample ambiguity here, whether expressed in 1 Corinthians’ terms of intellect, or 2 Corinthians’ terms of sense perception. In this ambiguity, the figure of life and death works to assure Paul’s readers that, at bottom and in reality, there are still only two states available: life and death. However difficult it may be to per-

38. eujwdiva is generally used in this way in the Septuagint: e.g., Gen 8:21; Lev 23:18; Sir 50:15. Usually, as in these verses, the expression is ojsmh; eujwdiva". Apparently relying on the Septuagint, Barrett says (Second Corinthians, 99), “Its meaning can hardly be other than sacrificial here,” and inserts “sacrifice” into his translation. Victor Paul Furnish, II Corinthians, AB 32A (Garden City, N.Y.: Doubleday, 1984), 187–88, objects: “The smoke of a sacrifice was meant to rise up to God, whereas here the apostle’s point is that the scent of the gospel is disseminated throughout the world.” Both misconstrue the way metaphor works, interpreting it according to the one-for-one substitution theory. Against Barrett: true metaphor is rarely unambiguous; if Paul wished to say sacrifice he could have done so. Against Furnish: we should not expect a metaphor to exactly match what it is applied to. 39. Sacrifices would be offered at the end of the procession (Hafemann, Suffering and the Spirit, 31). 40. On incense, see n. 30 above. On divine presence, Rudolf Bultmann (The Second Letter to the Corinthians [Minneapolis: Augsburg, 1985], 64) and Furnish (II Corinthians, 188) cite references associating pagan gods, or Wisdom (see Sir 24:15), with having a fragrance. 41. Similarly 2 Cor 4:3: “if our gospel is veiled, it is to those who are perishing.”

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ceive or understand which is at hand, still there are only two, not to be combined or compromised; there is no intermediate position. With this comes a similar clarity about which state is to be preferred. It is better to be alive than dead—much better, a paradigm case of better. 42 This is not to say that there can be no paradoxical combination of the two. To the contrary, without uncompromising opposition there is no paradox, as we shall see when we come to Gal 2:19–20. In 2 Cor 2:14–16, however, Paul does not offer a paradox, only the difficulty of understanding on which he plays with his complex figure of sense perception.

Galatians In Galatians we have 2:19–20, with the puzzles I noted at the outset, and 6:14. Unlike the passages in 2 Corinthians, these in Galatians explicitly invoke the crucifixion. The first reads: 19

For I through law died to law, that I might live to God. With Christ I have been crucified. 20I no longer live, rather Christ lives in me; what I live now in the flesh I live by the faith of the Son of God, who loved me and gave himself for me. Here Paul introduces himself directly and emphatically; the boldface I in my translation of vv. 19a and 20a here indicates his use of ejgw, grammatically unnecessary, which in 19a also opens the sentence. It can hardly be doubted that here, at least, Paul invokes his own experience; but he chooses to do so with metaphor. He marks his use of metaphor somewhat more precisely than in 2 Corinthians, the phrase “died to law” indicating that he means death in a certain respect: not death in its normal, literal sense. What Paul refers to seems plain, and he might have said (as he does in 1 Cor 9:20) that he is no longer under the law; to call this change his own death (even in a certain respect) suggests terrible loss, and an absolute end. In Phil 3:2–9 Paul speaks of discounting his Jewish identity “for the surpassing worth of knowing Christ Jesus my Lord”; here in Gal 2:19–20 he declares the cost: it is a kind of death. The phrase “through the law” points in the same direction, for if Paul had no experience of the law, separation from it could not resemble death.43 This invocation of death serves a further end, preparing the way for an invocation of life. Paul’s submission to a loss like death is explained in the only possible way, as the basis for a gain like life: “that I might live to God.” Life out of death in turn 42. Even though Paul says elsewhere that death is gain (Phil 1:21). The positive associations death has in certain contexts do not efface the ordinary preference for life. We shall see in Rom 6:1–11 and 7:4–6 that death retains its standard negative value even in a passage where it is also used in special positive senses. 43. Another possibility is that the reader will think of the law striking down Paul, just as it struck down Jesus—a hint that may be reinforced when Paul speaks of being crucified with Christ. As applied to Paul, however, this in itself seems metaphorical.

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suggests the crucifixion and resurrection of Christ, to which Paul turns. “With Christ I have been crucified”: there is at least a hint here that Christ also died to the law, through the law.44 But this is not developed; rather, Paul sets aside the law, and his invocation of Christ and crucifixion is more likely to make one think of Paul in terms of Christ than of Christ in terms of Paul. Now Paul quickly moves from crucifixion to life; although he does not say here (as he does in Rom 6:5–6) that crucifixion with Christ is followed by resurrection with him, the two ideas are tightly connected. Then, in a series of rapid shifts, v. 20 seems to point in many directions at once: Paul does not live; Christ lives; Paul does live, but his life in flesh is really a life in faith; it is the life of the one who died that Paul might live. There is an air of paradox here, familiar from other passages we have reviewed, but there is also a hint of confusion. Can sense be made of this? Or is that prosaic question out of place here? Recalling that our project includes respecting multiples meanings, I think the dominant impression left by Gal 2:19–20 is precisely that lines are crossed, categories confused. In v. 19 Paul’s rhetoric shifts abruptly from the logical to the paradoxical: in v. 17 he took a logical inference and rejected it logically as a reductio ad absurdum, and in v. 18 he developed a logical inference to be placed against the thesis considered in v. 17, but now vv. 19–20 rest on a series of paradoxes: law against law, death bringing life. Here the line between life and death is blurred, and likewise the lines between Paul and Christ, and flesh and faith.45 The blending of categories so fundamental and distinct—together with the “no longer/now” (oujkevti/nu'n) language of 2:20—suggests that the world has been remade. In 6:14–15, where Paul invokes once again death by crucifixion, he also declares the world remade: 14

May I not boast, except in the cross of our Lord Jesus Christ, through which the world has been crucified to me and I to the world. 15For neither circumcision is anything, nor uncircumcision, but new creation. Here neither life nor death is mentioned as such, but as Christ crucified both dies and lives again, so it must also be with the world and with Paul; it is hard to read this metaphor in any other way. After destruction, “new creation.” The metaphor here is highly abstract. One can visualize Paul on a cross, but not the world; a different conception underlies and enlarges the thought here. Emphasis is placed on the relation between Paul and the world; that is the import of the two dative phrases, “to me” and “to the world,” which (as in 2:19) explicitly mark the metaphor: crucifixion in a certain respect. The image of Paul on the cross is very

44. The introduction of crucifixion also casts a slightly different light on the implication that death is loss, which I noted in v. 19. On one level crucifixion adds to loss the pain and degradation associated with this manner of death, but on another it adds the glory associated with Christ. I think there is no contradiction here. That crucifixion was not yet washed free of shame is indicated by Paul’s discussion of “the word of the cross” in 1 Cor 1:18–31. In Paul’s time crucifixion still meant execution as well as exaltation. 45. Flesh and faith are not obviously opposed, like life and death, or so obviously distinct as Paul and Christ, but here Paul treats them as parallel (ejn sarkiv/ejn pivstei). According to 5:22, pivsti" belongs to the realm of pneu'ma, which is opposed to savrx (5:17).

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faint. The next verse invites us to think of the relation between humans and world as structured by law, for the sign of new creation in 6:15 is that the law’s distinction between circumcision and uncircumcision has passed away. The relation is made and unmade. The metaphor of crucifixion does not in itself appear to me to elucidate what this relation is or was, but it does suggest that the stakes are very high—a matter of life and death—and the process painful. But abstracted though it is, the metaphor has one concrete anchor: Paul himself. In 2:19 Paul claimed crucifixion as his personal experience, and now he claims these reciprocal crucifixions as a matter for boasting.46 I think the metaphor contributes to this, that it resists the pull towards abstraction created by the way Paul uses the metaphor. In 3:1 (“before [your] eyes Christ was portrayed [proegravfh] as crucified”) we have a hint that Paul made use of the bitter facts of crucifixion in his preaching, which he expects the Galatians to remember. Paul’s account of life and death in Gal 2:19–20 and 6:14–15 rests on his experience in the sense identified by Louise Glück: these verses do not present his experience itself, but they illuminate what his experience suggests. It is no objection, therefore, that these verses do not imply any visions of a crucifixion, for we need not expect an experience of the crucifixion; just as likely is an experience in some way like crucifixion. Pain and loss are surely suggested; compulsion seems likely also. Both passages also invoke sharing with Christ.47

Romans We come now to Romans, where, in 5:12–8:17, “death” or “die” is found twenty-five times, and “life” or “live” twenty-two times. This is not a single passage, however, but several, and the metaphor of death varies from passage to passage. According to 5:12–21, death entered the world because of Adam’s transgressions (vv. 12–14), and then it ruled (ejbasivleusen, vv. 14, 17); or, in what appears to be a parallel expression, sin ruled “in death” (v. 21). What domain did death and sin rule? Evidently the world, oJ kovsmo", into which sin and death enter (v. 12; to be precise, death enters “through sin,” dia; th'" aJmartiva"). Thus, death and sin are personified as rulers of the world.48 We can take these terms to refer to infernal powers; but as Paul’s language is metaphorical (a power called “Death” is still not death in its usual sense), caution is indicated.49 More prosaically, we might say that death was imposed on humans because of Adam’s sin, taking “the rule of death” to mean simply that everyone dies.

46. This is underscored if we read 6:17, “for I [emphatic ejgwv] bear the marks [stivgmata] of Jesus in my body,” as alluding to the crucifixions just mentioned. 47. Here too, 6:17 underscores the connection. 48. Martinus C. de Boer, The Defeat of Death: Apocalyptic Eschatology in 1 Corinthians 15 and Romans 5, JSNTSup 22 (Sheffield: JSOT Press, 1988). 49. The variation from the rule of death to the rule of sin further suggests that the terms are used more poetically than literally. C. K. Barrett, A Commentary on the Epistle to the Romans, HNTC (New York: Harper & Row, 1957), 115, sees a reference here to the rule of a “tyrant,” but this term imports a modern presumption that one should be free from any person’s rule.

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I think this is part of what Paul suggests, but the purpose of this paper is to look beyond the prosaic. Indeed, as we proceed we will find similar language that must be metaphorical; for instance, the link between sin and death in “sin . . . killed me” (7:11), when the subject is not literally dead. Calling the cosmos the realm of death is a somewhat tendentious description, when surely (if we are speaking literally) it is the realm of life; in common experience death and life are, as we have noted, bound together. But not here. If all the world from Adam to Christ is the realm of death, then the realm of life must be something different and splendid beyond ordinary imagination, as well as ordinary experience. The darkness of Paul’s phrase “death ruled” evokes the reciprocal brightness of the new realm, now coming into existence, in which life shall rule.50 The force of this metaphor is somewhat diluted, however, by the various ways in which life and death are used in the passages preceding and following. In 5:6–11 Paul writes of Christ’s literal death and resurrection; in 6:1–11 he takes this up metaphorically, proclaiming that “we were baptized into his death” (v. 3), and buried and thus can expect to be raised with him (vv. 4–5, 8–9). Here, in contrast to 5:12–21, death seems to have its ordinary sense, and the passage is metaphorical chiefly because Christians have not literally died with Christ. In 6:9 Paul recalls the language of 5:12–21, saying that when Christ has been raised, “he no longer dies; death no longer rules [κυριεύει] him.”51 Still another sense of death is found in 6:2, 10, and 11, death “to sin”—another instance of death in a certain respect, this time complicated by its interleaving with death in several other senses. Death is also implied by “destroy the body” in v. 6 (that is, “the body of sin,” sw'ma th'" aJmartiva"); this is done “so that we are no longer enslaved to sin” (tou' mhkevti douleuvein hJma'" th/' aJmartiva/), and thus it seems to be parallel to “died to sin.” Thus in these eleven verses we have: (a) the literal death of Christ; (b) baptism into the metaphorical death of Christ; (c) death [no longer] ruling Christ; (d) death to sin; and (e) death of the body of sin. Of these, all but (a) are metaphorical, but with distinct (not to say mixed) metaphors, so that death in senses (d) and (e) is desirable, and in sense (b) it is at least ambiguous—if not to be welcomed, also not to be avoided; only sense (c) has the ordinary negative connotations.52 Baptism into Christ’s death stands at the head of 6:1–11, and it is also the dominant metaphor of this passage, to which death to sin is appended as a consequence. The immersion of baptism is a kind of burying, and coming out of the water a kind

50. Perhaps Paul only means that no one will die? We need not take him so prosaically. See Ernst Käsemann, Commentary on Romans (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1980), 147: “The spheres of Adam and Christ, of death and life, are separated as alternative, exclusive and ultimate, and this happens in global breadth. An old world and a new world are at issue.” When Käsemann further remarks that “the style is thoroughly mythological” (ibid.), he seems to be relying on the personification of sin and death, an inference both doubtful and unnecessary to his conclusion. The metaphorical “death ruled” is enough to carry the basic thought. 51. Also reminiscent of the earlier passage are vv. 6, “in order that we no longer serve sin,” and 12, “let sin not reign (mh; . . . basileuevtw). . . .” 52. This analysis of separate senses does not mean that the senses are distinct in the mind of the reader, or of Paul himself; they are separable, but not separate, and necessarily color one another.

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of raising—a simple visual image,53 grounded on the personal experience of Christians that they have been changed. Characterizing this experience as a kind of death allows an identification with Christ, and it prepares the way for what seems to be the key theme of the passage, anticipated in v. 2 and stated in v. 10, that death to sin is “once and forever” (ejfavpax). Of all things, death is indeed “once and forever,” and a useful metaphor for conveying this idea. It is striking, though, that Paul can use it in this way, since Christians insist that death—especially the crucifixion—is not forever. Yet that does not stop Paul from using precisely this “once and forever” feature, unencumbered by the associations that death has in other passages, and in Christian thought generally. Indeed, here this feature of the metaphor is used as though it were a step in a logical argument; Paul’s transfer of the conclusion from Christ to his hearers (v. 11: “Thus you too should conclude [logivzesqe] that you are dead to sin”) is expressed as a logical conclusion. Strictly speaking, the shift from literal death to metaphor deprives the argument of its purely logical force, but (as we have said before) a metaphor is not to be read strictly. Simultaneous with the movement in 6:2–11 toward death to sin, the proclamation in vv. 8–9, that death does not rule Christ, uses death in a different and inconsistent metaphor, recalling Romans 5 and underscoring the presence of metaphor. In 6:16 “sin [leading] to death” (hJmartiva" eij" qavnaton) also recalls the link between sin and death established in chapter 5, and repeated in 6:21 and 23. In 7:1–3, however, Paul turns to the legal significance of death, and this introduces further metaphors in vv. 4–6. As in chapter 6, the references vary: there is (a) death “to the law” (v. 4) and “to what held us captive” (ejn w/| kateicovmeqa, v. 6); (b) the death from which Christ was raised (ejk nekrw'n ejgerqevnti, v. 4); and (c) death as a sign or consequence of sin (v. 5). Analytically these concepts are not related, but the shared term “death” suggests a relation. As Christ was raised from the dead, we have died to death (respectively, senses (b), (a), and (c), all together). The phrase links Paul’s readers to Christ; by means of a double negative it claims life; and it does so with an air of paradox—a paradox which, like religious paradox generally, hints at the power of God. What else could enable one to die to death? Again in 7:7–12, Paul changes his metaphors. Here, (a) sin was first dead (v. 8) and then came to life (v. 9), while simultaneously (b) “I” was alive (v. 9) and then died (v. 10a),54 and (c) “the commandment” (hJ ejntolhv), which ought to have been life “for me,” was death instead (v. 10); then finally, linking (a), (b), and (c), through the commandment, sin “killed me” (v. 11). Sin is dead, I am alive; sin is alive, I am dead; the relation can be succinctly stated in a chiasmus, ab/ba. At the same time (and once again) death has ceased to be absolute, for, contrary to the natural order, what is dead becomes alive—but this time, not by God’s hand. Things seem inverted. Moreover, since the sinner is not literally dead, one is invited to think that the sinner is not who he seems—as Paul says, not I, for I am dead, only a simulacrum lives. This thought is developed in Rom 7:13–25. Here the references to death dimin53. See Barrett, Romans, 123. 54. The “I” in both v. 9 and v. 10 is emphatic. Whether Paul actually means himself in Romans 7 has been much debated, but I think that for the purposes of this paper it is sufficient to say that Paul writes as if about himself, just as he writes as if he died and lived again. It is on that level that I want to read him.

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ish in frequency and consolidate in sense, appearing only in 7:13 (“Did what is good become death for me?” and “sin .  .  . working death in me”) and 7:24 (“Who will deliver me from this body of death?”).55 These phrases continue the metaphor of 7:7–12, foreshadowed in 5:12–21, where sin accomplishes death. With “body of death” (to; sw'ma tou' qanatou'), Paul brings his metaphors of death closer to literal, physical reality. Physical language runs through 7:13–25: “fleshly” (savrkino", 7:14), “flesh” (savrx, 7:18, 25), “members” (mevlesi, 7:23), and “body” (sw'ma, 7:24), as well as the phrase “dwell within me” (oijkou'sa/oijkei' ejn ejmoiv, 7:17, 18, 20), which Paul specifies means “in my flesh” (ejn th/' sarkiv mou, 7:18). All of this Paul links to sin, dwelling figuratively in the flesh—we could say (though Paul does not), living there. At the same time, death also is found in the flesh (literally, since it is flesh that dies). In this passage, “body of death” is a suggestive phrase. We can take it to mean simply “mortal body,” as in 8:11 shortly to be considered, and this in turn we can take literally, equivalent to flesh. But flesh has its own pattern of associations, as in Paul’s link here of flesh to sin. This too we can take literally, in the limited sense that one’s flesh is often turned to sin, and on the other hand figuratively, as in Gal 5:19–21, where the many vices associated with the flesh are not solely physical. We can also take death in 7:24 (“Who will rescue me from this body of death?”) in the metaphorical fashion suggested by 7:11 and carried forward by 7:12–13, according to which one is not merely mortal but already (figuratively) dead.56 This runs against the picture presented in the intervening verses, where, along with the physical language just noted, Paul repeatedly uses verbs presenting the subject as alive— “wanting,” “doing,” “working,” “discovering,” “delighting,” “seeing” (qevlw, poiw', karergavzomai, euJrivskw, sunhvdwmai, blevpw)—but certainly the specter of death, literal or figurative, stands behind this fevered and tormented life. Finally we arrive at 8:1–17. Following Paul’s usual pattern, references to life and death are carefully paired throughout this passage; further, death is closely linked to flesh and sin, life to spirit, to God, or to Christ.57 In the opening verses, life and death appear under the rubric “law,” which dominated chapter 7: the subject is not life and death themselves, but “the law of the spirit of life in Christ Jesus” and “the law of sin and death” (8:12).58 Here “life” and “death,” reinforced by “spirit” and “sin” 55. Bultmann, in his classic exegesis of Romans 7, sees life and death not only where expressly invoked, but lurking behind the terms “good” and “evil” in 7:19 and 21: “The object of ‘willing’ is ‘life,’ whereas the result of ‘doing’ (poiei'n and pravssein) is ‘death’ ” (Rudolf Bultmann, “Romans 7 and the Anthropology of Paul,” in Existence and Faith [New York: Meridian, 1960],  155). Here care should be taken. The resemblance is thematic and not in Paul’s language, which in fact points away from it (as Bultmann acknowledges, life and death are not normal objects of these verbs). I am inclined to think that inserting a metaphor where it is not found is open to the same objection as translating away one that is present. Bultmann’s reading is suggestive but also fanciful. 56. “Spiritual death is the only outcome of the sinful condition [see 6:16 and 8:10]” (Joseph A. Fitzmyer, Romans, AB 33 [New York: Doubleday, 1993], 476). “Nicht . . . Vergänglichkeit, die in seiner irdischen Leiblichkeit verursacht ist, sondern der Tod-Verfallenheit des Leibes, die die Folge meiner Sünde ist  .  .  .” (Ulrich Wilckens, Der Brief an die Römer, EKKNT 6/2 [Benziger/Neukirchener, 1997– 2003], 2.94–95). 57. qavnato"/zwhv, vv. 2, 6; nekrov"/zwhv, v. 10; ejgeivrw/nekrov", v. 11 (2x); zwopoiejw/qnhtov", v. 11; zavw/ajpoqnh/vskw, v. 13; qanatovw/zavw, v. 13. 58. These phrases offer a range of possible understandings to the reader. Typical senses of a genitive

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respectively, serve largely as evaluative, and express the stark opposition between the opposing “laws” referred to here. Opposing laws imply opposing realms, or rulers; if one law brings freedom from another law, then one kingdom has been supplanted by another.59 (Recalling the argument of 7:1–6, we could say that this liberation from a law must imply a death, but to use “death” in that sense while speaking of a “law of death” would be a severe mixing of metaphors, and Paul does not attempt it.) In 8:4ff. Paul makes explicit the dualism of flesh and spirit hinted in 7:14, and in 8:6 he picks up the natural association of flesh and death which he used in 7:13–25. Here, if “the mind set on the flesh” (to; frovnhma th'" sarkov") is “death,” then naturally “the mind set on the spirit is life” (8:6). Not merely a dead or living mind, but death and life—open-ended, so to speak.60 Almost immediately, however, the imagery becomes more complicated. Those with Christ “in” them have at the same time a “body” (sw'ma) which is dead and a spirit which is “life” (zwhv) (v. 10), and “the one who raised Jesus from the dead” will bring to life (zw/opoihvsei) even their dying bodies (ta; qnhta; swvmata) (v. 11).61 The absolute and immutable division of flesh and spirit implied by v. 6 is replaced by a different picture drawn to the pattern of the resurrection. These two pictures cannot easily be reconciled in logic, but as metaphors they do not require reconciliation; in any case, the absolute contrast of v. 6 sets a suitable stage for the more promising presentation in the following verses. In 8:12–13 Paul’s rhetoric takes another turn. Here he speaks of “living according to the flesh” and “according to the spirit,” using “live” in the distinct although conventional sense “live in such-and-such a way.” It means more or less “act,” or “behave,” and in 8:5 the same thought is expressed without “live”: “walk according to flesh/according to the spirit”; “those who are according to flesh” or “according to the spirit.” Strictly speaking, “live” in this sense is not opposed to “die” at all, setting it apart from other senses of “live.” But “strictly speaking” is a fiction here; words do not automatically cast off all other associations when used in a particular way. Taking vv. 12–13 together, we have a series of oppositions expressed in terms of life and death—your body dies, your spirit lives (v. 10); your dying body will come to life (v. 11)—to conclude in v. 13 that what appears to be life brings death, and the death with law (νόμος) are “the law given by ____,” as in the law of God (e.g., Rom 8:7) or of Christ (Gal 6:2); cf. the law of Moses (1 Cor 9:9), or “the law governing ______,” as in the law of all humankind (Josephus, J.W. 1.19.4 §378) or of war (ibid., 2.6.2 §90). The overall sense is “the law associated with ________,” and here it is hard to be more precise, especially with the double genitive “of the spirit of life.” 59. It is sometimes argued that both phrases refer to the one Mosaic law, differently “used” (so Paul W. Meyer, “Romans,” in HarperCollins Bible Commentary, ed. James L. Mays (San Francisco: HarperSanFrancisco, 2000), 1058; similarly, Martyn, Galatians, 555–57; for a criticism of this view, see Michael Winger, “Meaning and Law,” JBL 117 [1998]: 105–10; idem, By What Law? The Meaning of Nόμος in the Letters of Paul, SBL Dissertation Series 128 [Atlanta: Scholars Press, 1992] 65–87). The argument is inconclusive, because it depends on a judgment as to how literally we should take Paul’s expressions. However, if a single law is meant, I think it is fair to say that here Paul treats this law as though it were two. 60. Käsemann (Romans, 219) and C. E. B. Cranfield (A Critical and Exegetical Commentary on the Epistle to the Romans, ICC [Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1975], 1.386) stress the broad scope of Paul’s declaration, but they consider it part of the meaning of frovnhma, which they fail to demonstrate. I suspect they have absorbed the metaphor of death, and ascribed it to the lexical entry for a different term. 61. Here, I give “dying” for qnhvto", usually translated as “mortal,” to call attention to its close relation to qavnato", “death.”

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of such things will bring life.62 There are some puzzles here, if one parses Paul’s language. According to v. 11, God will make bodies alive, while according to v. 13, the deeds of the body must be put to death. This is not a flat contradiction, and anyone who wishes to take the time can reconcile these statements in various ways, but Paul does not trouble to do so;63 rather, the focus of v. 13 is on the gap between appearance and reality, pressed to an extreme: death looks like life, life like death. Discerning the truth is thus another kind of reversal, and it is accomplished, as vv. 14–17 declare, through the spirit. As we have noted, v. 11 lays further stress on this reversal by declaring that the one—that is, God—who raised Jesus from the dead now brings dying bodies to life. Then in v. 17, closing the passage, Paul describes the suffering and glorification of believers as suffering and glorification with Christ. Paul could have spoken here of believers’ death and resurrection, but instead he employs terms— “suffer” (pavscw, here sumpavscw) and “glorify” (doxavzw, here sundoxavzw)—he has not previously used in these chapters. This broadens his rhetoric more than shifting it. The metaphor of life and death, so prominent in these passages, does not disappear because it is absent at this point; rather, Paul’s peroration draws its meaning from what precedes it. If we view separately each of Paul’s references to “life” and “death” in Romans, we get a jumble of different senses of these terms and developments of their metaphorical use. I have tried to call attention to this, not only because each passage must (as always) be interpreted on its own ground, but also because this variety is important to understanding how metaphor works. But I also think that this is not the entire story, and that there is a theme of life and death running through Romans 5–8 that is more than the sum of its parts. It begins with the literal life, death, and resurrection of Jesus, recalled at the outset in Rom 5:6–11, and referred to in 6:3–11, 23; 7:4; 8:3, 11, 17. For Paul this is fundamental, but other layers of meaning are also present. Language of life and death draws attention to the overriding importance of the matters under discussion, and also to the fundamental simplicity of the alternatives presented: only two. At the same time, the twists and turns of Paul’s language suggest that these alternatives are not what they seem. Which is death, which is life? In ordinary experience these states are not usually confused, but throughout Romans, and especially in chapters 7 and 8, Paul conflates them, even reverses them. It is as though—to borrow a standard metaphor for clarity—Paul presented matters as black and white; yet, paradoxically, we could not tell which was which. Underlying and illustrated by this paradox is a radical division between how things are and how they seem. No doubt the concept of death that is not death owes much to the crucifixion of Christ, which is its chief example. But Paul is not content with invoking the crucifixion (about which there is nothing metaphorical).

62. To be precise, it is life “according to the flesh” (kata; savrka) which brings death, and death of “the deeds of the body” (aiJ pravxei" toutou' swvmato") which brings life. 63. The easiest reconciliation comes by distinguishing the deeds of the body (v. 13) from the body itself (v. 11); then the body is revived, but not its deeds. I think this would require elaboration to be clear.

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Paul as Poet? What then of Paul as poet? Is that itself a metaphor? What does it contribute to our understanding of his letters, which were written, surely, not to entertain but to persuade, and generally to persuade to specific beliefs, and specific courses of action? These are classic rhetorical objectives, and not, surely, those of a poet. If we think of poetry as entertainment, then Paul was not a poet. But poetry as understood by Louise Glück or Aristotle is not entertainment; the purpose of art, as we saw at the outset of this paper, is not to amuse but to disclose reality. The techniques artists use for this purpose are among those available to any who wish to disclose reality—as, certainly, Paul did. And Paul did employ the tools of a poet, at least the tool of metaphor. We have seen that Paul repeatedly employed metaphors of life and death, and we have also seen one key purpose for those metaphors. The metaphor of life and death is a vehicle for paradox. Paradox is central to what Paul wished to say about the coming and resurrection of Christ, the remaking of the world, and new creation; and the metaphor of life and death is an ideal vehicle for presenting this paradox. The sharpness of the contrast between life and death, their ordinary complete opposition, makes the paradox possible; and the paradox, in turn, makes points that cannot be made without paradox. Paradox is found in 2 Cor 4:10–12 and 6:9, in Gal 2:19–29 and 6:14–15, and Romans 7 and 8. But this is not the only element in Paul’s metaphors of life and death. The contrast of life and death is used without paradox in 2 Cor 2:14–16 and 3:6–8 and Romans 5 and 6 to indicate the absolute contrast between those who are being saved and those who are not. Throughout, other nuances are found as well; openness to multiple meanings is a key feature of metaphor, drawing on networks of associations that are not equivalent to a proposition or even a set of propositions; the various usages of death in Romans, especially chapters 6 and 7, illustrate these patterns. Though Paul’s letters are not poems, in them Paul uses poetic means (among others) toward his rhetorical ends. But I have tried to look beyond the distinction implied by such language. If, following Aristotle, rhetoric is persuasion and poetry representation (μιμήσις), then the two cannot be separated. Paul’s objectives include both, and his tools serve both ends. When Paul employs a tool that we classify as poetic, this must be read for what it is; metaphor must be read as metaphor, and not as a code for something else. When this yields multiple meanings, or multiple levels of meaning, that is not a rhetorical failure but a part of the essential project of representing reality, which will not be distilled into simple propositions. Metaphor is not a matter of demonstration but of indication—of pointing toward things which are certainly real, yet resist precise language. Thus, my goal in this paper has not been a definitive account of what Paul’s metaphors mean, but to point in useful directions: to try to notice what Paul calls to our attention.

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chapter 9

Can Words Be Violent or Do They Only Sound That Way? Second Corinthians: Verbal Warfare from Afar as a Complement to a Placid Personal Presence1 Peter Lampe

I. Aggressive Language in Second Corinthians Paul insults his opponents in Corinth by calling them “false apostles,” “deceitful,” “disguising themselves as apostles of Christ,” and mimicking Satan as “his servants” (2 Cor 11:13–15; cf. 11:3–4, 232). These are aggressive words, accompanied by martial images in 10:2b-6, where he threatens to deal with these intruders harshly. Paul does not even deem them worthy of being addressed directly; he only fusses about them to the Corinthians. And after the thunderstorm of conflict is over, Paul offers forgiveness solely to the Corinthians (1:1–2:13; 7:5–16; esp. 2:6–10), even to the anonymous individual who had terribly hurt him during his second visit in Corinth (2:1, 5–10; 7:12; 12:21; 13:1–2). He does not mention forgiveness for the intruders.3 His conflict with them was not about compromising and integrating, it was about expelling, about winning or losing. It was an exorcism—in the name of “God’s power,” which Paul conjured up several times (6:7; 4:7; 12:9, 12; 13:4, 8). The expressions in 11:13–15, yeudapovstoloi, dovlioi, metaschmatizovmenoi

1. See 2 Cor 10:1–2, 10–11: Allegedly, Paul is “humble when face to face . . . but bold when away”; “his letters are weighty and strong, but his bodily presence weak, they say.” 2. In 11:3, he accordingly compares them to the snake that seduced Eve. They preach another Jesus and another gospel; their spirit is not Paul’s (11:4). They call themselves “Christ’s servants” (11:23) and “servants of righteousness” (11:15), but this is only camouflage (11:15), as Satan “disguises himself as an angel of light” (11:14). 3. Although they still seem to be in town, according to 5:12c.

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eij" ajpostovlou", diavkonoi tou' Satana', are apotropaic invectives. Carried away by emotion, Paul, for the first time in the history of the Greek language, coins the word yeudapovstolo".4 The intruders are accused of being cunningly deceitful, of pretending to be apostles, while they serve Satan. The latter label sounds similar to Matt 12:24; 9:34; 10:25, where Jesus is accused of acting in the name of “Beelzebul, the prince of demons.”5 Anthropological studies of pre-industrial societies6 illuminate remarkable parallels to this first-century labeling. Accusations of demon possession are typical for social groups with confused internal relations, that is, in situations in which different contenders intensely struggle for leadership and no clear mechanisms are established to settle the question of authority. The accusation of demon possession thus is a medium of control, the worst label possible (“he is a witch!”), particularly when the possessing demon is supposed to be Satan himself. Paul could not have thought of anything worse! In 2 Corinthians, he fought tooth and nail for his leadership role in Corinth, which was about to be snatched away by “Satanic” intruders. He employed all possible means. The highly emotional invective of Satan possession was his last resort to discredit and shame his opponents. Quintilian does not deal with witchcraft accusations, but he comments on the affective side of speeches. Any invective, particularly a verdict of demon possession, is emotionally charged. “Appeals to feelings,” Quintilian writes, “are necessary if there are no other means for securing the victory of truth” (Inst. 6.1.8). Emotions, he adds, contribute a maximum of power (vis) to the speech (Inst. 6.2.2 [vis, of course, can be even translated as violence]). If an orator achieves the stirring up of wrath and hate (irasci, odisse) in the judges—in the situation of 2 Corinthians, the Corinthians themselves were the judges—then these “lose all sense of enquiring into the truth of arguments” (omnem veritatis inquirendae rationem iudex omittit occupatus adfectibus). They are “swept along by the tide of passion” (Inst. 6.2.6). In pre-industrial societies, two other factors often also correlate with the accusation of demon possession—as they did in the situation of 2 Corinthians. (a) Indictments of witchcraft frequently occur in health-care contexts.7 No doubt, the “signs, wonders and mighty works” of the Corinthian charismatic intruders comprised healing attempts (cf. 2 Cor 12:1–7, 11–12; 5:12; 13:3). (b) Witches are considered hypocrites and deceivers, hiding their evil inner nature behind facades.8 Paul accordingly com4. The same is true for yeudavdelfo" in 11:26; Gal 2:4 and for eujaggevlion e{teron in 2 Cor 11:4; Gal 1:6. See also uJperlivan below. Paul’s wrath gives birth to new words and expressions. yeudavdelfo" and yeudapovstolo" were inspired by the LXX's yeudoprofhvth" (e.g., Jer 33:8, 11, 16). 5. As pioneers, B. J. Malina and J. H. Neyrey (Calling Jesus Names: The Social Value of Labels in Matthew [Sonoma, CA: Polebridge, 1988], 1–32) correctly applied Mary Douglas’s witchcraft theory to Matthew 12. The same needs to be done here. 6. E.g., M. T. Douglas, Natural Symbols (New York: Pantheon, 1982), esp. iii, 109–14, 119; L. Mair, Witchcraft (New York: World University Library, 1969), esp. 203, 208, 216; E. Goody, “Legitimate and Illegitimate Aggression in a West African State,” in Witchcraft Confessions and Accusations, ed. M. Douglas (New York: Tavistock, 1970), 207–44, esp. 211; M. Douglas, "Introduction: Thirty Years after Witchcraft, Oracles and Magic," in ibid., xviii. 7. Cf. G. P. Murdock, Theories of Illness: A World Survey (Pittsburgh: University of Pittsburgh Press, 1980), esp. 42, 57–63. 8. Douglas, Natural Symbols 1982, 113; M. Douglas, “Introduction: Thirty Years after Witchcraft, Oracles and Magic,” in Witchcraft Confessions and Accusations, ed. Douglas, xiii–xviii, xxvi–xxvii.

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bines his indictment of Satan possession with the expressions “deceitful,” “disguised as apostles,” and “pseudoapostles” (dovlioi, metaschmatizovmenoi eij" ajpostovlou", yeudapovstoloi).9 By using invectives, Paul employed a typical polemical tool of his time.10 In his letters, particularly in 2 Corinthians 10–13 and Galatians, he participated in a general culture of quarreling and disputing. This polemical culture culminated in invectives, as exemplified in Cicero’s speeches against Catilina, in Sallust’s writings against Cicero, in some poems by Archilochos and Catullus, in Ovid’s Ibis and in many other documents.11 Cicero, for instance, accuses Catilina of madness and magic. In Against Catilina (e.g., 1.1, 2, 8–10, 12, 15–16, 22–23, 25, 31, 33; 2.1), Cicero repeatedly uses the invective that Catilina is carried away by amentia (madness), scelus (maliciousness) and by furor, which can be translated as wrathful and insane ecstasy. He and his criminal companions try to ruin (exitium) the entire world (orbis terrarum). He attacks the temples of the “eternal gods.” By leaving the city, he would purify it (purga urbem)! His robbery is godless (impium latrocinium). Maybe he “cursed and solemnly consecrated” his bloodstained dagger in secret rituals (initiata sacris ac devota); he thus is suspected of having a magical conspiracy with the gods of the underworld. Jupiter may plague this monster (monstrum) with “eternal punishments” (aeternis suppliciis) even after his death. Among Cicero’s countless vituperations, these probably come the closest to Paul’s accusation of evil-demon possession. Furthermore, like Paul’s 9. See also 2 Cor 5:12: Their exterior only looks good. 10. See, e.g., the slandering verdicts of demon possession in Matt 12:24; 9:34; 10:25; 12:43–45 (the latter text indirectly aims at some of the scribes and Pharisees); Cicero’s invectives (note 16 below) or the collections of material in note 11 below. 11. Cf., e.g., C. Hosius, G. Krüger, Geschichte der römischen Literatur bis zum Gesetzgebungswerk des Kaisers Justinian, II (Munich: Beck, 1935), esp. 429, 495, 651–52; I. Opelt, Die lateinischen Schimpfwörter und verwandte sprachliche Erscheinungen (Heidelberg: Winter, 1965); R. MacMullen, Roman Social Relations 50 B.C. to A.D. 284 (New Haven, CT: Yale University Press, 1974), 111 et al.; J. Crook, “Sponsione provocare: Its Place in Roman Litigation,“ JRS 66 (1976): 132–38; I. Opelt, Die Polemik in der christlichen lateinischen Literatur von Tertullian bis Augustin (Heidelberg: Winter, 1980); A. Wallace-Hadrill, Suetonius: The Scholar and His Caesars (London: Duckworth, 1983), 44–45; M. W. Gleason, “Festive Satire: Julian’s Misopogon and the New Year at Antioch,“ JRS 76 (1986): 106–19; E. Pólay, Iniuria Types in Roman Law (Budapest: Akademie Kiadó, 1986); J. H. D’Arms, “Slaves at Roman convivia,” in Dining in a Classical Context, ed. W. J. Slater (Ann Arbor, MI: University of Michigan Press, 1991), 171–83; F. Pina Polo, “Cicéron contra Clodio: el lenguaje de la invectiva,” Gerion 9 (1991): 131–50; D. Schmitz, “Schimpfwörter in den Invektiven des Gregor von Nazianz,” Glotta 71 (1993): 189–202; C. A Barton, The Sorrows of the Ancient Romans: The Gladiator and the Monster (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1993), 35–36; O. F. Robinson, The Criminal Law of Ancient Rome (Baltimore, MD: Duckworth, 1995), 49–51 et al.; A. Corbeill, Controlling Laughter: Political Humor in the Late Roman Republic (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1996), esp. 8, 12–13, 57–98; J. E. Lendon, Empire of Honour: The Art of Government in the Roman World (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1997), 79, 116–29, 197, 205, et al.; P. L. Schmidt, “C. Suetonius Tranquillus (Antiquarische Schriften),“ in Handbuch der lateinischen Literatur der Antike, IV, ed. K. Sallmann (Munich: Beck, 1997), § 404; D. Potter, “Entertainers in the Roman Empire,” in Life, Death and Entertainment in the Roman Empire, ed. D. Potter and D. J. Mattingly (Ann Arbor, MI: University of Michigan Press, 1999), 256–341; M. G. Peachin, “Friendship and Abuse at the Dinner Table,” in Aspects of Friendship in the Graeco-Roman World, ed M. G. Peachin, Journal of Roman Archaeology, Supplementary Series Ser. 43 (Portsmouth, RI: JRA, 2001), 135–44; M. Roller, Constructing Aristocracy: Aristocrats and Emperors in Julio-Claudian Times (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 2001), 148–54; etc.

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opponents, Catilina’s allies are accused of deceiving and camouflaging their real face and need to be unmasked (dissimulant 2.17; . . . ut id, quod latebat, erumperet 2.27; omnia . . . , quae erant contra salutem omnium cogitata, illustrata et patefacta vidistis 3.21). In the same way that Paul and the intruders are contenders for leadership in Corinth, Catilina and Cicero are rivals for the consulate. Cicero’s funniest invective complains that Catilina is “a lot of damaging scummy sewage water [sentina]” that needs to be “bailed out of the city” (1.12; 2.7; cf. in 1 Cor 4:13 Paul’s self-denigration perikaqavrmata). While this culture of debate is alien to most present-day intellectuals, it is not to many modern politicians. What are its characteristics—apart from witchcraft accusations? All of the following five features can be found in 2 Corinthians (cf., e.g., 2 Cor 11:3, 13–15; 2:15–16 [either black or white]; 2:17; 1 Cor 4:18–19; 5:2; Gal 1:8–9; 2:11, 13; 5:12; Phil 3:18–19; 1 Thess 2:15–16; Rom 16:18 and the texts below). •

• •

•

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The adversaries often do not attempt sensitively to explore the motivations and reasons of their opponents. They frequently quote the enemies’ views in biased, emotional and—even more important—highly selective ways,12 so that it is difficult for historians to reconstruct the positions of the opponents. Often no differentiation between persons and views is made. Therefore, the polemics can be personally insulting and hurtful (e.g., 2 Cor 11:13–15). Adversaries, especially in court, often do not look for balanced compromises. Frequently, there is only winning or losing; the polemic aims at running the opponents into the ground—as in 2 Corinthians 11. The corresponding debating pattern, therefore, often is based on binary logic, on exclusive either–ors, on black and white, on axes of evil and sons of light, on a Satan–Christ opposition.13 The rhetorical means include suggestive questions (e.g., 2 Cor 11:7; Gal 4:9; 1 Cor 5:6; 6:2–3, 5, 15–16; 9:4–13; 11:22) and direct14 or indirect15 accusa-

12. E.g., 1 Cor 6:12; 8:1; Gal 6:12–13; 1 Thess 5:3. The opponents “enslave” the Corinthians, “strike them in the face,” “devour” (like a snake; see 11:3), “take over” and “magnify themselves” (11:20; cf. 2:17). This kind of polemic does not give much information about the opponents’ views and actions, even if we interpret “devour” as “devour your assets,” which was an often used metonymy, according to Quintilian, Institutio 8.6.25. 13. E.g., 2 Cor 11:14–15, 23 (Satan–Christ); 6:15; cf. also, e.g., 6:14b; 2:15–16. According to anthropological research, labeling as witches (Paul: “servants of Satan”) often occurs in groups guided by dualistic views. An individual’s misdeeds are put into a cosmic context; they are perceived as so bad that the Prince of Evil himself is seen behind them (Douglas, Natural Symbols, 114). 14. E.g., 2 Cor 5:12: Their façade only looks good, not their heart. Or 6:12: Your heart is narrow. 15. An author can indirectly accuse his enemies by assuring that he himself avoids doing shameful things that he tacitly insinuates are done by the opponents. See 2 Cor 10:15,16b (“we proclaim . . . without boasting of work already done in someone else’s sphere of action”); 2:17 (“we are not peddlers of God’s word—like so many”); 4:2; 3:1.

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tions. Other instruments are irony16 or humorously distorting parody of the opponents’ self-image: the intruders in Corinth seem to have presented themselves as apostles inspired by God’s powerful Spirit. Paul, however, repeatedly ridiculed them ironically as “super apostles.”17 Paul himself not only coined the terms yeudapovstolo", yeudavdelfo", and eujaggevlion e{teron, but also the adverb uJperlivan (“super”) for the first time in the Greek language by merging uJpevr (“over”) and livan (“very much”). OiJ uJperlivan ajpovstoloi are “the beyond-excess” or “beyond-measure apostles.”18 Paul must have had a wily smile on his lips when he made up this word. Maybe he particularly had the opponents’ charismatic experiences in mind, of which they boasted so much that he felt pushed to mention his own ecstatic experiences as well (cf. 12:1–7, 11–13; 5:12; 13:3). Later authors reading the New Testament gladly picked up this new word for their own writings.19 Paul used numerous sarcasms20 of this caliber (e.g., Gal 5:1221) to shame the intruders in Corinth (2 Cor 11:13–15; 10:12; 12:11) and also not sparing the Corinthians themselves.

Sarcastic Shaming of the Intruders (a) 2 Cor 10:12a: “We do not dare to . . . compare ourselves with some of those who commend themselves.” According to Quintilian (Inst. 11.1.15–17, 21–22), self-praise evokes hatred, ridicule, and disapproval in other people. “Let us therefore leave it to others to praise us.” In uncoded text, Paul would be saying: I do not dare to compare myself to contemptible persons. (b) In 2 Cor 10:12b, in addition, Paul ridicules the intruders for measuring themselves by reference to themselves, which only fools do.22 (c) 2 Cor 12:11b: “I was not at all inferior to the super-apostles, even though I am nothing.” If a “nothing” is not “inferior” to something else, then the something, even the “super-something,” is nothing itself! In a similar way, Cicero insults Catilina’s men as good-for-nothing (Against Catilina 2.11: nequitia). 16. Saying the opposite of what one really means (Quintilian, Inst. 6.2.15). See, e.g., the fool’s speech in 2 Cor 11:(5–12), 17–12:13: Paul’s strength is not based in his own qualities—as the fool says—but in God’s power. 17. 2 Cor 11:5; 12:11. The expression frames the fool’s speech, creating an inclusio. 18. The adverb is put into an attributive position, thus qualifying as attribute. 19. E.g., Athanasius, Orationes tres contra Arianos 26.376.3; John Chrysostom, In epistulam ad Ephesios 62.46.56.—The same is true for Paul’s newly created word yeudapovstolo", which is happily picked up by later authors, e.g., by Justin, Dialogue 35.3.7, and Ps.-Clement, Homiliae 16.21.4.2. 20. sarkavzw = to tear flesh (savrx) like dogs. 21. Cf. a similar joke in Quintilian, Inst. 5.12.21: The castrated Cybele priests have no weapons in their hands, only tambourines. 22. Paul here counterattacks the intruders’ accusation against him that he only commended himself without having letters of recommendation by others (cf. 2:17c-3:6). Attack is a good defense, he seems to think (10:12b).

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Sarcastic Shaming of the Corinthians (a) In 2 Cor 12:16, the term “overload” (katabarevw) sarcastically exaggerates: Paul did not overload the Corinthians, because he did not take anything from them. (b) In 2 Cor 11:19–20, Paul formulates in a sarcastic tone: “you gladly put up with fools [i.e. the intruders, v.18], although you are wise yourselves [so you think (cf. 1 Corinthians 1–3, esp. 3:18), but in reality you are fools], because you accept when someone enslaves you, devours [your assets], takes over, magnifies himself, strikes you in the face.” And in 11:21, he adds the ironic-sarcastic comment: “To my shame, I must say, we were too weak for that!”23 (c) 11:1b also needs to be interpreted as a sarcastic remark: Paul is confident that the Corinthians will tolerate his foolishness (of selfpraise), because (vv. 2–4) they happily also accept that the Satanic snake lures them away from “integrity,” “sincerity” and the true “gospel.” In other words, they happily will accept Paul’s foolishness, because they are open to all kinds of stupidity, thus being fools themselves. (d) 11:16c stands parallel to 11:1b: “let no one think me foolish; but if you do [which is likely, because you yourselves are fools], accept me as a fool, so that I too may boast a little.” (e) 11:7–11: The apostle humbled himself by “stripping [sulavw exaggerates sarcastically] other churches [of their money] and accepting support from them in order to serve you. And when I was with you and was in need, I did not burden anyone, for my needs were supplied by the friends who came from Macedonia. So I refrained and will continue to refrain from burdening you in any way.” For hospitable Mediterranean people, this “refraining” hurt their pride as hosts. Paul already had to explain his behavior in 1 Corinthians 9; now he rubs new salt in the old wound. The formulation is sarcastic–ironic because it acts as if it were as a favor for the Corinthians that Paul does “not burden” them.24 In reality, however, the Corinthians wanted to be “burdened” in order to keep their honor as hosts. (f) 12:13: “For in what were you less favored than the rest of the churches, except that I myself did not burden you? Forgive me this wrong!” As in 11:7–11, the terms “burden” and “wrong” are ironic–sarcastic. The Corinthians were indeed “less favored,” because Paul did not take any support from them. This shamed their pride as hosts. Paul indeed had a reason to ask forgiveness for shaming his hosts, but his repentance was a joke: He did not really think that his policy of “refraining” from taking Corinthian money was wrong (see 11:9 at the end). In addition to these many instances of his sarcastic shaming, Paul was good at nonsarcastic shaming.

23. Irony: (a) Of course, it was to Paul’s honor that he did not strike and devour. (b) Paul acts as if he had been willing to devour assets and strike, as if only his weakness held him back. In reality, he never wanted to do anything like that. (c) “Too weak” is quick witted, because “Paul is weak” was one of the Corinthians’ allegations against him (e.g., 10:1–2, 10–11; 12:10; 13:3–4). Here, his flaw turns out to be a virtuous strength! 24. ajbarhv". The ouj katenavrkhsa oujdenov" literally means, “I did not grow totally numb and slothful toward anybody,” i.e., “I did not press heavily upon anybody.”

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Nonsarcastic Shaming of the Corinthians (a) 12:14–15: Paul shames the Corinthians, who are used to the reciprocal and honormaintaining do-ut-des principle. He emphasizes that he, as a parent, gives up everything for the benefit of his Corinthian children without expecting any material goods in return (he only hopes for more love: 12:15c). (b) 11:7, 11: “I humbled myself so that you might be exalted,” and I did it out of “love” for you. Quintilian comments on court cases of fathers who are intimately connected to their sons, but were hurt by them. They should emphasize their affection for the sons; “the only way to excite indignation against them is the manifestation of the fact that they still love them” (Inst. 6.2.14). To manifest love, in this case, means shaming the wrongdoers. (c) 13:7: Paul’s goal is “that you may not do wrong; not that we may appear to have met the test, but that you may do what is right, though we may seem to have failed.” Paul, indeed, occasionally claims that he does not care much about what others think about him (1 Cor 4:3–5). Is this uncoded speaking based on his selfless theology of the cross, or mere rhetorical positioning on his part? Even if one takes his claim as not having any irony or sarcasm in it, it is shaming nevertheless. (d) 13:9: “We are glad when we are weak and you are strong.” This is not sarcastic either, because Paul indeed considers it a virtue for him to be “weak” so that Christ can be strong in him. He honestly also wants the Corinthians to flourish. On the other hand, when Christ is strong in him, he is strong; when the Corinthians think they are strong because of their own qualities, then they are weak. This dialectic is tacitly implied in 13:9, which adds an ironical touch to the sentence, without making it sarcastic. (e) 4:10, 12, 15: Because we “carry in the body Jesus’ death,” “death is at work in us, but life in you.” “All [is done and happens] for your sake.” Could Paul push the guilt button any harder? All of these Pauline remarks, most of them antithetically formulated, try to oblige the Corinthians to settle the conflict in favor of the apostle. Similar formulations by Cicero want to oblige the audience in the same way: “Don’t think about my rescue, only about you and your children. If in my consulate I need to suffer all . . . pains, I will . . . gladly endure them, as long as you . . . gain honor and rescue through my labors.”25 “I myself have . . . endured a lot and I have healed a lot through my pain, while you were in fear only.”26 “I snatched you . . . from the worst massacre . . . , whatever destiny is waiting for me alone, it should be endured.”27 “Think about yourselves, . . . save yourselves, but stop sparing me and thinking about me. . . . If anything happens, I will die in a calm and collected way . . . that they all are saved together with you, even if some kind of force should oppress me.”28 “The well-being of the society 25. Against Catil. 4.1: Obliti salutis meae de vobis ac de vestres liberis cogitate. Mihi si haec condicio consulatus data est, ut omnes acerbitates, omnes dolores cruciatusque perferrem, feram non solum fortiter, verum etiam libenter, dum modo meis laboribus vobis populoque Romano dignitas salusque pariatur. 26. 4.2: Multa pertuli, multa concessi, multa meo quodam dolore in vestro timore sanavi. 27. 4.2: . . . ut vos populumque Romanum ex caede miserrima . . . eriperem, quaecumque mihi uni proponetur fortuna, subeatur. 28. 4.3: Consulite vobis . . . conservate vos . . . mihi parcere ac de me cogitare desinite . . . si quid obtigerit, aequo animo paratoque moriar . . . uti salvi sint vobiscum omnes, etiamsi me vis aliqua oppresserit.

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should overrule the concern for the dangers that threaten my person.”29 I “saved all this by taking over the danger all by myself.”30 Cicero is the subject of this sentence— not a Christ figure! An audience that feels a little guilty and obliged toward the orator is easier to steer; they are ready to comply with the speaker’s wishes. Paul knew this as well as Cicero. (f) In 2 Corinthians 8–9, Paul’s fundraising project is set up in a way that the Corinthians will lose face in front of the Macedonians and of the two delegates of the churches if they do not donate abundantly: 9:2–4 (kataiscuvnw!). (g) Finally, consider 8:7: Because the Corinthians excel in “faith and speech and knowledge,” as they claim, they would lose face if they did not “excel in this gracious work also.”

II. Is Aggressive Language Violent? Is all of this violence? Is it abusive? The sarcasm might be entertaining, even for those who are addressed. But are the invectives of 11:13–15 violent (witchcraft accusation: “Satan’s servants, disguised as apostles”)? We will try to assess the insults against the intruders first. Quintilian calls coarse abuse (inhumane convicior) a rhetorical mistake (vitium).31 We definitely do not want this debating style to be taught to our children in school. The children, however, read it in the Bible! Legal texts may assist us in finding out whether or not such invectives were perceived as violent in antiquity. The word iniuria had the general sense of offense32 or the specific sense of insulting the honor of another person.33 The latter sense is differentiated again. In the late third century c.e., Pseudo-Paulus states: “We suffer iniuria either inside or outside the physical body . . . outside the physical body through public invectives (conviciis) and libelli famosi.”34 Physical violence and verbal insults thus were perceived as being

29. 4.9: . . . meorum periculorum rationes utilitas rei publicae vincat. 30. 4.23: [Cicero] qui haec omnia suo solius periculo conservarit.—Other passages in the same speeches run along the exact same line. 2.15: est mihi tanti . . . huius invidiae falsae atque iniquae tempestatem subire, dum modo a vobis huius horribilis belli ac nefarii periculum depellatur; 4.18: non ad vitam suam, sed ad salutem vestram; 4.19: habetis ducem memorem vestri, oblitum sui, quae non semper facultas datur. 31. Inst. 3.8.69. And convicium (revilement) makes the speaker disliked (6.2.16). On the other hand, Quintilian in 6.3.28, at least sometimes (nonnumquam), permits abusing the opponent in a court setting on the forum, without, however, specifying the nonnumquam. He only repeats that the insult, like a boomerang, might shame the abusing speaker more than the opponent. 32. “Iniuria is called everything that is not done according to the law,” iniuria dicitur omne quod non iure fit (Justinian, Institutes 4.4. pr.). 33. Justinian, Institutes 4.4. pr. (contumelia, disdain and disrespect for another person); Digesta 47.10; Codex Justinianus 9.35; M. Kaser, Das Römische Privatrecht, I (Munich: Beck, 1955), 21–22, 139–40, 520–22. 34. (a) Sententiae 5.4.1, p. 185 ed. Liebs [1993]. See also 5.4.16, p. 187 (the dignity of a person is insulted by a slanderous song, canticum, sung in public; also this is an iniuria); Justinian, Institutes 4.4.1 (iniuria as public verbal invectives, convicium, or as a slanderous writing or poem, ad infamiam alicuius libellum aut carmen); Codex Justinianus 9.35.5 (convicium as something iniuriosum; 290 c.e.); 9.35.9–10 (it is already iniuria to call a free person a slave; 294 c.e.). (b) Iniuria as violence toward the body, on the other hand, is reflected in, e.g., Justinian, Institutes 4.4.1, 6–9, 11; Ulpian (“if someone hits or wounds

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comparable. Slanderous words and broken bones were put side by side (Lege duodecim tabularum de famosis carminibus, membris ruptis et ossibus fractis).35 The comparability is also demonstrated by Quintilian. An orator often needs “to make ills, which are usually regarded as tolerable, seem unendurable, as for instance when we represent insulting words as inflicting more grievous injury that an actual blow” (Inst. 6.2.23). If we take out the rhetorical amplification, we learn that verbal insults are either as bad as a grievous physical injury or less bad. In any case, they were compared to physical violence. The same is true for Seneca’s probably exaggerated remark that slaves hated verbal abuse more than beatings (De constantia sapientis 5.1); at least, they considered them as equally bad. The very fact that both physical beatings and verbal insults could be lumped together under one term (iniuria) speaks volumes. Only later did the European languages differentiate. In English, the Latin term inuiria became injury, while the German Injurie exclusively focuses on verbal abuse. In imperial Rome, the libelli famosi were defamatory pieces of writing, published mostly anonymously in political battle, often insulting the emperor, but also used in personal quarrels. Those who composed and spread them were threatened by punishments, which became more and more severe over time. By the third century c.e.,36 the authors were not allowed to witness in court anymore, according to Ulpian, or they were deported to islands.37 In the fourth century, they were threatened by capital punishment; whoever got hold of such a piece of paper needed to destroy or burn it right away (Codex Justinianus 9.36.1–2 [365 c.e.]). According to Ulpian, free persons and slaves were rewarded for reporting an author of a defamatory paper.38 Luckily, Paul did not put personal names beside the invectives of 2 Corinthians 10–13, and fortunately no Roman judge would have had an idea what “servants of Satan” and “disguised apostles of Christ” meant.39 Otherwise, the Corinthian intruders could have been tempted to sue Paul! I am not saying that 2 Corinthians 10–13 was a libellus famosus. The legal texts only show that invectives in general were considered dangerous and hurtful; they not only hurt individuals, but also harmed the another person in the theater or on the forum, he commits a terrible iniuria,” si in theatro vel in foro caedit et vulnerat . . . atrocem iniuriam facit; Dig. 47.10.9 [Ulpian, 57 ad edictum]); Ps.-Paulus, Sent. 5.4.1, p. 185 (blows and rape: verberibus et illatione stupri). 35. Ps.-Paulus, Sent. 5.4.6, p. 186. The formulation appears under the heading of De inuriis. In the acta of the curia Iovis from Simitthu, CIL VIII 14683, the offenses of maledicere and physical violence are also set side by side. 36. Dig. 47.10.5 (Ulpian, 56 ad edictum; first quarter of the third century): intestabilis. 37. At the end of the third century, Ps.-Paulus, Sent. 5.4.15, p. 187 (because of a carmen famosum or similar cantica); cf. 5.4.11, p. 186 (because of calumnia, slander); 5.4.17, p. 187. 38. Dig. 47.10.5 (Ulpian, 56 ad edictum); see also Codex Justinianus 9.36.2.1 (365 c.e.); 9.35.3 (denunciation of iniuria is encouraged; 239 c.e.). 39. The Jewish language background of these verbal aggressions is illuminated not only by Matthew 12 or Jer 33:8, but also, e.g., by Qumran’s Hodayot 1QH XII 7, 10–14, 16–17, 20,22–23 (anonymity of the enemies, prophets of falsehood, agents of Belial, twisting the Torah). For violence and apocalypticism, see P. Lampe, “La littérature apocalyptique: un Dieu violent et un ethos orienté vers la violence?” in Dieu est-il violent? La violence dans les représentations de Dieu, ed. M. Arnold and J.-M. Prieur (Strasbourg: Presses Universitaires, 2005), 31–48.

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common good (publica utilitas) (Dig. 47.10.5 [Ulpian, 56 ad edictum]). In other words, reviling was no trifle; the power of words was feared.40 Loidorei'n (abusing, reviling) can even drive ghosts away, Philostratus narrates (Vit. Apol. 2.4). This remark, as strange as it might sound today, shows that at least some people attributed magic power to abusive words, not only when they were formulated as curses. The Roman epic writer Lucanus, a contemporary of Paul’s, tells a story about the magic power of insulting: In a magically compelling prayer, the female magician Erictho adjured the underworld beings to give away their secrets by insulting the lord of the underworld as “the worst arbitrator of the world” (pessime mundi arbiter).41 Abusive verses chanted at generals during triumphs or at newlyweds on their wedding night were meant to have apotropaic power.42 Yes, invectives were considered violent, no matter whether they were perceived as magically loaded or not. They were regarded as violent—and dangerous. Violence in antiquity, however, was understood a little differently than today. Today, in an individualistic way, we primarily focus on the individuals’ physical or psychological pains that they suffer when they are victimized by physical or verbal abuse. In antiquity, of course, the gravity of a physically violent act was also assessed according to the severity of the injury: Was it a wound or just a bruise from a beating with a stick (si quis ab aliquo vulneratus fuerit vel fustibus caesus)?43 An even more important criterion, however, was whether or not a physically or verbally violent act was done in public, as the legal texts show,44 and even where it was done in public. Especially bad was a crowded place like the theater and the forum45 (or a public gathering of assembled believers where Paul wanted his letter to be read). This means the most hurtful part in a physically or verbally violent act was losing face! To be shamed was the worst part. At stake is the issue of honor and shame, which can also be seen from the fact that (a) the punishment for insulting (obprobrium aut quid contumeliose dicere) became more severe if the abused person was of elevated social rank.46 (b) Complementarily, the lower the social rank of the insulting subject, the smaller was the shame and any associated punishment was reduced. Usually, children, slaves and other low-class buffoons got away with insulting social superiors. Their verbal abuse was perceived 40. See also 2 Cor 12:20: Paul himself is in fear (fobou'mai) of katalaliva and yiqurismoiv—which, however, does not hold him back from actively slandering in 11:13–15. 41. The lord of the underworld seems to be the god of the dead; Lucanus 6.742–743. See also the Law of the Twelve Tablets, 8.1a, where malum carmen incantare probably means magic spells, not just simple reviling. 42. Cf. L. Bonfante, “Roman Triumphs and Etruscan Kings: The Changing Face of the Triumph,” JRS 60 (1970): 65; S. Treggiari, Roman Marriage: Iusti coniuges from the Time of Cicero to the Time of Ulpian (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1991), 166. 43. E.g., Justinian, Institutes 4.4.9. The medical parameters for measuring the gravity of an injury apparently were simple. 44. (a) For physical violence, see, e.g., Dig. 47.10.9 (Ulpian, 57 ad edictum); Justinian, Institutes 4.4.9. (b) For verbal violence, see the many references to public (publice) shaming in the texts quoted above; e.g., Ps.-Paulus, Sent. 5.4.16., p. 187. Also, the term convicium (revilement) in itself usually implies a larger audience; cf. Kaser, Privatrecht, I, 521. 45. E.g., Dig. 47.10.9 (Ulpian, 57 ad edictum); Justinian, Institutes 4.4.9. 46. E.g., ILS 7212, col. ii, 26–28; regulations of the burial club of Diana and Antinous in Lanuvium.

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more as entertaining than as hurting the honor of the superior.47 Verbal abuse did not really do harm as long as no socially equal or higher person was the one insulting. It did hurt, however, when socially higher or equally ranked persons verbally maligned a person,48 which was considered bad style.49 The most hurtful part was not what we today would measure in individualistic medical and psychological terms; it was measured in the sociological category of honor and shame. Now we understand why physical and verbal violence were categorized together in Roman law: They both violated the honor–shame balance. While we focus on the protection of the individual as such,50 when reflecting about violence, the ancients concentrated more on the protection of the individual’s social relations. To sum up, Paul’s invectives against the intruders in Corinth (11:13–15; 10:12–15, 16b, 18; 12:11b; cf. 11:3f.) attempted to function as powerful and violent acts of shaming, that is, of ostracizing and socially excluding. In fact, his slanderous unmasking of the intruders as Satan’s camouflaged agents was an exorcism—not of the intruders, but of the Corinthian congregation. In his view, this church needed to be cleansed from demonic elements. As far as we can see, after the conflict was over, the intruders’ influence faded; they disappeared from the Corinthian stage without being forgiven by Paul. Paul’s letter of reconciliation in 2 Corinthians 1–851 shows that the “unmasking” in 2 Cor47. See, e.g., Seneca, De constantia sapientis 11.3 (children’s foul talking cannot really insult a wise person; and the more contemptible any slave is, the more loose tongued can he be). See further J. H. D’Arms, “Slaves at Roman convivia,” esp. 172–75; J. E. Lendon, Empire of Honour, 96; M. Peachin, “Friendship and Abuse,” esp. 138–39. 48. Cf., e.g., Seneca, De constantia sapientis 5.1. 49. Cf., e.g., Gellius, NA 7.11.1; P. Oxy. XII 1406 (edict of Caracalla). 50. Honor/shame is only one of our many categories of psychological pain inflicted by violence. 51. Unfortunately, we cannot avoid using the source-critical knife in 2 Corinthians, because the different text blocks reflect different situations and significantly change in style. There is no room to elaborate on this subject here. I see a chronology of three letters that later were compiled into what we call “2 Corinthians.” Chronology: (a) Intruders in Corinth and accusations against Paul. (b) The unsuccessful second visit. (c) An apology written “with tears,” at least partly preserved in chaps. 10–13. (d) The Corinthians change their mind; Titus conveys the good news (cf. 7:5–7). (e) Letter of reconciliation, at least partly preserved in chaps. 1–8 (without the un-Pauline verses 6:14–7:1 and with verses 2:12–13 originally standing between 7:4 and 7:5. With this little relocation, the transitions between the different passages of this letter become much smoother. The gavr in 7:5 is equivalent to dev, as in 10:12; 11:5 [v.l. dev]; 1 Cor 10:1; Gal 1:11 [v.l. dev]; 5:13 and Rom 1:18; 2:25; 5:7; 12:3; 14:5; cf. the grammarian Trypho Alex., Fragm. 54, ed. v. Velsen, about this occasional equation). 2 Corinthians 2:3–4, 9; 7:8–12 look back at chaps. 10–13, and the pavlin in 3:1; 5:12 refers back to the boasting in the fool’s speech of chaps. 10–13. The pefanerw'sqai (perfect tense) at the end of 5:11 looks back at the Corinthians’ change of mind (see above in d), which, as Paul hopes, continues in the present (therefore the perfect tense). According to 5:12c, the intruders are still in town, but their influence has faded. This letter is much more moderate in tone than the letter “written with tears” (2 Corinthians 10–13). Its own apologetic parts try to cement (see 5:11c!) the Corinthians’ change of mind. (f) A third letter, which (like ch. 8 in the letter of reconciliation) tries to rekindle the collection and at least partly is preserved in ch. 9. For the history of research, see recently, e.g., E.-M. Becker, Schreiben und Verstehen: Paulinische Briefhermeneutik im Zweiten Korintherbrief, Neutestamentliche Entwürfe zur Theologie 4 (Tübingen/ Basel: Francke, 2002), 3–19. Her own solution (pp. 95–100), however, is not very convincing (e.g., the aorist in 2:3–4 is not taken seriously, which is unwise in light of the aorists in 7:8–9 and of the present tense in 1:13a. For 3:1; 5:12, which look back at 10–13, see above).

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inthians 10–13 took away the power that they had exercised over the Corinthians. If words such as those in chapters 10–13 can force rivals to surrender, then words are violent. The conviction of Satanic possession became a standard insult of heretics in the early church, classically formulated by Cyprianus and imitated by many followers, 52 among them European and even early-American witch hunters of post-Reformation times.

III. Aggressive Language: a Hermeneutical Approach Was Paul an aggressive Mediterranean hothead, unworthy of “Christ’s meekness and gentleness” (2 Cor 10:1)? What, if anything, can be said in his defense? (a) Paul’s invectives were reactive aggression not only to hurting insults that he had been confronted with during his second visit in Corinth, but also to the disparagements of his apostleship by rivals who tried to snatch the Corinthian congregation from his influence. He attacked to defend himself, reasserting his threatened authority. Undoubtedly,53 he would have subscribed to Quintilian’s observation that “humanity [humanitas] takes over as soon as rivalry [aemulatio]54 disappears” (Inst. 11.1.16). In an additional way, Paul’s aggression was reactive insofar as he was spurred by his opponents to use strong words. They blamed him for being weak, meek, and contemptible and therefore lacking any power bestowed by Christ (10:1–5, 7, 10–11, 14–15; 11:5–6, 21, 30; 12:1, 5, 7, 9–10, 12; 13:2–5, 9–10; 4:7–12; 6:5, 8–10; 1:11–12; cf. 11:1, 16). He was pushed to show that he too could speak out forcefully. Is all of this an “excuse”? Maybe it is because Paul knew very well how to suffer violence without hitting back. He even mentioned this nonaggressive reaction to experienced violence several times in 2 Corinthians when enumerating his apostolic afflictions (4:8–16; 6:5, 8–9; 7:5; 11:23–27, 32; 12:10). Only now that his authority in his own congregation had faded and his gospel, a theology of the cross, was about to be rejected (11:4; 6:1) did his patience run out. His response was fueled by desperation. (b) Interestingly enough, Paul himself felt uneasy about being aggressive in 2 Corinthians. Talking aggressively was not his normal style. At the end of the letter written “with tears,” he rationalized: “I write these things while I am away from you, so that when I come, I may not have to be severe in using the authority that the Lord has given me for building up and not for tearing down” (13:10; cf. 10:8). Later, in the letter of reconciliation, he clearly spells out the constructive effect of the strong words in the letter written “with tears”; it almost sounds like an excuse:

52. See, e.g., Cyprianus, De Ecclesiae Unitate 3 ([diabolus] rapuit de ipsa ecclesia homines . . . ); 17; Sententiae Episcoporum 1 (antistes diaboli); etc. 53. See section (b) below. 54. For the rivalry between Paul and the intruders, see 10:12; 11:12 and the entire speech of the fool (11:[5–12]17–33; 12:1–13).

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Even if I grieved you with my letter, I do not regret it. .  .  . I rejoice, not because you were grieved, but because you were grieved into repenting; for you felt a godly grief, so that you suffered no loss through us. For godly grief produces a repentance that leads to salvation and brings no regret, but worldly grief produces death. See what earnestness this godly grief has produced in you, what eagerness to clear yourselves. . . . So although I wrote to you, it was not on account of the one who did the wrong, nor on account of the one who suffered the wrong, but in order that your zeal for us might be revealed to you in the sight of God (7:8–12; cf. 2:4).55 By claiming that his verbal aggression was constructive and assuring that he does not regret it, he indirectly shows that he felt uneasy about having used these strong words before (cf. also 10:9). Paul knew perfectly well that human gentleness and forgiving should correspond to “Christ’s meekness” (10:1; 2:7, 10), not verbal warfare. “Peace” and “love” therefore are key words in 13:11; 2:8, and “reconciliation” in 5:18–20. (c) Paul’s emphasis on the constructive nature of his harsh criticism of the Corinthians needs to be explored in yet another direction. It shows that the slandering words directed against the intruders and the sometimes sarcastic, ironic, and shaming remarks addressed to the Corinthians differ in quality. Paul scorns and shames the intruders publicly in the Corinthian church assembly and, as we have seen, does not even consider them worthy of being addressed in the second person. In his eyes, hope is lost with these opponents; they are and should remain nothing but outsiders and deserve nothing but devastating critique. The harsh words directed to the Corinthians, however, attempt to be the frank speech (parrēsia) between insiders, between friends.56 This kind of frank speech, far from being mean spirited, wants to be constructive, “beneficial,” and “useful” (wjfevleia), as Plutarch calls it,57 by altering the behavior and attitude of people close to the speaker’s heart; hope for them is not lost (cf., e.g., 2 Cor 13:9b, 11–13). Accord-

55. Paul even considers the apostolic tearing down of 10:3–5 constructive, since it gives room for “knowing God” and “obeying Christ.” And in 1:15, he expects his pain-causing and severe actions (cf. 13:2–3; 2:1–2) during his next visit to be a “grace.” 56. Cf. 2 Cor 7:8–12 in section (b) above and 2 Cor 7:4; 3:12; 6:11. For frank speech between friends, as discussed esp. by Philodemus and Plutarch, see the excellent articles by P. Sampley, “Paul and Frank Speech,” in Paul in the Greco-Roman World: A Handbook, ed. P. Sampley (Harrisburg, Pa.: Trinity Press International, 2003), 293–318; idem, “Paul’s Frank Speech with the Galatians and the Corinthians,” in Philodemus and the New Testament World, ed. J. T. Fitzgerald, D. Obbink, and G. S. Holland, NTSup 111 (Leiden: Brill, 2004), 295–321. Cf. Plutarch, How to Tell the Difference between a Flatterer and a Friend, 51C: parrēsia is “the language of friendship.” Further cf. Cicero, Amicitia, 88–100; Maximus of Tyre, Orationes, 14; Dio Chrysostom, Or., 77/78.38; 33.9; Philo, Her., 19; Julian, Or., 6.201A-C. In the first century c.e., the concept of friendship did not exclusively involve equals anymore, as it did prior to the Common Era. The relationship between friends could be asymmetrical between people of unequal status, as between Paul and the Corinthians: On the one hand, they were equal in their relation to Christ (see, e.g., Gal 3:28); on the other hand, he was their apostolic “father” who founded their church and as such felt responsible for them (e.g., 2 Cor 11:2; 12:14b). For asymmetrical friendship between unequal persons, see D. Konstan, “Friendship, Frankness and Flattery,” in Friendship, Flattery and Frankness of Speech: Studies on Friendship in the New Testament World, ed. J. T. Fitzgerald (Leiden: Brill, 1996), 8–9. 57. Plutarch, How to Tell the Difference, 51C; 55B; 59D; 63B; 64C; see also Philodemus, On Frank

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ing to the first-century c.e. rhetorician and philosopher Philodemus (On Frank Criticism, col. XIXb), it is the job of a true friend to exercise parrēsia. And Plutarch (How to Tell the Difference, 73D) confirms that friends watch each other closely both “when they go wrong” and “when they are right.” According to him, it is difficult to find a good friend who is “frank with us” and “blames us when our conduct is bad”; “there are but few among many who have the courage to show frankness rather than favor to their friends.”58 The frank words can range from simple and harsh rebukes (sklhrov", pikrov", sfodrov") to criticism mixed (miktov") with various degrees of praise, to “the gentlest of stings.”59 Flattery (Plutarch, How to Tell the Difference, 59C), on the one hand, and shaming insult and abuse (loidoriva), contemptuous, “acrimonious and inexorable,”60 on the other, are, however, situated beyond the two extreme ends of this scale, no longer belonging to frank speech between friends.61 While Paul’s shaming and insulting remarks about the intruders are located outside the friendly scale, his frank remarks to the Corinthians are at the harsh and severe end of the scale. The entire letter lacks any elements of praise. Paul therefore was anxious about its reception in Corinth (cf. 2 Cor 7:5–7). In my opinion,62 the frank remarks to the Corinthians risk moving even beyond the zone of speech between friends, becoming insulting (loidoriva), because they infringe on the strict rules that Plutarch and Philodemus impose on frank speech between friends. According to these philosophers, when people are speaking harshly to a friend they should not pursue self-interests (Plutarch, How to Tell the Difference, 71D) or try to boost their reputation (Plutarch, How to Tell the Difference, 52B; Philodemus, On Frank Criticism, col. XXIIIb); neither should their frank speech “derive from some hurt that has been received” (Plutarch, How to Tell the Difference, 66E–67A) nor should it be done “out of envy” (Philodemus, col. XXIIIa) or in anger (Philodemus, frgs. 2, 12, 38, 70). Paul, however, does write out of self-interest, anger, and hurt when he tries to rescue his severely tarnished reputation as a legitimate apostle in 2 Corinthians 10–13. He had been badly insulted and humiliated during his second visit. He even seems to act out of envy because the intruders are about to take over his leadership in Corinth. The intention of his tearful letter was not only to serve the “benefit” (wjfevleian) of the Corinthians, as he claims;63 for the most part, it attempted to be “beneficial” for himself. Thus, in 2 Corinthians 10–13, Paul falls short of Plutarch's and Philodemus’s

Criticism, frgs. 1, 32; cols. Xb, XVIIb, ed. D. Konstan et al., SBLTT (Atlanta: Scholars Press, 1998); Dio Chrysostom, Or., 32.5, 7, 11. 58. How to Tell the Difference, 66A. According to Plutarch, it is the duty of a friend to accept the odium that could come from frank criticism: 73A; cf. 56A. For the connection of parrēsia and genuine friendship, at least since Aristotle, see further A. Fürst, Streit unter Freunden: Ideal und Realität in der Freundschaftslehre der Antike (Stuttgart: Teubner, 1996), 133–34. 59. Philodemus, On Frank Criticism, frgs. 7; 58; 60; col. VIIIb; Plutarch, How to Tell the Difference, 69E; 72C. As examples, cf. 2 Cor 6:13; 7:2, in the letter of reconciliation. 60. It “seeks for glory in other men’s faults, and to make a fair show before spectators;” Plutarch, How to Tell the Difference, 59D; 71A; Philodemus, On Frank Speech, frg. 60. 61. See the helpful graphic illustration in Sampley, “Paul and Frank Speech,” 296. 62. Contrary to Sampley’s assessment of Paul’s frank speech in 2 Corinthians 10–13 (Sampley, “Paul and Frank Speech,” 304–9). 63. See section (b) above.

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strict criteria of frank speech between friends.64 Nonetheless, his self-understanding was that he did not want to devastate but to build up the Corinthians when speaking severely to them; in his own perspective, his letter was “beneficial” for the Corinthians, he assures.65 This Pauline self-conception needs to be taken into consideration when we try to assess the violence in Paul’s harsh words against the Corinthians on the one hand and against the intruders on the other. Maybe not for people like Plutarch and Philodemus, but at least for Paul himself, there was a difference in the level of criticism of the two groups. Therefore, at least in Paul’s perspective, the Corinthians should have considered the harsh words addressed to them as less violent. They were fired out of love (2 Cor 2:4). The readers’ response and author’s intention, however, are two different things. What if the Corinthians were familiar with the strict standards for frank speech between friends that authors such as Plutarch and Philodemus noted? Then they could have understood parts of 2 Corinthians 10–13 as destructive insult and no longer as constructive frank speech between friends. Then they might have feared having lost a friend. In any case, 2 Cor 10–13, the letter “written with tears,”66 saddened them (2 Cor 7:8–9).67 Otherwise, we do not know their exact reactions. But we do have enough clues indicating that this painful letter did turn the Corinthians around68—despite the fact that Paul’s frank words toward the Corinthians border on being insults. After all, the tearful letter included not only severe words to the Corinthians but also the crafty “speech of a fool” that touted those of Paul’s qualities that the Corinthians especially valued in an apostle. Maybe this fool’s speech in particular impressed the Corinthians and convinced them to realign with Paul. Also Titus, whose mediating role in the conflict should not be underestimated, might have presented the letter very effectively in the Corinthian assembly. We will never know what exactly turned the Corinthians around after they had received the letter of 2 Corinthians 10–13. It might also have been Paul’s ethos, of which he reminds the Corinthians in this letter, this time again in line with Plutarch’s standards for frank speech between friends.

64. The apostle himself seems to feel this flaw. Not very convincingly (at least for modern readers), 2 Cor 12:19 assures: No, I am not apologetically pushing my own case, to the contrary, I write all this for your own benefit. 65. Besides 2 Cor 12:19, see section (b) above, where 2 Cor 7:8–12; 10:3–5, 8; 13:10; 1:15; 2:4 are discussed. The constructive nature of his apostolic work in general is furthermore stressed by the inclusion that 10:18 and 13:10 create. 66. See n. 51 above. 67. For this reaction to frank speech, see also Philodemus, On Frank Criticism, frg. 61.1; 82.7. 68. See n. 51 above and Rom 15:26, which documents that Paul’s collection was successfully completed in Corinth. Romans itself was written in Corinth, where Paul was hosted by Gaius in his house, which was a center of the Corinthian congregation (Rom 16:23). All this would not have happened if the congregation had not realigned with Paul after the tearful letter. Also in the 90s c.e., Paul and his writings were still an authority for the Corinthians, according to 1 Clement 47.

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Paul and Rhetoric Frankness of speech ought to have . . . ethos; . . . every man’s frank speaking needs to be backed by ethos, but this is especially true in the case of those who admonish others and try to bring them to their sober senses. . . . The speech of a man light-minded and mean in ethos, when it undertakes to deal in frankness, results only in evoking the retort: Wouldst thou heal others, full of scores thyself (Plutarch, How to Tell the Difference, 68C; 71E–F). Frank critics need to correct “their friends precisely as they correct themselves” (72A); in addition, their ethos needs to be consistently good (52A).

“Parrēsia draws upon a reservoir of goodwill” built up by the consistently virtuous life of the one who speaks frankly.69 Correspondingly, Paul emphasizes his dependability and the consistency of his behavior (2 Cor 11:12; 12:12; 13:2). He points out that he always has acted as a true and benevolent friend toward them and still does (e.g., 11:2a, 20–21a; 12:12–13a, 17, 19b; 13:8, 10; 10:8), and that he loves them (11:11; 12:15, 19).70 Such assurances function in a double way. On the one hand, they highlight Paul’s virtuous ethos in general; on the other, they specifically picture him as a friend to the Corinthians, which helps to abate the impression that he overplayed the harshness of his criticism of the Corinthians by bordering on being insulting to them. (d) The harsh tearful letter—and this might be another “excuse” for Paul—was the last resort, in the apostle’s eyes.71 Before he used the strong words of chapters 10–13, he in vain had tried to win the Corinthians back in a less violent way.72 But he had failed, so that a more aggressive writing style seemed to be the only means left. Cicero formulated in a similar way that aggressive severity can be constructive and therefore the last tool that one sometimes needs to pick up, although meekness in general is of higher value than aggression: “What needs to be cut away, I will not tolerate to keep on, for fear that it ruins the community”; the severity serves the common good (Against Catilina 2.11: quae resecanda erunt, non patiar ad perniciem civitatis manere). “There is no room left for meekness, the matter urges severity” (2.6: non est iam lenitati locus, severitatem res ipsa flagitat). “Who is more meek than me? . . . I will be severe and stormy . . . , we will be regarded as merciful, if we act in the toughest way against these [evil] people . . . If we wanted to be more lenient, we necessarily would gain the reputation of the highest cruelty, because the country and the citizens would perish!” (4.11–12; cf. 4.13). In view of 1 Corinthians 5, especially 5:6–13, we confidently can assume that Paul would have agreed with these remarks by Cicero. Paul held that sometimes people need to be handled harshly if all other methods have failed and the com69. Sampley, “Paul and Frank Speech,” 297; cf. Plutarch, How to Tell the Difference, 73B. 70. Cf. Philodemus, On Frank Speech, frg. 14: When a speaker is “vehemently indicating his own annoyance, he will not, as he speaks, forget ‘dearest’ and ‘sweetest’ and similar things.” 71. For severe frank speech between friends as an ultimate means, see Plutarch, How to Tell the Difference, 69E–F. 72. During his second visit in Corinth (cf. 2:1, 5–10; 7:12; 12:21; 13:1–2), Paul had tried in person to settle the conflict between him and the Corinthians in a nonviolent, “weak” way. The attempt failed, so that Paul felt compelled to write the aggressive letter of 2 Corinthians 10–13, which did achieve its goal of winning the Corinthians back.

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mon good, the Christian congregation, is endangered. Paul saw the danger that the Corinthian church might have received God’s grace in vain (6:1) and abandon the right gospel (11:4) if it followed the theologia gloriae of the intruders. This theology saw God’s power at work solely in charismatic mighty acts and not in human weaknesses. Both factors, his personal authority and the true gospel, were probably fused in Paul’s mind, with him, as far as we know, being the only representative of an outspoken theologia crucis at his time. In other words, if he lost his influence in Corinth, the Corinthians would neglect the “word of the cross” with all the implications of a Christian cross existence.73 For Paul, the rejection of his authority and of his theologia crucis with it was a situation in which even verbal aggression was allowed in order to shield both. It was a paradoxical situation: A theologia crucis that supported an ethos of nonaggressive reactions (4:8–16; 6:5, 8–9; 7:5; 11:23–27, 32; 12:10), an ethos preferred by Paul,74 was defended in a bold and verbally violent way, because other effective means no longer seemed to be at hand. Did pragmatism overrule theological ideology? Paul did not solve the paradox. He was caught in it. Nonetheless, as an “excuse” for his violent reaction, the apostle could plead that his Corinthian friends had ventured too close to the cliff, and that he, like any committed friend, screamed a call of warning out to them and slandered and banished those who had led them astray. Contrary to the insults against the intruders, the verbal aggression toward the Corinthians was couched in caring and love. Is verbal violence the ultima ratio? Maybe—as a very last resort, definitely not, according to Paul, as a first choice; and whether or not it is a choice at all for us cannot be discussed here.75 Furthermore, in all hermeneutical attempts we should not forget that verbal violence, streaming from a pen, is not the same as bloodshed flowing down a sword. However, it can lead there, and in church history it did.

73. For Paul’s theologia crucis and its various implications, see P. Lampe, Die Wirklichkeit als Bild: Das Neue Testament als ein Grunddokument abendländischer Kultur im Lichte konstruktivistischer Epistemologie und Wissenssoziologie (Neukirchen: Neukirchener, 2006), 88–90, 145–49. 74. See section (b) above. 75. For criteria, see Lampe, Die Wirklichkeit als Bild, 167–79, 188–89.

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Index of Names

Achtemeier, Paul J., 186 Adorno, Theodor, 171 Ahl, Frederick, xvii, 191 Albrecht, M. v., 14 Aletti, Jean-Noël, 35, 58, 67, 69, 72, 73 Alkier, S., 6 Amadi-Azuogu, Chinedu Adolphus, 53 Amphoux, C. B., 133 Anaximenes of Lampsacus, 145, 147 Anderson, Richard Dean, Jr., 4, 42, 58, 77, 91, 92, 97, 102, 115, 121, 124, 130, 144, 145, 146, 148, 149 Anible, Christian, 38 Apollonius, 151, 156 Aristotle, 5, 41, 43, 66, 88, 95, 96, 104, 105, 106, 107, 109, 110, 111, 114, 117, 120, 222 Arnim, H. von, 184 Arnold, M., 231 Atkins, J. H. W., 120 Augustine, xiv, 3, 20, 119 Aune, D. E., 12, 17, 34, 40, 41, 45, 47, 48, 64, 66, 73, 95, 103, 107, 117, 118, 124 Bahr, G. J., 12 Bailey, Kenneth E., 126, 155 Balch, David L., 6, 31, 57, 145 Barrett, C. K., 204, 210, 213, 216, 218 Barthes, R., 6 Barton, C. A., 225 Basevi, Claudio, 28, 29 Bauer, Walter, 210 Baumlin, James S., 105 Baumlin, Tita French, 105 Beard, Mary, 211 Becker, E. M., 233 Becker, Jürgen, 4, 15, 163, 164

Beker, J. Christiaan, 164, 168, 174 Benhabib, S., 171 Berchman, Robert M., 45, 46, 75, 99, 115 Berger, Klaus, 19, 35, 53 Berges, Ulrich, 118 Berlin, Adele, 123 Betz, Hans Dieter, 4, 5, 8, 10, 11, 12, 17, 18, 21, 33, 36, 50, 51, 52, 53, 55, 56, 57, 61, 62, 63, 64, 65, 66, 69, 70, 71, 72, 73, 74, 75, 76, 78, 79, 88, 92, 93, 113, 114, 117, 118, 204 Beutler, Johannes, 52, 55, 58, 59, 86, 147, 148, 149 Bieringer, R., 32, 54, 58, 67, 174 Bitzer, Lloyd F., 80, 81, 87, 93 Bjerkelund, C.J., 12, 159 Black, C. Clifton, 74 Black, David Alan, 86, 100, 101 Blass, Friedrich, 122 Bloomquist, L. Gregory, 29, 134 Bockmuehl, Markus, 53 Boer, Martinus C. de, 216 Bonfante, L., 231 Bonhöffer, A., 124 Bonneau, Normand, 79 Bormann, Lukas, 40 Botha, Jan, 84 Botha, P., 149 Bowe, Barbara E., 67, 85 Bowie, E.L., 156 Bradley, David G., 114 Breck, John, 123 Breytenbach, Cilliers, 68, 161 Brinsmead, Bernard H., 16, 36, 58 Brinton, Alan, 107 Brown, S. C., 172

241

Sampley D.indd 241

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242

Index of Names

Bruce, F. F., 204 Brucker, R., 6 Bruehler, Bart B., 109, 116 Brunt, John C., 114 Bryan, Christopher, 34, 35 Bühler, P., 35 Bühlmann, Walter, 122 Bullinger, Ethelbert W., 122 Bultmann, Rudolf, 20, 124, 213, 219 Bünker, Michael, 4, 32, 68, 147 Burfeind, Carsten, 197 Burgess, Theodore, 40 Burke, K., 5, 6 Burton, Ernest De Witt, 204 Butler, H. E., 146 Buzon, R., 12, 13 Byrskog, Samuel, 53, 55, 60 Calvin, John, 3 Campbell, Douglas A., 77 Carter, T. L., 125 Cary, M., 155 Cementano, M. S., 15 Cerutti, Steven M., 120 Chapa, Juan, 28, 29 Chrysostom, John, 3, 119 Church, F. Forrester, 28, 44, 66, 71, 109 Cicero, 5, 13, 44, 108, 110, 112, 114, 155, 156, 158, 183 Classen, Carl Joachim, 3, 11, 12, 50, 52, 53, 54, 55, 61, 62, 144, 145, 149, 166 Collins, John J., 123 Collins, Raymond F., 30, 31, 53, 54, 63, 66 Conley, Thomas, 43, 95 Consigny, Scott, 120 Corbeill, A., 225 Cornell, D., 171 Cosby, Michael R., 110 Counet, Patrick Chatelion, 118 Crafton, Jeffrey, 81 Cranfield, C. E. B., 220 Crofts, Marjorie, 123 Cronjé, J. van W., 130 Crook, J., 225 Cugusi, P., 12 D’Arms, J. H., 225, 233 Davidson, Donald, 205 Davis, C. Wayne, 132 Davis, Steven, 206

Sampley D.indd 242

Debanné, Marc, 96, 97, 98, 100 Debrunner, Albert, 122 Deissmann, Adolf, 119 De Lorenzi, L., 68, 150 Del Tredici, K., 40 Demetrius of Phaleron, 120, 145 Deming, Will, 127 Demosthenes, 14, 17, 56, 70, 149, 194 Denniston, J. D., 120 Derrida, J., 5, 6 Descamps, A., 123 DeSilva, David A., 71, 87 Dewailly, L.-M., 122 DiCicco, Mario, 33, 94, 103 Dickinson, Emily, 205, 207 DiMarco, Angelico, 123 Dinkler, E., 125 Dionysius of Halicarnassus, 106 Dodd, Brian J., 105 Donfried, Karl Paul, 27, 30, 34, 35, 50, 52, 54, 55, 58, 59, 63, 79, 86, 104, 105, 147, 148, 149 Dormeyer, D., 12, 145 Douglas, C. C., 123 Douglas, Mary T., 224, 226 Duff, Paul B., 129 Duncan, Thomas, 126 Dunn, J. D. G., 150, 159, 161, 204 Drijepondt, H. L. F., 120 Düring, I., 156 Du Toit, A. B., 58, 99, 104, 105, 123 Dyck, Joachim, 180 Dzielska, Maria, 156 Eco, U., 6 Edgar, C. C., 151 Eisen, U. E., 8 Eliot, T. S., 205 Elliott, Neil, 35, 73, 74 Ellis, E. E., 150 Empson, William, 207 Engberg-Pedersen, Troels, 73, 74, 125, 144 Enos, Richard L., 105 Enos, Th., 172 Epictetus, 125 Epicurus, 155 Epp, Eldon Jay, 34 Eriksson, Anders, 32, 49, 68, 69, 75, 87, 89, 91, 93, 95, 96, 97, 98, 99, 101, 103, 105, 106, 107, 110, 111, 115, 116, 123, 134

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Index of Names Esler, Philip F., 80 Euripides, 205 Exler, F. X. J., 12 Fairweather, Janet, 3, 44, 50 Fantham, Elaine, 105 Ferguson, Everett, 31, 57 Feuillet, André, 124 Fiore, Benjamin, 126, 144, 191 Fischel, H. A., 19 Fish, S., 172, 173 Fitzgerald, John T., xvii, 113, 123, 126, 132, 235 Fitzmyer, Joseph A., 219 Flinterman, Jaap-Jan, 156 Foerster, R., 12 Forbes, Christopher, vii, 17, 123, 128, 144, 150 Ford, David F., 69 Fortenbaugh, William W., 103, 104, 105, 120, 145 Fotopoulos, John, 58, 59 Frerich, Ernest S., 45 Frey, J., 20, 161 Frid, Bo, 68 Funk, Robert W., 122 Furnish, Victor Paul, 213 Fürst, A., 236 Gaventa, Beverly R., 208 Genette, Gérard, 11 Geoffrion, Timothy, 29, 59 George, Timothy, 44 Giovini, R., 15 Given, Mark D., 79, 105 Gleason, M. W., 225 Glück, Louise, 206, 207, 216, 222 Goldstein, Jonathan A., 56 Goody, E., 224 Göttert, K. H., 5 Goulder, Michael, 85, 86 Gowler, David B., 134 Grant, Robert M., 32 Gregory, C. A., 4 Grenfell, Bernard, 151 Grobel, Kendrick, 125 Grube, G. M. A., 120, 154 Guerra, Anthony, 35 Guthrie, W. K. C., 172 Haase, Wolfgang, 123 Habermacher, J.-F., 35 Habermas, J., 5

Sampley D.indd 243

243

Hafemann, Scott J., 211, 213 Hahn, Ferdinand, 161 Hakola, R., 11 Hall, D. R., 191 Hall, Robert G., 37, 66, 87, 107 Halleux, R. P. André de, 123 Hansen, G. Walter, 16, 38, 49, 60, 130 Harding, M., 146 Harnisch, Wolfgang, 19, 72, 73 Hartin, P. J., 123 Hauser, Alan J., 3, 48, 52, 55, 56, 57, 60, 63 Hawthorne, Gerald F., 49 Hay, D. M., 168 Hayakawa, S. I., 5 Heath, Malcolm, 11, 75, 88, 113 Heckel, Ulrich, 35, 64 Heil, John, 133 Heinrici, C. F. G., 4 Heiny, Stephen, 129 Hellholm, David, 51, 63, 73, 76, 78, 79, 91, 96, 136 Henderson, M., 155 Hendrickson, G. L., 120 Hengel, Martin, 34, 64 Hercher, R., 153, 154 Hester, J. D. [Amador], 6, 7, 11, 13, 21, 48, 69, 82, 85, 89, 90, 177 Hester, J. D., 13, 36, 38, 54, 55, 58, 66, 82, 83, 84, 85, 86, 88, 89, 90, 92, 93, 131, 138. 173 Heylen, Victor, 123 Hill, Julian V., 67 Hock, Ronald F., 28, 60 Hofmann, Laura-Maria, vii Holland, Glenn S., xvii, 123, 128, 235 Holloway, Paul A., 82 Holocher, H., 5 Holtz, Traugott, 59 Homer, 205 Hong, I.-G., 16 Hoppe, Rudolf, 54, 59, 60, 61, 71 Horsley, Richard, 81 Hosius, C., 225 Hovland, Carl J., 5 Hubbell, H. M., 120 Hübner, Hans, 52, 54, 72, 164, 166, 167, 168, 169, 173, 174, 175, 176 Huby, P. M., 120 Hughes, Frank W., 14, 30, 33, 42, 46, 55, 56, 61, 63, 64, 65, 68, 70, 73, 74, 116, 147, 149

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244

Index of Names

Hunt, A. S., 151 Hyatt, Darlene, 53 Innes, D., 120 Iser, Wolfgang, 190 Isocrates, 145, 147, 149 Jacobs, Lambert, 85, 86 Jaquette, James L., 116, 132 Jegher-Bucher, Verena, 13, 15, 60 Jennrich, W. A., 124 Jens, Walter, 180 Jeremias, Joachim, 4, 123 Jerome, 119 Jervis, L. Ann, 46 Jewett, Robert, 30, 34, 50, 53, 63, 71, 79, 81, 85, 86, 95, 159 Johanson, Bruce C., 30, 43, 53 Johnson, Andy, 84 Johnson, E. E., 168 Johnson, L. T., 158 Johnson, Thomas H., 207 Jolivet, Ira, 35, 89, 90, 91 Jones, C.P., 156 Jónsson, Jakob, 123 Jülicher, Adolf, 6 Käsemann, Ernst, 217, 220 Kaser, M., 230, 231 Keck, Leander E., xvii, 111, 112 Kennedy, George A., 4, 5, 10, 11, 12, 17, 19, 21, 25, 26, 27, 28, 30, 34, 37, 42, 44, 53, 61, 66, 69, 76, 77, 79, 80 Kensinger, K. A., 12 Kern, Philip H., 13, 39, 55, 66 Kim, C.-H., 12 Kim, Johann D., 67, 80, 82, 88, 89, 90, 91, 92, 93 Kittredge, Cynthia Briggs, 57, 84 Klauck, Hans-Josef, 60, 75, 153 Kloppenborg, John, 81 Knox, Wilfred, 176, 177 Koester, Helmut, 44 Konopásek, Jaroslav, 123 Konstan, D., 235 Koskenniemi, H., 12 Kraftchick, Steven, 103, 107, 108, 110, 131 Kraus, Manfred, 95, 103 Kremendahl, Dieter, 13, 14, 16, 17, 18, 19, 60 Krentz, Edgar, 52, 57, 87, 99, 100, 104, 109, 111, 131, 132, 147 Krüger, C., 225

Sampley D.indd 244

Lagrange, M.-J., 124 Lampe, G. W. H., 210 Lampe, Peter, vii, x, xvi, xvii, 4, 6, 9, 10, 13, 15, 21, 77, 95, 144, 173, 191, 231, 239 Lategan, B. C., 83, 84 Lausberg, Heinrich, 25, 26, 51, 80, 121, 136 Lee, Michelle V., 131 Leeman, A. D., 120 Leff, Michael C., 120 Lemmer, Richard, 122 Lendon, J. E., 225 Lentricchia, F., 172 Levine, Amy-Jill, 208 Liddell, H. G., 210 Lincoln, Andrew T., 169 Linton, Olof, 123 Litfin, Duane, 60, 81 Llewelyn, S. R., 14 Lohse, Eduard, 163 Long, A. A., 120 Long, Fredrick J., 33, 56, 69, 99 Longenecker, Richard N., 45, 53, 60, 76, 204 Longinus, 120 Loubser, J. A., 128, 130 Luck, U., 175 Lüdemann, Gerd, 51 Lund, Nils W., 122, 123, 127 Luter, A. Boyd, 131 Luther, Martin, 3, 204 Lyons, George, 30, 65, 103 Mack, Burton L., 43, 48, 93 MacMullen, R., 225 MacRae, George W., 33 Mair, L., 224 Malan, F. S., 126, 127 Malherbe, Abraham, 12, 15, 31, 34, 41, 42, 44, 149, 155 Malina, B. J., 224 Man, Ronald E., 123 Marshall, I. Howard, 27 Marshall, John W., 29, 103, 104, 107 Marshall, Peter, 129 Martin, Clarice, 28 Martin, Dale B., 60 Martin, Josef, 25, 26, 121, 136 Martin, Ralph P., 49 Martin, Troy W., vii, ix, 17, 36, 88, 90, 107, 109, 111 Martyn, J. Louis, 53, 204, 220

11/25/2009 8:41:15 AM

Index of Names Mattingly, D. J., 225 Mattioli, Anselmo, 123 May, James M., 103 Mays, James L., 220 Maximus of Tyre, 145 McCall, Marsh H., 120 McCasland, S. Vernon, 123 McComiskey, B., 172 McLaughlin, Thomas, 172 McLean, Bradley H., 132 Meeks, Wayne A., xvii, 28, 31, 57, 150, 155, 158, 191 Melanchthon, Philipp, 3, 119 Mell, Ulrich, 4, 95 Merenlathi, P., 11 Meyer, Paul W., 164, 168, 169, 174, 220 Meynet, Roland, 123 Miesner, Donald R., 124 Milligan, George, 210 Milton, John, 204, 205 Minucianus, 145 Mitchell, M. M., 4, 32, 40, 41, 53, 58, 66, 69, 78, 86, 116, 144, 145, 148 Mitternacht, Dieter, 60 Moore, John D., 95 Moulton, James Hope, 210 Müllenbrock, H. J., 166 Müller, F. L., 196 Müller, Ulrich B., 4, 95 Mullins, Terence Y., 12, 114 Münch, Peter, vii Murdock, G. P., 224 Murphy-O’Connor, Jerome, 55, 124, 146 Mussner, Franz, 204 Myers, Charles D., 125 Nanos, Mark D., 36, 37, 38, 45, 50, 54, 62, 66, 70, 75, 84, 88, 131 Nélis, Jean, 123 Neusner, Jacob, 45, 75 Newman, L. I., 123 Neyrey, Jerome H., 139, 224 Nida, E. A., 122 Niemirska-Pliszczyńska, J., 123 Noppen, J. P. van, 129 Norden, E., 4 Obbink, D., xvii, 235 O’Donnell, Matthew Brook, 57 Olbrechts-Tyteca, Lucie, 6, 49, 77, 83, 138, 173

Sampley D.indd 245

245

Olbricht, Thomas H., 3, 6, 12, 29, 31, 33, 35, 39, 42, 47, 49, 50, 51, 53, 54, 57, 58, 65, 67, 68, 69, 83, 85, 86, 90, 93, 94, 95, 97, 98, 99, 103, 104, 105, 106, 107, 108, 109, 110, 111, 113, 117, 122, 123, 125, 128, 134, 144, 145, 146, 149 Olson, G. A., 172, 173 O’Mahony, Kieran, 33, 62, 69, 77, 89, 91, 129 Opelt, I., 225 Origen, 3 Orton, David E., 121 Ortony, Andrew, 206 Osiek, C., 6 Papadimitriu, Euthymios, 181, 189 Park, David, 129 Parsons, M. C., 8 Paulsen, Henning, 68 Peachin, M. G., 225, 233 Pearson, Birger A., 52 Pelser, G. M. M., 130 Penella. R. J., 156 Penna, Romano, 56 Penner, Todd, Jr., 105, 106 Perelman, Chaim, 5, 6, 49, 77, 83, 138, 173 Peter, H., 12 Petersen, Norman, 52, 61 Peterson, Brian K., 33, 52, 69, 81, 86, 88, 89, 90, 91 Petzer, J. H., 123 Philo, 125 Pitta, A., 16 Plank, Karl, 126 Plato, 145, 147, 151, 154 Pliny, 155 Plummer, Alfred, 210 Pogoloff, Stephen, 84, 86 Pólay, E., 225 Polo, F. Pina, 225 Popkes, Wiard, 74 Popper, W., 123 Porter, Calvin, 66 Porter, Stanley E., 3, 6, 11, 12, 15, 20, 25, 29, 33, 35, 40, 41, 42, 48, 49, 50, 51, 53, 54, 55, 56, 57, 58, 59, 61, 65, 67, 68, 69, 71, 72, 75, 77, 78, 83, 85, 86, 90, 94, 95, 99, 101, 103, 105, 110, 114, 115, 117, 121, 122, 123, 125, 139, 144, 145, 147, 148, 149 Potter, D., 225 Pretorius, E. A. C., 130, 131

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246

Index of Names

Prieur, J.-M., 231 Probst, Hermann, 4, 71, 74 Protagoras, 145, 147 Proust, Marcel, 11 Pseudo-Demetrius, 12, 143 Pseudo-Libanius, 12, 143 Quintilian, 5, 66, 71, 110, 147, 180 Räisänen, H., 179 Ramsaran, Rollin A., xvii, 77, 101, 102, 105, 194 Reardon, B. P., 156 Reed, Jeffrey T., 15, 41, 42, 54, 55, 56, 61, 87, 149 Rehkopf, Friedrich, 123 Reid, Marty, 64, 65, 81, 99 Reinmuth, E., 13, 191 Rengstorf, K. H., 175 Resner, André, 106 Reumann, John, 68, 123 Rhoads, D., 11 Richards, E. R., 12, 13, 158 Richards, I. A., 5, 6 Richards, Kent H., 129 Richardson, L., Jr., 120 Richardson, Peter, 46 Ricoeur, Paul, 205, 206, 207 Riepl, W., 14 Robbins, Vernon K., 8, 9, 10, 19, 49, 95, 96, 98, 100 Robinson, O. F., 225 Rolland, Philippe, 124 Roller, M., 225 Roller, O., 12 Ross, W. D., 206 Rowe, Galen O., 77, 121 Russell, D. A., 121, 145 Russell, Walter B., 5, 64 Sacks, Sheldon, 206 Sallmann, K., 225 Sampley, J. Paul, xvii, 60, 75, 77, 88, 139, 191, 194, 195, 235, 236, 238 Sandnes, Karl Olav, 116 Sänger, Dieter, 3, 5, 12, 13, 15, 75 Saw, Insawn, 51, 68, 75, 88, 91, 104, 109, 111, 147 Schelkle, K. H., 12 Scherer, Karl, 122

Sampley D.indd 246

Schiappa, E., 172 Schlosser, J., 58 Schmeller, Thomas, 124 Schmidt, P. L., 225 Schmitz, D., 225 Schmitz, T. A., 7 Schnakenberg, Karen R., 105 Schneider, Norbert, 4, 123 Schnider, F., 12, 16 Schoedel, William R., 31 Schoeni, Mark, 124 Schoon-Janssen, Johannes, 12, 38, 60, 86 Schütz, Roland, 123 Schüssler Fiorenza, Elisabeth, 27, 32, 36, 40, 82, 83, 84, 85, 89, 169, 170, 171, 172 Schütrumpf, E., 145 Schwankl, Otto, 102, 105 Schweitzer, E., 13 Scott, R., 210 Scott, R.L., 172 Segert, Stanislav, 123 Selby, Gary, 105 Seneca, 13, 14, 156 Siegert, F., 6, 18, 77, 78, 167 Sigountos, James G., 67, 127 Sisson, Russell B., 105, 134 Slater, W. J., 225 Smit, J. F. M., 32, 37, 38, 58, 59, 66, 67, 68, 70, 72, 73, 101, 126, 127, 147 Smith, Abraham, 80 Smith, M. F., 155 Snyman, A. H., 29, 65, 66, 74, 99, 105, 119, 120, 122, 125, 126 Sonderlund, Sven K., 76 Soskice, Janet Martin, 204, 205 Spencer, Aida B., 128 Spengel, L., 15, 145 Stamps, Dennis L., 11, 20, 40, 49, 51, 55, 68, 77, 78, 82, 83, 85, 93, 94, 99, 110, 139 Standaert, Benoît, 37, 67, 68 Standhartinger, Angela, 40 Stanley, Christopher D., 84 Starr, James, 73, 74 Steinbrink, B., 5 Steiner, Deborah, 205 Stendahl, Krister, 175 Stenger, W., 12, 16 Steyn, G. J., 133 Stichele, Carolina Vander, 105, 106 Stirewalt, M. L., 12, 144, 158

11/25/2009 8:41:15 AM

Index of Names Stowers, Stanley K., 12, 40, 41, 42, 123, 124, 125, 139, 144, 156 Strachan, Lionel R. M., 119 Strecker, Georg, 11, 12 Sullivan, Dale, 38 Sumney, Jerry L., 104, 107, 108, 109, 110, 111, 128 Surburg, Mark. P., 49 Syreeni, K., 11 Taatz, I., 19 Talbert, Charles H., 8 Temporini, Hildegard, 123 Theon of Alexandria, 15 Thiselton, Anthony C., 75 Thompson, James W., 110 Thomson, Ian H., 4, 124 Thraede, K., 12 Thrall, Margaret E., 204, 208, 212 Thucydides, 154 Thurén, Lauri, 5, 13, 16, 20, 49, 73, 110, 111, 127, 128, 165, 166, 168, 173, 174 Tiro, 13 Tobin, Thomas H., 35, 76, 116 Tolmie, D. François, 37, 46, 49, 60, 93, 118, 130 Toulmin, S., 6 Trapp, M., 152 Treggiari, S., 231 Trobisch, D., 12 Übelacker, Walter, 95, 123 Ueding, Gerd, 5, 103, 180 Usener, H., 155 Valesio, P., 172 Van den Hout, M., 12 Vanhoye, A., 50, 127 Vatz, Richard E., 81 Vermaak, C. J., 132 Victor, C. Julius, 15, 55 Virgil, xiv Vorster, J. N., 92 Vos, Johannes, vii, 20, 68, 69, 70, 71, 76, 85, 86, 93, 98 Vouga, François, 11, 35, 37, 72 Walker, Donald, 106, 107 Wallace-Hadrill, A., 225 Walter, N., 13, 191

Sampley D.indd 247

247

Walton, Steve, 41 Wanamaker, Charles, 30, 41, 53, 58, 73, 105, 107 Warner, M., 177 Warning, Rainer, 190 Watson, Duane F., vii, ix, x, 3, 4, 25, 27, 28, 29, 31, 40, 48, 52, 55, 56, 57, 59, 60, 61, 63, 64, 66, 68, 77, 78, 84, 85, 86, 88, 89, 92, 103, 104, 109, 110, 117, 121, 124, 127, 128, 132, 134, 138, 147 Watson, Francis, 175 Weaver, Purcell, 138 Weaver, R., 5 Wedderburn, A. J. M., 169 Weder, H., 123 Weichert, V., 12 Weima, J. A. D., 12, 105 Weiss, Bernard, 4, 162 Weiss, Johannes, 4, 162, 163 Welborn, L. L., 108, 111, 112 Welch, John W., 124 West, David, 205 White, J. L., 12, 151, 159 White, L. Michael, xvii, 28, 77, 113, 123, 191 Wick, Peter, 53 Wilamowitz-Mollendorff, U. von, 121 Wilckens, Ulrich, 219 Wilke, C. G., 4 Wilken, Robert L., 31 Wilkinson, John, 138 Williams, David. J., 123 Williams, M. Gwynn, 155 Winger, Michael, vii, 220 Winter, Bruce, W., 49 Wisse, Jakob, 95, 103 Witherington III, Ben, 53, 57, 88, 149 Wrede, W., 175 Wright, Nicholas T., 76 Wuellner, Wilhelm, 30, 31, 32, 34, 50, 51, 58, 63, 77, 79, 80, 82, 83, 84, 85, 89, 91, 104, 113, 114, 127, 138, 167 Yarbrough, O. Larry, xvii, 28, 77, 191 Yeo, Khiok-Khng, 118 Young, Frances, 69 Young, Iris Marion, 171 Ziemann, F., 12 Zmijewski, Josef, 128

11/25/2009 8:41:15 AM

Index of Passages

Aelian Letters

157

1447a.13–16 1451a 1458a.22 1458a.26 1458a.30

Aeschines Letters

154

Ethica Nicomachea 10.9.4 188

Alciphron Letters

157

ANCIENT NON-BIBLICAL TEXTS

Anarchasis Letters Anaximenes Rhetorica ad Alexandrum 1–5, 29–34 22.1434a. 35–28. 1436a.13

205 11 207 207 207

Ars rhetorica

156

66 25–26

121

Apollonius of Tyana Letters 156, 157 11–13, 24–27, 30–34, 38–43, 47, 53–54, 56–57, 63–71, 74–78, 81–82, 84, 91 156 Aristotle De arte poetica 21 205

5, 109, 205 205 94 94

1.1.1, 1354a 1.1.4 1.1.11 1.2, 1356a. 3,5 1.2.3 1.2.3–5 1.2.4 1.2.4–6 1.2.7 1.2.8 1.2.9 1.3.1, 1358b 1.3.3 1.3.7–9 1.3.15 1.4.1, 1359a. 1–2 1.4–15 1.4–8 1.6.1–1.7.41 1.6, 1362a.1 1.8, 1366a.7, 29ff. 1.9 1.9, 1368a. 38–40 1.10–15

134 94, 145 103 108, 184 94 94 94 100 26, 146 73 115 25 26 115 25 116 26

1.11, 1371a. 25; 1371b.27 2.1–11 2.1.1–2.11.7 2.1.5–7 2.1.8 2.18.2, 1392a.5 2.18.2–4 2.18.4–5 2.19.1–27 2.20.2 2.21 2.21, 1395b. 2 2.22, 1396a.4 2.23.1–30 2.24, 1402a. 24 3 3.1–12 3.1.5 3.2, 1404b. 4, 12 3.2.6–15 3.10.7–3.11.5 3.11.2–4, 1411b.30– 1412a.9 3.13.1–5 3.13.4 Letters

26, 146 26, 145 26, 136 25

181 189 108 103 112 26 115 76 115 100 76 181 39 115–16 18 205 121 94 137, 206 205 205

205 65 65 154

Athanasius Orationes tres contra Arianos 26.376.3 227

248

Sampley D.indd 248

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Index of Passages Auctor ad Herennium Rhetorica ad Herennium 5 1.2.2 26 1.2.3 121 1.3.4 65 2.18.28 77 2.30.47 69, 70 2.31.50 188 3.2–5 26 3.2.3–5.9 26 3.4.8 146 3.6–8 26 3.6.10 26 3.8.15 26 4 121 4.8.11 121 4.11.16 122 4.13–34 121 4.13.18 121 4.35–55 121 4.40.52–53 137 Chariton Chareas and Callirhoe 157 4.4 157 4.5 157 4.6 157 8.4 157 Chion of Heraclea Letters 157 Cicero Amicitia 88–100 De inventione 1.5.7 1.7.9 1.12.17 1.14.19 1.56.109 2.4.12 2.4.12–59.178 2.4.14– 51.154 2.51.155–56

Sampley D.indd 249

235 5 26 121 91 65 188 26, 26 25 25 26, 26

2.51.155– 58.176 2.59.177 2.59.177–78

25, 26 26 26

De optimo genere oratorum 121 1.2 121 De oratore 1.31.141 2.11.45–6; 2.84–85 2.42.178 2.44.185–87 2.45.189–90 2.77.311 2.81.333– 83.340 2.81.333– 85.349 2.82.333–36 2.185–86 2.206–7 2.211 3.5.19–55.212 3.26.104– 27.107 3.27.104–107 3.27.105 3.27.106–107 3.45.177 3.52.199 3.52.199–200 3.52.200 3.53.202– 54.206 3.53.205 3.54.206–8 5.20–6.21 11.37 13.42 16.55 19.61–31.112 21.69–29.101 21.70–22.74 24.80 24.81 28.99–31.112 35.123

5 26 26 134 134 185 109 25 25 26 109 109 109 121 136 137 137 137 121 121 121 121 121 137 121 121 26 26 137 121 121 122 121 121 122 122

249 35.123–25 36.126–27 39.134–35 39.134–71.237 39.136–40.139 64

121 137 121 121 121 13

Epistulae ad familiares 155 1–7, 14, 18 155 4.13.1 149 5.5.1 149 10.8 155 13.76 155 14 155 24.1 13, 149 Frgm. Orat. 6.1 Schol.

186

In Catilinam 1.1, 2, 8–10, 12, 15–16, 22–23, 25, 31, 33 1.12 2.1 2.6 2.7 2.11 2.15 2.17 2.27 3.21 4.1 4.2 4.3 4.9 4.11–12 4.13 4.18 4.19 4.23

225 226 225 238 226 227, 238 230 226 226 226 229 229 229 230 238 238 230 230 230

In Verrem 5.33.86

186

Partitiones oratoriae 1.4 109 3.10 26

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250

Index of Passages

Partitiones oratoriae (cont.) 3.10–4.12 26 4.12, 21–23 26 4.13, 24–27 26 4.14–15, 28–37 25 5.16–7.24 121 8.27 136, 137 10 146 15.52 136, 137 15.52–17.58 136 15.53 136 15.53–54 137 15.54 137 16.55 137 16.55–56 137 17.58 137 20.69 26 21.70 26 21.71 26 24.83ff. 26 24.83–87 26 Pro L. Valerio Flacco 37 149 Topica 24.91 24.92–26.96

26 25

CIL VIII 14683

231

1 Clement 47

237

Corpus Juris Civilis

Institutes 4.4.pr 4.4.1 4.4.1, 6–9, 11 4.4.9

230 230 230 232

Crates Letters 156 Letters 2–3, 5–6, 11, 15–17 to his students 156 Letter 7 to the wealthy 156 Letter 14 to the young men 156 Letter 18 to the younger men 156 Letters 20–22, 34 to Metrocles 157 Letter 24 to the Thessalians 156 Letters 25–27 to the Athenians 156 Cynic letters (ed. Malherbe) 155, 157 Cyprianus De Ecclesiae Unitate 3 234 17 234 Sententiae Episcoporum 1 234

Codex Justinianus 9.35 230 9.35.3 231 9.35.5 230 9.35.9–10 230 9.36.1–2 231 9.36.2.1 231

Demetrius De elocutione 2.59–67 224–26, 229–31 233 235

Digesta 47.10 47.10.5 47.10.9

Demetrius of Phalerum Fragment 130 (ed. Fortenbaugh– Schlütrumpf) 145

Sampley D.indd 250

230 231, 232 231–32

121 121 13 149 13

Demosthenes Letters 149, 154 Letter 1 56, 70 Letter 5 to Heracleodorus 154 Dio Chrysostomus Orationes 32.5, 7, 11 236 33.9 235 77/78. 38 235 Diogenes Letters 156 Letter 1 to the people of Sinope 156 Letter 28 to the so-called Greeks 156 Letter 43 to the Maroneans 156 Diogenes Laertius Vitae 5.27 154 5.60 154 5.81 154 5.98 154 7.163 154 7.178 154 8.79–80 154 9.14 154 10.136 155 Diogenes of Oenoanda Fragment 68–74 (ed. Smith) 155 Dionysius Ars Rhetorica (attributed to Dionysius) 11.396–397 125 Epicurus Letters

155

Gellius Noctes Atticae 7.11.1

233

11/25/2009 8:41:16 AM

Index of Passages Heraclitus Letters 156 Letter 3 to the Ephesians 156 Herodotus Histories 1.123.1 3.128.1 5.14.1 8.128.1

154 154 154 154

Hesiod Opera et dies 289

192

Hippocrates Letters 10–11 25–27

154 154

Homer Iliad 6.168–169 9.442–443

154 183

153 153 153 153 153 153 153 153 153 153 153 153 153 153 153 153 153 153 153

Julian Orationes 6.201A–C

235

Justin Dialogue 35.3.7

Horace Ars Poetica 23 102 388

10 185 192

ILS 7212

232

Isocrates Letters Letters 2–3 ad Philippum 149 Letter 6 ad filios Jasonis 154 Letter 8 ad reges Mytilenaeos 154 John Chrysostom In epistulam ad Ephesios 62.46.56 227 Josephus Antiquitates Judaicae 153 8.2.6–7 153

Sampley D.indd 251

11.5.1 11.6.12 12.2.4 12.2.5 12.3.3 12.5.5 13.2.2 13.3.1 13.4.9 13.5.8 14.10.2ff. 14.10.8 14.10.11 14.10.15 14.10.17 14.10.20 14.12.3 14.12.4 14.12.5

227

Law of the Twelve Tablets 8.1a 232 Longinus On the Sublime 11.1–12.2 11.2 12.2 Lucanus Pharsalia 6.742–743

121 136 137 137

232

Maximus Tyrius Philosophical Orations 14 (ed. Hobein) 235 25.6 (ed. Trapp)/ 31.6 (ed. Hobein) 145 Papyri references 151–52, 233

251 Philo Heres 19

235

Philodemus On Frank Criticism col. VIIIb 236 col Xb, XVIIb 236 col. XIXb 236 col. XXIIIa 236 Fragments 1, 2, 7, 12, 32, 38, 70 14 58 60 61.1 82.7

236 238 236 236 237 237

Philostratus Vita Apollonii 2.4 2.41 3.51 4.5 4.22 4.27

156 232 156 156 156 156 156

Letter 70 to Cleophon and Gaius 157 Plato

156

Gorgias 460c, 508c 463B

18 183 18

Letters 1–3 to Dionysios 154 4 to Dion 154 5 to King Perdiccas of Macedon 154 6 to Hermeias and Erastus and Coriscus 154

11/25/2009 8:41:16 AM

252

Index of Passages

Letters (cont.) 7–8 to the associates and friends of Dion 154 9 to Archytas of Tarentum 154 10 to Aristodorus 154 11 to Laodamas 154 12 to Archytas of Tarentum 154 13 to Dionysius 154

Pseudo-Clement Homiliae 16.21.4.2 227

Phaidros 267a 275a

18 183 186

Pliny Epistulae 1–10 1.11 2.6

155 14 14

Quintilian Institutio Oratoria 5, 180 1 prooem. 9 183 4 prooem. 2 184 4 prooem. 6 189 1.1.1–2, 16–17 183 1.1.5 198, 199 1.1.16–17, 19 182 1.1.20 182 1.1.34 198 1.2.18 183 1.2.20 198 1.2.22 182 1.2.22, 26 182 1.2.29–31 182 1.3.6, 10 182 1.3.8 182 1.3.9 182 1.5 121 1.8.11 189 1.8.18–19 184 1.10.25, 27, 31–32 187 1.11.12 187 2.2.6 182 2.6.6, 10 181 2.2.7 182 2.2.8 182 2.3.8–9 184 2.3.12 183 2.4.3–9, 13 183 2.4.10, 12 182 2.4.12 182 2.6.3 182 2.6.6 182 2.7.2–4 182

Plutarch How to Tell the Difference 51C 235 52A 238 52B 236 55B 235 56A 236 59C 236 59D 235, 236 63B 235 64C 235 66A 236 68C 238 69E–F 238 71A 236 71D 236 71E–F 238 72A 238 73A 236 73B 238 73D 236 Moralia 1101b 1128

Sampley D.indd 252

155 155

Pseudo-Paulus Sententiae 5.4.1 5.4.6 5.4.11 5.4.15 5.4.16 5.4.17

230, 231 231 231 231 230, 232 231

2.7.3 2.9.1–2 2.12.3–11 2.13.13–14 2.15.2–3, 20, 27–33 2.15.30 2.15.34 2.16.4, 10 2.16.8 2.17.27, 29 2.17.43 2.21.12 3.1.3 3.3.3–18 3.3.14–15 3.4 3.4.1–11 3.4.3, 6–9, 11–16 3.6.1 3.7 3.7.25 3.7.28 3.8 3.8.1 3.8.1–6 3.8.12–13 3.8. 22–35 3.8.39–40 3.8.48 3.8.67–70 3.8.63 3.8.69 3.9 3.9.1 3.9.3 4.1.5 4.1.8–9, 11 4.1.14 4.1.17–18, 20 4.1.21 4.1.28–29 4.1.33 4.1.45–46 4.1.51 4.1.54 4.1.60 4.2.46 4.2.77

196 182 184 189 183 183 183 183 189 184 183 183 182 91 146 25 145 26, 146 92 26 181, 184 26 26 183 26 184 26 188 184 26 184 230 25 65 69 189 70, 184 189 181, 189 188 109, 188–89 184 181 189 199 184 189 187

11/25/2009 8:41:16 AM

Index of Passages 4.2.91–93 4.2.112, 115, 120 4.2.123 4.2.125 4.3.11 4.5.5–6 5.7.26 5.8.3 5.12.8 5.12.9 5.12.11 5.12.21 5.13.52 5.14.29 5.14.35 6.1.8 6.1.9 6.1.9–14, 51–52 6.1.11, 20 6.1.25–27 6.1.27–29 6.1.30 6.1.46 6.1.52 6.2.2 6.2.2, 5–6 6.2.3 6.2.6 6.2.14 6.2.15 6.2.16 6.2.18–19 6.2.20–24 6.2.23 6.2.26–29 6.2.29–32 6.2.32 6.2.34–36 6.3.1 6.3.1–112 6.3.9–10 6.3.28 6.4.10 6.4.22 7.1.4 7.1.10 7.2.33 7.4.18

Sampley D.indd 253

184 189 186 184 181 184 181 187 184 184, 188 181 227 184 184 189 224 191 109, 189 181 188 188 188 189 109 224 187 187 187, 224 229 227 230 184 134 231 185 185 185 185 188 188 189 230 185 189 181 189 184 183

8–9 8.2.21 8.2.23–24 8.3.2 8.3.5 8.3.61–62 8.3.64 8.3.66 8.3.71 8.3.88 8.4 8.4.1–3 8.4.3–9 8.4.9–14 8.4.15–26 8.4.26–27 8.4.28 8.5 8.5.8 8.5.12 8.6 8.6.1 8.6.21, 23 8.6.25 8.6.29 8.6.42 9.1–2 9.1.1–36 9.1.14 9.1.19–21 9.1.27 9.1.28 9.1.29 9.1.30 9.1.31 9.1.43 9.1.45 9.2 9.2.3 9.2.19 9.2.26 9.2.40 9.2.44–46 9.2.54 9.2.58–59 9.2.65, 68 9.2.69 9.2.71 9.2.77–79 9.2.92

121 189, 190 191 184 189 186 185, 186 186 185, 186 185 136 136 137 137 137 137 136 76 184 189, 190 121 121 190 226 190 188, 192 190 121 190 187 186 190 190 186 190 190 186, 190 121 190 199 188 186 190 188 188 190 184 190 190 190

253 9.3.1–99 9.3.2 9.3.27 9.3.50–54 9.3.59–60 9.3.101–102 9.4.9–10 9.4.19–20 9.4.126 9.4.135, 136, 138 9.4.143–44, 147 10.1.20–21 10.1.110 10.1.111 10.2.15 10.2.20 10.2.21 10.3.4 10.3.6 10.3.7 10.3.9–12 10.3.15 10.3.17 10.3.18 10.3.19–25 10.3.26–27 10.3.28 10.3.29 10.3.30–31 10.3.32–33 10.4.2 10.4.3–4 10.5.15–16 10.5.19 10.6 10.6.1 10.6.2 10.6.3 10.6.4 10.6.6–7 10.7.8 10.7.8–9 10.7.10 10.7.11 10.7.14 10.7.14–15 10.7.16–17 10.7.24–25, 29

121 187 184 188 188 184, 188 187 15 187 187 199 184, 187 183 184 193 183 183 192 194 192 193 193 193, 194 193 194 194, 197 193 193, 195 194 195 192 193 196 182 198 197, 198 198 195 199 198 198 183 198 198 185 185 182 182–83

11/25/2009 8:41:16 AM

254 Institutio Oratoria (cont.) 10.7.32 186 11.1.15–17 184 11.1.16 234 11.1.15–28 129, 227 11.1.21 185 11.1.43–45 181 11.1.50 181, 188 11.1.52 181, 188 11.1.54 188 11.1.56 185 11.1.61–72, 75–76, 78 181 11.2.1 183, 195, 199 11.2.3, 6 198 11.2.7 199 11.2.8 199 11.2.9 186 11.2.17–22 196 11.2.19 196 11.2.24–26 196 11.2.27 197 11.2.28–32 197 11.2.33 187, 197 11.2.34 196 11.2.35 197 11.2.39 195, 199 11.2.40–41 199 11.2.41 195–96 11.2.42 196, 198 11.2.43 196 11.2.44 199 11.2.45 186 11.2.46–47 199 11.2.48–49 198 11.2.50 183 11.3.11, 19 183 11.3.61–62 188 11.3.62 185 11.3.64, 67, 116 187 11.3.154–55 184 11.3.156 188 11.3.162, 166, 169 187 11.3.170 187, 189 12.1–2 184 12.1.1 183 12.1.4 183 12.1.6–7 182

Sampley D.indd 254

Index of Passages 12.1.8 12.1.13 12.1.27 12.1.29–31 12.1.32 12.1.36 12.1.38 12.1.41 12.1.42 12.2.1 12.2.2–4 12.5.2a 12.5.2–4 12.6.3 12.6.6–7 12.7.7 12.8.10,15 12.9.1 12.9.4 12.9.5–6 12.9.12 12.9.17–18 12.10.14, 20–21 12.10.43 12.10.43–48 12.10.45 12.10.46 12.10.47 12.10.55–56 12.10.58–72 12.10.77 12.10.79, 46 12.11.9 12.11.11–13 12.11.23 12.11.31

182 183 183 185 183 184 184 184 182 182 183 184 181 182 182 184 181 184 184 184 184 186 181 185 188 188 188 184 181 121–22, 187 193 184 183 182 182 183

Qumran 1QH XII 7, 10–14, 16–17, 20, 22–23 231 Rufus Rhetoric 2 1.463

75.1 108; 111

13 18

De constantia sapientis 5.1 231, 233 11.3 233 Socratics Letter 22 to Simmias and Cebes 156 Stoicorum Veterum Fragmenta 3.555 (ed. v. Arnim) 184 Strabo Geographica 13.589

155

Talmud b. San. 11a–b

153

Theon of Alexandria Progymnasmata 10 (p. 115, ed. Spengel) 15 Thucydides Historiae 7.11.1

154

Trypho Alex. Fragment 54 (ed. Velsen)

233

Ulpian. See Codex Juris Civilis: Digesta Virgil Aeneid 1.151–53 8.728

184 187

145 BIBLICAL REFERENCES

Seneca Epistulae 45.5; 48.6ff.; 49.5–6

157 18

Hebrew Bible and LXX Genesis 8:21

213

11/25/2009 8:41:16 AM

Index of Passages

152

12 12:24 12:31 12:43–45 28:20

231 224, 225 9 225 9

152

Mark 13

8, 19 19

209 231 224

Luke 15:8–9

8 212

Ezekiel 11:19–20

209

Esther 9:20

Acts 8.30 8:31 18:24

8, 15 186 187 148

153

Romans

Daniel 4 4:1–37 6:26

153 153 153

Ezra 4:11–16

153

ix, 34, 35, 40, 47, 47, 57, 63, 79, 81, 90, 99, 104, 111–12, 124–25, 136, 139, 150, 151, 165–68, 195, 208, 216 64 63 64 35 95, 124 125 195 178 64 79 34 79 79 79 66 79 35 34, 64 66, 233 111 66 35, 116 174 66

Leviticus 23:18

213

1 Kings 21:8–9 Jeremiah 29:1–23 31:33 (LXX 38:33) 33:8 33:8, 11, 16

Sirach 24:15 50:15

213 213

1 Maccabees 1:41 12

153 153

2 Maccabees 1:1 9:18

153 153

New Testament Matthew 1:21 1:23 4:23–25 5–7 8:1–17, 23–24 9:1–8 9:2–8 9:34 10:25

Sampley D.indd 255

9 9 9 9 9, 10 9 9 9 224, 225 224, 225

1:1–7 1:1–12 1:1–15 1–4 1–8 1–11 1:3–4 1:4 1:8–15 1:9–10 1:9–15 1:10 1:11–12 1:13–15 1:16–4:25 1:16–17 1:16–11:36 1:16–15:13 1:18 1:18–31 1:18–32 1:18–3:20 1:18–3:21 1:19–21

255 1:22–31 1:32 2:1 2:1–4:2 2:7–11 2:25 3–8 3:21–26 4 4:17 4:20 4:25 5 5–8 5:1–8:39 5:6–11 5:7 5:9 5:12 5:12–13 5:12–14 5:12–21 5:12–8:13 5:12–8:17 5:14 5:17 5:21 6 6:1–11 6:2–11 6:2 6:3 6:3–11, 23 6:4–5 6:5–6 6:6 6:8–9 6:9 6:10 6:11 6:12 6:15 6:16 6:20 6:21 6:22 6:23 6:17–18 7

66 66, 174 90 125 125 233 125 77 101, 195 209 xiv 162 125, 222 124, 221 66, 76 217, 221 233 212 216 174 216 216, 219 203 216 216 216 216 183, 218, 222 214, 217 218 217, 218 217 221 217 215 217 217, 218 217 217, 218 217, 218 217 178 218 178 218 178 218 178, 156 218, 219, 221, 222

11/25/2009 8:41:16 AM

256 Romans (cont.) 7:1–3 7:1–6 7:4–6 7:4 7:5 7:6 7:7–12 7:7–25 7:8 7:9 7:10a 7:10 7:11 7:12–13 7:13 7:13–25 7:14 7:17 7:18 7:19 7:20 7:21 7:22 7:23 7:24 7:25 8 8:1–17 8:3, 11, 17 8:4ff. 8:5 8:6 8:7 8:10 8:11 8:12 8:12–13 8:13 8:14–17 8:17 8:29–30 8:31–39 9–11 9:6b–13 9:14–18

Sampley D.indd 256

Index of Passages 218 220 214, 218 218, 221 218 218 218, 219 125 218 218 218 218 217, 218, 219 219 219 218, 219, 220 209, 219, 220 219 219 219 219 219 178 219 219 219 221, 222 219 221 220 220 220 220 220 219, 220, 221 219 220 220, 221 221 221 111 125 77, 90, 93, 111 90 90

9:19–29 10:14–21 11:1–24 12 12–15 12:1–15:13 12:3 12:3–8 12:4–5 12:15 12:18 13 14 14:1 14:1–15:13 14:5 14:8–9 14:13–23 14:13, 15 14:20–21 15:14–16:27 15:18 15:22–24 15:26 16:1 16:18 16:22 16:23

90 90 91 114 72 66 233 xiv 195 xvi xvi 125 xv, 212 xiv 77 233 110 xiv xiv xiv 63, 64 178 34 237 150 226 14, 194, 195 237

1 Corinthians

ix, 31, 32, 33, 42, 54, 57, 67, 68, 78, 83, 86, 89, 96, 99, 101, 104–105, 126–27, 138, 148, 150, 165, 195, 213 228 xi, 21, 32, 68, 86, 91, 126, 176, 191 98, 104 98 99 32, 32, 68, 78, 79, 89 68 32

1–3 1–4

1:4–9 1:4–5 1:9 1:10 1:10–17 1:10–4:21

1:11–12 1:11–4:21 1:12 1:13–3:4 1:17 1:17–2:2 1:17–2:5 1:18 1:18–31 1:18–25, 26–31 1:18–2:16 1:19–29 1:19–3:21 1:21 2:1,4 2:1–5 2:5 2:5ff. 2:6–16 3:1–3 3:1–17 3:18–23 3:4 3:5–9 3:1–9 3:9 3:18 3:18–23 3:23 4 4:1–15 4:3–5 4:6–7 4:9–13 4:11–13 4:13 4:16–21 4:18ff. 4:18–19 5 5:1–13 5–6 5–14 5:2 5:6 5:6–13 6:2–3, 5, 15–16 6:12

68 116 xi, xii, xiii, 134 68 44 126 176 213 215 160 68, 77 213 31 212 14, 18 192, 160 18 159 176 xi 68 68 xi xi xi xii 228 xii xii 127 68 229 xii, xiii 126, 192 191 226 68 159 226 238 158 86 32 226 226 238 226 xiii, xiv, xv, 116, 226

11/25/2009 8:41:16 AM

Index of Passages 6:13–20 7:21–22 7:25–26 7:31 7:35 8–10 8:1 8:1–6 8:1–11:1 8:4–13 8:7 8:8 8:7–9:27 8:9–12 8:11 8:13–9:23 9 9:1–23 9:1–10:13 9:4–13 9:9 9:20 9:24–27 10:1 10:1–12 10:1–13 10:1–21 10:3–24 10:23 10:23–30 10:23–11:1 10:31–11:1 11:22 11:23–25 12 12–14 12:1–3 12:4–11 12:12–30 12:4–30 12:21–13:13 12:26 12:31–13:13 13 13:1–3 13:1–13 13:4–7 13:5 13:8–12

Sampley D.indd 257

xv 127 77 160 116 68 116, 127, 226 32, 68 32, 58 xiv 68 68 67 68 xiv, 212 68 82, 102, 228 101 31 226 220 214 68, 102 233 110, 195 101 101 116 xiii, xiv, xv 66 xv, 127 xiv, xv 226 195 32, 195 67, 147 67, 68, 70 68 68 67 32 xvi 66, 68 32, 66, 126, 127 66 31 66 116 66

13:13 14 14:1–33a 14:1–36 14:16–33a 14:26–38 14:26–40 14:37–40 13 15

15:1–3a 15:3–7 15:3b–11 15:9 15:12 15:12–19 15:12–28 15:20–28 15:20 15:21–24 15:23–28 15:24–28 15:25–28 15:29–34 15:35–49 15:36–44a 15:44–57 15:50–58 16:12 16:21 16:22 2 Corinthians

1:1–2:11 1:1–2:13 1–7 1–8 1–9 1:11–12 1:13a

66 150 67 68 xvi 150 159 67, 68, 70 xv, 195 32, 68, 86, 89, 109, 147 68 195 68 191 89 89 68 135 135 135 178 178 135 68 68 136 175 68 xiii 13 111 ix, 33, 57, 69, 110, 128, 130, 150, 165, 192, 203, 208, 213–14, 223–24, 226, 233–34 71 33, 68, 69, 116, 223 71, 87 233 69 234 233

257 1:15 2 2:1, 5–10 2:3–4 2:3–4, 9 2:4 2:6–10 2:7, 10 2:8 2:12–13 2:14 2:14–16 2:14–17 2:14–4:6 2:14–6:13 2:15 2:15–16a 2:15–16 2:16 2:17 2:17c–3:6 3:1 3:1–2 3:1–3 3:2–3 3:3 3:6 3:6–7 3:6–8 3:7 3:12 4:1–15 4:2 4:3 4:4 4:4,6 4:7 4:7–12 4:8–16 4:10 4:10–11 4:10–12 4:10, 12, 15 4:12 4:14 4:17–18 5:1–9

235 88 223, 238 233 233 235, 237 223 235 235 233 129, 208, 211, 212 211, 214, 222 129 129 69, 208 129, 212 129 213, 226 212 226 227 226, 233 209 209 129 192, 209 208, 209 209 208, 209, 222 209 235 111 226 213 260 129 210, 223 234 234, 239 210 211 209, 210, 211, 222 229 211 210 210 203

11/25/2009 8:41:16 AM

258 2 Corinthians (cont.) 5:11c 233 5:12 223, 224, 225, 226, 233 5:12c 233 5:14a 129 5:14–15 211 5:17 204 5:18–20 235 6:1 234, 239 6:5, 8–9 234, 239 6:5, 8–10 234 6:7 223 6:9 209, 210, 222 6:11 235 6:12 226 6:14–7:1 233 6:14b 226 6:15 226 7 110 7:2–4 69 7:4 233, 235 7:5 233, 234, 239 7:5–7 233, 236 7:5–16 223 7:5–8:24 33, 68, 69, 116 7:8–9 233, 237 7:8–12 233, 235, 237 7:12 223, 238 8 233 8–9 33, 62, 69, 129, 230 8:1–15 33 8:7 230 8:16–23 33 9 233 9:2–4 230 9:6–10 109 9:12 109 9:12–15 109 9:13 109 9:14 109 9:6–15 116 10–13 128, 136 10:1 234, 235

Sampley D.indd 258

Index of Passages 10:1–2, 10–11 10:1–5, 7, 10–11, 14–15 10:1, 10–11 10:2b–6 10–13

223, 228

234 16 223 vii, 33, 69, 81, 86, 89, 91, 134, 191, 225, 231, 233–234, 236–238 10:3–5 235 10:3–5, 8 237 10:4–5 178 10:8 234, 238 10:9 235 10:10 xvi, 134, 160 10:12 227, 233, 234 10:12–15, 16b, 18 233 10:12a 227 10:12b 227 10:15 xiv 10:15, 16b 226 11 226 11.1, 16 234 11:1–12:10 128 11:1–12:18 33 11:1b 228 11:2–4 238 11:2a, 20–21a 238 11:3 223 11:3–4 233 11:3, 13–15 226 11:3–4, 23 223 11:4 223, 224, 234, 239 11:5 27, 233 11:5–6, 21, 30 234 11:5–12, 17–12:13 227 11:5–12, 17–33 234 11:6 14, 16 11:7 226 11:7, 11 229 11:7–11 228 11:9 228 11:11 238 11:12 234, 238 11:13–15 223, 226, 227, 230, 232, 233

11:14 11:14–15, 23 11:15 11:16c 11:18 11:19–20 11:20 11:21 11:23 11:23–27, 32 11:32–33 12:1–7, 11–12 12:1–7, 11–13 12:1–13 12:1, 5, 7, 9–10, 12 12:7 12:9 12:9, 12 12:10 12:11 12:11b 12:12 12:12–13a, 17, 19b 12:13 12:14–15 12:15c 12:15, 19 12:16 12:19 12:20 12:21 13:1–2 13:2 13:2–5, 9–10 13:3 13:3–4 13:4, 8 13:7 13:8, 10 13:9 13:9b, 11–13 13:10 13:11 Galatians

223 226 223 228 228 228 226 228 223 234, 239 191 224 227 234 234 191 192 223 228, 234, 239 48, 227 227, 233 238 238 228 229 229 238 228 237 232 223, 238 223, 238 238 234 224, 227 228 223 229 238 229 235 16, 234, 237 235 ix, x, 3, 4, 13, 14, 16–17, 36–39,

11/25/2009 8:41:16 AM

Index of Passages

1:1–5 1–2 1:6 1:6–7 1:6–9 1:6–11 1:6–4:11 1:6–5:6 1:6–9 1:8–9 1:10 1:10–12 1:11 1:11–12 1:11–2:14 1:12–2:14 1:13–24 1:13–2:21 1:15–2:14 1:20 2 2:1–14 2:7–8 2:11 2:11–14 2:15–21 2:17 2:18 2:19 2:19–20 2:19–29 2:20 3 3:1

Sampley D.indd 259

46, 50–51, 53–57, 62–66, 72–73, 76, 79, 86, 88, 90, 92, 93, 99, 107, 110, 113–15, 117–18, 122, 130–31, 145, 150, 163, 165–66, 168, 208, 214, 225 36, 51, 115 36–38 78, 224 79 37, 90 36, 62 38 17 69, 90 14, 226 14, 90 98 37, 233 36, 90 66 36, 62 213 7, 38 36 14, 16 101 131 14 226 66 36, 62, 136 215 215 203, 204, 215, 216 214, 215, 216 222 203, 204, 215 88, 195 136, 216

3:1–4:11 3:1–4:31 3:1–5:12 3:1–6:18 3–6 3:6–14 3:22 3:22–25 3:23–26 4:8 4:8–11 4:9 4:9–10 4:12–20 4:12–6:10 4:21–31 4:21–5:1 5–6 5:1–6:10 5:2–6 5:6 5:7 5:7–6:18 5:12 5:13 5:13–6:10 5:16 5:16, 25 5:17 5:19–21 5:22 6:1 6:2 6:10 6:11 6:11–15 6:11–18 6:12–13 6:12–17 6:14 6:14–15 6:15 6:17 6:17b Philippians

130 36, 62 163 37 36 97, 130 178 204 130 178 90 226 130 109, 113 38 130 135 72 16, 36, 36, 37, 37, 72 14, 17 17 17 17 227 233 38 116 209 215 219 215 150 220 160 13, 16 14, 17 36, 51, 62, 63 63, 226 63 214 215, 216, 222 215 63, 192, 216 14 ix, 28, 29, 57, 59, 61, 68, 86, 88,

259

1:1 1:12–14 1:12–4:1 1:19–26 1:21 1:21–26 1:25 1:27–30 1:28–30 2:1–3:21 2:1–4 2:3, 8 2:5–11 2:6–11 2:10 2:15 2:16 2:17 2:17–3:1a 2:19, 28, 29 2:19–24 2:21 2:25, 30 2:25–30 3 3:1–21 3:2 3:2–9 3:2–11 3:2–11,19 3:10 3:12–16 3:15 3:18–19 3:19 3:20 3:21 4:2–3 4:10–20 4:12 4:14

92, 99–102, 104, 117, 131, 132, 135, 150, 175 150 101 102 101 214 131, 134 xiv 29, 92, 117, 131, 134 117 29 100 117 100, 131 28, 29, 195 178 117 134 136 131 117 100 116 117 100 68 100 86, 136 214 175 86 117 xv, 134 150 226 86, 100 160 117 86, 100 110 117 117

1 Thessalonians ix, x, 30, 31, 40, 44, 47, 54, 57,

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260 1 Thessalonians (cont.) 63, 70, 71, 73, 81, 85, 97–99, 103–4, 107, 109, 132, 147, 150 1:1–2 70 1:1–10 64 1–3 30 1:5–6 159 1:6–10 71 2:5 14, 18 2:12 31 2:15–16 226 1:5 14 1:6–3:13 30 3:8 30 4:1–12 30 4–5 30 4:7 116

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Index of Passages 4:8 4:13–5:11 5:3 5:4–5 5:4–11 5:12–24 5:23–28 Philemon 2 4–7 5 8–16 9–10 10 14 17–22 18 19

116 30, 30, 97, 98 226 116 64 30 64 ix, x, 28, 42, 57, 71, 133 28 66 28 66 28 135 133 66 13, 28 13

20 21–22

109 109

Deutero-Pauline Letters 157 2 Thessalonians 3:17 Colossians 4:18 Ephesians

13, 57, 150 13, 14 13, 15, 176, 177 13, 14 15, 151, 169, 203

Pastoral Epistles 15, 157–58 Hebrews 12:1

196

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Contributors Christopher Forbes, Senior Lecturer, Department of Ancient History, Macquarie University, New South Wales, Australia Peter Lampe, Professor of New Testament Studies and Early Christianity, University of Heidelberg, Germany, and Hon. Prof., University of the Free State, Bloemfontein, South Africa Troy W. Martin, Professor of Religious Studies, Department of Religious Studies, Saint Xavier University J. Paul Sampley, Professor Emeritus of New Testament and Christian Origins, Boston University Johan S. Vos, Emeritus Senior Lecturer in New Testament Studies, Vrije Universiteit Amsterdam Duane F. Watson, Professor of New Testament Studies, Malone University Michael Winger, Covington & Burling LLP, New York, New York

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