D id Paul have formal training in Greco-Roman rhetoric, or

Rethinking Paul’s Rhetorical Education

did he learn what he knew of persuasion informally, as EARLY CHRISTIANITY
social practice? Pauline scholars recognize the importance of
this question both for determining Paul’s social status and for
AND ITS LITERATURE
conceptualizing the nature of his letters, but they have been
unable to reach a consensus. Using 2  Corinthians 10–13 as a
test case, Ryan Schellenberg undertakes a set of comparisons
with non-Western speakers—most compellingly, the Seneca
orator Red Jacket—to demonstrate that the rhetorical strategies
Paul employs in this text are also attested in speakers known
to have had no formal training in Greco-Roman rhetoric. Since
there are no specific indicators of formal training in the way
Paul uses these strategies, their appearance in his letters does
not constitute evidence that Paul received formal rhetorical
education.

RYAN S. SCHELLENBERG is Assistant Professor of Biblical

Rethinking Paul’s
Studies at Fresno Pacific University.
Rhetorical Education
Comparative Rhetoric and
2 Corinthians 10–13

Ryan S. Schellenberg

Society of Biblical Literature Schellenberg

RETHINKING PAUL’S RHETORICAL EDUCATION
 Early Christianity and Its Literature

Gail R. O’Day, General Editor

Editorial Board

Warren Carter
Beverly Roberts Gaventa
Judith M. Lieu
Joseph Verheyden
Sze-kar Wan

Number 10

RETHINKING PAUL’S RHETORICAL EDUCATION

Comparative Rhetoric and 2 Corinthians 10–13
 RETHINKING PAUL’S
RHETORICAL EDUCATION

COMPARATIVE RHETORIC
AND 2 CORINTHIANS 10–13

Ryan S. Schellenberg

Society of Biblical Literature

Atlanta
 RETHINKING PAUL’S RHETORICAL EDUCATION
Comparative Rhetoric and 2 Corinthians 10–13

Copyright © 2013 by the Society of Biblical Literature

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Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Schellenberg, Ryan S.
Rethinking Paul’s rhetorical education : comparative rhetoric and 2 Corinthians 10–13
/ by Ryan S. Schellenberg.
p. cm. — (Early Christianity and its literature ; 10)
Includes bibliographical references and indexes.
ISBN 978-1-58983-779-9 (paper binding : alk. paper) — ISBN 978-1-58983-780-5
(electronic format) — ISBN 978-1-58983-781-2 (hardcover binding : alk. paper)
1. Bible. N.T. Corinthians, 2nd—Criticism, interpretation, etc. 2. Rhetoric in the
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 For Rick Schellenberg

What governs the inflections that make any utterance unmistak-

ably the words of one speaker in this whole language-saturated
world?
—Marilynne Robinson, Absence of Mind
 Contents

Acknowledgments ............................................................................................xi
Abbreviations ................................................................................................. xiii

Introduction .......................................................................................................1

Part 1: Paul’s Rhetorical Education in Recent Scholarship

1. From Unschooled Tentmaker to Educated Rhetorician .....................17

“No Mere Tentmaker” 18
“Kein Klassiker, kein Hellenist hat so geschrieben” 22
Paul, the Educated Rhetorician 26
Soundings 28
The Rise of Rhetorical Criticism 31
“Comparison, Self-Praise, and Irony” 34
A Developing Consensus 36
Paul and the Diatribe 42
Paulus und das antike Schulwesen 45
Dissenting Voices 52
Conclusion 55

2. Second Corinthians 10–13: A Historical and

Literary Introduction ...............................................................................57
Second Corinthians 10–13 and Recent Evaluations
of Paul’s Rhetoric 57
The “Letter of Tears” 62
Paul and the Corinthians 68
Putative Evidence of Rhetorical Education in
2 Corinthians 10–13 76

-vii-
viii CONTENTS

Part 2: Querying Rhetorical Criticism of 2 Corinthians 10–13

3. Forensic Rhetoric, Epistolary Types, and Rhetorical Education ........81

Epistolary Theory and Paul’s Rhetorical Education 81
Letter Types in 2 Corinthians 10–13 83
Epistolary and Rhetorical Training in Greco-Roman
Antiquity 88
Conclusion 96

4. Paul’s (In)appropriate Boasting: Periautologia .....................................97

Plutarch, De laude ipsius (Moralia 539A–547F) 99
Boasting by Necessity 103
Self-Defense 105
Misfortune 108
Usefulness; Benefit to Hearers 109
Comparative Boasting 110
Conclusion 114
Quintilian, Institutio oratoria 11.1.15–26 116
Hesitancy and Prodiorthōsis 118
Conclusion 120

5. Peristasis Catalogues: Rhythm, Amplification, Klangfiguren ...........123

Lists and Catalogues in Greco-Roman Antiquity 123
Catalogues, Auxēsis, and Rhetorical Education 136
Conclusion 140

6. Not a Fool, a Fool’s Mask: Narrenrede and Prosōpopoiia ..................141

Hans Windisch and Paul’s So-Called Narrenrede 141
Narrenrede, Prosōpopoiia, and Rhetorical Education 144
Conclusion 148

7. Synkrisis in Corinth................................................................................149
Sophistry in Corinth? 151
Συγκρίνω and Rhetoric 157
Paul’s Comparison in 2 Corinthians 11:21b–23 160

8. Not a Fool, It’s (Only) Irony ..................................................................169

Glenn Holland’s Boastful Ironist 170
Disclaiming Boastfulness 175
 CONTENTS ix

Conclusion 179

Part 3: Rhetoric as Informal Social Practice

9. Toward a Theory of General Rhetoric .................................................185

A Theory of General Rhetoric 186
Rhetoric in the New World 192
Categories for Comparison 197

10. Attending to Other Voices ....................................................................201

Red Jacket’s Self-Defensive Boasting 202
Sagoyewatha, or Red Jacket 202
Red Jacket’s Periautologia 206
Conclusion 211
Informal Prodiorthōsis 212
Anticipating Social Constraints 213
“You Must Not Think Hard If We Speak Rash” 217
“Feigned Reluctance”? 218
Prosōpopoiia and the Use of Interlocutors’ Voices 223
Prosōpopoiia in 2 Corinthians 10–13 227
“The Tree of Friendship” 229
The Ubiquity of Catalogue Style 231
Conclusion 239

11. The Acquisition of Informal Rhetorical Knowledge..........................243

The Nature of Language Socialization 243
An Analogy: The Singer of Tales 245
Mexicano Rhetorical “Education” 247
Conclusion 251

12. Ἰδιώτης τῷ Λόγῳ .....................................................................................255

Untempered Vigor 256
Epistolary Style: A Red Herring 258
Τὸ ἐν Λόγῳ Ἰδιωτικὸν τοῦ Ἀποστόλου 261
“Confused and Insufficiently Explicit” 263
2 Corinthians 10:10; 11:6 277
“His Letters are Forceful and Bold” 277
“Boorish in Speech” 286
Envy and Foolishness: The Social Locations of Self-Praise 294
x CONTENTS

Boasting in Weakness 304

Conclusion: “Where Is the Voice Coming From?” ...................................309

Voice, Habitus, and the Individual Speaker 311
Toward a Reading of 2 Corinthians 10–13 315
“Where Is the Voice Coming From?” 317
A Weak Apostle in Corinth 320

Bibliography ...................................................................................................325
1. Ancient Texts and Translations 325
2. Secondary Literature 328

Index of Ancient Texts ..................................................................................373

Index of Modern Authors.............................................................................392
Index of Subjects............................................................................................401
 Acknowledgments

This book is a revision of my doctoral dissertation, completed in 2012

at the University of St. Michael’s College in the University of Toronto. A
project of this nature can, of course, be an arduous undertaking, and I
would like to express my gratitude to a number of teachers, colleagues,
and friends whose generous contributions have enriched the final prod-
uct, not to mention the experience of writing it.
First, I am profoundly grateful to Leif Vaage, my advisor, who pro-
vided invaluable guidance along the way. I have benefited much from
his insightful questions and incisive criticism, as well as his consistent
warmth, support, and enthusiasm for this study. Although I owe him
a substantial intellectual debt, I am grateful too for his commitment to
helping me cultivate my own academic voice.
Among the faculty of the Toronto School of Theology, two additional
teachers and mentors deserve special thanks. First, John Kloppenborg has
both taught and modeled consistent excellence in scholarship as in col-
legiality. He also served as a member of my dissertation committee, which
task he undertook with characteristic thoughtfulness and care. Chapter 2
in particular is better for his interaction with it. Second, Colleen Shantz
has simply been far more generous with her help and support than I have
had any right to expect.
I am grateful, too, for the helpful comments and corrections offered
by the other members of my dissertation committee, Scott Lewis, Judith
Newman, and Dean Anderson. In particular, Dr. Anderson’s very close
reading saved me from numerous errors.
Dr. Glenn Holland was gracious enough to comment on an early draft
of chapter 8. I appreciate his willingness to engage my work, and I hope to
continue the conversation.
Supportive colleagues at Fresno Pacific University are too numerous
to name. Still, I am especially grateful to Mark Baker and Brian Schultz for
their counsel and encouragement in bringing this project to fruition. Spe-

-xi-
xii RETHINKING PAUL’S RHETORICAL EDUCATION

cial thanks also to my immediate colleagues in the Biblical and Religious

Studies division, as well as to Tim Geddert of the FPU Biblical Seminary.
Thanks also to Nicole Erickson for her assistance with indexing.
This research was supported by a Doctoral Fellowship from the Social
Sciences and Humanities Research Council of Canada.
Finally, deepest thanks to Susan, who has been encouraging always,
and always ready to celebrate milestones along the way.
 Abbreviations

Abbreviations follow, in order of priority: Patrick H. Alexander et al.,

eds., The SBL Handbook of Style: For Ancient Near Eastern, Biblical and
Early Christian Studies (Peabody, Mass.: Hendrickson, 1999); L’Année
philologique on the Internet. Cited 14 July 2011. Online: http://www
.annee-philologique.com; Simon Hornblower and Anthony Spawforth,
The Oxford Classical Dictionary (3rd ed.; Oxford: Oxford University Press,
2003). Exceptions and additional abbreviations are provided below.

BSGRT Bibliotheca scriptorum graecorum et romanorum

teubneriana
ESEC Emory Studies in Early Christianity
HTKNTSup Herders theologischer Kommentar zum Neuen Testa-
ment Supplementband
LNTS Library of New Testament Studies
PaSt Pauline Studies
Colloquy Protocol of the Colloquy of the Center for Hermeneu-
tical Studies in Hellenistic and Modern Culture
RG Rhetores Graeci. Edited by Leonhard von Spengel. 3
vols. BSGRT. Leipzig: Teubner, 1854–1885.
SBLECL Society of Biblical Literature Early Christianity and Its
Literature
SGLG Sammlung griechischer und lateinisicher Gramma-
tiker
SNTW Studies of the New Testament and Its World
SSCFL Studies in the Social and Cultural Foundations of Lan-
guage
TCH Transformation of the Classical Heritage
UTB Uni-Taschenbüch für Wissenschaft
WGRW Society of Biblical Literature Writings from the
Greco-Roman World

-xiii-
xiv RETHINKING PAUL’S RHETORICAL EDUCATION

WGRWSup Society of Biblical Literature Writings from the

Greco-Roman World Supplement Series
ZKNT Zahn-Kommentar zum Neuen Testament
 Introduction

A century ago now, Adolf Deissmann observed, “The older study of Paul
with its one-sided interest in its bloodless, timeless paragraphs of the ‘Doc-
trine’ or the ‘Theology’ of Paul did not trouble itself about the problem of
the social class of Paul.”1 Since that time, social-scientific methods have
become standard fare in the guild, and study of the social history of early
Christianity has proliferated: we have Malina and we have Meeks;2 we have
the Context Group; we cite the likes of Geertz, Bourdieu, and Mary Doug-
las. And what have we done with Paul?
In one sense, we have made significant progress. Recent studies of
1 Thessalonians and especially the Corinthian correspondence have high-
lighted the specific social and religious contexts addressed by Paul in each
instance.3 Paul’s letters, such research emphasizes, are not disinterested the-
ology; they represent instead his rhetorical engagement of particular social
realities. Indeed, the last decade or two of Pauline scholarship generally
could be characterized as the study of Paul’s rhetoric in its social context.

1. Adolf Deissmann, Paul: A Study in Social and Religious History (trans. Wil-
liam E. Wilson; New York: Harper & Row, 1957), 47; orig. Paulus: Eine kultur- und
religionsgeschichtliche Skizze (Tübingen: Mohr, 1911).
2. Bruce J. Malina, The New Testament World: Insights from Cultural Anthropol-
ogy (3rd ed.; Louisville: Westminster John Knox, 2001); Wayne A. Meeks, The First
Urban Christians: The Social World of the Apostle Paul (New Haven: Yale University
Press, 1983).
3. On Thessalonians, see esp. Richard S. Ascough, “The Thessalonian Chris-
tian Community as a Professional Voluntary Association,” JBL 119 (2000): 311–28;
Ascough, Paul’s Macedonian Associations: The Social Context of Philippians and 1
Thessalonians (WUNT 2/161; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2003). On Corinthians: Gerd
Theissen, The Social Setting of Pauline Christianity: Essays on Corinth (trans. John H.
Schütz; SNTW; Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1982); Dale B. Martin, The Corinthian Body
(New Haven: Yale University Press, 1995); Edward Adams and David G. Horrell, eds.,
Christianity at Corinth: The Quest for the Pauline Church (Louisville: Westminster
John Knox, 2004).

-1-
2 RETHINKING PAUL’S RHETORICAL EDUCATION

But in one key respect it appears we are right where Deissmann left
us: we have not sufficiently troubled ourselves about the problem of Paul’s
“social class”—or, to use language with less ideological baggage, Paul’s
place in ancient society. Indeed, although what we have learned about life
in the cities of first-century Achaia and Asia Minor has certainly enriched
our understanding of the so-called “Pauline communities,” it has not had
much influence on our conception of Paul himself. Paul now speaks into a
social context, but the exigencies of his own existence are seldom explored.
And, paradoxically, it seems the study of Paul’s social rhetoric is com-
plicit in our failure to attend more carefully to his social location. Just as
Deissmann bemoaned how Paul the human being was obscured by schol-
arly constructions of Paul the theologian, now it seems Paul the rhetorician
cloaks whatever of the man himself might yet be uncovered. It is not Paul
but Paul’s rhetorical strategy that our work in this realm has sought, and
so, in the absence of any explicitly articulated portrait, the man behind the
text becomes, by default, a strategist, carefully selecting persuasive words
in order to manage his converts from afar.4
“In no other of the Apostle’s Epistles,” said F. C. Baur of 2 Corin-
thians, “are we allowed to look deeper into the pure humanity of his
character.”5 Yes, until the recent rise of rhetorical criticism, 2 Corinthi-
ans—and especially the “letter of tears” in 2 Cor 10–13—was read as an
outburst of profound emotion.6 Paul was dismayed and distraught, it was
agreed, and the striking rhetorical features of 2 Cor 10–13 were consid-
ered artifacts of affect, the fossilized record of Paul’s subjectivity at this
one moment in time.
In contrast, recent treatments of the passage tend to leave the nature of
Paul’s own investment in the Corinthian community unremarked, focus-
ing instead on his apparently dispassionate use of rhetorical strategies.
Now Paul does not boast, he “uses boasting”;7 he does not plead, he “uses

4. See Colleen Shantz, Paul in Ecstasy: The Neurobiology of the Apostle’s Life and
Thought (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2009), 209.
5. Ferdinand Christian Baur, Paul the Apostle of Jesus Christ: His Life and Work,
His Epistles and His Doctrine (ed. Eduard Zeller; trans. Allan Menzies; 2 vols.; 2nd ed.;
London: Williams & Norgate, 1876), 1:302. Cf. Frederic W. Farrar, The Life and Work
of St. Paul (2 vols.; New York: Dutton, 1879), 2:99.
6. See further the first section of chapter 2 in the present volume.
7. Duane F. Watson, “Paul and Boasting,” in Paul in the Greco-Roman World: A
Handbook (ed. J. Paul Sampley; Harrisburg, Pa.: Trinity, 2003), 90.
 INTRODUCTION 3

many of the means rhetoricians recognized as ways to affect the πάθος of

his hearers.”8 What such readings accomplish, it is important to note, is the
erasure of precisely that “humanity” that so fascinated Baur. Paul has been
reduced to the sum of his rhetorical intentions.
Likewise, for example, in his analysis of Gal 4:19, where Paul appears
to express anguished concern for his Galatian converts (“My little chil-
dren, for whom I am again in the pain of childbirth until Christ is formed
in you”), Troy Martin gives no consideration at all to Paul’s experience of
his relationship with the Galatian community or what it might tell us about
Paul’s social and religious subjectivity. No, Martin’s Paul simply chooses
“pathetic persuasion” as a “strategy” that allows him “to achieve his ends.”9
Certainly this is one way to account for such a text, but it represents an
interpretive decision—specifically, the decision to read Pauline discourse
as a series of tactical maneuvers—that surely cannot go unexamined.
In practice, then, the last few decades of rhetorical criticism have facil-
itated the evasion of a whole set of questions concerning the nature of Pau-
line discourse—namely, all those questions that concern Paul himself as a
human subject. In short, with the rise of rhetorical criticism Paul has gone
from being a mind to being a mouth; we still pay scant attention to the
rest of him.10 Indeed, despite all our effort to understand Paul’s rhetoric,
too often we ignore the fundamental problem: Who speaks?—or, if I may
borrow the evocative question posed by Canadian novelist Rudy Wiebe,
“Where is the voice coming from?”11

8. Jerry L. Sumney, “Paul’s Use of Πάθος in His Argument against the Opponents
of 2 Corinthians,” in Paul and Pathos (ed. Thomas H. Olbricht and Jerry L. Sumney;
SBLSymS 16; Atlanta: Society of Biblical Literature, 2001), 159.
9. Troy W. Martin, “The Voice of Emotion: Paul’s Pathetic Persuasion (Gal 4:12–
20),” in Paul and Pathos (ed. Thomas H. Olbricht and Jerry L. Sumney; SBLSymS 16;
Atlanta: Society of Biblical Literature, 2001), 201.
10. There are, as always, exceptions: e.g., Ronald F. Hock, The Social Context of
Paul’s Ministry: Tentmaking and Apostleship (Philadelphia: Fortress, 1980); John Ashton,
The Religion of Paul the Apostle (New Haven: Yale University Press, 2000); David J.
A. Clines, “Paul, the Invisible Man,” in New Testament Masculinities (ed. Stephen D.
Moore and Janice Capel Anderson; SemeiaSt 45; Atlanta: Society of Biblical Literature,
2003), 181–92; Jennifer A. Glancy, “Boasting of Beatings (2 Corinthians 11:23–25),”
JBL 123 (2004): 99–135; Shantz, Paul in Ecstasy; and, of course, Deissmann, Paul.
11. Rudy Wiebe, Where Is the Voice Coming From? (Toronto: McClelland & Stew-
art, 1974).
4 RETHINKING PAUL’S RHETORICAL EDUCATION

Although he used the language of “social class,” it was something akin

to this question of voice that fascinated Deissmann: When we read the
letters of Paul, he asked, do we find the sort of discourse we would expect
from the likes of “Origin, Thomas Aquinas, and Schleiermacher,” or do we
rather hear a voice akin to “the herdman of Tekoa, the shoemaker of Gör-
litz, and the ribbon-weaver of Müllheim”?12 For Deissmann, the answer
was clear: “St. Paul’s mission was the mission of an artisan, not the mission
of a scholar.”13
In contrast, the bulk of current scholarship argues—and often simply
assumes—that Paul’s discourse is most aptly compared to that of ancient
philosophers and rhetors—a point adequately illustrated by a quick survey
of titles currently on my bookshelf: Philo and Paul among the Sophists,
Paul and the Popular Philosophers, Der Apostel Paulus und die sokratische
Tradition, Paul and Philodemus, Ancient Rhetoric and Paul’s Apology, and
so forth. Implicit in such comparative studies is the notion that Paul’s let-
ters are, in essence, intellectual discourse.14
Bolstering this perspective—or perhaps deriving from it15—are recent
claims that Paul was the beneficiary of formal education in classical rheto-
ric. What is more, it is this putative rhetorical education that now sponsors
most assertions that Paul was a man of relatively high social status. Dale
Martin’s verdict illustrates the logic:

12. Adolf Deissmann, Light from the Ancient East: The New Testament Illustrated
by Recently Discovered Texts of the Graeco-Roman World (trans. Lionel R. M. Stra-
chan; London: Hodder & Stoughton, 1927), 381. The translator’s note here is worth
reproducing: “The prophet Amos is fairly recognizable, but English readers may be
reminded that Jakob Böhme, the mystic, 1575–1624, lived and died at Görlitz, Ger-
hard Tersteegan, the devotional writer, 1697–1769, at Mülheim” (381 n. 2).
13. Ibid., 385.
14. The extent to which this is a reflection of our own discursive context is surely
worthy of consideration. When Albert Schweitzer, for example, calls Paul “the patron
saint of thought,” one suspects that Paul has become—despite Schweitzer’s own oft-
cited warning against such projection in historical Jesus research—a cipher for his
own self-understanding (The Mysticism of Paul the Apostle [trans. William Montgom-
ery; London: Black, 1931], 377).
15. The circular nature of the implicit argument is noted by C. J. Classen: “Es wird
vom Text ausgegangen, um auf die Bildung zu schließen, und dann das erschlossene
Bildungsniveau genutzt, um den Text zu interpretieren” (“Kann die rhetorische Theo-
rie helfen, das Neue Testament, vor allem die Briefe des Paulus, besser zu verstehen?”
ZNW 100 [2009]: 155).
 INTRODUCTION 5

The best evidence for Paul’s class background comes from his letters
themselves. In the past several years, study after study has shown that
Paul’s letters follow common rhetorical conventions, certain rhetorical
topoi, figures, and techniques, and are readily analyzable as pieces of
Greco-Roman rhetoric. To more and more scholars … it is inconceiv-
able that Paul’s letters could have been written by someone uneducated
in the rhetorical systems of his day. Paul’s rhetorical education is evident
on every page, and that education is one piece of evidence that he came
from a family of relatively high status.16

As we will see in chapter 1, this conception of Paul’s rhetorical ability

represents a break with previous scholarly consensus. As Mark Edwards
has quipped, “Commentators from the patristic era to the present have
acknowledged that the New Testament teems with literary devices; only
in recent years has it been customary to argue that the authors must have
acquired these arts at school.”17 Paul’s earliest exegetes simply could not
imagine a tentmaker with rhetorical training. And although for nine-
teenth- and early twentieth-century scholars Paul’s tentmaking was over-
shadowed by his prestigious Roman citizenship, still his letters sounded
more like “rhetoric of the heart” than the careful compositions of an edu-
cated orator. Only in the last few decades have we seen confident claims
that Paul was the recipient of a formal rhetorical education.
An initial problem with these claims is that much of the evi-
dence adduced does not withstand careful scrutiny. Using as a test case
2 Cor 10–13, a text that is widely lauded for its creative manipulation of
rhetorical conventions, part 2 of this study takes recent rhetorical criti-
cism on its own terms and examines the credibility of its proposals. Here I
demonstrate that many of the alleged parallels between Paul and the rhet-
oricians derive from superficial or misleading treatments of the rhetori-
cal manuals and exemplars, and, further, do not adequately describe what
we find in Paul. Those parallels that remain are few—I isolate four—and
rather general; nevertheless, they do merit further explanation.
I seek to provide such explanation in part 3, where I examine the
possibility that such figures, tropes, and rhetorical strategies as are found
in Paul’s letters derive not from formal education but from informal

16. Martin, The Corinthian Body, 52.

17. Mark J. Edwards, “Gospel and Genre: Some Reservations,” in The Limits of
Ancient Biography (ed. Brian McGing and Judith Mossman; Swansea: Classical Press
of Wales, 2006), 51.
6 RETHINKING PAUL’S RHETORICAL EDUCATION

socialization. I am not the first to raise this possibility; indeed, its propo-
nents represent a substantial minority among Pauline scholars, and it has
been a persistent thorn in the flesh of those who would attribute to Paul a
formal education in rhetoric. But it has not been examined critically, and
thus assertions to this effect have amounted simply to that: assertions.
I get methodological leverage on this problem by using George Ken-
nedy’s work on comparative rhetoric as a starting point for a discussion
of what he calls “general rhetoric”—that is, the basic human propensity
for persuasive communication—and a description of its instantiation as
an aspect of informal social practice. Important here is the sociolinguistic
insight that it is not only or even primarily formal training that instills in
speakers conventional patterns of language use. On the contrary, partici-
pation in particular speech communities necessarily involves and indeed
inculcates competence in conventional “ways of speaking”18—that is, the
ability appropriately to use established genres, forms, tropes, and figures.
“Communicative competence,” therefore, requires mastery not only of
grammar but also of “a repertoire of speech acts”19—in other words, the
ability to utilize what I will refer to as informal rhetoric.
This repertoire differs, of course, from one speech community to
another. Nevertheless, as the work of Kennedy and others makes clear,
there are a number of informal rhetorical features that are, if not univer-
sal, at least ubiquitous, recurring, albeit with local variation in usage and
meaning, across a range of societies. Importantly, among these aspects of
what Kennedy calls “general rhetoric” we find many of the same tropes
and figures as those codified in the classical rhetorical tradition. Indeed,
using diverse comparators from a variety of cultures, I demonstrate
that the four rhetorical features identified in part 2 as being common
to 2 Cor 10–13 and the formal classical tradition in fact belong to the
domain of general rhetoric. Sensitivity to the inappropriateness of self-
praise (what Plutarch called περιαυτολογία), use of warnings or disclaimers
prior to potentially offensive speech (what the classical rhetorical tradition
knows as προδιόρθωσις), strategic use of an interlocutor’s voice (the broader
strategy of which προσωποποιία is a single instance), and the use of figures

18. Dell Hymes, “Ways of Speaking,” in Explorations in the Ethnography of Speak-

ing (ed. Richard Bauman and Joel Sherzer; 2nd ed.; SSCFL 8; Cambridge: Cambridge
University Press, 1989), 433–54.
19. Dell Hymes, “On Communicative Competence,” in Linguistic Anthropology: A
Reader (ed. Alessandro Duranti; 2nd ed.; Malden, Mass.: Blackwell, 2001), 60.
 INTRODUCTION 7

associated with “catalogue style” (figures known to rhetorical theorists as

anaphora, isocolon, asyndeton, etc.) all are found in speakers who demon-
strably have no formal rhetorical training. Accordingly, lacking specific
indicators in the mode or manner of their use, their appearance in Paul’s
letters does not constitute evidence of formal rhetorical education. Yes,
this is rhetoric, but there is no evidence that it is formal rhetoric.
There are, further, a number of positive indicators in 2 Cor 10–13 that
Paul’s voice should be located elsewhere—not least his own confession to
that effect in 2 Cor 10:10 and 11:6. In addition to providing a detailed
exegesis of these contested verses, chapter 12 addresses two key indica-
tors that are often ignored in current scholarship. First, as patristic readers
already recognized, Paul’s train of thought frequently must be read into
the text and his usage is sometimes suspect. Indeed, until the recent rise
of rhetorical criticism, it was all but universally acknowledged that Paul’s
letters lacked rhetorical polish. Analysis of Paul’s syntax in 2 Cor 10–13
shows why.
Second, Paul’s “voice”—that is, his rhetorical comportment—differs
tellingly from that cultivated among recipients of formal rhetorical educa-
tion. Here I revisit a number of the comparators introduced in parts 2 and
3, attending to the way each voice negotiates his or her particular social
location. In this regard, Paul does not resemble self-possessed aristocrats
like Plutarch, Quintilian, or Demosthenes, or, for that matter, the Iroquois
orator Red Jacket, who, though he received no formal education, occupied
what was in one key way an analogous social location: he was accustomed
to deference. Paul, on the contrary, speaks as one accustomed to ridicule,
derision, and subjugation. His is an abject rhetoric, characterized by inse-
curity and self-abasement—and vigorous bursts of defiance.
I expect it will already be evident that in pursuing the argument out-
lined above I make a number of moves uncommon in New Testament
scholarship, thus it may be useful to clarify from the outset precisely what
it is I think I am doing. Parts 1 and 2 of this study are, although perhaps
contrarian in content, perfectly conventional in their mode of argumenta-
tion: I take recent scholarship on Paul’s rhetoric on its own terms, examin-
ing the viability of its claims by reassessing the very pool of evidence upon
which it relies—namely, ancient rhetorical manuals and exemplars. My
argument is historiographical, or, more precisely, philological and liter-
ary-critical, in the most traditional sense. On these grounds I demonstrate
that the bulk of what has been taken as evidence in 2 Cor 10–13 for Paul’s
rhetorical education has in fact been misconstrued as such.
8 RETHINKING PAUL’S RHETORICAL EDUCATION

It is in part 3 that I seek to develop my own proposal for evaluating

Paul’s rhetorical “voice” and thus leave the conventional methodological
domain of rhetorical criticism. Here I conspicuously and intentionally
press beyond the mode of argumentation that has been prevalent in New
Testament rhetorical scholarship.
First, and most basically, I expand the pool of evidence by adduc-
ing rhetorical performances that have no historical connection to the
Greco-Roman tradition. This sort of move demands an explanation, since
it runs counter to what is often considered a basic precept of rhetorical
criticism as a historical discipline: If we intend to make historical claims
about Paul’s rhetoric, says Margaret Mitchell, we must study his letters “in
the light of the Greco-Roman rhetorical tradition which was operative and
pervasive at the time of the letter’s composition.”20 Synchronic studies of
Paul’s rhetoric may be legitimate in their own right, but they are by defini-
tion ahistorical, and thus, Mitchell insists, should not be confused with
historical criticism.21 On what grounds, then, do I justify comparing Paul
with the likes of Red Jacket, and, what is more, basing historical conclu-
sions on such a comparison?
Mitchell’s method represents the historiographical approach conven-
tional among New Testament scholars, and certainly it has the appearance
of rigor. In my view, however, the lacunae in our evidence finally make
such an approach untenable. The rhetorical exemplars that have been
preserved represent but a minute fragment of the rhetorical discourse of
the ancient world, and belong almost exclusively to one rarefied corner
thereof. We simply do not have the data we should need to construct a full
taxonomy of ancient rhetorical practice; indeed, there are entire domains
of human speech that elude the grasp of traditional philology. Therefore,
we lack the comparative perspective that would allow us confidently to
locate and describe the rhetoric of Paul’s letters. Attempting to do so with-
out acknowledging the inadequacy of our evidence is a dangerous pro-
cedure indeed. If we had no knowledge of other insects, it would not be
surprising if we were to mistake a butterfly for a peculiar species of bird.
We are apt to make a similar mistake, I suggest, if all we have with which
to compare Paul’s rhetoric are the performances of the Greco-Roman aris-

20. Margaret 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), 6.
21. Ibid., 7.
 INTRODUCTION 9

tocracy and their cultural retainers. In other words, given the state of the
evidence, Mitchell’s model provides no way of knowing what is particular
to the formal Greco-Roman tradition; and, until we know what is particu-
lar to this tradition, we are in no position to determine the manner and
extent of Paul’s indebtedness to it.
Put another way, what confronts us here is a question of compara-
tive method. As is adequately demonstrated by a glance at the studies
listed above—Der Apostel Paulus und die sokratische Tradition et alia—
the attempt to locate Paul’s place in the ancient world necessarily involves
comparison. But what, exactly, is the descriptive work such comparison
accomplishes? And what are the theoretical assumptions that underlie it?
These questions seldom rise to the surface of the discussion, but it
seems to be taken for granted in much New Testament scholarship, as
in ancient historiography more generally, that a significant comparison
is one that establishes a relationship of historical dependence. In other
words, what we find probative is the mode of comparison Jonathan Z.
Smith, following Deissmann, calls genealogical.22 It is on account of this
methodological presupposition that, whereas my comparison of Paul with
Red Jacket is sure to be deemed idiosyncratic and thus demanding of an
explanation, comparison of Paul with Plutarch, say, is seldom thought to
require theoretical justification. Of course, this is not because Plutarch is
thought to have influenced Paul directly; rather, the underlying logic is
that similarities between Paul and Plutarch can be attributed to shared
intellectual inheritance. In other words, both are located on the same
branch of a history-of-ideas family tree, and we can establish the precise
nature of their kinship by means of comparison.
But there is a fundamental problem with this genealogical mode of
comparison, at least as usually practiced in the study of ancient history

22. On the distinction used herein between genealogical and analogical modes of
comparison, see Deissmann, Light from the Ancient East, 265–66; Ashton, Religion of
Paul, 11–22; Jonathan Z. Smith, Drudgery Divine: On the Comparison of Early Christi-
anities and the Religions of Late Antiquity (CSJH; Chicago: University of Chicago Press,
1990), 46–53; Gregory D. Alles, The Iliad, the Rāmāyaṇ a, and the Work of Religion:
Failed Persuasion and Religious Mystification (Hermeneutics: Studies in the History of
Religions; University Park: Pennsylvania State University Press, 1994), 4–7. A similar
distinction is made, independently, it would seem, by Karel van der Toorn, “Parallels
in Biblical Research: Purposes of Comparison,” in Proceedings of the Eleventh World
Congress of Jewish Studies, Jerusalem, June 22–29, 1993: Division A, The Bible and Its
World (Jerusalem: World Union of Jewish Studies, 1994), 1–8.
10 RETHINKING PAUL’S RHETORICAL EDUCATION

and the New Testament, for embedded within it are unstated anthropolog-
ical presuppositions that govern our conceptualization of the relationship
between the extant sources and the ancient lives to which they attest—pre-
suppositions that, being unexamined, inevitably do so anachronistically.
In particular, we have failed to interrogate our conception of the role of lit-
erary activity in human societies, and to reflect on the specific social space
it occupies within the broader phenomenon of human communication.
We tend to operate with the assumption that this one realm of discourse
serves as an adequate proxy for the whole. But what do we actually know
when we know the literary sources of societies like those of the ancient
Mediterranean?23 In a discipline such as ours, the question surely merits
consideration; and, to address it, we should need to undertake not genea-
logical but what Smith calls analogical comparison.24 That is, we should
need comparisons that enable us to establish adequate theoretical catego-
ries for conceptualizing those realms of human communication to which
our sources do not directly attest.
What I am advocating, then, and attempting in this study, is an anthro-
pologically informed extension of traditional historiographical methods.
The particular oversight I seek to rectify concerns our conceptualization
of the relationship between persuasive speech in Greco-Roman antiq-
uity—the vast majority of which disappeared from the historical record
immediately it was uttered—and the formal rhetorical tradition to which
most of our sources attest. Until we have some notion of the relationship
between these two domains, arguments regarding the nature of Paul’s
rhetoric proceed in anthropological—and therefore also historiographi-
cal—ignorance.
Within the confines of this study, it is not possible to provide a com-
plete theorization of the problem I have named in the preceding paragraph.
That would demand a much fuller discussion than can be attempted here.
What I will offer, however, informed by recent work in sociolinguistics and
comparative rhetoric, is a theoretical overview that provides a sufficient
foundation for the more specific comparative task that constitutes the bulk
of part 3—namely, a set of (analogical) comparisons that illuminate four

23. Cf. Justin J. Meggitt, “Sources: Use, Abuse and Neglect,” in Christianity at
Corinth: The Scholarly Quest for the Corinthian Church (ed. Edward Adams and David
G. Horrell; Louisville: Westminster John Knox, 2004), 241–53.
24. See esp. Smith, Drudgery Divine, 50–53; Alles, The Work of Religion, 4–7.
 INTRODUCTION 11

specific rhetorical practices Pauline scholars otherwise have located in

2 Cor 10–13.
The comparators I introduce here have been selected on the basis of
three simple criteria: each speaker is persuasive, in her or his own way;
each lacks formal rhetorical education; and each makes at least one of the
rhetorical moves Pauline scholars have identified in 2 Cor 10–13. But how,
exactly, do these comparisons function? I understand them to accomplish
three distinct but related tasks.
First, they falsify the logic by which scholars have inferred formal edu-
cation from the resemblance between Paul’s letters and ancient rhetori-
cal theory and practice. To illustrate with an example, if Red Jacket, who
demonstrably had no formal education in the classical rhetorical tradition,
used prodiorthōsis as clearly as did Paul, then its appearance in Paul’s letters
cannot in itself serve as evidence of his formal rhetorical education. Since
the resemblance between Red Jacket and formal Greco-Roman rhetoric
in this regard evidently derives not from genealogy but from analogy—
specifically, from an analogous response to a similar social exigency—we
cannot deduce from Paul’s use of prodiorthōsis the direct influence of rhe-
torical theory unless first we rule out the possibility that it too represents
an analogical similarity—in other words, that it too derives from what
Kennedy would call general rhetoric or attests to Paul’s familiarity with
an informal rhetorical tradition. Therefore, in order to conclude that Paul
was directly dependent on formal rhetorical theory, it is not sufficient for
us to observe that he uses prodiorthōsis; no, we should need also to identify
specific indicators of formal education in the manner of Paul’s use thereof.
At the very least, his rhetorical usage would have to resemble the ancient
exemplars more closely than does that of Red Jacket.25
But this set of comparisons does more than falsify the prevailing mode
of argumentation; it also has a second and constructive role, providing
an alternative context within which to conceptualize Paul’s rhetoric. More
precisely, having demonstrated the untenability of locating Paul’s rhetoric
within a particular genealogical context—namely, the formal tradition of
classical rhetoric—I use comparison to establish for it an analogical con-
text and thus to sponsor its redescription by means of the theoretical cat-
egory of informal rhetoric.

25. On the comparative logic here, see further the final section of ch. 9 in this
volume.
12 RETHINKING PAUL’S RHETORICAL EDUCATION

These comparisons shed indirect light, then, as if by refraction, on that

for which we have little direct evidence—namely, the informal rhetoric of
the ancient world. Or perhaps a better metaphor is that of triangulation: If
individual rhetorical tropes and figures are found in our ancient sources
and are also ubiquitous in other societies—and, specifically, those societ-
ies uninfluenced by the classical tradition—then we can deduce that they
were characteristic not only of the formal rhetorical tradition but also of
the informal rhetoric of the Greco-Roman world. Lacking direct evidence,
we may be unable to describe with precision their use in Greco-Roman
antiquity; however, our analogical data allow us to observe a range of
informal usages and thus to map the possibilities. Since, again, we lack
direct evidence, it is only thus, I submit, that we can locate the rhetoric of
Paul.
Third, the comparisons I undertake in this study undergird my effort
to describe what I will call Paul’s “voice.” Before elaborating on the nature
of this final mode of comparison, it will be useful briefly to explain what
I intend “voice” to indicate.26 Here Pierre Bourdieu’s conception of habi-
tus provides a useful starting point: Like other modes of comportment,
speech is structured by what Bourdieu refers to as “systems of durable,
transposable dispositions” that represent the embodiment of social histo-
ry.27 Bourdieu refuses to ascribe significance to the comportment of indi-
vidual subjects, preferring instead to speak of “structural variants,”28 but
of course he cannot deny the existence of individual difference: If com-
portment is, as Bourdieu insists, the embodiment of the history of social
relations, and if, as he acknowledges, “it is impossible for all members of
the same class (or even two of them) to have had the same experiences,
in the same order,”29 then no two individuals will comport themselves
identically. Therefore, even after sociology (thus conceived) has done its
explanatory work, during the process of which such individual difference
is, as a matter of principle, ignored, we are left with a remainder of human
behavior—a remainder that I, for one, find interesting, and think it worth-
while to describe, if not to explain.

26. For further discussion see the conclusion in this volume.

27. Pierre Bourdieu, Outline of a Theory of Practice (trans. Richard Nice; Cam-
bridge Studies in Social Anthropology 16; Cambridge: Cambridge University Press,
1977), 72.
28. Ibid., 86.
29. Ibid., 85.
 INTRODUCTION 13

Thus, by speaking of Paul’s voice I mean to indicate the discursive dis-

positions, correlative of his social location but also distinctly his own, that
characterize his letters as artifacts of social practice. Paul’s voice comes
from Paul’s body; Paul’s body inhabits a particular social location, and it
does so in its own peculiar way.
Those speakers selected as comparators in this study have a range of
voices, as, of course, do the ancient rhetorical theorists and practitioners
discussed in part 2. As I will emphasize, each seeks room to maneuver
within the constraints of a given social location; each adopts a persua-
sive ethos that is available within those bounds. I use these diverse voices
as a comparative sounding board, noting particular similarities and dif-
ferences, in order to highlight specific characteristics of Paul’s voice that
tend otherwise to escape notice. What I undertake here, then, is the sort of
“kaleidoscope-like” comparison that, says Smith, “gives the scholar a shift-
ing set of characteristics with which to negotiate the relations between his
or her theoretical interests and data stipulated as exemplary.”30
Of course, my group of comparators by no means provides me with
an exhaustive catalogue of rhetorical dispositions, nor do I attempt a thor-
ough taxonomy. Instead, I attend to a few salient characteristics that arise
from the comparisons themselves. Clearly, then, I cannot claim fully to
describe Paul’s voice; nevertheless, in the light of rhetorical criticism and
using comparison as a lens, I do highlight significant and often neglected
aspects of it. And, by doing so, I offer a challenge to prevailing views of
Paul and his letters.

30. Smith, Drudgery Divine, 53.

 Part 1
Paul’s Rhetorical Education in
Recent Scholarship
 1
From Unschooled Tentmaker to
Educated Rhetorician

For patristic interpreters, Paul’s social location was uncontroversial:

he was a tentmaker. Paul was not “distinguished by great ancestors,”
observed Chrysostom, “for how could he be, having such a trade?”1 More-
over, Chrysostom and his peers had no difficulty inferring from Paul’s
trade his paideia—or, rather, his lack thereof: Paul was a “leatherworker
(σκυτοτόμος), a poor laborer (πένης), ignorant (ἄπειρος) of outer wisdom”
(Hom. 2 Tim. 4.3 [PG 62:622]); he was ἰδιώτης … καὶ πένης καὶ ἄσημος
(Laud. Paul. 4.13). Indeed, in the social imagination of Paul’s early readers,
to be a manual laborer was, by definition, to be devoid of learned culture
(cf. Celsus 3.55).2
Modern scholarship has rejected this straightforward inference from
Paul’s trade of his social location and attendant education—though, as we
will see, conclusions regarding his social location and his education have
remained interdependent. For nineteenth- and early twentieth-century
scholars, it was above all Paul’s purported Roman citizenship that spon-

1. Chrysostom, Laud. Paul. 4.10 (trans. Mitchell). See also Chrysostom, Scand.
20.10; Hom. 1 Cor. 15.5 (PG 61:128); Hom. 1 Cor. 3.4 (PG 61:28); Hom. Heb. 1.2 (PG
63:16); Stat. 5.6 (PG 49:71); Hom. 2 Tim. 4.4 (PG 62:624); 5.2 (PG 62:626); Ps.-Chrys-
ostom, Hom. 2 Cor 12:9 1 (PG 59:509); Gregory of Nyssa, Ep. 17.11; Theodoret, Affect.
5.67. Although I disagree with her conclusion regarding the implications for evaluat-
ing Paul’s social location, I am heavily indebted to Margaret Mitchell’s excellent treat-
ment of Chrysostom on Paul’s labor in The Heavenly Trumpet: John Chrysostom and
the Art of Pauline Interpretation (HUT 40; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2000), 240–48,
374–77.
2. On patristic evaluation of Paul’s social status, see further the third section of ch.
12 below and my “τὸ ἐν λόγῳ ἰδιωτικὸν τοῦ Ἀποστόλου: Revisiting Patristic Testimony
on Paul’s Rhetorical Education,” NovT 54 (2012): 354–68.

-17-
18 RETHINKING PAUL’S RHETORICAL EDUCATION

sored the argument—or, more often, the assumption—that he possessed

significantly higher status than his earliest readers imagined. Still, unlike
many rhetorical critics of recent years, these scholars generally concurred
with patristic exegetes that Paul’s letters did not display the marks of a
formal education in rhetoric.

“No Mere Tentmaker”

As Deissmann complained, the scholarship of his time had little to say

about Paul’s social location. But since these scholars were interested in
Paul’s upbringing for other reasons—primarily as a means of gaining
leverage on the pressing Jewish Paul versus Hellenistic Paul debate—they
often included a short evaluation of the evidence for the social level of his
family. Though often frustratingly vague,3 these paragraphs ran along con-
sistent lines. Indeed, the same argument appears almost invariably until at
least the 1950s: although his work as an artisan might seem to suggest a
life of poverty, Paul was a Roman citizen, and thus must have come from
a notable family.4

3. So, e.g., William Wrede: “Die soziale Schicht, der sie angehörte, dürfen wir
nicht hoch, aber auch nicht allzu niedrig denken” (Paulus [2nd ed.; Tübingen: Mohr
Siebeck, 1907], 5).
4. Most famously W. M. Ramsay: “According to the law of his country, he was
first of all a Roman citizen. That character superseded all others before the law and in
the general opinion of society; and placed him amid the aristocracy of any provincial
town” (St. Paul the Traveller and the Roman Citizen [London: Hodder & Stoughton,
1895], 30–31). For Theodor Mommsen, “Dass er, wenngleich ein gelernter Hand-
werker, einem ansehnlichen Bürgerhaus angehörte, geht daraus hervor, dass er von
Kind auf die römische Civität gehabt hat; denn nur die hervorragenden Munici-
palen wurden in dieser Weise ausgezeichnet” (“Die Rechtsverhältnisse des Apostels
Paulus,” ZNW 2 [1901]: 82). So also Adolf Jülicher, Einleitung in das Neue Testament
(5th & 6th ed.; Grundriss der theologischen Wissenschaften 3.1; Tübingen: Mohr Sie-
beck, 1906), 25; Olaf Moe, The Apostle Paul: His Life and His Work (trans. L. A. Vig-
ness; Grand Rapids: Baker, 1968), 34; Edgar J. Goodspeed, Paul (Nashville: Abing-
don, 1947), 5. Often no explicit argument relating Paul’s citizenship to his aristocratic
status is made, yet a note regarding his citizenship stands beside and lends credibility
to an otherwise unsupported claim of high-class origins. So Karl Adam: “Die Familie
des Paulus besass ausserdem das römische Bürgerrecht und gehörte den begüterten
und angesehenen Kreisen an” (“Der Junge Paulus,” in Paulus-Hellas-Oikumene: An
Ecumenical Symposium [Athens: Student Christian Association of Greece, 1951], 12).
Similarly, Anon., The Life and Travels of the Apostle Paul (Boston: Lilly, Wait, Colman
 UNSCHOOLED TENTMAKER TO EDUCATED RHETORICIAN 19

Nineteenth- and early twentieth-century scholarship generally

acknowledged that Paul’s manual labor appeared to indicate low-status
origins but avoided this conclusion in one of two ways. First, scholars
adduced rabbinic texts that commended the learning of a trade—either as
a child (t. Qidd. 1:11) or combined with study of Torah (m. ’Abot 2:2)—and
concluded that a well-to-do Pharisee learning to make tents was simply
abiding by Jewish convention.5 F. W. Farrar’s treatment is typical:

As the making of these cilicia was unskilled labour of the commonest

sort, the trade of tentmaker was one both lightly esteemed and miser-
ably paid. It must not, however, be inferred from this that the family of
St. Paul were people of low position. The learning of a trade was a duty
enjoined by the Rabbis on the parents of every Jewish boy.6

Building on Jacob Neusner’s reevaluation of the rabbinic traditions,7

Ronald Hock discredited this line of interpretation as retrojection of sec-

& Holden, 1833), 16–17; Eduard Meyer, Ursprung und Anfänge des Christentums (3
vols.; Stuttgart: Cotta, 1923), 1:308; F. J. Foakes-Jackson, The Life of Saint Paul: The
Man and the Apostle (New York: Boni & Liveright, 1926), 63–64; A. D. Nock, St. Paul
(London: Butterworth, 1938), 21; Josef Holzner, Paul of Tarsus (trans. Frederic C.
Eckhoff; St. Louis: Herder, 1946), 14; Alfred Wikenhauser, New Testament Introduc-
tion (trans. Joseph Cunningham; New York: Herder & Herder, 1958), 352–53; Hans
Lietzmann, “Paulus,” in Das Paulusbild in der neueren deutschen Forschung (ed. Karl
Heinrich Rengstorf; Wege der Forschung 24; Darmstadt: Wissenschaftliche Buchge-
sellschaft, 1964), 381.
5. This interpretation is as old as Bengal, Gnomon of the New Testament (trans.
Andrew R. Fausset; 7th ed.; 2 vols.; Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1873), 2:671; orig. Gnomon
Novi Testamenti (Tübingen: Schrammii, 1742). So also Max Krenkel, Paulus: Der
Apostel der Heiden (Leipzig: Duncker & Humblot, 1869), 11, 217–18; Adolf Hausrath,
A History of New Testament Times: The Time of the Apostles (trans. L. Huxley; 4 vols.;
London: Williams & Norgate, 1895), 3:44–45; Jülicher, Einleitung, 25; Anon., Life and
Travels, 17; H. J. Holtzmann, Die Apostelgeschichte (3rd ed.; Hand-Commentar zum
Neuen Testament 1.2; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1901), 114; Hans Hinrich Wendt, Die
Apostelgeschichte (9th ed.; KEK 3; Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1913), 263;
F. J. Foakes-Jackson, The Acts of the Apostles (MNTC 5; London: Hodder & Stough-
ton, 1931), 170; Nock, St. Paul, 21–22; Goodspeed, Paul, 11–12; Martin Dibelius,
Paul (ed. Werner Georg Kümmel; trans. Frank Clarke; Philadelphia: Westminster,
1953), 37.
6. Farrar, St. Paul, 1:23.
7. Jacob Neusner, The Rabbinic Traditions about the Pharisees before 70 (3 vols.;
Leiden: Brill, 1971).
20 RETHINKING PAUL’S RHETORICAL EDUCATION

ond-century ideals onto the pre-70 Judean world.8 It generally, and rightly,
has been discarded.9
A second way of ameliorating the status implications of Paul’s manual
labor was subtler: Paul’s father was portrayed not as a laborer, but rather
as the owner of the shop—a “well-to-do cloth merchant and tentmaker.”10
Thus Paul’s knowledge of the trade could be easily explained: “There is
nothing improbable if his father were wealthy, that the son should learn the
practical part of the business.”11 Although such argumentation persists,12
it is obviously fueled not by its inherent probability but rather by scholars’
prior conclusion on other grounds that Paul was not brought up a “mere
artisan.”13
One factor here is surely Luke’s portrait of Paul the citizen of Rome
and Tarsus (Acts 21:39; 22:25–29; 23:27). Luke’s Paul is evidently a man of
elevated status:14 he is always aristocratically self-possessed;15 he comfort-

8. Hock, Social Context, 22–23. Cf. Wolfgang Stegemann, “War der Apostel Paulus
ein römischer Bürger?” ZNW 78 (1987): 228. Indeed, not only the notion of combin-
ing Torah study with labor, but the whole construct of “rabbinic education” that fuels
the notion of Paul as a budding young Torah scholar has been shown by Catherine
Hezser to result from “uncritical understanding of later Talmudic texts which are …
anachronistic in associating the educational institutions of the amoraic period with
pre-70 times” (Jewish Literacy in Roman Palestine [TSAJ 81; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck,
2001], 39).
9. But see Martin Hengel, The Pre-Christian Paul (trans. John Bowden; London:
SCM, 1991), 16–17; Rainer Riesner, Paul’s Early Period: Chronology, Mission Strategy,
Theology (trans. Doug Stott; Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1998), 154–55; Udo Schnelle,
Apostle Paul: His Life and Theology (trans. Eugene M. Boring; Grand Rapids: Baker
Academic, 2005), 61; Joachim Gnilka, Paulus von Tarsus: Apostel und Zeuge (HTKNT-
Sup 6; Freiburg: Herder, 1996), 25.
10. Holzner, Paul of Tarsus, 14. Cf. Foakes-Jackson, Acts, 170; Meyer, Ursprung
und Anfänge, 1:308.
11. Foakes-Jackson, Acts, 170.
12. Ronald Dubay, “Paul, Citizen and Prince” (Ph.D. diss., University of Califor-
nia, Irvine, 2009), 22; Hengel, Pre-Christian Paul, 15; Bruce Chilton, Rabbi Paul: An
Intellectual Biography (New York: Doubleday, 2004), 12–13.
13. The phrase is from Foakes-Jackson, Acts, 169.
14. John Clayton Lentz, Luke’s Portrait of Paul (SNTSMS 77; Cambridge: Cam-
bridge University Press, 1994); Jerome H. Neyrey, “Luke’s Social Location of Paul: Cul-
tural Anthropology and the Status of Paul in Acts,” in History, Literature, and Society
in the Book of Acts (ed. Ben Witherington; Cambridge: Cambridge University Press,
1996), 268–76; Neyrey, “ ‘Teaching You in Public and from House to House’ (Acts
20.20): Unpacking a Cultural Stereotype,” JSNT 26 (2003): 69–102; Robert L. Brawley,
 UNSCHOOLED TENTMAKER TO EDUCATED RHETORICIAN 21

ably converses with the likes of Felix and Festus;16 he capably addresses
the Athenians in the Areopagus (Acts 17:16–34). Such a man could only
have been a tentmaker incidentally. And, indeed, this is precisely how
Luke, like many subsequent biographers, deals with Paul’s labor: he men-
tions it in passing (Acts 18:3).17
What was ultimately at stake in the marginalization of Paul’s labor—in
nineteenth-century discussions and perhaps in Luke’s portrait as well—is
apparent in the telling evaluation of Conybeare and Howson, who remain
unusually agnostic as to the economic status of Paul’s family of origin, but
leave no doubt as to its “respectability”:

“Paul in Acts: Lucan Apology and Conciliation,” in Luke-Acts: New Perspectives from
the Society of Biblical Literature (ed. C. H. Talbert; New York: Crossroad, 1984), 139–
40; Richard I. Pervo, Profit with Delight: The Literary Genre of the Acts of the Apostles
(Philadelphia: Fortress, 1987), 77–81.
15. See esp. Paul’s deportment in Acts 27, and the comments thereon by Lentz,
Luke’s Portrait of Paul, 94–95; Ernst Haenchen, The Acts of the Apostles: A Commentary
(trans. Bernard Noble and Gerald Shinn; Oxford: Blackwell, 1971), 710–11; Ramsay,
St. Paul the Traveller, 332–33.
16. See Neyrey, “Luke’s Social Location of Paul,” 260–62; Lentz, Luke’s Portrait of
Paul, 156–57. Note also Steven J. Friesen, “Paul and Economics: The Jerusalem Col-
lection as an Alternative to Patronage,” in Paul Unbound: Other Perspectives on the
Apostle (ed. Mark D. Given; Peabody, Mass.: Hendrickson, 2010), 42–45.
17. Although the accuracy of Luke’s portrait has been defended vigorously (e.g.,
F. F. Bruce, “Is the Paul of Acts the Real Paul?‚” BJRL 58 [1976]: 282–305; Stanley E.
Porter, Paul in Acts [Library of Pauline Studies; Peabody, Mass.: Hendrickson, 2001],
187–206), there remain striking differences between the Paul of Acts and the Paul
of the letters. (For a convenient summary, see Richard I. Pervo, The Making of Paul:
Constructions of the Apostle in Early Christianity [Minneapolis: Fortress, 2010], 150;
for a cautious recent study, see Thomas E. Phillips, Paul, His Letters, and Acts [Library
of Pauline Studies; Peabody, Mass.: Hendrickson, 2009].) To give an example relevant
to the text here under discussion, can we imagine Luke’s Paul being treated by his
converts with anything other than unwavering deference? Luke, at least, does not.
As Lentz suggests (Luke’s Portrait of Paul, 171–72), it appears that Luke’s honorable
Paul is part of the apologetic—or, better, “propagandistic” (Pervo, Profit with Delight,
79)—fabric of his narrative, which portrays Christianity as a respectable religion with
ancient roots and honorable adherents. Perhaps Luke’s Paul functions as a metonym
for his idealizing depiction of Christianity in his own time: his accusers are either
envious Jews or the troublemaking rabble—they are not to be credited; governors,
however, recognize him as respectable and virtuous, if not altogether benign. In any
case, for the purposes of this study, I am concerned only with Paul as attested by his
undisputed letters.
22 RETHINKING PAUL’S RHETORICAL EDUCATION

Whatever might be the station and employment of his father or his

kinsmen, whether they were elevated by wealth above, or depressed
by poverty below, the average of the Jews of Asia Minor and Italy, we
are disposed to believe that this family were possessed of that highest
respectability which is worthy of deliberate esteem.18

We will do well to watch for signs of this subtext—the need for a respect-
able Paul—in current scholarship as well.

“Kein Klassiker, kein Hellenist hat so geschrieben”

Along with an honorable family, a respectable education was almost uni-

versally assumed in nineteenth- and early twentieth-century studies. Thus
any debate concerned not whether Paul was well educated, but whether
his education was Jewish or Hellenistic in orientation:19 for advocates of
a “Hebraist” Paul like F. W. Farrar, Paul spent his formative years as a rab-
binical student;20 for those, like Hans Böhlig, who emphasized Hellenistic
influences, Paul had eagerly imbibed the Greek learning for which Tarsus
was famous.21 W. C. van Unnik’s Tarsus or Jerusalem stands as a fitting
testament to this discussion: the assumption throughout is that Paul was a
budding young scholar; the only question is where he studied.22

18. W. J. Conybeare and J. S. Howson, The Life and Epistles of St. Paul (new ed.;
London: Longmans & Green, 1870), 39–40. Note here the more recent suggestion of
Martin Hengel: “Here we may with justification speak of ‘lay nobility by birth,’ even if
his family was not very rich” (Pre-Christian Paul, 17).
19. This is evident from even the title of an early treatment of the question: Chris-
tian Wilhelm Thalemann, “De eruditione Pauli apostoli Iudaica, non Graeca” (diss.,
Leipzig, 1708).
20. Farrar, St. Paul, 1:44–45. So also Anon., Life and Travels, 16–17; Charles R.
Ball, The Apostle of the Gentiles: His Life and Letters (London: SPCK, 1885), 9–10;
Holzner, Paul of Tarsus, 1–22; Conybeare and Howson, St. Paul, 49–52, 56–63; Good-
speed, Paul, 10; Nock, St. Paul, 21–27; Moe, Apostle Paul, 47–50. The durability of this
image is evident from, e.g., Chilton, Rabbi Paul, 1–27.
21. Hans Böhlig, Die Geisteskultur von Tarsos im augusteischen Zeitalter: Mit
Berücksichtigung der paulinischen Schriften (FRLANT 2/2; Göttingen: Vandenhoeck
& Ruprecht, 1913), 153. Cf. Alphons A. Steinmann, Zum Werdegang des Paulus: Die
Jugendzeit in Tarsus (Freiburg: Herder, 1928). R. Reitzenstein proposed that Paul took
up the study of Greek texts after his commissioning as apostle to the Gentiles (Die hel-
lenistischen Mysterienreligionen nach ihren Grundgedanken und Wirkungen [3rd ed.;
Leipzig: Teubner, 1927], 419).
22. W. C. van Unnik, Tarsus or Jerusalem, the City of Paul’s Youth (trans. George
 UNSCHOOLED TENTMAKER TO EDUCATED RHETORICIAN 23

Nevertheless, the possibility of a specifically rhetorical education was

seldom raised23—and, given the prevailing evaluation of Paul’s composi-
tional style, this is perhaps not surprising. Throughout this period, there
was wide agreement among biblical scholars and classicists alike that Paul’s
prose was not sophisticated. Eduard Norden’s famous formulation—“der
Rhetorik des Herzens in ungefeilter Sprache”—expressed the prevailing
judgment.24 Indeed, even Johannes Weiss and C. F. G. Heinrici, cited by
advocates of rhetorical criticism as forebears of the method, were well
aware of the peculiarity of Paul’s diction.
Weiss concurred with his predecessors that Paul had an “eminently
personal style,” notable above all for its “directness.”25 However, he ques-
tioned the consensus that Paul’s writings therefore represented a wholly
artless outpouring of powerful emotions—a view, he suggested, that was
based solely on impressionistic sketches.26 Weiss himself was fascinated by
the rhythmic properties of Paul’s letters, which, he asserted, must be read

Ogg; London: Epworth, 1962). Similarly Klaus Haacker, “Zum Werdegang des Apos-
tels Paulus: Biographische Daten und ihre theologische Relevanz,” ANRW 26.2:852–
60; Hengel, Pre-Christian Paul, 18–62; Raymond A. Martin, Studies in the Life and
Ministry of the Early Paul and Related Issues (Lewiston, N.Y.: Mellen Biblical Press,
1993), 7–102.
23. For a notable exception, see Johannes Weiss, Earliest Christianity: A His-
tory of the Period A.D. 30–150 (ed. Rudolf Knopf; trans. Frederick C. Grant; 2 vols.;
New York: Harper & Row, 1959), 1:183–84. Cf. Farrar, St. Paul, 1:625–30. Also worth
noting is a 1961 article by Robert M. Grant wherein he seeks to trace Hellenistic influ-
ences in 1 Corinthians. Commenting on 1 Cor 13, Grant concludes with a prolepse of
the argument that would become prominent in coming decades: “The rhetorical skill
with which Paul has worked out his clauses and his sentences in this chapter is by no
means spontaneous. It reflects a careful study either of rhetorical manuals or of some
literary model or models” (“Hellenistic Elements in 1 Corinthians,” in Early Christian
Origins: Studies in Honor of Harold R. Willoughby [ed. Allen Paul Wikgren; Chicago:
Quadrangle, 1961], 65).
24. Eduard Norden, Die antike Kunstprosa vom VI. Jahrhundert V. Chr. bis in die
Zeit der Renaissance (5th ed.; 2 vols.; Stuttgart: Teubner, 1958), 2:502: “the rhetoric of
the heart in unpolished language.” See further ch. 12 below.
25. Weiss, Earliest Christianity, 2:400.
26. Johannes Weiss, “Beiträge zur Paulinischen Rhetorik,” in Theologische Stu-
dien (ed. Caspar René Gregory; Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1897), 165. See,
however, his comments on 1 Cor 13: “This work of art came into existence as a result
of the deepest reflection and through the impetus of an almost unconscious feeling for
form and literary style” (Weiss, Earliest Christianity, 2:407).
24 RETHINKING PAUL’S RHETORICAL EDUCATION

“with the ear.”27 So although he could not deny that Paul’s prose lacked the
elegant periodic structure of the Greek classics, Weiss insisted that it nev-
ertheless had artistic qualities: “Was dem Paulus so an Kunstprosa fehlt,
ersetzt er, wenigstens in den sorgfältiger geschriebenen Briefen, durch
eine gewisse rhetorische Bewegung, die entschieden packend und häufig
durch Symmetrie, Rhythmus, Schwung und Vollklang nicht unkün-
stlerisch wirkt.”28
Weiss sought to demonstrate that Paul’s particular style derived from
two well-balanced influences, the “Cynic-Stoic diatribe” on the one hand
and the Jewish Scriptures on the other.29 To account for this, he posited
that Paul received instruction from “a Jewish rhetorician with a Hellenis-
tic education.”30 Tellingly, though, Weiss made the jump from observa-
tion of stylistic affinities to assertion of formal education not by carefully
comparing Paul with the rhetorical sources—something he advocated but
never undertook31—but rather on the basis of his general incredulity that
an uneducated person could write such compelling letters: “More than an
elementary education is needed for the simplest English essay that will be
readable; how much more then is needed for works of permanent spiri-
tual and literary importance.”32 But surely this is the sort of assertion that
needs to be tested; otherwise, despite all his commendable sensitivity to
the characteristics of Paul’s style, Weiss’s argument concerning Paul’s edu-
cation reduces to a Western academic conceit.
Heinrici was not persuaded by Weiss’s argument. Although he agreed
that various rhetorical devices could be detected in Paul’s letters, for
Heinrici the assumption that Paul employed them self-consciously was
unwarranted.33 Moreover, he felt that Weiss told only one side of the story,

27. Weiss, “Beiträge zur Paulinischen Rhetorik,” 166.

28. Ibid., 167: “What Paul lacks in artistic prose, he replaces, at least in the care-
fully written letters, with a certain rhetorical movement, which is definitely compel-
ling, and frequently, through symmetry, rhythm, liveliness, and resonance, has a not
inartistic effect.”
29. Ibid., 167–68.
30. Weiss, Earliest Christianity, 184. On this suggestion, see now Hengel, Pre-
Christian Paul, 18–62; Andrew W. Pitts, “Hellenistic Schools in Jerusalem and Paul’s
Rhetorical Education,” in Paul’s World (ed. Stanley E. Porter; PaSt 4; Leiden: Brill,
2008), 19–50.
31. Weiss, “Beiträge zur Paulinischen Rhetorik,” 165–67.
32. Weiss, Earliest Christianity, 183.
33. C. F. Georg Heinrici, Der zweite Brief an die Korinther: Mit einem Anhang,
 UNSCHOOLED TENTMAKER TO EDUCATED RHETORICIAN 25

and thus produced superficial and misleading analogies. Weiss neglected,

for example, to observe the striking difference between what Heinrici con-
sidered Paul’s volkstümlich use of the chreia and the formal usage recom-
mended by the teachers of rhetoric.34
Like Weiss, Heinrici did assert the relevance of an understanding of
ancient rhetoric for interpreting Paul’s epistles, but this was not because
Paul was rhetorically trained.35 Rather, he suggested that a scholar sen-
sitive to ancient speech patterns would be better equipped to recognize
Paul’s cogeniality or affinity with the Hellenistic milieu in which he lived.36
So, after providing a summary of the rhetorical devices and Klangfiguren
(figures of sound) in 2 Cor 10–13, Heinrici concluded: “Aber all’ diese
Momente geben dem Abschnitte nicht den Eindruck einer abgecirkelten
Prunkrede; der Fluss ist natürlich, mancher Ausdruck verletzend und
gewöhnlich. … Sie erwächst ihm aus der Sache, aus der inneren Ergriffen-
heit von seiner Aufgabe.”37 In the end, then, Heinrici’s evaluation of Paul’s
style is not unlike Norden’s:

Des Paulus Stil ist individuell und packend. … Kein Klassiker, kein Hel-
lenist hat so geschrieben, auch kein Kirchenvater. Der von seinem Herrn
überwältigte hellenistische Jude steht für sich da. Seine Ausdrucksweise
ist nicht durch Nachahmung (μίμησις) bedingt, sondern durch die
ursprüngliche plastische Kraft seiner Gedankenbildung.38

Zum Hellenismus des Paulus (8th ed.; KEK 6; Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht,
1900), 457–58.
34. Ibid., 442.
35. Ibid., 39: “Ich … sonst aufmerksam gemacht, ohne ein Missverständnis
darüber offen zu lassen, dass ich P[aulus] nicht als studirten Gerichts-, Prunk- oder
Lehrrhetor fasse.”
36. Ibid., 39–41, 314, 437. Note Heinrici’s awareness that rhetorical sensitivity
is something the scholar brings to the table: “Wer die virtuos ausgebildeten Meth-
oden und die technisch festgelegten Ueberzeugungsmittel (κοιναὶ πίστεις) der antiken
Rhetorik kennt, wird sowohl durch das ganze, wie auch im einzelnen vielfach an sie
erinnert, so fern auch des P[aulus] Weise von jeder schulmässigen Entlehnung oder
Nachahmung ist” (39).
37. Ibid., 314: “But all these elements do not give the passage the impression of a
calculated eloquence; the flow is natural, many an expression offensive and common.
… It arises from the subject at hand, from the inner emotion of his task.”
38. Ibid., 453: “Paul’s style is unique and compelling. … No classicist, no Hellenist
has written thus, nor any church father. The Hellenistic Jew, overpowered by his Lord,
stands alone. His mode of expression is not determined by imitation (mimēsis), but by
26 RETHINKING PAUL’S RHETORICAL EDUCATION

Paul, the Educated Rhetorician

It would be an exaggeration to say that current scholarship has reached a

consensus on Paul’s social location. Still, the pattern is clear, and, despite
our greater sophistication in social-scientific theory, our conclusions differ
little from those reached in the nineteenth century: Paul is still of “rela-
tively high status,”39 and we continue to insist that his manual labor is not

the original, versatile power of his thought process.” See also Heinrici, Der litterarische
Charakter der neutestamentlichen Schriften (Leipzig: Dürr, 1908), 65–66.
39. So Martin, The Corinthian Body, 52. For Bruce Longenecker, Paul belonged
with the likes of Erastus, Gaius, and Phoebe at “ES4” on his “economy scale”—that
is, enjoying a “moderate surplus” of resources—prior to the intentional “downward
mobility” he undertook as an apostle in order to identify with the poor to whom he
proclaimed the gospel (Remember the Poor: Paul, Poverty, and the Greco-Roman World
[Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2010], 301–10). Elsewhere Paul is, e.g., the “offspring of
better-situated diaspora Jews” (Jürgen Becker, Paul: Apostle to the Gentiles [trans. O. C.
Dean; Louisville: Westminster/John Knox, 1993], 36; cf. F. F Bruce, Paul, Apostle of the
Heart Set Free [Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1977], 36; Gnilka, Paulus von Tarsus, 25–26),
a “retainer” (Neyrey, “Social Location of Paul”), or even an “aristocrat” (Jerome Mur-
phy-O’Connor, Paul: A Critical Life [Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1997], 40–41;
Ronald F. Hock, “The Problem of Paul’s Social Class: Further Reflections,” in Paul’s
World [ed. Stanley E. Porter; PaSt 4; Leiden: Brill, 2008], 40–41). See, similarly, Theis-
sen, Social Setting, 36; Morna D. Hooker, Paul: A Short Introduction (Oxford: One-
world, 2003), 19; Ben Witherington, The Paul Quest: The Renewed Search for the Jew of
Tarsus (Downers Grove, Ill.: InterVarsity, 1998), 70, 89–129; Brian Rapske, The Book of
Acts and Paul in Roman Custody (vol. 3 of The Book of Acts in Its First Century Setting;
ed. Bruce W. Winter; Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1994), 71–112; Nils A. Dahl, Studies
in Paul: Theology for the Early Christian Mission (Minneapolis: Augsburg, 1977), 35;
Bert Jan Lietaert Peerbolte, “Paul and the Practice of Paideia,” in Jesus, Paul, and Early
Christianity: Studies in Honour of Henk Jan de Jonge (ed. Rieuwerd Buitenwerf, Harm
W. Hollander, and Johannes Tromp; NovTSup 130; Leiden: Brill, 2008), 261–62. Some
have him a little lower on the scale—a member of the “urban middle class” (Schnelle,
Apostle Paul, 63; E. P. Sanders, Paul, Past Masters [Oxford: Oxford University Press,
1991], 10–11) or an independent artisan (Hengel, Pre-Christian Paul, 17; Meeks, First
Urban Christians, 9, 64). Anthony Saldarini locates him “on the border of the upper
and lower classes” (Pharisees, Scribes and Sadducees in Palestinian Society: A Sociologi-
cal Approach [Biblical Resource Series; Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2001], 141. Those
who insist that Paul’s status as a laborer decisively places him among the lower strata
include Calvin J. Roetzel, Paul: The Man and the Myth (Studies on Personalities of the
New Testament; Columbia: University of South Carolina Press, 1998), 23–24; Justin
J. Meggitt, Paul, Poverty and Survival (SNTW; Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1998), 75–97;
Wolfgang Stegemann, “Zwei sozialgeschichtliche Anfragen an unser Paulusbild,” Der
 UNSCHOOLED TENTMAKER TO EDUCATED RHETORICIAN 27

indicative of his social standing.40 However, whereas for older scholarship

it was Paul’s putative Roman citizenship that sponsored such arguments, it
is now Paul’s rhetorical education that is seen as the key to understanding
his social location.
As the following discussion will demonstrate, assertions that Paul
received a formal rhetorical education have relied almost exclusively on the
observation of rhetorical features in his letters. (A noteworthy exception,
which avoids the difficulties inherent in this approach, is C. J. Classen’s
“Philologische Bemerkungen zur Sprache des Apostels Paulus”;41 however,
as I have argued at length elsewhere, the evidence Classen adduces that
Paul uses formal rhetorical terminology is too meager to be convincing.)42
In its basic form, the prevailing argument consists of two propositions:

(1) Paul’s letters can be analyzed according to the dictates of

Greco-Roman rhetoric; therefore, Paul was well educated in
rhetoric.
(2) Rhetorical education was available only among the wealthy
elite; therefore, Paul was brought up among the elite.43

evangelische Erzieher 37 (1985): 480–90; Stegemann, “War der Apostel Paulus ein
römischer Bürger?”; Simon Légasse, Paul apôtre: Essai de biographie critique (2nd ed.;
Paris: Cerf, 2000), 49.
40. See esp. Ronald F. Hock, “Paul’s Tentmaking and the Problem of his Social
Class,” JBL 97 (1978): 555–64; Hock, “Paul’s Social Class”; Heike Omerzu, Der Prozeß
des Paulus: Eine exegetische und rechtshistorische Untersuchung der Apostelgeschichte
(BZNW 115; Berlin: de Gruyter, 2002), 45–47. And note the mode of argumentation
in Haacker, “Werdegang des Apostels Paulus,” ANRW 26.2:831; Ben Witherington,
Conflict and Community in Corinth: A Socio-Rhetorical Commentary on 1 and 2 Corin-
thians (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1995), 20–21; Schnelle, Apostle Paul, 62–63; Hooker,
Paul, 19; Murphy-O’Connor, Paul: A Critical Life, 40–41; Martin, The Corinthian Body,
xv–xvi; Gnilka, Paulus von Tarsus, 25; Tor Vegge, Paulus und das antike Schulwesen:
Schule und Bildung des Paulus (BZNW 134; Berlin: de Gruyter, 2006), 452–55.
41. Carl Joachim Classen “Philologische Bemerkungen zur Sprache des Apostels
Paulus,” Wiener Studien 107/108 (1994–1995): 321–35; repr. in Rhetorical Criticism of
the New Testament (WUNT 128; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2000).
42. Ryan S. Schellenberg, “Rhetorical Terminology in Paul: A Critical Reap-
praisal,” ZNW 104 (2013): 177–91.
43. See Martin, The Corinthian Body, 51–52; Longenecker, Remember the Poor,
306–7; Witherington, The Paul Quest, 70, 89–129; Witherington, Conflict and Com-
munity in Corinth, 20–21; Schnelle, Apostle Paul, 63; Murphy-O’Connor, Paul: A Criti-
cal Life, 40, 47–51; Hengel, Pre-Christian Paul, 17. More tentative is Abraham J. Mal-
28 RETHINKING PAUL’S RHETORICAL EDUCATION

Whatever one makes of the second proposition, the first is clearly prob-
lematic. In short, to anticipate my argument in part 3, it provides no theo-
retical space for conceptualizing rhetoric as informal social practice, and
thus fallaciously equates rhetoric with formal rhetoric. What I would like
to highlight now, though, is that this argument presupposes a very differ-
ent assessment of Paul’s rhetoric from that of earlier scholars. It is worth
asking, then, how we got here. What has fueled this reevaluation of Paul’s
rhetorical competence?

Soundings

The work of E. A. Judge marks a turning point in Pauline scholarship, not

so much because of his conclusions—in fact, few of his specific proposals
have been widely accepted—as because of the new questions he posed.
Informed by a detailed knowledge of the Roman world, Judge sought to
uncover what he referred to in the title of his groundbreaking 1960 study
as The Social Pattern of the Christian Groups in the First Century.44 His
forays into the social description of the early Christian assemblies were
harbingers of the explosion of social-historical study of the New Testa-
ment that began in the 1970s and 1980s, and they continue to shape the
discipline. Indeed, many ongoing debates owe their existence to questions
first formulated or re-formulated by Judge: At what social level or levels do
we find the first Christian communities? On what social models were the
early assemblies structured? What contemporary analogies illuminate the
role of Paul?
In answer to this latter question, Judge famously proposed that Paul
was a “sophist.” Since he has been accused of imprecision on this point,
it is worth considering to whom, precisely, Judge thought he was thereby
comparing Paul:

herbe, Social Aspects of Early Christianity (Baton Rouge: Louisiana State University
Press, 1977), 29–59.
44. E. A. Judge, “The Social Pattern of the Christian Groups in the First Century,”
in Social Distinctives of the Christians in the First Century: Pivotal Essays (ed. David
M. Scholer; Peabody, Mass.: Hendrickson, 2008); repr. from The Social Pattern of the
Christian Groups in the First Century: Some Prolegomena to the Study of New Testa-
ment Ideas of Social Obligation (London: Tyndale, 1960).
 UNSCHOOLED TENTMAKER TO EDUCATED RHETORICIAN 29

We may for our present purposes safely lump [Aelius Aristides and Dio
Chrysostom] together with the philosophers, ranging from the Stoic
Epictetus to the vagabond Cynic preachers, and the more religious teach-
ers from the neo-Pythagorean sage Apollonius of Tyana to the charlatan
Peregrinus, call them all sophists, and say that this is the class to which
St Paul belonged.45

This is, as has been noted, a rather diverse group of peers,46 and we should
certainly like to know whether Paul was more like Dio or Epictetus, Apol-
lonius or Peregrinus. Still, although Pauline scholars have not found the
term sophist palatable, Judge’s suggestion has become the starting point for
all further discussion of Paul’s social location. Abraham Malherbe, Ronald
Hock, and Stanley Stowers have all acknowledged their debt to his work;
indeed, each has sought to describe with more specificity how to locate
Paul among the analogues Judge proposed.47
Judge himself continued to ruminate on the question of Paul’s social
location for decades. Two collections of articles have appeared recently,
and, reading his essays in turn, it is illuminating to watch him grapple with
the problem of where Paul fit in the ancient world.48 Paul’s education and
literary level play a prominent role as Judge seeks to carve out a space for
Paul somewhere between the “metropolitan aristocracy” and the unedu-
cated urban poor.49 Perhaps the clearest statement comes in a 1974 essay:

45. E. A. Judge, “The Early Christians as a Scholastic Community,” in The First

Christians in the Roman World: Augustan and New Testament Essays (ed. James R.
Harrison; WUNT 229; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2008), 540.
46. So Stanley K. Stowers, “Social Status, Public Speaking and Private Teaching:
The Circumstances of Paul’s Preaching Activity,” NovT 26 (1984): 74 n. 82; Mark D.
Given, Paul’s True Rhetoric: Ambiguity, Cunning, and Deception in Greece and Rome
(ESEC 7; Harrisburg, Pa.: Trinity, 2001), 9–10.
47. See Malherbe, Social Aspects, 45–59; Ronald F. Hock, “The Workshop as a
Social Setting for Paul’s Missionary Preaching,” CBQ 41 (1979): 440 n. 6; Stowers,
“Social Status,” 74.
48. E. A. Judge, The First Christians in the Roman World: Augustan and New Testa-
ment Essays (ed. James R. Harrison; WUNT 229; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2008); E.
A. Judge, Social Distinctives of the Christians in the First Century: Pivotal Essays (ed.
David M. Scholer; Peabody, Mass.: Hendrickson, 2008). All citations herein are from
these volumes. See the bibliography for original publication information.
49. Judge, “St. Paul and Classical Society,” in Social Distinctives, 86.
30 RETHINKING PAUL’S RHETORICAL EDUCATION

He was familiar in the ordinary educated way with a range of ideas that
circulated in Hellenic society. But at the same time he was altogether
removed from any tight professional involvement with the classical
method of discussion, which was very much the special province of phi-
losophy and the literary élite. He would never have been recognized as a
man of letters or a philosopher in the technical sense within the Greek
tradition. Yet he remains very securely placed amongst the ordinary
educated classes, the Hellenized rabbi, freely using the full resources of
standard, technical Greek for his own purposes.50

Paul, then, was well educated, though he did not belong among the elite
literati. But how are we to describe this middle ground? Who are these
“ordinary educated classes”?
On the specific question of Paul’s rhetorical education—a question to
which he is among the first to give serious consideration—Judge points,
tentatively, not to the gymnasion but to the school of hard knocks. In an
early essay, he admits, “Whether or not Paul was given a rhetorical educa-
tion at Tarsus cannot be determined”; still, he deems it most likely that
“for Paul the art was acquired by hard experience rather than by training.”51
He sounds the same tone in his influential article on Paul’s boasting
in 2 Cor 10–13: The arguments concerning Paul’s rhetorical education are
“inconclusive,” but “it is beyond doubt that Paul was, in practice at least,
familiar with the rhetorical fashions of his time.”52 Notably, Judge’s influ-
ential reconstruction of Paul’s contentious relationship with the Corinthi-
ans is predicated on this conclusion: Paul “had not in fact had the full
classical training himself,” but his rivals were “fully trained professionals,
and Paul was ridiculed by them for his poor performance.”53
In later work, Judge is less certain on this point, and he begins to con-
sider the possibility that Paul’s refusal to engage in “platform rhetoric”54
was not a matter of his competence but rather of his principles: It is “not
clear” whether or not Paul had a rhetorical education, but “it is certain that

50. Judge, “St. Paul as a Radical Critic of Society,” in Social Distinctives, 100–102.
51. Judge, “Scholastic Community,” 541. Cf. E. A. Judge, “The Conflict of Educa-
tional Aims in the New Testament,” in The First Christians in the Roman World, 700.
52. E. A. Judge, “Paul’s Boasting in Relation to Contemporary Professional Prac-
tice,” in Social Distinctives, 60–61.
53. Judge, “Educational Aims,” 700.
54. E. A. Judge, “First Impressions of St Paul,” in The First Christians in the Roman
World, 415.
 UNSCHOOLED TENTMAKER TO EDUCATED RHETORICIAN 31

he refused absolutely to practice it if he did.”55 So Paul is either untrained

or unwilling. In 2001, Judge was still equivocating:

The language and style of St Paul annoyed even his own converts. His
being “an amateur” in speech (idiotes 2 Cor 11:6) was part of the prob-
lem. His “bodily presence” was “weak” and his speech “contemptible”,
yet (strangely) his letters were “weighty and strong” (bareiai kai ischy-
rai 2 Cor 10:10). I take this to mean that he knew well how to make a
rhetorical impact, but refused to impose himself in the desired manner
when actually present. His admirers were embarrassed and his critics
dismissed him as professionally incompetent. Presumably he had not
had a formal tertiary education before leaving Tarsus.56

The Rise of Rhetorical Criticism

While for Judge it was social-historical questions that prompted inquiry

into Paul’s rhetorical education, it would soon become a pressing issue
from the perspective of form criticism as well. This was due, above all, to
Hans Dieter Betz’s treatment of 2 Cor 10–13 and especially Galatians as
“apologetic letters” that could be analyzed according to the rhetorical dic-
tates of Quintilian and the Rhetorica ad Herennium.57 What Betz initially
conceived as a form-critical exercise quickly took on a life of its own as
New Testament scholars eagerly explored the possibility that more precise

55. E. A. Judge, “Cultural Conformity and Innovation in Paul: Some Clues

from Contemporary Documents,” in Social Distinctives, 165. Cf. Judge, “The Reac-
tion against Classical Education in the New Testament,” in The First Christians in the
Roman World, 714–16. Here Judge is apparently influenced by the work of his student
Christopher Forbes (see the section “Comparison, Self-Praise, and Irony” below),
whose then-forthcoming work he cites with approval.
56. E. A. Judge, “Ethical Terms in St Paul and the Inscriptions of Ephesus,” in The
First Christians in the Roman World, 368.
57. Hans Dieter Betz, Der Apostel Paulus und die sokratische Tradition: Eine
exegetische Untersuchung zu seiner “Apologie” 2 Korinther 10–13 (BHT 45; Tübingen:
Mohr, 1972); Betz, “The Literary Composition and Function of Paul’s Letter to the
Galatians,” NTS 21 (1975): 353–79; Betz, Galatians: A Commentary on Paul’s Letter
to the Churches in Galatia (Hermeneia; Philadelphia: Fortress, 1979). Also appearing
in 1979, but much less influential, was a short article by Wilhelm Wuellner arguing
that Paul’s digressions in 1 Corinthians in fact evince Paul’s rhetorical sophistication
(“Greek Rhetoric and Pauline Argumentation,” in Early Christian Literature and the
Classical Intellectual Tradition [ed. William R. Schoedel and Robert L. Wilken; ThH
54; Paris: Beauschesne, 1979], 177–88).
32 RETHINKING PAUL’S RHETORICAL EDUCATION

knowledge of Paul’s rhetorical toolbox could illuminate the exegesis of his

letters.
Betz posited for Paul a considerable degree of rhetorical sophistica-
tion: yes, Galatians was composed in accordance with the handbooks’
recommendations for forensic rhetoric,58 but, he insisted, “the letter does
more than simply conform to convention.”59 Noting the difficulty of clari-
fying the rhetorical disposition of chapters 3 and 4, Betz suggested that
Paul was clever enough to hide his tracks: “One might say that Paul has
been very successful—as a skilled rhetorician would be expected to be—in
disguising his rhetorical strategy.… In fact, for the rhetoricians of Paul’s
time there could be nothing more boring than a perfect product of rhe-
torical technology.”60
Betz himself showed no real interest in the question where Paul may
have acquired these skills,61 but reviewers were quick to notice the need
for an explanation.62 For the method to be tenable it was necessary to pro-
vide a credible account of Paul’s exposure either to the handbooks them-
selves or at least to the rhetorical tradition they exemplify. In an early rhe-
torical-critical study of Philemon, F. Forrester Church was content simply
to assert, “Whether [Paul] was trained in school or acquired his talent
through a natural course of observation and imitation, Paul was a master
of persuasion.”63 Reviewing Betz’s Galatians, David Aune emphasized the
latter possibility, highlighting Paul’s “exposure to the structures and styles
of trained rhetoricians” and his “ample opportunity to make speeches.” For
Aune, Paul’s use of rhetoric could be explained as the result of a rhetorical
trickle-down effect: “In spite of the sophistication of speeches and speak-
ers trained in traditional Greco-Roman rhetorical schools, many shared
features and structures must have linked high rhetoric with its more vulgar
counterpart.”64

58. Betz, Galatians, 59.

59. Betz, “Literary Composition and Function,” 356.
60. Ibid., 369.
61. Note his agnosticism in the “Minutes of the Colloquy,” Paul’s Apology II Corin-
thians 10–13 and the Socratic Tradition (ed. Wilhelm H. Wuellner; Colloquy 2; Berke-
ley: Center for Hermeneutical Studies, 1975), 26.
62. See David E. Aune, review of Hans Dieter Betz, Galatians: A Commentary on
Paul’s Letter to the Churches in Galatia, RelSRev 7 (1981): 326.
63. F. Forrester Church, “Rhetorical Structure and Design in Paul’s Letter to Phi-
lemon,” HTR 71 (1978): 21.
64. Aune, review of Betz, 326.
 UNSCHOOLED TENTMAKER TO EDUCATED RHETORICIAN 33

George Kennedy argued similarly in his foray into New Testament

rhetoric. To Kennedy’s mind, the evidence for Paul’s education was
“ambivalent”; but, so far as the legitimacy of the method was concerned,
the question was immaterial:

Even if he had not studied in a Greek school, there were many hand-
books of rhetoric in common circulation which he could have seen. He
and the evangelists as well would, indeed, have been hard put to escape
an awareness of rhetoric as practised in the culture around them, for
the rhetorical theory of the schools found its immediate application in
almost every form of oral and written communication.65

The notion that Paul’s letters reflect the conventions of Greek rhetoric
because rhetoric was, to use Bruce Longenecker’s phrase, “in the air” was
for a time the prevailing view, and it continues to command influence.66

65. George A. Kennedy, New Testament Interpretation through Rhetorical Criti-

cism (Studies in Religion; Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press, 1984), 9–10.
66. Richard N. Longenecker, Galatians (WBC 41; Nashville: Thomas Nelson,
2003), cxiii. See also Burton L. Mack, Rhetoric and the New Testament (GBS; Min-
neapolis: Fortress, 1990), 31; Douglas A. Campbell, The Rhetoric of Righteousness in
Romans 3.21–26 (JSNTSup 65; Sheffield: JSOT Press, 1992), 75–76; Stanley E. Porter,
“The Theoretical Justification for Application of Rhetorical Categories to Pauline Epis-
tolary Literature,” 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), 104–5; 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), 563; Murray J. Harris, The Second Epistle to the Corinthians: A
Commentary on the Greek Text (NIGTC; Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2005), 108; Ivar
Vegge, 2 Corinthians—a Letter about Reconciliation: A Psychagogical, Epistolographi-
cal and Rhetorical Analysis (WUNT 2/239; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2008), 40–41;
Hengel, Pre-Christian Paul, 58; E. Randolph Richards, The Secretary in the Letters of
Paul (WUNT 2/42; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1991), 151; Johan S. Vos, “Die Argumen-
tation des Paulus in 1 Kor 1,10–3,4,” in The Corinthian Correspondence (ed. Reimund
Bieringer; BETL 125; Leuven: Leuven University Press, 1996), 27–28. Cf. Classen,
Rhetorical Criticism, 29; A. Duane Litfin, St. Paul’s Theology of Proclamation: 1 Cor-
inthians 1–4 and Greco-Roman Rhetoric (SNTSMS 79; Cambridge: Cambridge Uni-
versity Press, 1994), 137–40; Wilhelm H. Wuellner, “Der vorchristliche Paulus und
die Rhetorik,” in Tempelkult und Tempelzersörung (70 n. Chr.): Festschrift für Clemens
Thoma zum 60. Geburtstag (ed. Simon Lauer and Hanspeter Ernst; Judaica et Christi-
ana 15; Bern: Lang, 1995), 133–65; Steven J. Kraftchick, “Πάθη in Paul: The Emotional
34 RETHINKING PAUL’S RHETORICAL EDUCATION

But the implications of Kennedy’s next assertion have largely gone unno-
ticed:

Though rhetoric is colored by the traditions and conventions of the soci-

ety in which it is applied, it is also a universal phenomenon which is
conditioned by basic workings of the human mind and heart and by the
nature of all human society.… What is unique about Greek rhetoric, and
what makes it useful for criticism, is the degree to which it was concep-
tualized. The Greeks gave names to rhetorical techniques, many of which
are found all over the world.67

This universal dimension of rhetoric continued to fascinate Kennedy, as

we will see in more detail below. Among New Testament scholars, how-
ever, it has not been allowed to disrupt the neat logic that Paul’s use of rhe-
torical techniques is straightforward evidence of his rhetorical education.68

“Comparison, Self-Praise, and Irony”

Second Corinthians 10–13 has played a particularly significant role in the

discussion concerning Paul’s rhetorical education, and not only because
of the contested evaluations of Paul’s speech reported in 2 Cor 10:10 and
11:6. For Judge, these chapters in particular attested to Paul’s role as an
unwilling participant in a battle of rhetorical wits. And it was an evaluation
of their conformity to Hellenistic rhetorical conventions that prompted
his student Christopher Forbes to inquire, more directly than previous
scholars, into the implications of rhetorical criticism for our conception
of Paul’s education.
For Forbes, “the key to the whole ‘boasting’ passage” lies in Paul’s osten-
sible refusal in 2 Cor 10:12 to classify (ἐγκρῖναι) or compare (συγκρῖναι)

Logic of ‘Original Argument,’ ” in Paul and Pathos (ed. Thomas H. Olbricht and Jerry
L. Sumney; SBLSymS 16; Atlanta: Society of Biblical Literature, 2001), 39–68.
67. Kennedy, New Testament Interpretation, 10–11.
68. Note, however, the work of C. J. Classen, who has emphasized that our abil-
ity to find rhetorical figures, tropes, and strategies in the letters of Paul does not in
itself imply that Paul had formal rhetorical education. See esp. Rhetorical Criticism, 29.
Also “St. Paul’s Epistles and Ancient Greek and Roman Rhetoric,” Rhetorica 10 (1992):
319–44. But Classen’s own attempt to isolate evidence of Paul’s formal knowledge of
rhetorical theory by identifying his use of technical terminology (Rhetorical Criticism,
29–44) is not convincing. See further p. 27 above.
 UNSCHOOLED TENTMAKER TO EDUCATED RHETORICIAN 35

himself with his rivals.69 Comparison (σύγκρισις), Forbes notes, was a

topic of frequent discussion among Greek rhetorical theorists, eventually
appearing in the Progymnasmata of Aelius Theon as well as that of Her-
mogenes. Moreover, authors such as Plutarch went to great lengths, Forbes
explains, to describe how the sort of self-praise (περιαυτολογία) undertaken
by Paul could be accomplished without causing offense. Finally, Forbes
suggests that Paul used irony—another technique frequently discussed
by the rhetoricians—to avoid unseemly self-promotion and to parody the
sort of rhetorical comparisons (συγκρίσεις) apparently being undertaken
by his rivals.70
At this point Forbes moves from literary criticism to biographical
inquiry: “If my analysis of Paul’s rhetoric is correct, we must ask where
he acquired the subtlety and skill which he here displays.”71 Although he
acknowledges the possibility that Paul simply learned from experience,
Forbes’s real interest is to consider an alternative explanation, namely, that
Paul received “a full education in formal Greek rhetoric.”72 As Forbes cor-
rectly argues, the assumption that Paul’s Judean background rules out Hel-
lenistic education is insupportable.73 Thus, on the grounds of Paul’s rhe-
torical prowess, Forbes suggests: “His education reached at least beyond
the level of the grammatici, and into rhetorical school.”74

69. Christopher Forbes, “Comparison, Self-Praise, and Irony: Paul’s Boasting and
the Conventions of Hellenistic Rhetoric,” NTS 32 (1986): 1. Forbes (25 n. 4) acknowl-
edges his debt here to the work of his fellow student Peter Marshall, whose then forth-
coming work also treats Paul’s use of synkrisis and other rhetorical devices and also
concludes, tentatively, that Paul “may have been trained in rhetoric but had deliber-
ately set it aside” (Enmity in Corinth: Social Conventions in Paul’s Relations with the
Corinthians [WUNT 2/23; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1987], 390).
70. Forbes, “Comparison, Self-Praise, and Irony,” 2–22. For an extended evalua-
tion of this interpretation of Paul’s boasting, see chs. 4, 7, and 8 below.
71. Ibid., 22–23.
72. Ibid., 23.
73. The inviability of such an assumption has been demonstrated most thoroughly
by Martin Hengel, who insists that Jerusalem, like other Hellenized provincial cities,
provided opportunities for Greek education (Pre-Christian Paul, 54–62). Hengel,
however, fails to justify his assumption that Paul was a well-off “young scholar” (p. 60),
and therefore could and would have availed himself of such opportunities. Cf. Pitts,
“Hellenistic Schools in Jerusalem,” 48–50.
74. Forbes, “Comparison, Self-Praise, and Irony,” 24. But see now Forbes, “Ancient
Rhetoric and Ancient Letters: Models for Reading Paul, and Their Limits,” in Paul
and Rhetoric (ed. J. Paul Sampley and Peter Lampe; New York: T&T Clark, 2010),
36 RETHINKING PAUL’S RHETORICAL EDUCATION

Notably, Forbes is quick to draw the attendant conclusion that such

education “bespeaks a certain social standing.” Thus Paul’s manual labor,
he explains, should not be considered indicative of his social status; rather,
it should be understood as voluntary self-abnegation.75 This is a well-worn
argument, as we have seen, but now with one key modification: Paul’s rhe-
torical education has neatly stepped into the argumentative role long filled
by his Roman citizenship, mitigating the apparent status implications of
Paul’s labor and thus ensuring that Paul is respectably insulated from the
ignominy of (involuntary) poverty.

A Developing Consensus

Subsequent treatments of Paul’s rhetorical education have followed the

basic contours of Forbes’s argument. Although prior to 2003 there had
been no full-length study dedicated to the subject, scholars asserted with
growing confidence that Paul’s rhetorical ability must have been acquired
through formal training.76
The decisive role of rhetoric in evaluating Paul’s social location is par-
ticularly evident in Dale Martin’s The Corinthian Body. Building on Gerd

148, where he apparently retracts his earlier suggestion, now asserting: “It seems very
unlikely that his formal education extended to the upper levels.”
75. Forbes, “Comparison, Self-Praise, and Irony,” 24.
76. In addition to those discussed below, see Marshall, Enmity in Corinth, 390;
Georg Strecker, “Die Legitimität des paulinischen Apostolates nach 2 Korinther
10–13,” NTS 38 (1992): 567; Bruce C. Johanson, To All the Brethren: A Text-Linguis-
tic and Rhetorical Approach to I Thessalonians (ConBNT 16; Stockholm: Almqvist &
Wiksell, 1987), 34; David Hellholm, “Enthymemic Argumentation in Paul: The Case
of Romans 6,” in Paul in His Hellenistic Context (ed. Troels Engberg-Pedersen; SNTW;
Minneapolis: Fortress, 1995), 179 n. 226; Mario M. DiCicco, Paul’s Use of Ethos,
Pathos, and Logos in 2 Corinthians 10–13 (Mellen Biblical Press Series 31; Lewiston,
N.Y.: Mellen Biblical Press, 1995), 23–28; Dieter Kremendahl, Die Botschaft der Form:
Zum Verhältnis von antiker Epistolographie und Rhetorik im Galaterbrief (NTOA 46;
Freiburg: Universitätsverlag, 2000), 30–31; Kieran J. O’Mahony, Pauline Persuasion:
A Sounding in 2 Corinthians 8–9 (JSNTSup 199; Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press,
2000), 179–80; Gnilka, Paulus von Tarsus, 25; Schnelle, Apostle Paul, 53; Marcus J.
Borg and John Dominic Crossan, The First Paul: Reclaiming the Radical Visionary
Behind the Church’s Conservative Icon (New York: HarperOne, 2009), 61–62; Hooker,
Paul, 36–37; Phillips, Paul, His Letters, and Acts, 85–86. Cf. Margaret M. Mitchell,
Paul, the Corinthians and the Birth of Christian Hermeneutics (Cambridge: Cambridge
University Press, 2010), 94 and passim.
 UNSCHOOLED TENTMAKER TO EDUCATED RHETORICIAN 37

Theissen’s pioneering work, Martin argues that the various body-oriented

conflicts that characterize the relationship between the “strong” and the
“weak” in Corinth—divisions at the Lord’s Supper, and disputes regarding
meat offered to idols, the use of civil courts, Paul’s acceptance of financial
support, glossolalia, and the resurrection of the body—reflect the differ-
ent social locations of the two groups. In other words, each group’s beliefs
about the body correlate to that group’s social status and level of education:
the strong claim to possess esoteric knowledge and assert their indiffer-
ence toward the physical body; the weak fear bodily and social pollution
and are thus concerned to maintain “firm corporal and social boundaries.”77
Martin identifies a consistent pattern in Paul’s response to these dis-
putes: although initially he identifies himself rhetorically with the strong,
in each case Paul finally sides with the weak.78 So, for example, although
Paul at first concedes, with the strong, that “no idol in the world really
exists” (1 Cor 8:4), he ultimately shares the more popular view that “what
pagans sacrifice [to idols], they sacrifice to demons and not to God”
(10:20).79 In sum, Paul does not subscribe to an upper-class moral-phil-
osophical understanding of the body; no, “for whatever reason, [Paul’s]
view of the body is more in harmony with views generally held by lower-
class, less-educated members of Greco-Roman society.”80
But Martin does not draw what would seem to be the obvious conclu-
sion, namely, that Paul was one of the lower class, less-educated members
of Greco-Roman society. On the contrary, Martin is convinced that Paul
“grew up in a relatively privileged milieu and viewed his manual labor as
voluntary self-abasement for the sake of his ministry.”81 Why? Because of
Paul’s rhetorical competence. For Martin, “Paul’s rhetorical education is
evident on every page [of his letters], and that education is one piece of
evidence that he came from a family of relatively high status.”82
Likewise, Jerome Murphy-O’Connor posits upper-class origins for
Paul on the grounds of “[his] educational attainments, which suggest a

77. Martin, The Corinthian Body, 197. A convenient summary of the argument
appears on p. xv.
78. Ibid., 103.
79. Ibid., 182–89.
80. Ibid., xvi.
81. Ibid., xv–xvi.
82. Ibid., 52.
38 RETHINKING PAUL’S RHETORICAL EDUCATION

background infinitely superior to that of the average artisan.”83 There is

some circularity in Murphy-O’Connor’s argument here, for when he
comes to treat Paul’s education itself in more detail, it is Paul’s “social posi-
tion” that bears the weight of the argument and justifies the assumption
that Paul would have had the opportunity to benefit from Tarsus’s edu-
cational opportunities.84 Murphy-O’Connor is finally rescued from this
circular argumentation by “the evidence of rhetorical arrangement” in
Paul’s letters, which provides independent internal evidence to support his
interdependent biographical claims.85
The apologetic potential of such an argument—specifically, its use-
fulness in asserting Paul’s respectability and serious intellectual creden-
tials—becomes explicit in the work of Ben Witherington. For Withering-
ton, Paul’s elevated social status as attested by his knowledge of rhetoric
provides the primary justification for accepting Luke’s assertion that Paul
was a Roman citizen.86 Although he does not speculate further regarding
the precise nature of Paul’s education, Witherington argues that the rhe-
torical features of Galatians, Philippians, and 1 and 2 Corinthians “reflect
significant learning, skill, organization and preparation.”87 In Withering-
ton’s hands, this underlying rhetorical training becomes a means of assert-
ing the intellectual significance of Pauline discourse: “Paul,” he assures
us, “was no rustic backwoods preacher rattling off whatever exhortations
came to mind.”88
In 2003, two independent studies of Paul’s rhetorical education
appeared, both arriving at the conclusion already anticipated by scholars
such as Martin, Murphy-O’Connor, and Witherington. The basic thrust
of Jerome Neyrey’s article is readily discernable from its title: “The Social
Location of Paul: Education as the Key.” As one would expect, the argu-
ment is an elaboration of the proposal of Forbes: Paul knows rhetoric;
rhetorical education is available only among the elite; Paul must therefore
belong among the elite.89

83. Murphy-O’Connor, Paul: A Critical Life, 40.

84. Ibid., 50.
85. Ibid.
86. Witherington, The Paul Quest, 70.
87. Ibid., 126.
88. Ibid.
89. See Neyrey, “Social Location of Paul,” 130, 160–61.
 UNSCHOOLED TENTMAKER TO EDUCATED RHETORICIAN 39

The bulk of Neyrey’s article consists of a summary of the findings of

the previous few decades of rhetorical criticism, with the implications for
Paul’s education appended to each section: scholars have found that Paul’s
letters can be classified according to the letter types described by Pseudo-
Demetrius; therefore, Paul must have been educated in epistolary com-
position.90 Scholars have described the rhetorical arrangement of various
Pauline letters and letter sections according to the canons of ancient rheto-
ric; therefore, Paul “knew sophisticated rhetorical theory.”91 Scholars have
identified “progymnastic genres” such as comparison, encomium, and
speech-in-character (ēthopoiia) in Paul’s letters; therefore, Paul must have
been “educated in progymnastic learning.”92 Scholars have found in Paul’s
letters various philosophical themes, styles, and topoi; therefore, Paul must
have had “an education beyond that of progymnastic rhetoric, even some
training in popular philosophy.”93
Neyrey then proceeds to correlate this portrait of Paul with Gerhard
Lenski’s model of social stratification in advanced agrarian societies. Since
Paul’s letters evince familiarity with aspects of the Greek curriculum that
were “exclusively the prerogative of the wealthy and elites … it seems that
the minimum level at which we might locate Paul is in the retainer class.”94
In other words, Neyrey concludes, Luke got it right: Paul is “an elite who
was educated for a life of leisure and who learned the art and craft of rheto-
ric and philosophy.”95
Ronald Hock’s article on Paul’s education takes much the same shape.
He begins with a survey of recent scholarship on Greco-Roman education,
describing the standard schema of primary, secondary, and tertiary cur-
ricula.96 He then superimposes Paul’s literary capacities onto this schema:
His primary education is attested by his basic literacy and his use of
poetic maxims.97 His interaction with literary texts—in this case, the Sep-

90. Ibid., 130–33.

91. Ibid., 140.
92. Ibid., 141, 148.
93. Ibid., 150.
94. Ibid., 160.
95. Ibid., 161.
96. Ronald F. Hock, “Paul and Greco-Roman Education,” in Paul in the
Greco-Roman World: A Handbook (ed. J. Paul Sampley; Harrisburg, Pa.: Trinity, 2003),
198–208. On the inadequacy of this model of ancient education, see “Epistolary
Theory and Paul’s Rhetorical Education” in ch. 3 below.
97. Ibid., 208.
40 RETHINKING PAUL’S RHETORICAL EDUCATION

tuagint—provides evidence of his secondary education.98 Finally, Paul’s

eloquent letters “clearly point to an author who had received sustained
training in composition and rhetoric, and it was only during the tertiary
curriculum that such instruction was given.”99 Therefore, “it is hard not to
draw the conclusion that Paul had formal rhetorical training.”100
Like Neyrey, Hock readily infers Paul’s elevated social standing from
his rhetorical education. But it is worth noting the circularity of Hock’s
argument here: he begins by asserting that Paul’s “status as an aristocrat
makes education a given,” then goes on to argue that his “educational
achievement … put Paul into a very tiny elite indeed.”101 It is also worth
noting that this description of a well-educated Paul conveniently vindi-
cates the portrait of an aristocratic Paul Hock himself had outlined in
his previous work.102 What we have here, it seems, is the elaboration of a
paradigm, not a deductive argument demonstrating Paul’s education. That
does not in itself invalidate Hock’s proposal—his paradigm may indeed be
accurate—but it is important to see that his assertions of Paul’s elite status
and elite education are in fact interdependent.
This becomes particularly evident in a 2008 article wherein he revisits
the question of Paul’s social status. Although Hock’s earlier work is often
cited as the last word on Paul’s manual labor, critics had noted an appar-
ent contradiction: on the one hand, Hock claims that Paul had an aristo-
cratic upbringing that taught him to despise manual labor; on the other, he
argues that Paul learned his trade the way most other laborers did—from
his father.103 Hock attempts to resolve this tension by correcting his earlier
assertion: Paul did not learn his trade from his father but rather acquired
it after his conversion in order to address his newly “reduced economic
circumstances.”104

98. Ibid.
99. Ibid., 209. Hock elaborates this latter claim by describing Paul’s use of the
forms of the Progymnasmata, particularly ēthopoiia, and the rhetorical arrangement
of Galatians.
100. Ibid., 215.
101. Ibid., 198, 215.
102. See Hock, “Paul’s Tentmaking”; Hock, Social Context, 35.
103. Hock, “Paul’s Tentmaking”; Hock, Social Context, 22–25. The contradiction
had been remarked by Meggitt, Paul, Poverty and Survival, 87 n. 54; Todd D. Still, “Did
Paul Loathe Manual Labor? Revisiting the Work of Ronald F. Hock on the Apostle’s
Tentmaking and Social Class,” JBL 125 (2006): 785 n. 22; Roetzel, Paul, 191 n. 73.
104. Hock, “Paul’s Social Class,” 16.
 UNSCHOOLED TENTMAKER TO EDUCATED RHETORICIAN 41

Hock attempts to demonstrate that Paul’s decision to learn a trade

when faced with social marginalization was “consistent with aristocratic
conventions,”105 but he manages to cite only one case of an adult learning
a τέχνη, and that a fictional one (Xenophon, Eph. 5.1.4–5.1.11). The other
texts cited by Hock demonstrate, as he himself admits, that portrayals of
down-and-out aristocrats generally have them fall back on unskilled labor
or even brigandry, a pattern that would seem to suggest a lack of appetite
or opportunity for mid-life apprenticeships. Perhaps Hock has shown that
it is possible for Paul to have learned his trade postconversion; he has by
no means demonstrated that it is probable.
What Hock falls back on to bolster his argument is, then, Paul’s school-
ing: Paul must have learned his trade after his conversion, since as a boy he
was far too busy pursuing his literate education.106 So, in the end, we may
summarize the structure of Hock’s argument like this: Paul was an aristo-
crat, so he spent his youth in school; Paul was busy in school during his
youth, so he can only have learned his trade as an adult; learning a trade
as an adult is something aristocrats do, therefore—and now we have come
full circle—Paul was an aristocrat.
Hock seeks to ground exegetically this otherwise circular argument
for Paul’s elite status in three ways: first, he reiterates his claim that Paul
betrays an aristocratic attitude toward manual labor; second, he cites his
own work on Paul’s education; third, he bookends the discussion with
brief but allusive references to Paul’s citizenship.107 Restricting ourselves
to evidence from the Pauline corpus itself, that leaves Hock’s argument
with two pillars: Paul’s disdain for labor and his rhetorical prowess.
Hock first argued that Paul had an aristocrat’s disdain for manual
labor in his 1978 “Paul’s Tentmaking and the Problem of His Social Class.”
Paul, Hock noted, referred to his engagement in manual labor in terms
that were hardly positive: “I enslaved myself ” (ἐμαυτὸν ἐδούλωσα [1 Cor
9:19]); “I demeaned myself ” (ἐμαυτὸν ταπεινῶν [2 Cor 11:7]). Moreover,
Paul included labor in his hardship catalogues alongside beatings, home-
lessness, and hunger (1 Cor 4:12). In sum, Hock concluded, “Paul experi-
enced his working as we should expect an aristocrat to have done, namely,
as something slavish and demeaning.”108

105. Ibid., 17.

106. Ibid., 15–16.
107. Ibid., 8, 18.
108. Hock, “Paul’s Tentmaking,” 562. Hock’s argument has been taken up by
42 RETHINKING PAUL’S RHETORICAL EDUCATION

Hock’s exegesis has recently been challenged by Todd Still, who

denies that Paul had such a negative view of his trade.109 But even if Hock
is correct and Paul considered his labor slavish, the conclusion that Paul
was an aristocrat does not follow, for it surely does not require an aristo-
cratic upbringing to resent hard work. Hock adduces a few inscriptions
that highlight the pride of artisans in their work, but this is not sufficient
to justify his sweeping claim that, unlike Paul, “those who practiced trades
had positive attitudes about their prospects and reputations.”110 As Justin
Meggitt notes, the reality was rather more complex: “Both the disparage-
ment of physical work, and unabashed pride in it, can be found in élite
and non-élite Graeco-Roman and Jewish sources.”111 There simply is no
reason to imagine that the elite had a monopoly on resenting the drudgery
of hard labor. And this leaves Hock with only Paul’s putative education, as
evidenced by his rhetorical prowess, upon which to ground his portrait of
an aristocratic apostle.

Paul and the Diatribe

Like Neyrey and Hock, Stanley Stowers has argued that it is the character-
istics of Paul’s prose that best indicate the level of his education, but he has
come to a different conclusion. For Stowers, the key is Paul’s long-noted
stylistic affinity to the diatribe. Unlike Rudolf Bultmann, who sought the
diatribe’s Sitz im Leben in street-corner moral preaching, Stowers argues
that it represents the schoolroom discourse of various popularizing phi-
losophers.112 The diatribe-like style of Paul’s letters, then, suggests that his

Sanders, Paul, 11; Murphy-O’Connor, Paul: A Critical Life, 40; Dale B. Martin, Slavery
as Salvation: The Metaphor of Slavery in Pauline Christianity (New Haven: Yale Univer-
sity Press, 1990), 123; Longenecker, Remember the Poor, 305.
109. Still, “Did Paul Loathe Manual Labor?”
110. Hock, “Paul’s Social Class,” 11. Cf. Timothy B. Savage, Power through Weak-
ness: Paul’s Understanding of the Christian Ministry in 2 Corinthians (SNTSMS 86;
Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1996), 84–86.
111. Meggitt, Paul, Poverty and Survival, 88. For an excellent recent treatment, see
Catharina Lis, “Perceptions of Work in Classical Antiquity: A Polyphonic Heritage,”
in The Idea of Work in Europe from Antiquity to Modern Times (ed. Josef Ehmer and
Catharina Lis; Burlington, Vt.: Ashgate, 2009), 33–68. Note especially Lis’s emphasis
on stratification among manual laborers, and thus the impossibility of identifying the
attitude of ancient laborers toward their work (50–56).
112. Stanley K. Stowers, The Diatribe and Paul’s Letter to the Romans (SBLDS 57;
 UNSCHOOLED TENTMAKER TO EDUCATED RHETORICIAN 43

ministry too had a schoolroom setting—“an audience of disciples, taught

privately.”113 Indeed, for Stowers, the common notion that Paul was a public
preacher is untenable, since Paul lacked the requisite status for public
speaking: “Paul was a Jew and a leather-worker. It is doubtful that he could
have overcome the stigma of these roles even if he had sought to do so.”114
In his early work, Stowers did not address the question of Paul’s social
background in any depth, nor did he speculate on where he might have
learned the philosophical discourse of the diatribe. But, like Neyrey and
Hock, he weighed in on the question of Paul’s education in 2003. Stow-
ers resists the notion that Paul belonged among the tiny fraction of the
population that constituted the elite: Paul’s prose simply lacks the aesthetic
sophistication sought by Cicero or Quintilian.115 But neither are his letters
completely devoid of rhetoric. No, they occupy a middle ground; and, for
Stowers, it is study of the diatribe that “illuminate[s] just such an alterna-
tive tradition of rhetoric nourished by moral teachers and philosophers
who may or may not have had high rhetorical educations.”116
Stowers describes Paul’s education accordingly, quoting his own
Rereading of Romans:

“Paul’s Greek educational level roughly equals that of someone who

had primary instruction with a grammaticus, or teacher of letters, and
then studied letter writing and some elementary rhetorical exercises.”

Chico, Calif.: Scholars Press, 1981), 45–78. Cf. Rudolf Bultmann, Der Stil der pau-
linischen Predigt und die kynisch-stoische Diatribe (FRLANT 13; Göttingen: Vanden-
hoeck & Ruprecht, 1910).
113. Stowers, “Social Status,” 63.
114. Ibid., 74. Admittedly, some Cynics managed to command a public audience,
but, according to Stowers, “the hit-and-run tactics of the Cynic do not fit [Paul]” (80).
Although he does not cite Theissen at this point, it appears to be the notion of Paul
as a “community organizer” (see Social Setting, 27–67) that, for Stowers, distinguishes
him from such Cynics.
115. Elsewhere, Stowers rightly remarks: “Such aestheticism belonged to an
extremely small group of writers, who lived in a rarefied world of elite sensitivities. It
was the study of rhetoric which developed these sensitivities, and it was the cultivation
of these classical aesthetic interests that most distinguishes the letter writing of cer-
tain later Christian authors … from Paul or Ignatius” (Letter Writing in Greco-Roman
Antiquity [LEC 5; Philadelphia: Westminster, 1986], 34).
116. Stanley K. Stowers, “Apostrophe, ΠΡΟΣΩΠΟΠΟΙΙΑ and Paul’s Rhetorical
Education,” in Early Christianity and Classical Culture (ed. Thomas H. Olbricht and L.
M. White; NovTSup 110; Leiden: Brill, 2003), 368.
44 RETHINKING PAUL’S RHETORICAL EDUCATION

This clearly excludes higher rhetorical theory. … The same teacher who
taught him the skills in letter writing that make his letters literarily and
rhetorically far above the common papyrus letters may also have trained
him in some progymnastic exercises useful to letter writers.117

I am in wholehearted agreement with the thrust of Stowers’s argument:

Paul’s letters may be illuminated in various ways by the documentary
papyri, but they certainly stand out in that crowd. And they clearly lack the
niceties of elite epistles. A map of the middle ground would be welcome
indeed. But is the diatribe the answer?
As Stowers is aware, there has been considerable debate over the years
regarding whether or not the diatribe existed as an identifiable Gattung,
and, if so, which authors are most representative of it.118 But even if we side
with Stowers on this point, still it is clear that the stylistic features we gen-
erally consider “diatribal” were not restricted to any single genre.119 Why
then should we assume that they were restricted to a single social setting?
Even H. B. Gottschalk, arguing that the ancients did indeed call certain
books diatribes, must conclude:

These tricks of style are not confined to “diatribes”; they are found, for
example, in Seneca’s letters, in Lucretius, in Horace’s Satires and many
other kinds of later literature. … The evidence is very slender, but such as
it is, it suggests that this style predominated in the things called diatribes,

117. Ibid., 368–69; citing Stowers, A Rereading of Romans: Justice, Jews, and Gen-
tiles (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1994), 17.
118. See Stowers, Diatribe, 26–48; Stanley E. Porter, “The Argument of Romans
5: Can a Rhetorical Question Make a Difference?” JBL 110 (1991): 656–60. H. D. Joc-
elyn and H. B. Gottschalk go back and forth on the major issues: Jocelyn, “Diatribes
and Sermons,” LCM 7 (1982): 3–7; Jocelyn, “ ‘Diatribes’ and the Greek Book-Title
Διατριβαί,” LCM 8 (1983): 89–91; Gottschalk, “Diatribe Again,” LCM 7 (1982): 91–92;
Gottschalk, “More on DIATRIBAI,” LCM 78 (1983): 91–92.
119. Porter, “The Argument of Romans 5,” 660–61; Barbara Price Wallach,
Lucretius and the Diatribe against the Fear of Death: De rerum natura III 830–1094
(Mnemosyne Supplement 40; Leiden: Brill, 1976), 7–8; Helmut Rahn, Morphologie
der antiken Literatur: Eine Einführung (Die Altertumswissenschaft; Darmstadt: Wis-
senschaftliche Buchgesellschaft, 1969), 156. A. A. Long judiciously describes the “so-
called diatribe tradition” as “a practice, both oral and written, of ethical training to
which professional teachers and didactic writers contributed in ways that were both
generic and individual” (Epictetus: A Stoic and Socratic Guide to Life [Oxford: Claren-
don, 2002], 49).
 UNSCHOOLED TENTMAKER TO EDUCATED RHETORICIAN 45

while other genres might make use of it as one among a larger repertory
of styles.120

If “diatribal style” is so amorphous that it can show up in the poetry of

Lucretius and find echoes in rabbinic midrash,121 it seems rather adven-
turous to infer from its appearance in Paul that he belongs in the moral-
philosophical classroom.

Paulus und das antike Schulwesen

By far the most substantial study of Paul’s education to date is Tor Vegge’s
Paulus und das antike Schulwesen, a dissertation completed under David
Hellholm in 2004 and published in Beihefte zur Zeitschrift für die neu-
testamentliche Wissenschaft in 2006. Despite its length—575 pages—and
its broad scope, the basic structure of Vegge’s argument is by now famil-
iar: “Seine Texte zeigen … daß er Form und Stil so beherrscht, wie sie in
‘griechisch-hellenistischen’ Rhetorikschulen unterrichtet wurden”; there-
fore, Paul must have come from a high-status family.122
Vegge begins with an almost encyclopedic study of education in the
Hellenistic world, addressing everything from the structure of schools,
the role of teachers, and the various curricula to the sociological function
of literate education. Both rhetorical and philosophical education receive
detailed treatment; both will be of significance when Vegge gets to Paul.
But what Vegge tends to overlook, as Thomas Kraus notes, is the value of
documentary papyri for illuminating the sort of pedestrian educational

120. Gottschalk, “Diatribe Again,” 92. Paul’s letters, we might note, are clearly
among those texts that make use of “diatribal style” as one of a larger repertory of
styles. See Stowers, Diatribe, 25.
121. Wallach, Lucretius and the Diatribe; Rivka Ulmer, “The Advancement of
Arguments in Exegetical Midrash Compared to That of the Greek ΔΙΑΤΡΙΒΗ,” JSJ 28
(1997): 48–91. Stowers critiques Wallach for allowing her understanding of the genre
to be unduly swayed by sources that are “atypical of the diatribe” (Diatribe, 36), but
the fact that such borderline texts even exist makes the point. Such texts may not be
evidence for what the ancient diatribe—if there was such a thing—was like, but that
does not render them irrelevant for understanding the stylistic features with which we
are concerned.
122. Vegge, Paulus und das antike Schulwesen, 357, 455: “His writings indicate …
that he has mastered form and style as they were taught in ‘Greek-Hellenistic’ schools
of rhetoric.”
46 RETHINKING PAUL’S RHETORICAL EDUCATION

practices that Quintilian and his ilk surely would have considered hope-
lessly provincial but that were, nevertheless, likely quite representative
outside elite circles.123 This amounts, unfortunately, to stacking the deck:
By the time Vegge begins to address Paul—on page 341!—we are liable to
have forgotten that a world outside that of budding elite orators and phi-
losophers exists. And if the only mode of education we can imagine is elite
formal education, we simply have nowhere else to place Paul.
It is no surprise, then, when Vegge unreservedly locates Paul among
the educated elite, insisting “daß Paulus eine literarische Ausbildung in
ihrer allgemeinen griechisch-hellenistischen Form erhielt und daß er
danach bei einem Redelehrer die Progymnasmata durchlief, wodurch
er sich die Grundlage seiner literarischen Virtuosität verschaffte.”124 The
grounds for this conclusion are twofold: first, Paul’s letters feature the sort
of rhetoric that could only have been learned in school; second, what we
know of Paul’s origins makes his exposure to rhetorical education prob-
able.
This latter argument centers on Tarsus’s reputation as a seat of higher
learning. Vegge argues, contra van Unnik, that Paul was a Tarsan through
and through, since Luke’s emphasis on Paul’s time in Jerusalem (cf. Acts
22:3) can be ascribed to his own theological and literary interests.125 And,
if it was in Tarsus that Paul went to school, Paul must have benefited from
the unparalleled educational environment to which Strabo famously
attests (Geogr. 14.5.13).126

123. Thomas J. Kraus, “Schooling and School System in (Late) Antiquity and
Their Influence on Paul” (review of Tor Vegge, Paulus und die antike Schulwesen:
Schule und Bildung des Paulus), ExpTim 118 (2007): 617. Kraus notes, for example,
that Herbert Youtie does not appear in the bibliography. Neither does Rafaella Cribio-
re’s Gymnastics of the Mind: Greek Education in Hellenistic and Roman Egypt (Prince-
ton, N.J.: Princeton University Press, 2001), though it was published three years before
Vegge defended his dissertation. Theresa Morgan’s Literate Education in the Hellenistic
and Roman Worlds (Cambridge Classical Studies; Cambridge: Cambridge University
Press, 1998) is occasionally consulted, but not really digested.
124. Vegge, Paulus und das antike Schulwesen, 462: “that Paul received a literary
education in its general Greek-Hellenistic form and that he then went through the
Progymnasmata with a teacher of rhetoric, whereby he acquired the foundation of his
literary virtuosity.”
125. Ibid., 425–41. Likewise Murphy-O’Connor, Paul: A Critical Life, 32–33.
Cf. Van Unnik, Tarsus or Jerusalem.
126. Vegge, Paulus und das antike Schulwesen, 458.
 UNSCHOOLED TENTMAKER TO EDUCATED RHETORICIAN 47

But even if we grant, as most are inclined to do, that Luke had accu-
rate information regarding Paul’s city of origin and that Strabo’s hyperbolic
description possesses a kernel of truth, the relevance of Tarsus’s academic
life to Paul is by no means self-evident. As Richard Wallace and Wynne
Williams wryly observe:

Although Paul’s city Tarsus was famous for its philosophers, there is no
reason to suppose that a Jewish tentmaker born in Tarsus would there-
fore have a better than average knowledge of philosophical ideas, any
more than we would expect someone who worked in a car factory in
Oxford to have for that reason a better knowledge of Wittgenstein than
one whose workplace was in Coventry.127

That is, in order for Tarsus’s famed rhetorical schools to be at all relevant,
Paul must have had the requisite social status to attend them. Vegge insists
that he did, but his argument for Paul’s status rests on precisely the issue
that is at stake here, namely, Paul’s education.128 In the end, then, we know
Paul was elite because of his education, which in turn we can infer from
his elite status. Vegge’s biographical argument, like that of Hock, is beset
by circularity. Thus the whole structure finally rests upon Vegge’s asser-
tion that Paul’s letters contain indisputable marks of formal education in
rhetoric.
Aware of claims that Paul could have learned his persuasive speech
informally, Vegge is eager to clarify that, for the purposes of his study,
rhetoric means school rhetoric—“die schulisch erlernten Formen der
Sprache.”129 And he adduces two texts as evidence of this unambiguously
schulische rhetoric: 1 Cor 7 and 2 Cor 10–13. I will address his treatment
of them in turn.
According to Vegge, Paul in 1 Cor 7 elaborates a thesis as recommended
by Aelius Theon (Progymn. 11 [RG 2:120–128]).130 In his treatment of the
exercise, Theon had listed the various topoi—fourteen in all, by Vegge’s
count—which could be used in such elaboration (RG 2:121–122). Vegge
finds eleven of these in Paul’s discussion of marriage. To Vegge it seems

127. Richard Wallace and Wynne Williams, The Three Worlds of Paul of Tarsus
(London: Routledge, 1998), 133. Cf. Norden, Die antike Kunstprosa, 495.
128. Vegge, Paulus und das antike Schulwesen, 455.
129. Ibid., 365, cf. 357.
130. Ibid., 389–406.
48 RETHINKING PAUL’S RHETORICAL EDUCATION

clear, then, that Paul composed 1 Cor 7 as a thesis; “und wenn an dieser
Stelle glaubhaft gemacht werden kann, daß Paulus die Gymnasmatatform
der Thesis in seinem Unterricht verwendet und in seinen Schriften einge-
setzt hat, ist darin ein Indiz für die von ihm genossene literarische Bildung
zu sehen.”131
It cannot be denied that certain aspects of this text are reminiscent,
at least, of some of the topoi described by Theon. Paul’s assertion that the
unmarried woman is fully attentive to the Lord and therefore holy (ἁγία
[1 Cor 7:34]) perhaps accords with Theon’s advice to argue from the topos
“that [the proposed course of action] is reverent (ὅσιος),” or, more specifi-
cally, that it is “pleasing to gods.”132 Theon suggests arguing that a proposed
action is beneficial (λυσιτελές) and establishes security (πρὸς ἀσφάλειαν …
ἐπιτήδειον [RG 2:122]); Paul writes, “Those who marry will experience
distress in this life, and I would spare you that.… I say this for your own
benefit” (7:28b, 35a).
But others of Vegge’s instances are less persuasive. I do not see how
Paul’s “concession” in 1 Cor 7:2–4—“Because of cases of sexual immoral-
ity, each man should have his own wife and each woman her husband”—
can be construed as an argument that restraining from sexual intercourse
“entspricht … nicht der Physis und dem allen Menschen gemeinsamen
Ethos und den gemeinsamen Gesetzen.”133 It may be that this is what Paul
thinks, that such an assumption lies behind his brief διὰ δὲ τὰς πορνείας,
but if so he does not tell us. In fact, although Paul does argue from “nature”
elsewhere when discussing sexual mores (cf. 1 Cor 11:14), here the empha-
sis is not on what is natural or customary but rather on the vulnerability of
the Corinthians’ self-control to the tempting of Satan (v. 5). And although
the logic of vv. 3–4 does involve an implicit appeal to what is customary—
note especially the language of conjugal “duty” (ὀφειλή)—if our goal is to
uncover unambiguous evidence of rhetorical education, it simply will not

131. Ibid., 405: “And if it can be substantiated here that Paul utilized the progym-
nastic form of the thesis in his teaching and has inserted it into his writings, we thus
see one indicator of the literary education he enjoyed.”
132. Theon, Progymn. 11 (RG 2:122): ὅτι ὅσιον· διττὸν δὲ τοῦτο· ἢ γὰρ θεοῖς
κεχαρισμένον ἢ τετελευτηκόσιν. I use Patillon’s Budé edition here and throughout this
study, and provide numbering from Spengel’s Rhetores Graeci for ease of reference.
133. Vegge, Paulus und das antike Schulwesen, 394. Theon (Progymn. 11 [RG
2:121]) recommends arguing from the topos that a certain course of action “is in
accordance with nature and according to the common manners and customs of all
mankind” [trans. Kennedy].
 UNSCHOOLED TENTMAKER TO EDUCATED RHETORICIAN 49

do to equate an implicit appeal to custom with the use of a progymnastic

topos. Implicit appeals to custom can be found far from the Greco-Roman
rhetorical tradition, and we clearly would not want to ascribe a progym-
nastic education to every orator who employed one.134
Verses 2–5 highlight another problem with Vegge’s formal analysis:
We do not have a proof here at all, as we would expect if Paul were elabo-
rating a thesis, but rather paranesis, as the use of the imperative through-
out the passage indicates. Indeed, it is difficult to see how Paul’s direct
instruction accords with Theon’s definition of a thesis as “a verbal inquiry
admitting controversy without specifying any persons and circumstance;
for example, whether one should marry, whether one should have chil-
dren; whether the gods exist” (RG 2:120 [trans. Kennedy]). No, Paul has
very specific persons in view—namely, his Corinthian readers—and he
enumerates a whole series of specific situations regarding which he pro-
vides concrete instructions.
Vegge seeks to avoid the problem this creates by suggesting that Paul
alternates between “thetical” speech, which is generally applicable, and
“hypothetical” speech, which addresses a particular situation.135 But this is
still a mischaracterization of the passage, which in fact consists of a series
of thematically interrelated instructions to which the sort of argumenta-
tive topoi described by Vegge are occasionally appended as ad hoc justifi-
cations. And this brings us to the truly fatal problem with Vegge’s analy-
sis: how can this be the elaboration of a thesis when there is no thesis to
elaborate?
Vegge himself takes 1 Cor 7:1b—“It is well for a man not to touch
a woman”—as Paul’s thesis. But this simply does not work, for, as schol-
ars have long noted, “the principle contained in this statement does not
serve to further Paul’s argument in 1 Cor. 7.1–24.”136 Rather, the bulk of
the chapter takes the form of what H. Chadwick called “qualifying foot-

134. See, e.g., the argument from ancient practice in Red Jacket’s speech at the
Council of Newtown Point, 1791 (Granville Ganter, ed., The Collected Speeches of
Sagoyewatha, or Red Jacket [The Iroquois and Their Neighbors; Syracuse, N.Y.: Syra-
cuse University Press, 2006], 29–30). For more on Red Jacket, see pt. 3 below.
135. Vegge, Paulus und das antike Schulwesen, 396–404. On the distinction
between thesis and hypothesis, see Hermogenes, Progymn. 24–25.
136. John Coolidge Hurd, The Origin of 1 Corinthians (New York: Seabury, 1965),
67.
50 RETHINKING PAUL’S RHETORICAL EDUCATION

notes” that explain why such a thesis is impracticable.137 In fact, as such

diverse interpreters as Dale Martin and Gordon Fee agree, what we have
here is not Paul’s own statement at all; this is a citation from the Corinthi-
ans’ letter.138 As elsewhere in 1 Corinthians, Paul expresses agreement in
principal with the (“strong”) Corinthians’ slogan, but in fact undermines
their position by counseling concession to the “weak.”139 Clearly, this rhe-
torical procedure has little in common with the elaboration of a thesis as
described in the Progymnasmata.
Vegge himself recognizes that what Paul does here is different from
what Theon and Hermogenes recommend. Like Betz, however, he takes
Paul’s deviation from the standard as evidence that Paul is not composing
trite schoolboy prose:

Stellt der Teiltext … keine Thesis dar, die den straff gehaltenen Übungs-
bedingungen eines schulischen Progymnasmas entspräche, denn bei
Texten, die nicht innerhalb schulischer Disziplin erstellt wurden, galt für
geschickte Autoren die freie Handhabung der Formmerkmale als Ideal.140

But this sort of statement in fact undermines the whole argument, for
what Vegge has been claiming is that Paul’s rhetoric is so clearly informed
by formal schooling that no other explanation of its source is adequate. If
it now turns out that 1 Cor 7 doesn’t look much like a progymnastic thesis
after all, what are the grounds for asserting that this is in fact educated
rhetoric? It is possible, of course, that Paul was trained in the elaboration
of a thesis but chose to do something more complex here; it is also pos-
sible that 1 Cor 7 doesn’t look like a thesis simply because it isn’t one. Jazz
players trained at Juilliard may be excellent improvisers, but that does not
mean that deviation from the score is evidence of a Juilliard education. If
our goal is to isolate educated discourse, we will clearly need sharper tools.

137. H. Chadwick, “ ‘All Things to All Men’ (1 Cor. IX. 22),” NTS 1 (1955): 265.
138. Martin, The Corinthian Body, 205; Gordon D. Fee, The First Epistle to the
Corinthians (NICNT; Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1987), 270–71. For discussion and a
survey of scholarship, see Hurd, Origin of 1 Corinthians, 65–74.
139. See Martin, The Corinthian Body, 103, 227–28.
140. Vegge, Paulus und das antike Schulwesen, 405: “The passage is not a thesis
that complies with the strictly maintained formal requirements of a scholastic pro-
gymnastic exercise, because, in texts that were not constructed in the context of aca-
demic discipline, the free handling of formal features was considered the ideal for
skillful authors.”
 UNSCHOOLED TENTMAKER TO EDUCATED RHETORICIAN 51

Vegge’s second example of Paul’s educated rhetoric is 2 Cor 10–13, a

passage with which we will be concerned at length in subsequent chap-
ters. For much of this section, Vegge simply lists the rhetorical features
that others have identified in the passage; I treat these arguments in part 2
below. In addition, however, Vegge follows his teacher David Hellholm in
emphasizing Paul’s use of enthymemes,141 which, for Vegge, attests to his
philosophical education.
The logic of Vegge’s argument, stated syllogistically, is as follows: Phil-
osophically trained writers (like Seneca and Plutarch) use enthymemes;
Paul’s letter contains enthymemes; ergo, Paul was philosophically trained.142
But this is fallacious, for Vegge has not inquired whether such enthymemic
argumentation as Paul’s can be found in nonphilosophical texts as well. It
can. In fact, it is generally accepted that the use of enthymemes is a ubiq-
uitous element of human communication.143 Jesse Delia argues that this
results from the basic nature of human cognition: People seek in general
to avoid cognitive dissonance, and the enthymeme persuades by activating
that instinct—that is, by encouraging people to accept the implications of
their presuppositions.144
Vegge’s ability to locate enthymemes in Paul is therefore hardly evi-
dence that he was educated in philosophical rhetoric. In order for this
argument to be at all persuasive, Vegge would need to identify the particu-
lar stylistic features of enthymeme use in Hellenistic philosophical texts,

141. Hellholm, “Enthymemic Argumentation.” Cf. Paul A. Holloway, “The

Enthymeme as an Element of Style in Paul,” JBL 120 (2001): 329–43.
142. Vegge, Paulus und das antike Schulwesen, 413, 423.
143. See Anders Eriksson, “Enthymemes in Pauline Argumentation: Reading
between the Lines in 1 Corinthians,” in Rhetorical Argumentation in Biblical Texts:
Essays from the Lund 2000 Conference (ed. Anders Eriksson, Thomas H. Olbricht,
and Walter G. Übelacker; ESEC 8; Harrisburg, Pa.: Trinity, 2002), 245–46. George
Kennedy locates enthymemes in speech embedded in aboriginal Australian myths
(Comparative Rhetoric, 48–49), and hypothesizes that enthymemes were among the
earliest forms of human persuasion (41, 224–25). For their use among Tikopians, for
example, see Raymond Firth, “Speech-Making and Authority in Tikopia,” in Political
Language and Oratory in Traditional Society (ed. Maurice Bloch; London: Academic
Press, 1975), 42.
144. Jesse G. Delia, “The Logic Fallacy, Cognitive Theory, and the Enthymeme:
A Search for the Foundations of Reasoned Discourse,” QJS 56 (1970): 140–48. Cf.
J. Scenters-Zapico, “The Social Construct of Enthymematic Understanding,” RSQ 24
(1994): 71–87.
52 RETHINKING PAUL’S RHETORICAL EDUCATION

and then demonstrate similarities in Paul’s usage. As it stands, his observa-

tion that Paul used enthymemes tells us nothing more than that Paul was
making an argument.

Dissenting Voices

Not all are persuaded by the line of argument traced by Forbes and
elaborated by Neyrey, Hock, and Vegge, but opposing views, though fre-
quently expressed, have seldom been carefully argued. Two exceptions are
worthy of note.
Justin Meggitt has generated considerable discussion with his Paul,
Poverty, and Survival, a frontal attack on the “new consensus” in which
Meggitt unhesitatingly places the first urban Christians in the context of
ancient urban poverty.145 By Meggitt’s account, the reality of the ancient
world was such that “the non-élite, over 99% of the Empire’s population,
could expect little more than abject poverty.”146 For Meggitt, that includes
Paul. As a manual laborer, Paul would have “suffered the … long hours
of labour (and the … feelings of hunger) that characterised artisan life.”147
And Meggitt is not at all convinced by arguments that Paul had a privi-
leged childhood but, later, as a result of his conversion and newfound call-
ing, voluntarily subjected himself to poverty. Although he accepts Paul’s
citizenship of both Rome and Tarsus, he considers neither to be evidence

145. Justin J. Meggitt, Paul, Poverty, and Survival (SNTW; Edinburgh: T&T Clark,
1998). For a glimpse into the ensuing discussion, see Dale B. Martin, “Justin J. Meg-
gitt, Paul, Poverty and Survival,” JSNT 84 (2001): 51–64; Gerd Theissen, “The Social
Structure of the Pauline Communities: Some Critical Remarks on J. J. Meggitt, Paul,
Poverty, and Survival,” JSNT 84 (2001): 65–84; Meggitt, “Response to Martin and The-
issen,” JSNT 84 (2001): 85–94.
146. Meggitt, Paul, Poverty and Survival, 50. It is Meggitt’s undifferentiated treat-
ment of the non-elite 99 percent that has been the most frequently criticized aspect
of his work, with a number of scholars insisting, rightly, I think, that this is an over-
simplification. Stephen Friesen has led the charge toward greater nuance and preci-
sion: “Poverty in Pauline Studies: Beyond the So-Called New Consensus,” JSNT 26
(2004): 323–61; Walter Scheidel and Steven J. Friesen, “The Size of the Economy and
the Distribution of Income in the Roman Empire,” JRS 99 (2009): 61–91. See also
Bruce W. Longenecker, “Exposing the Economic Middle: A Revised Economy Scale
for the Study of Early Christianity,” JSNT 31 (2009): 243–78.
147. Meggitt, Paul, Poverty and Survival, 76.
 UNSCHOOLED TENTMAKER TO EDUCATED RHETORICIAN 53

of elite status, and, to his mind, Hock’s notion that Paul had an aristocratic
attitude toward manual labor is “extremely ill thought out.”148
Moreover, for Meggitt the claim that Paul received an elite education
is founded on a false presupposition, namely, the idea “that education
and wealth are immutably bound together.”149 This assumption, though
accurate with regard to the formal ἐγκύκλιος παιδεία, neglects to consider
the opportunities for informal education in the ancient city. According to
Meggitt: “Graeco-Roman culture was widely disseminated and displayed
(it was not solely the preserve of the élite): quotations from authors such
as Virgil, Ovid, Lucretius, much more complex than the one example we
have from Paul, were found scratched on walls in Pompeii.”150 In short, the
assumption that “only the formally educated can display signs of learning,”
like the idea that “only the rich consider work slavish,” reveals only “the
prejudices, biases, and perhaps, the socio-economic contexts of the schol-
ars themselves”; it does not help us understand Paul.151
Whereas Meggitt addresses the question of Paul’s education from the
perspective of social history, R. Dean Anderson challenges the assertion
that Paul’s letters were shaped by firsthand knowledge of rhetorical theo-
ry.152 Reviewing a large swath of rhetorical-critical treatments of Paul’s let-
ters, Anderson concludes that Paul’s alleged conformity to the dictates of
ancient rhetorical theory evaporates upon careful investigation.
First, with regard to form—what Quintilian would call dispositio—
Anderson argues that Paul’s letters do not in fact contain the expected
divisions of a speech, a conclusion that seems to be borne out by the dif-
ficulty of arriving at anything like a consensus regarding their rhetorical
structures.153 For Anderson, any structural features that Paul’s letters do

148. Ibid., 80–83, 88.

149. Ibid., 84.
150. Ibid., 86 n. 49. On this point, see further F. Gerald Downing, “A Bas Les Aris-
tos: The Relevance of Higher Literature for the Understanding of the Earliest Christian
Writings,” NovT 30 (1988): 212–30; Nicholas Horsfall, “The Cultural Horizons of the
‘Plebs Romana,’ ” Memoirs of the American Academy in Rome 41 (1996): 101–19.
151. Meggitt, Paul, Poverty and Survival, 96. See also Roetzel, Paul, 23.
152. R. Dean Anderson, Ancient Rhetorical Theory and Paul (rev. ed.; CBET 18;
Leuven: Peeters, 1999). See also Philip Kern’s Rhetoric and Galatians: Assessing an
Approach to Paul’s Epistle (SNTSMS 101; Cambridge: Cambridge University Press,
1998).
153. Anderson, Ancient Rhetorical Theory, 130; cf. Fairweather, “Galatians and
54 RETHINKING PAUL’S RHETORICAL EDUCATION

share with works of formal rhetoric can be attributed to what I will later
call “general rhetoric,” that is, the basic capacity of humans to persuade:

The fact that we have been able to make some remarks drawn from the
rhetorical theory connected with the partes orationis has more to do
with the fact that most literary productions have a beginning, middle
and an end, than that Paul was thinking in terms of specifically rhetorical
προοίμιον, πίστεις and ἐπίλογος.154

With regard to argumentation—Quintilian’s inventio—Anderson

draws a similar conclusion: Yes, Paul occasionally uses παραδείγματα in
his argumentation, but they often function differently from what rhetori-
cal theorists would prescribe; moreover, “the use of examples is common
in all literate societies.”155 There is no evidence here of the influence of
rhetorical education.
Finally, Paul’s style—elocutio—does not resemble that of a formal
orator. In addition to being paratactic rather than periodic or hypotactic,156
it lacks the fundamental rhetorical virtue of clarity (σαφήνεια).157 In short,
then, “it seems highly unlikely that Paul received any formal training in
rhetorical theory.”158

Classical Rhetoric,” 220; Classen, Rhetorical Criticism, 23–27; Kern, Rhetoric and
Galatians, 90–166.
154. Anderson, Ancient Rhetorical Theory, 280. Likewise Stanley K. Stowers,
review of Hans Dieter Betz, 2 Corinthians 8 and 9: A Commentary on Two Administra-
tive Letters of the Apostle Paul, JBL 106 (1987): 730; Classen, Rhetorical Criticism, 24;
Vegge, A Letter about Reconciliation, 42.
155. Anderson, Ancient Rhetorical Theory, 280. Anderson’s intuition here is
sound: see further George A. Kennedy, Comparative Rhetoric: An Historical and Cross-
Cultural Introduction (New York: Oxford University Press, 1998), 6, 42, 126, 225.
156. Anderson, Ancient Rhetorical Theory, 281.
157. Ibid., 279–81. Similarly, Marius Reiser, Sprache und literarische Formen des
Neuen Testaments: Eine Einführung (UTB 2197; Paderborn: Schöningh, 2001), 73.
158. Anderson, Ancient Rhetorical Theory, 277. E. Randolph Richards comes
to a similar conclusion on the basis of Paul’s frequent anacolutha and uneven gram-
mar (Paul and First-Century Letter Writing: Secretaries, Composition, and Collection
[Downers Grove, Ill.: InterVarsity Press, 2004], 139).
 UNSCHOOLED TENTMAKER TO EDUCATED RHETORICIAN 55

Conclusion

In reaching the conclusion that Paul did not have the benefit of a rhetori-
cal education, Anderson is now in the minority. As we have seen, how-
ever, until a few decades ago, his would have been an uncontroversial
assertion. Patristic exegetes, responding to the ridicule of Celsus and his
ilk, conceded that Paul’s prose did not satisfy the aesthetic criteria of the
Greco-Roman literati. And modern critical scholars, until recently, con-
curred: Paul’s manner of expression was perhaps passionate and personal,
but it certainly was not cultured.
Despite this agreement, patristic and modern interpreters parted ways
in the explanations they put forward for the peculiar forcefulness of Paul’s
letters. For Origen, Chrysostom, and Augustine, it was the inspiration of
the Holy Spirit that explained the treasure of divine wisdom hidden in
the clay vessel of Paul’s diction.159 Modern critical scholarship could not
countenance this conception of inspiration, but was long enamored of the
romantic idea of natural eloquence: Paul, it was argued, escaped the empty
formalism of the rhetorical schools; his was the unruly but authentic rhet-
oric of the heart.
Current scholarship is wary of both explanations. Inspiration is gener-
ally considered a matter of private belief to which no explanatory value
should be attributed, and appeal to the “natural” looks suspiciously like a
way to sneak inspiration in the back door, to insist that Paul’s letters are
not “mere rhetoric,” or to keep him safely insulated from “pagan” influ-
ence.160 So, faced with a growing mountain of literature highlighting the
rhetorical dimensions of Paul’s letters, recent scholars have now put for-
ward their own explanation: Paul writes persuasively because he learned
how to do so at school.
Part 2 of this study will examine the adequacy of this hypothesis
for explaining the nature of Paul’s prose. What lends this task particular
urgency is the role Paul’s putative education currently plays in discussions
concerning his social location. As we have seen, although Paul’s alleged

159. See esp. Chrysostom, Laud. Paul. 4.13; Hom. 1 Cor. 3.4 (PG 61:27–28);
Augustine, Doct. chr. 4.7.11. Cf. Origen, Comm. Jo. 4.2. See further the section Τὸ ἐν
Λόγῳ Ἰδιωτικὸν τοῦ Ἀποστόλου, ch. 12 below.
160. See esp. the insightful comments of Margaret M. Mitchell, “Le style, c’est
l’homme: Aesthetics and Apologetics in the Stylistic Analysis of the New Testament,”
NovT 51 (2009): 369–88.
56 RETHINKING PAUL’S RHETORICAL EDUCATION

Roman citizenship and his ostensibly aristocratic attitude toward labor

continue to exert influence, above all it is the conviction that Paul demon-
strates the sort of rhetorical prowess that he can only have derived from
elite education that sponsors the current consensus—namely, that Paul
was a man of relatively high social status, and that his manual labor is not
decisive for determining his social location. If it can be demonstrated that
what Paul knows of persuasion need not have been learned in school, then
we evidently must reconsider this consensus, and, with it, the nature of
Paul’s mission and the letters that are its legacy.
 2
Second Corinthians 10–13:
A Historical and Literary Introduction

As C. J. Classen has remarked, since the work of Betz and Kennedy there
has come such a flood of rhetorical-critical publications that not even the
specialist can hope to master them all.1 Clearly, then, it would not be prac-
ticable to attempt to evaluate all the evidence scholars have adduced of
Paul’s knowledge of classical rhetoric. Instead, I will use 2 Cor 10–13, a text
widely considered emblematic of Paul’s rhetorical prowess, as a test case.

Second Corinthians 10–13 and

Recent Evaluations of Paul’s Rhetoric

Those familiar with the history of the rhetorical criticism of Paul’s letters
may be surprised by this selection. It was, after all, Hans Dieter Betz’s com-
mentary on Galatians that sparked the recent resurgence of interest in the
relationship between Paul’s letters and ancient rhetorical theory. But Betz’s
legacy here is an odd one: although many scholars enthusiastically have
endorsed Betz’s premise—that is, the notion that Galatians is best under-
stood by comparison with ancient rhetorical theory—they have been
unable to agree with Betz, or with one another, what, precisely, rhetorical
criticism of the letter should give us to understand.2 Significantly, this lack

1. Classen, “Kann die rhetorische Theorie helfen?” 146.

2. For further discussion, see Porter, “Paul of Tarsus and His Letters,” 541–47,
561; Anderson, Ancient Rhetorical Theory, 129–42; Kern, Rhetoric and Galatians,
90–119; Duane F. Watson, “The Three Species of Rhetoric and the Study of the Pau-
line Epistles,” in Paul and Rhetoric (ed. J. Paul Sampley and Peter Lampe; New York:
T&T Clark, 2010), 36–39. See also Classen, “St. Paul’s Epistles and Ancient Greek and
Roman Rhetoric,” 339–42; Classen, “Kann die rhetorische Theorie helfen?” 156–69.
A number of significant contributions to the discussion are conveniently collected

-57-
58 RETHINKING PAUL’S RHETORICAL EDUCATION

of agreement concerns not only the finer details of rhetorical analysis but
also the basic matters of rhetorical species and arrangement.
This has not dissuaded advocates of the method. According to Jerome
Neyrey, “Even if scholars subsequently challenge this or that part of Betz’s
arrangement, they only prove that the initial insight was right.”3 But why
should this be, exactly? Can we really measure the success of a method by
the number of competing claims it generates? At what point, one wonders,
has it simply failed to be probative?
Notably, Betz himself recognized that the relationship between any
prescribed rhetorical τάξις and the arrangement of Galatians was far from
straightforward. He admitted that the paranetic material in Gal 5–6 could
not be explained on the basis of rhetorical theory.4 And, when faced with
the difficulty of wrestling the disparate material of Gal 3–4 into the out-
line required by his rhetorical analysis, he was forced to suggest, “Paul has
been very successful—as a skilled rhetorician would be expected to be—in
disguising his argumentative strategy.”5 Comments of this sort have prolif-
erated in Pauline scholarship, and have served Betz and his followers well,
for, in addition to being compellingly counterintuitive, they insulate their
claims from any attempt at falsification: By this logic, the more clearly it be
demonstrated that Paul did not follow rhetorical expectations, the more
certain we should be that he was a rhetorical genius.
This is not to say that our inability confidently to locate the partes ora-
tionis in Paul’s letters in itself demonstrates his unfamiliarity with rhetori-
cal theory. As Margaret Mitchell in particular has emphasized, we often
have the same difficulty if we seek the prescribed rhetorical τάξις in ora-
tions produced by speakers who we know on other grounds to have
been trained rhetors.6 But notice what such a statement implies: For
Paul, as for Demosthenes, if we seek evidence of rhetorical training,
we must rely on what can be determined on other grounds. Close con-
formity to the prescribed arrangement of the handbooks may perhaps
provide evidence of rhetorical training. But lack of conformity, such
as even Betz agrees we find in Galatians, is simply inconclusive: it

in Mark D. Nanos, ed., The Galatians Debate: Contemporary Issues in Rhetorical and
Historical Interpretation (Peabody, Mass.: Hendrickson, 2002).
3. Neyrey, “Social Location of Paul,” 134.
4. Betz, “Literary Composition and Function,” 375–76.
5. Ibid., 369.
6. Mitchell, Rhetoric of Reconciliation, 8–11.
 SCHELLENBERG: SECOND CORINTHIANS 10–13 59

may indicate the artful flexibility of a trained master, or it may simply

indicate ignorance.
At best, then, the relationship between ancient rhetorical theory
and the arrangement of Galatians is either enigmatic or disguised. Thus
it proves difficult to argue—or, again, to falsify the argument—that the
structure of Galatians provides meaningful evidence of Paul’s rhetorical
education.
Prior to his work on Galatians, however, Betz sharpened his rhetor-
ical-critical teeth on 2 Cor 10–13.7 And it is here, in fact, that rhetorical
criticism has produced what are generally thought to be assured results.
Indeed, 2 Cor 10–13 has recently been called “Paul’s rhetorical tour de
force,” a “magnificent composition,” and “a brilliant piece of text.”8 As we
will see, these judgments have not arisen from assessment of rhetorical
τάξις but rather from analysis of specific forms, figures, and rhetorical
strategies embedded in the letter.
For previous generations of scholarship, what was most remarkable
about this passage was its ability to convey Paul’s spirit, capturing his
heartfelt indignation and his fiery passion. A strange but compelling flow
of words, it was agreed, had erupted from the intensity of Paul’s emotion.
Thus Hans Windisch observed how “die Leidenschaft verwandelt mit
einem Mal den ἰδιώτης τῷ λόγῳ in einen δεινότατος τὸν λόγον.”9 Others
described the passage in similar terms: For Edgar Goodspeed, this was “a
passage of the most amazing force and vigor … [that possesses] a power
and effectiveness seldom equaled in any literature.”10 And Alfred Plum-

7. Betz, Der Apostel Paulus und die sokratische Tradition. See also Betz, “Rhetoric
and Theology,” 126–27 n. 1.
8. Witherington, Conflict and Community in Corinth, 373; Margaret M. Mitchell,
“A Patristic Perspective on Pauline περιαυτολογία,” NTS 47 (2001): 354; Betz, “Rhetoric
and Theology,” 155.
9. Hans Windisch, Der zweite Korintherbrief (9th ed.; KEK 6; Göttingen: Vanden-
hoeck & Ruprecht, 1924), 349: “passion all at once transformed the one ‘untrained in
speech’ into the most powerful of speakers.” See also Anton Fridrichsen, “Sprachliches
und Stilistisches zum Neuen Testament,” in Exegetical Writings: A Selection (ed. Chrys
C. Caragounis and Tord Fornberg; WUNT 76; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1994), 289;
repr. from Kungliga Humanistiska Vetenskaps-Samfundet i Uppsala, Årsbok 1 (1943);
Heinrici, Der zweite Brief an die Korinther, 314.
10. Edgar J. Goodspeed, An Introduction to the New Testament (Chicago: Univer-
sity of Chicago Press, 1937), 61.
60 RETHINKING PAUL’S RHETORICAL EDUCATION

mer spoke of “a rhythmical and rhetorical swing that sweeps one away in
admiration of its impassioned intensity.”11
In recent decades, though, a new consensus has emerged that explains
this passage not as a function of Paul’s emotional intensity but rather as a
manifestation of his mastery of the classical rhetorical tradition. In fact,
2 Cor 10–13 has become the text most frequently cited as evidence of
Paul’s rhetorical prowess.12 It was this passage that led Judge to inquire
into the social context of Paul’s boasting, and this passage that is the lynch-
pin in the arguments of Christopher Forbes, Peter Marshall, and now Tor
Vegge that Paul received formal training in rhetoric.13
The extent to which 2 Cor 10–13 has shaped scholarly imagination
concerning Paul’s rhetoric is particularly evident from Jerome Murphy-
O’Connor’s treatment in his Paul: A Critical Life. According to Murphy-
O’Connor, Paul ordinarily restrained himself from rhetorical display so as
not to distract from the message of the gospel (cf. 1 Cor 2:5), but “his con-
scious control … collapsed in the heat of anger, and in the Fool’s Speech
(2 Cor. 11:1 to 12:13) deeply engrained qualities become evident,”14 namely,
“the masterful facility and freedom with which he employs a number of
the techniques of rhetoric”—techniques, says Murphy-O’Connor, that he
can only have learned in school.15 The implication, of course, is that if
it were it not for 2 Cor 10–13, scholars might be taken in by Paul’s self-
characterization as a rhetorical amateur (2 Cor 11:6). But thanks to Paul’s
passionate outburst, the truth is out.
So, if there is one text regarding which all seem to agree that Paul
is dependent on knowledge of the formal tradition of ancient rhetoric, it
is 2 Cor 10–13. There are quibbles regarding how, precisely, Paul manip-
ulates rhetorical conventions—that is, the extent to which he conforms
to or subverts the established protocol—but there is essential agreement
that the passage is a rhetorically astute response to his opponents’ claims.16

11. Alfred Plummer, A Critical and Exegetical Commentary on the Second Epistle
of St. Paul to the Corinthians (ICC; Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1915), xlviii.
12. Witness, e.g., Duane Watson, “Second Corinthians 10–13 as the Best Evidence
That Paul Received a Rhetorical Education” (paper presented at the annual meeting of
the Society of Biblical Literature, Chicago, 17 November 2012).
13. Judge, “Paul’s Boasting”; Forbes, “Comparison, Self-Praise, and Irony”; Mar-
shall, Enmity in Corinth, 390; Vegge, Paulus und das antike Schulwesen, 406–23.
14. Murphy-O’Connor, Paul: A Critical Life, 51.
15. Ibid., 320.
16. See esp. Judge, “Paul’s Boasting”; Forbes, “Comparison, Self-Praise, and
 SCHELLENBERG: SECOND CORINTHIANS 10–13 61

This contrasts strikingly with the inconclusiveness that has beset rhetori-
cal studies of Galatians and suggests that it is here, if anywhere, that we
will find evidence of Paul’s rhetorical education.17

Irony”; Frederick W. Danker, “Paul’s Debt to the De Corona of Demosthenes: A Study

of Rhetorical Techniques in 2 Corinthians,” in Persuasive Artistry: Studies in New
Testament Rhetoric in Honor of George A. Kennedy (ed. Duane F. Watson; JSNTSup
50; Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 1991), 262–80; Scott J. Hafemann, “ ‘Self-
Commendation’ and Apostolic Legitimacy in 2 Corinthians: A Pauline Dialectic?”
NTS 36 (1990): 66–88; Mitchell, “Patristic Perspective”; Glenn S. Holland, “Speaking
Like a Fool: Irony in 2 Corinthians 10–13,” 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 Press, 1993), 250–64; Duane F. Watson,
“Paul’s Boasting in 2 Corinthians 10–13 as Defense of His Honor: A Socio-rhetorical
Analysis,” in Rhetorical Argumentation in Biblical Texts: Essays from the 2000 Lund
Conference (ed. Anders Eriksson, Thomas H. Olbricht, and Walter G. Übelacker;
ESEC 8; Harrisburg, Pa.: Trinity, 2002), 260–75; Scott B. Andrews, “Too Weak Not to
Lead: The Form and Function of 2 Cor 11.23b–33,” NTS 41 (1995): 263–76; Antonio
Pitta, “Il ‘discorso del pazzo’ o periautologia immoderata? Analisi retoricoletteraria
di 2 Cor 11,1–12,18,” Bib 87 (2006): 493–510; Michael Wojciechowski, “Paul and
Plutarch on Boasting,” Journal of Greco-Roman Christianity and Judaism 3 (2006):
99–109; John T. Fitzgerald, “Paul, the Ancient Epistolary Theorists, and 2 Corinthi-
ans 10–13,” in Greeks, Romans, and Christians: Essays in Honor of Abraham J. Mal-
herbe (ed. David L. Balch, Everett Ferguson, and Wayne A. Meeks; Minneapolis: For-
tress, 1990), 190–200; Charles A. Wanamaker, “ ‘By the Power of God’: Rhetoric and
Ideology in 2 Corinthians 10–13,” in Fabrics of Discourse: Essays in Honor of Vernon
K. Robbins (ed. David Gowler, Gregory Bloomquist, and Duane F. Watson; New York:
Trinity, 2003), 194–221.
17. Following Margaret M. Mitchell (Rhetoric of Reconciliation), many have been
persuaded that 1 Corinthians too provides compelling evidence of Paul’s formal rhe-
torical capacity, in particular his ability to compose a letter that conforms to the generic
expectations governing deliberative rhetoric. According to Mitchell, “1 Corinthians is
a single letter of unitary composition which contains a deliberative argument persuad-
ing the Christian community at Corinth to become reunified” (1); its thesis is 1 Cor
1:10. This argument depends for its force on the appearance in Paul’s letter of four
features she deems characteristic of deliberative rhetoric: (a) a focus on action to be
undertaken in the future; (b) appeal to what is advantageous (τὸ συμφέρον); (c) proof
by example; and (d) an appropriate (political) subject of deliberation, often factional-
ism and civic concord (23). The first and third of these features are simply too general
to serve as evidence of Paul’s knowledge of rhetorical conventions—that is, in the ter-
minology that will be introduced in ch. 9 below, they are aspects of general rhetoric. If
we knew on other grounds that Paul’s letter was composed in accordance with one of
Aristotle’s three species, such features would perhaps help us choose (cf. 25, 42). But of
course they are widespread also in texts uninformed by Aristotle’s scheme. Appeal to
62 RETHINKING PAUL’S RHETORICAL EDUCATION

The “Letter of Tears”

It is not necessary to detain ourselves here with a detailed discussion of

the composition history of 2 Corinthians. Indeed, although on occasion
the exegetical proposals of this study are enriched by the compositional
hypothesis I adopt, the primary argument is in no way dependent on it. So
I offer only a brief summary of the position taken here, as well a few criti-
cal comments on recent efforts to defend the unity of 2 Corinthians on the
basis of its rhetorical plausibility.
The theory that 2 Corinthians is a composite letter was first advanced
by J. S. Semler in his 1776 commentary and achieved considerable influ-
ence through the work of A. Hausrath and J. H. Kennedy around the turn
of the previous century.18 Although there is continued debate regarding
the number of letters that canonical 2 Corinthians comprises, as well as

what is advantageous is, if not particular to, at least especially characteristic of deliber-
ative rhetoric; however, as Dean Anderson notes, none of Paul’s references to the con-
cept of advantage concern what is ostensibly the thesis of the letter (Ancient Rhetorical
Theory, 256): Paul does not tell the Corinthians that it is in their best interest to avoid
factions; instead, he argues that it is advantageous for them to avoid fornication (6:12),
to stay unmarried in the short time before the eschaton (7:35), and not to give offense
in eating idol food (10:23, 33). And although of course each of these issues has the
potential to create conflict in Corinth, Paul simply does not, pace Mitchell, integrate
his treatment of them into a unified argument for unity. Paul’s discussion of marriage
in ch. 7 provides a useful example. Mitchell is right, surely, that marriage and sexuality
can be sources of contention (121–25), but Paul shows no concern about this. The two
things that do concern Paul are the potential for fornication, which he abhors (vv. 2,
5, 9, 36–37), and the need for single-minded focus in light of the impending eschaton
(vv. 26–35). (A detailed evaluation of Mitchell’s proposal appears in the dissertation
on which this study is based: “ ‘Where is the Voice Coming from?’: Querying the Evi-
dence for Paul’s Rhetorical Education in 2 Corinthians 10–13” [Ph.D. diss., University
of St. Michael’s College, 2012], 79–88.)
18. Johann Salomo Semler, Paraphrasis II: Epistolae ad Corinthios (Halle: Hem-
merde, 1776); Adolf Hausrath, Der Vier-Capitel-Brief des Paulus an die Korinther (Hei-
delberg: Bassermann, 1870); James Houghton Kennedy, The Second and Third Epistles
of St. Paul to the Corinthians: With Some Proofs of Their Independence and Mutual
Relation (London: Methuen, 1900). On the history of interpretation, see esp. 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), 3–36;
Margaret E. Thrall, A Critical and Exegetical Commentary on the Second Epistle to the
Corinthians (2 vols.; ICC; Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1994–2000), 1:3–49; L. L. Welborn,
“The Identification of 2 Corinthians 10–13 with the ‘Letter of Tears,’ ” NovT 37 (1995):
 SCHELLENBERG: SECOND CORINTHIANS 10–13 63

their relative chronology, most would concur that chapters 10–13 consti-
tute an independent letter.19
The most conspicuous piece of evidence here is Paul’s abrupt change
of tone. Chapters 10–13 are famously agonized and polemical—a strik-
ing change from chapters 1–9, where Paul is conciliatory and, his anxi-
ety having been relieved by Titus’s welcome report from Corinth, effusive
in his gratitude for God’s consolation.20 Indeed, as Kirsopp Lake opined,
“If 2 Cor. x.–xiii. had existed in a separate form, no one would ever have
dreamt of suggesting that it was the continuation of 2 Cor. i.–ix.”21
Both Hausrath and Kennedy took the theory one step further, identi-
fying 2 Cor 10–13 with the “tearful letter”—or, at least, the bulk thereof—
to which Paul refers in 2 Cor 2:3–4 and 7:8–12. Paul’s general description
of this letter, written, he says, ἐκ πολλῆς θλίψεως καὶ συνοχῆς καρδίας and
διὰ πολλῶν δακρύων (2:4), is in accord with Paul’s evident anguish in 2 Cor
10–13. But even more telling are a number of verbal echoes or “cross-ref-
erences” in 2 Cor 1–9 that show Paul taking up motifs from his earlier
letter.22 I note only three: (1) Chapters 10–13 contain Paul’s self-conscious
and reluctant self-commendation (10:12, 18; 12:11). In 3:1 and 5:12, Paul
insists that he is not again commending himself. (2) In chapter 10, Paul
warns that from now on he will be as forceful in person as he is in his let-
ters (10:1–2, 9–11)—a motif that culminates in 13:1–4, when Paul threat-
ens a visit to the Corinthians in which he will not spare them discipline
(οὐ φείσομαι). In what appears to be an attempt to justify his decision not
to undertake this punitive visit after all (1:15–2:4), Paul tells the Corin-
thians: “It was to spare you (φειδόμενος ὑμῶν) that I did not come again

136–43; Francis Watson, “2 Cor. X–XIII and Paul’s Painful Letter to the Corinthians,”
JTS 35 (1984): 324–31; Vegge, A Letter about Reconciliation, 7–34.
19. For an excellent and succinct statement of the evidence, see L. L Welborn, An
End to Enmity: Paul and the “Wrongdoer” of Second Corinthians (BZNW 185; Berlin:
de Gruyter, 2011), xix–xxviii.
20. See Watson, “2 Corinthians X–XIII and Paul’s Painful Letter,” 324; Günther
Bornkamm, “The History of the Origin of the So-Called Second Letter to the Cor-
inthians,” NTS 8 (1962): 258; Plummer, Second Epistle, 269–70. Note also the more
specific discrepancies identified by Welborn, An End to Enmity, xx.
21. Kirsopp Lake, The Earlier Epistles of St. Paul: Their Motive and Origin (London:
Rivingtons, 1911), 157. Cf. Hausrath, Der Vier-Capitel-Brief, 1.
22. For what follows, see the classic statements of Kennedy, Second and Third
Epistles, 89–98; Plummer, Second Epistle, xxix–xxxiii; Lake, Earlier Epistles, 155–62; as
well as Welborn, An End to Enmity, xxii–xxiv.
64 RETHINKING PAUL’S RHETORICAL EDUCATION

to Corinth” (1:23). (3) In retrospect, Paul can say that his earlier letter
functioned to prove the Corinthians’ obedience (2:9), whereas at the time
of that previous letter, Paul had been preparing to punish disobedience
(10:6). In short, the conflictual situation reflected in 2 Cor 10–13 recurs,
now in the past tense, in chapters 1–923—which themselves, many argue,
comprise multiple letters.24

23. The two major objections to this thesis, that it fails to make sense of what
is said about Titus’s visits and that there is no explicit reference in chs. 10–13 to the
offense discussed in 2:5–11, have been refuted by Francis Watson (“2 Corinthians X–
XIII and Paul’s Painful Letter,” 332–35) and Larry Welborn (“Identification of 2 Cor-
inthians 10–13”), respectively.
24. As was noted initially by Johannes Weiss, 2 Cor 2:14–7:4 interrupts Paul’s
ongoing account of his encounter with Titus in Macedonia, from whom he heard
consoling news concerning the Corinthians; thus 2 Cor 1:1–2:13; 7:5–16 appears to
be a separate, self-contained “Letter of Reconciliation” that postdates the “Letter of
Tears” (Earliest Christianity, 1:349; see also Bornkamm, “So-Called Second Letter,”
259–60). Weiss considered the intervening section—2:14–6:13; 7:2–4 (6:14–7:1
appears to be an interpolation)—to be, together with chs. 10–13, this tearful letter
(Earliest Christianity, 1:348–49; cf. Rudolf Bultmann, Exegetische Probleme des
zweiten Korintherbriefes [2nd ed.; Darmstadt: Wissenschaftliche Buchgesellschaft,
1963], 14 n. 16). But the considerable difference in tone between the two fragments
makes such an identification doubtful, as noted by Dieter Georgi, The Opponents of
Paul in Second Corinthians: A Study of Religious Propaganda in Late Antiquity (Phila-
delphia: Fortress, 1986), 13–14; Bornkamm, “So-Called Second Letter,” 260; Watson,
“2 Corinthians X–XIII and Paul’s Painful Letter,” 330. It is preferable to see two inde-
pendent letters in 2 Cor 1–7, both of which were composed after 2 Cor 10–13. Note
that here I disagree with Bornkamm, who argues that 2:14–6:13; 7:2–4 was “written
in an earlier moment when Paul heard for the first time of the appearance of his
opponents, but when the community had not yet fallen prey to them” (“So-Called
Second Letter,” 260; cf. Georgi, Opponents of Paul, 14; Margaret M. Mitchell, “The
Corinthian Correspondence and the Birth of Pauline Hermeneutics,” in Paul and the
Corinthians: Studies on a Community in Conflict; Essays in Honour of Margaret Thrall
[ed. Trevor J. Burke and J. K. Elliott; NovTSup 109; Leiden: Brill, 2003], 21, 27–30).
There is simply no textual evidence for this theory; it rests solely on the general plau-
sibility of an escalating conflict and ignores the way in which Paul’s touchiness about
self-commendation in 3:1 and 5:12 seems clearly to recollect his boasting in 2 Cor
10–13. So N. H. Taylor, “The Composition and Chronology of Second Corinthians,”
JSNT 44 (1991): 73–74; Welborn, An End to Enmity, xxiii–xxv. The status of 2 Cor 8
and 9, which are quite clearly two separate letters, remains disputed. I find persuasive,
however, Margaret Mitchell’s argument that the mention of Titus in 12:18 refers back
to the collection visit announced in 8:6, 22. This would make 2 Cor 8 the earliest of
the letters that comprise 2 Corinthians, and the only one to precede Paul’s painful
 SCHELLENBERG: SECOND CORINTHIANS 10–13 65

But although a majority of scholars continue to view 2 Cor 10–13 as

an independent letter or letter fragment, and many would identify it with
Paul’s “letter of tears,” a number of recent interpreters have attempted to
reassert the compositional unity of 2 Corinthians—and they have done
so precisely on rhetorical grounds.25 Works by J. D. Hester (Amador) and
Frederick J. Long can be taken as representative of the two major modes of
argumentation that have developed.
Hester criticizes proponents of partition hypotheses for what he con-
siders a naïve view of the relationship between a text and its rhetorical
exigency. “Traditional historical critics,” he argues, resort to partition into
discrete letters because they presume that a text should straightforwardly
address a single situation and, further, should reveal “a logical, progressive
development of events and circumstances.”26 A rhetorical approach, he
argues, recognizes “the freedom with which argumentative and persuasive
composition is conceptualized and arranged in the face of the dizzying
array of circumstances that can confront an author/rhetor.”27 When the
text is analyzed with this in mind, Hester insists, the underlying unity of
the complex rhetorical production that is 2 Corinthians comes into view.
Hester’s work offers a salutary reminder that history is inevitably more
complicated than historians would prefer and that we often seek in vain for
a easily narratable chain of cause and effect. But his methodological critique
misses the mark. Partition theories of 2 Corinthians have been prompted
not by the perceived need for a plausible rhetorical situation—simple or

second visit. See “Paul’s Letters to Corinth: The Interpretive Intertwining of Literary
and Historical Reconstruction,” in Urban Religion in Roman Corinth: Interdisciplin-
ary Approaches (ed. Daniel N. Schowalter and Steven J. Friesen; HTS 53; Cambridge:
Harvard University Press, 2005), 307–38. 2 Cor 9 would then be the latest of the
letters—a reprise, post-conflict and post-reconciliation, of Paul’s request for partici-
pation in the collection.
25. See esp. Frances M. Young and David F. Ford, Meaning and Truth in 2 Corin-
thians (Biblical Foundations in Theology; London: SPCK, 1987), 27–44; Withering-
ton, Conflict and Community in Corinth, 327–52; J. David Hester Amador, “The Unity
of 2 Corinthians: A Test Case for a Re-discovered and Re-invented Rhetoric,” Neot
33 (1999): 411–32; Hester Amador, “Revisiting 2 Corinthians: Rhetoric and the Case
for Unity,” NTS 46 (2000): 92–111; Fredrick J. Long, Ancient Rhetoric and Paul’s Apol-
ogy: The Compositional Unity of 2 Corinthians (SNTSMS 131; Cambridge: Cambridge
University Press, 2004).
26. Hester Amador, “Revisiting 2 Corinthians,” 94.
27. Ibid.
66 RETHINKING PAUL’S RHETORICAL EDUCATION

complex—but rather by observance of specific textual details, such as the

“cross-references” discussed above, that have demanded some sort of expla-
nation.28 Certainly many have sought also to uncover a “logical, progressive
development of events and circumstances,” but this generally has been a way
of testing various hypotheses, not of generating them.
It is not surprising, then, that where Hester’s own reading of the evi-
dence most clearly falters is in his treatment of such textual details. He
is able, arguably, to provide a plausible account of how, in general terms,
the rhetoric of 2 Cor 10–13 could be said to draw on themes introduced
in chapters 1–9.29 But he simply fails to attend to the specific details that
convinced scholars like Kennedy, Hausrath, and Lake that 2 Cor 1–9 in
fact recalls chapters 10–13 retrospectively.
The same is true of the recent monograph by Fredrick Long, who,
like Hester, elects to bypass any meaningful engagement with the stud-
ies that convinced most twentieth-century interpreters of the composite
nature of this text. Long seeks to argue that 2 Corinthians as a whole con-
forms to the conventions of epistolary forensic rhetoric—that it is, in other
words, a “letter of apology,” comparable to Demosthenes’s Ep. 3 and Ep.
4 and Plato’s Ep. 7. For Long, then, 2 Cor 10–13 comprises the refutatio
(10:1–11:15), self-adulation (11:16–12:10), and peroratio (12:11–13:10) of
this unified letter, which was called forth by “two interrelated charges of
inconsistency”: Paul failed to visit the Corinthians as he had promised,
and behaved κατὰ σάρκα with respect to his use of rhetoric and pursuit of
financial gain.30
One serious difficulty with Long’s proposal has already been diag-
nosed incisively by Ivor Jones: 2 Cor 12:11–13:10 cannot credibly be read
as the peroratio of the whole of 2 Corinthians.31 Such a reading miscon-
strues the verses in question by ignoring the role they play in their imme-
diate context and constructing false parallels to chapters 1–9. Or, as Jones

28. See, e.g., Lake, Earlier Epistles, 160.

29. Hester Amador, “Revisiting 2 Corinthians,” 98–100. Still, I find Plummer’s
comments on the rhetorical implications of having chs. 10–13 follow 1–9 far more
compelling than those of Hester, even if they are unadorned with theoretical terminol-
ogy: “It is strange policy, immediately after imploring freshly regained friends to do
their duty, to begin heaping upon them reproaches and threats” (Second Epistle, xxx;
cf. Georgi, Opponents of Paul, 9).
30. Long, Ancient Rhetoric, 125–35.
31. Ivor H. Jones, “Rhetorical Criticism and the Unity of 2 Corinthians: One ‘Epi-
logue,’ or More?” NTS 54 (2008): 500–512.
 SCHELLENBERG: SECOND CORINTHIANS 10–13 67

puts it, “the theory of a reversed recapitulation of the letter’s material [such
as would be suitable to a peroration] has displaced careful exegetical work
… and encouraged inattention to distinctive features of chs. 10–13.”32
Importantly, Jones’s critique here exposes a larger difficulty with
Long’s method: Rather than emerging from a careful reading of the letter,
Long’s exegetical conclusions derive precisely from the hypothesis he is
attempting to demonstrate. Let us look at just two examples, each of which
concerns one of the two main charges against which Long believes Paul to
be defending himself.
First, according to Long, “the theme of failing to visit (and writing
instead) is a unifying theme for Paul’s defense in 2 Corinthians.”33 Of
course, few would deny that this theme is pervasive throughout the canon-
ical letter. But Long’s description of it simply ignores what exegetes have
seen for over a century: Paul’s discussions of his plans to visit Corinth are
not all of a piece; instead, they presuppose different stages in Paul’s less
than successful attempt to exercise apostolic authority.34 In 2 Cor 10–13
there is no indication that Paul has been criticized for his absence, or for
his vacillating travel plans. Certainly he has been criticized for writing
bold and forceful letters from afar (10:9–11), but this is a problem not
because he has failed to visit, but because precisely because he had visited
Corinth—and had failed while there to live up to the expectations his let-
ters had raised (10:1; 13:2–4, 10). Contrarily, in 2 Cor 1–9 there is no hint
of the παρών vs. ἀπών motif prominent in 2 Cor 10–13; instead, the prob-
lem evidently is the variability of Paul’s travel plans (1:15–2:1). What we
have here, then, are two quite different situations: In 2 Cor 1:15–2:13, Paul
is justifying the postponement of a visit; in 2 Cor 10–13, Paul is dealing
with the fallout of a disastrous one. Evidently, it is not the text itself but the
presupposition that 2 Corinthians is a single apology that is driving Long’s
exegesis here.
Second, Long notes Paul’s insistence both in 1:17 and 10:2–4 that he
has not been operating κατὰ σάρκα, and thus deduces that throughout
the entire letter Paul is responding to the accusation that he has “worldly
intentions.”35 Oddly, though, having found an overlap in vocabulary here,
Long pays no attention at all to what Paul might mean in each instance

32. Ibid., 508.

33. Long, Ancient Rhetoric, 126.
34. Cf. Plummer, Second Epistle, xxxi–xxxii; Lake, Earlier Epistles, 157–58.
35. Long, Ancient Rhetoric, 127.
68 RETHINKING PAUL’S RHETORICAL EDUCATION

and elects instead, ignoring the two texts he has cited, to argue, on other
grounds, that Paul’s alleged worldliness concerned his use of rhetoric and
his financial trickery. Given the frequency and variable usage of the phrase
in Paul’s letters, surely one must do more than find two occurrences of the
phrase κατὰ σάρκα to demonstrate that one is an echo of another. Again,
the presupposition of unity seems to have displaced careful exegesis.
Finally, it is worth noting that Long does not, in fact, argue for Paul’s
familiarity with rhetorical conventions. No, his is the inverse argument:
Paul’s rhetorical knowledge is taken for granted, and the case for the unity
of 2 Corinthians proceeds on the basis of this assumption. If, as this study
will attempt to demonstrate, the assertion that Paul had formal knowledge
of rhetorical theory cannot be sustained, such rhetorical-critical argu-
ments for the unity of 2 Corinthians must be abandoned, or, at the very
least, thoroughly reconceived.36

Paul and the Corinthians

That 2 Cor 10–13 is a remarkable piece of writing all agree. This text sur-

36. Also deserving of mention here is Ivar Vegge’s recent monograph (A Letter
about Reconciliation), which argues for the unity of 2 Corinthians on the grounds of
its psychogogical coherence. What Vegge sees as the key impetus behind partition
theories is the interpretive assumption that Paul’s description of his “complete confi-
dence” in the Corinthians’ “obedience” (7:14–15) accurately reflects the status of their
relationship. If Paul and the Corinthians are so completely reconciled, Vegge acknowl-
edges, it is indeed difficult to see how 2 Cor 1–9 could be said to reflect the same situ-
ation as 2 Cor 10–13, which presupposes a considerable breach in their relationship.
But Vegge observes that in Hellenistic psychagogy such praise as Paul offers in 2 Cor
7 is often idealized and thus serves a “hortative function,” summoning the audience
more fully to actualize the characteristics for which its members have been praised.
Despite its very different tone, then, Paul’s hortative praise, says Vegge, serves essen-
tially the same function as his criticism of the Corinthians in 2 Cor 10–13—namely,
it summons the Corinthians to complete the reconciliation with Paul that had already
begun during Titus’s visit. Vegge’s point concerning the hortative function of praise is
well taken, and he does show that Hellenistic psychagogues recommended a careful
combination of both praise and criticism. But he fails to adduce any examples of a
comparable combination to that putatively used by Paul—that is, praise and censure
that occur in two clearly delineated segments of a discourse, and, what is more, appear
not to complement but to contradict one another. Though compelling in theory, his
psychagogic solution does not adequately address the specific difficulties scholars have
noted with reading 2 Corinthians as a unified composition.
 SCHELLENBERG: SECOND CORINTHIANS 10–13 69

passes even Galatians in urgency and forcefulness, and also in vitupera-

tion. Paul, it appears, had increasingly been sidelined by the Corinthians,
and in 2 Cor 10–13 he pulls out all the stops in an attempt to reassert
his apostolic status. A brief overview of the situation that called for such
measures will help to set the stage for the detailed exegesis offered in sub-
sequent chapters.
First, we know from 2 Cor 13:1–2 that Paul had visited Corinth a
second time prior to writing 2 Cor 10–13, and it appears that things had
not gone well for him. His frustration and humiliation are evident from
the tone of the letter as a whole, and his repeated reference to claims that
he is bold when absent but weak or lenient when present suggest that an
attempt to assert his authority in person was unsuccessful, perhaps even
ridiculed (10:1–2, 8–11; 12:21; 13:2, 10; cf. 11:21a).
Paul’s later recollection of this visit in the “Letter of Reconciliation”
(2 Cor 1:1–2:13; 7:5–16) is short on details, but confirms this general
impression. Paul explains that he had delayed his third trip to Corinth
in order to avoid “another painful visit” (τὸ μὴ πάλιν ἐν λύπῃ πρὸς ὑμᾶς
ἐλθεῖν [2:1]). Instead, he had sent the letter that I have identified with 2 Cor
10–13, a letter written “out of much distress and anguish of heart and
with many tears” (2:4). “Someone” (τις, τοιοῦτος, αὐτός) had offended Paul
deeply, behaving in the sort of way that now engendered, in retrospect, the
language of punishment and forgiveness (2:5–11).37
There is some conflict between Paul’s retrospective reference here to
a solitary “wrongdoer” (ὁ ἀδικήσας [7:12]) and the plural language that
he had used in the heat of battle, language that sometimes seems to refer
to a body of opposition (10:2, 11b–12; 11:12–15, 18, 22–23a; 12:21; 13:2;
but cf. 10:7, 10–11a; 11:20, 21b), perhaps to be equated with those Paul
calls the “super-apostles” (11:5; 12:11) plus those in their sway. The evi-
dence does not admit of a detailed reconstruction, but it seems best to
assume that by the time Paul wrote the “Letter of Reconciliation,” the most
egregious offender—the “rebel leader,” as Welborn puts it38—had relented,
become isolated, or both, and thus Paul no longer faced what once had
looked like a large-scale defection.39

37. See Welborn, An End to Enmity, 50–51, 63–64, 69–70.

38. Ibid., 67.
39. Ibid., 31 and passim. Welborn provides a detailed reconstruction indeed,
arguing that the “wrongdoer” was Gaius, the host of the Corinthian assembly, and
70 RETHINKING PAUL’S RHETORICAL EDUCATION

It is usually thought that 2 Cor 10–13 attests to a new conflict, not to

the exacerbation of the tension already evident in 1 Cor 1–4. This reading
is more often asserted than argued,40 and, in fact, it appears to depend
on two highly ambiguous pieces of evidence. First, interpreters seem to
assume that Paul’s extremely caustic characterization of his rivals in 2 Cor
10–13 cannot be directed at the same people that he had treated with rela-
tive deference in 1 Corinthians. But Paul’s treatment of Peter in Galatians
would suggest that this argument is based on rather tenuous assumptions
regarding his character; and, in any case, from everything we know of
Paul’s second visit to Corinth, it was easily disastrous enough to provide
fodder for Paul to reevaluate his previous opinion. Second, it is asserted
that whereas 1 Corinthians concerns tensions within the Corinthian com-
munity, 2 Cor 10–13 is written to address the influence of outsiders.41 But
this very widespread assertion inexplicably overlooks the fact that the
work of other apostles was already at the root of what Paul denounced
as factionalism in 1 Cor 1:12. Moreover, there is no evidence that Paul’s
rivals in 2 Cor 10–13 are recent arrivals,42 only that Paul’s own status is
now more tenuous. (Note, in particular, that 2 Cor 11:4 gives no indica-
tion of how recently the one in question [ὁ ἐρχόμενος] had arrived). There
simply are no grounds for introducing an entirely new group of rivals.
Moreover, there is considerable continuity in the nature of the prob-
lems faced by Paul. In 1 Corinthians, Paul had insisted that the mystery of
God is not comprehended by human wisdom (1:17–2:13); that the mind
of Christ is not grasped by those who are merely σαρκικοί (2:14–3:3); that
the kingdom of God is not a matter of λόγος but of δύναμις (4:20; cf. 2:4).
He uses similar terms in 2 Cor 10:3–5, contrasting his own divine-power-
fueled weapons with the merely fleshly λογισμοί he combats (τὰ ὅπλα τῆς

narrating the history of his friendship with Paul. This is intriguing indeed but requires
too many layers of speculation to be persuasive.
40. E.g., Georgi, Opponents of Paul, 6–7, who mistakenly attributes to Kirsopp
Lake the “discovery” that 1 and 2 Corinthians address different opponents. Lake in
fact argues that “it is impossible not to think that [the opponents of 2 Corinthians]
were identical with the persons to whom he refers in the opening chapters of 1 Corin-
thians” (Earlier Epistles, 234).
41. So, e.g., Jerry L. Sumney, “Paul and His Opponents: The Search,” in Paul
Unbound: Other Perspectives on the Apostle (ed. Mark D. Given; Peabody, Mass.: Hen-
drickson Publishers, 2010), 60; Thrall, Second Epistle, 2:926; Hester Amador, “Revisit-
ing 2 Corinthians,” 96–97.
42. So, rightly, Mitchell, “Paul’s Letters to Corinth,” 334 n. 90.
 SCHELLENBERG: SECOND CORINTHIANS 10–13 71

στρατείας ἡμῶν οὐ σαρκικὰ ἀλλὰ δυνατὰ τῷ θεῷ). As in 1 Cor 1:17 and

2:1–5, here too Paul apparently must account for the fact that his procla-
mation lacks the sophistication of his rivals’ (2 Cor 11:5–6). In 1 Cor 3:8,
Paul had insisted upon the principle that each worker would be rewarded
according to his own labor (κατὰ τὸν ἴδιον κόπον); in 2 Cor 10:15 he bit-
terly deplores those who boast ἐν ἀλλοτρίοις κόποις. Finally, just as in 1 Cor
4:21, where Paul offers the Corinthians a choice between his coming with
discipline (ἐν ῥάβδῳ) or with gentleness (πραΰτης), so Paul announces at
the outset of 2 Cor 10–13 that he writes διὰ τῆς πραΰτητος καὶ ἐπιεικείας
τοῦ Χριστοῦ but is prepared to punish any disobedience when he comes
(10:6; cf. 13:1–4, 10).
But if 2 Cor 10–13 represents an intensification of the same conflict
that generated 1 Cor 1–4, nevertheless it is clear that Paul’s relationship
with the Corinthians has deteriorated significantly in the interim. This is
evident above all from Paul’s touchiness about the esteem shown to his
rivals. Whereas in 1 Corinthians Paul had been content to suggest that
another (ἄλλος) could legitimately build on the foundation he had laid—
albeit with the somewhat threatening proviso that this builder’s work
would be tested with fire, and the builder himself liable to punishment
(3:10–17)—now he scorns those who have the audacity to boast of work
done in someone else’s κανών (10:12–16) and dismisses their teaching
as insidious proclamation of another Jesus, a different spirit, a different
gospel (11:4). Whereas earlier Paul could call Apollos and himself cowork-
ers (συνεργοί [1 Cor 3:9]), now Paul speaks angrily of those who would
consider themselves his equals (11:12; cf. 10:7):43 they are false apostles,
deceitful workers, ministers of Satan who disguise themselves as minis-
ters of Christ (11:13–15). He insists that he is not at all inferior to these

43. On the significance of Paul’s relationship with Apollos, see Joop F. M. Smit,
“ ‘What Is Apollos? What Is Paul?’ In Search for the Coherence of First Corinthians
1:10-4:21,” NovT 44 (2002): 231–51; Ker, “Paul and Apollos,” 83–84; Gerhard Sellin,
“Das ‘Geheimnis’ der Weisheit und das Rätsel der ‘Christuspartei’ (zu 1 Kor 1–4),”
ZNW 73 (1983): 69–96; Charles A. Wanamaker, “A Rhetoric of Power: Ideology and
1 Corinthians 1–4,” in Paul and the Corinthians: Studies on a Community in Conflict;
Essays in Honour of Margaret Thrall (ed. Trevor J. Burke and J. K. Elliott; NovTSup 109;
Leiden: Brill, 2003), 115–37. Cf. Peter Richardson, “The Thunderbolt in Q and the
Wise Man in Corinth,” in From Jesus to Paul: Studies in Honour of Frank Wright Beare
(ed. Peter Richardson and John C. Hurd; Waterloo, Ont.: Wilfred Laurier University
Press, 1984), 101–7.
72 RETHINKING PAUL’S RHETORICAL EDUCATION

“super-apostles” (11:5; 12:11). What has prompted this outburst of ire, this
renewed concern for his own relative status?
The details of Paul’s unpleasant second visit are obscure,44 but at four
points in 2 Cor 10–13 Paul appears to quote or refer to accusations made
against him, thereby providing useful clues about what has upset him:
(1) 2 Cor 10:10: ὅτι αἱ ἐπιστολαὶ μέν, φησίν, βαρεῖαι καὶ ἰσχυραί, ἡ δὲ
παρουσία τοῦ σώματος ἀσθενὴς καὶ ὁ λόγος ἐξουθενημένος. Paul, it appears,
is accused of being bold from afar but weak in person—an accusation, I
will argue, that derives from his failure to exercise the authoritative disci-
pline with which he had threatened the Corinthians (cf. 1 Cor 4:20–21).
Though often translated as plural, φησίν here is singular, corresponding to
ὁ τοιοῦτος in v. 11 and perhaps τις in v. 7. Given Paul’s similar usage to refer
to the chief offender in 2 Cor 2:1–5 and 7:12, this should probably be seen
as a response to a specific person and perhaps a specific occurrence, not
a “diatribe” style generalized attribution (contra BDF §130.3)—especially
since 2 Cor 10–13 is not among those few Pauline texts in which we find
a fictive interlocutor or other indicators of diatribe style.45 This verse will
be the subject of a thorough exegesis in chapter 12. For now, it is enough

44. Certainly there is not sufficient evidence to support Welborn’s hypothesis

of a charge made against Paul during a “quasi-judicial proceeding in the Corin-
thian assembly” (“ ‘By the Mouth of Two or Three Witnesses’: Paul’s Invocation of a
Deuteronomic Statute,” NovT 52 [2010]: 217). Welborn’s attempt to argue that Paul
invoked Deut 19:15 in his own defense fails to account for the immediate context
of the citation: Paul is threatening judgment, insisting he will not again be lenient
(13:2–4). Moreover, immediately before the citation, Paul notes that this will be his
third visit (13:1a); immediately afterward, he enumerates his two previous warnings
(προείρηκα καὶ προλέγω [13:2]). Using Deut 19:15 as a threat may be contrary to its
original purpose, and the analogy of visits/warnings and witnesses may be strained,
but this remains the only reading that makes sense of the text as it stands. The cost of
this interpretation, as Welborn rightly notes, is that it “requires us to assume that Paul
used a citation of Scripture contrary to its stated purpose and without consideration
of its context” (210). To quote Welborn again, a little mischievously, “We should not
be surprised if this cost were too high for many interpreters to bear” (220). Margaret
Mitchell’s delightfully clever reading (Birth of Christian Hermeneutics, 79–94) likewise
neglects the most immediate context of Paul’s citation; moreover, I find it difficult to
see how the Corinthians can be expected to be counting up Paul’s “witnesses”—the
textual demarcation of which is, by any account, far from transparent—prior to being
told that their number is at issue. Mitchell wonderfully “comments with” the text, to
use her phrase (12), but I am not persuaded that this is credible exegesis.
45. See esp. Welborn, An End to Enmity, 102–3.
 SCHELLENBERG: SECOND CORINTHIANS 10–13 73

to note that, whatever the specific occurrence, Paul has been treated with
derision.
(2) 2 Cor 10:1: ὃς κατὰ πρόσωπον μὲν ταπεινὸς ἐν ὑμῖν, ἀπὼν δὲ θαρρῶ
εἰς ὑμᾶς. Although, unlike 2 Cor 10:10, there is no explicit citation for-
mula here, the fact that Paul interrupts himself to offer this self-deprecat-
ing characterization is widely taken as evidence that he is paraphrasing a
derisive evaluation of him made by another.46 In support of this reading
we may note the repetition of this present-absent antithesis throughout
the letter (cf. 10:11; 13:2, 10), which is difficult to account for unless Paul
is echoing language with which the Corinthians are familiar. Importantly,
this accusation appears to be related to the antithetical characterization
of Paul’s letters as forceful but his bodily presence as weak (10:9–11).
Indeed, it may be that 10:1 and 10:10 amount to two iterations of a single
complaint.
(3) 2 Cor 11:6a: εἰ δὲ καὶ ἰδιώτης τῷ λόγῶ, ἀλλ᾿ οὐ τῇ γνώσει. We have
already noted that in 1 Corinthians Paul finds himself defending his “fool-
ish” (μωρία [1 Cor 1:18–23]) proclamation, which apparently seemed nei-
ther as wise nor as eloquent as that of his rivals (1 Cor 1:17; 2:1–5). It is
not clear whether the phrasing of 2 Cor 11:6 reflects a specific character-
ization of Paul, but he obviously worries that he is being deemed their
inferior (cf. 11:5). Again, the verse will be treated in full in chapter 12
below.
(4) 2 Cor 12:16: ἀλλὰ ὑπάρχων πανοῦργος δόλῳ ὑμᾶς ἔλαβον. In 1 Cor
9 Paul had provided what he called his ἀπολογία for those who would
examine him—that is, presumably, examine his financial conduct (v. 3).
The gist is this: Paul claims the right (ἐξουσία), like the other apostles, to
“refrain from working for a living” (v. 6) and to reap τὰ σαρκικά from the
Corinthians in exchange for τὰ πνευματικά (v. 11); however, he has not
used this “right,” so he says, because he wants to preserve his alternate
μισθός, namely, the satisfaction of having offered the gospel free of charge
(v. 18) and thus without unnecessary obstruction (v. 12). It seems strange
that Paul should argue at such length in order to prove his entitlement to
recompense he insists he would rather die than accept anyhow.47 Indeed,

46. So already John Chrysostom, Hom. 2 Cor. 21.1 (PG 61:542). Also Plummer,
Second Epistle, 273; Ralph P. Martin, 2 Corinthians (WBC 40; Waco, Tex.: Word, 1986),
303; Victor Paul Furnish, II Corinthians (AB 32A; Garden City, N.Y.: Doubleday,
1984), 460.
47. The passage begins, apparently, as an attempt to illustrate, from his own expe-
74 RETHINKING PAUL’S RHETORICAL EDUCATION

the fact that Paul has to insist on this right so strenuously undermines the
common interpretation that Paul was forced to defend himself precisely
for not accepting payment.48
Such interpretations rely for their credibility on Paul’s rhetorical ques-
tions in 2 Cor 10–13, questions that seem to imply that Paul was somehow
seen to be in the wrong for not accepting support:

Did I commit a sin by humbling myself so that you might be exalted,

because I proclaimed God’s news to you free of charge? … I refrained
and will refrain from burdening you in any way. As the truth of Christ is
in me, this boast of mine will not be silenced in the regions of Achaia.…
How have you been worse off than the other churches, except that I
myself did not burden you? Forgive me this wrong! … I will most gladly
spend and be spent for you. If I love you more, am I to be loved less?
(11:7–9; 12:12–14)

Note first that this is evidently a continuation of the same tension we

observed in 1 Corinthians. As in 1 Cor 9, here too Paul insists he will be
no burden (ἐγκοπή [1 Cor 9:12]; καταναρκάω [2 Cor 11:9; 12:13, 14]) but
will retain his boast (καύχημα [1 Cor 9:15, 16]; καύχησις [2 Cor 11:10])
that he offers the gospel free of charge (ἀδάπανος [1 Cor 9:18]; δωρεάν
[2 Cor 11:7]). Whatever forced Paul to offer an ἀπολογία in 1 Cor 9 clearly
remains contentious (cf. 2 Cor 12:19). And it appears from what Paul goes

rience, the principle of refraining from the exercise of one’s right (ἐξουσία) as elu-
cidated in 1 Cor 8, but it does not in fact make a very good object lesson, since the
example itself is controversial and thus in the end distracts from the principle it sought
out to illustrate. Note here how Margaret Mitchell’s emphasis on Paul’s self-exemplifi-
cation fails to reckon with the ambivalence of Paul’s own status in Corinth (Rhetoric of
Reconciliation, 49–60). The basic logic of the use of παραδείγματα, as Mitchell explains,
is that people like to follow the examples of those they esteem (cf. Aristotle, Rhet.
1.6.29). Accordingly, in deliberative rhetoric it was common to adduce as examples
the deeds of illustrious men and renowned cities. Paul cannot count on being thus
esteemed, which renders his use of his own example rhetorically problematic—hence
the notorious convolutions of 1 Cor 9.
48. E.g., Theissen, Social Setting, 40–49; Marshall, Enmity in Corinth, 165–258;
Hock, Social Context, 50–65. Hock bypasses this problem with a startlingly mislead-
ing characterization of Paul’s insistent argument: According to Hock, Paul in 1 Cor 9
“admitted” that he had the right to receive support (61).
 SCHELLENBERG: SECOND CORINTHIANS 10–13 75

on to say that the problem arose from suspicion that his collection project
was duplicitous:49

Let it be assumed that I did not burden you. Nevertheless (you say) since
I was crafty, I took you in by deceit. Did I take advantage of you through
any of those whom I sent to you? I urged Titus to go, and sent the brother
with him. Titus did not take advantage of you, did he? (2 Cor 12:16–18)

Titus, we know from 2 Cor 8:6, had been sent to Corinth by Paul twice
in relation to the collection, and had been accompanied by “the brother”
at least on the second of those trips (2 Cor 8:18).50 So there can be no
doubt that it is Paul’s collection project that lies in the background here,
and, once we know this, it is not difficult to reconstruct the nature of the
accusation. As Wilfred L. Knox explained some time ago, “The suspicion
was expressed that Paul’s previous refusal to accept support from his con-
verts at Corinth was a mere pretext for exacting larger sums on a later
date on the score of the alleged collection, which, it was hinted, might
very well fail to find its way to those for whom it was destined.”51 Paul was
incredulous that despite having worked for his living he was now accused
of financial misconduct, hence the barrage of rhetorical questions cited
above.
We have identified, then, the gist of a number of accusations against
Paul, each of which represents an exacerbation of tensions already evident
in 1 Corinthians. Perhaps these demeaning characterizations were sug-
gested by his rivals and accepted to a greater or lesser extent by some of the
Corinthians. Perhaps they were promulgated by the “wrongdoer” of 2 Cor

49. See esp. Hurd, Origin of 1 Corinthians, 205–6.

50. The fact that 2 Cor 8:18 and 2 Cor 12:18 appear to be references to the same
visit by Titus and “the brother,” the former prior to the event and the latter afterward,
is one piece of evidence adduced by Margaret Mitchell in her cogent argument that
2 Cor 8 was sent after 1 Corinthians but prior to 2 Cor 10–13. See “Paul’s Letters to
Corinth,” 326.
51. Wilfred L. Knox, St Paul and the Church of Jerusalem (Cambridge: Cam-
bridge University Press, 1925), 328; cited in Hurd, Origin of 1 Corinthians, 205–6. Cf.
Welborn, An End to Enmity, 166–81. Further support for this reading comes from
Paul’s insistence in 2 Cor 8:20–21 that he will behave such that no one blame him with
regard to the collection, an assertion that makes little sense if there was no suspicion
in the air.
76 RETHINKING PAUL’S RHETORICAL EDUCATION

7:12, who was not one of Paul’s rival apostles but was under their sway.52 In
any case, Paul evidently found the whole affair humiliating, and, in 2 Cor
10–13, fought to reassert his primacy in Corinth. If Paul had the capacity
for winning rhetoric, this clearly would have been the time to deploy it.

Putative Evidence of Rhetorical Education in

2 Corinthians 10–13

What evidence, then, have interpreters adduced of Paul’s rhetorical prow-

ess? More specifically, what features of Paul’s rhetoric in 2 Cor 10–13
have been thought to reflect familiarity with the formal tradition of
Greco-Roman rhetoric? There are six prominent arguments to consider
here, and it is these with which I will be concerned in the subsequent six
chapters. At this point, it will be helpful briefly to summarize the evidence
that has been brought forward:

(1) First, it has been asserted that the form of 2 Cor 10–13 as a
whole corresponds to the formal prescriptions of epistolary theory.
(2) More frequent are claims that Paul’s “boasting” in this passage
attests to his familiarity with ancient rhetorical conventions for
self-praise (περιαυτολογία) as described above all in Plutarch’s De
laude ipsius.
(3) Paul’s list of tribulations in 2 Cor 11:23–30 is generally taken
as an example of a peristasis catalogue, which, we are told, was a
literary form common in the “diatribes” of moral philosophers.
According to some, Paul used the form, conventionally enough,
to assert his status as an ideal sage; for others, Paul’s boasting in
weakness amounts to a parody, a reductio ad absurdum of his
opponents’ boasting in their achievements.
(4) Interpreters almost uniformly refer to 2 Cor 11:1–12:10 (or
thereabouts) as Paul’s “Fool’s Speech” or Narrenrede, and suggest,
explicitly or implicitly, that the Narrenrede was an established lit-
erary or dramatic form that Paul adapted to his situation.
(5) It is frequently argued that in 2 Cor 10–13 Paul engages in
a rhetorical synkrisis, comparing himself with his rivals as pre-
scribed by rhetorical convention.

52. So Welborn, An End to Enmity, passim.

 SCHELLENBERG: SECOND CORINTHIANS 10–13 77

(6) Underlying the majority of rhetorical-critical approaches to

2 Cor 10–13 is the conviction that Paul’s rhetoric here is ironic,
and thus attests to his rhetorical sophistication.

In addition to these six main rhetorical features, exegetes have iden-

tified a variety of minor rhetorical figures in these chapters. Particular
attention has been paid to Paul’s litany of hardships in 2 Cor 11:16–12:10,
wherein already J. Weiss identified such figures as parallelism, anaphora,
antistrophe, homoioteleuton, homoioptoton, and isocolon.53 As we will
see in our discussion of peristasis catalogues below, all of these stylistic fea-
tures correspond to what has been called “catalogue style” and thus need
not receive independent treatment.

53. Weiss, “Beiträge zur Paulinischen Rhetorik,” 185–87. Cf. Heinrici, Der zweite
Brief an die Korinther, 313–14; Josef Zmijewski, Der Stil der paulinischen “Narrenrede”:
Analyse der Sprachgestaltung in 2Kor 11,1–12,10 als Beitrag zur Methodik von Stilun-
tersuchungen neutestamentlicher Texte (BBB 52; Cologne: Hanstein, 1978), passim.
 Part 2
Querying Rhetorical Criticism
of 2 Corinthians 10–13
 3
Forensic Rhetoric, Epistolary Types,
and Rhetorical Education

As we saw in part 1, in recent decades interpreters of Paul have concluded

with increasing confidence that his letters attest to the sort of rhetorical
sophistication that can only have been learned in school. This is, we noted,
a reversal of what had been the dominant view until well into the twentieth
century. Prior to the recent rise of rhetorical criticism, scholars were all
but agreed that Paul’s letters, though forceful in their own peculiar way,
differed markedly from those of the rhetorically trained literati, and thus
that their persuasive force, such as it was, must be explained on grounds
other than rhetorical education.
The burden of part 2 of this study, then, is to examine the evidence
that has sponsored the overthrow of this long-held consensus. As the
review of recent scholarship above has demonstrated, arguments for Paul’s
rhetorical education—and thus his elevated social status—depend all but
exclusively on alleged correspondence between Greco-Roman rhetorical
conventions and various rhetorical features in Paul’s letters. What, then, is
the nature of this correspondence? Do Paul’s letters in fact evince familiar-
ity with this formal rhetorical tradition? Or, to put the question another
way, does formal rhetorical education provide an adequate explanation for
the nature of Paul’s persuasive voice?

Epistolary Theory and Paul’s Rhetorical Education

Unlike rhetorical-critical studies of Galatians, which have been concerned

above all with demonstrating the ostensible conformity of the structure
of the letter to the partes orationis described by ancient rhetorical theo-
rists, treatments of Paul’s rhetoric in 2 Cor 10–13 have focused primarily
on rhetorical forms and figures embedded within the letter. In fact, most

-81-
82 RETHINKING PAUL’S RHETORICAL EDUCATION

seem to agree that 2 Cor 10–13 is not amenable to formal description in

terms of rhetorical disposition.1 This is really no surprise: 2 Cor 10–13 is
not a speech; it is a letter. More immediately plausible, then, than analysis
in terms of rhetorical τάξις is John Fitzgerald’s assertion that Paul’s letter
has affinities with the letter types described by ancient epistolary theo-
rists—affinities that, for Fitzgerald, attest to Paul’s rhetorical education:

Inasmuch as … instruction in epistolary style was provided by teachers

of rhetoric, the correspondence of Paul’s letters to the styles and letter
types given by Ps.-Demetrius and Ps.-Libanius … provides another
piece of evidence that Paul’s educational level was high and that he had
received training in rhetoric.2

As we will see, however, Fitzgerald’s argument misconstrues both the nature

of the epistolary handbooks and their role in ancient rhetorical education.
In addition to assessing the viability of Fitzgerald’s argument, I intend
the following discussion to play a second role also—namely, to establish
a historical context in which to evaluate the evidence for Paul’s rhetorical
education. Specifically, I hope to untangle the conflation, common in cur-
rent New Testament scholarship, of literate education with formal rhetori-
cal training. Although it is true that literary paideia, which included formal
education in rhetoric, generally was available only among the elite, basic
literacy and rudimentary letter-writing ability were more widespread, and
those who possessed them need not have had any meaningful exposure to
advanced literary curricula.

1. So, e.g., Bruce W. Winter, “The Toppling of Favorinus and Paul by the Corinthi-
ans,” in Early Christianity and Classical Culture: Comparative Studies in Honor of Abra-
ham J. Malherbe (ed. John T. Fitzgerald, Thomas H. Olbricht, and L. Michael White;
NovTSup 110; Leiden: Brill, 2003), 303. Cf. Jan Lambrecht, “The Fool’s Speech and
Its Context: Paul’s Particular Way of Arguing in 2 Cor 10–13,” Bib 82 (2001): 305–24.
Although they have not commanded much influence, there have been attempts to
describe the arrangement of 2 Cor 10–13 in terms of rhetorical theory: Hans-Georg
Sundermann, Der schwache Apostel und die Kraft der Rede: Eine rhetorische Analyse
von 2 Kor 10–13 (Europäische Hochschulschriften Series 23, Theologie 575; Frank-
furt: Lang, 1996); Brian K. Peterson, Eloquence and the Proclamation of the Gospel in
Corinth (SBLDS 163; Atlanta: Scholars Press, 1998), 75–139. Both suffer from a failure
to engage actual specimens of the rhetorical genres to which they assign Paul’s letter,
and are dependent almost exclusively on the handbooks’ functional descriptions.
2. Fitzgerald, “Ancient Epistolary Theorists,” 193; cf. Neyrey, “Social Location of
Paul,” 130–33.
 SCHELLENBERG: FORENSIC RHETORIC 83

Letter Types in 2 Corinthians 10–13

In his influential commentary, Hans Windisch noted that 2 Cor 1–7 and
10–13 bore resemblance, “im Ganzen oder auf einzelne Abschnitte,” to a
number of letter types described by Pseudo-Demetrius and Pseudo-Liba-
nius.3 The “apologetic” letter (Ps.-Demetrius 18) was one such type, but so
were the “accusing” (17), the “reproachful” (4), the “censorious” (6), the
“vituperative” (9), the “admonishing” (7), and the “threatening type” (8).
“Es ist für den Griechen bezeichnend,” Windisch remarked, “dass er für
den Typus des Streitbriefes so viel Nuancen zur Verfügung hat.”4
Windisch did not, apparently, delve any deeper into the matter than
consideration of the labels Pseudo-Demetrius and Pseudo-Libanius
assigned to their letter types. And Fitzgerald’s essay does not get us much
further. Consigning almost all discussion of what Pseudo-Demetrius actu-
ally says to the footnotes, Fitzgerald simply undertakes a reading of 2 Cor
10–13 that characterizes what Paul seeks to do in terminology drawn from
these ancient letter manuals. Thus when Paul “entreats” the Corinthians
(10:1–2), Fitzgerald invokes Pseudo-Demetrius’s “supplicatory” letter (12),
when he threatens punishment, this is deemed comparable to the “threat-
ening” letter type (8), and so on. In total, Fitzgerald suggests that 2 Cor
10–13 evinces familiarity with seven letter types,5 and thus concludes that
it is a “mixed” letter.6

3. Windisch, Der zweite Korintherbrief, 8.

4. Ibid.: “It is characteristic of the Greek that for the disputative letter-type he has
so many nuances at his disposal.”
5. (1) “Supplicatory” (Ps.-Demetrius 12; cf. Ps.-Libanius 7, 54); (2) “threatening”
(Ps.-Demetrius 8; cf. Ps.-Libanius 13, 60); (3) “apologetic” (Ps.-Demetrius 18); (4)
“counteraccusation” (Ps-Libanius 69); (5) “accusation” or “reproach” (Ps.-Demetrius
17; Ps.-Libanius 64); (6) “ironic” (Ps.-Demetrius 20; cf. Ps.-Libanius 9, 56); (7) “pro-
voking” (Ps.-Libanius 24, 71).
6. Note that Ps-Libanius describes a “mixed” letter as one composed ἐκ διαφόρων
χαρακτήρων—that is, from “different” or perhaps “various” styles, not, as Mal-
herbe’s translation has it, “from many styles.” Indeed, Ps.-Libanius’s sample certainly
does not contain more than two: “I know that you live a life of piety, that you con-
duct yourself as a citizen in a manner worth of respect, indeed, that you adorn the
illustrious name of philosophy itself, with the excellence of an unassailable and pure
citizenship. But in this one thing alone do you err, that you slander your friends. You
must avoid that, for it is not fitting that philosophers engage in slander” (92 [trans.
Malherbe]). And the one letter Malherbe designates as “mixed” from P.Bon. 5 col.
11.6–27 likewise involves only two styles. Still, this has not prevented Pauline scholars
84 RETHINKING PAUL’S RHETORICAL EDUCATION

What such analysis actually involves is evident from the few instances
where Fitzgerald’s references to the handbooks go beyond the mere
naming of letter types. What he says concerning the “apologetic” letter
(18) is particularly illuminating:

The situation presupposed in 2 Corinthians 10–13 … conforms to the

typical apologetic Sitz im Leben. The case involves three parties: Paul,
the Corinthians, and the opponents. The accusations against Paul have
been raised by the opponents (the third party), but Paul (the first party)
does not respond directly to them. The apology is instead directed to
the Corinthians (the second party). Ps.-Demetrius presupposes precisely
this situation in an example of an apologetic letter, with the first party’s
response to the third party’s charges being directed to the second party.7

It is important to see that what such a comparison has in view is not the
form, nor the style, nor the method of Pseudo-Demetrius’s and Paul’s
letters. Instead, it simply notes the similarity of the historical exigency
presupposed by Pseudo-Demetrius and that faced by Paul: Paul consid-
ered himself the victim of slander, as did Pseudo-Demetrius’s fictive letter
writer.8 It hardly takes training in epistolary theory to attempt a defense
of oneself under such conditions, and it is not at all remarkable that such a
defense should be directed at those whose esteem one covets (the “second
party”) and not the slanderers themselves (the “third party”). Put another
way, since Pseudo-Demetrius’s goal, as outlined in his preface, was to pro-
vide a sample letter appropriate to every social circumstance in which a
letter might be employed,9 it stands to reason that he managed to pro-
vide something of relevance to the situation Paul faced in Corinth. Unless

from using Ps.-Libanius’s “mixed letter” as a convenient catchall category in which to

place letters that do not correspond to any of the individual types. Of course, it is not
difficult to imagine a simpler explanation for this lack of correspondence, and one that
does not necessitate treating the handbook evidence like a nose of wax.
7. Fitzgerald, “Ancient Epistolary Theorists,” 197.
8. Likewise, concerning the accusing or reproachful letter, Fitzgerald notes: “Just
as Paul accuses the Corinthians of receiving those who malign him, so also Ps.-Deme-
trius’s letter writer complains that the recipient has caused him grief by befriending
someone who has unjustly accused him of improper conduct. Again, just as Paul
reproaches the Corinthians for failing to be properly appreciative of his sacrifices for
them, Ps.-Libanius’s letter of reproach castigates the recipient for lack of gratitude
toward his benefactor” (“Ancient Epistolary Theorists,” 198–99).
9. See esp. Stanley K. Stowers, “Social Typification and the Classification of
 SCHELLENBERG: FORENSIC RHETORIC 85

Paul can be shown to have addressed this situation in a manner akin to

what Pseudo-Demetrius recommended, the fact that he faced a similar
exigency does not constitute evidence of Paul’s familiarity with the hand-
book tradition.
Here it is important to be clear regarding what, precisely, this letter
manual was intended to accomplish.10 Pseudo-Demetrius’s goal evidently
was not to promote the mastery of formal elements such as salutations
and farewells. His sample letters contain the bodies of the letters only;
apparently, ability to append the basic epistolary elements was taken for
granted.11 And although Pseudo-Demetrius does say that he will provide a
sample of the appropriate arrangement (τάξις [pr.]) of each letter, it would
be misleading to suggest that his primary concern was to break each type
down into its formal elements.12 No, what he sought to instill had more to
do with appropriate style, tone, and etiquette. As Carol Poster summarizes
the function of his handbook:

Its utility lies in its provision of phrases that can be reused and its model-
ing of how a secretary should compose elite correspondence in a tone
appropriate to an educated man of paideia. The secretary who owned a
copy of this manual would not need to work up an admonishing or con-
gratulatory letter ex nihilo, but instead could look up the pertinent letter
type, and either copy verbatim or embellish the model.13

Ancient Letters,” in The Social World of Formative Christianity and Judaism (ed. Jacob
Neusner; Philadelphia: Fortress, 1988), 82.
10. My analysis will focus on the work of Ps.-Demetrius, for which scholars gen-
erally give a date range of second century b.c.e.–third century c.e. See Abraham J.
Malherbe, ed., Ancient Epistolary Theorists (SBLSBS 19; Atlanta: Scholars Press, 1988),
4; Carol Poster, “A Conversation Halved: Epistolary Theory in Greco-Roman Antiq-
uity,” in Letter-Writing Manuals and Instruction from Antiquity to the Present: His-
torical and Bibliographic Studies (ed. Carol Poster and Linda C. Mitchell; Studies in
Rhetoric/Communication; Columbia: University of South Carolina Press, 2007), 24.
Ps.-Libanius’s handbook likely dates from the fourth century c.e. (Poster, “A Conver-
sation Halved,” 27), and thus should be used only cautiously as evidence for the nature
of first-century epistolary training.
11. So Hans-Josef Klauck, Ancient Letters and the New Testament: A Guide to
Context and Exegesis (trans. Daniel P. Bailey; Waco, Tex.: Baylor University Press,
2006), 201.
12. See Stowers, “Social Typification,” 79–80.
13. Poster, “A Conversation Halved,” 27. Cf. Malherbe, Ancient Epistolary Theo-
rists, 4; Klauck, Ancient Letters and the New Testament, 201–2.
86 RETHINKING PAUL’S RHETORICAL EDUCATION

In other words, the goal was not that Pseudo-Demetrius’s readers would
write letters of certain genres or types—how, indeed, could they do other-
wise?—but that, whatever type of letter they were writing, they would write
it well, that is, appropriately for men of their standing and in keeping with
the social mores relevant to the situation at hand.14 Accordingly, if we seek
evidence that Paul was familiar with the sort of epistolary practice Pseudo-
Demetrius reflects, we will have to consider not just the basic social situa-
tion Paul’s letter presupposes but also its conformity with the aristocratic
social codes embedded in Pseudo-Demetrius’s samples.15 One potential
indicator of such conformity, of course, would be similarly refined deploy-
ment of rhetorical tropes.
Since the “apologetic” letter is the type most frequently adduced as
relevant to 2 Cor 10–13,16 it will provide a useful example for undertaking
this mode of comparison. In keeping with what we should expect from
Poster’s characterization of his handbook, Pseudo-Demetrius’s sample
letter, which “adduces, with proof, arguments which contradict charges
that are being made” (18 [trans. Malherbe]), derives its force from skillful
manipulation of the conventional rhetoric of friendship:

14. As Stanley Stowers has rightly explained, “An elaborate letter of recommenda-
tion written by a highly educated person and a crude commendation by a barely liter-
ate Egyptian peasant are essentially of the same genre because they are both attempt-
ing to effect the same social transaction. The elaborations of the one letter make it
cultured and aesthetically pleasing, not of a different genre” (“Social Typification,” 85).
15. Ps.-Demetrius clearly expects his audience to consist of those “in promi-
nent positions” (ἐν ὐπάρχοις κείμενοι [1]; cf. 11). See further Poster, “A Conversation
Halved,” 25; Klauck, Ancient Letters and the New Testament, 200.
16. See esp. Betz, Der Apostel Paulus und die sokratische Tradition, 41. Note that
despite Betz’s reference to apologetic letters, Betz himself was not really interested in
epistolary apologies: After demonstrating that such things existed, he promptly left
them behind and went on to compare Paul’s letter to a variety of literary apologies.
In fact, he produces no exemplars of the form to which he assigns the letter, save a
passing reference, in a footnote, to Plato’s Ep. 3. Likewise, in his treatment of Gala-
tians as another such “apologetic letter,” Betz adduces, again in passing, Plato’s Ep. 7,
misleadingly citing A. Momigliano’s reference to that text as “apologetic” (Betz, “Liter-
ary Composition and Function,” 354–55; Betz, Galatians, 14–15; citing Momigliano
The Development of Greek Biography [Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1971],
60–62). On Betz’s misuse of Momigliano, see Aune, review of Betz, 324; Anderson,
Ancient Rhetorical Theory, 124.
 SCHELLENBERG: FORENSIC RHETORIC 87

Fortune has served me well in preserving for me important facts to be

used in the demonstration of my case. For at the time that they say I did
this, I had already sailed for Alexandria, so that I happened neither to see
nor meet the person about whom I am accused. Since there has been no
disagreement between you and me, it is absurd for you to accuse someone
who has wronged you in no way. But those who brought the accusation
appear themselves to have perpetrated some foul deed, and, suspecting
that I might write you something about them, they (took care) to slander
me in anticipation. If you have believed their empty accusations, tell me.
On the other hand, if you persevere with me as you should, you will learn
everything when I arrive. In fact, one could be confident that, if I had at
any time spoken against other people to you, I would also have spoken
against you to others. So, wait for my arrival, and everything will be put
to the proof, so that you may know how rightly you have judged me to
be your friend, and I may prove you by your actions. I dare say that those
who accused us will rather attack each other and choke themselves. (18
[trans. Malherbe])

What makes this exemplar particularly effective is its deft deflection of

attention from the guilt of the sender to the moral character of the recipi-
ent. For Pseudo-Demetrius, less is more: The charges themselves are
addressed casually, almost in passing; they are simply too absurd to focus
on. Thus, by the end of the letter, we can hardly help but presume the
sender’s innocence, being interested instead in whether the recipient will
act as befits a true friend. Indeed, the sample letter’s conventional friend-
ship language is not merely a function of the handbook format, but in fact
performs an important part of the social “work” of the letter. By using the
traditional language of friendship, Pseudo-Demetrius locates the relation-
ship of sender and recipient within a well-defined and therefore suasive
moral framework, and thus the sender’s “apology” becomes in fact an invi-
tation for the recipient to act as a true friend ought.
Paul’s letter, on the contrary, remains essentially focused on Paul him-
self. There are only a few glancing references to the impure motives of
his rivals (10:12; 11:12–13) and the lack of loyalty among his addressees
(12:11). What Paul returns to again and again is the question of his own
status (10:1–2, 7–11, 14–18; 11:5–6, 7–12; 11:17–12:10; 12:11–13, 15–19;
13:3–4, 6–8). He is unable, it seems, to resist the urge to self-defense. Were
Pseudo-Demetrius consulted about this letter, he would surely suggest to
Paul that by protesting too much he in fact lends credibility to the charges
against him. In any case, such insistent self-vindication is clearly not what
this handbook recommends for an apologetic letter.
88 RETHINKING PAUL’S RHETORICAL EDUCATION

Further, these letters are strikingly different in tone: Pseudo-Deme-

trius is confident and reassuring toward his addressee and relatively mild
toward his accusers. His is a magnanimous posture: he is willing to give
his friend the benefit of the doubt. Paul, contrarily, is famously impas-
sioned, sarcastic, and vituperative. He pleads and he threatens. In short,
his comportment is altogether different from that of Pseudo-Demetrius’s
ideal aristocratic letter writer.
Such differences in comportment are seldom remarked in Pauline
scholarship. If, however, as Stowers asserts, ancient epistolary practice
represented precisely the reinscription of social norms—an “implicit soci-
ology,” he calls it17—then this is exactly the level of comparison that is
required. What such comparison demonstrates is clear: There is no evi-
dence in 2 Cor 10–13 of Paul’s participation in the professional epistolary
tradition to which Pseudo-Demetrius attests. This conclusion will be rein-
forced in the next section, wherein I consider the nature of exposure to
epistolary conventions and topoi in Greco-Roman antiquity.

Epistolary and Rhetorical Training in Greco-Roman Antiquity

Epistolary theory was a latecomer to the field of rhetoric, and, when it did
arrive, it continued to occupy a peripheral place. As Abraham Malherbe
notes, “The discussion in Demetrius is an excursus, [the consummate letter
writer] Cicero makes no room for a systematic discussion of it in his works
on rhetoric, and the references in Quintilian and Theon are casual.”18 But
if we have little evidence of systematic theorization, nevertheless it appears
that, in practice, letter writers sought to abide by fairly well-established
epistolary conventions of style and content, as is evidenced above all by
a fairly predictable set of standard formal elements and recurrent topoi.19
How, then, were these conventions learned?

17. Stowers, “Social Typification,” 87.

18. Malherbe, Ancient Epistolary Theorists, 3. Cf. Klauck, Ancient Letters and the
New Testament, 206–10; George A. Kennedy, Greek Rhetoric under Christian Emperors
(History of Rhetoric 3; Princeton, N.J.: Princeton University Press, 1983), 70–73.
19. See esp. John L. White, Light from Ancient Letters (FF; Philadelphia: Fortress,
1986), 189 and passim; Francis Xavier J. Exler, The Form of the Ancient Greek Letter
of the Epistolary Papyri (3rd c. B.C.–3rd c. A.D.): A Study in Greek Epistolography
(Chicago: Ares, 1976); Heikki Koskenniemi, Studien zur Idee und Phraseologie des
griechischen Briefes bis 400 n. Chr. (Helsinki, 1956).
 SCHELLENBERG: FORENSIC RHETORIC 89

Certainly we must dispense with Fitzgerald’s assignation of epistolary

training to rhetorical school,20 which, it appears, is based either on a selec-
tive or a mistaken reading of Malherbe. Fitzgerald bases his conclusion
on Malherbe’s assertion that “letters were written as an exercise in style
early in the tertiary stage of the educational system.”21 What one would
not guess from Fitzgerald’s use of Malherbe is that what Malherbe argues,
in fact, is that “epistolary form was taught on the basis of model letters in
the secondary stage of education.”22 What Malherbe says concerning letter
writing during the tertiary stage is that here we first observe evidence of
interest in epistolary style,23 a specification that is obscured by Fitzgerald.
Malherbe goes on:

It should be noted that the purpose of the [tertiary] exercise was not
to learn how to write letters, but to develop facility in adopting various
kinds of style. One might expect that it was at this point that epistolary
theory would be introduced, but the evidence is too slender to make a
confident judgment. Nor can we assign the handbooks of ‘Demetrius’ and
‘Libanius’ to this point in the curriculum.24

We would never suspect from reading Fitzgerald that Malherbe in fact

relegates the letter-writing manuals to a place outside the scope of the tri-
partite literary curriculum altogether, suggesting instead that they were
used to train professional letter writers.25
In any case, we would be sorely mistaken to imagine that competence
in letter writing could serve, in itself, as evidence of rhetorical education.
On the contrary, as Carol Poster explains, “epistolary theory … [perme-
ated] a far greater portion of ancient society than rhetorical training.”26
Direct evidence for letter writing in schools is not extensive, but what evi-

20. Fitzgerald, “Ancient Epistolary Theorists,” 193.

21. Malherbe, Social Aspects, 59.
22. Malherbe, Ancient Epistolary Theorists, 6 (my emphasis).
23. Ibid., 7.
24. Ibid. (my emphasis).
25. Ibid.
26. Poster, “A Conversation Halved,” 41. For a thorough treatment, see also her
“The Economy of Letter Writing in Graeco-Roman Antiquity,” in Rhetorical Argu-
mentation in Biblical Texts: Essays from the 2000 Lund Conference (ed. Anders Eriks-
son, Thomas H. Olbricht, and Walter Ubelacker; ESEC; Harrisburg, Pa.: Trinity, 2002),
112–24.
90 RETHINKING PAUL’S RHETORICAL EDUCATION

dence we do have suggests that its rudiments were taught at a much earlier
stage than Fitzgerald or even Malherbe allows.27 The letters preserved in
P.Bon. 5, which appear to be schoolroom exercises, are relatively crude
and certainly betray little in the way of rhetorical sensibility.28 Similarly,
our best evidence for ancient knowledge of letter-writing skills—that is,
the extant letters themselves—are, for the most part, “written in the kind
of school language used by persons of average, superficial education, who
painfully attempted to write in an educated manner.”29 Indeed, any theory
regarding the place of letter writing in ancient education must account for
the fact that the rudiments of epistolography were widely familiar even
among those who had not yet mastered grammar. John Muir provides a
sensible, though necessarily speculative explanation:

The outline of the basic family letter with its regular constituents of wishes
for good health, thanks for gifts received, assurances of remembrance in
prayers and final greetings to friends and relations was probably taught
as a part of elementary education, and preserved and consolidated by
that social expectation which still shapes such letters today.30

Clearly, then, the basic formal elements of Paul’s letters—greetings, fare-

wells, and epistolary topoi—provide no evidence of advanced education,
rhetorical or otherwise. In fact, they provide no evidence of education at
all, for they appear also in letters sent by the illiterate, whose letters were
written, like Paul’s, by secretaries.31
The evidence that letter writing occurred in the rhetorical schools of
Paul’s time is extremely sparse, consisting of little more than an isolated
mention in Theon’s Progymnasmata (8 [RG 2:115]), where Theon men-

27. See esp. Raffaella Cribiore, Gymnastics of the Mind: Greek Education in Hel-
lenistic and Roman Egypt (Princeton, N.J.: Princeton University Press, 2001), 215–19.
28. Text and translation in Malherbe, Ancient Epistolary Theorists, 44–57. See
also P.Paris 63.1–7 (= UPZ I 110). Discussion in Klauck, Ancient Letters and the New
Testament, 204–5.
29. Malherbe, Ancient Epistolary Theorists, 6.
30. John Muir, Life and Letters in the Ancient Greek World (London: Routledge,
2009), 22. For an ethnographic treatment of the social expectation to which Muir
refers, see Keith H. Basso, “The Ethnography of Writing,” in Explorations in the Eth-
nography of Speaking (ed. Richard Bauman and Joel Sherzer; 2nd ed.; SSCFL 8; Cam-
bridge: Cambridge University Press, 1989), 425–32.
31. See esp. Richards, Secretary in the Letters of Paul.
 SCHELLENBERG: FORENSIC RHETORIC 91

tions letter writing as a possible avenue for practicing personification

(προσωποποιία).32 The focus here, it should be noted, was not on letter writ-
ing per se, but rather on the student’s mastery of another exercise, the stra-
tegic inhabitation of another’s voice.33 We may presume that this would
have had as a welcome byproduct the improvement of epistolary style, but
it was obviously assumed that students undertaking the Progymnasmata
already knew how to write a letter. Moreover, there is no evidence that
students in rhetorical school were ever taught to write in their own voices
or to compose “real” letters—that is, the sort of letters that bureaucrats,
statesmen, and family members sent to one another. There were, certainly,
well-educated men—Cicero, Seneca, and Gregory of Nazianzus, for exam-
ple—who brought their rhetorical training to bear on the writing of letters,
but this should not be taken to imply that they learned to write letters at a
school of rhetoric.
Further, as noted above, it is certain that the handbooks of Pseudo-
Demetrius and Pseudo-Libanius were not designed for use in rhetorical
school. Instead, they were explicitly directed at professionals—bureau-
crats and statesmen—for whom competent letter writing was essential to a
“brilliant” (λαμπρός [Ps.-Demetrius, pr.]) career.34 Presumably their secre-
taries, whom Pseudo-Demetrius castigates for their careless compositions,
would likewise have benefited.

32. Theon’s comment is paralleled in the fifth century by Nicolaus of Myra (Pro-
gymn. 10 [Felten 67]). Theon is usually dated to the first century c.e. So, e.g., Michel
Patillon, ed., Aelius Théon: Progymnasmata (Budé; Paris: Les belles lettres, 1997), viii–
xvi; George A. Kennedy, trans., Progymnasmata: Greek Textbooks of Prose Composition
and Rhetoric (WGRW 10; Atlanta: Society of Biblical Literature, 2003), 1. Note, how-
ever, that Malcolm Heath has recently challenged this consensus, advocating instead a
fifth-century date (“Theon and the History of the Progymnasmata,” GRBS 43 [2002]:
129–60). I am not in a position to comment on this question, except to note that
Heath’s dating would make good sense of the fact that reference to the ἐπιστολικῶν
εἶδος appears in Theon and Nicolaus but not in the progymnasmata of Ps.-Hermogenes
or Apthonius. A fifth-century date for both of these references would be in keeping
with a general trend of increasing interest in letter writing by rhetoricians in late antiq-
uity, evinced above all by Libanius. See Raffaella Cribiore, The School of Libanius in
Late Antique Antioch (Princeton, N.J.: Princeton University Press, 2007), 169–73.
33. Malherbe, Ancient Epistolary Theorists, 7.
34. See Poster, “A Conversation Halved,” 25; Klauck, Ancient Letters and the New
Testament, 200; Malherbe, Ancient Epistolary Theorists, 7.
92 RETHINKING PAUL’S RHETORICAL EDUCATION

And these secretaries introduce a further complicating factor: Many

of those who were expected to write letters competently were slaves.35
Here rhetorical and epistolary training decisively part ways, a phenom-
enon for which there is a relatively simple explanation: whereas only
the cultured elite encountered circumstances that demanded displays
of formal rhetorical prowess, people of all social strata found it socially
and economically necessary to send one another letters. In other words,
although the literati attempted—chiefly by using the moral power of ridi-
cule, it would appear—to restrict meaningful public speech and cultural
activity to the rather closed circle of the pepaideumenoi,36 the basic tools
of literacy, including letter writing, were far too useful to be subject to
such restraint. So, while rhetorical education “remained accessible mainly
to the rich and upper class,”37 training in basic literacy went wherever it
was economically and socially advantageous.38
Here it is important to distinguish between the sort of paideia to
which the elite aspired and the functional literacy of slaves, clerks, and
secretaries. This distinction has been neglected in much classical schol-
arship—and thus much biblical scholarship as well—largely because we
generally have taken elite discussions of education as representative. Elite
sources do give the impression of a universal curriculum, the enkyklios
paideia, which consisted of the fundamental elements of literary educa-
tion and culminated in the study of rhetoric.39 And scholars of ancient
education have provided a convenient and intuitive systematization of the
elite testimony, according to which students passed through three sep-
arate stages of this single curriculum: primary instruction, focusing on
the fundamentals of literacy, was provided by a γραμματιστής; secondary
education dealt with advanced grammar and literary studies under the

35. Poster, “Economy of Letter Writing,” 122; Richards, Secretary in the Letters of
Paul, passim.
36. See esp. Morgan, Literate Education, 234–36. Also William A. Johnson, Read-
ers and Reading Culture in the High Roman Empire: A Study of Elite Communities (New
York: Oxford University Press, 2010), esp. 17–31.
37. Teresa Morgan, “Rhetoric and Education,” in A Companion to Greek Rhetoric
(ed. Ian Worthington; Blackwell Companions to the Ancient World; Malden, Mass.:
Blackwell, 2007), 310.
38. See esp. Alan D. Booth, “The Schooling of Slaves in First-Century Rome,”
TAPA 109 (1979): 11–19.
39. Cf. Quintilian, Inst. 1.10.1; Morgan, Literate Education, 33–36.
 SCHELLENBERG: FORENSIC RHETORIC 93

tutelage of a γραμματικός; and tertiary education, provided by a σοφιστής

or ῥήτωρ, consisted in the study of rhetoric.40
Proponents of this model recognize, of course, that not all students
who began the enkyklios paideia made their way through the entire cur-
riculum. Indeed, it is generally agreed that only a small proportion of stu-
dents advanced to the level of tertiary, that is, rhetorical education.41 Still,
despite the concession that some people made it further along the track
than others, the model, like the elite texts on which it is based, implies that
literate education in the ancient world was a single endeavor. Paideia was
paideia, and either one had a little of it or a lot.
In recent scholarship, however, the adequacy of this model increas-
ingly has come into question. This is due, in large part, to a new focus on
the testimony of documentary papyri. Armed with these pedestrian texts,
recent studies have shed light on a hitherto obscure realm of literate activ-
ity that is quite different from what the elite would have considered true
paideia42—a realm wherein, for example, students might master handwrit-
ing without being able to read the texts they produced.43 As Teresa Morgan
has noted, in contrast to the ideal promulgated by the likes of Quintilian,
“the contents of the papyri suggest a much more flexible system [of educa-
tion] adaptable to a wide range of social contexts.”44
The key finding here is one that unmasks the myth of a universal cur-
riculum: as one would expect, “pupils from different social groups learnt
what was appropriate, or deemed appropriate, to their backgrounds and
expectations.”45 That is, they learned what it was worth their while to

40. So Henri I. Marrou, A History of Education in Antiquity (trans. George Lamb;

New York: Sheed & Ward, 1956), 160. This schema has made its way into biblical
studies as well. See, e.g., Hock, “Greco-Roman Education,” 199–208; Neyrey, “Social
Location of Paul,” 158–59.
41. So Marrou, History of Education, 123; Hock, “Greco-Roman Education,” 204.
42. See esp. Morgan, Literate Education; Raffaella Cribiore, Writing, Teachers, and
Students in Graeco-Roman Egypt (ASP 36; Atlanta: Scholars Press, 1996); Cribiore,
Gymnastics of the Mind; Herbert C. Youtie, “ΑΓΡΑΜΜΑΤΟΣ: An Aspect of Greek
Society in Egypt,” HSCP 75 (1971): 161–76; Youtie, “Βραδέως γράφων: Between Lit-
eracy and Illiteracy,” GRBS 12 (1971): 239–61; Nicholas Horsfall, “Statistics or States
of Mind?” in Literacy in the Roman World (ed. J. H. Humphrey; Journal of Roman
Archaeology Supplement Series 3; Ann Arbor: University of Michigan, 1991), 59–76.
43. See Cribiore, Gymnastics of the Mind, 161–62.
44. Morgan, Literate Education, 52.
45. Ibid., 51.
94 RETHINKING PAUL’S RHETORICAL EDUCATION

learn. Certainly students at all levels of society were proud to display what
literary culture they did master,46 but, for all but the aristocratic elite, the
primary motivation and reward was economic advantage:47 a village boy
did not learn to read and write so that he could do a poor job of being
Cicero; he learned to read and write so that he could do an adequate job
of being a scribe.48
It is perhaps not surprising, then, that the notion of a coherent tripar-
tite curriculum does not hold up under scrutiny.49 As Rafaella Cribiore
emphasizes, there simply was no uniform system of education.50 In gen-
eral, however, at least in Rome and the major cities of the empire, “a two-
track system prevailed,” Cribiore argues, “that served different segments
of the population: while schools of elementary letters provided a basic
literacy to slaves and freeborn individuals of the lower classes, schools of
liberal studies offered a more refined education to children of the upper
classes.”51
Let me put this in terms of statistics, imprecise as they must be: Wil-
liam Harris declines to give a specific percentage, but his literacy estimates
put us somewhere in the range of 10 percent for the cities of the Greek
East.52 By Cribiore’s reckoning, the majority of students learned only the
rudiments of reading and writing53—that is, they would not have been

46. See esp. ibid., 109–18.

47. See Horsfall, “Statistics or States of Mind?” 63–65; Horsfall, “ ‘The Uses of
Literacy’ and the ‘Cena Trimalchionis,’ ” GR 2/36 (1989): 202–6.
48. Note that the existence of multiple literacies that generally correspond to
various social locations—and therefore have varying degrees of relationship to the
formal educational system—is precisely what recent ethnographic work on literacy
should have us expect. See esp. Shirley Brice Heath, Ways with Words: Language, Life,
and Work in Communities and Classrooms (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press,
1983); Brian V. Street, Literacy in Theory and Practice (Cambridge Studies in Oral and
Literate Culture; Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1984).
49. See esp. Booth, “Schooling of Slaves”; Booth, “Elementary and Secondary
Education in the Roman Empire,” Florilegium 1 (1979): 1–14; Robert A. Kaster, “Notes
on ‘Primary’ and ‘Secondary’ Schools in Late Antiquity,” TAPA 113 (1983): 323–346.
50. Cribiore, Gymnastics of the Mind, 36. See also Kaster, “Primary and Secondary
Schools.”
51. Cribiore, Gymnastics of the Mind, 37. See also Kaster, “Primary and Secondary
Schools,” 346.
52. William V. Harris, Ancient Literacy (Cambridge: Harvard University Press,
1989), 329–30.
53. Cribiore, “Gymnastics of the Mind,” 187.
 SCHELLENBERG: FORENSIC RHETORIC 95

on the “liberal education” track at all. Again, accepting the impossibility

of anything like precision, that means that in a city like Ephesus, between
five and nine percent of the population would have had only rudimen-
tary training in reading and writing, and an additional one to four percent
would have had varying degrees of real paideia. This one to four percent, it
is worth noting, corresponds well to the three percent or so of the popula-
tion that, by Steven Friesen’s calculations, constituted the aristocracy of a
typical urban center.54
So, within this basic framework, where does one find the ability to
write letters? Certainly not restricted to the pepaideumenoi. On the con-
trary, as Carol Poster concludes:

Letter-writing skills were scattered among various levels and types of

instruction, from basic grammar classes to advanced professional train-
ing courses.… Slaves and women could profitably be trained in the
mechanical skills of tachygraphy and calligraphy. Freedmen or nonelite
metropolitan Greeks could, by limited literacy and professional letter-
writing education, take advantage of plentiful employment opportunities
as lower-level clerks, but might not have the social qualifications (or fees)
appropriate to elite rhetorical courses. Sophistic education would pro-
vide access to elite secretarial positions.55

In sum, then, even if Paul could be shown to have written letters in accor-
dance with contemporary epistolary standards, this would prove nothing
more than that he, or the secretary to whom he had access, had some
basic clerical training. Only if we were also to encounter what were for
his contemporaries the essential indicators of true paideia—specifically,
refined diction, learned literary references, elegant use of conventional
tropes and topoi, and elite moral and social values56—would we have

54. According to the calculations of Steven Friesen, the wealthy aristocracy made
up about 1.23% of the empire, amounting to just under 3% of the population of larger
urban centers (“Poverty in Pauline Studies,” 340; cf. Meggitt, Paul, Poverty and Sur-
vival, 50 n. 49).
55. Poster, “Economy of Letter Writing,” 120.
56. On these as indicators of paideia, see esp. Marrou, History of Education,
98–100; Tim Whitmarsh, “Reading Power in Roman Greece: The paideia of Dio
Chrysostom,” in Pedagogy and Power: Rhetorics of Classical Learning (ed. Yun Lee Too
and Niall Livingstone; Ideas in Context 50; Cambridge: Cambridge University Press,
1998), 193–98; Joy Connolly, “Problems of the Past in Imperial Greek Education,”
in Education in Greek and Roman Antiquity (ed. Yun Lee Too; Leiden: Brill, 2001),
96 RETHINKING PAUL’S RHETORICAL EDUCATION

grounds for asserting that Paul had received advanced literary education,
or, more specifically, formal training in rhetoric.

Conclusion

The general resemblance of 2 Cor 10–13 to certain of the letter types

described by Pseudo-Demetrius cannot be regarded as evidence for Paul’s
formal education. Its use as such derives from a misconstrual of the nature
and function of this epistolary handbook. Indeed, the classification of
Paul’s letters among Pseudo-Demetrius’s letter types has involved surpris-
ingly superficial comparison, glossing over telling differences in manner
and comportment. When we take the time to look at how Paul apologizes,
rebukes, admonishes, and so forth, it becomes difficult to sustain the argu-
ment that Paul is a participant in the epistolary tradition to which Pseudo-
Demetrius attests. Moreover, given what we can discern concerning the
place of letter writing in ancient education, Paul’s more general epistolary
competence can by no means be considered evidence of formal literary, let
alone rhetorical, education.

339–72; W. Martin Bloomer, “Schooling in Persona: Imagination and Subordination

in Roman Education,” ClAnt 16 (1997): 57–78; Robert A. Kaster, “Controlling Reason:
Declamation in Rhetorical Education at Rome,” in Education in Greek and Roman
Antiquity (ed. Yun Lee Too; Leiden: Brill, 2001), 317–37; Ruth Webb, “The Progym-
nasmata as Practice,” in Education in Greek and Roman Antiquity (ed. Yun Lee Too;
Leiden: Brill, 2001), 289–316; Hezser, Jewish Literacy, 185; Charles A. McNelis, “Greek
Grammarians and Roman Society during the Early Empire: Statius’ Father and His
Contemporaries,” ClAnt 21 (2002): 87–90; Maud W. Gleason, Making Men: Sophists
and Self-Presentation in Ancient Rome (Princeton, N.J.: Princeton University Press,
1995), xxi–xxv, 164; Osvaldo Padilla, “Hellenistic παιδεία and Luke’s Education: A Cri-
tique of Recent Approaches,” NTS 55 (2009): 421–23; Mitchell, The Heavenly Trumpet,
242; Thomas Schmitz, Bildung und Macht: Zur sozialen und politischen Funktion der
zweiten Sophistik in der griechischen Welt der Kaiserzeit (Zetemata 97; Munich: Beck,
1997), 39–66.
 4
Paul’s (In)appropriate Boasting: Periautologia

Paul’s boasting in 2 Cor 10–13 has been a source of consternation for

generations of pious readers. Not only has the passage given many the
impression that he was “pathologically concerned about his own status,”1
but in this text Paul appears to engage in precisely the sort of behavior
of which he accuses his rivals. As Alfred Plummer notes, “seeing that
he has just been maintaining that self-praise is no recommendation, it
seems grossly inconsistent [that he should go on to describe his own
accomplishments].”2
Not surprisingly, the posture of preachers and exegetes has long been
almost as defensive as Paul’s own. One tack has been to stress that Paul
really had no other choice—at least, not if the truth of the gospel was to be
preserved. Thus Ambrosiaster assures us that Paul “is not really boasting”
(non ergo vere ad gloriam suam haec loquitur), because he was constrained
by the accusations against him to defend himself (Comm. 200 [PL 17:342;
trans. Bray]). In a similar vein, F. C. Baur stresses Paul’s reluctance to tell
of his revelatory experiences: “Willingly he would have avoided speaking
of them at all, in order to escape every appearance of vain self-exaltation,
yet here it behooved him to be silent on nothing which might serve for

1. Quip from Judge, “Paul’s Boasting,” 66. Note that Judge himself does not share
this perspective. But see C. H. Dodd, New Testament Studies (Manchester: Manchester
University Press, 1953), 79; S. H. Travis, “Paul’s Boasting in 2 Corinthians 10–12,” in
Studia Evangelica VI (ed. Elizabeth A. Livingstone; TUGAL 112; Berlin: Akademie-
Verlag, 1973), 527.
2. Plummer, Second Epistle, 291. See also Hafemann, “Self-Commendation,” 71;
Nigel M. Watson, “ ‘Physician, Heal Thyself ’? Paul’s Character as Revealed in 2 Corin-
thians, and the Congruence between Word and Deed,” in The Corinthian Correspon-
dence (ed. Reimund Bieringer; BETL 125; Leuven: Leuven University Press, 1996),
671–78.

-97-
98 RETHINKING PAUL’S RHETORICAL EDUCATION

the vindication and establishment of his apostolic authority.”3 The implica-

tion, of course, is that Paul either had to reassert his position in Corinth or
stand idly by as the gospel was perverted by false apostles.
Other, more sophisticated defenses of Paul’s boasting have been prof-
fered. Plummer resolves the apparent contradiction between Paul’s anti-
boasting talk and his self-promoting walk by stressing that he is self-con-
sciously playing his opponents’ game: “The difference between him and
his critics is this; that they, without being aware of it, are fools ceaselessly,
because folly has become a second nature to them; whereas he deliberately
plays the fool for a few minutes, because their folly can be met in no other
way.”4 R. H. Strachan resorts to splitting hairs: “Paul boasts, not that he is
an apostle, but that God had made him one.”5 In short, the history of the
interpretation of 2 Cor 10–13 has consisted, in large part, of a series of
excuses for Paul’s unseemly demeanor.
This apologetic endeavor has received fresh vigor in recent decades
from the rediscovery of Windisch’s observation that Plutarch provides a
nearly contemporaneous discussion of how to indulge in self-praise with-
out arousing offense. Windisch, noticing a number of interesting parallels
between Plutarch’s De laude ipsius (Mor. 539A–547F) and Paul’s dilemma,
had concluded:

Die ganze Abhandlung verdeutlicht uns die psychologischen Vorausset-

zungen der hier vorliegenden Situation, die Notlage, in der P[aulus] sich
befindet, wie die Stimmung, die er bei den Hörern voraussetzt. P[aulus]
teilt durchaus die Anschauungen Plutarchs und des Griechentums, in
dessen Namen Plutarch spricht.6

3. Baur, Paul, 1:280.

4. Plummer, Second Epistle, 291.
5. R. H. Strachan, The Second Epistle of Paul to the Corinthians (MNTC; London:
Hodder & Stoughton, 1935), 16. Cf. Rudolf Bultmann, “καυχάομαι,” TDNT 3:650–52;
Luke Timothy Johnson, The Writings of the New Testament: An Interpretation (rev. ed.;
Minneapolis: Fortress, 1999), 316.
6. Windisch, Der zweite Korintherbrief, 345: “The whole treatise clarifies for us
the psychological preconditions of the present situation, the plight in which Paul finds
himself, and the disposition he expects from his hearers. Paul shares fully the outlook
of Plutarch and of the Greeks as whose representative Plutarch speaks.”
 SCHELLENBERG: PAUL’S (IN)APPROPRIATE BOASTING 99

In other words, Paul shared the cultural assumptions of his contempo-

raries. What was particularly interesting to Windisch was that these con-
temporaries were Greek.
Windisch’s appeal to Plutarch was taken up by Hans Dieter Betz in his
1972 monograph Der Apostel Paulus und die sokratische Tradition, but now
the discussion was transposed into the key of rhetoric. Where Windisch
referred rather vaguely to a shared “outlook,” Betz spoke of Paul’s con-
formity to rhetorical dictates: “Paulus hält sich strikt an die Vorschriften,
wie sie die Rhetorik für die ‘περιαυτολογία’ aufgestellt hatte.”7 From here,
using the fallacious but attractive reasoning we noted throughout chapter
1, it was but a short path to the conclusion that Paul’s use of periautologia
betrays his rhetorical education.8 And, as an added bonus, those troubled
by Paul’s boasting could newly be assured that, however overblown it may
appear to modern readers, Paul’s self-praise is “completely inoffensive
when measured by ancient standards.”9

Plutarch, De laude ipsius (Moralia 539A–547F)

It is necessary first to dispel the notion that Plutarch’s treatise is a summa-

tion of established rhetorical dictates. In fact, this is not a rhetorical work
at all; it is an ethical tractate. Like elsewhere in the assorted writings we call
the Moralia—and in his Parallel Lives, for that matter—Plutarch is advising
ὁ πολιτικὸς ἀνήρ how he may conduct his public career honorably and vir-
tuously (De laude 539F).10 Indeed, as L. Radermacher long ago observed,
De laude ipsius is perfectly at home in Plutarch’s moralizing corpus: “Die

7. Betz, Der Apostel Paulus und die sokratische Tradition, 75: “Paul adheres strictly
to the rules that rhetoric had established for periautologia.”
8. So Marshall, Enmity in Corinth, 355.
9. George Lyons, Pauline Autobiography: Toward a New Understanding (SBLDS
73; Atlanta: Scholars Press, 1985), 72. See also Witherington, Conflict and Community
in Corinth, 432.
10. Cf. Plutarch, An seni 783C–E; Praec. ger. rei publ. 798A–825F. See further
Dana Fields, “Aristides and Plutarch on Self-Praise,” in Aelius Aristides Between
Greece, Rome, and the Gods (ed. W. V. Harris and Brooke Holmes; Columbia Stud-
ies in the Classical Tradition 33; Leiden: Brill, 2008), 155–60. On the centrality of
moral philosophy throughout Plutarch’s work, see also D. A. Russell, “On Reading
Plutarch’s ‘Moralia,’ ” GR 2/15 (1968): 135. On the moralizing program of the Lives,
see esp. Timothy E. Duff, Plutarch’s Lives: Exploring Virtue and Vice (Oxford: Oxford
University Press, 2002).
100 RETHINKING PAUL’S RHETORICAL EDUCATION

Frage, ob und wann man sich selber loben dürfe, ist eine ethische, und
so ist es weiter nicht auffallend, wenn wir eine erbauliche Abhandlung
darüber unter den moralischen Schriften des Plutarch finden.”11 In short,
what interests Plutarch is not eloquence but virtue; hence he seeks to iso-
late self-praise that is “good and helpful, teaching admiration and love of
the useful and profitable rather than of the vain and superfluous” (546B
[De Lacy and Einarson, LCL]; cf. Comp. Dem. Cic. 2.3).
Betz too had to admit that “it was the ethical implications [of self-
praise] in which Plutarch was primarily interested,” but he argued that
Plutarch was thereby developing an idea that “had long been a topic of
discussion by rhetoricians.”12 In other words, Plutarch took existing rhe-
torical precepts and elaborated their moral foundation and ethical impli-
cations. For Betz, then—and the ensuing discussion of periautologia
among New Testament scholars—whatever Plutarch’s own interests and
intent, the important thing is that he bore witness to an established rhe-
torical tradition.13
Betz’s recruitment of Plutarch as a witness for preexisting rhetorical
Vorschriften was undertaken on Radermacher’s authority. Radermacher
had noticed parallels between Plutarch’s treatise and discussions of self-
praise by rhetoricians, and thus argued that Plutarch must have been influ-
enced by rhetorical sources:14 Alexander Numenius’s fragmentary Περὶ

11. L. Radermacher, “Studien zur Geschichte der greichischen Rhetorik, II: Plu-
tarchs Schrift de se ipso citra invidiam laudando,” RhM 2/52 (1897): 419: “The ques-
tion whether and when one may praise oneself is an ethical one, and so it is not really
surprising that we find an edifying treatise on the subject among the moral writings
of Plutarch.” See also Laurant Pernot, “Periautologia: Problèmes et méthodes de l’éloge
de soi-même dans la tradition éthique et rhétorique gréco-romaine,” REG 111 (1998):
110.
12. Hans Dieter Betz, “De laude ipsius (Moralia 539A–547F),” in Plutarch’s Ethical
Writings and Early Christian Literature (ed. Hans Dieter Betz; SCHNT 4; Leiden: Brill,
1978), 367; Betz, Der Apostel Paulus und die sokratische Tradition, 75–76.
13. So Forbes, “Comparison, Self-Praise, and Irony,” 8–9; Marshall, Enmity in
Corinth, 353; DiCicco, Ethos, Pathos, and Logos, 58–63; Sundermann, Der schwache
Apostel, 35–36; Dennis C. Duling, “2 Corinthians 11:22: Historical Context, Rhetoric,
and Ethnicity,” HvTSt 64 (2008): 828–30; repr. from The New Testament and Early
Christian Literature in Greco-Roman Context: Studies in Honor of David E. Aune (ed.
John Fotopoulos; NovTSup 122; Leiden: Brill, 2006); Watson, “Paul’s Boasting in
2 Corinthians 10–13,” 269–75; Mitchell, “Patristic Perspective”; Wojciechowski, “Paul
and Plutarch on Boasting,” 109; Pitta, “Il discorso del pazzo,” 501–3.
14. Radermacher, “Plutarchs Schrift,” 420–23.
 SCHELLENBERG: PAUL’S (IN)APPROPRIATE BOASTING 101

ῥητορικῶν ἀφορμῶν reportedly included a discussion of περιαυτολογία that

explained πῶς ἄν τις ἑαυτὸν ἀνεπαχθῶς ἐπαινέσειεν (RG 3:4); and Pseudo-
Hermogenes, noting that praising oneself (τοῦ ἑαυτὸν ἐπαινεῖν) is “offensive
and easily detested,” gives three methods for doing so ἀνεπαχθῶς (Meth.
25 [Rabe 441–442; trans. Kennedy]). As Radermacher noted, such resem-
blances to Plutarch’s subject matter and indeed his title are certainly strik-
ing. The difficulty, however, is that these works, like every other substan-
tive rhetorical treatment of the matter, postdate Plutarch: Alexander can
be dated with some precision to the middle of the second century c.e., and
Pseudo-Hermogenes cannot have written prior to the authentic Hermo-
genes’s late second-century acme.15 Of course, one would normally con-
clude from this sort of chronology that it was Plutarch’s work that spawned
rhetorical treatments of periautologia, not vice versa.
Prior to 100 c.e.—about when Plutarch composed his text16—the
odium of self-praise was mentioned in passing, but no extant work treated
the subject at length—certainly not in sufficient detail to qualify as a real
predecessor to Plutarch’s discussion.17 Christopher Forbes avers that “self-
praise was discussed as early as Aristotle,”18 and he is correct, though
perhaps guilty of some exaggeration: Aristotle mentions, with no elabora-
tion, that Iphicrates once gave his own encomia (αὑτὸν ἐνεκωμίαζε [Rhet.
1.7.32]); elsewhere he briefly notes that when one is developing ethos,

15. For Alexander, see Mervin R. Dilts and George A. Kennedy, eds., Two Greek
Rhetorical Treatises from the Roman Empire: Introduction, Text, and Translation of
the Arts of Rhetoric, Attributed to Anonymous Seguerianus and to Apsines of Gadara
(Mnemosyne Supplement 168; Leiden: Brill, 1997), xii. For Ps.-Hermogenes, see E.
Bürgi, “Ist die dem Hermogenes zugeschriebene Schrift Περὶ μεθόδου δεινότητος echt?”
WS 48 (1930): 187–97; 49 (1931): 40–69. Other handbooks including relevant dis-
cussions are Ps.-Aristides, Rhet. 1.12.2.7 (RG 2:506) and Apsines, Rhet. 3.6. Neither
predate Plutarch.
16. So Pernot, “Periautologia,” 109. See also C. P. Jones, “Towards a Chronology
of Plutarch’s Works,” JRS 56 (1966): 73. Pernot makes the plausible suggestion that
the topic was suggested to him while working on the paired lives of Cicero and Dem-
osthenes. Indeed, his comparison of the two leads Plutarch to similar reflections on
Demosthenes’s ability to praise himself ἀνεπαχθῶς and Cicero’s offensive περιαυτολογία
(Comp. Dem. Cic. 2).
17. The one possible exception, Quintilian’s discussion of boasting in Inst.
11.1.15–26, will be discussed below.
18. Forbes, “Comparison, Self-Praise, and Irony,” 8.
102 RETHINKING PAUL’S RHETORICAL EDUCATION

insidious comments about oneself (ἐπίφθονον), like harsh comments about

someone else, are best attributed to another (3.17.16).
The Rhetorica ad Herennium (1.5.8) and Cicero’s De inventione
(1.16.22) both briefly mention the value of lauding one’s own conduct. But
neither treats self-praise as a subject in its own right; instead, both men-
tion it in passing as a stratagem for gaining an audience’s goodwill at the
outset of an oration.19 Moreover, neither have anything resembling Plu-
tarch’s detailed treatment of the dangers of self-praise or delimitation of
specific situations in which it is appropriate. Both handbooks simply cau-
tion that praise of one’s own services should be done without arrogance.
This hardly amounts to precepts for periautologia.
In fact, it is worth noting that the word περιαυτολογία appears only
once prior to Plutarch.20 Moreover, this single extant occurrence comes
not in a rhetorical context, but, tellingly, in a moral-philosophical tractate:
Philodemus’s fragmentary De bono rege secundum Homerum (col. 21), a
text wherein, using examples drawn from Homer, Philodemus provides “a
description of the duties and moral behaviour of a princeps in private and
public life.”21 Here we have interests that clearly are akin to those of Plu-
tarch. Like Plutarch, Philodemus’s concern is not eloquence but virtuous
and effective public service. Moreover, like Plutarch, Philodemus addresses
the outspoken self-praise of the Homeric heroes (Olivieri cols. 16, 18, 20,

19. Likewise Ps-Dionysius, Rhet. 5.6. In his reading of 2 Cor 10–13 alongside
Rhet. Her. and Cicero’s discussion of goodwill, J. Paul Sampley ignores the fact that
both of the latter specifically discuss exordia, and thus obscures the fact that provid-
ing an exordium calculated to arouse goodwill is precisely what Paul does not do in
this letter (cf. 10:6) (“Paul, His Opponents in 2 Corinthians 10–13, and the Rhetorical
Handbooks,” in The Social World of Formative Christianity and Judaism [ed. Jacob
Neusner; Philadelphia: Fortress, 1988], 162–77).
20. It also appears only seldom afterward—and only once in a rhetorical hand-
book (Alexander, Περὶ ῥητορικῶν ἀφορμῶν [RG 4:9]). A TLG search locates 30 occur-
rences up to and including Chrysostom. Of those, fully half are from Plutarch: 11
from De laude (539C; 539E; 540B; 540F; 544C; 546B bis; 546C; 546D; 546E; 547C),
3 from elsewhere in the Mor. (Rect. rat. aud. 41C; 44A; Adol. poet. aud. 29B) and one
from Comp. Dem. Cic. 2.1. With such sparse attestation, it is curious that the word has
become a technical term among New Testament scholars. It is as if we are convinced
that possessing a name for something—preferably a Greek or Latin name; German
will do in a pinch—is equivalent to understanding it.
21. Oswyn Murray, “Philodemus on the Good King according to Homer,” JRS 55
(1965): 178.
 SCHELLENBERG: PAUL’S (IN)APPROPRIATE BOASTING 103

22;22 cf. De laude 540F; 541B–D; 542E; 543F–544B), including Nestor’s

notoriously self-aggrandizing speech to Patroclus (fr. 9; cf. Il. 11.655–762),
which very incident is later discussed by Plutarch (De laude 544D; cf. Dio
Chrysostom, Nest.). As a predecessor to De laude ipsius, Philodemus’s trea-
tise clearly is a more viable candidate than any extant rhetorical work.
Plutarch is a moralist—a grammarian of decorum, to borrow
Bourdieu’s useful phrase23—in this case playing the role of a political
advisor. Accordingly, De laude ipsius provides moral and strategic reflec-
tions on a particular exigency of statesmanship. This is not a collection of
rhetorical techniques. Treating it as such promotes a cursory reading of
the treatise that divorces Plutarch’s recommendations for inoffensive self-
reference from the moral values that inform them—which is precisely the
sort of thing that has been endemic among Pauline scholars. Indeed, as we
will see, interpreters of 2 Cor 10–13 have drawn a number of superficial
parallels between Paul’s boasting and Plutarch’s discussion, and have done
so without attending at all to the social values that animate the treatise.
When we read Plutarch on his own terms, what stands out is not what he
shares with Paul but rather the profoundly different place he occupies in
ancient society. Thus a careful reading of De laude ipsius does shed light
on Paul’s rhetoric, but it calls into question the facile conclusion that Paul
praised himself according to the dictates of ancient rhetorical theory.

Boasting by Necessity

Most frequently adduced by Pauline scholars is Plutarch’s general obser-

vation that self-praise is excusable when it is absolutely necessary (539E;
541A), which purportedly illuminates Paul’s insistence that he boasts only
by compulsion (2 Cor 12:11; cf. 11:30; 12:1). So Duane Watson asserts,
“As convention advises, Paul demonstrates the necessity of boasting.”24 In

22. On Olivieri col. 16, see Jeffrey Fish, “The Good King’s Giving Credit Where
Credit is Due: P.Herc. 1507, Col. 34,” in vol. 1 of Atti del XXII Congresso internazio-
nale di papirologia: Firenze, 23–29 agosto 1998 (ed. Isabella Andorlini et al.; 3 vols.;
Florence: Istituto papirologico G. Vitelli, 2001), 469–74. On cols. 18, 20, and 22, see
Murray, “Philodemus on the Good King,” 166, 171–72.
23. Bourdieu, Theory of Practice, 8.
24. Watson, “Paul and Boasting,” 91; likewise Windisch, Der zweite Korinther-
brief, 345; Betz, Der Apostel Paulus und die sokratische Tradition, 79; DiCicco, Ethos,
Pathos, and Logos, 80; Duling, “2 Corinthians 11:22,” 829; Furnish, II Corinthians, 552;
Wojciechowski, “Paul and Plutarch on Boasting,” 106.
104 RETHINKING PAUL’S RHETORICAL EDUCATION

fact, however, Plutarch says nothing at all about demonstrating that self-
praise is necessary; he simply says that one should only praise oneself if it
is necessary.
It is not surprising, perhaps, that in the process of transforming De
laude ipsius into a collection of rhetorical techniques Pauline scholars have
introduced this misreading, for otherwise there is no rhetorical device
here at all, but simply a moral criterion. Further, the very nature of this cri-
terion makes it impossible to know whether speakers who seem to employ
it are in fact aware that they are doing so. If speakers must by necessity
indulge in self-praise, they will do so whether or not they know that it is
permissible. That is what necessity means.
In any case, the concept of necessity is far too general a criterion to
be a meaningful point of comparison. If self-praise was widely considered
unseemly (cf. De laude 539A–B), it is not difficult to imagine why some-
one who engaged in it would claim to have no other choice. Certainly we
need not posit knowledge of rhetorical precepts.
The point can be demonstrated by a survey of what was said in jus-
tification of Paul’s boasting before discussion of periautologia came into
vogue. Independently of any reference to Plutarch’s treatise or puta-
tive rhetorical precepts for self-praise, older commentators frequently
invoked the urgency of Paul’s situation, thus excusing his boasting. So
Calvin remarked on Paul’s behalf: “Not as if he were a fool in glorying;
for he was constrained to it by necessity.”25 Likewise, F. W. Robertson
observed: “It is evident … that he has been forced to speak of self only by
a kind of compulsion. Fact after fact of his own experiences is, as it were,
wrung out, as if he had not intended to tell it.”26 This sort of argument was
ubiquitous.27 Clearly, we do not need Plutarch to tell us that people can,
when in dire necessity, get away with behavior that otherwise would be
deemed inappropriate.

25. John Calvin, Commentary on the Epistles of Paul the Apostle to the Corinthi-
ans (trans. John Pringle; 2 vols.; Edinburgh: Calvin Translation Society, 1849), 2:338;
cf. 2:352, 381.
26. F. W. Robertson, Sermons on St. Paul’s Epistles to the Corinthians (Boston:
Ticknor & Fields, 1860), 418.
27. See, e.g., Joseph Agar Beet, A Commentary on St. Paul’s Epistles to the Cor-
inthians (London: Hodder & Stoughton, 1882), 452, 466; James Denney, The Second
Epistle to the Corinthians (Expositor’s Bible; London: Hodder & Stoughton, 1894),
312; Charles Hodge, An Exposition of the Second Epistle to the Corinthians (New York:
Hodder & Stoughton, 1858), 249; Plummer, Second Epistle, 291.
 SCHELLENBERG: PAUL’S (IN)APPROPRIATE BOASTING 105

Self-Defense

Plutarch’s more specific argument concerns the necessity of defending

oneself (ἀπολογούμενος) in the case of slander or false accusation (διαβολὴν
ἢ κατηγορίαν [540C]), and here we are justified, I think, in speaking of the
influence of rhetorical tradition: Quintilian defends Cicero’s boasting on
similar grounds (Inst. 11.1.18, 22–23), as does Cicero himself (Har. resp.
17; Dom. 92–95), and the basic argument is put to use by Demosthenes
(Cor. 4), Isocrates (Antid. 1–8), and Dio Chrysostom (Pol. 2). So, although
Paul likely could not have encountered instruction on this matter in a
rhetorical handbook—Quintilian’s is the first extant “textbook” to refer
to such an argument (ca. 93–95 c.e.)—nevertheless an astute student of
rhetorical tradition would have been able, should he be faced with such an
exigency, to draw on the practice of his predecessors.
It is widely agreed that Paul had been the object of various accusa-
tions in Corinth, and it is clear that in 2 Cor 10–13 he was fighting for
his reputation. Thus it is frequently asserted that, on these grounds, “Paul
would have received Plutarch’s permission to engage in self-praise.”28 As
we will see, however, such a claim is founded on a misleadingly superficial
reading of Plutarch’s concerns. Moreover, even if it were true, it would not
yet provide evidence of rhetorical education. The fact that this was a tra-
ditional argument among rhetoricians does not by any means prove that
only trained rhetoricians would have thought to employ it.
In fact, Paul’s behavior here is perfectly understandable without pos-
iting knowledge of rhetorical precepts: Paul’s reputation and therefore
his influence among the Corinthians were on the wane, so he responded,
predictably enough, by reminding them of his divine mandate and his
peerless qualifications. As far as I can see, the only real parallel between
Paul and Plutarch here is that Plutarch described the same general situ-
ation in which Paul would later find himself—that of a man whose stock
was in danger of falling. Most people would speak in their own defense
in such situations, and it would not be surprising if they found it useful

28. Charles H. Talbert, Reading Corinthians: A Literary and Theological Commen-

tary on 1 and 2 Corinthians (New York: Crossroad, 1987), 118; cf. Betz, Der Apos-
tel Paulus und die sokratische Tradition, 78–79; Sundermann, Der schwache Apostel,
35–36; Watson, “Paul and Boasting,” 82, 90; DiCicco, Ethos, Pathos, and Logos, 80;
Thrall, Second Epistle, 2:835; Furnish, II Corinthians, 554; Wojciechowski, “Paul and
Plutarch on Boasting,” 108; Marshall, Enmity in Corinth, 354.
106 RETHINKING PAUL’S RHETORICAL EDUCATION

to recite their own merits.29 Thus the simple fact that Plutarch’s exemplars
and Paul both spoke on their own behalf when under fire is not particu-
larly remarkable.
Perhaps a more compelling case could be made if Paul—like Demos-
thenes (Cor. 3) or Isocrates (Trap. 1) or Cicero (Har. resp. 17; Phil. 14.13),
for example—drew explicit attention to the fact that he had to boast in
order to defend his own reputation. But the only time Paul addresses
the question of self-defense (πάλαι δοκεῖτε ὅτι ὑμῖν ἀπολογούμεθα [2 Cor
12:19]), it is to deny that he is undertaking it. If there were a rhetorical
advantage to be gained by reminding the Corinthians that only in self-
defense would he speak so boastfully, Paul has let it pass him by.
Finally, no one who adduces Plutarch’s discussion here has paid the
least attention, apparently, to his explanation of why self-praise works
when one is speaking in one’s own defense. What Plutarch says is, in fact,
most telling, providing considerable insight into both the logic of his trea-
tise and the sort of discourse he admires:

[When one has been slandered,] not only is there nothing puffed up,
vainglorious, or proud in taking a high tone about oneself at such a
moment, but it displays as well a lofty spirit and greatness of charac-
ter which by refusing to be humbled humbles and overpowers envy (μὴ
ταπεινοῦσθαι ταπεινούσης καὶ χειρουμένης τὸν φθόνον). For men no longer
think fit even to pass judgement on such as these, but exult and rejoice
and catch the inspiration of the swelling speech, when it is well-founded
and true. (540D [LCL])

If there is a rhetorical principle inscribed here, it is important to see that

it is inseparable from its exercise within a particular social milieu and by
a particular sort of aristocratic speaker. It is not the rules of rhetoric, but
rather the social dynamics that inhere in a specific set of political rela-
tionships that, for Plutarch, make self-defensive boasting effective and
therefore justifiable: If he possesses adequate gravitas, Plutarch explains,
a beleaguered statesman can overawe his hearers by confidently asserting
his power, thus moving himself beyond the range of his hearers’ envy.

29. So already Norden, responding to Heinrici’s suggestion that Paul was familiar
with ancient apologetic conventions: “Jeder Mensch, der sich zu verantworten hat,
verwandte Töne anschlägt, aber muss er die von anderen erlernen?” (Die antike Kun-
stprosa, 2:494).
 SCHELLENBERG: PAUL’S (IN)APPROPRIATE BOASTING 107

Paul is not this sort of speaker. Although he certainly boasts in his own
defense, his boasting does not appear to activate the social mechanism—
the overpowering of envy—to which Plutarch refers. Indeed, I think it is
safe to say that no one would confuse the sort of “swelling speech” Plu-
tarch describes with 2 Cor 10–13. Far from “refusing to be humbled,” Paul
famously puts his weakness on display. What this confession of weakness
signifies will be the subject of further discussion below. In the current
context, a comparison of Paul’s demeanor with that depicted in Plutarch’s
examples of self-defensive μεγαλαυχία will suffice.
Epaminondas, so the story goes, convinced the other Theban generals
serving with him not to return home at the end of their term as the law
prescribed, but rather to seize their advantage and keep fighting. Though
they orchestrated a very successful campaign, upon their return home the
generals were impeached for their unauthorized action.30 Epaminondas,
apparently, boldly took all the blame upon himself, then defiantly under-
took an unconventional self-defense:

When Epameinondas expatiated on the glory of his acts and said in con-
clusion that he was ready to die if they would admit that he had founded
Messenê, ravaged Laconia, and united Arcadia—[the very acts for which
he stood on trial]—they did not even wait to take up the vote against
him, but with admiration for the man commingled with delight and
laughter broke up the meeting. (540E; cf. Nepos, Epam. 8.2–5)

A self-assured man like this does not dignify slander by becoming indig-
nant; he simply rises above it.31 Indeed, it is the impression that one’s dig-
nity and self-possession are unfazed by petty accusations that lends such a
defense particular force and undeniable charm—or perhaps the infuriating
impression of patriarchal conceit, I suppose, depending on your perspec-
tive. In any case, Plutarch, who shared Epaminondas’s values, was charmed.

30. In addition to the summary account at De laude 540D–E, see also Plutarch,
Pel. 25.1–2; Nepos, Epam. 7–8; Diodorus Siculus 15.66–72.
31. Thus Seneca Ira 3.25.3: “There will be no doubt about this—that whoever
scorns his tormentors removes himself from the common herd and towers above
them. The mark of true greatness is not to notice that you have received a blow. So
does the huge wild beast calmly turn and gaze at barking dogs, so does the wave dash
in vain against a mighty cliff ” (Basore, LCL). See also Seneca, Const. 13.5; 14.3; Clem.
1.10.3; Quintilian, Inst. 11.1.17.
108 RETHINKING PAUL’S RHETORICAL EDUCATION

Paul’s demeanor is strikingly different. As is frequently remarked, his

boasting is halting and reluctant, and although such reluctance may have
its own way of mitigating the negative impression of self-praise, it certainly
does not make for the sort of overawed and admiring response evoked by
Epaminondas and his ilk. Paul, Chrysostom quipped, shrank from self-
praise like a horse rearing back from a precipice (Laud. Paul. 5.12; Hom.
2 Cor. 11:1 4 [PG 51:305]). What Plutarch envisioned was more like a
horse charging through an enemy line.
In sum, then, although there is certainly a superficial similarity here—
Plutarch speaks of self-defense; Paul defends himself—attention to the
values and social assumptions that fuel Plutarch’s treatment reveals that
2 Cor 10–13 has little in common with what Plutarch actually commends.
Paul simply does not carry himself with the sort of dignity and “loftiness of
spirit” that “humiliates and overpowers envy” (540D). In fact, what com-
parison of Paul’s self-praise with Plutarch’s discussion of self-defense does
highlight is the tenuousness of Paul’s claim to status. Unlike Epaminondas,
who can pretend disregard for the verdict of his jury (cf. Demosthenes,
Cor. 10; Dio Chrysostom, Pol. 12), Paul wears his desperation on his sleeve.

Misfortune

Plutarch’s discussion of why the unfortunate can indulge in μεγαλαυχία

more appropriately than the fortunate—sometimes adduced as a parallel
to Paul’s boasting of shipwrecks, beatings, and the like32—is predicated
on the same values (541A–C). Here the image Plutarch provides is that of
an indomitable boxer holding his head up high: Unlike a vain man walk-
ing with his nose in the air, the boxer’s bold posture evinces courage, not
fatuous arrogance. Likewise, the unfortunate, “far removed from ambi-
tion by their plight, are looked upon as breasting ill-fortune, shoring up
their courage, and eschewing all appeal to pity and all whining and self-
abasement (ταπεινούμενον) in adversity” (541A [LCL]). Paul, I think all
will agree, does not “[use] self-glorification to pass from a humbled and
piteous state to an attitude of triumph and pride” (541B [LCL]); on the
contrary, he puts his ignominy on display—he wallows in it, I suspect Plu-

32. Heinrici, Der zweite Brief an die Korinther, 313; Betz, “De laude ipsius,” 388;
Watson, “Paul and Boasting,” 92.
 SCHELLENBERG: PAUL’S (IN)APPROPRIATE BOASTING 109

tarch would say.33 And this sort of posture ultimately nullifies what for
Plutarch makes the self-glorification of the unfortunate inspiring.

Usefulness; Benefit to Hearers

Plutarch concludes his treatise by reiterating the moral criterion that under-
lies the entire discussion: self-praise, in order to be legitimate, must be
useful. In his words, “We will abstain from speaking about ourselves unless
we are going to provide some great benefit to ourselves or to our hearers”
(547F).34 The ἑαυτούς here comes as a bit of a surprise, since throughout
the work Plutarch has emphasized that it is concern for the well-being of
others that might motivate a statesman to speak on his own behalf (539E–F;
544D). Presumably this is a reference to the sort of self-defense when facing
calumny or hardship that we have just discussed. In any case, one thing is
clear: the desire for glory is not, for Plutarch, sufficient cause for self-praise;
one must have some further—and noble—end in view.
This would also seem to be the assumption of Dio Chrysostom. Dio
never provides anything resembling a systematic discussion of self-praise,
but he does, on one occasion, set out to defend Homer’s Nestor against
charges of braggadocio (ἀλαζονεία [Nest. 3; cf. Il. 1.260–268; 273–274]).35
Dio justifies Nestor’s self-praise—without once using the word periauto-
logia, we might note—by means of a single observation: Nestor’s boast-
ing, like a doctor’s unpleasant drug, was intended to have a salutary effect,
namely, the end of Agamemnon and Achilles’s quarrel (4–8).
Still, there are no grounds for asserting that Plutarch and Dio reflect
rhetorical precepts here. Dio is not commenting on the rhetorical effi-
cacy of Nestor’s speech—in fact, the speech did not, he admits, have its
intended effect (9)—but is rather considering whether or not Homer had
made Nestor a braggart. This is a question of character, not rhetoric. As we
have seen, the acceptability of Nestor’s self-adulation had been discussed
under the rubric of moral philosophy at least since Philodemus (Hom. fr.

33. Note Plutarch’s observation that although speakers may confess minor faults
in order to blunt the edge of envy, they should not report what is truly “degrading
or ignoble” (αἰσχραὶ μηδ᾿ ἀγεννεῖς [544B; LCL]). See Glancy, “Boasting of Beatings,”
119–21.
34. Cf. Betz, Der Apostel Paulus und die sokratische Tradition, 76.
35. Dio’s Nestor is adduced as background to Paul’s boasting by Forbes, “Com-
parison, Self-Praise, and Irony,” 9; Watson, “Paul and Boasting,” 78.
110 RETHINKING PAUL’S RHETORICAL EDUCATION

9), and the consensus seems to have been that in this case Nestor’s boast-
ing was the lesser of two evils.
It is also noteworthy that from what Plutarch says, as from Dio’s exam-
ple, we should expect the criterion of usefulness to operate entirely in the
background, helping a statesman decide whether or not it is appropriate
to indulge in self-praise, but not having any observable impact on how it
is articulated. For Plutarch, self-praise is risky whether it is useful or not;
however, if it is useful, then it just might be worth the risk (544D–F). There
is nothing to suggest that he was recommending a rhetorical strategy of
seeking to attenuate the risk by drawing attention to the benefit one’s self-
praise would provide for one’s audience. Nestor did not explain that he
was boasting for Agamemnon and Achilles’s own good; no, that was Dio’s
retrospective justification.

Comparative Boasting

Plutarch obviously does not like self-praise, but what really irritates him
is self-praise motivated by vain ambition (φιλοτιμία), particularly when it
involves rivalry with others:

When those who hunger for praise cannot find others to praise them,
they give the appearance of seeking sustenance and succour for their
vainglorious appetite from themselves, a graceless spectacle. But when
they do not even seek to be praised simply and in themselves, but try
to rival the honour that belongs to others and set against it their own
accomplishments and acts in the hope of dimming the glory of another,
their conduct is not only frivolous, but envious and spiteful as well.…
Here then is something we clearly must avoid. (540A–C [LCL]; cf. Quin-
tilian, Inst. 11.1.16)

At this juncture Pauline interpreters generally abandon their treatment of

Paul’s boasting and commence with a discussion of how Plutarch’s trea-
tise informs our portrait of his opponents. Thus for Duane Watson, “This
warning illumines Paul’s statement about his opponents’ comparisons
with each other and with himself as not ‘show(ing) good sense’ (10:12),
because they were based on working in his sphere of action and trying to
undermine his authority and honor (10:13–16).”36 Whereas Paul followed

36. Watson, “Paul and Boasting,” 90; see also Watson, “Paul’s Boasting in 2 Corin-
thians 10–13,” 272; Betz, “De laude ipsius,” 385–86; Harris, Second Corinthians, 707–8.
 SCHELLENBERG: PAUL’S (IN)APPROPRIATE BOASTING 111

Plutarch’s conventions for self-praise, his rivals, on the contrary, “were the
sort of arrogant self-boasters the culture despised.”37
It is an open question whether Paul’s rivals really were so shamelessly
competitive and self-adulating as interpreters of 2 Cor 10–13 are wont to
imagine: we have no independent evidence, and Paul’s testimony is far
from disinterested. What we do know, from sound documentary evidence,
is that Paul perceived the status gained by others as a threat to his honor
and fought back by indulging in self-praise. Whatever he says in 2 Cor
10:12 about not daring to compare himself with his rivals, comparative
boasting is precisely what he goes on to do.
That Paul here is in direct contravention of the one precept for periau-
tologia regarding which Plutarch is most insistent seems to have escaped
notice. So far as I can see, the only explanation for this interpretive myopia
is our presupposition that Paul was in the right—that he was the (capital
A) Apostle to the Gentiles and therefore that anyone seeking to discredit
him or gain influence in “his” communities was a self-interested meddler.
But the fact that Paul went on to become St. Paul must not be allowed to
obscure the reality of the Corinthian community in the mid-50s: This was a
group of Christ-believers that had been shaped by a number of charismatic
leaders, among whom Paul was but one. Paul claimed a special position by
virtue of having founded the community (1 Cor 3:6; 4:15; 2 Cor 10:14),
but, in the ongoing competition for influence in Corinth, this apparently
was no trump card. As David Horrell recently has argued, despite Paul’s
claims, the Corinthian community was no “Pauline church.”38 Labeling
it such mires our work in anachronistic conceptions of Paul’s apostleship
and blinds us to the fact that legitimacy was precisely what was up for
grabs in Corinth.
Reading 2 Cor 10–13 without presupposing Paul’s primacy enables us
to see just how egregiously Paul violates Plutarch’s proscription of com-

37. Craig S. Keener, 1–2 Corinthians (New Cambridge Bible Commentary; Cam-
bridge: Cambridge University Press, 2005), 222.
38. David G. Horrell, “Pauline Churches or Early Christian Churches? Unity, Dis-
agreement, and the Eucharist,” in Einheit der Kirche im Neuen Testament (ed. Anatoly
A. Alexeev, Christos Karakolis, and Ulrich Luz; WUNT 218; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck,
2008), 193, and, more generally, 186–96. I am also indebted here to Steven Friesen’s
comments during “After the First Urban Christians: The Social Scientific Study of
Pauline Christianity Twenty Five Years Later” (panel discussion at the meeting of the
Society of Biblical Literature, New Orleans, La., 21 November 2009).
112 RETHINKING PAUL’S RHETORICAL EDUCATION

parative boasting. Plutarch had made room for stripping honor from those
deemed unworthy, but insisted that it be done without indulging in self-
praise: “If we hold them undeserving and of little worth, let us not strip
them of their praise by presenting our own, but plainly refute their claim
and show their reputation to be groundless” (540C [LCL]). In contrast,
Paul’s refutation is comparative throughout, contrasting his own praise-
worthy behavior with what he insists are his rivals’ false claims. Ironically,
it begins with the assertion that he, unlike “some people,” will not com-
pare himself with others (10:12)—an assertion that is, of course, precisely
an implicit comparison. Paul insists that he will not boast εἰς τὰ ἄμετρα;
he will not overreach himself; he will not boast in the labors of others or
in another’s κανών (10:13–16). Again, comparison with the behavior he
imputes to his rivals is implied throughout. Likewise, “It is not those who
commend themselves”—read, “my rivals”—“that are approved, but those
whom the Lord commends”—read, “me” (10:18). So when Paul insists that
he is not inferior to the super-apostles (11:5), and then proceeds to his
series of κἀγώ’s (11:22–23), he is only making explicit the comparative
mode that has been dominant throughout. By Plutarchian standards, Paul
is clearly out of line.
Plutarch does, however, later in his treatise, qualify his resistance
to rivalrous boasting: “Yet where mistaken praise injures and corrupts
by arousing emulation of evil and inducing the adoption of an unsound
policy where important issues are at stake, it is no disservice to counteract
it” (545D). Again, interpreters have latched on to the superficial paral-
lel, asserting that Paul’s boasting passages “meet the requirements of this
test”:39 Paul, we are assured, only seeks to dissuade the Corinthians from
his rivals’ corrupting influence.
Paul indeed does portray the influence of his opponents as a sinister
force threatening to contaminate or destroy the Corinthian community
(11:2–4, 13–15), but he by no means seeks to counteract this influence in
the way Plutarch recommends. For Plutarch, the way to censure vice with-
out merely looking envious of those who indulge in it is straightforward:
“It is not … with the praise of persons but with that of acts, when they
are vicious, that the statesman must wage war” (545E). For his part, Paul
never manages to explain how, specifically, his opponents are leading the
Corinthians astray, nor which vicious acts the Corinthians are in danger of

39. Talbert, Reading Corinthians, 118; also Marshall, Enmity in Corinth, 354–55.
 SCHELLENBERG: PAUL’S (IN)APPROPRIATE BOASTING 113

emulating. Instead, he vaguely insinuates that his rivals pollute the Corin-
thians’ chastity (11:2–3) and accuses them of being disguised ministers of
Satan (11:13–15). Clearly, this is an attack on persons, not on deeds. Nor
is it an attack on bad theology. If the issue were a theological or a moral
one, Paul should, if he were following Plutarch’s advice, have explained the
dangers of the Corinthian’s present course of action, and done so without
self-reference. He did not. Instead, he sought to reassert his authoritative
role whilst undercutting the influence of his rivals.
Interpreters have worked hard to uncover the theological or ideologi-
cal controversy that purportedly underlies the dispute between Paul and
his rivals in 2 Corinthians,40 but all they have managed to do, I submit, is
to elevate the means of the controversy into its substance: Paul polemi-
cally insists that the opponents have “another spirit” (11:4), so, his inter-
preters conclude, the dispute must have concerned the role of pneumatic
experience;41 Paul seeks to defuse the accusation that he is a layman in
speech, hence this must be a disagreement about the value of rhetoric;42
Paul defends himself for not receiving financial support from the Corin-
thians, hence he must have differed from his opponents insofar as he had
counter-cultural ideas about patronage.43
What each of these reconstructions does, I suggest, is confuse the
argumentative strategies Paul employs with his ultimate goal. Certainly
Paul and his rivals have various differences of opinion, but these are the
means through which the conflict between them is negotiated, not its
fundamental grounds. To argue that what we see here is a conflict about
rhetoric, or patronage, or pneumatism is like saying that people engage in
duels to prove the superiority of their favorite pistols. No, the real grounds
of the controversy are far less subtle: What is perfectly clear from read-
ing 2 Cor 10–13—though apparently unpalatable to many interpreters—is
that the primary thing on Paul’s mind is his own status in the Corinthian

40. See Jerry L. Sumney, Identifying Paul’s Opponents: The Question of Method in
2 Corinthians (JSNTSup 40; Sheffield: JSOT Press, 1990), 15–67.
41. E.g., Lake, Earlier Epistles, 222–35; Georgi, Opponents of Paul.
42. Judge, “Paul’s Boasting”; Betz, “Rhetoric and Theology”; Winter, Philo and
Paul.
43. Marshall, Enmity in Corinth, 173–258. See also Scott Bartchy’s argument that
Paul’s “new creation” leadership values contrasted with his rivals’ “old creation” values
(“ ‘When I’m Weak, I’m Strong’: A Pauline Paradox in Cultural Context,” in Kultur,
Politik, Religion, Sprach—Text: Wolfgang Stegemann zum 60. Geburtstag [ed. Christian
Strecker; vol. 2 of Kontexte der Schrift; Stuttgart: Kohlhammer, 2005], 49–60).
114 RETHINKING PAUL’S RHETORICAL EDUCATION

community. Only through the casuistry of apologetic interpreters have we

learned of a theological or ideological controversy.

Conclusion

Other parallels between Paul and De laude ipsius have been proposed, but
they do not warrant detailed treatment. It is occasionally suggested that
Paul’s theological grounding of his apostolate (10:8) is in accord with Plu-
tarch’s suggestion that one can minimize the appearance of hubris by giving
some credit for one’s achievement to chance and some to God (542E). But
there is no similarity here: For Plutarch, giving credit to God allows one to
set aside the burden of glory (φορτίον τῆς δόξης … ἀποτίθεσθαι); for Paul, on
the contrary, to invoke God’s commissioning is precisely to make a status
claim. As we have seen repeatedly, the superficial similarity erodes under
further examination.
Likewise, a number of interpreters have followed Betz in asserting that
Paul’s narration of his trip to the third heaven in the third person (12:2–4)
evinces his familiarity with a rhetorical precept expressed by Plutarch:
When possible, praise someone who shares your laudable traits rather
than praising yourself, and then hope your audience can put two and two
together (542C–D).44 Aside from the fact that Paul does not really praise
someone else, it is important to see that for Plutarch’s ruse to work, the
audience must not suspect the speaker’s self-promoting intention; for, if it
is evident that one is really trying to praise oneself, one fails to avoid the
appearance of boastfulness (cf. 542C). For his part, Paul had introduced

44. Betz, Der Apostel Paulus und die sokratische Tradition, 95. So also Andrew T.
Lincoln, “ ‘Paul the Visionary’: The Setting and Significance of the Rapture to Paradise
in II Corinthians XII.1–10,” NTS 25 (1979): 208–9; Jerry W. McCant, 2 Corinthians
(Readings; Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 1999), 143; Long, Ancient Rhetoric,
190. Cf. Mitchell, “Patristic Perspective,” 366. Mitchell’s invocation of the rhetorical
device prosōpopoiia to describe Paul’s procedure here is particularly misleading. As
Mitchell herself explains, Paul “does not speak the words of his new character so much
as he denies that his own words, allegedly spoken about another, are really about him-
self.” That is, the speaking voice is Paul’s throughout; it is the object, Paul the visionary,
not the subject, Paul the speaker, who is masked. Hence there is no fictive speaker here,
and no prosōpopoiia. Moreover, Chrysostom, whose reading Mitchell claims to be elu-
cidating here, makes no clear reference to this rhetorical figure: His προσωπεῖον ἕτερον
ὑπελθεῖν (Laud. Paul. 5.15) is surely an attempt to describe how Paul-as-visionary dis-
guises himself (cf. 5.12 [κρύπτει ἑαυτόν]), not a periphrastic reference to prosōpopoiia.
 SCHELLENBERG: PAUL’S (IN)APPROPRIATE BOASTING 115

this very section by explaining that he would proceed to boast of “visions

and revelations of the Lord” (12:1). His intentions are transparent, thus
there can be no real resemblance here to what Plutarch recommends.45
I conclude this section by reiterating the argument: The notion that
Paul evinces knowledge of rhetorical precepts for periautologia is founded
on a misleading treatment of Plutarch’s treatise. De laude ipsius is not a
collection of rhetorical precepts, and there is no evidence that it is depen-
dent on previous rhetorical discussions of periautologia. In fact, there are
no previous rhetorical discussions of periautologia attested. What Plutar-
ch’s treatise provides is an example of the use of moral suasion to con-
trol the sort of self-assertion—in this case self-assertion in the form of
self-praise—that threatens to disrupt the social order by inciting envious
rivalry. His is a conservative project: he seeks to justify the limited use of
self-praise by a certain sort of speaker—namely, the traditional aristocrat
who already has elevated status and its accompanying gravitas—whilst
denouncing the self-praise of those who aspire to clamber up the social
ladder. Self-praise that preserves the social order is acceptable; self-praise
that would alter it is not. In the end, the question is not how one speaks so
much as who speaks—and Paul does not appear to be the sort of speaker
that would gain Plutarch’s approval.
Nevertheless, Paul’s comments in 2 Cor 12:11 are reminiscent of two
very general aspects of Plutarch’s discussion: it is better to be praised by
others than to praise oneself; self-praise is appropriate when done in legiti-
mate self-defense. But this reminiscence is more credibly explained (with
Windisch and contra Betz) as resulting from overlapping social mores
than from shared dependence on rhetorical tradition. Moreover, as I will
demonstrate in part 3, these assumptions are hardly unique to Paul and
Plutarch, and can be detected in discourse that certainly has no connec-
tion to the classical rhetorical tradition.

45. I have left unresolved the question why Paul refers to himself in the third
person, one of many puzzling aspects of his narration of this experience. I favor the
explanation that this manner of speaking derives from a subjective ambiguity inherent
in the ecstatic experience itself—an explanation that seems particularly credible after
Colleen Shantz’s recent work on the neurobiology of altered states of consciousness
like that described in 2 Cor 12:1–4. See Paul in Ecstasy, 93–101. Cf. Furnish, II Corin-
thians, 543; Thrall, Second Epistle, 2:782.
116 RETHINKING PAUL’S RHETORICAL EDUCATION

Quintilian, Institutio oratoria 11.1.15–26

If there is one rhetorical work from which Plutarch could theoretically

have gleaned material for his reflections on self-praise, it is the Institutio
oratoria of his contemporary Quintilian.46 Quintilian begins his eleventh
book with a long section dedicated to the topic of speaking appropriately
(apte [11.1.1]), the bulk of which elaborates on his insistence that one must
consider “not merely what it is expedient, but also what it is becoming to
say” (11.1.8 [Butler, LCL]). Although it is true that usually the two crite-
ria go hand in hand—to speak unbecomingly is seldom to one’s advan-
tage, and becoming speech is usually also expedient (11.1.8)—there are
exceptions: It would have been expedient for Socrates, for example, to
“[employ] the ordinary forensic methods of defence” (11.1.9 [LCL]), but
it also would have been a betrayal of his noble character. “This instance
alone,” Quintilian concludes, “shows that the end which the orator must
keep in view is not persuasion, but speaking well (non persuadendi sed
bene dicendi), since there are occasions when to persuade would be a blot
upon his honour” (11.1.11 [LCL]; cf. 2.15). Therefore, what is becoming
trumps what is expedient every time: “There are two things which will be
becoming to all men at all times and in all places, namely, to act and speak
as befits a man of honour, and it will never at any time beseem any man to
speak or act dishonourably” (11.1.14 [LCL]).47
Quintilian’s primary example of unseemly speech is boasting about
one’s own eloquence. This, he insists, is always a mistake (11.1.15). But
here Quintilian gets himself into difficulty, for the one orator most consis-
tently censured for such behavior is Quintilian’s beloved Cicero.48 Hence

46. George Kennedy dates the work to the final years of Domitian, probably
between 93 and 95 c.e., a few years before the turn-of-the-century date we have pro-
posed for Plutarch’s De laude ipsius. See Kennedy, Quintilian (New York: Twayne,
1969), 27–29. See also Tobias Reinhardt and Michael Winterbottom, eds., Quintilian,
Institutio Oratoria, Book 2 (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2006), xxiii. Note that
Plutarch claims to have had a rudimentary grasp of Latin, acquired late in life (Dem.
2). See D. A Russell, Plutarch (London: Duckworth, 1973), 54; C. P. Jones, Plutarch and
Rome (Oxford: Clarendon, 1971), 80–87.
47. See further Arthur E. Walzer, “Moral Philosophy and Rhetoric in the Insti-
tutes: Quintilian on Honor and Expediency,” RSQ 36 (2006): 273–77.
48. For Quintilian’s admiring evaluation of Cicero, see Inst. 10.1.105–114, 123;
12.1.16–21. On Cicero’s notorious arrogance, see Walter Allen, “Cicero’s Conceit,”
TAPA 85 (1954): 121–44; Robert A. Kaster, “Self-Aggrandizement and Praise of Others
 SCHELLENBERG: PAUL’S (IN)APPROPRIATE BOASTING 117

his entire discussion of the propriety of self-praise consists of a defense of

Cicero’s notorious boastfulness (11.1.17–26).
Notably, there is little in his defense of Cicero to suggest that Quintil-
ian is dependent upon previous discussions of self-praise; on the contrary,
these appear to be mostly ad hoc justifications. Indeed, if there had been
such widely accepted criteria for self-praise as Pauline scholars would have
us believe, and if Cicero abode by them, it is difficult to fathom why he
should have been so frequently censured for his boasting (11.1.17). No,
Quintilian finds himself defending Cicero precisely because the appro-
priateness of self-praise is a matter of taste and judgment, not the simple
application of established rhetorical rules (cf. 11.1.91).
Still, Quintilian does seem to assume that his audience shares some
basic presuppositions concerning good rhetorical etiquette. First, he
stresses that Cicero’s boasting was “due quite as much to the necessities of
defense as to the promptings of vainglory” (11.1.18 [LCL]), which sort of
argument I have treated in detail above. Second, he observes that Cicero,
in his private letters,49 regularly quotes the remarks of others about his elo-
quence in order to mitigate the appearance of boasting. This strategy pre-
sumably stems from Aristotle’s advice (Rhet. 3.17.16), and had other prac-
titioners too (cf. Pliny, Ep. 9.23.5–6), but it annoys Quintilian: “Yet I am not
sure that open boasting is not more tolerable, owing to its sheer straight-
forwardness, than that perverted form of self-praise” (11.1.21 [LCL]). In
any case, unlike Cicero, Paul seems to have had no one in Corinth to quote
in his favor.50 Finally, Quintilian notes that Cicero deflected some credit
for his success to the senate and some to providence (11.1.23). As noted
above, Plutarch makes a similar point, but this has little in common with
Paul’s claim to divine backing.
Quintilian’s discussion goes on to treat other instances of unbecom-
ing speech—an “impudent, disorderly, or angry tone” (11.1.29 [LCL]),
immodesty in speaking of shameful things (11.1.30), an indecorous atti-
tude toward one’s opponents (11.1.57), and so forth. He does provide
some rhetorical strategies for dealing with various courtroom exigencies

in Cicero,” Princeton/Stanford Working Papers in Classics, no. 120502 (2005). Cited 14

July 2011. Online: http://www.princeton.edu/~pswpc/pdfs/kaster/120502.pdf.
49. Quintilian seems to presume that there is more scope for self-praise in letters
to intimate friends than in public oratory (11.1.21). Cf. Cicero, Att. 1.16.8, and see Roy
K. Gibson, “Pliny and the Art of (In)offensive Self-Praise,” Arethusa 36 (2003): 243–45.
50. So Watson, “Paul’s Boasting in 2 Corinthians 10–13,” 273.
118 RETHINKING PAUL’S RHETORICAL EDUCATION

along the way, but it is Quintilian’s moralizing that sets the dominant tone.
Indeed, as we might have expected from the definition of the aim of rheto-
ric with which he began the section—non persuadendi sed bene dicendi
(11.1.11)—the discussion is exemplary of Quintilian’s own particular
emphasis, the notion that the ideal orator is not merely persuasive, but
virtuous—a “good man speaking well” (vir bonus dicendi peritus [12.1.1;
cf. 2.15.34]).
There may have been ancient precedent for this marriage of morality
and rhetoric, but here Quintilian is self-consciously treading on what, in
his time at least, was presumed to be the philosophers’ turf (1 pr. 10–18;
12.2.6–9).51 Indeed, he begins book 12 by claiming that whereas his tech-
nical discussion has been largely a matter of collating the best existing
work, in his attempt to nurture the virtuous speaker he is peerless (12 pr.
2–4). It appears, then, that Quintilian’s discussion of the inappropriateness
of boasting derives not from prior codification of precepts for periautolo-
gia but rather from his own preoccupation with the moral formation of his
ideal orator. Moreover, the only possible connection to Paul is Quintilian’s
excusing of Cicero’s boasting on the grounds that it was necessary for his
self-defense—hardly sufficient grounds, as we have seen, for asserting that
Paul and Quintilian reflect a common rhetorical tradition.

Hesitancy and Prodiorthōsis

Interestingly, Plutarch says much less about giving the impression of hesi-
tancy or reluctance when indulging in self-praise than do interpreters
of 2 Corinthians. That is, he says nothing at all. Neither does Quintilian.
To my knowledge, the nearest we get to a rhetorical recommendation of
such a practice comes somewhat later in Pseudo-Herodian’s treatment of
προδιόρθωσις. According to Pseudo-Herodian, we should soften our words
when we are about to say something shameful concerning our adversary
or something vainglorious (μεγάλαυχα) concerning ourselves by first
forewarning our hearers (Fig. 33 [RG 3:95]). And this is just what Paul
does, repeatedly pleading for his hearers to bear with him before he begins

51. See Michael Winterbottom, “Quintilian the Moralist,” in vol. 1 of Quintiliano:

Historia y actualidad de la retórica (ed. Tomás Albaladejo, Emilio del Río, and José
Antonio Caballero; 3 vols.; Logroño: Ediciones Instituto de Estudios Riojanos, 1998),
318–20. Cf. Arthur E. Walzer, “Quintilian’s ‘Vir Bonus’ and the Stoic Wise Man,” RSQ
33 (2003): 25–41; Walzer, “Moral Philosophy and Rhetoric in the Institutes.”
 SCHELLENBERG: PAUL’S (IN)APPROPRIATE BOASTING 119

to boast (11:1, 17; 12:1). As Margaret Mitchell has noted, Paul’s attempt
to preempt the judgment that he was a fool was deemed an instance of
prodiorthōsis as early as John Chrysostom.52 Heinrici recognized it as
such; so did E. A. Judge.53 I do not disagree. However, I would like to add
two points of clarification.
First, it should be noted that Pseudo-Herodian, writing no earlier than
the second century,54 stands alone in linking prodiorthōsis with speech
about oneself.55 Other descriptions of the figure make clear that it was
construed very generally as warning the audience of something unpleas-
ant to come (Alexander, Fig. 1.3 [RG 3:14–15]; Tiberius, Fig. 8; cf. Ps.-Her-
mogenes, Inv. 4.12). When more specific usages are discussed, they vary
widely—from warning the audience that one is about to cite poetry (Her-
mogenes, Περὶ ἰδεῶν, 2.4) to notifying judges that one is about to say some-
thing ill-omened concerning their potential fate (Apsines, Rhet. 10.34 [RG
1:399]). The rhetoricians, like Plutarch, clearly saw no inherent connection
between prodiorthōsis and periautologia. Thus Paul’s expressions of reluc-
tance to boast may perhaps be rhetorically appropriate, but it would be an
exaggeration to say they are done in conformity with rhetorical precepts
for self-praise.
Second, we need hardly posit that Paul was rhetorically educated in
order to account for his use of prodiorthōsis. Again, the history of inter-
pretation of Paul’s boasting helps put things in perspective: even if they

52. Laud. Paul. 5.12; Hom. 2 Cor. 23.1 (PG 61:553); 24.1 (PG 61:564); 25.1 (PG
61:569); Hom. 2 Cor. 11:1 4 (PG 51:305). See further Mitchell, “Patristic Perspective,”
363–64.
53. Heinrici, Der zweite Brief an die Korinther, 313; Judge, “Paul’s Boasting,” 67.
So also Sundermann, Der schwache Apostel, 83–84; Furnish, II Corinthians, 499; Pitta,
“Il discorso del pazzo,” 496; Thrall, Second Epistle, 2:659.
54. De figuris in fact consists of two separate writings pieced together by a
redactor. Neither part can be dated with precision, but Ps.-Herodian’s description of
prodiorthōsis comes in the second part, for which the earliest proposed origin is the
time of Hadrian. See Kerstin Hajdú, Ps.-Herodian, De figuris: Überlieferungsgeschichte
und kritische Ausgabe (SGLG 8; Berlin: de Gruyter, 1998), 21–23.
55. Nearest to Ps.-Herodian is probably the discussion of Ps.-Aristides (1.12.2.7
[RG 2:506]), although he does not speak explicitly of prodiorthōsis, nor does he refer
to self-praise. Rather, in the context of a discussion of epideictic, he lists six ways of
avoiding praise (of another) that irritates one’s audience (τοῦ μὴ φορτικῶς ἐπαινεῖν),
the third of which is to begin by asking an audience’s indulgence (ὅταν πρὶν εἰπεῖν τι
συγγνώμην ἐφ᾿ οἷς ἂν μέλλῃ λέγειν αἰτῆται παρὰ τῶν δικαστῶν).
120 RETHINKING PAUL’S RHETORICAL EDUCATION

have not always known its name, interpreters of Paul have had no difficulty
whatsoever describing the function of the figure, and, until recently, they
were content to consider it an expression of Paul’s sincere reluctance to
boast. Charles Hodge’s remark is typical: “So repugnant was this task to
his feelings, that he not only humbly apologizes for thus speaking of him-
self, but he finds it difficult to do what he felt must be done.”56 Whether or
not Hodge accurately describes Paul’s feelings on the matter, the point is
that Paul’s hesitancy is perfectly comprehensible without positing rhetori-
cal training: Paul knows that boasting is unseemly, and is either embar-
rassed to do it or is worried about how his hearers will respond—indeed,
where personhood is constructed corporately,57 the two amount to the
same thing: Paul fears he will be derided as a fool. As will be demonstrated
in part 3, speakers without formal rhetorical education also resort to
prodiorthōsis in such situations; hence this cannot be adduced as evidence
of Paul’s rhetorical education.

Conclusion

Contrary to the prevailing view, we must conclude that there is nothing

in Paul’s boasting to warrant the conclusion that he was familiar with
rhetorical principles governing self-praise. First, the notion that Plutarch
and Quintilian based their writings on established rhetorical dictates for
periautologia cannot be sustained. Both may occasionally reflect existing
rhetorical practice, but Plutarch’s is a work of moral philosophy with only
incidental rhetorical observations and Quintilian, in his treatment of what
is “becoming,” is self-consciously innovating. Writing forty-some years
after Paul, these authors provide no evidence of clearly defined rhetorical
principles for self-praise.

56. Hodge, Second Epistle, 249. Cf. Calvin, Corinthians, 2:365; Baur, Paul, 1:280;
Robertson, Sermons, 418; Strachan, Second Epistle, 16; Beet, Corinthians, 439, 447.
57. See Pierre Bourdieu, “The Sentiment of Honour in Kabyle Society,” in Honour
and Shame: The Values of Mediterranean Society (ed. J. G. Peristiany; Chicago: Uni-
versity of Chicago Press, 1966), 211; Bruce J. Malina and Jerome H. Neyrey, “First-
Century Personality: Dyadic, Not Individualistic,” in The Social World of Luke-Acts:
Models for Interpretation (ed. Jerome H. Neyrey; Peabody, Mass.: Hendrickson, 1991),
67–96; Zeba Crook, “Honor, Shame, and Social Status Revisited,” JBL 128 (2009):
598–99.
 SCHELLENBERG: PAUL’S (IN)APPROPRIATE BOASTING 121

Why, then, has Betz’s invocation of De laude ipsius been so well

received? Why does nearly every recent commentary on 2 Corinthians
refer to Plutarch’s precepts for periautologia—and do so without bother-
ing to mention what actually interested Plutarch? The explanation, I sug-
gest, is evident from the brief history of interpretation with which this
chapter began: We simply have been unable to come to terms with a Paul
who really does boast, a Paul who fights tooth and nail to defend his
own status. Like the picture of Paul donning a fool’s mask—an interpre-
tive chimera we will consider in a subsequent chapter—the image of Paul
manipulating rhetorical conventions allows us to posit for Paul a degree of
self-consciousness that keeps him safely at arm’s length from the shame-
less speaker the passage otherwise implies. Hence Duane Watson’s odd
but telling periphrastic usage: for Watson, Paul does not boast, Paul “uses
boasting.”58 The implication, of course, is that the whole thing is merely a
clever stratagem and that therefore we can keep our theologian, our intel-
lectual, our rhetorician—in short, our respectable Paul.

58. Watson, “Paul and Boasting,” 90.

 5
Peristasis Catalogues:
Rhythm, Amplification, Klangfiguren

There is no evidence that ancient rhetorical education involved training in

the composition of hardship catalogues per se. Nevertheless, Paul’s lists of
hardships are generally taken as evidence of his familiarity with contem-
porary rhetorical strategies, and, more specifically, with the propagandis-
tic techniques employed by popular moral philosophers. Jerome Neyrey,
for example, describes 2 Cor 11:23–28 as “a literary device known as a
peristasis catalogue” that attests “indubitably” to Paul’s knowledge of Stoic
tradition.1 An assessment of the extent of Paul’s familiarity with contem-
porary popular philosophy is beyond the scope of this study; however,
insofar as his so-called peristasis catalogues are associated with rhetori-
cal amplification or auxēsis and attendant figures such as anaphora, asyn-
deton, and assonance, it is necessary to assess whether they provide evi-
dence of formal education in rhetoric.

Lists and Catalogues in Greco-Roman Antiquity

One might infer from Neyrey’s reference to “a literary device known as a

peristasis catalogue” that we are dealing here with a literary form that was
named and theorized by ancient literary critics—in other words, the sort
of thing that would have been discussed in schools of rhetoric. This is not
in fact the case.2 On the contrary, the use of Peristasenkatalog as a termi-

1. Neyrey, “Social Location of Paul,” 151–52.

2. John T. Fitzgerald asserts, correctly, that “the term peristasis was well-estab-
lished in rhetorical circles by the first century” (Cracks in an Earthen Vessel: An
Examination of the Catalogues of Hardships in the Corinthian Correspondence [SBLDS
99; Atlanta: Scholars Press, 1988], 37). Its rhetorical usage, however, had none of the

-123-
124 RETHINKING PAUL’S RHETORICAL EDUCATION

nus technicus in Pauline scholarship tends to obscure the fact that until
the twentieth century there was no literary device known by such a name.
As noted above, Johannes Weiss was among the few scholars prior
to Betz to suggest that Paul had received formal rhetorical training. For
Weiss, the similarity of Paul’s prose with the “Cynic-Stoic diatribe” was
particularly compelling. As one example, he set Rom 8:38–39 alongside a
similarly structured text from Epictetus:3

καὶ ἁπλῶς πέπεισμαι γὰρ ὅτι

οὔτε θάνατος οὔτε θάνατος
οὔτε φυγὴ οὔτε ζωὴ
οὔτε πόνος οὔτε ἄγγελοι
οὔτε ἄλλο τι τῶν τοιούτων οὔτε ἀρχαὶ
αἴτιόν ἐστι τοῦ πράττειν τι οὔτε ἐνεστῶτα
ἢ μὴ πράττειν ἡμᾶς, οὔτε μέλλοντα
ἀλλ᾿ ὑπολήψεις καὶ δόγματα οὔτε δυνάμεις
(Diatr. 1.11.33)4 οὔτε ὕψωμα
οὔτε βάθος
οὔτε τις κτίσις ἑτέρα
δυνήσεται ἡμᾶς χωρίσαι ἀπὸ τῆς ἀγάπης
τοῦ θεοῦ τῆς ἐν Χριστῷ ᾿Ιησοῦ τῷ
κυρίῳ ἡμῶν
(Rom 8:38–39)

Weiss’s comparison was taken up by his student Ruldolf Bultmann, who

termed such texts Peristasenkataloge—lists of the vicissitudes of fate.5
Bultmann’s term, it should be noted, is not merely descriptive, for it
implies a particular interpretation of the meaning of Paul’s lists of trib-
ulations, which, for Bultmann, derives from Stoic indifference to one’s

connotations of fortitude in adversity that Fitzgerald emphasizes, but referred quite

simply to the circumstances of the case at hand, from which proofs may be derived.
See, e.g., Ps.-Hermogenes, Inv. 3.5; Quintilian, Inst. 3.5.5–18.
3. Weiss, “Beiträge zur Paulinischen Rhetorik,” 196. On earlier comparative treat-
ments of Paul’s hardship catalogues, see Fitzgerald, Cracks in an Earthen Vessel, 7–8
n. 2.
4. “And, in brief, it is neither death, nor exile, nor toil, nor any such thing that is
the cause of our doing, or of our not doing, anything, but only our opinions and the
decisions of our will” (Oldfather, LCL).
5. Bultmann, Stil der paulinischen Predigt, 19, 71.
 SCHELLENBERG: PERISTASIS CATALOGUES 125

external circumstances—one’s περιστάσεις, as Epictetus and his ilk would

say:6 “Wie der griechische Weise, so zählt auch Paulus die Fügungen des
Schicksals oder der Mächte, denen der Mensch unterworfen ist, auf und
verkündet begeistert seine Überlegenheit über Freuden und Leiden, über
Ängste und Schrecken.”7 As Bultmann’s question-begging terminology
has become standard, so has his interpretive framework.
This is particularly evident in John T. Fitzgerald’s Cracks in an Earthen
Vessel, which remains the most influential treatment of these texts to date.
Armed with the conventionality of Bultmann’s term, Fitzgerald is able to
take a shortcut on the road from form to function: he begins with a study
of philosophical use of the term περίστασις, which we are apparently to
adjudge relevant simply because the texts he is discussing are, after all,
“called” peristasis catalogues.8 Hence Fitzgerald unaccountably treats
Bultmann’s interpretive conclusion—the notion that Paul’s lists of hard-
ships are illuminated by Stoic discussion of περίστασις—as the starting
point for his discussion, not noticing, apparently, that the connection
between Stoic περίστασις and so-called “peristasis catalogues” only seems
self-evident because of the terminology he has inherited.9
Nevertheless, a connection did exist in certain philosophical circles
between the idea that virtue must endure the unpredictable circumstances
supplied by fate and illustrative lists of those same circumstances. Epicte-
tus provides the clearest example:

Who, then, is the invincible man? He whom nothing that is outside the
sphere of his moral purpose can dismay. I then proceed to consider the

6. On the term, see Fitzgerald, Cracks in an Earthen Vessel, 33–46.

7. Bultmann, Stil der paulinischen Predigt, 71: “Like the Greek sage, so also Paul
enumerates the twists of fate or the powers to which man is subject and announces
enthusiastically his mastery over joys and sorrows, over worries and fears.” It is inter-
esting to observe how Bultmann himself, in the final words of this quotation, adopts
the beguiling rhythm of the texts he is treating.
8. Says Fitzgerald, with no further ado, “The first step … is an examination of the
key term ‘peristasis’ ” (Cracks in an Earthen Vessel, 31).
9. Note Fitzgerald’s undefended assertion that “for the purposes of this investiga-
tion, the most important of the various types [of peristasis catalogue] is the [hardships
of the] wise man”—an assertion by which he bypasses any discussion of “catalogues of
occupational hardship,” “catalogues of punishments,” or “woes of the wanderer”—all
of which would appear to be relevant to a discussion of 2 Cor 11 (Cracks in an Earthen
Vessel, 47–49).
126 RETHINKING PAUL’S RHETORICAL EDUCATION

circumstances one by one (ἑκάστην τῶν περιστάσεων), as I would do in

the case of the athlete.… If you put a bit of silver coin in a man’s way, he
will despise it. Yes, but if you put a bit of a wench in his way, what then?
Or if it be dark, what then? Or if you throw a bit of reputation in his way,
what then? Or abuse, what then? Or praise, what then? Or death, what
then? All these things he can overcome. (Diatr. 1.18.21–22 [Oldfather,
LCL])

This, I think all will agree, is justly described as a peristasis catalogue—

whether or not anyone before Bultmann would have thought to call it that.
And, although Fitzgerald himself has little to say concerning form
or style, he does draw our attention to Stoic catalogues that have striking
formal similarities to Paul’s lists of tribulations. Plutarch’s description of
Stoic self-understanding provides a fine example:10

ὁ δὲ τῶν Στωικῶν σοφὸς ἐν παντὶ

ἐγκλειόμενος θλιβόμενοι
οὐ κωλύεται ἀλλ᾿ οὐ στενοχωρούμενοι
καὶ κατακρημνιζόμενος ἀπορούμενοι
οὐκ ἀναγκάζεται ἀλλ᾿ οὐκ ἐξαπορούμενοι
καὶ στρεβλούμενος διωκόμενοι
οὐ βασανίζεται ἀλλ᾿ οὐκ ἐγκαταλειπόμενοι
καὶ πηρούμενος καταβαλλόμενοι
οὐ βλάπτεται ἀλλ᾿ οὐκ ἀπολλύμενοι
καὶ πίπτων ἐν τῴ παλαίειν (2 Cor 4:8–9)
ἀήττητός ἐστι
καὶ περιτειχιζόμενος
ἀπολιόρκητος
καὶ πωλούμενος ὑπὸ τῶν
πολεμίων
ἀνάλωτος
(Stoic. abs. 1057E)11

10. Cited by Anton Fridrichsen, “Zum Thema ‘Paulus und die Stoa’: Ein stoische
Stilparallele zu 2 Kor 4,8f.,” ConBNT 9 (1944): 31; Fitzgerald, Cracks in an Earthen
Vessel, 100.
11. “The sage of the Stoics is not impeded when confined and under no compul-
sion when flung down a precipice and not in torture when on the rack and not injured
when mutilated and is invincible when thrown in wrestling and is not blockaded by
 SCHELLENBERG: PERISTASIS CATALOGUES 127

The most striking formal similarity here is the shared antithetical struc-
ture, which occurs also in 1 Cor 4:10–13a, 2 Cor 6:8–10, and Phil 4:12, as
well as in Epictetus (e.g. Diatr. 2.19.24).12 Also striking is the patterned use
of conjunctions and verb forms to generate a compelling rhythm. Paul and
Plutarch use different conjunctions—Plutarch prefaces each clause with
καί but has no adversative within the clauses, whereas Paul connects his
clauses asyndetically but uses ἀλλά within them—but each do what they
do consistently. Likewise with verb forms: Paul uses the same participial
form throughout, whereas Plutarch begins each clause with a conces-
sive participle and concludes it with the indicative—at least until the fifth
clause, when a new rhythm emerges.13
Such similarities are compelling, and would seem to necessitate the
conclusion that Paul was dependent, both ideologically and stylistically,
on the peristasis rhetoric of popular philosophy. However, when we begin
to cast our net a little wider, we find these same stylistic features attested in
a wide range of texts and put to a variety of different uses. But let us start
where Weiss started: with Epictetus.
It is hardships (περιστάσεις), says Epictetus, that show what men are
(Diatr. 1.24.1). And, given the influence of Bultmann’s work, it is not sur-
prising that the catalogues most often adduced in Pauline scholarship are
those most in keeping with this dictum.14 But what this selective mode of
comparison obscures is the fact that Epictetus’s Peristasenkataloge are but

circumvallation and in uncaptured while his enemies are selling him into slavery”
(Cherniss, LCL).
12. This is not, however, characteristic of all Paul’s hardship catalogues nor those
of his contemporaries. In fact, the majority consist of simple lists: Rom 8:35b; 2 Cor
6:4b–5; 2 Cor 11:23b–29; 2 Cor 12:10; Epictetus, Diatr. 2.10.17; Seneca, Const. 6.3. See
further Robert Hodgson, “Paul the Apostle and First Century Tribulation Lists,” ZNW
74 (1983): 62–67.
13. Plutarch's fifth clause differs from the previous four both in the elaboration of
the participial clause and the use of the privative alpha rather than the particle οὐ to
provide negation. The privative alpha recurs in each of the final three clauses, and the
participial clause is extended in the fifth and seventh, thus generating an a-b-a pattern.
14. Esp. Diatr. 1.1.22–24; 1.11.33; 1.18.21–23; 2.1.35; 2.16.42; 2.19.18, 24. Cf. Plato,
Resp. 361E–362A; Horace, Sat. 2.7.83–87; Seneca, Const. 6.3; 8.3; Ep. 71.25–29; 82.10–
14; Dio Chrysostom, Virt. (Or. 8) 15–16; Plutarch, Stoic. abs. 1057D–E. For a full list
of texts cited by Pauline scholars, see Markus Schiefer Ferrari, Die Sprache des Leids
in den paulinischen Peristasenkatalogen (SBB 23; Stuttgart: Katholisches Bibelwerk,
1991), 90–92.
128 RETHINKING PAUL’S RHETORICAL EDUCATION

one species of catalogue among many, notable perhaps for their distinc-
tive content but indistinguishable on stylistic grounds from other sorts of
rhythmic lists. One need not get very far into the Discourses to see what I
mean:15

1.1.12
τὴν δύναμιν ταύτην
τὴν ὁρμητικήν τε καὶ ἀφορμητικὴν
καὶ ὀρεκτικήν τε καὶ ἐκκλιτικὴν
καὶ ἁπλῶς τὴν χρηστικὴν ταῖς φαντασίαις,
ἧς ἐπιμελούμενος καὶ ἐν ᾗ τὰ σαυτοῦ τιθέμενος
οὐδέποτε κωλθήσῃ
οὐδέποτ᾿ ἑμποδισθήσῃ
οὐ στενάξεις οὐ μέμψῃ οὐ κολακεύσεις οὐδένα16

1.1.14
θέλομεν πολλῶν ἐπιμελεῖσθαι
καὶ πολλοῖς προσδεδέσθαι
καὶ τῷ σώματι καὶ τῇ κτήσει
καὶ ἀδελφῷ καὶ φίλῳ
καὶ τέκνῳ καὶ δούλῳ17

1.2.36–37
᾿Επίκτητος κρείσσων Σωκράτους οὐκ ἔσται·
εἰ δὲ μή, οὐ χείρων, τοῦτό μοι ἱκανόν ἐστιν.
οὐδὲ γὰρ Μίλων ἔσομαι καὶ ὅμως οὐκ ἀμελῶ τοῦ σώματος·
οὐδὲ Κροῖσος καὶ ὅμως οὐκ ἀμελῶ τῆς κτήσεως18

15. Compare also Rom 8:38–39, cited above, with Plato, Menex. 245D: οὐ γὰρ
Πέλοπες οὐδὲ Κάδμοι οὐδὲ Αἴγυπτοί τε καὶ Δαναοὶ οὐδὲ ἄλλοι τολλοὶ φύσει μὲν βάρβαροι
ὄντες, νόμῳ δὲ ῞Ελληνες, συνοικοῦσιν ἡμῖν.
16. “[T]his faculty of choice and refusal, of desire and aversion, or, in a word, the
faculty which makes use of external impressions; if thou care for this and place all that
thou hast therein, thou shalt never be thwarted, never hampered, shalt not groan, shalt
not blame, shalt not flatter any man” (LCL).
17. “We choose … to care for many things, and to be tied fast to many, even to our
body and our estate and brother and friend and child and slave” (LCL).
18. “Epictetus will not be better than Socrates; but if only I am not worse, that
suffices me. For I shall not be a Milo, either, and yet I do not neglect my body; nor a
Croesus, and yet I do not neglect my property” (LCL).
 SCHELLENBERG: PERISTASIS CATALOGUES 129

1.3.7
λύκοις ὅμοιοι γινόμεθα,
ἄπιστοι καὶ ἐπίβουλοι καὶ βλαβεροί
οἱ δὲ λέουσιν,
ἄγριοι καὶ θηριώδεις καὶ ἀνήμεροι19

1.6.14
διὰ τοῦτο ἐκείνοις μὲν ἀρκεῖ
τὸ ἐσθίειν καὶ πίνειν
καὶ τὸ ἀναπαύεσθαι καὶ ὀχεύειν
καὶ τἆλλ᾿ ὅσα ἐπιτελεῖ τῶν αὑτῶν ἕκαστον20

Clearly the stylistic features Pauline scholars have come to associ-

ate with Epictetus’s so-called hardship catalogues—assonance, isocolon,
homoioteleuton, antithesis, anaphora, patterned use of conjunctions,
groups of two or three items—in fact characterize Epictetus’s catalogue
making style in general.21 Isolating certain of these catalogues on the basis
of their content for comparison with Paul’s lists of tribulations gives the
misleading impression of unique stylistic resemblance when in fact we are
dealing with a much more general phenomenon.
And it is a general phenomenon indeed. As Fitzgerald himself has
shown, lists and catalogues constitute a mode of expression ubiquitous in
the literature of antiquity.22 These catalogues share no set form or structure;
there are, however, a number of recurrent stylistic features. Particularly
characteristic are asyndeton, anaphora, chiasm, alliteration, assonance,

19. “[We] become like wolves, faithless and treacherous and hurtful, and others
like lions, wild and savage and untamed” (LCL).
20. “And so for them it is sufficient to eat and drink and rest and procreate, and
whatever else of the things within their own province the animals severally do” (LCL).
21. The same is true, we might note, with regard to Paul, who also uses catalogues
for purposes other than enumerating hardships. E.g., 1 Cor 3:21–22:
πάντα γὰρ ὑμῶν ἐστιν
εἴτε Παῦλος εἴτε Ἀπολλῶς εἴτε Κηφᾶς
εἴτε κόσμος εἴτε ζωὴ εἴτε θάνατος
εἴτε ἐνεστῶτα εἴτε μέλλοντα
22. John T. Fitzgerald, “The Catalogue in Ancient Greek Literature,” in The Rhe-
torical Analysis of Scripture: Essays from the 1995 London Conference (ed. Thomas H.
Olbricht and Stanley E. Porter; JSNTSup 146; Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press,
1997), 275–93. Cf. O. Regenbogen, “Πίναξ,” PW 20:1407–82; Hansrudolf Trüb, Kata-
loge in der griechischen Dichtung (Oberwinterthur, 1952).
130 RETHINKING PAUL’S RHETORICAL EDUCATION

homoioteleuton, and the use of rhythm and rhyme23—in other words, pre-
cisely those stylistic features that Paul’s tribulation lists share with so-called
Stoic peristasis catalogues. A brief survey will illustrate the point.
John Austin’s thorough treatment of catalogues in the Iliad provides
a good overview of the “endless variations and complexities which this
form presents” in Homer.24 I have selected a characteristic example (Il.
10.227–232):

ὣς ἔφαθ᾿, οἳ δ᾿ ἔθελον Διομήδεϊ πολλοὶ ἕπεσθαι.

ἠθελέτην Αἴαντε δύω θεράποντες Ἄρνος,
ἤθελε Μηριόνης, μάλα δ᾿ ἤθελε Νέστορος υἱός,
ἤθελε δ᾿ Ἀτρεΐδης δουρικλειτὸς Μενέλαος,
ἤθελε δ᾿ ὁ τλήμων Ὀδυσεὺς καταδῦναι ὅμιλον
Τρώων· αἰεὶ γάρ οἱ ἐνὶ φρεσὶ θυμὸς ἐτόλμα.25

The text is, of course, hexametric, so we see none of the staccato terse-
ness of Paul’s or Epictetus’s catalogues. Still, typical catalogue features like
anaphora (ἠθελέτην … ἤθελε … ἤθελε) and elaboration of the final item do
appear.26
Free from the constraints of meter, catalogues in the Hebrew Bible
more closely resemble the compressed style we find in Paul. Hosea 1:7
provides an interesting example:27

23. Fitzgerald, “The Catalogue in Ancient Greek Literature,” 282–83 n. 22, 287
n. 45.
24. John N. H. Austin, “Catalogues and the Catalogue of Ships in the Iliad” (Ph.D.
diss., University of California, Berkeley, 1965), 15. On Homer’s catalogues, see also
Benjamin Sammons, The Art and Rhetoric of the Homeric Catalogue (Oxford: Oxford
University Press, 2010); Elizabeth Minchin, “The Performance of Lists and Catalogues
in the Homeric Epics,” in Voice into Text: Orality and Literacy in Ancient Greece (ed.
Ian Worthington; Mnemosyne Supplement 157; Leiden: Brill, 1996), 3–20; Jan Felix
Gaertner, “The Homeric Catalogues and Their Function in Epic Narrative,” Hermes
129 (2001): 298–305; Mark W. Edwards, “The Structure of Homeric Catalogues,”
TAPA 110 (1980): 81–105.
25. “So spake he, and many there were that were fain to follow Diomedes. Fain
were the two Aiantes, squires of Ares, fain was Meriones, and right fain the son of
Nestor, fain was the son of Atreus, Menelaus, famed for his spear, and fain too was the
steadfast Odysseus to steal into the throng of the Trojans, for ever daring was the spirit
in his breast” (Murray, LCL).
26. See further Austin, “Catalogues and the Catalogue of Ships in the Iliad,” 16–18.
27. Cited by Hodgson, “First Century Tribulation Lists,” 70 n. 35. Cf. Amos 4:6–
 SCHELLENBERG: PERISTASIS CATALOGUES 131

I will not save them ‫ולא אושיעם‬

by bow or by sword or by war ‫בקשת ובחרב ובמלחמה‬
by horses or by horsemen ‫בסוסים ובפרשים‬

Here we have the repetitive use of the preposition that is characteristic

of Paul. Notice that the catalogue is structured into two groups of items,
within each of which the conjunction ‫ ו‬is used consistently. The beginning
of the second grouping is signaled by asyndeton. This follows, not coinci-
dentally, upon ‫ובמלחמה‬, which, with its additional syllable relative to the
previous two items, completes the rhythmic unit.
Interestingly, the lxx manifests its own instinct for structure by
adding an additional item (“chariots”), thus creating two groups of three
items, each of which rhymes the first with the final item:
οὐ σώσω αὐτοὺς
ἐν τόξῳ οὐδὲ εν ῥομφαίᾳ οὐδὲ ἐν πολέμῳ
οὐδὲ ἐν ἅρμασιν οὐδὲ ἐν ἵπποις οὐδὲ ἐν ἱππεῦσιν

The items in the first group are singular, in the second group plural. As in
the Hebrew, here too the consistent use of both the preposition and the con-
junction is anaphoric. The repeated use of ἐν, incidentally, is reminiscent of
Paul’s usage in 2 Cor 6:4–7, 11:23, 27, and 12:10 (cf. Deut 28:48 lxx).
Somewhat more complex is the catalogue in the Chronicler’s version
of Solomon’s prayer at the dedication of the temple (2 Chr 6:28–29):

If there is famine in the land, ‫רעב כי־יהיה בארץ‬

if there is pestilence, ‫דבר כי־יהיה‬
if blight or mildew, ‫שדפון וירקון‬
locust or caterpillar; ‫ארבה וחסיל‬
there is ‫כי יהיה‬
if his enemies besiege him ‫כי יצר־לו אויביו‬
at his gates in the land; ‫בארץ שעריו‬

every plague and every disease, ‫כל־נגע וכל־מחלה‬

every prayer, every supplication ‫כל־תפלה כל־תחנה‬
which there is from every man ‫אשר יהיה לכל־האדם‬
or from all your people Israel ‫ולכל עמך ישראל‬
which they know ‫אשר ידעו‬

10; Isa 8:22; 30:6; Jer 16:4; Ezek 14:21; 2 Chr 20:9. For a thoughtful treatment of cata-
logues in the Hebrew Bible, see Yair Hoffman, A Blemished Perfection: The Book of Job
in Context (JSOTSup 213; Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 1996), 84–114.
132 RETHINKING PAUL’S RHETORICAL EDUCATION

each one his plague and his pain ‫איש נגעו ומכאבו‬
he will stretch out his hands toward this house ‫ופרש כפיו אל־הבית הזה‬
The catalogue divides neatly into two parts. The first is bounded by an
inclusio created by the repeated use of ‫בארץ‬. Note the epistrophic repeti-
tion of ‫ כי יהיה‬throughout this first section, as well as the pairs of items
joined by the conjunction ‫ו‬, which stand out against the asyndeton that
characterizes the remainder of the section. The second part features the
anaphoric repetition of ‫כל‬. Each of these features, which the exception of
the inclusio in the first section, is preserved, mutatis mutandis, in the lxx.
Catalogues appear in later Jewish literature as well.28 Indeed, accord-
ing to Wolfgang Schrage, it is Jewish apocalyptic literature that provides
a true analogue to Paul’s hardship catalogues, being nearer than the Stoic
material to Paul’s eschatological perspective on suffering.29 I will not pause
here to consider the merits of this argument; instead, I hope simply to
demonstrate the ubiquity in Second Temple Jewish texts of the stylistic
features found also in Paul’s catalogues.
In the Testament of Joseph we find this antithetically structured psalm
(1.4–7):

οἱ ἀδελφοί μου οὗτοι ἐμίσησάν με

καὶ ὁ Κύριος ἠγάπησέ με
αὐτοὶ ἤθελόν με ἀνελεῖν
καὶ ὁ Θεὸς τῶν πατέρων μου ἐφύλαξέ με
εἰς λάκκον με ἐχάλασαν
καὶ ὁ ὕψιστος ἀνήγαγέ με

28. See esp. Wolfgang Schrage, “Leid, Kreuz und Eschaton: Die Peristasenkataloge
als Merkmale paulinischer theologia crucis und Eschatologie,” in Kreuzestheologie und
Ethik im Neuen Testament: Gesammelte Studien (FRLANT 205; Göttingen: Vanden-
hoeck & Ruprecht, 2004), 23–57; repr. from EvT 34 (1974); Michael E. Stone, “Lists
of Revealed Things in the Apocalyptic Literature,” in Magnalia Dei, the Mighty Acts
of God: Essays on the Bible and Archaeology in Memory of G. Ernest Wright (ed. Frank
Moore Cross, Werner E. Lemke, and Patrick D. Miller; Garden City, N.Y.: Doubleday,
1976), 414–52; Albert Wifstrand, “Stylistic Problems in the Epistles of James and Peter,”
in Epochs and Styles: Selected Writings on the New Testament, Greek Language and Greek
Culture in the Post-classical Era (ed. Lars Rydbeck and Stanley E. Porter; trans. Denis
Searby; WUNT 179; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2005), 54–55. In addition to texts cited
below, see Sir 39:24–30; Wis 8:17–18; 1 En. 60.11–13; 2 En. 65.9; 66.6; 2 Bar. 59.5–11;
73.4; T. Jud. 23; T. Iss. 6; T. Dan 2; L.A.B. 3.9; Sib. Or. 3.601–603; 4.67–69.
29. Schrage, “Leid, Kreuz und Eschaton,” 25–26 and passim.
 SCHELLENBERG: PERISTASIS CATALOGUES 133

ἐπράθην εἰς δοῦλον

καὶ ὁ Κύριος ἐλευθέρωσέ με
εἰς αἰχμαλωσίαν ἐλήφθην
καὶ ἡ κραταιὰ αὐτοῦ χεὶρ ἐβοήθησέ μοι
ἐν λιμῷ συνεσχέσθην
καὶ αὐτὸς ὁ Κύριος διέθρεψέ με

μόνος ἤμην
καὶ ὁ Θεὸς παρεκάλεσέ με
ἐν ἀσθενείᾳ ἤμην
καὶ ὁ ὕψιστος ἐπεσκέψατό με
ἐν φυλακῇ ἤμην
καὶ ὁ σωτὴρ ἐχαρίτωσέ με

ἐν δεσμοῖς
καὶ ἔλυσέ με
ἐν διαβολαῖς
καὶ συνηγόρησέ μοι
ἐν λόγοις Αἰγυπτίων πικροῖς
καὶ ἐρρύσατό με
ἐν φθόνοις συνδούλων
καὶ ὕψωσέ με30

The antitheses are reminiscent of what we observed above in Plutarch,

Stoic. abs. 1057E and 2 Cor 4:8–9. Four distinct patterns characterize
each of the four sections, distinguished by changes in the verb form in
the first line of each antithetical pair: in the first, the brothers’ action is
expressed in the third-person plural; in the second, Joseph’s situation is

30. “These, my brothers, hated me but the Lord loved me. They wanted to kill
me, but the God of my fathers preserved me. Into a cistern they lowered me; the Most
High raised me up. They sold me into slavery; the Lord of all set me free. I was taken
into captivity; the strength of his hand came to my aid. I was overtaken by hunger;
the Lord himself fed me generously. I was alone, and God came to help me. I was in
weakness, and the Lord showed his concern for me. I was in prison, and the Savior
acted graciously in my behalf. I was in bonds, and he loosed me; falsely accused, and
he testified in my behalf. Assaulted by bitter words of the Egyptians, and he rescued
me. A slave, and he exalted me” (Kee, OTP). Cited by Schrage, “Leid, Kreuz und
Eschaton,” 27; Hodgson, “First Century Tribulation Lists,” 68–69; Fitzgerald, Cracks
in an Earthen Vessel, 198; Karl Theodor Kleinknecht, Der leidende Gerechtfertigte: Die
alttestamentlich-Jüdische Tradition vom “leidenden Gerechten” und ihre Rezeption bei
Paulus (WUNT 2/13; Tübingen: Mohr, 1984), 258.
134 RETHINKING PAUL’S RHETORICAL EDUCATION

described with a first-person verb in the passive voice; in the third section,
the rhythm is compressed by the use of the simple copulative verb; and,
in the even terser final section, the verb is unexpressed, and, in contrast
to the variegated use of epithets in the first two sections, so is the divine
subject. Epistrophe is created by the use of the first-person pronoun at
the end of each clause (με throughout, except twice where Joseph is the
indirect object), and anaphora in the second half of the catalogue by the
repeated use of the preposition ἐν. As in 2 Cor 4:8–9—and in any number
of other catalogues—the same conjunction is used within each clause, and
the clauses themselves are asyndetic (cf. Hos 1:7; Wis 7:17–21).
The incorporation of a number of different rhythmic patterns that
vary in complexity is a feature T. Jos. 1.4–7 shares with 2 Cor 11:21b–30
and 2 Cor 6:4b–10.31 It appears also in Jub. 23.12–14, 17–19, presented
here in the Latin version:

Et non est pax, propter quod

uulnus super uulnus
et dolor super dolorem
et tribulatio super tribulationem
et auditus malus super auditum malum
et infirmitas super infirmitatem
et uniuersa iudicia eius[modi]
maligna secundum hoc ipsud cum
corruptione et clades et niues et pruinae et glacies et febris et
frigora
et prouocatio et famis et mors et gladius et captiuitas
et uniuersae plaga planctus.
Et omnia haec superuenit superuenient [sic] super
generationem quae est iniqua quae iniquitatem
facit in terra
et inmunditia et fornicationes et pollutiones abomina-
tiones operum ipsorum. . . .
Propter quod
uniuersi malignati sunt
et omne os loquitur maligna
et omnes operationes eorum inmunditia et odium
et uniuersae uiae eorum pollution[es] et abominatio et exterminium.

31. Cf. Fitzgerald’s discussion of 2 Cor 11:21b–30 in “Cracks in an Earthen Vessel:

An Examination of the Catalogues of Hardships in the Corinthian Correspondence”
(Ph.D. diss., Yale University, 1984), 374–86.
 SCHELLENBERG: PERISTASIS CATALOGUES 135

Et ecce
terra [p]erit
propter omnia opera ipsorum
et non est semen et uinum et oleum
propter quod uniuersa m[align]ata sunt opera ipsorum
et uniuersi [pe]reunt bestiae et animalia et aues et omnes pisces maris
a malitia filiorum hominum.
Et litigabunt isti cum illis.
Nam iubenes cum senioribus
et seniores cum iunioribus
pauper cum diuite
infimus cum magno
et egenus cum eo qui potestatem exercet
in lege pro testamentom
quoniam obliti sunt
praeceptum et testamentum
et diem festum et mensem
et sabbatum et iubeleum
et omnia iudicia.32

I have replicated this text at length in order to demonstrate the difficulty

of categorizing ancient catalogues. This is clearly not a hardship catalogue,
although it does include lists of tribulations; and it is no vice catalogue,
though it is does elaborate vices. As is true of the other catalogues we have

32. “And there is no peace, because (there will be) blow upon blow, wound upon
wound, distress upon distress, bad news upon bad news, disease upon disease, and
every (kind of) bad punishment like this, one with the other: disease and stomach
pains; snow, hail, and frost; fever, cold, and numbness; famine, death, sword, captiv-
ity, and every (sort of) blow and difficulty. All this will happen to the evil generation
which makes the earth commit sin through sexual impurity, contamination, and their
detestable actions.… For all have acted wickedly; every mouth speaks what is sinful.
Everything that they do is impure and something detestable; all their ways are (char-
acterized) by contamination, and corruption. The earth will be destroyed because of
all that they do. There will be no produce from the vine and no oil because what
they do (constitutes) complete disobedience. All will be destroyed together—animals,
cattle, birds, and all fish of the sea—because of mankind. One group will struggle with
the other—the young with the old, the old with the young; the poor with the rich,
the lowly with the great; and the needy with the ruler—regarding the law and the
covenant. For they have forgotten commandment, covenant, festival, month, sabbath,
jubilee, and every verdict” (trans. VanderKam). Cited by Schrage, “Leid, Kreuz und
Eschaton,” 25–26.
136 RETHINKING PAUL’S RHETORICAL EDUCATION

adduced, there is no form per se, but there certainly are discernable pat-
terns. The more one sees of this sort of thing, the more one is convinced
that the stylistic features this text shares with other ancient catalogues
derive not from any specific literary tradition, but rather from a general
rhetorical sensibility that governs human list-making. We will return to
this point in part 3 below.
I will not comment in detail on the stylistic features of this catalogue,
which by now should be familiar enough, except to draw attention to the
preponderance of emphatic words like omnis and universus. We have seen
this already in 2 Chr 6:28–29 (‫[ כל‬cf. Jer 25:18–26]), and it is a feature
of a number of Pauline catalogues too, wherein we encounter πᾶς, πολύς,
πάντοτε, ἀεί, and the like.33
This survey could be extended indefinitely. As Robert Hodgson has
shown, comparable catalogues are extant from Nag Hammadi (Great Pow.
39.21–33) and appear in both Josephus (B.J. 2.151–153; 4.165) and the
Mishnah (m. Pesaḥ . 10:5; m. Ta‘an. 3:5).34 There are a number in Philo
as well (Det. 34; Somn. 2.84; Mos. 2.16).35 Anton Fridrichsen has found
examples in various Greek novels (Chariton, Chaer. 3.8.9; 5.5.2; Achilles
Tatius, Leuc. Clit. 5.18.4).36 And I have not even begun to look into the
catalogues in Sumerian, Akkadian, Ugaritic, and Egyptian documents,
which, apparently, are legion.37 The point is, the use of catalogues was
ubiquitous in the ancient world, and, where we find catalogues, we find a
flexible but consistent set of stylistic features. We certainly need not posit
any one particular stylistic influence to account for Paul’s tribulation lists,
and we should avoid begging the question of their interpretation by per-
petuating a faux terminus technicus like Peristasenkatalog.

33. Cf. Rom 8:37; 2 Cor 4:8, 10–11; 6:4, 10; Phil 4:12. See further Zmijewski, Der
Stil der paulinischen “Narrenrede,” 320; Fitzgerald, “The Catalogue in Ancient Greek
Literature,” 285.
34. Hodgson, “First Century Tribulation Lists,” 69–76.
35. Cf. Rudolf Schmitt, “Ist Philo, Vita Moysis (Mos) II 251 ein Peristasenkata-
log?” NovT 29 (1987): 177–82.
36. Fridrichsen, “Sprachliches und Stilistisches,” 288.
37. For bibliography, see Fitzgerald, Cracks in an Earthen Vessel, 276–77 n. 5.
 SCHELLENBERG: PERISTASIS CATALOGUES 137

Catalogues, Auxēsis, and Rhetorical Education

The composition of catalogues is not described as such in ancient rhetori-

cal theory; however, as Fitzgerald has noted in a useful study of catalogues
in ancient Greek literature, the rhetorical strategies involved fall under
the rubric of auxēsis or amplificatio.38 Quintilian describes five different
methods of amplificatio, of which the final one is “accumulation of words
and sentences identical in meaning” (8.4.26 [Butler, LCL]). Although this
would appear to exclude catalogues (since items in a catalogue tend not to
be strictly synonymous), Quintilian does note the affinity between such
amplificatio and “the figure styled συναθροισμός by the Greeks,” in which
“it is a number of different things that are accumulated” (8.4.27).39 For
Quintilian, these figures appear to be functionally equivalent.
The potential of catalogues to fulfill the magnifying function of auxēsis
is particularly clear in On the Sublime. Here “Longinus” cites the consen-
sus position on the nature of auxēsis, which holds that amplification is
“discourse which invests the subject with grandeur” (μέγεθος [Subl. 12.1;
trans. Roberts]).40 But he is not quite content with this definition, since
it fails to describe what sets auxēsis apart from other figurative language,
and so Longinus goes on to provide his own description, emphasizing that
amplification consists essentially in multiplicity or abundance (ἐν πλήθει
[12.1–2]; cf. 23.1–2; Apsines, Rhet. 5.5 [RG 1:366]). One means of its exe-
cution, then, consists in accumulation of what things are done or suffered
(11.2; cf. 23:1–4),41 the result of which would be difficult to distinguish
from what we have been calling a catalogue.
Again, we have no evidence of instruction in how such amplificatory
catalogues should be constructed, but, as we have already seen, there are a
number of specific figures that do seem to have been associated with cata-
logues in practice if not explicitly in theory. Most frequently attested are

38. Fitzgerald, “The Catalogue in Ancient Greek Literature,” 285–93.

39. The clearest description of συναθροισμός is that of Alexander Numenius (mid-
2nd century c.e.), who provides as an example Demosthenes, Cor. 71, wherein Dem-
osthenes catalogues the offenses of Philip against the Hellenes (1.9 [RG 3:17]).
40. Cf. Aristotle, Rhet. 1.9.40; Anonymous Seguerianus 4.230 (RG 1:457).
41. Roberts translates ἔργων ἢ παθῶν as “of facts or passions,” but here I think
Longinus refers to the commonplace contrast between the person as subject or object
of what occurs. Cf. Plato, Phaedr. 245C; Aristotle, Rhet. 1.9.15; Philo, Leg. 3.88; Plu-
tarch, Rom. 12.5.
138 RETHINKING PAUL’S RHETORICAL EDUCATION

anaphora and epistrophe, asyndeton and patterned use of conjunctions,

and assonance or rhyming. Each of these figures was discussed by ancient
rhetorical theorists; moreover, as has been observed at least since the work
of Johannes Weiss, Paul’s list of hardships in 2 Cor 11 contains them all. So,
did he learn such rhetoric at school?
One way to address this question would be to inquire concerning the
education of those authors in whose works we have already found ana-
logues to Paul’s catalogues. Here we have mixed results: Plutarch consid-
ered himself a philosopher, not an orator, and was critical of “sophistic
pedantry” (σοφιστικὴ μικροφροσύνη [Glor. Ath. 251A]), yet he clearly ben-
efited from a thorough rhetorical education.42 Josephus had some trouble
with Greek diction, apparently, but both he and Philo were educated as
befit aristocrats.43 And, of course, Dio Chrysostom was a famously elo-
quent orator. So, some of these catalogues were composed by men edu-
cated in classical rhetoric.
But others were not. Hosea, for example, clearly benefited from famil-
iarity with the indigenous rhetorical tradition of Hebrew prophecy, but of
course had no training in Greek or Roman rhetoric. And the authors of

42. Russell, Plutarch, 18–41; F. Frazier, “Les visages de las rhétorique contempo-
raine sous le regard de Plutarque,” in Rhetorical Theory and Praxis in Plutarch (ed. L.
Van der Stockt; Collection d’études classiques 11; Leuven: Peeters, 2000), 183–202.
43. Josephus, A.J. 20.236; C. Ap. 1.50; Vita 1–11. The extent to which Josephus
received a specifically rhetorical education is disputed. Cf. Robert G. Hall, “Josephus’
Contra Apionem and Historical Inquiry in the Roman Rhetorical Schools,” in Jose-
phus’ Contra Apionem: Studies in its Character and Context (ed. L. H. Feldman and
J. R. Levison; AGJU 34; Leiden: Brill, 1996), 229–49; John M. G. Barclay, “Josephus v.
Apion: Analysis of an Argument,” in Understanding Josephus: Seven Perspectives (ed.
Steve Mason; Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 1998), 194–221. That Philo was rhe-
torically educated most seem to agree: Thomas Conley, “Philo’s Rhetoric: Argumenta-
tion and Style” ANRW 22.1:243–71; Manuel Alexandre, Rhetorical Argumentation in
Philo of Alexandria (BJS 322; Atlanta: Scholars Press, 1999); Burton L. Mack, “Decod-
ing the Scripture: Philo and the Rules of Rhetoric,” in Nourished with Peace: Studies in
Hellenistic Judaism in Memory of Samuel Sandmel (ed. Frederick E. Greenspahn, Earle
Hilgert, and Burton L. Mack; Scholars Press Homage Series 9; Chico, Calif.: Scholars
Press, 1984), 81–116; J. Leopold, “Philo’s Knowledge of Rhetorical Theory,” in Two
Treatises of Philo of Alexandria: A Commentary on De gigantibus and Quod Deus sit
immutabilis (ed. David Winston and John Dillon; BJS 25; Chico, Calif.: Scholars Press,
1983), 129–36.
 SCHELLENBERG: PERISTASIS CATALOGUES 139

Jubilees and the Testament of Joseph can at most have had superficial expo-
sure to Greek rhetorical principles.44
Epictetus’s is an interesting case. Born a slave, he would certainly not
have been expected to learn to speak like an aristocrat.45 As a young man,
however, he was permitted to attend philosophical lectures by Muso-
nius Rufus, and eventually became a philosopher in his own right. Still,
although literate and clearly well read in philosophy, Epictetus apparently
received no formal rhetorical education.46 What he knew of style would
have been learned from his observation of Rufus’s practice and from his
own experience in persuasion. So, although he was certainly convincing
in his own way, those with a taste for refined style seem not to have been
impressed (Diatr. 3.9.12–14; cf. Origen, Cels. 6.2).
Finally, it goes without saying that the catalogues in Homer and
Hesiod cannot have resulted from formal rhetorical education. Indeed,
recent scholarship has placed these lists on the very threshold of oral and
written “literature,” associating such stylistic features as rhythm, allitera-
tion, and assonance not only with aesthetic intent but also with mne-
monic function.47
Clearly, then, the presence of catalogues in Paul’s letters is not in itself
evidence that he was exposed to techniques of auxēsis at rhetorical school.
Catalogues and their attendant stylistic features occur too frequently in
literature that was not informed by the formal tradition of classical rheto-
ric for their appearance straightforwardly to be attributed to its influence.
Moreover, as we have seen, instruction in the composition of catalogues is
not attested in rhetorical sources; at best it can be inferred from Longinus’s
isolated description of auxēsis. This is a perilous foundation upon which
to assert that stylistic features associated with catalogues provide evidence
of formal rhetorical education.

44. See Helmut Koester, History, Culture, and Religion of the Hellenistic Age (vol.
1 of Introduction to the New Testament; 2nd ed.; Berlin: de Gruyter, 1995), 108–9; Wif-
strand, “Stylistic Problems,” 54–55.
45. The distinction between the diction of slaves and their masters is put to good
use in ancient comedy, wherein it serves a characterizing function. See Evangelos
Karakasis, Terence and the Language of Roman Comedy (Cambridge Classical Studies;
Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2005), 1–16, 21–143.
46. According to A. A. Long, although Epictetus was a “virtuoso user of collo-
quial Greek … he probably did not have the elaborate training in schoolbook rhetoric
that was the staple of Roman education” (Epictetus, 13).
47. See esp. Minchin, “The Performance of Lists.”
140 RETHINKING PAUL’S RHETORICAL EDUCATION

Conclusion

As noted in chapter 1, both C. F. G. Heinrici and Johannes Weiss described

a wealth of aurally pleasing stylistic features—Heinrici called them Klang-
figuren—in Paul’s list of tribulations in 2 Cor 11.48 Weiss attributed them
to rhetorical education; Heinrici disagreed. And, in many respects, the
discussion has remained precisely at the impasse where they left it. Indeed,
although the consensus among scholars has shifted in Weiss’s favor, this is
not because new evidence has been adduced or even because new argu-
ments have been articulated. No, it is the scholarly audience that has
changed, not the arguments, which remain, in their essence, undefended
assertions regarding whether or not the ability to write with a compelling
sense of rhythm presupposes formal rhetorical education.49 The examples
adduced above demonstrate that rhetorical education is neither a neces-
sary nor an adequate explanation for the widespread appearance of cata-
logues and their attendant stylistic features in the literature of antiquity.
Indeed, as we will see in part 3 below, it is difficult to account for the ubiq-
uity of “catalogue style” without positing an origin in the “general rhetoric”
of human persuasion.

48. Heinrici, Der zweite Brief an die Korinther, 313–14; Weiss, “Beiträge zur Pau-
linischen Rhetorik,” 185–88.
49. Compare, e.g., Weiss, “Beiträge zur Paulinischen Rhetorik,” 187; Murphy-
O’Connor, Paul: A Critical Life, 319–21.
 6
Not a Fool, a Fool’s Mask:
Narrenrede and Prosōpopoiia

Hans Windisch and Paul’s So-Called Narrenrede

Hans Windisch’s 1924 commentary on 2 Corinthians spawned, or at least

anticipated, a number of key features of the approach to 2 Cor 10–13 that
predominates in current scholarship. Among the most influential of his
proposals was his designation of the heart of the passage (11:21–12:11)
as a Narrenrede or “Fool’s Speech.”1 On this reading, the peculiarities of
the passage result from Paul’s deliberate adoption of the role of the fool-
ish braggart (ὁ ἀλαζών), a role presumably familiar to his audience from
the mimic theater. In other words, Paul was self-consciously and ironi-
cally playacting: “Der ‘Narr’ [ist] für P[aulus] nur eine ‘Rolle’ ”; indeed, it
is “eine seinem Wesen fremde ‘Rolle.’ ”2
Response to Windisch’s proposal has been somewhat paradoxical. Few
have pursued his specific argument—that is, the notion that the role Paul
plays comes from the mime. The most prominent exception, a 1999 article
by Larry Welborn, shows why: Welborn certainly is able to demonstrate
the ubiquity of the mime in contemporary popular culture,3 but he gets no
further than Windisch did in explaining how Paul’s hearers would have
been able to recognize mimic stock characters—and Welborn identifies

1. Windisch, Der zweite Korintherbrief, 316.

2. Ibid., 344, 316: “The ‘fool’ is only a ‘role’ for Paul … a ‘role’ alien to his char-
acter.”
3. L. L. Welborn, “The Runaway Paul,” HTR 92 (1999): 122–37. Ulrich Heckel
argues that it is improbable that Paul could have known “das griechische Theater
in der abstoßend obszönen Form des Mimus” but provides no convincing evidence
(Kraft in Schwachheit: Untersuchungen zu 2. Kor 10–13 [WUNT 2/56; Tübingen: Mohr
Siebeck, 1993], 194; likewise Thrall, Second Epistle, 2:712).

-141-
142 RETHINKING PAUL’S RHETORICAL EDUCATION

five of them!—in Paul’s letter. According to Welborn, Paul’s self-referential

statements throughout the section—“I speak like a fool,” and so forth—
“are the linguistic counterpart of the dress and manners by which the fool
was identified when he appeared on the mimic stage,”4 but this assertion
only highlights the gulf between the representational mode of the the-
ater and the written discourse of the letter.5 To make a leap between two
such different contexts, Paul’s hearers would have needed unambiguous
cues indeed. Welborn argues that in the prologue introducing the “Fool’s
Speech” proper (2 Cor 11:1–21a) “Paul takes pains to identify the role that
he is playing as that of the fool.”6 That’s true in a way, I suppose, but Paul’s
concession that he is speaking foolishly (ἐν ἀφροσύνῃ [11:17, 21]) is hardly
clear evidence that he had the mime in mind.7 There may have been a lot
of folly in mimic comedy, but presumably Paul’s readers had seen some
nonfictional fools too.8
In any case, if scholars have not been convinced of the particulars of
Windisch’s argument, nevertheless they have enthusiastically latched on
to his characterization of the passage as a “Fool’s Speech.” Almost every
recent discussion of the passage calls it Paul’s Narrenrede or “Fool’s Speech”
or “foolish discourse,” typically with no explanation of what is meant by

4. Welborn, “The Runaway Paul,” 138. It does not help Welborn’s case that one of
these self-referential interjections—παραφρονῶν λαλῶ (11:23)—does not, according
to Welborn’s scheme, accompany a change in roles, and that the change from “brag-
gart warrior” to “anxious old man” is accompanied by no such interjection. See Lee A.
Johnson, “The Epistolary Apostle: Paul’s Response to the Challenge of the Corinthian
Congregation” (Ph.D. diss., University of St. Michael’s College, 2002), 207.
5. See Johnson, “The Epistolary Apostle,” 206–8.
6. Welborn, “The Runaway Paul,” 137.
7. If Paul were taking on a mimic role here, it is difficult to understand why he
would refer ambiguously to boasting ἐν ἀφροσύνῃ (11:17, 21b; cf. 11:1) rather than
consistently and straightforwardly naming the role (ὁ ἄφρων [11:16; cf. 11:19]—or,
better, ὁ ἀλαζών) he purportedly is playing.
8. Windisch’s proposal was modified by Hans Dieter Betz, who argued that the
Narrenrede was a literary form Paul encountered by way of popular philosophy (Der
Apostel Paulus und die sokratische Tradition, 79–89). Betz seeks literary precedents in
Alcibiades’s speech in Plato’s Symposium (212C–222B) and Seneca’s Apocolocyntosis—
texts that are themselves so different that is difficult to see how they can be adduced as
examples of a “literarische Form.” Still, Betz has been followed by Strecker, “Die Legiti-
mität des paulinischen Apostolates,” 269–70; Stefan Schreiber, Paulus als Wundertäter:
Redaktionsgeschichtliche Untersuchungen zur Apostelgeschichte und den authentischen
Paulusbriefen (BZNW 79; Berlin: de Gruyter, 1996), 215–16.
 SCHELLENBERG: NOT A FOOL, A FOOL’S MASK 143

the designation.9 And although we are provided with little in the way of
detailed treatment of ancient parallels, general assertions that Paul “acts
out the fool’s role” or is wearing “an assumed disguise” are common.10
Given the longstanding tendency of interpreters to seek justification
for Paul’s foolish boasting, this selective use of Windisch’s interpretive
proposal should perhaps arouse some suspicion. And, indeed, the use of
Narrenrede as a quasi-technical term appears to play a consistent func-
tion in the rhetoric of Pauline scholarship: it legitimizes an interpretive
whim—namely, the assertion that Paul’s boasting is not really boasting—
by vaguely suggesting some sort of literary precedent where in fact there
is no relevant literature to adduce. Murray Harris’s recent commentary
is typical. With no explanation of what a “Fool’s Speech” might be, and
no discussion of ancient parallels, he nevertheless uses the designation to
sponsor his assertion that Paul himself—that is, his essential nature—is
not implicated in his boasting: “Although Paul has censured his rivals for
indulging in pointless comparison with one another and in unbridled
boasting, he now proceeds to engage in comparisons and boasting him-
self, but only in the disguise of a fool, as he begins the ‘Fool’s Speech.’ ”11
Thus what we accomplish, it seems, by invoking the dubious form of
the “Fool’s Speech” is to mute the immediacy of Paul’s voice and thereby to

9. So Furnish, II Corinthians, 498; Martin, 2 Corinthians, 357; Calvin J. Roetzel,

2 Corinthians (ANTC; Nashville: Abingdon Press, 2007), 103–14; Holland, “Speaking
Like a Fool”; Sundermann, Der schwache Apostel, 15 n. 25; Travis, “Paul’s Boasting,”
529; Watson, “Paul and Boasting,” 85; Harris, Second Corinthians, 789; David E. Gar-
land, 2 Corinthians (NAC 29; Nashville: Broadman & Holman, 1999), 487; McCant,
2 Corinthians, 114–57; Paul Barnett, The Second Epistle to the Corinthians (NICNT;
Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1997), 494–96; Zmijewski, Der Stil der paulinischen “Nar-
renrede”; Vegge, A Letter about Reconciliation, 363–65; Fitzgerald, Cracks in an Earthen
Vessel, 152; M. David Litwa, “Paul’s Mosaic Ascent: An Interpretation of 2 Corinthians
12:7–9,” NTS 57 (2011): 254. Jan Lambrecht calls this a “Fool’s Speech,” but explicitly
denies any connection to the mime (“Paul’s Foolish Discourse: A Reply to A Pitta,”
ETL 83 [2007]: 411 n. 28).
10. Here Martin, 2 Corinthians, 361; McCant, 2 Corinthians, 127. See also Rudolf
Bultmann, The Second Letter to the Corinthians (ed. Erich Dinkler; trans. Roy A. Har-
risville; Minneapolis: Augsburg, 1985), 210; Mitchell, “Patristic Perspective,” 366 n. 63;
Harris, Second Corinthians, 789; Holland, “Speaking Like a Fool”; Sundermann, Der
schwache Apostel, 31–39; Garland, 2 Corinthians, 487.
11. Harris, Second Corinthians, 789 (references omitted; my emphasis). Similarly
Donald Dale Walker, Paul’s Offer of Leniency (2 Cor 10:1): Populist Ideology and Rheto-
ric in a Pauline Letter Fragment (WUNT 2/152; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2002), 309.
144 RETHINKING PAUL’S RHETORICAL EDUCATION

attenuate his unbecoming demeanor. If Paul’s willingness to make a fool of

himself is not desperate self-promotion but clever rhetorical calculation,
then the real Paul, the man behind the fool’s mask, can retain his respect-
ability. He remains the sort of man whom we admire, committed to his
cause but self-controlled, dispassionately selecting a daring but effective
rhetorical strategy.

Narrenrede, Prosōpopoiia, and Rhetorical Education

No one, to my knowledge, has suggested that ancient rhetorical education

involved training in how to write a Narrenrede as such, but Windisch’s
interpretive paradigm has sponsored arguments that the manner of Paul’s
“Fool’s Speech” attests to his knowledge of rhetorical conventions. Specifi-
cally, it is claimed that this is an instance of speech-in-character,12 some-
thing Paul must have learned during his rhetorical training.13
The figure in question, variously called προσωποποιία and ἠθοποιία by
ancient rhetorical theorists,14 was indeed on the ancient rhetorical cur-
riculum. According to Theon’s Progymnasmata, προσωποποιία is “the
introduction of a person to whom words are attributed that are suitable to
the speaker and have an indisputable application to the subject discussed”
(8 [RG 2:115; trans. Kennedy]). The key element here, it appears, is suit-
ability; for, as Theon goes on to emphasize, in order to be effective one
must consider well what manner of speech befits the specific speaker one
has in mind. Indeed, as Quintilian insists, when speaking in the voices
of others “we shall only carry conviction if we represent them as uttering
what they may reasonably be supposed to have had in their minds” (Inst.
9.2.30 [Butler, LCL]; cf. Theon, Progymn. 1 [RG 2:60]). Without such real-
ism, the figure will fall flat.

12. So David E. Aune, “Boasting,” in The Westminster Dictionary of New Testa-

ment and Early Christian Literature and Rhetoric (Louisville, Ky.: Westminster John
Knox, 2003), 83; Keener, 1–2 Corinthians, 231; Walker, Paul’s Offer of Leniency, 309–
12; cf. Mitchell, “Patristic Perspective,” 366 n. 63.
13. Cf. Hock, “Greco-Roman Education,” 209–12; Vegge, Paulus und das antike
Schulwesen, 406.
14. Quintilian, Inst. 9.2.29–37; Rhet. Her. 4.52.65; Theon, Progymn. 8 (RG
2:115–118); Ps.-Hermogenes, Progymn. 9 (Rabe 20–22); Aphthonius, Progymn. 11
(RG 2:44–46); Nicolaus, Progymn. 10 (Felten 63–67). The latter three designate the
figure ἠθοποιία.
 SCHELLENBERG: NOT A FOOL, A FOOL’S MASK 145

I do not intend here to enter the dispute regarding other putative

instances of prosōpopoiia in Paul’s letters. Whatever one concludes regard-
ing Paul’s use of the figure in Romans,15 it is beyond dispute that Paul, in
various ways, incorporates the voices of opponents real and fictive into his
discourse. He even does so in 2 Cor 10–13 (cf. 10:1b, 10; 12:16). Although
these may not be examples of prosōpopoiia per se, clearly they manifest a
similar sensitivity to verisimilitude in inhabiting another voice. I do not
think this constitutes evidence of formal rhetorical education, and will
explain why in part 3 below. For the present, though, I wish to challenge
the notion that Paul’s “Fool’s Speech” is an instance of speech-in-character
by highlighting two key difficulties with this approach. First, it has proven
impossible to delineate the extent of Paul’s use of the figure: The speech
he disowns as “foolish” is not separable from his own voice, nor is it clear
where his foolish discourse begins or ends. Second, Paul does not speak
consistently of being “a fool” (ἄφρων [11:16]) but in fact introduces the
theme by asking indulgence to engage in “a little foolishness” (μικρόν τι
ἀφροσύνης [11:1])—a usage that suggests not role-playing but self-con-
sciousness. Allow me to elaborate.
As noted above, recent commentators have been unable to agree
where Paul’s so-called “Fool’s Speech” begins and ends16—a lack of agree-
ment that highlights, I think, a fatal problem with the current interpretive
paradigm: there is no clear demarcation of Paul’s “foolishness” from the
remainder of the letter, thus no clear distinction between Paul’s own voice
and the role he is purported to adopt. If, for example, we assume for the
sake of argument that Paul takes on the role of a fool at 11:21a, as is most

15. Most influential has been the proposal of Stanley K. Stowers, “Romans 7.7–25
as a Speech-in-Character (προσωποποιία),” in Paul in His Hellenistic Context (ed. Troels
Engberg-Pedersen; SNTW; London: T&T Clark, 1994), 180–202. Ronald Hock is not
fully convinced, noting that if this is an instance of prosōpopoiia, the form is “rather
irregular” (“Paul and Greco-Roman Education,” 212). Dean Anderson, insisting that
prosōpopoiia must be marked by textual cues, rejects Stowers’s suggestion altogether
(Ancient Rhetorical Theory, 321 n. 89).
16. Proposals for its beginning include 11:16 (Roetzel, 2 Corinthians, 103–12),
11:21b (Windisch, Der zweite Korintherbrief, 315–98; Furnish, II Corinthians, 498;
Harris, Second Corinthians, 729), and 11:22 (Keener, 1–2 Corinthians, 232), with 11:1f.
sometimes considered an introduction of sorts. Various readers propose that it ends
with 12:10 (Holland, “Speaking Like a Fool,” 251; Zmijewski, Der Stil der paulinischen
“Narrenrede”), 12:13 (Furnish, II Corinthians, 484), or 12:18 (Sundermann, Der schwa-
che Apostel, 45).
146 RETHINKING PAUL’S RHETORICAL EDUCATION

commonly suggested, his voice thereafter should be clearly distinguish-

able from what precedes. This is not the case. Paul asks permission to be
foolish already in 11:1, and undertakes a comparison of himself with his
opponents, which includes an explicit boast (καύχησις [v. 10]), throughout
11:4–15. This material is really of a piece with Paul’s “foolishness” later in
the chapter.
Well, then, perhaps those readers are correct who believe Paul is
already wearing the mask of the fool in 11:1–15. If he is, though, it is dif-
ficult to know how one should interpret his solemn assertion in v. 11
(“Why? Because I do not love you? God knows I do!”), not to mention his
characterization of his opponents in vv. 13–15. Few would be willing to
accept that all this should be consigned to the mouth of a fool.
Indeed, a reading of the “Fool’s Speech” in context makes clear that
Paul’s persona does not in fact change at 11:1, 11:16, or even 11:21a. Spe-
cifically, the boastfulness and the comparison with his rivals that generally
are associated with his fool’s role are entirely in accord with what Paul says
throughout in the letter in propria persona. Note, particularly, 10:7–8:

If someone (τις) is confident that he is of Christ (Χριστοῦ), let such a one

consider again this, that just as he is of Christ, so also are we. For even if
I boast (καυχήσωμαι) a little excessively about our authority … I will not
be ashamed. (my trans.)

Certainly there is less elaboration here than in Paul’s subsequent boasting,

but this is no different in kind from 11:22–23. In fact, Paul boasts about
his authority and his status before, during, and after the so-called “Fool’s
Speech” (cf. 11:6–12; 12:11b–12), a fact that makes it impossible to distin-
guish the voice of the fool from Paul’s own voice. If this is prosōpopoiia,
it is not very convincing, for it lacks the clear differentiation of personae
stressed by the rhetoricians.
Moreover, if Paul says things in propria persona that sound suspiciously
like the fool, the converse is also true: the fool says things that sound suspi-
ciously like Paul. According to Glenn Holland, once Paul puts on his fool’s
mask “he pretends to share his opponents’ own foolish behavior as well as
their faulty human judgments of things.”17 But is this an apt characteriza-
tion of Paul’s assertion, “If I must boast, I will boast of the things that show

17. Glenn S. Holland, Divine Irony (Selinsgrove, Pa.: Susquehanna University

Press, 2000), 142.
 SCHELLENBERG: NOT A FOOL, A FOOL’S MASK 147

my weakness” (11:30)? Again, according to Holland, “Everything [Paul]

says as a fool may be expected to be … worldly, self-congratulatory, and
boastful.”18 But is this really a suitable description of what Paul says in
12:6: “If I wish to boast, I will not be a fool, for I will be speaking the truth.
But I refrain from it, so that no one may think better of me than what is
seen in me or heard from me”?19 Indeed, what might a statement like this
mean coming from the persona of a fictive boastful fool? Even if we were
willing to consider this some sort of role-playing mise en abyme, in which
Paul the reluctant boaster plays a fool playing a reluctant boaster,20 we
are left with a considerable problem: Paul’s putative attempt at credible
speech-in-character has been compromised by discourse that is not at all
suitable to the character in whose mouth it is supposed to appear.
So, given the difficulty of sustaining a prosopopoetic reading of Paul’s
boasting, I suggest a simpler explanation: The integration of the so-called
“Fool’s Speech” with the rest of the passage suggests not that Paul is inhab-
iting another’s voice but rather that he is making a self-referential com-
ment about his own voice. Paul is worried about being considered a fool,
and preempts the accusation by accepting it in qualified form.
Not only is this the simplest way to account for the text as it stands, it
also gains support from Paul’s analogous procedure in the previous chap-
ter. Note the disclaimer in 10:8: “Even if I boast a little too much of our
own authority … I will not be ashamed.” Clearly, Paul is aware that his self-
referential speech leaves him susceptible to characterization as shameless.
He is self-conscious about his boasting, but he insists he will do it anyway.
Likewise, in 11:16 Paul clearly anticipates the potential accusation of his
addressees (“Let no one think that I am a fool”). Again he is aware that he

18. Ibid.
19. Margaret Mitchell resorts to the suggestion that Paul here “pauses between his
own voice and that of his ‘fool’ persona” (Birth of Christian Hermeneutics, 89).
20. Here we approach the over-subtle interpretation of Windisch, Der zweite
Korintherbrief, 316, who is followed by Welborn, “The Runaway Paul,” 159–61. See
also Glenn Holland’s strained attempt to read consistent irony throughout this sec-
tion. According to Holland, “The claim [in 12:6a] that all his boasts are ‘no brag, just
fact’ is of course typical of a boaster and a fool. Far from being a sober assessment
of his apostolic credentials, 12.6a represents the very heights of Paul’s ‘foolishness’ ”
(“Speaking Like a Fool,” 262). But this reading quickly runs aground, for Paul has said
essentially the same thing (“we will not boast beyond limits”) in 10:13 and 10:15, long
before having supposedly put on the mask of the boastful fool. Again, Paul and the
fool sound suspiciously alike.
148 RETHINKING PAUL’S RHETORICAL EDUCATION

is liable to belittling characterization, and again Paul insists that he will

not be cowed: “But if you do, then accept me as a fool, so that I too may
boast a little.”
Finally, the diverse ways in which Paul refers to his foolishness in 11:1–
12:11 are much easier to interpret as self-consciousness than as announce-
ments of a prosopopoetic role. Paul introduces the theme of foolishness
not as a description of himself as speaker, but rather as characteristic of his
speech itself: ὄφελον ἀνείχεσθέ μου μικρόν τι ἀφροσύνης (11:1). Throughout
the passage, his usage alternates between the abstract and the concrete
noun (although readers of the nrsv or niv may be led astray here, as both
translations standardize Paul’s usage, rendering ἐν ἀφροσύνῃ in 11:17 and
11:21 with the concrete noun: “as a fool”):

11:1—μικρόν τι ἀφροσύνης
11:16—ἄφρονα (twice)
11:17—ἐν ἀφροσύνῃ
11:19—ἀφρόνων
11:21—ἐν ἀφροσύνῃ
11:23—παραφρονῶν λαλῶ
12:6—ἄφρων
12:11—ἄφρων

There simply is no reason to assume that “the fool” is the governing image
here. Paul is engaged instead with the general notion of foolishness and,
accordingly, uses the word group in various ways. He is disclaiming his
own speech as foolish. This is not prosōpopoiia.

Conclusion

It is time, I suggest, to lay the notion of Paul’s Narrenrede or “Fool’s Speech”

to rest. The term signifies nothing—nothing, that is, except an elusive and
misleading interpretive tradition, a tradition that began with an unwar-
ranted assertion and continues as an unexamined assumption, and a tra-
dition, I submit, that precludes any understanding of this text. There is
no evidence for anything like a literary, let alone epistolary Narrenrede in
the ancient world, and the suggestion that Paul is playing a role from the
mime cannot be sustained from the text. Further, the notion that Paul is
engaged in prosōpopoiia fails to take account of what he actually says while
purportedly speaking in the voice of the fool.
 7
Synkrisis in Corinth

The rhetorical features addressed in each of the previous three chapters

have been seen, on closer examination, to have a very dubious relation-
ship with the sort of ancient rhetorical theory Paul is alleged to have
encountered in school. In fact, we have seen that three termini technici
held dear by exegetes of 2 Cor 10–13 are, to varying degrees, the invention
of modern scholarship: neither periautologia, nor the peristasis catalogue,
nor the Narrenrede was discussed by rhetorical theorists prior to the time
of Paul; only periautologia was discussed by ancient rhetorical theorists at
all. Moreover, when we turn to ancient rhetorical practice, it becomes clear
that the referents of these terms have little to do with rhetoric: If the term
Narrenrede could accurately be said to name anything in the ancient world,
it is certainly not a rhetorical strategy. So-called peristasis catalogues have
no distinguishing stylistic features, but instead encode ideal moral values
concerning masculinity and freedom. Ancient examples of self-praise and
its avoidance evince concern not with rhetoric per se but rather with the
mitigation of envy and rivalry.
Assertions of Paul’s familiarity with rhetorical conventions for synkri-
sis, however, are an entirely different matter. Already Aristotle had sug-
gested that one should compare (συγκρίνειν) the subject of one’s encomium
with another estimable person as a form of auxēsis (Rhet. 1.9.38; cf. Rhet.
Alex. 3.7–8), and the Progymnasmata provide detailed instruction on how
this should be done, under the unambiguous heading Περὶ συγκρίσεως.1
Here, at last, we are clearly in the realm of rhetorical education.

1. Theon, Progymn. 10 (RG 2:112–115); Ps.-Hermogenes, Progymn. 8 (Rabe

18–20); Aphthonius, Progym. 10 (RG 2:42–44); Nicolaus, Progymn. 9 (Felten 59–63);
Libanius, Progymn. 10.

-149-
150 RETHINKING PAUL’S RHETORICAL EDUCATION

The notion that Paul’s boasting constitutes a rhetorical synkrisis was

proposed by Christopher Forbes and Peter Marshall, two students of E. A.
Judge, as an elaboration of Judge’s approach to 2 Cor 10–13.2 Judge had
argued that Paul found himself, in Corinth, “a reluctant and unwanted
competitor in the field of professional ‘sophistry.’ ”3 Among the Corinthian
sophists, Judge claimed, boasting was “absolutely de rigeur,” and so Paul, if
he was to have any influence, had no choice but to compete.
It is in this social context that Forbes and Marshall too place 2 Cor
10–13. According to Forbes, “the key to the whole ‘boasting’ passage”
comes in 10:12–13, which text he cites as follows:

Not that we dare to classify (ἐγκρῖναι) or compare (συγκρῖναι) ourselves

with some of those who commend themselves. When they measure
themselves by themselves, and compare themselves with themselves,
they are without understanding. We, however will not boast beyond
proper limits …4

Forbes deduces from Paul’s statement here that Paul’s rivals have been
boasting, and, further, that their boasting has included both “mutual com-
parison (σύγκρισις)” and comparison of themselves with Paul.5 So, since
self-commendatory σύγκρισις was the order of the day, Paul responded by
undertaking “a highly ironical comparison of himself with his Corinthian
opponents”6—that is, he parodied the synkritic form of his rival’s boasting
by choosing to boast of his incomparable weakness.
This reading, which has been widely influential,7 rests on the conver-
gence of three pieces of evidence: First, Paul’s opponents are thought to

2. Marshall, Enmity in Corinth, 53–55, 325–28, 348–53; Forbes, “Comparison,

Self-Praise, and Irony.” Cf. Betz, Der Apostel Paulus und die sokratische Tradition,
119–20.
3. Judge, “Paul’s Boasting,” 67.
4. Forbes, “Comparison, Self-Praise, and Irony,” 1–2.
5. Ibid., 2.
6. Ibid.
7. See Winter, Philo and Paul, 231–39; Neyrey, “Social Location of Paul,” 141–42;
Long, Ancient Rhetoric, 227; Witherington, Conflict and Community in Corinth, 433;
Keener, 1–2 Corinthians, 220; Duling, “2 Corinthians 11:22,” 830–34; Vegge, A Letter
about Reconciliation, 332; Ske-kar Wan, Power in Weakness: Conflict and Rhetoric in
Paul’s Second Letter to the Corinthians (New Testament in Context; Harrisburg, Pa.:
Trinity, 2000), 144; Vegge, Paulus und das antike Schulwesen, 421–22; cf. Holland,
“Speaking Like a Fool,” 256–60.
 SYNKRISIS IN CORINTH 151

have been engaging in self-commendatory comparison (10:12), which,

it is said, corresponds well with what we know of contemporary sophis-
tic activity, not least in Corinth. Second, although he initially disavowed
comparative boasting, Paul went on to compare himself with his Corin-
thian rivals, and, we are told, did so in ways that evince familiarity with
rhetorical conventions for σύγκρισις. Finally, Paul placed his own boasting
and that of his rivals in rhetorical context by using the common rhetori-
cal term συγκρῖναι (10:12). I will address each of these claims individually.

Sophistry in Corinth?

In his Philo and Paul among the Sophists, Bruce Winter depicts Corinth
as a city abuzz with sophistic rhetoric and thus permeated by rivalry and
self-aggrandizement. “Corinth,” he says, “was flush with sophists, orators
and poets, and the intense rivalry which seemed to arise wherever two or
three were gathered together.”8 For Winter, Paul’s difficulties at Corinth
must be seen against this background: the Corinthians were fascinated
with sophistic display and susceptible to factionalism, hence their prefer-
ence for Apollos and other “sophists” and their denigration of Paul.9 It
was in such an environment, then, that Paul engaged in a parody of a self-
adulating rhetorical synkrisis.
There are, I suggest, two problems with this analysis. First, much of
the evidence cited by Winter pertains not to Paul’s time but rather to the
height of the so-called Second Sophistic in the second century. In fact,
there is little to suggest that “sophists” as such were of cultural significance
in mid-first-century Corinth. Second, the notion that the “boasting” of
Paul’s rivals had a particularly sophistic flair receives no support from the
text of 2 Cor 10–13.
Corinth, in fact, was not one of the “great sophistic centres” of the
second century; Athens, Smyrna, Ephesus, and, of course, Rome retained
that honor.10 It did, however, share the usual enthusiasm of provincial

8. Winter, Philo and Paul, 128–29.

9. Ibid., 172–79.
10. G. W. Bowersock, Greek Sophists in the Roman Empire (Oxford: Clarendon,
1969), 17; Ewen Bowie, “The Geography of the Second Sophistic: Cultural Variations,”
in Paideia: The World of the Second Sophistic (ed. Barbara Borg; Millennium Studies
2; Berlin: de Gruyter, 2004), 68. Indeed, the logic of Favorinus’s self-description in
his Corinthian Oration 25–27 makes it clear that whatever aspirations Corinth had
152 RETHINKING PAUL’S RHETORICAL EDUCATION

cites, playing occasional host to such luminaries as Favorinus and Herodes

Atticus.11 This, however, was some years after Paul was in town. Herodes
Atticus, a fabulously wealthy Athenian, was born in the first few years of
the second century.12 Favorinus was a generation older, which still puts his
floruit three-quarters of a century after Paul’s.13 In any case, despite the
impression one might get from reading Winter’s treatment, neither of the
two men had any particular connection to Corinth.
Winter does provide some evidence from the first century, but it is
of dubious value. He refers, firstly, to Dio Chrysostom. Although Philos-
tratus demurs from calling Dio a sophist outright (Vit. soph. 1.7–8), the
latter’s career certainly anticipated the movement that Philostratus sought
to memorialize.14 Dio was far more interested in both Rome and his native
Prusa than in Corinth,15 but he does mention the city on occasion, and
Jerome Murphy-O’Connor thinks he describes it with the accuracy of an
eyewitness.16
Winter focuses on Dio’s eighth oration (De virtute), one of a number
of addresses in which Dio uses Diogenes as a mouthpiece. It is generally
agreed that Dio’s purpose in speaking in the persona of Diogenes is to use
the Cynic hero as a lens through which to refract his own experience—in

to being a city of paideia it had despite the inherent disadvantage of being a Roman
colony: Favorinus’s personal example proves “that no one even of the barbarians may
despair of attaining the culture of Greece” (Crosby, LCL).
11. Winter, Philo and Paul, 129–38.
12. Walter Ameling, Herodes Atticus (Subsidia epigraphica 11; 2 vols.; Hildesheim:
Olms, 1983), 2:2.
13. Philostratus (Vit. soph. 1.8) and Cassius Dio (Hist. rom. 69.3.4–69.4.1) have
Favorinus active under Hadrian (117–38 c.e.). See further Simon Swain, “Favorinus
and Hadrian,” ZPE 79 (1989): 150–58. His Corinthian Oration ([Dio Chrysostom], Or.
37) is usually thought to have been delivered ca. 130. See L. Michael White, “Favori-
nus’s ‘Corinthian Oration’: A Piqued Panorama of the Hadrianic Forum,” in Urban
Religion in Roman Corinth: Interdisciplinary Approaches (ed. Daniel N. Schowalter and
Steven J. Friesen; HTS 53; Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 2005), 66 n. 19.
14. Graham Anderson, The Second Sophistic: A Cultural Phenomenon in the
Roman Empire (London: Routledge, 1993), 20–21; Bowersock, Greek Sophists in the
Roman Empire, 110–12.
15. See Giovanni Salmeri, “Dio, Rome, and the Civic Life of Asia Minor,” in Dio
Chrysostom: Politics, Letters, and Philosophy (ed. Simon Swain; Oxford: Oxford Uni-
versity Press, 2000), 53–92.
16. Jerome Murphy-O’Connor, St. Paul’s Corinth: Texts and Archaeology (3rd ed.;
GNS 6; Wilmington, Del.: Glazier, 2002), 99–103.
 SYNKRISIS IN CORINTH 153

particular, his exile.17 For Winter, this means that what purports to be a
description of Diogenes’s fourth-century b.c.e. Corinth should in fact be
understood as “Dio’s assessment of the sophistic movement in Corinth” in
the late first century c.e.18
What Dio’s Diogenes says about sophists in Corinth is rather hack-
neyed stuff, and hardly bears the weight of Winter’s historical reconstruc-
tion. The sophists, we learn, are gathered around the temple of Poseidon
βοώντων καὶ λοιδορουμένων ἀλλήλοις while their “so-called disciples” quar-
rel (μάχομαι [9; cf. 36]). For Winter, this is an allusion to the propensity for
rivalry and envy among the sophists of Dio’s time.19 Whether or not the
leading lights of the Second Sophistic were any more quarrelsome than
competitive aristocrats of any other period is debatable.20 In any case, this
is invective, not description, and has more to do with the sort of vilifica-
tion Dio favors than with the characteristics of sophists, be they contem-
poraries of Dio or of Diogenes.21 And, on that note, it is worth consider-
ing the possibility that Dio’s reference to sophists here is not aimed at his
contemporaries at all, but is in fact part of the ethopoetic furniture of Dio’s
oration, a detail included because it provides the conventional backdrop
against which Diogenes’s legendary wit should be viewed (cf. Diogenes
Laertius, Vit. phil. 6.47, 57).
Further, the sophists Dio’s Diogenes mentions are visitors to Corinth,
not residents. Diogenes, we are told, had gone down to the isthmus with
everyone else for the games (6). It was then (τότε)—that is, during the
Isthmian games—that one could hear sophists at the temple of Poseidon
(9).22 Thus it sounds very much like these sophists had come to Corinth
for the special occasion, an impression that is confirmed a few lines later:
Diogenes, apparently, did not attract any Corinthians, since they reasoned

17. H. F. A. von Arnim, Leben und Werke des Dio von Prusa (Berlin: Weidmann,
1898), 260–67; J. L. Moles, “The Career and Conversion of Dio Chrysostom,” JHS 98
(1978): 79–100.
18. Winter, Philo and Paul, 123–24.
19. Ibid., 125–26.
20. On their rivalries, see Anderson, The Second Sophistic, 35–39; Bowersock,
Greek Sophists in the Roman Empire, 89–100.
21. Dio puts μάχομαι and λοιδορέω together elsewhere too, using the pair to
describe the fractiousness of the avaricious man (4 Regn. 96), the disagreeable drunk
(Compot. 3), and ignorant and corrupt humanity in general (Conc. Apam. 32).
22. As Winter also notes (Philo and Paul, 124 n. 5). Cf. Dio’s similar comment in
Dei cogn. 5, this time referring to the sophists who flocked to the games at Olympia.
154 RETHINKING PAUL’S RHETORICAL EDUCATION

that they could see him on their streets at any time (10); the Corinthians
were more interested in the novel fare on offer from the visiting sophists.
Clearly, then, Dio’s brief and stereotyped description cannot be taken as
evidence of a sophistic movement in late first-century Corinth.
Plutarch, like Dio, can be critical of σοφισταί, attributing to them
the same sort of unworthy motives Dio posits: vanity, φιλοτιμία, and
greed.23 Again, this can hardly be taken as a report of the values of first-
century rhetors. These are topoi, as old as Plato’s dispute with the original
sophists,24 and, by Plutarch’s time, useful in denigrating any sort of rival at
all (cf. Lucian, Vit. auct.; Peregr.). Plutarch’s usage tells us little more than
that he considered some contemporary rhetoricians vacuous and vain.25
Moreover, any connection specifically to Corinth is extremely tenuous.
Winter notes that two of the symposia described in Plutarch’s Table Talk
take place in Corinth (5.3 [675D–677B]; 8.4 [723A–724F]), and rhetors
are among the guests at each.26 Again, however, it appears these men were
in Corinth for the Isthmian games, as was Plutarch himself. And, even if
one of these ῥήτορες were local, the appearance of a leading rhetor at a ban-
quet hardly means that Corinth was rash with sophistry. It simply means
that Corinth, like any other city, had a rhetorical school or a court of law.
This is approximately the level of banal insight into Corinth we get
from the other first-century text Winter discusses, Epictetus’s discourse
“Of personal adornment” (Diatr. 3.1). The discourse is addressed to a
young rhetorician who dressed too elaborately for Epictetus’s tastes (3.1.1).
We can infer, from a passing mention, that he was a Corinthian: “Shall

23. Tu. san. 131A; Pyth. orac. 408D. Cf. Dio Chrysostom, Virt. 33; Dei cogn. 5;
Lucian, Rhet. praec. 1–2. Plutarch also uses the word neutrally, and apparently makes
no distinction between “rhetors” and “sophists.” See G. R. Stanton, “Sophists and Phi-
losophers: Problems of Classification,” AJP 94 (1973): 151–53.
24. See esp. Håkan Tell, “Wisdom for Sale? The Sophists and Money,” CP 104
(2009): 13–33.
25. Indeed, first-century use of the philosopher vs. sophist topos seems to have
amounted to little more than shadow boxing, an exercise in self-definition that
allowed everyone to enjoy the esteem of being part of a courageous moral minority—
a Socrates or a Diogenes. Hence, in the first century, everyone we might think to call
a sophist insists that they are not (see Stanton, “Sophists and Philosophers,” 351–58).
By the time we clear the room of philosophers, there is no one left to argue the other
side. See, e.g., on Dio Chrysostom, Tim Whitmarsh, The Second Sophistic (Greece and
Rome: New Surveys in the Classics 35; Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2005), 17.
26. Winter, Philo and Paul, 138–39.
 SYNKRISIS IN CORINTH 155

we make a man like you a citizen of Corinth, and perchance a warden of

the city, or superintendent of ephebi, or general, or superintendent of the
games?” (3.1.34 [Oldfather, LCL]). Evidently the young man was an aris-
tocrat. Accordingly, he was receiving the rhetorical education that gener-
ally was thought necessary for a public career, in Corinth and elsewhere
(cf. Quintilian, Inst. 1 pr. 9–10; 1.2.18). And his attire has nothing to do
with being a sophist; it falls within the spectrum of the ordinary fashion
of the Greek elite.27 Epictetus’s problem is simply that it is not very “philo-
sophical” (cf. Quintilian, Inst. 1 pr. 15).
In short, then, all of Winter’s evidence for “the sophistic movement in
Corinth” erodes upon further examination. Reference to Corinth is mar-
ginal throughout, and, in the first-century material, there is no clear indi-
cation of sophists per se. The most we can say is that first-century Corinth,
like any other town, had its fair share of orators—and perhaps more than
its fair share during the games.
Of course, sophists or no sophists, rhetoric and its elite practitioners
would have been esteemed in Corinth as elsewhere. Surely they were com-
petitive, and perhaps they quarreled. But there is no evidence in Paul’s
letter that this is the background against which his troubles in Corinth
should be viewed. I will restrict my comments here to Winter’s exegesis of
2 Cor 10–13.28 According to Winter, “Paul calls his opponents in 2 Corin-
thians 10–13 ‘ignorant’ and ‘fools’ because they engaged in σύγκρισις and
boasted about their achievements”—that is to say, they acted like soph-
ists.29 But let us look more carefully at what Paul actually says about their
boasting. First, the notion that what Paul means to specify by his use of
συγκρῖναι in 10:12 is that his rivals had a particular affinity for the rhetori-
cal exercise described in the Progymnasmata simply is not credible. The

27. As Eve D’Ambra explains, “Care taken to maintain one’s appearance and to
distinguish oneself from the hoi polloi by grooming was an essential prerequisite for a
man of honor” (“Kosmetai, the Second Sophistic, and Portraiture in the Second Cen-
tury,” in Periklean Athens and Its Legacy: Problems and Perspectives [ed. Judith M. Bar-
ringer and Jeffrey M. Hurwit; Austin: University of Texas Press, 2005], 207). See also
Gleason, Making Men, 74–76.
28. On Winter’s reading of 2 Cor 10:10 in particular, see ch. 12 below. Also sig-
nificant in Winter’s study, as in much recent scholarship on the Corinthian correspon-
dence, is a reading of 1 Cor 2:1–5 as an engagement of Corinthian preoccupation with
rhetoric (Philo and Paul, 148–50, 158–64). As I have argued elsewhere (“Rhetorical
Terminology in Paul,” 186–90), this reading does not withstand scrutiny.
29. Winter, Philo and Paul, 231.
156 RETHINKING PAUL’S RHETORICAL EDUCATION

word’s use alongside such related terms as ἐγκρῖναι, καυχᾶσθαι, and ἑαυτοὺς
συνιστάνειν makes it clear that Paul is referring to something considerably
more general. And, when Paul goes on to describe more precisely what is
bothering him, he says nothing that calls to mind the sophists.30
On the contrary, in 2 Cor 10:12–16, Paul makes it clear that the
immoderate “boasting” he attributes to his rivals—and insists that he will
not undertake—consists of taking credit for the labors of others, harvest-
ing in a field someone else has tilled:

οὐ γὰρ τολμῶμεν ἐγκρῖναι ἢ συγρκῖναι ἑαυτούς τισιν τῶν ἑαυτοὺς

συνιστανόντων … ἡμεῖς δὲ οὐκ εἰς τὰ ἄμετρα καυχησόμεθα … οὐκ εἰς τὰ
ἄμετρα καυχώμενοι ἐν ἀλλοτρίοις κόποις … οὐκ ἐν ἀλλοτρίῳ κανόνι εἰς τὰ
ἕτοιμα καυχήσασθαι. (10:12, 13, 15, 16)31

Clearly, his rivals are intruding on what Paul considers to be his terri-
tory. Paul founded the Corinthian community, and he wants the credit
for it (cf. 1 Cor 4:15). His rivals’ “boasting,” then, consists of nothing more
than a claim to status in the Corinthian community—which, of course,
is precisely the nature of Paul’s “boasting,” too (2 Cor 10:8). The differ-
ence between them is simply that, from Paul’s perspective, he has not over-
stepped his God-ordained limits (vv. 13–14),32 and thus his boasting is not
ἄμετρος.33 It is he alone who has the commendation of his master, Paul
insists, and thus he alone is able to boast, as the Scriptures mandate, ἐν
κυρίῳ (vv. 17–18).34

30. Winter implies (Philo and Paul, 235) that they boasted, as sophists were wont
to do, in their δόξα, πλοῦτος, τιμή, and ἀρχή, but there is no evidence for this in the text
of 2 Corinthians. The only grounds for such an assertion is that such were the things
about which sophists boasted. This is clearly a circular argument.
31. On Paul’s rather obscure εἰς τὰ ἕτοιμα, see Plummer, Second Epistle, 290;
Thrall, Second Epistle, 2:652. Note that καυχάομαι, particularly in Paul, need not sig-
nify boasting per se. It often refers more generally to taking pride in something (cf. 2
Cor 7:14; Gal 6:13). See BDAG s.v.; R. Bultmann, “καυχάομαι κτλ.,” TDNT 3:645–54;
Ashton, Religion of Paul, 118.
32. Paul’s κατὰ τὸ μέτρον τοῦ κανόνος οὗ ἐμέρισεν ἡμῖν ὁ θεὸς μέτρου is notoriously
difficult to translate, although the sense is clear enough from the context: Paul is not
“overreaching” (10:14) by working in Corinth, since it is within his God-measured
jurisdiction. See Plummer, Second Epistle, 287–88; Furnish, II Corinthians, 471–72.
33. Cf. Hafemann, “Self-Commendation,” 79–80.
34. Paul’s citation of Jer 9:23 here is often taken to be a denunciation of all human
boasting. So Ulrich Heckel, for example, contrasts Paul’s absolute opposition to boast-
 SYNKRISIS IN CORINTH 157

The comparative dimension in all of this is, of course, that his rivals
have been asserting their own status at the expense of Paul’s.35 Thus Paul
insists that he is not their inferior (11:5; 12:11), and emphasizes his own
superiority where he can—specifically, in preaching the gospel free of
charge—so as to “deny an opportunity to those who want an opportunity
to be recognized as our equals in what they boast about” (11:12). There is
nothing particularly rhetorical, let alone sophistic, about this sort of com-
parative dispute.

ΣΥΓΚΡΙΝΩ and Rhetoric

Much of the credibility of the approach of Winter, Forbes, Marshall, et

al. seems to derive from Paul’s use in 2 Cor 10:12 of the word συγκρῖναι, a

ing with the attitude of “the Greeks”: “In Unterschied zu den Griechen geht es dem
Apostel jedoch nicht einfach um die Vermeidung von Hybris und das Einhalten des
rechten Maßes, sondern um Gottes Ehre als Schöpfer und Erlöser sowie um den völli-
gen Verzicht auf jeglichen Selbstruhm des Menschen vor Gott” (Kraft in Schwachheit,
157). But this sounds more like Lutheran theologizing than exegesis of Paul (cf. Bult-
mann, “καυχάομαι,” TDNT 3:648–52), and is belied by consideration of the context of
the citation in Paul’s argument. Perhaps in 1 Cor 1:31, in the midst of a discussion of
the futility of wisdom, power, and nobility κατὰ σάρκα (v. 25), we are justified in sup-
posing that Paul’s citation of Jer 9:23 is intended to evoke the illegitimate grounds of
boasting delimited in Jer 9:22 (σοφία, ἰσχύς, πλοῦτος). Here, however, there are no indi-
cations of the relevance of the broader Jeremianic context, contra Josef Schreiner, “Jer-
emia 9,22.23 als Hintergrund des paulinischen ‘Sich-Rühmens,’ ” in Neues Testament
und Kirche: Für Rudolf Schnackenburg (ed. Joachim Gnilka; Freiburg: Herder, 1974),
530–42; Heckel, Kraft in Schwachheit, 191–93; Heckel, “Jer 9,22f. als Schlüssel für 2
Kor 10–13: Ein Beispiel für die methodischen Probleme in der gegenwärtigen Diskus-
sion über den Schriftgebrauch bei Paulus,” in Schriftauslegung im antiken Judentum
und im Urchristentum (ed. Martin Hengel and Hermut Löhr; WUNT 73; Tübingen:
Mohr [Siebeck], 1994), 206–25. On the contrary, as Scott Hafemann argues, “Taken
together, 10.17–18 are … the last assertions in Paul’s argument in 10.12–18 in support
of his ability and willingness to ‘boast’ concerning his own authority (cf. 10.8)” (“Self-
Commendation,” 74).
35. Paul’s initial characterization gives the impression that his rivals are making
comparisons among themselves (αὐτοὶ ἐν ἑαυτοῖς ἑαυτοὺς μετροῦντες καὶ συγκρίνοντες
ἑαυτοὺς ἑαυτοῖς [10:12]), but his elaboration focuses solely on their comparability with
himself. Hence this is probably best interpreted as an attempt by Paul dismissively to
portray his rivals’ denigration of him as just one instance of characteristically self-
promoting behavior. On this point I have an unlikely ally in Peter Marshall, Enmity in
Corinth, 326–27.
158 RETHINKING PAUL’S RHETORICAL EDUCATION

verbal cognate of the rhetorical term σύγκρισις. This is interpreted, often,

as straightforward evidence that what Paul’s rivals were engaged in, and
what he himself reluctantly undertook, was not merely comparison, but
comparison as informed by rhetorical theory.36
Indeed, both words, σύγκρισις and συγκρίνω, were used frequently by
rhetorical theorists;37 however, as we will see, both were very common
words, hardly restricted to this technical sense. A modern English equiva-
lent, I suspect, would be hypothesis, which, as the Oxford English Diction-
ary notes, is used in a technical sense by logicians, but also more gener-
ally by the hoi polloi.38 Its use certainly is not evidence that the speaker is
referring to formal logic.
I will focus on the verb συγκρίνω, since Paul nowhere uses the noun.
“Compare” is one of four primary senses listed by LSJ. The word occurs
only here with this meaning in the NT; in its one other NT occurrence,
also in Paul (1 Cor 2:13), it means “interpret,” as it frequently does also in
the lxx.39 Elsewhere in the lxx, συγκρίνω means “compare” in the gen-
eral sense, with no particular rhetorical connotation.40 Josephus uses it six
times, in five of which the word means “compare;”41 there is no indication
in any of these instances that rhetorical synkrisis is what he had in mind.
LSJ notes two occurrences for Polybius: on one occasion, Polybius does
use the word in a setting somewhat reminiscent of the sort of synkrisis the
rhetoricians recommend,42 but he also uses it more generally to describe
Scipio’s meticulous collation of his spies’ reports (συνέκρινε καὶ διηρεύνα τὰ

36. See, e.g., Marshall, Enmity in Corinth, 53.

37. For the noun, see Anderson, Glossary of Greek Rhetorical Terms, 110–11. The
verb occurs at Aristotle, Rhet. 1.9.38; Dionysius of Halicarnassus, Pomp. 1.11; Thuc. id.
14; Dem. 17; 21; Theon, Progymn. pr.; 6 (3x); 10 (8x); Ps.-Hermogenes, Inv. 3.9; 4.14
(4x); Progymn. 7; 8 (3x); Menander Rhetor, RG 3:372, 377, 380 (3x), 381 (2x), 383,
386, 402, 417 (3x), 425, 427; Aphthonius, Progymn. 10 (3x); Nicolaus, Progymn. 9 (4x).
38. Oxford English Dictionary Online, s.v. “Hypothesis.”
39. Gen 40:8, 16, 22; 41:12, 13, 15; Dan 5:7.
40. 1 Macc 10:71 (of the size of armies); Wis 7:29; 15:18.
41. A.J. 5.77; 8.42; 8.99; 13.89; B.J. 1.402. In A.J. 4.33 the sense is “judge.”
42. It is limited, however, to a comparison of historical methods: Σκεψώμεθα δὴ
καὶ τὴν αὐτοῦ τοῦ Τιμαίου προαίρεσιν καὶ τὰς ἀποφάσεις συγκρίνωμεν ἐκ παραθέσεως,
ἃς πεποίηται περὶ τῆς αὐτῆς ἀποικίας, ἵνα γνῶμεν πότερος ἄξιος ἔσται τῆς τοιαύτης
κατηγορίας (12.9.1).
 SYNKRISIS IN CORINTH 159

λεγόμενα [14.3.7]). I could go on, but the point is clear: the word simply
means “compare.”43
Moreover, in this case the context actually tells against the rhetorical
sense of the word. As noted above, Paul uses συγκρίνω here alongside such
related terms as ἐγκρίνω, καυχάομαι, and ἑαυτοὺς συνιστάνειν, suggesting
that the concrete behavior to which he refers is not the sort of thing that is
best described by a technical term but instead falls somewhere within the
general semantic range circumscribed by these various words and phrases.
Indeed, it would be very odd to put together a paronomastic pairing like
ἐγκρῖναι ἢ συγκρῖναι44 in which one word had a general and the other a

43. A crude but telling way to see the scope of this word’s nonrhetorical usage
is a simple TLG search. A lemma search across the entire corpus locates 2635 occur-
rences of συγκρίνω; of these, only 141 occur in authors to which the editors of the
TLG have appended the generic epithet Rhetorici. For the noun σύγκρισις, the ratio
is marginally higher: 335 of 3407 hits occur in authors designated rhetoricians. Even
granting that a considerable number of references to rhetorical comparison may occur
in non-rhetorical writings, these data are striking, and make it impossible to assume,
merely from the word’s occurrence, that Paul in 2 Cor 10:12 is referring to the rhetori-
cal practice of synkrisis. Finally, a note on the meaning of σύγκρισιν in P.Oxy. XVIII
2190 is order, since Forbes adduces it as an example of rhetorical synkrisis used for the
purposes of self-advertisement among “popular teachers” (“Comparison, Self-Praise,
and Irony,” 7). The text in question is a letter from a boy named Neilus, who is pursu-
ing his education, probably in Alexandria, written to his father back in Oxyrhynchus.
Neilus has been searching in vain for a teacher he likes. Some friends of his are being
urged to attend the classes of one Didymus, who had recently sailed down the river
(καταπλεύσαντα [line 19; cf. line 5]) to the city. Neilus is not impressed. I quote from
the translation of John Rea: “I for my part … am depressed by the very fact that this
person, who used to be a teacher in the country (ἐπὶ τῆς χώρας), has made up his mind
to enter into competition with the others (ἔδοξεν εἰς σύνκρισιν τοῖς ἄλλοις ἔρχεσθαι)”
(lines 25–29). The logic of Neilus’s argument makes it clear that σύνκρισις here has
nothing to do with the rhetorical exercise, but refers to competition in a more gen-
eral sense. What Nelius criticizes is Didymus’s decision to attempt the transition from
country teacher, a humble role but one with little competition, to city teacher, where
competition for students was evidently intense. It is not orations wherein he compares
himself with other teachers but his “sailing down” in the first place that constitute his
ill-advised entry εἰς σύνκρισιν τοῖς ἄλλοις.
44. This sort of paronomasia, I might note in passing, is hardly evidence of par-
ticular rhetorical sophistication. See, for example the similar pairing οὐδὲ φάσις οὐδὲ
βάσις in P.Oxy. XLVIII 3396.5–6, a letter regarding which G. O. Hutchinson notes that
“ubiquitous misspellings, limited vocabulary, and unambitious sentence-structure
indicate a considerable distance from the world of the previous writer”—a writer
whom Hutchison had placed at “the very foot of the rhetorical ladder” (“Down among
160 RETHINKING PAUL’S RHETORICAL EDUCATION

technical signification.45 And, as noted above, when Paul goes on to elabo-

rate on his rivals’ ἄμετρος “boasting,” καυχάομαι refers not to rhetorical
exercises but to assertions of status or authority. In short, συγκρίνω here
has nothing to do with rhetoric.

Paul’s Comparison in 2 Corinthians 11:21b–23

If there is no evidence that Paul’s rivals in Corinth were engaging in rhe-

torical synkrisis, and no evidence that Paul uses συγκρίνω in its technical
rhetorical sense, then any argument that Paul utilizes this figure must rest
solely on Paul’s prose itself. That is, only if his comparison of himself with
his rivals in fact resembles the practice of rhetorical synkrisis could one
argue that he was familiar with the rhetorical tradition the Progymnas-
mata represent.
There is, of course, some general resemblance. Paul does compare
himself with his rivals, and arguably does hit on one of the traditional
headings. But I am not at all persuaded, with Forbes, that Paul’s “boasting
clearly takes the form of a σύγκρισις.”46 On the contrary, Paul’s com-
parison is far too brief, stylistically far too idiosyncratic, and far too
easily explained on other grounds to suggest the influence of rhetori-
cal theory.
Paul’s putative synkrisis, it should be noted, constitutes only the
first few verses of his foolish boasting (11:21b–23):

ἐν ᾧ δ᾿ ἄν τις τολμᾷ, ἐν ἀφροσύνῃ λέγω, τολμῶ κἀγώ·

῾Εβραῖοί εἰσιν; κἀγώ.
᾿Ισραηλῖταί εἰσιν; κἀγώ.
σπέρμα Ἀβραάμ εἰσιν; κἀγώ.
διάκονοι Χριστοῦ εἰσιν; παραφρονῶν λαλῶ, ὑπὲρ ἐγώ·
ἐν κόποις περισσοτέρως
ἐν φυλακαῖς περισσοτέρως
ἐν πληγαῖς ὑπερβαλλόντως
ἐν θανάτοις πολλάκις.

the Documents: Criticism and Papyrus Letters,” in Ancient Letters: Classical and Late
Antique Epistolography [ed. Ruth Morello and A. D. Morrison; Oxford: Oxford Uni-
versity Press, 2007], 28).
45. Note that Marshall disingenuously avoids this problem by providing, in his
citation of the text, the Greek for “compare” but not for “class” (Enmity in Corinth, 325).
46. Forbes, “Comparison, Self-Praise, and Irony,” 18.
 SYNKRISIS IN CORINTH 161

The passage begins in an explicitly comparative mode, expressed by the

repeated use of κἀγώ. The precise connotations of ῾Εβραῖος, ᾿Ισραηλίτης,
and σπέρμα Ἀβραάμ need not detain us here; it is enough to note that each
of these items of comparison revolves around authentic Judean ethnicity.47
With διάκονοι Χριστοῦ, Paul leaves behind his κἀγώ claims and asserts his
superiority: ὑπὲρ ἐγώ. When it comes to service of Christ, Paul claims to
be peerless.
It is not entirely clear whether the clauses that follow should be consid-
ered a continuation of Paul’s comparison with his rivals—that is, whether
he means to back up his ὑπὲρ ἐγώ by specifying the ways in which his
service exceeds theirs.48 As Plummer notes,

The comparative form is dropped after the repeated περισσοτέρως, and

therefore only in these first two clauses is there even in form any possibil-
ity of comparison with [the opponents]. It is possible that after ὑπὲρ ἐγώ
they are altogether banished from consideration, and that περισσοτέρως
means “very abundantly.”49

In any case, by the end of v. 23, the comparative aspect of Paul’s boasting
has disappeared, and all agree that from this point on Paul’s boasting no
longer resembles a rhetorical synkrisis.50
Nevertheless, for Marshall and Forbes, the significance of Paul’s boast-
ing throughout 11:24–12:10 still derives from its relationship to the con-
ventional form of a synkrisis. The argument is as follows: Paul begins his
boasting—as Theon’s Progymnasmata recommends, we are told—with a
comparison of “birth and racial status”; “next, where one would expect
magistracies and honours, or some equivalent, Paul brings forward
beatings and dangers on all sides.” From this perspective, it is precisely
Paul’s deviation from the expected synkritic form that signals his aim:

47. For an overview of the discussion, see Martin, 2 Corinthians, 373–75; Thrall,
Second Epistle, 2:723–30.
48. So Thrall, Second Epistle, 2:734; Fitzgerald, “Cracks in an Earthen Vessel,” 378
n. 254.
49. Plummer, Second Epistle, 322; cf. Denney, Second Epistle, 339. Plummer
adduces 1 Cor 1:12; 2:4; 7:13, 15; 12:15 as instances where Paul uses περισσοτέρως
without obvious comparative intent. Cf. 1 Thess 2:17; Phil 1:14.
50. Forbes, “Comparison, Self-Praise, and Irony,” 19; Marshall, Enmity in Corinth,
350–51.
162 RETHINKING PAUL’S RHETORICAL EDUCATION

Paul “amplifies what he should minimise and minimises what he should

amplify,” thus constructing a “parody of the self-display of his opponents.”51
For this sort of parody to work—that is, for the listeners to recognize
it as parody—two basic conditions must be met: first, the form in question
must have clearly identifiable distinguishing features; second, the paro-
dist must make clear reference to them.52 Paul’s putative synkritic parody
meets only one of these conditions. There were, I think, clearly identifiable
features of ancient rhetorical comparison, and thus parodic synkrisis was
certainly possible. Indeed, how else would one make sense of the synkrisis
of “peas and lentils” reportedly undertaken by the great poet and satirist
Meleager of Gadara (Athenaeus, Deipn. 4.45)? However, as we will see,
Paul’s boasting is not sufficiently reminiscent of progymnastic or literary
synkrisis to function as a parody.
As noted above, Forbes implies that Paul’s boasting follows the conven-
tional order of headings for comparison as outlined by Aelius Theon. But
his argument here is rather misleading.53 What Theon in fact says is this:

51. Forbes, “Comparison, Self-Praise, and Irony,” 19. See also Marshall, Enmity
in Corinth, 351–52.
52. See Seymour Chatman, “Parody and Style,” Poetics Today 22 (2001): 28.
53. Note also that contrary to the impression given by Forbes there is no well-
defined order of headings to be addressed in synkrisis. The Progymnasmata differ
among themselves (Theon: see below; Ps.-Hermogenes: city of origin (πόλις), family
(γένος), nurture (τροφή), pursuits (ἐπιτηδεύματα), deeds (πράξεις), external factors (τὰ
ἐκτός), manner of death, and “what comes after”; Aphthonius: not specified; Nicolaus:
not specified). They do, however, generally agree that the headings are the same as
those of encomium. But that too is a shifting target: Theon (9) has three major head-
ings—goods of the mind and character, goods of the body, and external goods—while
Ps.-Hermogenes (7) and Nicolaus (8) follow a chronological or biographical format.
There is certainly some common ground here—origin and education are, predict-
ably, at the beginning of each list; πράξεις are the main focus; manner of death, if
included, comes at the end—but, beyond that, there is no firmly fixed order. Indeed,
these authors explicitly advocate flexibility, in order that speakers may judge what
is relevant in any particular case (cf. Nicolaus, Progymn. 8). Such flexibility, I might
note, is precisely what we see in Plutarch, whose famous synkriseis are composed not
according to a set order of headings but rather with an eye to what is most interest-
ing—from Plutarch’s moralizing perspective, that is—about each pair of heroes. See
Duff, Plutarch’s Lives, 243–86; and, more generally, Timothy W. Seid, “Synkrisis in
Hebrews 7: The Rhetorical Structure and Strategy,” 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 Press, 1999), 327, 332.
 SYNKRISIS IN CORINTH 163

Whenever we compare persons we shall first put side by side their good
birth (τὴν εὐγένειαν) and education (τὴν παιδείαν) and the excellence of
their offspring (τὴν εὐτεκνίαν) and the offices they have held (τὰς ἀρχὰς)
and their reputation (τὴν δόξαν) and the condition of their bodies (τὴν
τοῦ σώματος διάθεσιν) and any other bodily and external good that we
mentioned earlier in discussing encomia. After this we shall compare
their actions (τὰς πράξεις). (Progymn. 10 [RG 2:113; trans. Kennedy])

Forbes does the best he can to make Paul’s series of κἀγώ statements appear
to conform to Theon’s description, describing them as reference to “birth
and racial status.”54 But Paul’s insistence on meeting the criteria of authen-
tic Judean ethnicity (cf. Phil 3:4–6) is certainly not the sort of thing Theon
meant by “good birth” (εὐγένεια), which refers, quite unambiguously, to
social status or nobility of birth.55
And, even if we were to let Forbes fudge here, we would still have
only a single point of similarity between Paul’s putative synkrisis and that
described by Theon. Paul says nothing about παιδεία and nothing about
εὐτεκνία. There is at most a single shared heading. Is this really sufficient
grounds for Paul’s listeners to “expect magistracies and honours” to come
next? Such an expectation, remember, is key to Forbes’s interpretation: If
there is no formal expectation that Paul enumerate his honors, his listing
of humiliations may constitute a paradox but cannot be a parody.
A further important observation tells against Forbes’s reading. Forbes
describes the progymnastic method as “point for point” comparison,56 and,
although this certainly is an accurate description, nevertheless it misleads
with regard to the relationship between 2 Cor 11:21b–23 and the synkri-
seis composed in rhetorical school. Stylistically, there is no similarity at all.

54. Forbes, “Comparison, Self-Praise, and Irony,” 19; so also Watson, “Paul’s
Boasting in 2 Corinthians 10–13,” 272.
55. See LSJ, s.v. What Theon meant is clearly visible from Plutarch’s Comp. Demetr.
Ant. 1.1–2 (Perrin, LCL): “Since, then, both these men experienced great reversals of
fortune, let us first observe, with regard to their power and fame, that in the one case
these were acquired for him by his father and inherited, since Antigonus became the
strongest of Alexander’s successors, and before Demetrius came of age had attacked
and mastered the greater part of Asia; Antony, on the contrary, was the son of a man
who, though otherwise gifted, was yet no warrior, and could leave him no great legacy
of reputation.”
56. Forbes, “Comparison, Self-Praise, and Irony,” 19. Cf. Marshall, Enmity in
Corinth, 351.
164 RETHINKING PAUL’S RHETORICAL EDUCATION

Aphthonius helpfully provides a sample composition, which gives us a good

sense of what “point for point” means in the case of the Progymnasmata:

They were not born in the same land, but nevertheless each in a land
to be praised. The one (ὃ μὲν) came from Phthia, where the eponymous
hero of Hellas came from, and the other (ὃ δὲ) from Troy, whose origi-
nal founders were descendants of gods. To the extent that having been
born in similar places is no derogation of praise, Hector is not excelled
by Achilles.

And while both were born in a praiseworthy land, both had equal ances-
try; for each descended from Zeus. Achilles was son of Peleus (Πηλέως
μὲν γὰρ Ἀχιλλεύς), Peleus of Aeacus, and Aeacus of Zeus; similarly,
Hector was son of Priam (῞Εκτωρ τε ὁμοίως Πριάμου), and [grandson]
of Laomedon, and Laomedon was son of Dardanus, and Dardanus had
been a son of Zeus.…

When both came to manhood, they acquired equal prestige from one
war. First, Hector (πρῶτον μὲν γὰρ ῞Εκτωρ) was leader of the Trojans
and, while alive, the protector of Troy; during that time he continued to
have gods aiding him in the fight and when he fell made Troy fall with
him. Achilles ( Ἀχιλλεὺς δὲ) was the leader of Greece in arms; terrify-
ing all, he subdued the Trojans and had the help of Athene in the fight,
and his death took away the superiority of the Achaeans. (Progymn. 10
[trans. Kennedy])

Note that, in contrast to the terseness of 2 Cor 11:21b–23, each heading

is introduced, briefly elaborated so as to justify any claim to equality or
superiority, and, on occasion, summarized. The same pattern character-
izes each heading in the synkriseis with which Plutarch concludes most of
his paired Lives.57 I quote but two examples:

As for their outlays of money, Nicias was more public spirited

(πολιτικώτερος μὲν ὁ Νικίας) in his noble ambition to make offerings to
the gods and provide the people with gymnastic exhibitions and trained
choruses; and yet his whole estate, together with his expenditures, was
not a tithe of what Crassus expended (ὧν δ᾿ ὁ Κράσσος ἀνήλωσεν) when

57. On the influence of rhetorical theory in the construction of Plutarch’s synkri-

seis, see Friedrich Focke, “Synkrisis,” Hermes 58 (1923): 357–58.
 SYNKRISIS IN CORINTH 165

he feasted so many myriads of men at once, and then furnished them

with food afterwards. (Comp. Nic. Crass. 1.4 [Perrin, LCL])

It is possible, too, to get a glimpse of the character of each in his style of

speaking. For that of Demosthenes (ὁ μὲν γὰρ Δημοσθενικός), which had
no prettiness or pleasantry, and was condensed with a view to power
and earnestness, did not smell of lamp-wicks, as Pytheas scoffingly said,
but of water-drinking and anxious thought, and of what men called the
bitterness and sullenness of his disposition; whereas Cicero (Κικέρων δὲ)
was often carried away by his love of jesting into scurrility, and when, to
gain his ends in cases, he treated matters worthy of serious attention with
ironical mirth and pleasantry, he was careless of propriety.… (Comp.
Dem. Cic. 1.3–4 [Perrin, LCL])

Plutarch is less concerned than the progymnast in simple demonstrations

of superiority. Instead, his more sophisticated fascination is with the inter-
play of difference and sameness. But the structural similarity is evident: as
in Aphthonius’s exemplar, in each case the heading is identified and then
elaborated, often with specific examples.
Another stylistic similarity is the frequent use of balanced μέν … δέ
constructions. Such constructions are, of course, eminently suitable to the
sort of point-by-point comparison involved in synkrisis.58 Plutarch is a little
less bound to this form than Aphthonius, occasionally finding more cre-
ative ways of denoting the second side of an opposition. Still, it would be
difficult to imagine synkrisis without μέν and δέ clauses or their equivalents.
A particularly telling example of the conventions for synkrisis is a
treatise, falsely attributed to Plutarch, that compares the merits of fire
and water:

ἆρ᾿ οὖν οὐ χρησιμώτερον ἐκεῖνο, οὗ πάντοτε καὶ διηνεκῶς δεόμεθα καὶ

πλείστου, καθάπερ ἐργαλεῖον καὶ ὄργανον καὶ νὴ Δία φίλος ὁ πάσης ὥρας καὶ
παντὸς καιροῦ παρὼν ἕτοιμος; καὶ μὴν τὸ μὲν πῦρ οὐ πάντοτε χρήσιμον, ἔστι
δ᾿ ὁτε καὶ βαρυνόμεθα καὶ ἀποσπώμεθα· τοῦ δ᾿ ὕδατος χρεία καὶ χειμῶνος
καὶ θέρους καὶ νοσοῦσι καὶ ὑγιαίνουσι, νυκτὸς καὶ μεθ᾿ ἡμέραν, καὶ οὐκ
ἔστιν ὅτ᾿ ἄνθρωπος οὐ δεῖται.… καὶ ἄνευ μὲν πυρὸς ἦν πολλάκις, ὕδατος δ᾿
οὐδέποτ᾿ ἄνθρωπος. (An ignis 2 [Mor. 955E–956A])59

58. Cf. Heb 7:5–25, with Seid, “Synkrisis in Hebrews 7,” 338–47.
59. “Is not that element the more useful of which most of all, everywhere, invari-
ably, we stand in need as a household tool, and, I swear, a friend, ready to help us at
any time, in any emergency? Yet fire is not always useful; sometimes, indeed, we find it
166 RETHINKING PAUL’S RHETORICAL EDUCATION

ἔτι μήν, ὃ πολλαπλασιαζόμενον τὴν ὠφέλειαν ἀπόλλυσιν, ἀχρηστότερον·

τοιοῦτον δὲ τὸ πῦρ, οἷον θηρίον παμφάγον καὶ δαπανῶν τῶν παρακειμένων,
καὶ μεθόδῳ καὶ τέχνῃ μᾶλλον καὶ μετριότητι ἢ τῇ αὑτοῦ φύσει ὠφέλιμον· τὸ
δ᾿ ὕδωρ οὐδέποτε φοβερόν. (An ignis 6 [Mor. 956E])60

What makes this synkrisis of particular interest is how poorly it is exe-

cuted. As F. H. Sandbach explains, in addition to “the unusual meagreness
of the author’s vocabulary,” the treatise is marred by unwieldy attempts at
rhetorical display: “The author is clearly striving after effect, but hardly
achieving it.”61 One manifestation of its amateurish quality is the way in
which substance—and logic—has been sacrificed in order to meet formal
expectations. This author is intent on picking a winner, thus an observa-
tion about the danger of conflagrations produces, by necessity of compari-
son, the absurd conclusion that water is never to be feared.62
Note that despite this author’s incompetence the treatment of the head-
ings conforms closely to the pattern we have come to expect: Each head-
ing is briefly introduced and then elaborated, generally using balanced μέν
… δέ clauses. What the Progymnasmata teach, and what Plutarch utilizes
elegantly, this author bungles. It is difficult to see how Paul’s comparison
of himself with his rivals in 2 Cor 11 could be said even to belong on the
same continuum.
It is true that rhetorical synkrisis was not confined to the progymnas-
tic exercise that went by that name. On the contrary, it was also widely
used as a means of auxēsis in encomiastic oratory.63 Does such use bear
more resemblance to Paul’s comparison? Well, no. Compare the synkrisis
in Xenophon’s famous encomia:64

too much and interrupt our use of it. But water is used both winter and summer, sick
and well, night and day: there is no time when a man does not need it.…Man has often
existed without fire, but without water never” (Perrin, LCL).
60. “Then, too, that which by multiplication destroys its own contribution is the
less useful. Such a thing is fire which, like an all-devouring beast, consumes everything
near, so that it is useful rather by skilful handling and craft than by its own nature; but
water is never dangerous” (Perrin, LCL).
61. F. H. Sandbach, “Rhythm and Authenticity in Plutarch’s Moralia,” CQ 33
(1939): 200.
62. See ibid., 201.
63. Aristotle, Rhet. 1.9.38; Rhet. Alex. 3.7–8; Theon, Progymn. 9 (RG 2:111)
64. Cf. Isocrates, De pace 41–44, which is explicitly labeled a synkrisis by Diony-
sius of Halicarnassus (Isocr. 17; Dem. 17), and Isocrates, Evag. 34–37.
 SYNKRISIS IN CORINTH 167

I will next point out the contrast between [Agesilaus’s] behaviour and
the imposture of the Persian king. In the first place the Persian (ὁ μὲν)
thought his dignity required that he should be seldom seen: Agesilaus
( Ἀγησίλαος δὲ) delighted to be constantly visible, believing that, whereas
secrecy was becoming to an ugly career, the light shed lustre on a life
of noble purpose. In the second place, the one (ὁ μὲν) prided himself
on being difficult of approach: the other (ὁ δὲ) was glad to make him-
self accessible to all.… In the matter of personal comfort, moreover, it is
worth noticing how much simpler and much more easily satisfied were
the tastes of Agesilaus. The Persian king (τῷ μὲν γὰρ Πέρσῃ) has vintners
… But Agesilaus ( Ἀγησίλαος δὲ), thanks to his love of toil, enjoyed any
drink that was at hand … (Xenophon, Ages. 9.1–2 [Marchant and Bow-
ersock, LCL])

Immediately evident, again, is the use of balanced μέν … δέ clauses. Note

also that just as in the synkriseis cited earlier, the grounds of each compari-
son are specified before being elaborated. Indeed, the structural similarity
of these encomiastic comparisons with what we have seen in the progym-
nastic tradition is striking. And here, I suspect, we have a clue as to the
generic conventions that would allow Meleager to produce a parodic syn-
krisis of peas and lentils. I imagine headings something like this, though
certainly more humorous:

Further, with regard to texture, peas and lentils compete valiantly for the
prize: For while the one, when cooked, becomes so mushy as to render
teeth unnecessary, the other, upon being boiled in a broth, resembles not
so much victuals as sludge.

In fact, I like both lentils and peas. My point is simply that it is this sort
of thing, not Paul’s brief comparison of himself with his rivals, that would
have been recognizable as a parody of the conventions of synkrisis.
Paul, of course, was not composing an oration; he was writing a letter.
And so one could perhaps argue that the conventions for synkrisis I have
highlighted would not have been relevant in the case of 2 Cor 10–13. From
this perspective, Paul’s comparison does not sound like the synkriseis of
oratory or the Progymnasmata because it is presented in a style that befits
letter writing, terser and less formal than the stuff of oratory. But this sort
of argument does nothing to rehabilitate Forbes’s reading of 2 Cor 11:21b–
23 as a parodic synkrisis, since we have no evidence of epistolary synkriseis
with defined characteristics predictable enough to make them amenable
to parody.
168 RETHINKING PAUL’S RHETORICAL EDUCATION

More troublingly, this sort of argument leaves us in the awkward posi-

tion of having derived our reading of the evidence from a prior conclusion.
That is, having concluded that Paul was trained to compose rhetorical syn-
kriseis, we have managed to find a way of explaining why he does not in
fact do so. Surely it makes more sense first to consider the evidence—Paul
compares himself with his rivals, and his comparison does not resemble a
formal synkrisis—and then to reach our conclusion. A suitable conclusion,
I think, would be that Paul’s comparison of himself with his rivals does not
evince knowledge of formal rhetorical practice.
In fact, there is a much simpler explanation than Paul’s putative knowl-
edge of rhetorical conventions for the fact that he compares himself with
his rivals: he was competing with them. The situation simply demanded
that he assert his superiority, and that is a task for which it is difficult to
imagine a more obvious strategy than comparison.
 8
Not a Fool, It’s (Only) Irony

The assertion that Paul’s boasting is (only) ironic is all but universal in
current scholarship, and it undergirds a number of the rhetorical-critical
readings treated above.1 Whatever rhetorical measures Paul must resort
to, we are told, they cannot be taken at face value; no, it is the deeper ironic
meaning of Paul’s rhetoric to which we must attend. From this perspec-
tive, Paul’s boasting becomes anti-boasting, a devastating critique of his
rivals—who, one is left to imagine, prattle on shamelessly of their accom-
plishments, and do so without a trace of irony. In other words, interpret-
ing this text as irony allows Paul to have his cake and eat it too: His ironic
self-commendation functions both to demonstrate his superiority as an
apostle and to demonstrate the absurdity of the very self-commendation
he undertakes.2

1. So esp. Holland, “Speaking Like a Fool”; Holland, Divine Irony, 137–49; Aida
Besançon Spencer, “The Wise Fool (and the Foolish Wise): A Study of Irony in Paul,”
NovT 23 (1981): 349–60; J. A. Loubser, “A New Look at Paradox and Irony in 2 Corin-
thians 10–13,” Neot 26 (1992): 507–21; McCant, 2 Corinthians, 101–72; Witherington,
Conflict and Community in Corinth, 442–64; Walker, Paul’s Offer of Leniency, 299–318;
Watson, “Paul’s Boasting in 2 Corinthians 10–13,” 265–66; Murphy-O’Connor, Paul:
A Critical Life, 319–22; Marshall, Enmity in Corinth, 349–53; Savage, Power through
Weakness, 63; Vegge, A Letter about Reconciliation, 332–37; Garland, 2 Corinthians,
421–22.
2. Prior to the rise of this ironic reading, interpreters sought to resolve the appar-
ent contradiction between Paul’s own self-commendation and his denouncement of
self-commendation by positing a theological dialectic. See Ernst Käsemann, “Die
Legitimität des Apostels: Eine Untersuchung zu II Korinther 10–13,” ZNW 41 (1942):
33–71; John H. Schütz, Paul and the Anatomy of Apostolic Authority (2nd ed.; NTL;
Louisville: Westminster John Knox, 2007), 165–86; Hafemann, “Self-Commendation.”
Like the ironic interpretation we will discuss below, this is a needlessly convoluted
reading. As I argued in the previous chapter, a simpler explanation—and one that

-169-
170 RETHINKING PAUL’S RHETORICAL EDUCATION

This would be a clever rhetorical strategy indeed.3 The trouble is,

Paul didn’t use it. Although he does make isolated ironic statements in
this passage, his boasting as a whole simply does not admit of an ironical
reading. Paul explains exactly what he intends to do, and then he does it.
This explicitness leaves no compass for irony. In the end, one suspects that
the attribution to Paul of ironic intent derives not from cues in the text
but rather from interpreters’ incredulity that Paul could thus have praised
himself in earnest.

Glenn Holland’s Boastful Ironist

Undoubtedly the most thorough attempt to read 2 Cor 10–13 as an essen-

tially ironic discourse is that of Glenn Holland. Irony is not easy to define,
and Holland begins by taking us on an instructive foray into the nature
of irony, wading through the sometimes murky waters of modern liter-
ary criticism.4 Irony, he insists, is better understood through concrete
instances than attempts at description. Still, he provides a useful working
definition of the sort of irony that most interpreters attribute to Paul:

As it is most commonly understood, irony is a rhetorical trope, that of

saying one thing while meaning another.… The ironic interpretation
arises out of a perception (and this perception may be communicated
in different ways) that another meaning lies below the surface meaning,
and that this second meaning, the ironic one, is the true one.5

makes better sense of the text—is that Paul sought to discount his rivals’ “boasting”
because it was his rivals’, and thought his own was legitimate because it was his own.
3. According to Christopher Forbes and Tor Vegge, Paul’s striking use of irony
attests to his rhetorical sophistication—sophistication that can only have been
achieved through formal rhetorical education (Forbes, “Comparison, Self-Praise, and
Irony,” 22–24; Vegge, Paulus und das antike Schulwesen, 418–23).
4. Holland, Divine Irony, 19–58.
5. Ibid., 20, 37–38. Holland discusses at some length whether irony inheres in
authorial intention or in the evaluation of the reader, and, in short, equivocates—as
can be seen from the odd notion in the quotation above of “communicating” a “per-
ception.” For our purposes, the whole debate is irrelevant: those who assert Pauline
irony in 2 Cor 10–13 generally believe that by doing so they are saying something
about the historical Paul and his intention. What I am asking is thus not whether the
text can be read ironically—any text can—but whether Holland et al. are right to assert
that Paul’s boasting was self-consciously ironic.
 NOT A FOOL, IT’S (ONLY) IRONY 171

This is a good description of what we may call (stable) verbal irony,6 and
Holland evokes it again when summarizing his reading of Paul’s so-called
“Fool’s Speech”:

In the guise of the fool, Paul is free both to speak ironically and to draw
his reader’s attention to the fact that he is doing so. The whole concept of
“speaking like a fool” invites the reader to look past the surface meaning
of the text in order to find its deeper, true meaning.… Throughout these
chapters Paul unabashedly presents matters from the divine perspective,
exalting humility and suffering over human ideas of glory in an ironic
tour de force.7

Tellingly, though, in treating Paul’s alleged irony in 2 Cor 10–13, Holland

does not in fact isolate an ironic from a “surface meaning.”
Let me provide an example. Holland asserts that in describing his
flight from Damascus (11:32–33) “Paul is being ironic, boasting about
the cowardice that is part of his weakness.”8 But what Holland describes
as the ironic meaning here is in fact the explicit surface meaning of the
passage, for Paul had introduced the episode by explaining: “If I must
boast, I will boast of the things that show my weakness” (v. 30). There is no
irony here—that is, to use Holland’s words, no meaning below the surface
meaning—for Paul has flatly declared his intentions, paradoxical though
they may be.9 Glorying in episodes that display one’s vulnerability may be
counterintuitive, and Paul may indeed be “exalting humility and suffering
over human ideas of glory,” but he is not using irony to do so.10

6. Cf. Rhet. Alex. 21; Quintilian, Inst. 8.6.54. And see Wayne C. Booth, A Rhetoric
of Irony (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1974).
7. Holland, Divine Irony, 138–39. I am grateful to Dr. Holland for his charitable
and helpful remarks on an earlier draft of this section.
8. Ibid., 144.
9. F. R. Ankersmit provides a useful differentiation of paradox and irony: “When
being ironical we … expect the hearer or reader to see our point and to exchange what
we say for what we really intended to express. But here irony differs from paradox. In
the case of paradox semantic opposition should not be obliterated—as irony expects
us to do—but has to be respected.… The secret of … paradox lies in the requirement
that neither of the two opposites yield to the other” (Aesthetic Politics: Political Phi-
losophy beyond Fact and Value [Stanford, Calif.: Stanford University Press, 1996], 334).
10. Perhaps there would be irony here if, as E. A. Judge suggested, Paul intended
to parody contemporary accounts of military daring: “If it is realised that everyone in
antiquity would have known that the finest military award for valour was the corona
172 RETHINKING PAUL’S RHETORICAL EDUCATION

As Lee Johnson has shown, the same difficulty haunts Holland’s

broader assertion that Paul’s “foolishness” constitutes an ironic stance:
there simply is no compass for irony here, for Paul repeatedly makes his
intention plain (11:1, 16–17).11 Indeed, each step of the way, Paul gives his
reader explicit guidance as to how his ”boasting” should be construed. Paul
begins by explaining that he is about to boast κατὰ σάρκα and warning his
addressees not to take such boasting as if it were κατὰ κύριον (11:17–18).
Then, precisely as in Phil 3:2–6, where too Paul explains his grounds for
confidence κατὰ σάρκα, Paul lists his qualifications as an authentic rep-
resentative of Judean piety.12 When it comes to being a διάκονος Χριστοῦ,
Paul offers yet another disclaimer (παραφρονῶν λαλῶ), and then explains,
quite earnestly, just as in 1 Cor 15:10, that he is the hardest working of all
the apostles (περισσότερον αὐτῶν πάντων ἐκοπίασα [1 Cor 15:10]; ἐν κόποις
περισσοτέρως [2 Cor 11:23]). These κόποι are the grounds, apparently, on
which he can claim to excel his rivals. But, in arguing his superiority as
a διάκονος Χριστοῦ on these grounds, Paul finds himself making revela-
tions that, he realizes, are hardly compelling indicators of authoritative
status. Thus v. 30: “If I must boast, I will boast of the things that show my
weakness.” There is no irony here, just a man caught between a rock and
a hard place.
According to Wayne Booth, the first step in detecting the ironic
intent of an author is the recognition that the author cannot mean what
he or she seems to mean—that is, the recognition that we are “required
to reject the literal meaning.”13 A good example comes from 2 Cor 10–13

muralis, for the man who was first up the wall in the face of the enemy, Paul’s point
is devastatingly plain: he was first down” (“Educational Aims,” 708; so also Holland,
Divine Irony, 144). But this would be rather an opaque reference: the incident is nar-
rated with economy, not the bombast one would expect from such a parody; there is
nothing to suggest a military context; and, as Murray Harris notes, “the crucial ele-
ment of ‘firstness’ is missing” (Second Corinthians, 824).
11. See Johnson, “The Epistolary Apostle,” 218–19.
12. Thus, against Holland (Divine Irony, 141) there are no grounds for reading
κατὰ σάρκα here as a reference to “human standards” in general, let alone the puta-
tively worldly values of his rivals (cf. Winter, Philo and Paul, 234). On the telling paral-
lel with Phil 3 here, see esp. Fitzgerald, “Cracks in an Earthen Vessel,” 375–77.
13. Booth, A Rhetoric of Irony, 10. Booth is referring here to what he calls “stable
irony,” which he distinguishes from such “unstable irony” as resists the reconstruction
of a final authorial perspective. Since Paul clearly expects the Corinthians to be able to
reconstruct his perspective well enough—well enough, indeed, to obey him (cf. 13:2,
 NOT A FOOL, IT’S (ONLY) IRONY 173

itself: When Paul asks, “Did I commit a sin by humbling myself so that
you could be exalted?” (11:7), we must reject the notion that Paul intends
this as a sincere question. Paul cannot really be seeking an answer to the
question as stated, for the correct answer, when the issue is framed this
way, is so obvious as to be laughable. The preposterousness of the ques-
tion, then, changes our focus from the literal meaning to a “deeper,” ironic
meaning: Translated, rather flatly, into literal terms, what Paul is really
asking is something like, “How can you treat my work on your behalf with
such disdain?”14
In order to conclude that Paul’s boasting is ironic, then, we should
need some compelling reason to reject a literal interpretation. That is,
there must be some indication that Paul cannot mean what he seems to
mean: first, that he knows boasting is foolish, but that he feels compelled
to do it anyway, and, second, that he has nowhere to take refuge except
in apostolic labors that turn out, as indicators of his status, to be ambiva-
lent at best. The fact that Paul manages to refigure his weaknesses into
marks of divine strength (12:9–10) does not mean the whole passage is
ironic. Rather—if I may risk another old saw—Paul has only lemons, so
he makes lemonade.
Allow me briefly to elaborate. For many scholars, it seems that what
finally renders this passage ironic is Paul’s simultaneous claim to status and
confession of weakness. From this perspective, the irony reaches a climax
in what Holland calls Paul’s “claim to superiority through nothingness” in
12:11b.15 Again, though, it is difficult to locate an ironic signification. The

10)—unstable irony need not concern us. Paul knows quite precisely what he wants,
and he expects the Corinthians to know too.
14. According to Forbes, Paul’s irony here is tinged with what Hermogenes calls
indignation (βαρύτης [Περὶ ἰδεῶν 2.8]), and thus reflects his knowledge of rhetorical
theory (“Comparison, Self-Praise, and Irony,” 17). The basic problem here is chrono-
logical: Hermogenes’s discussion of style dates from the 2nd c., as does the similar
discussion in the Ars Rhetorica falsely attributed to Aelius Aristides (1.2.1–2). See
Kennedy, Greek Rhetoric under Christian Emperors, 70; Malcolm Heath, Menander:
A Rhetor in Context (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2004), 45–48. So, as I. Vegge
correctly notes, there is no evidence for discussion of βαρύτης as a style of composition
in Paul’s time (A Letter about Reconciliation, 315). Any correspondence between Her-
mogenes’s discussion and Paul’s prose must be attributed to the fact that Hermogenes
did a good job of his stated goal—namely, to describe what types of style speakers in
fact use (1.1).
15. Holland, Divine Irony, 147–48.
174 RETHINKING PAUL’S RHETORICAL EDUCATION

“surface meaning” of the statement is clear enough. It has two clauses: (1)
Paul claims that he is not inferior to his rivals; (2) Paul admits that he is
nothing. I think it is quite clear that neither of these clauses demands an
ironic interpretation. Paul does in fact think that he is not inferior to his
rivals (cf. 2 Cor 10:7, 11:5), and his self-designation as “nothing” (οὐδέν) is
not out of keeping with how he describes himself in texts where few would
allege ironic intent (1 Cor 3:7; 15:8–10; cf. 1 Cor 1:28; Gal 6:3). Quite
simply, in both clauses, Paul means exactly what he says.
Holland’s analysis suggests that what he finds ironic here is in fact
the relationship between these two clauses: “Paul can claim to be a better
apostle precisely because he is more completely a nothing.”16 But I suspect
the irony of juxtaposing these two apparently contradictory statements
inheres not in Paul’s perspective, but in Holland’s. As a reader, Holland
may find situational irony here—that is, it may be an ironic state of affairs,
from Holland’s perspective, that Paul can claim, in the same breath, to be
both “nothing” and “not inferior”—but that does not mean Paul is being
ironic.17 On sober reflection, of course, Paul’s statements are logically
irreconcilable. But when speaking of matters like identity and dignity one
is not usually concerned above all with propositional logic. Rather, these
two statements pertain to two different realms wherein Paul negotiates his
identity: Paul experiences himself as a Christ-filled “nothing”; he also is
convinced that he is an apostle, and expects to be honored as such. Again,
comparison with 1 Cor 15:9–10 is instructive:

I am the least of the apostles, unfit to be called an apostle, because I

persecuted the church of God. But by the grace of God I am what I am,
and his grace toward me has not been in vain. On the contrary, I worked
harder than any of them—though it was not I, but the grace of God that
is with me.

Here too Paul is both the least and he is by no means inferior—and he

certainly is not being ironic. I submit, then, that the paradoxical nature of
Paul’s “boasting” in 2 Cor 10–13 derives not from Pauline irony but rather

16. Ibid. Notice that Paul does not in fact assert the causal relationship between his
superiority and his nothingness that Holland finds in this text (εἰ καὶ οὐδέν εἰμι), which
is why his assertion that Paul’s engages in Socratic irony here cannot be sustained.
17. On this distinction, see Booth, A Rhetoric of Irony, 9; David S. Kaufer, “Irony,
Interpretive Form, and the Theory of Meaning,” Poetics Today 4 (1983): 452.
 NOT A FOOL, IT’S (ONLY) IRONY 175

from Paul’s ongoing attempt to negotiate his controverted status as a dis-

reputable apostle.

Disclaiming Boastfulness

Although recent interpreters of 2 Cor 10–13 have various emphases and

approaches, the majority share a basic pattern of interpretation, an argu-
mentative structure into which rhetorical criticism was co-opted and
which rhetorical criticism now sponsors. It may be summarized as fol-
lows: Paul took up the rhetorical toolbox of his opponents in order to beat
them at their own game; however, he did so ironically, and thereby decon-
structed the worldly values of the Corinthians.18
This is an attractive interpretation. When we read this text ironically,
we get a Paul who not only is sophisticated enough to outsmart his oppo-
nents, but also is humble enough to abstain from any straightforward par-
ticipation in the quest for honor. He is the perfect Christian gentleman,
if rather more passionate that most, responding with modesty, wit, and
dignity to a challenging situation. But is this really the voice that speaks
in 2 Cor 10–13? Given the long exegetical history of attempts to excuse
Paul’s behavior here, it is useful to remember Richard Levin’s observation,
cited by Holland himself: ironic interpretation is often suspiciously adept
at defending authors from accusations of simple bad taste.19
Notice further how this mode of interpretation shapes the charac-
terization of Paul the rhetor in current scholarship: Paul not only knows
how to engage in periautologia but he can up the rhetorical ante by doing
so ironically.20 Paul is not only capable of composing a striking peristasis
catalogue, but he can cleverly parody the genre.21 Paul not only has mas-
tered the art of prosōpopoiia, but he ironically has chosen to take on the

18. For particularly clear statements of the argument, see Forbes, “Comparison,
Self-Praise, and Irony,” 20; Harris, Second Corinthians, 792–93; Travis, “Paul’s Boast-
ing,” 529–30.
19. Richard Levin, New Readings vs. Old Plays: Recent Trends in the Reinterpre-
tation of English Renaissance Drama (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1979),
125–35; cited in Holland, Divine Irony, 34–35; cf. Booth, A Rhetoric of Irony, 82.
20. So Forbes, “Comparison, Self-Praise, and Irony,” 20; Watson, “Paul’s Boasting
in 2 Corinthians 10–13,” 271–74; Duling, “2 Corinthians 11:22,” 829.
21. Travis, “Paul’s Boasting,” 529–30; Witherington, Conflict and Community in
Corinth, 452.
176 RETHINKING PAUL’S RHETORICAL EDUCATION

persona of a fool.22 Finally, not only can Paul put together a fine synkri-
sis, but he can deconstruct the form by selecting ironic criteria for com-
parison.23 In short, the attribution of ironic intent has been used to make
Paul not only a gifted rhetor but the consummate rhetor—and, moreover,
the only person in Corinth who can see through the superficial formal-
ity and the childish boastfulness of the Greco-Roman rhetorical tradition.
Indeed, it appears that one reason recent interpreters of 2 Cor 10–13 have
found rhetorical criticism so attractive is that it provides, as Spätjudentum
did until the recent crisis of conscience among New Testament scholars,
a foil against which to highlight Paul’s moral and intellectual superiority.
In other words, the argument that Paul’s boasting is ironic is not in fact
exegetical but apologetic.
To understand the apologetic logic here, it is important to recognize
that among the chief social functions of irony is its ability to allow speakers
to say things “off-record” and thereby to save face.24 Irony disassociates a
speaker from his or her own words; it is, in the useful metaphor of Erving
Goffmann, a framing device, signaling that a speaker “means to stand in a
relation of reduced personal responsibility for what he is saying. He splits
himself off from the content of his words by expressing that their speaker
is not he himself in a serious way.”25 In other words, irony interrupts the
easy assumption of listeners that what a speaker says is illustrative of her
or his character. It does not take much time spent reading commentary
on 2 Cor 10–13 to notice that, for centuries, interpreters have been eager
precisely to distance Paul from the boastful speaker implied by the pas-
sage.26 Attributing to him ironic intent is simply the latest in a series of
such strategies.

22. Keener, 1–2 Corinthians, 231.

23. Forbes, “Comparison, Self-Praise, and Irony,” 2.
24. Erving Goffman, Frame Analysis: An Essay on the Organization of Experience
(New York: Harper & Row, 1974), 514–15; Penelope Brown and Stephen C. Levinson,
Politeness: Some Universals in Language Usage (Studies in Interactional Sociolinguis-
tics 4; Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1987), 221–22, 262–65; Shelly Dews,
Joan Kaplan, and Ellen Winner, “Why Not Say It Directly? The Social Functions of
Irony,” Discourse Processes 19 (1995): 347–67.
25. Goffman, Frame Analysis, 512. For an incisive analysis of irony from this per-
spective, see Rebecca Clift, “Irony in Conversation,” Language in Society 28 (1999):
523–53.
26. See the beginning of ch. 4 above.
 NOT A FOOL, IT’S (ONLY) IRONY 177

Notably, Paul himself does seek to disassociate himself from the impli-
cation that he is a boastful fool (cf. 2 Cor 11:1, 16–17, 21; 12:6, 11), but he
uses a rather more explicit framing device—and one that, apparently, his
interpreters have deemed ineffectual: the disclaimer. By repeatedly draw-
ing attention to the fact that he is aware of the foolishness of his boasting,
Paul goes, as it were, “off-record.”
Disclaimers, as John Hewitt and Randall Stokes have observed, result
from a basic element of social interaction: Those who listen to a speaker
“typify” that speaker—that is, they make judgments concerning the speak-
er’s character—on the basis of what is said, and, further, the speaker knows
that this process of typification is underway.27 Speakers use disclaimers,
then, in an attempt to manipulate how they are typified. Hewitt and Stokes
provide the standard definition:

A disclaimer is a verbal device employed to ward off and defeat in advance

doubts and negative typifications [of the speaker] which may result from
intended conduct.… In each example, a specific utterance calls the oth-
er’s attention to a possible undesired typification and asks forbearance.
Each phrase, in effect, disclaims that the word or deed to follow should
be used as a basis for identity challenge and re-typification.28

Paul’s disclaimers, I submit, are textbook cases. I know boasting is foolish,

he insists, but, now that you know I know this, you need not characterize
me as a foolish boaster—even though I will go on to boast.29 As Plummer
rightly explained, without the benefit of all this theory, “[Paul] is anxious
that the Corinthians should be aware that he recognizes the foolishness of
self-praise, and that it is not his fault that he is guilty of it.”30
Why, then, have interpreters not been content with Paul’s own strat-
egy for mitigating the negative characterization that could result from his
boasting? Why have they found it necessary to attribute to Paul ironic

27. John P. Hewitt and Randall Stokes, “Disclaimers,” American Sociological

Review 40 (1975): 2–3.
28. Ibid., 3. Among their examples are: “I know this sounds stupid, but …”; “This
is just off the top of my head, so …”; “I realize I’m being anthropomorphic …”
29. Notice that this provides an explanation for Paul’s introduction of the motif of
“foolishness” that renders unnecessary Larry Welborn’s suggestion that Paul’s ἄφρων
language was introduced into the discussion by Paul’s rival (An End to Enmity, 155–
58).
30. Plummer, Second Epistle, 313.
178 RETHINKING PAUL’S RHETORICAL EDUCATION

intent? Here I suspect the answer lies in the relative status that listeners
attribute to speakers who use these two different framing strategies.
We have already considered the implications for characterizing Paul’s
voice of attributing to him ironic intent. Reading Paul’s boasting as irony
provides us with a Paul confident and secure in his own status. Yes, he
is beleaguered, but he is sufficiently self-possessed to avoid the shameful
spectacle of sincere self-promotion. Nor is he so vulnerable—so socially
weak—that he must sacrifice his principles in order to assert his worth.
This Paul remains firmly in control.
This is in keeping with the nature of ironic speech, which tends to proj-
ect an air of superiority. According to Aristotle, those who speak in earnest
get angry with ironists, for irony is inherently disdainful (καταφρονητικός
[Rhet. 2.2.24–25]). Indeed, for Aristotle, it is precisely this capacity of
irony to host its apparent opposite, ἀλαζονεία, that makes it a vice (Eth.
nic. 4.7.15; cf. Quintilian, Inst. 11.1.21)31—though, when used in mod-
eration, he sees irony as a mark of superior refinement (Eth. nic. 4.3.28;
4.7.16; Rhet. 3.18.7). Similarly, for more recent theorists, the “ironic posi-
tion is always one of superior power, knowledge or authority.”32 An ironic
speaker is detached or disinterested enough that he or she is willing to
risk misunderstanding—that is, to risk that his or her hearers will miss the
irony—and thus retains an aura of invulnerability.
In other words, one can boast ironically of weakness only if one can
live with the potential consequence that a few boors will miss the irony
and simply think that one is weak. Paul is apparently not secure enough in
his position to leave such an interpretive option open (cf. 10:7–12; 11:5–6;
12:11; 13:1–4). So Paul uses the disclaimer, a framing strategy that avoids
the risk of misinterpretation associated with irony.
The disclaimer, however, has its own risks. First, the repeated or habit-
ual use of disclaimers is often associated by listeners with speakers who
lack credibility and authority.33 This stands to reason: why should speak-

31. See further P. W. Gooch, “Socratic Irony and Aristotle’s Eiron: Some Puzzles,”
Phoenix 41 (1987): 97–99.
32. Andreea Ghita, “Negotiation of Irony in Dialogue,” in Negotiation and Power
in Dialogic Interaction (ed. Edda Weigand and Marcelo Dascal; Current Issues in Lin-
guistic Theory 214; Philadelphia: John Benjamins, 2001), 140. Cf. Holland, Divine
Irony, 59–60.
33. Robert A. Bell, Christopher J. Zahn, and Robert Hopper, “Disclaiming: A
Test of Two Competing Views,” Communication Quarterly 32 (1984): 28–36; Bonnie
 NOT A FOOL, IT’S (ONLY) IRONY 179

ers use disclaimers unless they lack the confidence to say what they are
going to say “on-record”? Disclaimers, then, project insecurity or height-
ened concern with how one will be viewed—precisely the opposite of the
detachment and disdainful disregard for the perception of others that
ironists project.
Second, it is not at all clear that disclaimers actually work—that is,
that they prevent the negative characterization of speakers on the basis of
what they say. One recent study suggests that people who preface a state-
ment with “I don’t mean to sound arrogant …” only avoid such character-
ization if what they go on to say is not, in fact, particularly arrogant.34 If
such a disclaimer is followed by a statement of only modest self-praise, it
appears to head off characterizations of arrogance. If, however, it is fol-
lowed by what would otherwise be deemed shameless self-promotion, the
disclaimer backfires, not only failing to prevent negative characterization,
but even priming the pump by shaping the listener’s expectations.
My point is this: Paul disclaims the foolishness that he fears his audi-
ence will attribute to him as a result of his boasting. As the history of
interpretation demonstrates, many readers have not found his disclaimers
entirely convincing, and have been somewhat troubled by what appears to
be Paul’s insecurity and concern for his own status. So, as the most recent
move in a long apologetic tradition, interpreters have attributed to Paul a
more refined rhetorical strategy, one that projects a more detached and
self-possessed speaker—namely, irony. This may make for a more palat-
able Paul, but it obscures the voice that speaks in 2 Cor 10–13.

Conclusion

The burden of part 2 of this study has been to evaluate the evidence put
forward by recent scholarship that Paul’s rhetoric in 2 Cor 10–13 demon-
strates his familiarity with the classical rhetorical tradition. As we have
seen, this text does overlap in four limited ways with the theory and prac-
tice of the formal tradition of classical rhetoric: (1) Paul’s boasting in 2

Erickson et al., “Speech Style and Impression Formation in a Court Setting: The Effects
of ‘Powerful’ and ‘Powerless’ Speech,” Journal of Experimental Social Psychology 14
(1978): 266–79.
34. Amani El-Alayli et al., “ ‘I Don’t Mean to Sound Arrogant, but …’: The Effects
of Using Disclaimers on Person Perception,” Personality and Social Psychology Bulletin
34 (2008): 130–43.
180 RETHINKING PAUL’S RHETORICAL EDUCATION

Cor 10–13 is reminiscent of two general aspects of ancient discussions

of self-praise: It is better to be praised by others than to praise oneself;
self-praise is appropriate when done in legitimate self-defense. Addition-
ally, Paul uses strategies akin to what the rhetorical theorists referred to as
(2) prodiorthōsis, and (3) prosōpopoiia. Finally, (4) he utilizes a catalogue
style that also appears in some rhetorically trained writers.
However, on a close reading, the majority of the putative evidence
simply evaporates:
(1) There is no evidence in 2 Cor 10–13 that Paul was familiar with the
refinements of formal epistolary theory. What he did know of letter writ-
ing cannot be located with any confidence in the enkyklios paideia within
which rhetorical training was undertaken.
(2) Arguments that Paul’s “boasting” in this passage attests to his famil-
iarity with ancient rhetorical conventions for self-praise (περιαυτολογία)
fail on two counts: First, they depend upon a superficial and misleading
reading of Plutarch’s De laude ipsius, a reading that misconstrues the text
as evidence for rhetorical conventions and thus overlooks the moral struc-
ture of Plutarch’s argument. Second, and as a result, they fail to observe
how different a social role Paul projects from the aristocratic role Plutarch
commends. When one does compare Paul’s boasting with Plutarch’s rec-
ommendations, as well as with the practice of exemplary speakers like
Demosthenes, it becomes clear that Paul’s is not the sort of rhetoric Plu-
tarch admires.
(3) Although Paul does employ stylistic features associated generally
with catalogues, this cannot be attributed to his dependence on formal
rhetorical tradition. According to some, Paul used the peristasis form, con-
ventionally enough, to assert his status as an ideal sage; for others, Paul’s
boasting in weakness amounts to a parody, a reductio ad absurdum of his
opponents’ boasting in their achievements. The problem with both these
interpretations is simple: there was no established form for Paul to utilize
or to parody. Stylistic features associated with catalogues were common
enough, but they appear in such widely divergent texts and to such widely
divergent ends that to speak of a form is meaningless.
(4) There is no evidence that Paul’s so-called “Fool’s Speech” derives
from literary or dramaturgical conventions. Nor it is possible to distin-
guish Paul’s alleged prosōpopoiia or speech in the character of a fool from
Paul’s voice in the rest of the letter.
(5) Paul’s comparison of himself with his rivals does not resemble a
formal rhetorical synkrisis, and his use of the verb συγκρίνω cannot be
 NOT A FOOL, IT’S (ONLY) IRONY 181

taken as a reference to the rhetorical device. Clearly not every comparison

is a rhetorical synkrisis, and, when we look more carefully at the stylis-
tic features of synkrisis in the Progymnasmata and encomiastic oratory, it
becomes evident that Paul’s comparative boasting does not participate in
this rhetorical tradition.
(6) There are no cues in the text to suggest that Paul’s boasting was
intended ironically. Paul uses disclaimers, not irony, in his attempt to dis-
associate himself from the boastful fool his speech threatens to imply.
A further observation is perhaps of equal significance: We have not
found in 2 Cor 10–13 what were for the ancients the essential indicators
of paideia—refined diction, learned literary references, elegant use of con-
ventional tropes and topoi, and elite moral and social values.35 Indeed, a
careful reading of Paul’s letter against the backdrop of elite rhetorical dis-
course has begun to reveal a demeanor—a “voice”—that is strikingly dif-
ferent from that cultivated among the pepaideumenoi.
It is difficult, then, to sustain the argument that 2 Cor 10–13 shows
Paul to have been the recipient of a formal rhetorical education. Quite
simply, little compelling evidence for this proposition has been put for-
ward—certainly nothing compelling enough to overturn the centuries of
consensus on the matter we noted in chapter 1. Paul’s putative rhetorical
education is not a very good explanation for the peculiar nature of this
text. How, then, can the long-observed rhetorical characteristics of this
letter be explained? That is the question with which we will be concerned
in part 3.

35. See ch. 3, n. 56 above for documentation.

 Part 3
Rhetoric as Informal Social Practice
 9
Toward a Theory of General Rhetoric

As part 2 of this study has demonstrated, there is very little evidence to

support the claim that Paul received formal education in Greco-Roman
rhetoric. Second Corinthians 10–13 is the text most often cited as evidence
of Paul’s rhetorical prowess, yet an examination of recent claims produced
almost exclusively negative results. There are a few points of contact
between Paul’s letter and ancient rhetorical handbooks and exemplars, but
much of the evidence adduced simply does not withstand scrutiny. More-
over, when Paul is read alongside the rhetoricians, it becomes increasingly
clear that they are not part of the same discursive world. In sum, attrib-
uting to Paul a formal rhetorical education fails to explain the nature of
Pauline discourse. It brings to light more idiosyncrasies than it resolves.
This leaves us with a puzzle: If they are not easily explained as result-
ing from formal rhetorical education, how are we to account for the pres-
ence in Paul’s letters of rhetorical features like anaphora, prosōpopoiia, and
prodiorthōsis? Further, how do we explain the fact that readers have, for
centuries, found his prose peculiarly compelling? Is it possible to address
these questions without reverting to romantic notions of “natural” elo-
quence or resorting to the unsatisfying conclusion that Paul’s instinctive
aptitude for rhetoric was simply unprecedented?1
In what follows, I will demonstrate that if Paul spoke persuasively
despite lacking formal rhetorical education, he would by no means be
unique. By invoking a number of comparators who clearly did not have
formal training in classical rhetoric but nevertheless were forceful speak-
ers and, moreover, used many of the figures and tropes codified in ancient

1. Cf. Mitchell, “Le style, c’est l’homme,” 387–88: “As much as I agree with the
evocative power of Paul’s prose (both in antiquity and as attested by its history of recep-
tion), I cannot join what must ultimately be an apologetic argument for his complete
uniqueness in this regard [by denying Paul’s knowledge of contemporary rhetoric].”

-185-
186 RETHINKING PAUL’S RHETORICAL EDUCATION

rhetorical theory, I will provide the outlines of an alternative explana-

tion for the nature of Paul’s rhetoric: like many other such speakers, Paul
learned rhetoric not as curriculum but as informal social practice.

A Theory of General Rhetoric

“After spending much of my professional life teaching rhetoric, I began to

wonder what I was talking about.”2 So George Kennedy, eminent historian
of classical rhetoric and guide for New Testament scholars pursuing the
topic,3 began a late-career odyssey, probing behind the Greek rhetorical
tradition and seeking to describe the “general rhetoric” that constitutes all
human communication. And not only human communication; no, what
particularly fascinated Kennedy was the comparability of human persua-
sion to the rudimentary rhetorical activity of all living things—rhetoric
from growls to birdsong. Rhetoric, Kennedy observed, was favored by evo-
lution because it was less energy-intensive than fight or flight.4 Two red
deer stags competing for a mate could fight it out, but their species would
be more likely to survive if they were to roar at each other instead, the
stronger eventually convincing the weaker to back down.5 Human politi-
cal rhetoric may be more complex than this, but, Kennedy observed, it
serves a comparable evolutionary function.

2. George A. Kennedy, “A Hoot in the Dark: The Evolution of General Rheto-

ric,” in Rhetoric: Concepts, Definitions, Boundaries (ed. William A. Covino and David
A. Jolliffe; Boston: Allyn & Bacon, 1995), 105; repr. from Philosophy and Rhetoric 25
(1992).
3. Kennedy’s authoritative treatments of classical rhetoric include The Art of Per-
suasion in Greece (Princeton, N.J.: Princeton University Press, 1963); The Art of Rheto-
ric in the Roman World, 300 B.C.–A.D. 300 (History of Rhetoric 2; Princeton, N.J.:
Princeton University Press, 1972); Greek Rhetoric under Christian Emperors (History
of Rhetoric 3; Princeton, N.J.: Princeton University Press, 1983. He has provided trans-
lations of everything from Aristotle (On Rhetoric: A Theory of Civic Discourse [2nd ed.;
New York: Oxford University Press, 2007]) to the Progymnasmata (Progymnasmata:
Greek Textbooks of Prose Composition and Rhetoric [WGRW 10; Atlanta: Society of
Biblical Literature, 2003]). And he helped initiate rhetorically sensitive readings of the
New Testament with his New Testament Interpretation through Rhetorical Criticism
(Studies in Religion; Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press, 1984).
4. Kennedy, “A Hoot in the Dark,” 112–13.
5. Ibid., 108; Kennedy, Comparative Rhetoric, 13–14.
 TOWARD A THEORY OF GENERAL RHETORIC 187

Kennedy followed up an initial exploratory article with Comparative

Rhetoric, a wide-ranging survey that begins with a reiteration of his dis-
coveries concerning animal communication, continues on to a consider-
ation of various nonliterate cultures, and proceeds to treat ancient Chinese
and Indian rhetoric before revisiting the Greco-Roman tradition. Ken-
nedy analyzes all of this material using the categories of the classical tradi-
tion—not, he admitted, because they were necessarily the most adequate,
but simply because they were what he had been bequeathed.6
Thus Kennedy found, for example, that deliberative rhetoric is “a
universal genre,” whereas Western formulations of judicial and epideic-
tic rhetoric are not particularly helpful for describing speech outside of
the Western tradition.7 Enthymemes are frequently found in traditional
societies; however, complex chains of logical arguments seem to appear
only in literate societies.8 Arguments from ethos, pathos, and logos appear
in various forms in all societies.9 And even animals use such rhetorical
devices as repetition, anaphora, homoioteleuton, and hyperbole.10
What this all amounts to, of course, is a fundamental redefinition of
rhetoric.11 Rhetoric can no longer be thought of as a particular quality
added to speech—and certainly not as something the Greeks invented. It is
in fact prior to speech, perhaps identifiable with the “energy” that inheres
in a communicative act—“the emotional energy that impels the speaker
to speak, the physical energy expended in the utterance, the energy level
coded in the message, and the energy experienced by the recipient in
decoding the message.”12 Therefore, although rhetoric certainly is cultur-
ally conditioned, it also contains universal elements that are shared among
humans in general and even with our evolutionary forebears.13

6. Kennedy, Comparative Rhetoric, 5–6; Kennedy, “A Hoot in the Dark,” 115. See
further the section “Categories for Comparison” that concludes this chapter.
7. Kennedy, Comparative Rhetoric, 220–22.
8. Ibid., 224.
9. Ibid., 223–24; see also Kennedy, “A Hoot in the Dark,” 116.
10. Kennedy, “A Hoot in the Dark,” 117–19.
11. Cf. Christian Meyer, “Precursors of Rhetoric Culture Theory,” in Culture and
Rhetoric (ed. Ivo A. Strecker and Stephen A. Tyler; Studies in Rhetoric and Culture 1;
New York: Berghahn Books, 2009), 40–42.
12. Kennedy, “A Hoot in the Dark,” 106; see also Kennedy, Comparative Rhetoric,
215–16.
13. Kennedy, “A Hoot in the Dark,” 115.
188 RETHINKING PAUL’S RHETORICAL EDUCATION

The perspective gained from this foray into cross-cultural compari-

son reaffirmed for Kennedy the conception of the classical tradition that
he already had proffered in his New Testament Interpretation through Rhe-
torical Criticism: what was “unique” about the Greco-Roman tradition
was not its use of rhetoric but rather its extensive theorization thereof.14
In other words, the ancients’ study of rhetoric was descriptive before it
was prescriptive.
But this is not a novel claim. In fact, it coheres perfectly with Aristo-
tle’s own description of his project in the Rhetoric: to observe and theorize
the reasons why speakers succeed in persuasion (1.1). Aristotle takes for
granted that rhetoric is, “to a certain extent, within the knowledge of all
people” (1.1 [trans. Kennedy]). Some utilize rhetoric “at random” (εἰκῇ),
others “through an ability acquired by habit” (διὰ συνήθειαν ἀπὸ ἕξεως
[1.2]). Aristotle’s theorization is meant to provide a third way, “a path” to
eloquence—rhetoric as an art (τέχνη [1.2]; cf. Plato, Gorg. 465A).15
Aristotle is by no means the only ancient theorist to have recognized
that rhetoric is practiced independently of theoretical knowledge. Quin-
tilian has a special interest in insisting that “no man can be an orator
untaught” (Inst. 2.17.12 [Butler, LCL]);16 still, his description of the origin
of rhetoric parallels what we saw in Aristotle:

It was … nature that created speech, and observation that originated the
art of speaking. Just as men discovered the art of medicine by observing
that some things were healthy and some the reverse, so they observed
that some things were useful and some useless in speaking, and noted
them for imitation or avoidance. (3.2.3 [LCL])

14. Kennedy, Comparative Rhetoric, 218; Kennedy, New Testament Interpretation,

10–11. So, likewise, Peter L. Osterreich, “Homo Rhetoricus,” in Culture and Rhetoric
(ed. Ivo A. Strecker and Stephen A. Tyler; Studies in Rhetoric and Culture 1; New
York: Berghahn Books, 2009), 49–50; Classen, Rhetorical Criticism, 28.
15. Mastery of a τέχνη, we might remember, consists for Aristotle not merely
of competence, which can also be acquired by experience, but by theoretical knowl-
edge—knowledge of the reasons for success or failure (Metaph. 1.981a–b). See further
Alan G. Gross, “What Aristotle Meant by Rhetoric,” in Rereading Aristotle’s Rhetoric
(ed. Alan G. Gross and Arthur E. Walzer; Carbondale: Southern Illinois University
Press, 2000), 27–33. On the ensuing discussion among philosophers and rhetorical
theorists, see David Roochnik, “Is Rhetoric an Art?” Rhetorica 12 (1994): 127–54.
16. See esp. Michael Winterbottom, “Quintilian and the vir bonus,” JRS 54
(1964): 96.
 TOWARD A THEORY OF GENERAL RHETORIC 189

Moreover, Quintilian grudgingly concedes the observation attributed to

Lysias “that uneducated persons, barbarians and slaves, when speaking on
their own behalf, say something that resembles an exordium, state the facts
of the case, prove, refute and plead for mercy just as an orator does in his
peroration” (2.17.6; cf. 2.11.7).17 And, presented with Demades, a real-live
example of a boatman cum orator (cf. Sextus Empiricus, Math. 2.16–17),
Quintilian waffles, making an admission that nearly undercuts the prem-
ise of his pedagogical project: “It is quite uncertain that he never studied
rhetoric and in any case continuous practice in speaking was sufficient to
bring him to such proficiency as he attained: for experience is the best of
all schools” (2.17.12).
Cicero sounds the same note in his presentation of his mentor Crassus.
In De Oratore, Crassus admits that since he entered into the fray of the
courtroom at an early age he himself did not receive the sort of rhetorical
education he would now recommend: “In fact public life was my educa-
tion, and practical experience of the laws and institutions of the state and
the custom of the country was my schoolmaster” (3.20.74–75 [Sutton and
Rackham, LCL]; cf. Isocrates, Soph. 14–15). Cicero himself, like Quintil-
ian, is convinced that true eloquence generally derives from careful train-
ing, but he acknowledges that prior to the influence of Greek teachers bud-
ding orators had no choice but to learn as Crassus had—relying on their
own ingenium and cogitatio (1.4.14; cf. Inv. 1.2.2–3).18
Moreover, like Aristotle, Cicero takes for granted that the practice
of rhetoric precedes its theorization. His Crassus initially dismisses as a
matter of mere semantics the contentious question whether oratory is an
art (1.23.107), but eventually he opines:

If … the actual things noticed in the practice and conduct of speaking

have been heeded and recorded by men of skill and experience, if they
have been defined in terms, illuminated by classification, and distrib-
uted under subdivisions … I do not understand why this should not be
regarded as an art. (1.23.109)

17. Quintilian also notes a number of specific figures that occur “naturally” in
uneducated speech: emphasis (8.3.86), metaphor (8.6.4), allegory (8.6.51), and hyper-
bole (8.6.75). See Elaine Fantham, “The Concept of Nature and Human Nature in
Quintilian’s Psychology and Theory of Instruction,” Rhetorica 13 (1995): 132.
18. See further Elaine Fantham, The Roman World of Cicero’s De Oratore (Oxford:
Oxford University Press, 2004), 78–82.
190 RETHINKING PAUL’S RHETORICAL EDUCATION

In sum, then, for Cicero’s Crassus, “Eloquence is not the offspring of the
art, but the art of eloquence” (1.32.146; cf. 3.197; Philodemus, Rhet. 2.28;
Longinus, Subl. 18.2; 22.1; Quintilian, Inst. 8.3.86).
Some centuries later, Augustine echoed this conclusion (Doct. chr. 4.3.4
[PL 34:91]), using the acquisition of grammar as an analogy for the process
by which rhetorical capacity can be learned even without formal education:

As infants cannot learn to speak except by learning words and phrases

from those who do speak, why should not men become eloquent without
being taught any art of speech? … For even the art of grammar, which
teaches correctness of speech, need not be learnt by boys, if they have
the advantage of growing up and living among men who speak correctly.
For without knowing the names of any of the faults, they will, from being
accustomed to correct speech, lay hold upon whatever is faulty in the
speech of any one they listen to, and avoid it. (4.3.5 [PL 34:91; NPNF1
2:575–76]).

Augustine would, it appears, concur with the conclusion of Mark Edwards:

To prove that [the New Testament authors] had enjoyed [rhetorical]

education, we should need to do more than demonstrate the presence
in their writings of such figures as anaphora, hyperbole, asyndeton or
litotes; such terms, like those of grammar, merely codify the practices
in which most competent speakers of a language will engage before they
have learned to give a name to them.19

In other words, before it is theory, rhetoric is social practice, and thus is

learned as one learns any social practice, through a process of observa-
tion and imitation—a process we will explore in more detail in chapter
11 below.
Still, as Peter Osterreich observes, “the universality of rhetoric does
not imply that every human being is a well-versed orator.”20 There is
a difference between the educated and uneducated speaker, not least
because the codification of rhetoric, together with the value judgments
that attend such codification,21 creates canons of speech, conventional

19. Edwards, “Gospel and Genre,” 51.

20. Osterreich, “Homo Rhetoricus,” 50.
21. Aristotle’s initial codification looks like an attempt to control the unruly
power of speech by valuing logos above pathos (Rhet. 1.1.4–6; 2.22.3; 3.14.7–8)—
 TOWARD A THEORY OF GENERAL RHETORIC 191

expectations on the part of auditors. In other words, speech practices are

culturally defined—and among the cultural gatekeepers we find teachers
of eloquence.
We can, then, theoretically distinguish three sources of rhetorical
practice: (1) the general human capacity for persuasive speech—Kenne-
dy’s “general rhetoric”; (2) the culturally-conditioned norms, constituent
of what Pierre Bourdieu calls the habitus,22 that pervade the speech pat-
terns of any given group—what I will call “informal rhetoric”; (3) the for-
mally codified rhetoric taught by and to the cultural elite, which, it should
be noted, can influence rhetorical practice either directly, through formal
education, or indirectly, by means of the influence it exerts on broader
cultural practices.
Distinguishing what is universal from what is culturally conditioned is
no easy matter.23 Repetition, as its appearance among all manner of living
thing indicates, is a device belonging to general rhetoric, whereas the use
of asyndeton requires particular grammatical circumstances and thus
cannot be universal. Still, perhaps asyndeton is a particular instantiation
of a general rhetorical tendency. And what of the partes orationis? To what
extent did such elite speech patterns influence the “informal rhetoric” of
the Greco-Roman world? Or do they too instantiate a universal persuasive
tendency, and thus recur outside of the classical tradition? Finally, particu-
larly pressing for an understanding of Paul’s rhetoric in 2 Cor 10–13, what
about the use of prodiorthōsis?
The comparative and synthetic research necessary for a thoroughgoing
theory of general rhetoric has not yet been undertaken. But what clearly
cannot be sustained is the facile assumption that Paul’s use of rhetorical
strategies is in itself evidence of formal rhetorical education. To make that
argument, one would need first to determine what, particularly, distin-
guished formal Greco-Roman rhetoric from other instances of human
persuasion as well as from the informal rhetoric of the Greco-Roman

which is why, as Carol Poster has noted, Aristotle himself repeatedly “disavows the
very techniques he explicates” (“Aristotle’s Rhetoric against Rhetoric: Unitarian Read-
ing and Esoteric Hermeneutics,” AJP 118 [1997]: 240). Likewise, if Edward Schiappa
is correct, the origins of the word rhetoric itself. See “Did Plato Coin Rhētorikē?” AJP
111 (1990): 457–70.
22. See pp. 250–51 below.
23. Cf. Mary Douglas, Natural Symbols: Explorations in Cosmology (London:
Barrie & Rockliff, 1970), 69.
192 RETHINKING PAUL’S RHETORICAL EDUCATION

world, and then to identify these distinguishing factors in Paul’s letters.

This has not even been tried, let alone accomplished.
In the absence of a more general theory differentiating formal from
informal rhetoric, I will use a series of comparators to test, on a case-by-
case basis, the claim that what Paul knew about rhetoric must have been
learned in school. If the rhetorical strategies to which Pauline scholars have
recently drawn our attention are equally attested in uneducated speakers,
then they must belong to the realm of either informal or general rheto-
ric, and thus, in the absence of other indicators of Paul’s familiarity with
formal classical rhetoric,24 they provide no evidence that Paul received a
formal rhetorical education.
The simplest way to proceed, of course, would be to use comparators
from Paul’s own milieu, speakers with no formal education but whose
usage was shaped by the same informal rhetorical traditions as shaped
Paul’s. Unfortunately, we are lacking in such comparative material. By
far the majority of extant texts—and particularly those that can be said
to make an argument—derive from the educated elite. Thus I will intro-
duce comparators from a variety of other speech communities, focusing
in particular on the Iroquois orator Red Jacket and the tradition of Native
American oratory to which he attests. The disadvantage of such a proce-
dure is that it is unable to give us direct leverage on the informal rhetorical
tradition of Paul’s world. It does, however, serve as an effective reductio ad
absurdum of the logic that currently sponsors claims of Paul’s rhetorical
education: If Red Jacket uses prodiorthōsis, for example, as effectively as
does Paul, then the figure can hardly serve as evidence of formal training
in classical rhetoric.25

Rhetoric in the New World

Kennedy is the most systematic student of comparative rhetoric to date;

however, as is evident from his own chapter on Native American ora-
tory, he is certainly not the first. With the European “discovery” of the

24. As documented above (ch. 3 n. 56), recent work on the nature of paideia in the
ancient world suggests the following as a list of potential such indicators: specific pat-
terns of refined diction, learned literary references, elegant use of conventional tropes
and topoi, and elite moral and social values.
25. On the logic and function of these comparisons, see further the introduction
to this volume.
 TOWARD A THEORY OF GENERAL RHETORIC 193

New World came exposure to cultures that were at once strange and yet
strangely familiar, and, in the resulting protoethnographic discourse
of similarity and difference, indigenous rhetoric—and, in particular, its
comparability to Western rhetorical practice—often took center stage.26
Expressions of surprise at the eloquence of the “unschooled savages”—elo-
quence that was often said to rival the best of the newly rediscovered clas-
sical tradition—became commonplace among observers Spanish, French,
and British alike.27
In his The Florida of the Inca, published in 1605, Garcilaso de la Vega,
after expressing doubt that the eloquent speeches reported to him could
possibly have come from “barbarian” lips, is rebuffed by his informant,
who ensures him that the speeches he heard were indeed so eloquent that
“many Spaniards well read in history” could not but conclude that the
speakers “appeared to have been trained in Athens when it was flourish-
ing in moral letters.”28 The Jesuit Relations too are peppered with admir-
ing references to the eloquence of First Nations speakers. Paul le Jeune,
for example, praised an Ottawa capitaine who spoke “with a keenness and

26. See esp. Edna C. Sorber, “The Noble Eloquent Savage,” Ethnohistory 19 (1972):
227–36. Also Don Paul Abbott, Rhetoric in the New World: Rhetorical Theory and
Practice in Colonial Spanish America (Studies in Rhetoric/Communication; Columbia:
University of South Carolina Press, 1996), 9; and, more generally, Andreas Motsch,
Lafitau et l’émergence du discours ethnographique (Sillery, Québec: Septentrion, 2001),
7–8.
27. See Kennedy, Comparative Rhetoric, 84; Charles Camp, “American Indian
Oratory in the White Image: An Analysis of Stereotypes,” Journal of American Culture
1 (1978): 811–12; William M. Clements, Oratory in Native North America (Tucson:
University of Arizona Press, 2002), 4–12; Sorber, “The Noble Eloquent Savage,”
228–230; Christian Meyer, “Mahnen, Prahlen, Drohen …”: Rhetorik und politischen
Organisation amerikanischer Indianer (Frankfurt: IKO-Verlag für Interkulturelle
Kommunikation, 2005), 38–46. In addition to what follows, other striking examples
include Amos Stoddard, Sketches, Historical and Descriptive, of Louisiana (Philadel-
phia: Carey, 1812), 431–33; Elijah M. Haines, The American Indian (Uh-nish-in-na-ba)
(Chicago: Massinnagan, 1888), 498–517; “Indian Eloquence,” The Knickerbocker, or
the New-York Monthly Magazine 7, no. 4 (April 1836): 385–90; and, more recently, Lois
E. Buswell, “The Oratory of the Dakota Indians,” QJS 21 (1935): 323–27; Louis Thomas
Jones, Aboriginal American Oratory: The Tradition of Eloquence among the Indians of
the United States (Los Angeles: Southwest Museum, 1965).
28. Garcilaso de la Vega, The Florida of the Inca (trans. John Grier Varner and
Jeannette Johnson Varner; Austin: University of Texas Press, 1951), 160; cited in Ken-
nedy, Comparative Rhetoric, 84.
194 RETHINKING PAUL’S RHETORICAL EDUCATION

delicacy of rhetoric that might have come out of the schools of Aristotle or
Cicero.”29 And Thomas Jefferson famously praised Native American “emi-
nence in oratory,” singling out Logan’s speech to Lord Dunmore: “I may
challenge the whole orations of Demosthenes and Cicero, and of any more
eminent orator, if Europe has furnished more eminent, to produce a single
passage, superior to the speech of Logan.”30
None of this, of course, represents disinterested academic appraisal.
As Edna Sorber has shown, admiration for “Indian eloquence” in North
America remains deeply implicated in the romantic idea of the “Noble
Savage.”31 It has also been politically useful. “Aestheticization” of Native
American oratory has served to draw attention away from its political con-
tent and context—land claims, often—and highlighted instead its nostalgic
pathos.32 Accordingly, surrender speeches and swansongs have long been
particularly popular fare.33 The anonymous writer of “Indian Eloquence,”
for example, contributing to The Knickerbocker in 1836, predicted that
these great orations, “heightened … in impressiveness by the melancholy
accompaniment of approaching extermination, will be as enduring as the
swan-like music of Attic and Roman eloquence, which was the funeral
song of the liberties of those republics.”34
Paradoxically, then, the motif of “Indian eloquence” has served as jus-
tification for dispossession: It was precisely the “primitiveness” of Native
American speech, its apparent freedom from the artificial constraints of

29. Reuben Gold Thwaites, ed., The Jesuit Relations and Allied Documents: Travels
and Explorations of the Jesuit Missionaries in New France, 1610–1791 (73 vols.; New
York: Pageant, 1959), 5:205. See further William M. Clements, Native American Verbal
Art: Texts and Contexts (Tucson: University of Arizona Press, 1996), 53–72.
30. Thomas Jefferson, Notes on the State of Virginia (Richmond, Va.: Randolph,
1853), 67.
31. Sorber, “The Noble Eloquent Savage.”
32. See David Murray, Forked Tongues: Speech, Writing, and Representation in
North American Indian Texts (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1991), 40–44;
Thomas H. Guthrie, “Good Words: Chief Joseph and the Production of Indian
Speech(es), Texts, and Subjects,” Ethnohistory 54 (2007): 509–46; Barbara Alice
Mann, “Introduction,” in Native American Speakers of the Eastern Woodlands: Selected
Speeches and Critical Analyses (ed. Barbara Alice Mann; Westport, Conn.: Greenwood
Press, 2001), xiii.
33. See Guthrie, “Good Words,” 528–31.
34. “Indian Eloquence,” 390.
 TOWARD A THEORY OF GENERAL RHETORIC 195

form, that appealed to many European Americans35—and what is primi-

tive, they reasoned, is destined for decay. And so, according to the logic
of their European interlocutors, “The more eloquently they spoke, often
uttering their own elegies, the more certain was their passing.”36
So, the notion of Native American eloquence was romanticized, and
it was a convenient salve for colonial consciences. That does not mean it
was baseless. As William Clements observes, “One obvious reason that
the image of the American Indian as a skilled orator appears so often is
because it is accurate.”37 Eloquence is, of course, a difficult thing to quan-
tify, but it would be difficult to deny the rhetorical power of the speeches
to which we have access, particularly when we are guided by readers who
understand the traditional rhetorical practices these speeches reflect, as
well as the political exigencies they addressed.38 And we should not be
surprised to encounter rhetorical prowess among the indigenous peoples
of North America: as Kennedy notes, a vital tradition of oratory is an
important aspect of social organization in many nonliterate cultures, and

35. So Stoddard, Sketches, Historical and Descriptive, of Louisiana, 432: “Who at

this day, except the untutored sons of nature, can utter the language of Ossian and
Homer? What man, trammeled with the forms of modern art, can speak like Logan
…? The language of nature can alone arrest attention, persuade, convince, and ter-
rify; and such is the language of the Indians.” See further Hoxie Neale Fairchild, The
Noble Savage: A Study in Romantic Naturalism (New York: Columbia University Press,
1928), 441–97; Clements, Oratory, 8–9.
36. Guthrie, “Good Words,” 536; cf. Mann, “Introduction,” xiv; Murray, Forked
Tongues, 34–47.
37. Clements, Oratory, 4.
38. For examples of such culturally, historically, and rhetorically sensitive read-
ings of Native American speeches, see esp. Barbara Alice Mann, ed., Native American
Speakers of the Eastern Woodlands: Selected Speeches and Critical Analyses (Westport,
Conn.: Greenwood Press, 2001); Granville Ganter, “ ‘Make Your Minds Perfectly
Easy’: Sagoyewatha and the Great Law of the Haudensoaunee,” Early American Litera-
ture 44 (2009): 121–27; Richard A. Ek, “Red Cloud’s Cooper Union Address,” Central
States Speech Journal 17 (1966): 257–62; Walter Hochbruck, “ ‘I Ask for Justice’: Native
American Fourth of July Orations,” in The Fourth of July: Political Oratory and Liter-
ary Reactions, 1776–1876 (ed. Paul Goetsch and Gerd Hurm; Tübingen: Nurr, 1992),
155–67. Outstanding analyses of the rhetoric of Native American narrative appear in
Joel Sherzer and Anthony C. Woodbury, eds., Native American Discourse: Poetics and
Rhetoric (Cambridge Studies in Oral and Literate Culture 13; Cambridge: Cambridge
University Press, 1987).
196 RETHINKING PAUL’S RHETORICAL EDUCATION

particularly in those societies that depend upon consensus and negotia-

tion for political decision-making.39
But the majority of early European observers noticed no forest of rhe-
torical culture, only the individual trees of unexpectedly articulate orators.
What they expected from savages was ululation, not argument,40 hence
their ongoing surprise at the power of Native American speech. Seeing no
evidence of formal education, and unable to imagine any other rational
explanation for the phenomenon, they resorted to romanticism: This was
the pure speech of those untainted by the corruptions of formalism or of
civilization itself. This was the eloquence of the Noble Savage.
European expressions of surprise at Native American eloquence, like
the subsequent romanticizing thereof, are thus emblematic of the dis-
comfiting interruption of the modern Western assumption that culture
equals literate culture. In the Western imagination, texts, as Walter Ong
explains, “have clamored for attention so peremptorily that oral creations
have tended to be regarded generally as variants of written productions, or,
if not this, as beneath serious scholarly attention.”41 Only the literate can
study;42 and it is study, we have assumed, that enables the production of
meaningful discourse. Already Garcilaso de la Vega had internalized his
colonizers’ assumption:

I plead now that this account be received in the same spirit as I present
it, and that I be pardoned its errors because I am an Indian. For since we
Indians are a people who are ignorant and uninstructed in the arts and
sciences, it seems ungenerous to judge our deeds and utterances strictly
in accordance with the precepts of those subjects which we have not
learned.43

39. Kennedy, Comparative Rhetoric, 63. Cf. Clements, Oratory, 5–6; Meyer,
Mahnen, Prahlen, Drohen, 46. For an excellent introduction to this aspect of Iroquois
life, see Alan Taylor, The Divided Ground: Indians, Settlers, and the Northern Border-
land of the American Revolution (New York: Knopf, 2006), 18–28.
40. See Clements, Native American Verbal Art, 4. Cf. J. Niles Hubbard, An Account
of Sa-go-ye-wat-ha, or Red Jacket, and his People, 1750–1830 (Albany, N.Y.: Munsell,
1886), 14.
41. Walter J. Ong, Orality and Literacy: The Technologizing of the Word (London:
Routledge, 2002), 8.
42. Ibid., 8–9.
43. Vega, The Florida of the Inca, xlv.
 TOWARD A THEORY OF GENERAL RHETORIC 197

The response of European observers to Native American oratory par-

allels tellingly, I think, the history of the (Western) interpretation of Pau-
line discourse. As noted in part 1, nineteenth-century scholars were well
aware that Paul’s letters did not belong amid the great literature of the clas-
sical tradition. Paul’s prose just wasn’t literary. It was, however, strangely
powerful. Like Europeans encountering Native American oratory, biblical
and classical scholars had no rational explanation for this unliterary yet
forceful discourse, thus they resorted to romanticism: Paul’s was a natural
rhetoric, untainted by formalism; Paul’s was the “rhetoric of the heart.”
Recent Pauline scholarship has decried the romanticism of an earlier
era but has failed adequately to question the continuing presupposition
that eloquence is the exclusive preserve of formal literate culture. Pauline
discourse is striking, we observe, hence Paul must have been formally edu-
cated. Like Europeans in the New World, we still have trouble believing
that those without formal Western education could say something worth-
while, let alone do so persuasively.

Categories for Comparison

George Kennedy’s decision to retain the terminology of Greco-Roman

rhetoric has consistently been the most criticized aspect of his compara-
tive project; for, although he insisted that he had no desire to impose West-
ern categories on other cultures,44 critics have been suspicious of “unex-
amined ethnocentrism” and of a methodology that “teeters dangerously
on the edge of a comparison that smacks of the logic of Orientalism.”45
Indeed, the fledgling discipline of comparative rhetoric appears to be
mired in a methodological quagmire: comparison requires the use of a
single analytical grid, but the use of a grid external to the culture being
analyzed is potentially distorting.46 (Moreover, in some academic climates,

44. Kennedy, Comparative Rhetoric, 5–6.

45. Mary M. Garrett, review of George A. Kennedy, Comparative Rhetoric: An
Historical and Cross-Cultural Introduction, Rhetorica 16 (1998): 432; LuMing Mao,
“Reflective Encounters: Illustrating Comparative Rhetoric,” Style 37 (2003): 411. See
also Xing Lu, “Studies and Development of Comparative Rhetoric in the U. S. A.: Chi-
nese and Western Rhetoric in Focus,” China Media Research 2 (2006): 113; Sue Hum
and Arabella Lyon, “Recent Advances in Comparative Rhetoric,” in The SAGE Hand-
book of Rhetorical Studies (ed. Andrea A. Lunsford; Los Angeles: Sage, 2009), 154–55.
46. See further Mary M. Garrett, “Some Elementary Methodological Reflections
on the Study of the Chinese Rhetorical Tradition,” in Rhetoric in Intercultural Contexts
198 RETHINKING PAUL’S RHETORICAL EDUCATION

cross-cultural comparison is itself a minefield: observation of difference is

easily interpreted as allegation of deficiency; observation of similarity is
seen as an attempt to impose hegemonic universals upon diversity.) It is
important, then, for me to be clear about what precisely I intend by using
the categories of Greco-Roman rhetoric to frame a comparison between
Paul and speakers from other cultures.
As Jonathan Z. Smith observes in his Drudgery Divine, a manifesto
of sorts on the nature of comparison, “there is nothing ‘natural’ about the
enterprise of comparison. Similarity and difference are not ‘given.’ They
are the result of mental operations.”47 Comparison—or, more broadly,
analogical reasoning—is an important mode of human thought,48 one
means of imposing structure and meaning on the world. Similarity and
difference, then, inhere not in the things that are being compared but in
the conceptualizing processes of the person who compares them. In the
academy, that person is the scholar. As Smith explains, “Comparison …
brings differences together within the space of the scholar’s mind for the
scholar’s own intellectual reasons.”49
My intellectual reasons for undertaking the comparisons I do have
been explained repeatedly throughout the course of this study: Current
scholarship asserts that Paul was well trained in rhetoric, an assertion built
on a comparison between Paul’s letters (x) and exemplars of Greco-Roman
rhetorical theory and practice (y), where x is shown to resemble y. But
such a dyadic expression of resemblance is, as Smith notes, logically
incomplete. Its full articulation would demand the introduction of a third
term and the explication of the grounds of comparison: Paul’s letters (x)
resemble exemplars of educated rhetoric (y) more than do attempts at per-
suasion by uneducated speakers (z) with respect to the use of rhetorical
invention, arrangement, and style.50 Thus, in the first place, I undertake

(ed. Alberto González and Dolores V. Tanno; International and Intercultural Com-
munication Annual 22; Thousand Oaks, Calif.: Sage, 1999), 54.
47. Smith, Drudgery Divine, 50–51.
48. For a survey of recent research, see Robert E. Haskell, “The Access Paradox in
Analogical Reasoning and Transfer: Whither Invariance?” Journal of Mind and Behav-
ior 30 (2009): 36–37. I am indebted here to James Contastine Hanges, “ ‘Severing the
Joints and the Marrow’: The Double-Edged Sword of Comparison” (paper presented
at the annual meeting of the Society of Biblical Literature, Altanta, Ga., 22 November
2010).
49. Smith, Drudgery Divine, 51.
50. Ibid.
 TOWARD A THEORY OF GENERAL RHETORIC 199

comparison with other speakers in order to introduce the necessary third

term (z) into the comparison, falsifying the argument by demonstrating
that, in regard to formal rhetorical conventions, x resembles y no more
than z resembles y.
Accordingly, my argument is not that the rhetoric of Red Jacket, for
example, is an instance of Greco-Roman rhetorical theory in unconscious
application. Rather, I argue that in the same way that Paul’s rhetoric is
analogous to the formal Greco-Roman tradition, so also is that of Red
Jacket and other speakers. This is a subtle but an important distinction, for
it creates space for an analysis of the rhetoric of both Paul and Red Jacket
on their own terms, without assuming that formal Greco-Roman rhetori-
cal categories best describe their arts of persuasion.
Nevertheless, Greco-Roman rhetorical categories are privileged in this
analysis, and they are privileged for a simple reason: they constitute the
terms of comparison—the “with respect to”—of the argument I seek to
falsify. It is the fact that Paul’s letters can be analyzed according to these
particular categories that sponsors the argument that Paul was formally
educated in rhetoric. Thus I use Greco-Roman rhetorical categories in
analyzing Red Jacket’s oratory not because they are the most appropriate,
but because they are the terms of the conversation in which I seek to par-
ticipate. If I were to use other categories—Perelman and Olbrechts-Tyte-
ca’s “New Rhetoric,” say—my comparisons would perhaps be interesting
but would not be deemed probative for assessing the historical question of
Paul’s rhetorical education.
 10
Attending to Other Voices

In part 2 of this study we saw that the bulk of the putative evidence for
Paul’s conformity in 2 Cor 10–13 to the dictates of rhetorical theory did
not withstand scrutiny. Nevertheless, I identified four ways in which Paul’s
rhetoric does correspond to what was recommended and practiced among
ancient orators. First, with regard to what later became known as periauto-
logia, Paul evidently shares his contemporaries’ belief that it is better to be
praised by others than to praise oneself, and he concurs with Plutarch et
alia that self-praise is less offensive when done in self-defense. Second, Paul
utilizes what the rhetoricians called prodiorthōsis, warning his address-
ees in advance that he is about to say something unpleasant. Third, Paul
approximates prosōpopoiia by speaking in the voice of his opponents in
texts like 2 Cor 10:1b, 10, and 12:16. And, finally, Paul’s list of tribulations
is composed in what has been called “catalogue style” and contains numer-
ous related rhetorical features: rhythm, anaphora, isocolon, asyndeton and
patterned use of conjunctions, and assonance or rhyme.
None of this constitutes evidence of formal rhetorical education. By
showing that each of these persuasive strategies is also utilized by speakers
who have no formal training in classical rhetoric, this chapter will demon-
strate that such strategies must be attributed to what Kennedy calls gen-
eral rhetoric. They are not unique to Greco-Roman society, let alone its
formal rhetorical tradition. There is no reason, then, to attribute Paul’s use
of them to formal rhetorical education.
But I have another task in this chapter as well: by providing a telling
set of comparators—specifically, speakers who lack formal education but
are, in their various ways, persuasive—I seek to provide an alternative con-
text for conceptualizing Paul’s rhetoric and an alternative matrix wherein
to describe Paul’s persuasive voice.

-201-
202 RETHINKING PAUL’S RHETORICAL EDUCATION

Red Jacket’s Self-Defensive Boasting

In chapter 4, I compared Paul’s boasting with the recommendations of

Plutarch and Quintilian and the self-praise of speakers like Demosthenes.
These comparisons brought mixed results: Paul was found to share with
his educated contemporaries some general cultural assumptions; however,
attention to the aristocratic social values underlying their mitigation of
self-praise highlighted Paul’s remoteness from their social and discursive
world. Further, I suggested that what similarities do exist between Paul’s
rhetoric and Plutarch’s recommendations are too general to sustain the
conclusion that Paul received a formal rhetorical education. Rather, they
appear to result from analogous responses to a common social exigency,
namely, the tension between the desire for honor and the need to abide by
social proscriptions of arrogance.
A final comparison will reinforce this interpretation of the relation-
ship between Plutarch’s treatise and Paul’s boasting. The Iroquois orator
Red Jacket, independently of any knowledge of classical rhetorical pre-
cepts for periautologia, also stressed that he spoke of his own accomplish-
ments only when compelled to defend himself and only because of his
concern for the well-being of others, and Red Jacket too presupposed that
it was preferable to let others praise him. In fact, in a number of significant
ways, Red Jacket’s self-defense is closer to the spirit of Plutarch’s treatise
and the great orator Demosthenes’s exemplary self-praise than is Paul’s—a
phenomenon that forces us to reconsider what constitutes evidence for
Paul’s rhetorical training.

Sagoyewatha, or Red Jacket

The Seneca chief Sagoyewatha, whom the British dubbed Red Jacket, was
among the most famous of Native American orators. Since a number of
my examples of general or informal rhetoric derive from extant records
of his speeches, it is worth providing a brief introduction. Probably born
in 1758,1 Red Jacket rose to prominence in the late eighteenth and early
nineteenth centuries as the Iroquois’ foremost orator.2 His reputation

1. Christopher Densmore, Red Jacket: Iroquois Diplomat and Orator (The Iro-
quois and their Neighbors; Syracuse, N.Y.: Syracuse University Press, 1999), 6.
2. For an excellent account of Red Jacket’s role, see Granville Ganter, “ ‘You Are a
Cunning People without Sincerity’: Sagoyewatha and the Trials of Community Rep-
 ATTENDING TO OTHER VOICES 203

among English-speaking Americans was considerable. According to Wil-

liam Stone, his first major biographer: “That he was an orator, in the most
exalted sense of the term, of great and commanding power, is the univer-
sal testimony of all who enjoyed opportunities of forming a just opinion
on the subject.”3 “His name,” avers J. Niles Hubbard, “like that of Demos-
thenes, is forever associated with eloquence.”4
Often speaking on behalf of the Iroquois clan mothers, Red Jacket
was a vocal defender of the land rights of his people. Many of his most
compelling speeches occurred in the context of treaty negotiations and are
thus preserved in treaty records. Other public performances were printed
in local newspapers. Neither source is unproblematic, particularly since
extant records present not Red Jacket’s words but English translations
thereof.5 Still, we may be confident of the fundamental authenticity of
many of these speeches. As Granville Ganter explains, Red Jacket “referred
to himself as an orator and intended his speeches to be read and discussed
in state capitols”; therefore, he concerned himself with ensuring accurate
representation of his words.6 The representatives of the United States were
also concerned to ensure accuracy of translation and transcription, since
speeches like those of Red Jacket became part of the public record and
played a significant role in shaping American policy.
Interpreters were often selected by Red Jacket himself. Two of his prin-
cipal interpreters, Jasper Parrish and Horatio Jones, were captured as teens
by the Seneca and were thus deeply familiar with both Red Jacket’s lan-
guage and his culture.7 Moreover, by the apex of his political career, Red
Jacket “understood English well enough to know when his meaning had

resentation,” in Native American Speakers of the Eastern Woodlands: Selected Speeches

and Critical Analyses (ed. Barbara Alice Mann; Westport, Conn.: Greenwood Press,
2001), 165–95.
3. William L. Stone, Life and Times of Red-Jacket, or Sa-Go-Ye-Wat-Ha (New
York: Wiley & Putnam, 1841), 2.
4. Hubbard, An Account of Sa-go-ye-wat-ha, 9.
5. For a detailed treatment of “sources and resources for Native American ora-
tory,” see Clements, Oratory, 23–78.
6. Ganter, “You Are a Cunning People,” 168. See also Harry W. Robie, “Red Jack-
et’s Reply: Problems in the Verification of a Native American Speech Text,” New York
Folklore 12, no. 3–4 (1986): 102–3.
7. Granville Ganter, “Introduction,” in The Collected Speeches of Sagoyewatha, or
Red Jacket (ed. Granville Ganter; The Iroquois and Their Neighbors; Syracuse, N.Y.:
Syracuse University Press, 2006), xxiii; Ganter, “You Are a Cunning People,” 68.
204 RETHINKING PAUL’S RHETORICAL EDUCATION

been misinterpreted.”8 So, although we do not have unmediated access to

Red Jacket’s oral performance, we do possess, quite frequently, his authen-
tic communication. We have what he meant for English readers to have.
Let me provide an example: On August 3, 1802, Red Jacket spoke in
defense of a Seneca named Stiff-Armed George, who had been taken into
the custody of the sheriff after allegedly killing a white man, John Hewitt,
in a drunken altercation the previous week.9 Red Jacket and the Seneca
did not recognize American legal jurisdiction, arguing that the situa-
tion should be resolved according to “the customs and habits of [their]
forefathers.”10 Red Jacket also emphasized Stiff-Armed George’s drunken-
ness, and pointedly reminded his white hearers who it was that had intro-
duced liquor among his people. Finally, in a rather astute piece of political
rhetoric, he sought to shame President Jefferson into intervening:

The President of the United States is a Great Man, possessing great

power—he may do what he pleases—he may turn men out of office;
men who held their offices long before he held his. If he can do these
things, can he not even control the laws of this state? Can he not appoint
a Commissioner to come forward to our country and settle the present
differences?

Red Jacket’s speech, as translated by Horatio Jones, was published the

following week in the Ontario Gazette (Aug. 12, 1802). Although this pub-
lication is no longer extant, the speech was reprinted in other newspapers
over the following few months, as well as in a pamphlet published by James
D. Bemis, who worked for the Gazette and thus would have had access to
the original published version.11 Although there was some contemporary
dispute concerning the authenticity of the speech, it now appears to be
beyond question. In the earliest extant version, published in the Septem-

8. Ganter, “You Are a Cunning People,” 169.

9. See Ganter, Collected Speeches, 118; Taylor, The Divided Ground, 317–22. Con-
temporary accounts of the event, which include resumes of Red Jacket’s speech, were
recorded in the Albany Centinel, March 15, 1803, and the American State Papers,
Indian Affairs 2:667–68.
10. Albany Centinel, September 3, 1802; repr. in Ganter, Collected Speeches,
119–21.
11. Native Eloquence: Being Public Speeches Delivered by Two Distinguished Chiefs
of the Seneca Tribe of Indians (Canandaigua, N.Y.: Bemis, 1811), 18–24. On the trans-
mission history of the speech, see Ganter, Collected Speeches, 119.
 ATTENDING TO OTHER VOICES 205

ber 3, 1802 edition of the Albany Centinel, as well as the all but identi-
cal text in Bemis’s Native Eloquence, Red Jacket appeals for his speech to
be delivered to the President himself: “We therefore now call upon you
to take our Speech in writing, and forward our ideas to the President of
the United States.” Of course, this in itself does not attest to the speech’s
authenticity, since such a detail could itself be fabricated. There is, how-
ever, clear evidence elsewhere that it was not. In a separate speech on the
matter, independently attested, that Red Jacket delivered later that August
to the governor of New York, he refers to the documentation of what can
only be his August 3 defense of George: “We have sent on our speech to
the President of the United States about this business, and now present
you with a copy thereof.”12 Not only does this fortuitously preserved cross-
reference authenticate these particular texts but it also demonstrates Red
Jacket’s intention to communicate via written translations of his speeches,
which, in turn, motivated both him and his hearers to ensure their faithful
translation and transmission. Indeed, in this case, the English translation
of Red Jacket’s words, sent to the president and delivered to the governor,
apparently played a significant role in effecting Stiff-Armed George’s par-
don.13
Still, there are fraudulent speeches purporting to be by Red Jacket,
and thus discretion is necessary. In assessing the authenticity of individual
speeches, I am generally dependent upon the evaluation of scholars more
qualified than I. Where expert evaluation is not available, I follow Harry
Robie in considering three measures of authenticity: first, the competence
of the interpreter; second, the speech’s publication history; and, finally, the
coherence of the speech with the rhetorical tradition of which it purports
to be a part.14 In the specific case of Red Jacket, this last measure is par-
ticularly useful, for the extant record is extensive enough that it is possible
to identify Red Jacket’s authentic “voice”—that is, the sort of thing that he
was liable to say—as well as deviations from it.15

12. Text in Ganter, Collected Speeches, 124.

13. See ibid., 18.
14. Robie, “Red Jacket’s Reply,” 100–101. See also Clements, Oratory, 31–32.
15. See Ganter, “You Are a Cunning People,” 168–69, 184–85; Taylor, The Divided
Ground, 22–23.
206 RETHINKING PAUL’S RHETORICAL EDUCATION

Red Jacket’s Periautologia

On August 31, 1826, Oliver Forward purchased large tracts of Seneca land,
including four entire reserves, on behalf of the Ogden Land Company.16
Red Jacket was among the chiefs who signed the agreement, but immedi-
ately thereafter he began to accuse Forward of bribery and deception, peti-
tioning that the deal be nullified. According to a letter of petition signed
by Red Jacket and a number of other Seneca chiefs, in addition to giving
out bribes, Forward had resorted to threats: “If they did not sell he should
write to the President and Secretary at War, and they would show us the
way to the Cherokee country”17—a nation whose own looming dispos-
session attested to the plausibility of the threat. Meanwhile, the Christian
Seneca sent a counter-petition in support of the land deal.
The whole controversy angered Thomas McKenney at the Office of
Indian Affairs, who wrote a letter to the Christian leaders notifying them
that the President would be pleased with the removal of Red Jacket as
chief.18 Putative government support for the deposition of an outspoken
critic of Christianity was an offer the Christian chiefs could not resist,
and, on September 15, 1827, they met in council and signed a declaration
against Red Jacket: “We now renounce you as a Chief, and from this time
you are forbid to act as one.”19 Further, in a letter to President John Quincy
Adams, they requested the President to “pay no further attention to the
communication of Red Jacket.… Red Jacket is an old man, his mind is
broken, his memory is short, and he is devoid of truth.”20
Though beleaguered, Red Jacket still had allies, and, on October 16, he
convened his own council, at which chiefs from a number of Seneca tribes
spoke on his behalf. Finally, we are told, “after an impressive pause,” Red
Jacket spoke in his own defense:

16. For what follows, see Laurence M. Hauptman, Conspiracy of Interests: Iroquois
Dispossession and the Rise of New York State (The Iroquois and Their Neighbors; Syra-
cuse, N.Y.: Syracuse University Press, 1999), 152–61.
17. Red Jacket et al., “Petition to Governor Clinton for Inquiry into 1826 Land
Sale,” in Ganter, Collected Speeches, 250–53.
18. Ganter, Collected Speeches, 260.
19. Buffalo Emporium, September 24, 1827; repr. in Ganter, Collected Speeches,
260–61.
20. Repr. in Hauptman, Conspiracy of Interests, 158.
 ATTENDING TO OTHER VOICES 207

You have heard, he said, what my associates in council have said and
explained, in regard to the foolish charges against me. This is the legal
and proper manner to meet these charges—and the only way in which I
could notice them. Charges which I despise; and was it not for the con-
cern which the respected chiefs of my nation feel for the character of
their aged chief, now before you, I could fold my arms and sit quietly
under these slanders.21

There are a number of things to notice here. First, like elsewhere in

his speeches, Red Jacket begins with an exordium that clearly lays out
the context for his remarks and seeks to win the good will of hearers.22
Although there is no record here of a direct plea for his hearers’ atten-
tion, we can presume, on the basis of Red Jacket’s speech patterns else-
where, that if we had a verbatim report rather than a summary of this
address we would find something like “Brothers, hear patiently what we
have to say” or “I … beg your attention, and the attention of the War-
riors and chief Women while I speak for the Nation”23—in other words,
something that sounds remarkably like the captatio benevolentiae that
introduce the rhetorically astute speeches made by the Paul of Acts and

21. Albany Argus, October 27, 1827; repr. in Ganter, Collected Speeches, 262–64.
The proceedings are described in such detail that the newspaper article can only have
been written by an eyewitness. The general reliability of the account is further cor-
roborated by the quality of the translator, a Seneca leader named Jack Berry, as well as
the coherence of the content of the speech with what Red Jacket says elsewhere—in
particular, his emphasis on the continuity of his religious practice with that of his
ancestors, on which see Ganter, “Make Your Minds Perfectly Easy,” 125–27. We do not
have a verbatim account of Red Jacket’s speech; it is presented in detailed summary.
This is, of course, a barrier to accessing Red Jacket’s rhetoric, but arguably no more of
a barrier than that which we face in accessing Paul’s voice in 2 Cor 10–13, which was
almost certainly mediated through both a secretary and whoever compiled canonical
2 Corinthians. On the secretarial process, regarding the nature of which we can only
make informed speculations, see esp. Richards, Secretary in the Letters of Paul.
22. Particularly striking for one familiar with the history of New Testament rhe-
torical criticism is Red Jacket’s famous “Reply to Cram, 1805,” which begins with an
exordium, moves on to a narratio, provides a partitio, and then presents a loosely con-
nected series of proofs before a closing peroratio. Text in Ganter, Collected Speeches,
138–43. See George Kennedy’s rhetorical analysis in Comparative Rhetoric, 92–94.
23. Ganter, Collected Speeches, 112, 78. For an insightful and culturally sensitive
reading of Red Jacket’s introductory invocations, see Ganter, “Make Your Minds Per-
fectly Easy,” 127–30.
208 RETHINKING PAUL’S RHETORICAL EDUCATION

his fellow Lukan speechmakers.24 The fact that we do not see such invo-
cations made by the Paul of the letters is not itself evidence that he lacked
rhetorical training—after all, Paul was writing letters, not orations. Here
I simply observe that the same logic used to make Paul a trained rhetori-
cian would, in this instance, lead to the erroneous conclusion that Red
Jacket had training in formal Greek oratory.
The structure of Red Jacket’s request for the indulgence of his hear-
ers is also worthy of remark, particularly because of its striking resem-
blance to exordia composed by Demosthenes (1 Phil. 1; Exord. 1.1; 48.1):
If matters had been different, both explain, I would have gladly remained
silent; but, due to circumstances beyond my control, I must ask your
indulgence to speak. Further, in the context of our discussion of self-
praise, it is important to note that Red Jacket’s argument accomplishes
precisely that for which Quintilian praised Demosthenes: it casts the
odium of speaking about his own achievements onto the opponents who
forced him to do so (Inst. 11.1.22; cf. Demosthenes, Cor. 4). With no
advice from rhetorical theorists, Red Jacket recognized the wisdom of
insisting that it was his rivals’ slander that forced him to speak in his own
defense (cf. De laude 540C).
But Red Jacket’s argument goes one step further: Even the need to
defend himself from slander would not rouse him to speak, were it not for
the concern of his allied chiefs. It is to ease their minds that he speaks—
and here I think the issue is not that he must assuage their doubts about
his worthiness to lead; rather, they will be troubled on his behalf so long as
there is a shadow upon his reputation. It is for their benefit, then, that he
rises to vindicate himself. His boasting, like that Plutarch is willing to tol-
erate, “[has] in prospect some great advantage to [his] hearers” (Plutarch,
De laude 547F; cf. Quintilian, Inst. 4.1.6).
By insisting that, so far as he is concerned, he would be just as happy
ignoring the foolish slander of his opponents, Red Jacket seeks to win his
audience’s goodwill at the outset of his speech by establishing his own ethos
as well as by discrediting his opponents—a rhetorical ploy recommended
widely by the ancients (Aristotle, Rhet. 3.14.7; Rhet. Her. 1.8; Quintilian, Inst.
4.1.7–12). The hypothetical portrait Red Jacket paints of himself—sitting
with arms folded, unmoved by the slander against him—recalls an image,

24. Acts 13:16: “You Israelites, and others who fear God, listen.” Cf. Acts 2:22; 7:2;
21:22; 26:2–3. For somewhat more elaborate examples, see Demosthenes, Exord. 4, 5,
49; Dio Chrysostom, Alex. 1–2.
 ATTENDING TO OTHER VOICES 209

one suspects, that remains fresh in his hearers’ memory from his posture
during the “impressive pause” before he deigned to speak. It is a portrait of
a man dignified and self-possessed, a man “of lofty spirit and greatness of
character,” who, like Plutarch’s Epaminondas, towers above his petty oppo-
nents (De laude 540D).25 Red Jacket maintains this demeanor throughout
the speech—the sort of demeanor that, according to Plutarch, “by refusing
to be humbled humbles and overpowers envy” (540D).26 Thus his stirring
conclusion: “As long as I can raise my voice, I shall oppose such measures;
as long as I can stand in my moccasins, I will do all I can for my nation.”27
The heart of Red Jacket’s self-praise—like that of Demosthenes (Cor.;
Ep. 2, 3) and Cicero (Cat. 3.1–2)—consists of a reminder of his unparal-
leled service on behalf of his people:

It grieves my heart when I look around and see the situation of my

people; once united and powerful; now, weak and divided. I feel sorry
for my nation—when I am gone to the other world—when the Great
Spirit calls me away—who among my people can take my place? Many
long years have I guided the nation.

As it does for Demosthenes, such reference to his own solicitous leader-

ship has a dual function. First, it functions ethically, reinforcing the per-
ception of his character as one concerned not with his own interests, but
with those of his nation (cf. Demosthenes, Ep. 2.1, 11). Second, it func-
tions pathetically, inviting his hearers to consider their own potentially
grievous fate (cf. Demosthenes, Ep. 2.3; 3.5)—and implying that they had
better trust in Red Jacket’s leadership while they have the chance.28 His

25. Cf. Isocrates, Antid. 2–3: “Although I have known that some of the sophists
traduce my occupation … nevertheless I have never deigned to defend myself against
their attempts to belittle me, because I considered that their foolish babble had no
influence whatever.”
26. On Red Jacket’s self-confident ethos more generally, see Ganter, “You Are a
Cunning People,” 72. Cf. Taylor, The Divided Ground, 23.
27. Given that what we have here is a summary, it would not be wise to insist that
the parallelism of this sentence results from Red Jacket’s rhetorical design.
28. Cf. Demosthenes, Ep. 3.28, 31 (trans. Goldstein): “In sum, gentlemen of
Athens, everyone shares in the disgrace and the entire city suffers a grievous blow
when malice is seen to have more influence among you than gratitude for public ser-
vices.… I am afraid that a time is coming when you will be bereft of men who will
be spokesmen for your interests, especially when time and fortune and our common
destiny have been carrying off some of the men devoted to the people.”
210 RETHINKING PAUL’S RHETORICAL EDUCATION

rhetoric renders his own fate and that of his nation one—just as Dem-
osthenes’s “basic appeal does not come from merely praising himself but
from identifying himself with Athens.”29
Red Jacket’s self-praise is brief, but bold—and particularly so in a cul-
ture that, far more than that of Demosthenes or Cicero, was suspicious of
self-assertion and expected from its speakers expressions of deference and
humility.30 Its brevity attests to the fact that, like Xenophon (Mem. 2.1.31)
and Plutarch (De laude 539D), Red Jacket recognized that praise from
others was more effective than self-praise. Thus he ceded the floor to his
allied chiefs until the close of the council, allowing Big Kettle, for exam-
ple, to recall that it was Red Jacket who “was the companion of the Great
Washington” rather than drawing explicit attention to this honor himself.
Finally, it is interesting to note that, much more clearly than Paul, Red
Jacket conforms to Plutarch’s admonition to avoid rivalrous boasting, con-
tending rather with “unsound policy” than with “the praise and fame of
others” (545D–E). Although he bitterly describes the accusations against
him as “ridiculous,” he does not attack his opponents or accuse them of ill
will; he rather asserts that they are “misguided.” Rather than trading slan-
der for slander, he undertakes to defend his policy:

The Lord gave his red children their lands—General Washington said
they were sure—the Great Spirit has marked out a clear path for his chil-
dren—the Christian party, by advice of the white people, have left this
path and religion of our fathers. We worship as we always have done.

The argument is subtler than it initially appears. Red Jacket dexterously

manages to build his own stature by association with the great (white)
“General Washington” while simultaneously discrediting the Christian
party for their association with “the white people.” Contradictory or not,

29. Jon M. Ericson, “Rhetorical Criticism: How to Evaluate a Speech,” in Demos-

thenes’ On the Crown: A Critical Case Study of a Masterpiece of Ancient Oratory (ed.
James J. Murphy; New York: Random House, 1967), 132.
30. The “profound humility” of Iroquois speakers was frequently noted, though
perhaps misunderstood, already by the Jesuits. See, e.g., Thwaites, Jesuit Relations,
5:205; 9:266. See, more generally, Lois J. Einhorn, The Native American Oral Tradi-
tion: Voices of the Spirit and Soul (Westport, Conn.: Praeger, 2000), 69–70; Michael
K. Foster, From the Earth to beyond the Sky: An Ethnographic Approach to Four Long-
house Iroquois Speech Events (Canadian Ethnology Service Paper 20; Ottawa: National
Museums of Canada, 1974), 30–31.
 ATTENDING TO OTHER VOICES 211

this is certainly clever. Moreover, by placing the ultimate blame not on his
Seneca opponents but on those predators who mislead them, Red Jacket
provides his opponents with a ready excuse, thus giving them an opportu-
nity to back down without losing too much face.31
Although Red Jacket’s defense certainly merits consideration on its
own terms, for our purposes we have seen enough: Red Jacket insisted that
he spoke on his own behalf only under compulsion and for the purposes
of self-defense; he rose to vindicate himself, he claimed, only because of
his concern for his fellow chiefs and his nation; he clearly demonstrated
preference for the praise of others over self-praise. None of this is evidence
of classical rhetorical education or, of course, knowledge of precepts for
periautologia. On the contrary, what we have here is an astute man, con-
scious of the social dynamics of his situation, intuitively negotiating the
tension between his need to defend himself and his need to refrain from
inordinate self-assertion.
Finally, analysis of Red Jacket’s speech has sharpened our observations
regarding Paul’s remoteness from the sort of speech admired by Plutarch.
Red Jacket, though far removed in innumerable ways from the Greek world,
provides a much closer analogue to the confident political self-assertion
that characterizes the speech of Demosthenes and his ilk than does Paul.
That is, with respect to comportment or “voice,” Red Jacket, much more
than Paul, resembles the elite rhetoricians of the Greco-Roman world. This
does not, of course, result from their participation in a shared rhetorical
tradition; rather, they inhabit analogous social locations: Red Jacket, like
Demosthenes and Plutarch, was accustomed to deference, and comported
himself accordingly. Paul, it appears, spoke from a rather more precarious
place, and could not rely on the persuasive power of calm and confident
dignity. Instead, he speaks, as I will attempt to demonstrate in chapter 12,
with the voice of one accustomed to derision.

Conclusion

Rhetorical analysis of Red Jacket’s self-defense has demonstrated that

those rhetorical strategies for self-praise which Paul does share with
his educated Greek and Roman contemporaries are too general and too
widespread to be compelling as evidence for Paul’s formal rhetorical edu-

31. Cf. Ps.-Demetrius 18 and the discussion in ch. 3 above.

212 RETHINKING PAUL’S RHETORICAL EDUCATION

cation. What Paul shares with Plutarch, he shares also with Red Jacket.
Accordingly, we must conclude that these persuasive strategies are not
specific to formal classical rhetoric but rather inhere in what Kennedy
calls “general rhetoric.”
By this I do not mean that “boastful” speech takes the same shape
across cultures. It certainly does not.32 Instead, I would argue that the rhe-
torical exigency out of which these persuasive strategies arise—namely,
the pressure to praise oneself and the countervailing pressure to avoid
socially inappropriate self-display—is universal, and therefore it is not
surprising that some of the same basic strategies for inoffensive self-praise
recur in various cultures. Certainly various societies have specific rhe-
torical traditions with regard to self-praise, both as aspects of what I have
called formal and of informal rhetoric. But Paul, I have shown, does not
evince specific familiarity with the rhetorical tradition of self-praise cur-
rent among the Greco-Roman literati. Moreover, his self-praise is very
different both in demeanor and in content from what our elite exemplars
would have us expect.
Two conclusions suggest themselves: First, the persuasive competen-
cies to which Paul’s manner of self-praise attests derive in the first place
from socialization, not from formal education.33 Second, his socialization
appears not to have been socialization into the values of the educated elite.
Accordingly, even if precepts for self-praise had been on the curricula of
first-century rhetorical schools—something for which we have no evi-
dence—it would be difficult to sustain the argument that Paul learned to
praise himself at school.

Informal Prodiorthōsis

Among the most memorable features of Paul’s boasting in 2 Cor 10–13

are his repeated warnings, prior to beginning his litany in earnest, of the
“foolishness” to come: “I repeat, let no one think that I am a fool; but if
you do, then accept me as a fool, so that I too may boast a little” (11:16;
cf. 11:1; 12:1). The cumulative impression given by these statements is one
of hesitancy to do what he is about to do: Chrysostom, as noted above,

32. See Karl Reisman, “Contrapuntal Conversations in an Antiguan Village,” in

Explorations in the Ethnography of Speaking (ed. Richard Bauman and Joel Sherzer;
2nd ed.; SSCFL 8; Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1989), 117–18.
33. See further ch. 11 below.
 ATTENDING TO OTHER VOICES 213

compared Paul’s reluctant boasting to a horse rearing back from a preci-

pice (Laud. Paul. 5.12; Hom. 2 Cor. 11:1 4 [PG 51:305]); likewise, F. W.
Robertson’s impression was that “fact after fact of [Paul’s] own experiences
is, as it were, wrung out, as if he had not intended to tell it.”34
The rhetorical term for warnings of unpleasant or unseemly speech
to come is prodiorthōsis, a word that means essentially what its lexical ele-
ments would suggest: straightening out in advance any potentially prob-
lematic implications of what one is about to say.35 This is surely what Paul
is doing here, and these verses have long been recognized as instances of
this figure.36 I do not dispute such an identification. However, I would like
to emphasize that the use of prodiorthōsis is by no means restricted to ora-
tors formally educated in the classical tradition. No, prodiorthōsis is, as we
will see, undoubtedly an element of general rhetoric. Given the nature of
Paul’s dilemma in 2 Cor 10–13, my focus here will be on prodiorthōsis that
anticipates potentially offensive self-praise, though, as noted in chapter 4
above, the figure is by no means restricted to such usage.

Anticipating Social Constraints

Evincing hesitation prior to engaging in self-praise is so intuitive and so

widespread in ordinary conversation that even the briefest of pauses may
be interpreted as a concession to modesty. Prior to the final of the 2010
Australian Open, tennis great Roger Federer commented on his oppo-
nent’s chances. After noting that the relatively inexperienced Andy Murray
would be in for an uphill battle, he added: “Plus he’s playing, you know, me,
who’s won many Grand Slams and has been able to win here three times.”37
“You know, me.” Clearly this interjection has the same rhetorical function
as formal prodiorthōsis, though I doubt Federer is aware of the fact or that
he learned it in school. On the contrary, it simply is required by the social
dynamics of the situation: unrestrained arrogance is socially unacceptable,

34. Robertson, Sermons, 418.

35. For ancient descriptions, see Ps.-Herodian, Fig. 33 (RG 3:95); Alexander, Fig.
1.3 (RG 3:14–15); Tiberius, Fig. 8; Hermogenes, Περὶ ἰδεῶν, 2.4; Apsines, Rhet. 10.34
(RG 1:399).
36. See further pp. 118–19 above.
37. Joe Drape, “Federer, Making Quick Work of Tsonga, Will Face Murray in
Final,” New York Times, January 30, 2010. Cited 5 March 2010. Online: http://www
.nytimes.com/2010/01/30/sports/tennis/30tennis.html.
214 RETHINKING PAUL’S RHETORICAL EDUCATION

and Federer asks for our indulgence by expressing, briefly, awareness that
he is transgressing ordinary canons of self-reference.38
Federer’s situation is common enough that English speakers have
developed idiomatic shortcuts: “I don’t mean to toot my own horn,” “If I
may say so myself,” and the like.39 These formulae are specific to particular
speech communities and thus belong to the realm of what I have called
informal rhetoric, but, as we will see, they instantiate a general phenom-
enon of human communication and social interaction.
The social exigencies that engender such prodiorthotic disclaim-
ers have been thoughtfully examined by pragmatic linguists under the
rubric of “politeness theory.” The seminal work here is Penelope Brown
and Stephen Levinson’s Politeness. It will be helpful to summarize the basic
contours of their argument. According to Brown and Levinson, mutual
awareness of “face”—a concept they define, following Erving Goffmann, as
“the public self-image that every member wants to claim for himself ”—is a
human universal.40 Further, since people are always vulnerable to the loss
of face, it “must be constantly attended to in interaction”; indeed, in con-
versation people generally cooperate to maintain their own face as well as

38. Specifically, “you know” seems to function here by alerting Federer’s hearers
to the fact that what he is about to say is already well known. The implication is that
he is not boasting, but merely reminding his hearers of relevant information. Cf. Janet
Holmes, “Functions of You Know in Women’s and Men’s Speech,” Language in Society
15 (1986): 7–10, 16.
39. See further Anita Pomerantz’s discussion of “self-praise avoidance” tech-
niques in informal English conversation (“Compliment Reponses: Notes on the Co-
operation of Multiple Constraints,” in Studies in the Organization of Conversational
Interaction [ed. Jim Schenkein; Language, Thought, and Culture Series; New York:
Academic Press, 1978], 88–92).
40. Brown and Levinson, Politeness, 61–62. See Erving Goffman, “On Face-Work:
An Analysis of Ritual Elements in Social Interaction,” in Interaction Ritual: Essays on
Face-to-Face Behavior (Garden City, N.Y.: Anchor, 1967), 5–45; repr. from Psychiatry:
Journal for the Study of Interpersonal Processes 18 (1955). The claim to universality
has been contested, but intercultural research has vindicated the usefulness of Brown
and Levinson’s basic assertion. See, e.g., Maria Sifianou, Politeness Phenomena in
England and Greece: A Cross-Cultural Perspective (Oxford: Clarendon, 1992); Rosina
Márquez-Reiter, Linguistic Politeness in Britain and Uruguay: A Contrastive Study of
Requests and Apologies (Pragmatics and Beyond 2/83; Amsterdam: Benjamins, 2000);
Ming-Chung Yu, “On the Universality of Face: Evidence from Chinese Compliment
Response Behavior,” Journal of Pragmatics 35 (2003): 1679–1710.
 ATTENDING TO OTHER VOICES 215

that of their interlocutors.41 But of course people have other interpersonal

goals besides face maintenance,42 and sometimes the pursuit of these goals
conflicts with their basic desire to maintain face—which, of course, leaves
them in a bind. Politeness, according to Brown and Levinson, is the means
whereby they resolve this dilemma; it is, in other words, a repertoire of
strategies people employ to minimize the negative impact of undertaking
“face-threatening acts.”43
Self-praise is clearly such a “face-threatening act.”44 As Plutarch
explains as well as anyone, it poses a threat to the face both of the speaker
and of the listener. The speaker appears to be in shameful violation of cul-
tural proscriptions against hubris (539D; 540A), and the listener is put
in a dilemma, stuck between two equally unseemly responses: either he
applauds the speaker and looks like a flatterer or he censures the speaker
and “appears disgruntled and envious” (539D–E [LCL]). Nevertheless, it
is easy to see how other social goals—the desire for honor and recogni-
tion, for example, or, with Plutarch, the pursuit of πλειόνων καὶ καλλιόνων
πράξεων (539F; cf. 547F)—could compel one to risk face and praise oneself
anyway. In such a case, we should expect to see what Brown and Levinson
call “redressive actions,” communicative strategies that attempt to mitigate
the negative consequences of face-threatening acts.
Among the repertoire of common redressive actions they identify
is, not surprisingly, the use of “hedges” by which speakers express their
reluctance to threaten face. Brown and Levinson describe the use of such
hedges in English, Tamil, and Tzeltal; Japanese research demonstrates their
use among children as early as the second grade.45 In other words, here we
clearly are encountering what Kennedy would call general rhetoric.

41. Brown and Levinson, Politeness, 61; Goffman, “On Face-Work,” 27–31.
42. Goffman, “On Face-Work,” 12.
43. Note that Brown and Levinson’s conception of politeness intersects with but
also differs from what the term means in ordinary usage. Thus Paul’s prodiorthōsis, for
example, is clearly not polite in any ordinary sense of the term (see esp. 11:16–21), but
it nevertheless is illuminated by politeness theory: Paul seeks to maintain his own face
by forewarning his readers of his self-praise—an instance of what Rong Chen refers
to as “self-politeness” (“Self-Politeness: A Proposal,” Journal of Pragmatics 33 [2001]:
87–106)—but in fact heightens the threat to the face of his readers.
44. Brown and Levinson, Politeness, 67; Geoffrey N. Leech, Principles of Pragmat-
ics (Longman Linguistics Library 30; London: Longman, 1983), 136–38.
45. Brown and Levinson, Politeness, 145–72, 37. See also the Ilongot examples
provided by Michelle Z. Rosaldo, “Words That Are Moving: The Social Meanings
216 RETHINKING PAUL’S RHETORICAL EDUCATION

Two of the examples Brown and Levinson provide are of particular

interest for describing Paul’s expressions of reluctance in 2 Cor 10–13.
First, although the authors nowhere speak explicitly of prodiorthōsis (or
name any other rhetorical devices), they do note the common occurrence
of hedges that “function directly as notices of violations of face wants”:
“to be honest,” “I hate to have to say this,” and so forth46—in other words,
notices that function as disclaimers.47 Paul’s “Bear with me” (11:1) is of
this nature, mitigating his self-praise by alerting his hearers to the fact that
he is aware of and regrets the face-threat. Second, Brown and Levinson
note the frequent occurrence of diminutives and vague “quantity hedges”
(“roughly,” “more or less,” “to some extent”) as means of moderating a
speaker’s investment in a face-threatening act.48 Paul’s μικρόν τι (11:1, 16;
cf. 10:8) clearly serves this function.49 That employment of this strategy
does not require formal rhetorical education is clear from a particularly
colloquial example reproduced by Anita Pomerantz—an example that
incorporates quantitative hedging, informal prodiorthōsis, and general
expressions of hesitancy: “So he—so then, at this—y’see,—I don’ like to
brag but see he sorta like backed outta the argument then.”50
In summary, then, expressions of reluctant self-praise are ubiquitous
not because of rhetorical training but because of what are apparently trans-
cultural canons of social interaction. As Ian Rutherford notes regarding
discussions of appropriate self-praise in antiquity, what occasions them
is a “conflict between the social pressure to assert oneself in public and
the social criticism of excessive assertiveness.”51 We may define “excessive

of Ilongot Verbal Art,” in Dangerous Words: Language and Politics in the Pacific (ed.
Donald Lawrence Brenneis and Fred R. Myers; New York: New York University Press,
1984), 147.
46. Brown and Levinson, Politeness, 171–72. Note also their discussion of the
organization of speech elements, which demonstrates that redressive action is gener-
ally “more polite” when it precedes a face-threatening action than when it appears to
be an afterthought (93).
47. See the fuller discussion of disclaimers in ch. 8 above.
48. Brown and Levinson, Politeness, 157, 166–67. Cf. Mei-yun Ko and Tzu-fu
Wang, “A Politeness Strategy: Downtoners, Hedges and Disclaimers,” International
Journal of the Humanities 5 (2007): 189–98.
49. Cf. Calvin, Corinthians, 2:253; Beet, Corinthians, 439.
50. Pomerantz, “Compliment Responses,” 90.
51. Ian Rutherford, “The Poetics of the Paraphthegma: Aeilus Aristides and the
Decorum of Self-Praise,” in Ethics and Rhetoric: Classical Essays for Donald Russell on
 ATTENDING TO OTHER VOICES 217

assertiveness” quite differently than did the ancients, and the pressure to
assert oneself may be differently constructed, but the fundamental tension
remains—as does its unstable rhetorical resolution.

“You Must Not Think Hard If We Speak Rash”

Whether it pertains to boasting or other potentially offensive speech,

prodiorthōsis results from a speaker’s anticipation and concern for how her
or his hearers will respond. Such sensitivity to one’s audience is, as noted
already by Plato’s Socrates, a prerequisite for effective speech (Phaedr.
271D–272B). Certainly the formal study of rhetoric may nourish this sen-
sitivity, but, as indicated by my brief survey of politeness theory above,
formal study is hardly its origin. A look at the function of prodiorthōsis in
the rhetoric of Red Jacket will clarify the point.
Among the Iroquois, as Alan Taylor notes, speech was a means not only
of communication but also of social governance: “Authority ultimately lay
in the constant flow of talk, which regulated reputation through the varia-
tions of praise and ridicule, celebration and shaming.”52 The functioning
of such an informal system of social control depended on the ability of
speakers to anticipate and negotiate the reception of their words, that is, to
shape their speech such that it had its intended effect. As a result, Iroquois
culture nourished in its speakers just such sensitivity to one’s audience as
generates prodiorthōsis.
This is evident in the rhetoric of Red Jacket, whose speeches often
show him dexterously anticipating and manipulating the responses of his
hearers, using, among other techniques, prodiorthōsis. Red Jacket’s speech
to the governor of New York regarding the murder trial of Stiff-Armed
George provides a fine example: “Altho’ the matter we have to communi-
cate with you on this occasion is of a disagreeable and melancholy nature,
yet we hope you will open your Ears to what we shall say, and reflect seri-
ously on the subject.”53 Elsewhere, Red Jacket apologizes in advance for
reiterating what his auditors have already been told.54

His Seventy-Fifth Birthday (ed. Doreen Innes, Harry Hine, and Christopher Pelling;
Oxford: Clarendon, 1995), 201.
52. Taylor, The Divided Ground, 21.
53. Ganter, Collected Speeches, 124.
54. Ibid., 29.
218 RETHINKING PAUL’S RHETORICAL EDUCATION

Notably, like modern speakers of English, Red Jacket often uses a

formulaic idiom to forewarn his audience of potentially offensive words:
“Brothers, you must not think hard if we speak rash”; “You must not think
hard of us, when tomoro [sic] we lay before you all we have to say”; “Now
if we say any thing not agreeable, have no hard thoughts of it. Keep your
mind easy; listen to what we say.”55 The idiom occurs frequently in the
extant record, including at least one appearance not in a reported speech
but in a letter bearing Red Jacket’s signature.56 Here we are clearly hearing
Red Jacket’s own voice.
Further, like Paul in 2 Cor 12:11, Red Jacket follows up potentially
offensive speech with what Alexander Numenius (Fig. 1.4 [RG 3:15];
cf. Ps.-Herodian, Fig. 34 [RG 3:95–96]) calls epidiorthōsis—apology after
the fact: “Do not think hard of what has been said”; “Now you must not
think hard, nor suppose we are disturbed in our own minds, because we
have given you the reasons of our surprise”; “Now Brother you must not be
offended that at this time we have mentioned some of our ancient ways.”57
Red Jacket’s use of both prodiorthōsis and epidiorthōsis does not, of
course, derive from formal education in classical rhetoric; instead, this is
an instantiation of a general rhetorical aptitude as mediated by the rhetori-
cal traditions of his particular speech community. In other words, “do not
think hard” is what I have called informal rhetoric; prodiorthōsis itself is
universal, an aspect of general rhetoric.

“Feigned Reluctance”?

Having demonstrated that prodiorthōsis is a general rhetorical aptitude is

not, of course, equivalent to having shown that Paul’s particular use of it
was not shaped by formal rhetorical education. Perhaps his halting self-
praise does reflect the calculation of a trained orator, or even “feigned
reluctance,” as Watson has it.58 But on what basis could such an assertion
be made? Given the ubiquity of the figure, it will not do to jump directly
from observation of prodiorthōsis to the assumption of studied rhetorical
intention. No, to argue that Paul’s use of this figure was mediated by the

55. Texts from ibid., 3, 6, 24.

56. See ibid., 3.
57. Texts from ibid., 10, 27, 13.
58. Watson, “Paul and Boasting,” 90.
 ATTENDING TO OTHER VOICES 219

formal tradition of classical rhetoric, scholars should have to say some-

thing about how he used it, not only that he did so.
This sort of evaluation is complicated by the complex relationship
between what we have called formal and general rhetoric: As “Longi-
nus” avers, “Art is perfect when it seems to be nature, and nature hits the
mark when she contains art hidden within her” (Subl. 22.1 [trans. Rob-
erts]; cf. Cicero, De or. 3.215–219). Or, as Quintilian explains, a little more
snobbishly: “There is … a sort of resemblance between certain merits
and certain defects [of speech]” (Inst. 2.12.4 [Butler, LCL]). Still, it is not
impossible to discriminate. I think all will agree that Roger Federer, like
Pomerantz’s exemplar, expressed himself instinctively and unselfcon-
sciously; but, when Demosthenes, in the elegant proem of De corona (4),
warns his audience that he will be forced to speak immodestly—and that
this puts him at a rhetorical disadvantage vis-à-vis his accuser—that this is
a considered rhetorical strategy.
Where does Paul fit on this continuum? Perhaps Longinus and Quin-
tilian can help us map the territory. If Longinus’s basic ideal is that art
replicates nature, it is nevertheless important to recognize that art is never
simply a copy of nature; on the contrary, even “realistic” art is governed
by conventional canons of realism. Quintilian provides a useful example
in his discussion of comic actors, “whose delivery is not exactly that of
common speech, since that would be inartistic, but is on the other hand
not far removed from the accents of nature, for if it were their mimicry
would be a failure” (2.10.13 [LCL]). Mimesis, then, in order to be artistic,
must reveal that it is mimesis—but must manage to do so without evapo-
rating the mimetic spell. What comic actors do in order to accomplish this
delicate balance is “exalt the simplicity of ordinary speech by a touch of
stage decoration.”
For Quintilian, the difference between common speech and its comic
imitation is analogous to the relationship between real forensic oratory
and declamation: the latter imitates the former but adds a touch of rhetori-
cal showmanship (2.10.12). But from what Quintilian says elsewhere it is
clear that this would be an equally apt analogy for his understanding of the
relationship between the uneducated speaker and his educated counter-
part. Defending educated orators against the accusation that they lack the
vigor of untrained speakers, Quintilian explains:

It must be confessed that learning does take something from oratory, just
as the file takes something from rough surfaces or the whet-stone from
220 RETHINKING PAUL’S RHETORICAL EDUCATION

blunt edges or age from wine; it takes away the defects, and if the results
produced after subjection to the polish of literary studies are less, they
are less only because they are better. (Inst. 2.12.8 [LCL])

So, education files off the rough edges of untrained speech—the bombast,
in particular (cf. 2.12.6; 2.12.9–10). Educated orators reproduce the passion
of a “naturally” emoting speaker,59 but signal that this is mimesis—and thus
retain their aristocratic dignity—by doing so with “discrimination and self-
restraint” (2.12.6 [LCL]). Indeed, “if [the educated speaker] has any one
canon for universal observance, it is that he should both possess the reality
and present the appearance of self-control (modestus)” (2.12.10 [LCL]).60
If Quintilian is at all reliable on this score, what we should be looking
for in educated, strategic prodiorthōsis is not in fact hesitancy or embar-
rassment, which would involve the loss of the orator’s aristocratic self-pos-
session, but rather the stylized appearance thereof. And this is precisely the
sort of thing we see in Demosthenes: “I shall try to [speak about myself] as
modestly as I can; but what I am forced to do by the case itself is fairly to be
blamed upon the person who set this prosecution in train—my opponent”
(Cor. 4 [trans. Usher]; cf. Isaeus, Phil. 17). The idea of reluctance to boast
certainly is evoked by this meta-discursive disclaimer, but Demosthenes
remains decorously detached from any emotional investment in the issue.
He reports on his own situation almost as if he were an outside observer.
This is clearly reflected in Demosthenes’s diction. He provides a rea-
soned and dispassionate explanation for his self-adulation, and does so
using well-balanced μέν … δέ clauses within an elaborate periodic structure:

τούτων τοίνυν ὃ μέν ἐστι πρὸς ἡδονήν, τούτῳ δέδοται,

ὃ δὲ πᾶσιν ὡς ἔπος εἰπεῖν ἐνοχλεῖ, λοιπὸν ἐμοί.

59. See esp. Inst. 6.2.26–27 (LCL): “What other reason is there for the eloquence
with which mourners express their grief, or for the fluency which anger lends even to
the uneducated, save the fact that their minds are stirred to power by the depth and
sincerity of their feelings? Consequently, if we wish to give our words the appear-
ance of sincerity, we must assimilate ourselves to the emotions of those who are genu-
inely so affected, and our eloquence must spring from the same feeling that we desire
to produce in the mind of the judge.” Cf. Cicero, De or. 2.189–96; Tusc. 4.43–55. M.
Zerba helpfully explores the complexities of this “pantomimic” mode in “Love, Envy,
and Pantomimic Morality in Cicero’s De oratore,” CP 97 (2002): 299–321.
60. Cf. Inst. 6.3.35; 11.3.184. And note Aristotle’s characterization of the great-
souled man as one who has a “steady voice” (λέξις στάσιμος [Eth. nic. 4.3.19]).
 ATTENDING TO OTHER VOICES 221

κἂν μὲν εὐλαβούμενος τοῦτο μὴ λέγω τὰ πεπραγμέν᾿ ἐμαυτῷ,

οὐκ ἔχειν ἀπολύσασθαι τὰ κατηγορημένα δόξω,
οὐδ ̓ ἐφ᾿ οἷς ἀξιῶ τιμᾶσθαι δεικνύναι·
ἐὰν δ᾿ ἐφ᾿ ἃ καὶ πεποίκα καὶ πεπολίτευμαι βαδίζω,
πολλάκις λέγειν ἀναγκασθήσομαι περὶ ἐμαυτοῦ.
πειράσομαι μὲν οὖν ὡς μετριώτατα τοῦτο ποιεῖν·
ὅ τι δ᾿ ἂν τὸ πρᾶγμα αὔτ᾿ ἀναγκάζῃ
τούτου τὴν αἰτίαν οὗτός ἐστι δίκαιος ἔχειν ὁ τοιοῦτον ἀγῶν᾽
ἐνστησάμενος.61

Importantly, then, what Demosthenes’s prodiorthōsis signals to his audi-

ence is not uncertainty, nor hesitancy, but, on the contrary, measured self-
confidence and solicitousness.
Observe, similarly, Cicero’s parenthetical prodiorthōsis in a letter to
Atticus:

And it is once more I—for I do not feel as if I were boasting vainglori-

ously when speaking of myself to you, especially in a letter not intended
to be read by others—it was I once more, I say, who revived the fainting
spirits of the loyalists … (Att. 1.16.8 [trans. Shuckburgh])

Cicero’s interruption of himself perhaps superficially resembles Paul’s

parenthetical ἐν ἀφροσύνῃ λέγω and παραφρονῶν λαλῶ (11:21, 23), but
notice again that whereas Paul concedes his foolishness, Cicero and Dem-
osthenes anticipate objections, but, like Plutarch’s dignified self-praisers,
hold their heads up high and proceed with calmness and confidence.
Again, Cicero’s diction is telling: his use of a parenthesis gives the impres-
sion of sincere spontaneity, while the elegant epanalepsis with which he
resumes his account (idem ego … idem inquam ego) projects control and
self-possession.62

61. “The part that gives pleasure is given to him, while that which vexes practi-
cally everyone is left to me. And if I try to avoid this by omitting to recount my deeds,
it will be thought that I cannot rebut the accusations or indeed show the grounds on
which I think I should be honoured; while if I embark on an account of my political
achievements, I shall be forced to make many references to myself. Therefore I shall
try to do this as modestly as I can; but what I am forced to do by the case itself is
fairly to be blamed upon the person who set this prosecution in train—my opponent”
(trans. Usher).
62. Note also Demosthenes’s aposiopesis in Cor. 3, wherein he manages, despite a
break in the grammar and logic of the sentence, to preserve the μέν … δέ rhythm: ἀλλ᾿
222 RETHINKING PAUL’S RHETORICAL EDUCATION

Contrast Paul’s “sudden outburst”:63 ὄφελον ἀνείχεσθέ μου μικρόν τι

ἀφροσύνης· ἀλλὰ καὶ ἀνέχεσθέ μου (11:1). These short, abrupt sentences
constitute a very different sort of prodiorthōsis from that of Demosthenes
or Cicero—or, for that matter, Red Jacket. Far from downplaying his emo-
tional investment, Paul’s diction highlights it. The word ὄφελον is, as Plum-
mer notes, comparable to the English particle “ ‘Oh,’ expressing a wish as to
what might happen, but is almost too good to come true.”64 The anguished
hope of Namaan’s wife captures the sense: “If only (ὄφελον) my lord were
with the prophet who is in Samaria! He would cure him of his leprosy” (2
Kgs 5:3). It expresses an earnest plea.65
Paul’s earnestness—or, as Quintilian might allege, his lack of self-
control—is evident also from the repetition of the plea,66 which, on its
second iteration, is expressed in the imperative mood.67 This sort of
repeated entreaty certainly does not attest to the self-possession of this
speaker; rather, it bespeaks uncertainty, if not desperation. As noted in
chapter 8 above, whereas moderate and confident use of disclaimers may
be effective, such repetition ad nauseum as we see in Paul (11:1, 16–18,
21, 23; 12:1, 5–6, 11) tends to undermine the credibility of a speaker by
projecting insecurity. The fact that Paul goes on to speak pathetically—in
the rhetorical, if not also the colloquial sense—about how the Corinthians

ἐμοὶ μὲν—οὐ βούλομαι δυσχερὲς εἰπεῖν οὐδὲν ἀρχόμενος τοῦ λόγου, οὗτος δ᾿ ἐκ περιουσίας
μου κατηγορεῖ (“For me—but I wish to say nothing untoward at the beginning of my
speech—whereas he prosecutes me from a position of advantage” [trans. Usher]). Cf.
Athanasius, Vit. Ant. 39.
63. Plummer, Second Epistle, 292.
64. Ibid. See also BDF §359.1.
65. Cf. lxx Exod 16:3; Num 14:2; 20:3; 2 Kgs 5:3; Ps 118:5; Job 14:13. Elsewhere
Paul uses the word with venomous irony (1 Cor 4:8; Gal 5:12), but, as the context
indicates, that can hardly be the case here. Paul certainly wants to be taken seriously
in 10:13–18, and he is in deadly earnest in 11:2–3, the thrust of which would be com-
pletely undermined if 11:1 were ironic. Pace Windisch, Der zweite Korintherbrief, 317;
Harris, Second Corinthians, 732; Welborn, An End to Enmity, 154–55.
66. Paul’s ἀλλὰ καί here is not really adversative, but emphatic, as in Phil 1:18.
Cf. BDF § 448.6; Nigel Turner, Syntax (vol. 3 of J. H. Moulton, A Grammar of New
Testament Greek; Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1963), 330. The sort of reading suggested by
Martin (2 Corinthians, 327), such that ἀλλά “modifies and corrects” the implied impos-
sibility of the wish expressed by ὄφελον plus the imperfect, is unnecessarily subtle.
67. Grammatically, ἀνέχεσθε in v. 1b can be rendered either as an indicative or
imperative, but the connection with vv. 2–3 demands the latter. See Harris, Second
Corinthians, 733; Thrall, Second Epistle, 2:659.
 ATTENDING TO OTHER VOICES 223

are cheating on him and his gospel (11:2–4) does nothing to alleviate this
impression. His authority no longer respected, here Paul uses guilt, shame,
and the specter of his own humiliation to win compliance. This may be an
effective means of persuasion, but it certainly is not the sort of elite com-
portment that was taught in rhetorical school.
In sum, then, Paul’s prodiorthōsis bears little resemblance to the ele-
gant and reasoned justifications we find in Demosthenes or Cicero, and
it contains no indicators of the influence of formal rhetorical tradition
or training. It looks instead like an impassioned plea. John Chrysostom
certainly saw it as such: for him Paul spoke ἀπό τινος ἔρωτος θερμοῦ καὶ
μανικοῦ (Hom. 2 Cor. 23.1 [PG 61:552]). So did Calvin, who paraphrased
11:2a as follows: “Do not demand that I should show the equable temper
of a man that is at ease, and not excited by any emotion, for that vehe-
mence of jealousy, with which I am inflamed towards you, does not suffer
me to be at ease.”68 Perhaps Chrysostom and Calvin—along with every
other interpreter prior to Betz—were taken in by Paul’s masterful rhetoric,
his flawless imitation of natural passion; however, before we make confi-
dent assertions to that effect, we should need to provide some evidence.

Prosōpopoiia and the Use of Interlocutors’ Voices

Werner Herzog insisted on filming Fitzcarraldo on the Rio Camisea

deep in the Peruvian Amazon, using a cast largely comprised of local
Machiguenga and Campa (Asháninka) villagers. As a striking interview
with a young indigenous extra named Elia reveals, many of these villag-
ers approached their encounter with Herzog and his European crew with
considerable anxiety. What I want to highlight here, however, is not the
content of the interview but its rhetoric, and, specifically, Elia’s colloquial
but capable use of what might be called informal prosōpopoiia,69 which I
have indicated here with italicized text. (Note that ellipsis marks represent
pauses or breaks in Elia’s speech, except those in brackets, which mark my
own abridgement.)

68. Calvin, Corinthians, 2:338.

69. Like Paul’s use of his interlocutor’s voice in 2 Cor 10:1b, 10; 12:16, Elia’s speech
does not consist of the sort of formal prosōpopoiia one encounters in the Progym-
nasmata or in ancient declamation, but her usage does reflect the same sensitivity
to verisimilitude in inhabiting another voice, and plays a similar rhetorical function.
224 RETHINKING PAUL’S RHETORICAL EDUCATION

Interviewer: ¿Cuando venía aquí tenía miedo de los gringos?

Elia: Yo no tenía miedo porque he comprendido todo lo que … mi com-
padre Walter dice,
[Walter:] es engaño, es mentira. Mentira es.
Interviewer: ¿Que le dijeron […]?
Elia: Sí, pués,
[Others:] van a sacar cara,
que
[Others:] van a sacar su grasa para avión.
[…]
Me he venido casi todos los días. Hemos ido por acá, han llegado
mis compañeros los que han venido de miedo, de miedo cuando le
han visto los campamentos … de miedo! Yo les he dicho,
[Elia:] No tengas miedo! Hay bastante gente que … como lo
demás.
[Others:] No, no les están esperando.
Y Atalaina han dicho que
[Atalaina:] Hay con este … este sanitario … que te van a poner
ampolleta y te lo este sacando un sangre, te está poniendo …
veneno en tus venas y cuando regreses en tu pueblo ¡vas a morir!
Tenían miedo. Y
[Atalaina?] No comes tanto cuando te invitan a comer. Así te dan
[mimes large serving of food]. No comes para que te engorden,
¡para que te maten!

Interviewer: Were you afraid of the gringos when you came here?
Elia: No, I wasn’t afraid, because I understood all that … my friend
Walter told me
[Walter:] it’s all lies. All lies.
Interviewer: What did they tell you […]?
Elia: Yes, well,
[Others:] they will take off your face,
and
[Others:] they will uses your grease for airplanes.
[…]
I’ve come to this camp nearly every day. We’ve been around. When
my friends arrived [and saw] those who had come, [they were]
afraid, afraid when they visited the camp … afraid! I told them,
[Elia:] Don’t be afraid! There are a lot of people that … like the
rest.
[Others:] No, no, they are waiting [to kill] us.
And Atalaina said
[Atalaina:] The way it is with this … this health clinic … they
 ATTENDING TO OTHER VOICES 225

will give you an injection and taking out your blood and putting
… poison in your veins and when you return to your village you
will die!
They were afraid. And
[Atalaina?] Don’t eat too much when they invite you to eat. They
give you this much [mimes large serving of food]! Don’t eat so
much because they’ll fatten you up and then kill you.70

I have attempted to clarify the prosopopoetic features here by indi-

cating in brackets the speakers in whose voices Elia expresses herself at
various points in the interview: her friend Walter, the other villagers (col-
lectively), one villager named Atalaina, and Elia herself. She uses a variety
of cues, especially vocal modulation, to signal her adoption of these voices.
Sometimes she designates clearly that she is presenting reported speech
(“mi compadre Walter dice”); sometimes context and vocal cues are suf-
ficient to allow her listeners to identify the voice in which she speaks. Par-
ticularly noteworthy is the reported dialogue between her and the other
villagers, in which the transition between her own (reported) speech and
that of her interlocutors is marked only by non-verbal cues.
The basic point is simple: such informal prosōpopoiia—and, more gen-
erally, the use of others’ voices to further one’s own persuasive ends—is not
unique to the classical rhetorical tradition, and it certainly is not restricted
to the speech of those with formal rhetorical education. This is an aspect of
general rhetoric: it is transcultural and independent of rhetorical training.71
But I would also like to make a few observations regarding the par-
ticular characteristics of Elia’s voice. Noteworthy here is the coexistence of
rhetorically effective prosōpopoiia with colloquial and sometimes clumsy

70. Text and translation (which I have altered to conform more closely to the
structure of the original) from Les Blank and James Bogan, eds., Burden of Dreams:
Screenplay, Journals, Reviews, Photographs (Berkeley, Calif.: North Atlantic Books,
1984), 38–40. From the scene “Separate Worlds,” Burden of Dreams, directed by Les
Blank (1982; Criterion Collection, 2005).
71. For further examples and documentation, see Kennedy, Comparative Rhetoric,
56, 98; Meyer, Mahnen, Prahlen, Drohen, 183. Note also Zhuangzi’s use of “imputed
speech” (yu yan), whereby the great Chinese philosopher introduced the fictive voice
of interlocutors into his philosophical works. See Xing Lu, Rhetoric in Ancient China,
Fifth to Third Century, B.C.E.: A Comparison with Classical Greek Rhetoric (Columbia:
University of South Carolina Press, 1998), 251, and Zhuagzi’s own discussion of the
technique in The Complete Works of Chuang Tzu (trans. Burton Watson; New York:
Columbia University Press, 1968), 303.
226 RETHINKING PAUL’S RHETORICAL EDUCATION

use of Spanish. What Elia accomplishes by adopting the role of Atalaina

et alia is, in fact, the establishment of ethos: At the expense of her fellow
villagers, whose voices she imbues with laughable naivety as to the ways
of the European visitors, Elia positions herself as uniquely sensible and
worldly-wise. That is, by internalizing the evaluation of her visitors—and,
by means of her speech-in-character, adopting their external evaluative
stance vis-à-vis her compatriots—Elia has made herself an insider.
This is a rhetorically astute move, but its execution could hardly be
called eloquent. In fact, there are a number of indicators here that Elia is
not particularly articulate. I give but two examples. First, there is the odd
turn of phrase, sacar cara, which seems to represent what we might call,
duly noting the irony, a local “urban legend.” In context here, it is clear
that what is feared is that the Europeans will remove the faces of the locals
and somehow use them to fuel their airplanes (van a sacar su grasa para
avión).72 Apart from the missing article, what makes this usage confusing
is its resemblance to the common idiom sacar la cara por alguien—that is,
“to stand up for somebody.”73
Second, note the broken syntax in her initial description of the fear
of her compañeros: Hemos ido por acá, han llegado mis compañeros los que
han venido de miedo, de miedo cuando le han visto los campamentos. There
is no grammatical connection between the first clause and the remainder
of the sentence. Likewise, de miedo, repeated for emphasis, is logically but
not grammatically attached to the narration of her fellow villagers’ arrival.
It is clear enough what Elia means—she was already in the camp, and
watched those of her compañeros who showed up later gape in fear when
they arrived—but she lacks the linguistic resources to articulate it such
that grammar and sense coincide.
This is characteristic of Elia’s prose. Given contextual cues, we can
deduce her meaning, but she does not very well articulate what she com-
municates. Curiously, then, her rhetorical effectiveness far outstrips her
control of the language. Hers is an informal rhetoric, and, regardless of its
colloquial force, would never be confused with learned speech.

72. Note that correct usage would demand an infinitive after para here, or, alter-
natively, an article with avión.
73. Nicholas Rollin, ed., The Concise Oxford Spanish Dictionary (Oxford: Oxford
University Press, 1998), s.v. “Cara.”
 ATTENDING TO OTHER VOICES 227

Prosōpopoiia in 2 Corinthians 10–13

I argued above that Paul’s so-called Fool’s Speech is not an instance of

prosōpopoiia. On the contrary, in his boasting Paul speaks in his own voice,
which is precisely why he is concerned that the Corinthians will consider
him a fool. There are, however, a number of examples of what I have called
informal prosōpopoiia in this letter. Indeed, in 2 Cor 10–13 Paul inhabits
the voices of his rivals in a variety of ways, utilizing a spectrum of proso-
popoetic strategies from verbatim reported speech to subtler allusions to
the language of his rivals.74
The clearest instance of this appears in 10:10, where Paul uses an
explicit citation formula to mark the change in voice: αἱ ἐπιστολαὶ μέν,
φησίν, βαρεῖαι καὶ ἰσχυραί, ἡ δὲ παρουσία τοῦ σώματος ἀσθενὴς καὶ ὁ λόγος
ἐξουθενημένος. Whoever is the implied subject of φησίν,75 it is clear that
Paul is integrating into his argument a hostile voice.76
We hear echoes of this voice elsewhere in the letter. Indeed, Paul
interrupts himself in its first extant verse to provide a characterization
of himself that clearly derives from the perspective of his rivals:77 ὃς κατὰ
πρόσωπον μὲν ταπεινὸς ἐν ὑμῖν, ἀπὼν δὲ θαρρῶ εἰς ὑμᾶς (10:1b). This oppo-
sition between Paul’s demeanor when present and when absent clearly
recalls the accusation reported in 10:10,78 but here Paul speaks in the
first-person singular throughout, thus putting his opponents’ words into
his own mouth.79 This is not technically prosōpopoiia, but it is evidently
a manifestation of the same rhetorical impulse. As in 10:10, Paul con-
fronts his opponents’ charge head on by citing or paraphrasing it and then
adding a qualification that reverses its force: Yes, in the past I have not

74. For an excellent treatment of these dialogic features in the Corinthian cor-
respondence, see Mitchell, “The Birth of Pauline Hermeneutics,” 46–52.
75. On the interpretation of φησίν, see p. 72 above.
76. So Windisch, Der zweite Korintherbrief, 305; Plummer, Second Epistle, 282;
Furnish, II Corinthians, 468; Betz, Der Apostel Paulus und die sokratische Tradition,
44–45; Mitchell, “Le style, c’est l’homme,” 382.
77. So already Chrysostom, Hom. 2 Cor. 21.1 (PG 61:542). Cf. Heinrici, Der
zweite Brief an die Korinther, 312.
78. Windisch, Der zweite Korintherbrief, 305; Betz, Der Apostel Paulus und die
sokratische Tradition, 47; Bultmann, Second Corinthians, 190. Cf. Chrysostom, Hom.
2 Cor. 21.1 (PG 61:542).
79. See esp. Betz, Der Apostel Paulus und die sokratische Tradition, 46.
228 RETHINKING PAUL’S RHETORICAL EDUCATION

been so bold in person as I have been in my letters, but that will change if
you persist in disobedience (10:2, 11).
Having indicated to his addressees that presence/absence and weak/
bold oppositions characterize the voice of his rivals, Paul can use these
oppositions and their attendant vocabulary (πάρειμι/ἄπειμι; ταπεινός/
θαρρέω or τολμάω) throughout the letter to channel that voice (10:2, 11, 12;
11:7, 21; 13:2, 10). Such rhetorical use of his rivals’ voice reconfigures his
alleged weakness as a generous decision to “spare” the Corinthians (13:2),
to use his God-given ἐξουσία to build up the Corinthians and not to tear
them down (10:8; 13:10).80 Further, it highlights Paul’s threat that he will
not spare them again (13:2–4). Again, this is not prosōpopoiia per se, but it
certainly has the same function.81
Characteristic, then, of Paul’s prosopopoetic discourse is his ability to
use his opponents’ own language against them. Paul redeploys key ele-
ments of his opponents’ accusations, rhetorically reshaping them to serve
his own very different rhetorical ends. Yes, he is weak, just as his rivals
claim (10:10), but what this weakness signifies, he insists, is that he is a
perfect vessel of divine power (12:9–10). This is clever rhetoric. But is it a
mark of formal rhetorical education?

“The Tree of Friendship”

According to Granville Ganter, surely the preeminent student of Red Jack-

et’s rhetoric, the capacity for “harnessing his opponents’ tropes and values
to suit his own purpose … was Sagoyewatha’s most characteristic gift as a
poet and a politician.”82 Like Paul in 2 Cor 10–13, Red Jacket echoed his

80. So, correctly, Welborn, An End to Enmity, 63.

81. One final example should briefly be noted: ἔστω δέ, ἐγὼ οὐ κατεβάρησα ὑμᾶς·
ἀλλὰ ὑπάρχων πανοῦργος δόλῳ ὑμᾶς ἔλαβον (12:16). As in 10:1b, Paul speaks in the first
person, but the voice of his rivals is clearly discernible. As Plummer paraphrases the
underlying accusation: “Be it so, we are agreed about that; you did not yourself burden
us by coming on us for support; but you were cunning enough to catch us and our
money in other ways” (Second Corinthians, 363). Cf. Windisch, Der zweite Korinther-
brief, 402; Martin, 2 Corinthians, 444–46. As Ralph Martin notes, the parenthetical
“you say” supplied by the translators of the nrsv should probably be replaced with
“they say”—or, perhaps “he says” (cf. 10:10)—to reflect more accurately Paul’s ongoing
prosopopoetic dialogue with his rival or rivals (445).
82. Granville Ganter, “Red Jacket and the Decolonization of Republican Virtue,”
American Indian Quarterly 31 (2007): 576.
 ATTENDING TO OTHER VOICES 229

interlocutors’ language, first adopting and then subverting their voices. I

will restrict myself here to a single example.83
In his July 1819 attempt to convince the Seneca to accept President
Monroe’s recommendation that they sell the majority of their remaining
lands, Judge Morris S. Miller used the analogy of a tree to describe what he
saw as the Seneca’s plight:

[Your great Father the President] remembers that the tree of your glory
and your strength flourished upon the mountain; that its branches
extended in every direction; that its root struck deep into the earth,
and its top reached to the clouds. He observes with regret, that while
some of its branches have fallen in the lapse of time, others have been
lopped off by your own improvidence; … and others have been rent by
the hand of violence; that what remains shews manifest symptoms of
disease and decay; that the trunk itself, once so vigorous and healthful, is
now covered with moss; that the top is bending with weakness; and that
a destructive canker has fastened on its roots.84

Miller’s analogy of a once-mighty tree was chosen shrewdly, recalling the

Great White Pine that served as a primary symbol of the strength and
unity of the Six Nations.85 What Miller implied thereby was that the glori-
ous days of the Iroquois confederacy were in the past, and the Seneca now
had no choice but to depend on the magnanimity of the Americans.
In his response, delivered a few days later and translated by Jasper
Parrish,86 Red Jacket began by adopting—and using to his own advan-
tage—the role laid out for him and his people by Miller’s rhetoric. He
“played the role of a simpleton,”87 feigning political naivety and ignorance
of American polity:

83. See further Ganter, “You Are a Cunning People”; Ganter, “Decolonization”;
Matthew Dennis, “Red Jacket’s Rhetoric: Postcolonial Persuasions on the Native Fron-
tiers of the Early Republic,” in American Indian Rhetorics of Survivance: Word Medi-
cine, Word Magic (ed. Ernest Stromberg; Pittsburgh Series in Composition, Literacy,
and Culture; Pittsburgh: University of Pittsburgh Press, 2006), 15–33.
84. Text from Ganter, Collected Speeches, 203.
85. See Ganter, “Decolonization,” 566; William N. Fenton, The Great Law and the
Longhouse: A Political History of the Iroquois Confederacy (Civilization of the Ameri-
can Indian Series 223; Norman: University of Oklahoma Press, 1998), 103.
86. On the translation and textual history of the speech, see Ganter, Collected
Speeches, 198–99.
87. Ganter, “Decolonization,” 569.
230 RETHINKING PAUL’S RHETORICAL EDUCATION

Brother, We had thought that all the promises made by one President,
were handed down to the next. We do not change our Chiefs as you do.
Since these treaties were made with us, you have had several changes
of your President—And we do not understand why the treaty made by
one President is not binding upon the other. On our parts we expect to
comply with our engagements.88

Miller’s speech had represented the Seneca as hapless children, dependent

on the benevolence and wisdom of their father the President.89 By feign-
ing simplicity, Red Jacket ironically accepted the dependent role he and his
people were assigned—and, in so doing, highlighted the failure of Presi-
dent Monroe to act as the virtuous father Miller’s rhetoric had made him
out to be.
Red Jacket carried on in this vein for much of his speech, acting the
part with considerable relish:

We do not think that there is any land, in any of our reservations, but
what is useful. Look at the white people around us and back. You are
not cramped for seats; they are large. Look at that man (pointing to Mr.
Ellicott) he has plenty of land; if you want to buy apply to him. We have
none to part with.90

Red Jacket’s subsequent reference to his hearers’ laughter makes clear

that the humor of his remark was not lost on the audience—humor that
derived, of course, from his ability simultaneously to pretend naivety and
to strike at the heart of the matter under discussion. As Ganter explains,
“While he pleads for compassion and pity as an ignorant, unlettered
Native, he figuratively cuffs his opponent in the head with evidence to the
contrary”91—evidence, that is, of his political acuity.
Not only did Red Jacket subvert the role provided for him by Miller’s
rhetoric; he redeployed Miller’s tree analogy by echoing its language while
redefining its import. Traditionally, Red Jacket and the Iroquois spoke
of their relationship with the Americans as a “chain of friendship” from

88. Text from Ganter, Collected Speeches, 213.

89. E.g.: “Your great Father has cast his paternal eye over your nation”; “Your great
Father the President, whose happiness it is, to promote the welfare of all his children,
has not been inattentive to you” (Ganter, Collected Speeches, 200, 203).
90. Text from Ganter, Collected Speeches, 214.
91. Ganter, “You Are a Cunning People,” 172.
 ATTENDING TO OTHER VOICES 231

which it was necessary, from time to time, to remove the rust.92 The meta-
phor appears almost invariably throughout Red Jacket’s extant speeches.
Here, however, when Red Jacket holds up the treaty parchment and speaks
of the Iroquois’s friendship with the Americans, the metaphorical chain
has been replaced by Miller’s decaying tree: “Now the tree of friendship
is decaying,” Red Jacket laments. “Its limbs are fast falling off, and you are
at fault.”93 Ganter explains the rhetorical move well: “Inverting Commis-
sioner Miller’s metaphor that the Tree of the Six Nations was rotting under
their guidance, Sagoyewatha held … the rolled treaty to show that it was
the national honor of the United States that was in decay.”94
In short, like Paul in 2 Cor 10–13, Red Jacket constructed his argu-
ment by manipulating the very language and tropes of his interlocutors—
and not least the language with which they characterized him. Such a
strategy may be evidence of an astute speaker, but it hardly serves as proof
of formal rhetorical education.

The Ubiquity of Catalogue Style

Such figures of speech as characterize Paul’s tribulation list in 2 Cor 11—

anaphora, isocolon, repetition, and assonance or rhyming—are, as George
Kennedy explains, among the most widely observed rhetorical features of
human speech.95 What is of interest here, however, is not simply their evi-

92. See Fenton, The Great Law and the Longhouse, 7; Ganter, “Decolonization,”
569–70.
93. Text from Ganter, Collected Speeches, 214.
94. Ganter, “Decolonization,” 572.
95. Kennedy, Comparative Rhetoric, 42, 52–53, 88, 100, 229. See further Christian
Meyer, “Rhetoric and Stylistics in Social/Cultural Anthropology,” in vol. 2 of Rhetorik
und Stilistik: Ein internationales Handbuch historischer und systematischer Forschung
(ed. Ulla Fix, Andreas Gardt, and Joachim Knape; 2 vols.; Handbücher zur Sprach-
und Kommunikationswissenschaft 31; Berlin: de Gruyter, 2009), 1877–78; Meyer,
Mahnen, Prahlen, Drohen, 178–83. The ubiquity of the more general phenomenon
of parallelism, to which all of these figures are closely related, was demonstrated by
Roman Jakobson, “Grammatical Parallelism and Its Russian Facet,” Language 42
(1966): 399–429. Cf. Sherzer and Woodbury, Native American Discourse, passim;
Deborah Tannen, Talking Voices: Repetition, Dialogue, and Imagery in Conversational
Discourse (2nd ed.; Studies in Interactional Sociolinguistics 25; Cambridge: Cam-
bridge University Press, 2007), 48–101.
232 RETHINKING PAUL’S RHETORICAL EDUCATION

dent universality, but the ubiquity of their use, in combination, to produce

catalogue style.
In particular, it is not difficult to document what appears to be a basic
human propensity to catalogue hardships using various forms of isocolon
and anaphora. The following are firsthand accounts, provided by locals
and reported by international journalists, of various recent catastrophes:

“There is no water, there is no food, no shelter. There are thou-

sands of people living in the field.”96

“We have no work, no shelter, no food. People have died because

of the terrible conditions we live in.”97

“We have no food, no clothes, no home. We have lost everything.”98

“These people have no water, no food, no medicine; nobody is

helping us.”99

“No job, no money, no social welfare, no food.”100

From Kenya to Haiti to Ireland to Bangladesh, these speakers describe

their plight remarkably similarly. None of these incipient catalogues, of
course, approaches the length and complexity of Paul’s list of tribulations,

96. Jorge Barerra, “More than 1,400 Canadians Still Missing in Haiti,” National
Post, January 15, 2010. Cited 20 January 2010. Online: http://www.nationalpost.com/
story.html?id=2444958.
97. Associated Press, “International Court Names Suspects in Kenya Attacks,”
National Public Radio, 15 December 2010. Cited 5 January 2011. Online: http://
www.npr.org/2010/12/15/132081457/international-court-names-suspects-in
-kenya-attacks?.
98. Jonathan Watts, “No Food, No Clothes, No Home: Bangladesh’s Poor Who
Have Lost Everything,” The Guardian, 23 November 23 2007. Cited 20 January 2010.
Online: http://www.guardian.co.uk/world/2007/nov/23/naturaldisasters.internation-
alaidanddevelopment.
99. Tom Brown and Andrew Cawthorne, “Mass Burials after Haiti Quake; Aid
Jams Airport,” Reuters, 14 January 2010. Cited 20 January 2010. Online: http://www.
reuters.com/article/idUSTRE60B5IZ20100114.
100. Noel Baker, “ ‘No Job, No Money, No Social Welfare, No Food,’ ” Irish Exam-
iner, 9 April 2009. Cited 5 January 2011. Online: http://www.irishexaminer.com/ire-
land/idididqloj/.
 ATTENDING TO OTHER VOICES 233

but they clearly are manifestations of the same rhetorical sensibility. The
common impulse for rhythmic itemization is particularly evident from the
decision of each to avoid any elaboration until the conclusion of each list.
The same impulse can be observed in a Canadian woman’s testimony
regarding a more personal tragedy, the diagnosis of her husband with
Alzheimer’s disease:

I cannot scarcely think of an aspect of our lives that is not being impacted
by this: um, our financial circumstances, our physical circumstances—
we’re having to sell our home and to move—even our emotional [pause]
relationship.101

A modern day Quintilian might scorn a few aspects of her usage (“cannot
scarcely,” “impacted”), but nevertheless this is an interesting example of
the rudiments of catalogue style. Note the epistrophic repetition of “cir-
cumstances” in the first two items, a usage to which, it seems from her
pause, she is tempted to return in formulating the final item until she real-
izes its inappropriateness and selects a better word.
Interesting here too is the redundancy of this catalogue. The first two
items are both comprehended by the more specific detail—the necessity
of selling her home—by which they are explained. Clearly, then, it is the
catalogue-like features themselves that give the impression of comprehen-
siveness, regardless of whether the specific items listed substantiate that
impression. Indeed, here we meet with the basic rhetorical force of the cat-
alogue: the impression of magnitude it is able to generate. As Yair Hoffman
explains, “It seems that a flow of words, all of which have the same syntac-
tical structure and a certain common denominator, … has a cumulative
power far beyond the information conveyed in the adding of parts to one
another.”102 The catalogue, in other words, has the potential to function
metonymically.103 Even without rhetorical training, speakers apparently
recognize this potential, hence the ubiquity of the form.
It would not be surprising to find catalogues in the speech of Red
Jacket. Christian Meyer introduces his thorough review of ethnographic

101. CBC Radio, The Story from Here, 14 July 2010. Cited 5 January 2011. Online:
http://www.cbc.ca/thestoryfromhere/episode-update/2010/07/14/july-14-2010/.
102. Hoffman, A Blemished Perfection, 88.
103. See John Miles Foley, The Singer of Tales in Performance (Voices in Perfor-
mance and Text; Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1995), 121–22.
234 RETHINKING PAUL’S RHETORICAL EDUCATION

study of indigenous North and South American speech practices by

observing, “Die wichtigsten, überall vielfach verwendeten Figuren der
amerikanischen Indianer sind Repetitio und Parallelismus.”104 He elabo-
rates in terms reminiscent of what we have been calling catalogue style:
“Mit Parallelismus wird z.B. die Wiederholung eines Wortes, Wortteils,
Satzes oder Satzteils in einem anderen Kontext (Anapher, Epipher, Alliter-
ation, Reim), [oder] die Wiederholung rhythmischer oder intonationaler
Muster … bezeichnet.”105
Lacking transcription in the original language, it is difficult to verify
the presence of such stylistic features in Red Jacket’s speech, but there are
tantalizing hints that he used them extensively:

[The President] told us it would be necessary to quit the mode of Indian

living and learn the manner of the White people. And that the US would
provide us oxen to plow the ground which would relieve our women
from digging—that we should be provided with cows & we must learn
our girls to milk & make butter & chees. That we should be furnished
with farming utensils for cultivating the ground & raise wheat & other
grain—that we must have spinning wheals & learn our children to spin
& knitt—We were told we must make use of Cattle instead of Moose Elk
etc. & Swine in stead of beans, sheep in place of dear etc etc.106

One suspects that Red Jacket was just getting going when the translator or
transcriber lost patience.107 In any case, even in translation, echoes of the
rhythmic pattern remain: The government’s proposed provision is set out,
followed by its putatively salutary result.108 Notice Red Jacket’s affinity for
paired items at the end of each clause: butter and cheese, wheat and other

104. Meyer, Mahnen, Prahlen, Drohen, 178: “The most important, widely and fre-
quently used figures of speech of the American Indian are repetition and parallelism.”
105. Ibid., 179: “Parallelism refers to, e.g., the repetition of a word, word-part,
sentence or clause in another context (anaphora, epiphora, alliteration, rhyme), or the
repetition of rhythmic or tonal pattern.”
106. Text from Ganter, Collected Speeches, 116. For other examples of isocolon,
see pp. 17, 106.
107. For the use of etc. to mark elision by a transcriber, see, e.g., Ganter, Collected
Speeches, 46.
108. Albert Lord’s discussion of the usefulness of formulas in the composition of
oral epic poetry may help us understand the ubiquity of such repetitive syntax as Red
Jacket exemplifies here. The reuse of syntactical structures with substitution of key
elements is not only rhetorically effective, but also rather easy to pull off, once one gets
 ATTENDING TO OTHER VOICES 235

grain, spin and knit. Finally, if it does not result from the summarizing
work of the translator, observe his use in the final sentence of simple anti-
thetical clauses reminiscent of texts like 2 Cor 4:8–9.
If the precise nature of Red Jacket’s use of these figures remains inac-
cessible, we are fortunate, thanks to the work of Gary Gossen, to have a
significant record of Chamula speech in the original language. Gossen
provides the following as an example of the “redundancy and parallelism
[that] is repeated throughout the oral tradition.” Here a female sheep thief
is being chastised in court:109

ˀoy ša shayibuk velta ˀelk'anik. Many times already you have stolen.
šavelk'an čihe. You steal sheep.
šavelk'an ti ˀalak'e. You steal chicken.
šavelk'an ti ˀisak'e. You steal potatoes.
šavelk'an ti maˀil e. You steal squash.
šavelk'an ti k'uˀil e. You steal clothing.
šavelk'an ti ˀitah e. You steal cabbage.
šavelk'an ti tuluk'e. You steal turkeys.
skotol k'usi šavelk'an. You steal anything.

ˀaˀ ša noˀoš muyuk bu šavelk'an The only thing you don’t steal
be sbek' yat li kirsanoetik; from people are their testicles;
ˀaˀ ša noˀoš čaloˀ. And those you only eat.
The anaphoric repetition of šavelk'an here is reminiscent of Paul’s repeated
use of κινδύνοις in 2 Cor 11:26. An added touch here, though, is the use of
rhythmic couplets, the first two of which rhyme. The initial accusation,
stealing sheep, stands alone, followed by three pairs of items and then the
catch-all “anything”—a common way, as we have already seen, to conclude
a catalogue. Notice also the elegant reversal of the syntax, not reproduced
in the translation, in the last catalogue item. Finally, in the second “stanza”
note the artfulness of the final line, which follows the syntax of the first
right up until the devastating final word.

the hang of it. See The Singer of Tales (Harvard Studies in Comparative Literature 24;
Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1960), 35–36.
109. Text and translation from Gary Gossen, “To Speak with a Heated Heart:
Chamula Canons of Style and Good Performance,” in Explorations in the Ethnogra-
phy of Speaking (ed. Richard Bauman and Joel Sherzer; 2nd ed.; SSCFL 8; Cambridge:
Cambridge University Press, 1989), 401–2.
236 RETHINKING PAUL’S RHETORICAL EDUCATION

Another example, for which I am indebted to a useful article by Chris-

tian Meyer, comes from Ivo Strecker’s ethnographic work among the
Hamar people of southern Ethiopia. Though a song rather than an oration,
we see here the same pattern of lexical substitution within a fixed syntactic
structure,110 as well as figures of speech such as (informal) prosōpopoiia
and, in the final line, aposiopesis:

Are people fathered for the vultures?

Fathered for the hyenas?
Fathered for the sun?
People are fathered for people.
A man fathers [a son] so that he may herd cows;
that he may herd goats;
that he may make fields;
that he may herd calves;
that he may herd lambs;
that he may be sent on an errand:
‘Run and get me that thing from him over there!’
He whom you fathered—[he has been devoured by] vultures.111

Finally, a rather different example: Billy Sunday remains one of the

most influential of that peculiarly American religious figure, the revivalist
preacher. Though frequently scorned by the intellectual and cultural elite,
Sunday was enormously popular, not least because of his impassioned and
compelling preaching style.112 What is interesting for our purposes is the
means by which he acquired his prowess as a preacher. It was not primarily
formal education.
Sunday was the son of an itinerant laborer who died less than a month
after his son’s birth, in 1862, in rural Iowa. After spending some years in an
orphanage, Sunday was working for his living by the age of 14. Although,

110. For further examples, see Meyer, Mahnen, Prahlen, Drohen, 108–9, 159;
Tannen, Talking Voices, 58.
111. Ivo Strecker, Nyabole: Laufgesang—Singing on the Way to the Dancing Ground
(Museum Collection Berlin; Berlin: Wergo, 2003), 74–75; cited in Meyer, “Rhetoric
and Stylistics,” 1878.
112. The best recent treatments of Sunday and his influence are Lyle W. Dorsett,
Billy Sunday and the Redemption of Urban America (Library of Religious Biography;
Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1991); Robert F. Martin, Hero of the Heartland: Billy Sunday
and the Transformation of American Society, 1862–1935 (Bloomington: Indiana Uni-
versity Press, 2002).
 ATTENDING TO OTHER VOICES 237

thanks to the patronage of a generous employer, he did attend some high

school, he did not graduate. As a youth, he was known not for brains but
for his speed on the baseball field.113 Some years later, when, as a profes-
sional ball player in Chicago, he tried to court a respectable, middle-class
girl, he was, as his letters to her suggest, “sensitive about his impoverished
background, his ungrammatical speech, and his lack of polish.”114
But if Sunday did not have the advantage of extensive formal edu-
cation, he nevertheless had heard a lot of good preaching. By the late
nineteenth century, revivalist preaching was a well-established part of
the fabric of American culture and religious life. Sunday himself was
converted through the evangelistic sermons of Harry Munroe—sermons
that, if Sunday’s recollections can be trusted, were typical instances of the
genre.115 And, before hitting the road as an evangelist himself, he spent
two years as an assistant to the well-known Presbyterian preacher J. Wilbur
Chapman.116 It was through something akin to apprenticeship, then, that
Sunday learned to harness his natural theatricality into the rhythms and
cadences of preaching. Moreover, since he met with only limited success
in his first decade on the road,117 we can safely assume that much of his
prowess simply derived from practice.
One aspect of rhetorical performance that Sunday mastered was what
Quintilian would have called amplificatio (Inst. 8.4). In Sunday’s telling
of the tale, for example, the owners of the pigs Jesus dispatched into the
sea are described as “peanut-brained, weasel-eyed, hog-jowled, beetle-
browned, bull-necked lobsters.”118 In other settings, this propensity for
rhythmic elaboration is expressed in catalogue-style itemization. Here
Sunday eulogizes the temperance movement:

They have driven the business from Kansas,

they have driven it from Georgia
and Maine and Mississippi
and North Carolina and North Dakota
and Oklahoma and Tennessee and West Virginia.

113. Martin, Hero of the Heartland, 2–8; Dorsett, Billy Sunday, 6–15.
114. Martin, Hero of the Heartland, 36.
115. See Dorsett, Billy Sunday, 25–27.
116. Martin, Hero of the Heartland, 46.
117. See ibid., 47–48.
118. Text from William T. Ellis, “Billy” Sunday: The Man and His Message (Phila-
delphia: Myers, 1914), 86.
238 RETHINKING PAUL’S RHETORICAL EDUCATION

And they have driven it out of 1,756 counties…

It is prosperity against poverty,
sobriety against drunkenness,
honesty against thieving,
heaven against hell.
Don’t you want to see men sober? Brutal staggering men transformed
into respectable citizens?
No, said a saloonkeeper, to hell with men. We are interested in our busi-
ness, we have no interest in humanity.119

I have included the final two sentences apropos of our discussion of

prosōpopoiia in the previous section.120 As for features of catalogue style,
note the consistency of Sunday’s use of conjunctions: in the first section,
initial asyndeton gives way to consistent use of “and” once Sunday begins
to elide the verb phrase; in the second, he uses asyndeton throughout.
Either pattern would be at home in Paul’s catalogues: such repetition of
conjunctions is reminiscent of Rom 8:35–39; the antitheses in 2 Cor 4:8–9
are linked asyndetically. Noteworthy also is the rhythmic isocolon in the
second section, centering on the repetition of “against” and building to
its rather overwrought climax. Finally, notice Sunday’s use of alliteration/
anaphora in the organization of the states: Maine and Mississippi; North
Carolina and North Dakota.
As a final illustration of Sunday’s verbal art, at once tasteless and com-
pelling, note the use of anaphora and isocolon in his declaration of eternal
war against the saloon:

I’ll kick it as long as I have a foot

and I’ll fight it and punch it as long as I have a fist
I’ll bark as long as I have a head
I’ll bite it as long as I have a tooth
and when I am old
and fistless
and footless
and toothless

119. Ibid., 87–88.

120. This is, in fact, the first of many instances in this sermon of Sunday’s attri-
bution of venal first-person speech to those who profit from “booze.” A number are
accompanied by apostrophe.
 ATTENDING TO OTHER VOICES 239

I’ll gum it
till I go home to glory
and it goes home to perdition.121

Conclusion

Since the earliest work of Betz on Galatians, it has been recognized that if
Paul utilized formal rhetorical conventions, he did so in his own peculiar
way. Betz himself observed both the general comparability of Paul’s letters
with rhetorical sources and a number of specific idiosyncrasies that such
comparison placed in sharp relief.122 His explanation of these data has
become standard fare: similarities result from Paul’s knowledge of rhetori-
cal conventions; specific differences derive from Paul’s philosophical incli-
nation or conscious rhetorical intention.123 Accordingly, arguments like
that of Tor Vegge for Paul’s formal rhetorical education have proceeded
on the basis of Paul’s general affinity to rhetorical theory, and then found
ways to explain away specific differences. But this mode of argumentation
obscures the nature of the Paul’s relation to the formal rhetorical sources.
Consider again, for example, Paul’s putative use of synkrisis: Yes, Paul
certainly makes comparisons, but he does not do so in accordance with
the conventions for synkrisis as manifested in the Progymnasmata, Plu-
tarch’s Parallel Lives, and encomiastic oratory. Although there are differ-
ences in the use of synkrisis among these three sources, all clearly share a
family resemblance; Paul does not. In short, with respect to his use of syn-
krisis, Paul differs more from the rhetorical sources than they differ among
themselves. In the company of such speakers, he is an outlier.

121. Transcribed from an audio recording available at SermonIndex.net. Cited 6

January 2011. Online: http://media.sermonindex.net/4/SID4499.mp3. Sunday stum-
bles over the “fight it” in the second line; the disruption of the rhythm appears to be
accidental.
122. See Betz, “Literary Composition and Function,” 360, 369, 375–79.
123. Ibid., 369; Betz, Galatians, 129. See also Vegge, Paulus und das antike Schul-
wesen, 405; C. Jan Swearingen, “The Tongues of Men: Understanding the Greek Rhe-
torical Sources for Paul’s Letters to the Romans and 1 Corinthians,” in Rhetorical
Argumentation in Biblical Texts: Essays from the Lund 2000 Conference (ed. Anders
Eriksson, Thomas H. Olbricht, and Walter G. Übelacker; ESEC 8; Harrisburg, Pa.:
Trinity, 2002), 233.
240 RETHINKING PAUL’S RHETORICAL EDUCATION

This chapter has presented a different group of comparators, consist-

ing not of speakers formally educated in classical rhetoric but instead of
those whose rhetorical capacity was acquired informally. Here Paul is
rather more at home—or, to stretch my statistical metaphor, here Paul is
within a standard deviation: With respect to the rhetoric of his self-refer-
ence (periautologia) and his use of prodiorthōsis, informal prosōpopoiia,
and catalogue style, Paul differs from these comparators about as much
as they differ from one another. Thus, given the fact that he evinces no
greater similarity to the formal rhetorical sources than do these other
speakers, there is far more justification for locating Paul in this informal
rhetorical matrix than for placing him among the educated elite of the
Greco-Roman world.
One related conclusion, central to the argument of this study, should
be reiterated: the four rhetorical features treated in this chapter evidently
belong to the realm of general rhetoric—the basic human propensity for
persuasive speech. Thus there is no evidence that Paul’s use thereof evinces
familiarity with the specific conventions of formal Greco-Roman rhetoric.
Certainly the appearance of these rhetorical features in Paul’s letters does
not provide grounds for overturning what was for centuries the consensus
view of Paul’s rhetoric—namely, that it was forceful but unschooled.
Although I have limited myself here to an evaluation of rhetorical fea-
tures in 2 Cor 10–13, there are indications that this method of analysis, if
extended to the remainder of the Pauline corpus, would meet with similar
results. Kennedy provides evidence, for example, of the ubiquity of the
rhetorical question,124 and gives diverse examples of the persuasive use of
what Aristotle called proof from logos, ethos, and pathos.125 The division
of speeches along the general lines of the formal partes orationis is attested
in other cultures as well.126 These data must be taken into account when
evaluating Paul’s rhetoric. It will not do to make claims about how Paul’s
rhetoric relates to the formal Greco-Roman tradition without cultivating
sensitivity to the general phenomenon of persuasive human speech.
Finally, this chapter has, I hope, illustrated a more general point as
well: Compelling speech is not the exclusive preserve of the formally edu-
cated. This is hardly a novel observation; still, given the nature of recent

124. Kennedy, Comparative Rhetoric, 88, 105, 127, 230; also Meyer, “Rhetoric and
Stylistics,” 1878.
125. Kennedy, Comparative Rhetoric, 223–25.
126. Ibid., 92, 148.
 ATTENDING TO OTHER VOICES 241

discussion of Paul’s rhetorical education, it bears repeating. As Antoinette

Clark Wire has quipped: “Just as a child can speak her native tongue cor-
rectly without schooling, so a man can sell a horse or a conviction very
persuasively without reflecting upon how he does it.”127 The process of
“language socialization” by which such skills are acquired is the subject of
the next chapter.

127. Antoinette Clark Wire, The Corinthian Women Prophets: A Reconstruction

through Paul’s Rhetoric (Minneapolis: Fortress, 1990), 2.
 11
The Acquisition of
Informal Rhetorical Knowledge

The acquisition of informal rhetorical competence is, in practice, insepa-

rable from the acquisition of language itself.1 We do not learn first to speak
and then to speak persuasively. We learn to speak. This is, in short, because
there is no speech in the abstract, only speech as social practice. Accord-
ingly, it is as social practice that we learn the essentials of persuasion—that
is, of rhetorical performance.
In the previous chapter, I set forth evidence that the sort of rhetorical
aptitude demonstrated by Paul can also be found among those with no
formal schooling in rhetoric. In this chapter I will discuss briefly the means
by which such informal rhetorical ability is developed. We lack sufficient
biographical information about Paul to assert any specific correspondence
between Paul’s experience and that, for example, of Red Jacket; rather, this
is an attempt to map the territory, and, in so doing, to invite us to rethink
the privileged place formal education has in our explanatory imagination.

The Nature of Language Socialization

In the course of his ethnographic fieldwork among the Melanesians of

eastern New Guinea, Bronislaw Malinowski was struck by his inability to
translate with any degree of adequacy many of the texts he had collected.
Or, rather, Malinowski recognized that translation was itself an act of eth-
nographic description: the only way to render these utterances meaningful
was to explain, explicitly or implicitly, their social context and function.2
From this observation, Malinowski drew the attendant conclusion:

1. See Hymes, “On Communicative Competence,” 61.

2. Bronislaw Malinowski, “The Problem of Meaning in Primitive Languages,” in

-243-
244 RETHINKING PAUL’S RHETORICAL EDUCATION

A statement, spoken in real life, is never detached from the situation in

which it has been uttered. For each verbal statement by a human being
has the aim and function of expressing some thought or feeling actual
at that moment and in that situation, and necessary for some reason or
other to be made known to another person or persons … Without some
imperative stimulus of the moment, there can be no spoken statement.3

Speech, then, is “a mode of action,” and an utterance “a piece of human

behaviour.”4 Language, Malinowski concluded, must be studied ethno-
graphically, as one functional element in a social system.5
Accordingly, if speech belongs to the realm of social practice, what
children learn when they learn their mother tongue is not language in
the abstract but rather what Dell Hymes has called “communicative
competence,”6 the ability to use speech according to the linguistic but also
the social norms of a particular “speech community.” To quote Malinowski
once more:

To the child, words are … not only means of expression but efficient
modes of action. The name of a person uttered aloud in a piteous voice
possesses the power of materializing this person. Food has to be called
for and it appears—in the majority of cases.7

What children learn, in other words, is the effective use of speech in social
interaction—and this includes, as Malinowski’s examples make clear, the
rudimentary ability to persuade.

The Meaning of Meaning, by C. K. Ogden and I. A. Richards (New York: Harcourt,

Brace, and Company, 1936), 299–302.
3. Ibid., 307.
4. Ibid., 312. There clearly is considerable similarity between Malinowski’s
description of language as a “mode of action” and the basic insights of J. L. Austin’s
speech-act theory some decades later. See How To Do Things with Words (Cambridge:
Harvard University Press, 1962). Pragmatists continue to debate Malinowski’s influ-
ence on Austin’s work. See Kepa Korta, “Malinowski and Pragmatics: Claim Making in
the History of Linguistics,” Journal of Pragmatics 40 (2008): 1645–60.
5. See also the seminal discussion of Dell Hymes in Foundations in Sociolinguis-
tics: An Ethnographic Approach (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 1974).
6. Ibid., 75. See further Hymes, “Competence and Performance in Linguistic
Theory,” in Language Acquisition: Models and Methods (ed. Renira Huxley and Elisa-
beth Ingram; London: Academic Press, 1971), 3–28.
7. Malinowski, “The Problem of Meaning,” 320.
 ACQUISITION OF INFORMAL RHETORICAL KNOWLEDGE 245

Building on these basic insights, sociolinguists have given consider-

able thought to the nature of language acquisition—or, as some prefer,
“language socialization”—in various speech communities.8 For present
purposes, we need not pursue the discussion in detail. What is significant,
though, is the basic insight: effective use of language, which includes facil-
ity in the common tropes and conventional genres of one’s speech com-
munity, is learned primarily through social interaction. As we will see
below, the same obtains for the language socialization of adults into more
sophisticated rhetorical practices. Formal systems of rhetorical theoriza-
tion and education are the exception; more commonly, informal rhetori-
cal competence is transmitted as are other social practices, through what
Bourdieu describes as “an anonymous, pervasive pedagogic action” by
means of which “practical mastery is transmitted in practice, in its practi-
cal state, without attaining the level of discourse.”9

An Analogy: The Singer of Tales

Kennedy would likely argue that Malinowksi’s crying child is already

using rhetoric, (unconsciously?) manipulating pitch and volume, if not yet
verbal meaning, for maximum persuasive effect.10 But even if it is legiti-
mate to call this rhetoric, it is clearly a far cry—no pun intended—from
the sort of thing we observe in the letters of Paul. Is the notion of language
socialization sufficient to account also for this degree of rhetorical apti-
tude? Recent research into the ethnography of communication suggests
that it is—as, indeed, do my comparative observations above. Before we
pursue these studies, however, it will be helpful to consider an analogous
process of language socialization, one that attests to the subtlety and com-
plexity of the language practices that can be transmitted independently of
formal education.

8. See esp. Elinor Ochs, “Linguistic Resources for Socializing Humanity,” in

Rethinking Linguistic Relativity (ed. John J. Gumperz and Stephen C. Levinson; SSCFL
17; Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1996), 407–37; Ochs, Culture and Lan-
guage Development: Language Acquisition and Language Socialization in a Samoan
Village (SSCFL 6; Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1988); Bambi B. Schieffelin
and Elinor Ochs, eds., Language Socialization across Cultures (SSCFL 3; Cambridge
University Press, 1986).
9. Bourdieu, Theory of Practice, 87.
10. On various levels of intentionality in the production of rhetoric, see Kennedy,
Comparative Rhetoric, 25–26.
246 RETHINKING PAUL’S RHETORICAL EDUCATION

In The Singer of Tales, Albert Lord describes a three-stage process of

observation, imitation, and practice by which a young Yugoslav learns the
art of oral epic.11 The first stage he characterizes as an “unconscious pro-
cess of assimilation”:

From meter and music he absorbs in his earliest years the rhythms of
epic, even as he absorbs the rhythms of speech itself and in a larger
sense of the life about him. He learns empirically the length of phrase,
the partial cadences, the full stops. If the singer is in the Yugoslav tradi-
tion, he obtains a sense of ten syllables followed by a syntactical pause,
although he never counts out ten syllables, and if asked, might not be
able to tell how many syllables there are between pauses. In the same way
he absorbs into his own experience a feeling for the tendency toward the
distribution of accented and unaccented syllables and their very subtle
variations caused by the play of tonic accent, vowel length, and melodic
line. These “restrictive” elements he comes to know from much listening
to the songs about him and from being engrossed in their imaginative
world. He learns the meter ever in association with particular phrases,
those expressing the most common and oft-repeated ideas of the tra-
ditional story.… His instinctive grasp of alliterations and assonances is
sharpened. One word begins to suggest another by its very sound.12

The second stage of a singer’s “education” involves more intentional-

ity, the conscious decision to attend to and to imitate the singing of the
masters. Still, there is no school in which to learn to perform these songs,
only the opportunity for immersion in their performance. Even if books of
songs exist, most singers are illiterate and cannot put them to any mean-
ingful use.13
Finally, Lord emphasizes the decisive role of practice: “Whatever
feeling for such sound patterns the boy has absorbed in his pre-singing
days is crystallized when he begins to perform.”14 He enters the arena of
public performance, unsteadily at first, but with growing confidence and
control as he learns to produce the rhythms and formulae in which he
has been immersed.

11. Lord, The Singer of Tales, 20–26.

12. Ibid., 32–33.
13. Ibid., 23.
14. Ibid., 42.
 ACQUISITION OF INFORMAL RHETORICAL KNOWLEDGE 247

Acquiring aptitude as a singer, then, involves “no definite program of

study, of course, no sense of learning this or that formula or set of formu-
las. It is a process of imitation and of assimilation through listening and
much practice of one’s own.”15 It is, in other words, a process of socializa-
tion into a particular speech practice, albeit one that is at some remove
from informal communication and thus is acquired with a greater than
usual degree of self-consciousness.16

Mexicano Rhetorical “Education”

The process of the acquisition of informal “rhetorical competence” among

the Mexicanos of rural New Mexico, as described by ethnographer and
folklorist Charles L. Briggs, follows the same three stages as Lord outlined,
namely, observation, imitation, and ongoing practice. Briggs’s summary is
strikingly reminiscent of Lord’s discussion:

The beginning of the acquisition process lies in observation. Frequent

exposure to the behavior of one’s seniors leads to the internalization
of a sense of the pattern underlying what has been seen and heard.
This permits the “student” to begin imitating the words and actions of
others. Evaluating the success of such attempts is no less important for
initial imitations than for other areas of rhetorical competence. Once
an individual can adequately reproduce the forms provided by his or
her seniors … the time has come to make one’s own judgments as to
which utterances are appropriate in which environments. Such attempts
to produce original utterances are met with evaluations with respect to
his or her success.17

15. Ibid., 24.

16. As a recent study by Lucy Green demonstrates, popular music provides a sim-
ilar analogy. Popular music skills and knowledge are acquired primarily through what
Green calls “informal music learning practices”; therefore, “despite its widespread
provision in a large number of countries, and notwithstanding the recent entrance
of popular music into the formal arena, music education has had relatively little to do
with the development of the majority of those musicians who have produced the vast
proportion of the music which the global population listens to, dances to, identifies
with and enjoys” (How Popular Musicians Learn: A Way Ahead for Music Education
[Ashgate Popular and Folk Music Series; Aldershot, Eng.: Ashgate, 2001], 5).
17. Charles L. Briggs, Learning How to Ask: A Sociolinguistic Appraisal of the Role
of the Interview in Social Science Research (SSCFL 1; Cambridge: Cambridge Univer-
sity Press, 1986), 63–64.
248 RETHINKING PAUL’S RHETORICAL EDUCATION

Again, then, it is through social interaction that the Mexicanos learn to

speak appropriately and persuasively. We can elaborate further, thanks to
the acuity of Briggs’s observations during more than a decade of fieldwork
in Córdova, New Mexico.
Córdova is—or was in the 1970s and 80s, when Briggs was there—a
town of about 700 inhabitants in rural northern New Mexico. The town,
located in the foothills of the Sangre de Cristo Mountains, was populated
almost exclusively by Mexicanos, who first settled the area in the first half
of the eighteenth century.18 By the 1980s, a majority of the local workforce
did janitorial and construction work in Los Alamos, 30 miles to the south-
west.19 Prior to 1946, however, the community was considerably more iso-
lated: the road into town was little more than a trail; Córdovans relied on
sheep herding and seasonal migratory labor for income.20
This geographical isolation from mainstream America was paralleled
by linguistic isolation. Córdovans speak New Mexico Spanish, which sets
them apart not only from the English speakers who represent the majority
in Los Alamos, but also from other Hispanics. As Briggs explains:

Using Castilian or Standard Mexican Spanish in northern New Mexico

immediately alerts native speakers of New Mexican Spanish that the
person in question has emerged from a vastly different social, cultural,
and educational background and, more than likely, a higher social class.
A person learns New Mexican Spanish not in formal academic settings
but by living with Mexicanos.21

In short, the Córdovan speakers whom Briggs studied—and especially the

elders who were his primary informants22—represent a distinct speech
community. Fluency in their native speech practices derives not from
formal education but from social interaction.
This does not mean that Córdovans take a pedestrian view of language,
or that they lack rhetorical sophistication. On the contrary, in Córdova

18. See Charles L. Briggs, Competence in Performance: The Creativity of Tradition

in Mexicano Verbal Art (University of Pennsylvania Press Conduct and Communica-
tion Series; Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 1988), 30–31.
19. Briggs, Learning How to Ask, 33.
20. Ibid., 36; Briggs, Competence in Performance, 37–38.
21. Briggs, Learning How to Ask, 36–37.
22. According to Briggs, “many residents over fifty know little or no English”
(ibid., 36).
 ACQUISITION OF INFORMAL RHETORICAL KNOWLEDGE 249

“rhetorical competence is highly valued, and an individual’s verbal capac-

ity is closely related to her or his reputation in the community.”23 Such
competence includes mastery of folkloric material—what the locals refer
to as la plática de los viejitos de antes24—but also the ability to engage in
what the classical tradition would call deliberative rhetoric. Briggs explains
the social practices that facilitate the development of what he calls “politi-
cal oratory” in Córdova:

As they progress from age thirty to sixty, many assume roles of impor-
tance in religious voluntary associations, irrigation-ditch associations,
parish affairs, domestic water and land-grant associations, and other
intracommunity groups. If they prove themselves to be thoughtful and
persuasive speakers, their statements with regard to community affairs
can come to be taken quite seriously by persons of all ages. These are the
years in which men and women who possess talento for public speaking
are expected to develop and exhibit their rhetorical facility. A great deal
of prestige accrues to the community member who can sway an audi-
ence in the course of a meeting or other public gathering.… Gaining
recognition for one’s verbal abilities is an important part of the process of
moving through the status of muchacho (literally “boy,” meaning “young
man”) and into full-fledged adult status. Speaking out on the affairs of
the community is the most important means of establishing one’s reputa-
tion at this point in life.25

Briggs provides an example from a speech delivered at a commu-

nity meeting regarding water usage. His rhetorical analysis highlights
the speaker’s ability to establish ethos from the outset, as well as effective
utilization of key shared values.26 Further, Briggs explains how the ora-
tor’s “slow, clear, measured, rhythmic forceful speech” won the attention
of his audience. Its rhythmic qualities are clear from the following few
lines, chosen apropos of our discussion of catalogue style above. (Note that
Briggs uses small uppercase letters to indicate emphasis.)

Y no camine bajo de,

bajo de política

23. Ibid., 38.

24. For a comprehensive discussion, see Briggs, Competence in Performance.
25. Briggs, Learning How to Ask, 77, 82.
26. Ibid., 79–83
250 RETHINKING PAUL’S RHETORICAL EDUCATION

o bajo de envídia
o bajo de esto y el otro.27

Briggs’s study is remarkable for its detailed attention to the acquisi-

tion of rhetorical ability, but he is hardly alone in his conclusions. In 1975,
Maurice Bloch edited a volume entitled Political Language and Oratory
in Traditional Society.28 Despite a host of differences in speech practices
among the various cultural groups treated, two notes run like a refrain
throughout the volume: first, rhetorical competence is both valued and
cultivated;29 second, it is acquired through a process of observation, imi-
tation, and practice, sometimes formalized to varying degrees, but often
undertaken through informal social processes.30 Anne Salmond’s account
of the acquisition of oratorical ability among the rural Maori is particu-
larly lucid:

Oratory is learned as a natural process. Children hang around the fringes

of the marae [speaking-ground] at local gatherings to watch the elders
perform. Proverbs, genealogy, and local history soon become familiar,
and the formal constraints of speech-making are unconsciously acquired.
Young men stand to speak for the first time at a family life crisis … and
after that the ambitious ones take their opportunities where they can.…
It is in the informal speeches that they first enter marae discussions, and
practice for an eventual role as regular speakers.31

The marae of which Salmond speaks, like the community meeting at

which our Mexicano orator held forth, exemplify what Pierre Bourdieu
refers to as “structural exercises” that enable the transmission of practical

27. Ibid., 78–79. “And not walk under—under [the influence of] politics, or under
envy, or under this or that.”
28. Maurice Bloch, ed., Political Language and Oratory in Traditional Society
(London: Academic Press, 1975).
29. Maurice Bloch, “Introduction,” 4–5; Anne Salmond, “Mana Makes the Man: A
Look at Maori Oratory and Politics,” 45, 50; Mark Hobart, “Orators and Patrons: Two
Types of Political Leader in Balinese Village Society,” 74–75; John Comaroff, “Talk-
ing Politics: Oratory and Authority in a Tswana Chiefdom,” 143; David Turton, “The
Relationship between Oratory and the Exercise of Influence among the Mursi,” 176.
30. Bloch, “Introduction,” 22–23; Salmond, “Mana Makes the Man,” 50; Hobart,
“Orators and Patrons,” 77. Cf. Turton, “Oratory and the Exercise of Influence,” 177–78.
31. Salmond, “Mana Makes the Man,” 50, 62.
 ACQUISITION OF INFORMAL RHETORICAL KNOWLEDGE 251

mastery.32 Bourdieu conceptualizes such exercises as lying in the middle

ground between learning through unconscious familiarization and explicit
instruction. Like the play wrestling of pups, such activities serve to incul-
cate at once both practical skills and social roles—or, as Bourdieu would
have it, practical mastery of the dispositions constituting the habitus. As
Bourdieu explains, it is through boys’ “silent observance of the discussions
in the men’s assembly, with their effects of eloquence, their rituals, their
strategies,”33 that they receive informal training both in diction and in dis-
position.
A similar process of language socialization almost certainly lies at the
root of Red Jacket’s rhetorical prowess. Political oratory played a key role
in Iroquois society, wherein consensus generally was reached through per-
suasion rather than the exercise of power.34 Red Jacket was fascinated by
the political discourse of the council from a young age, and at seventeen
was selected as a “runner” and entrusted with “the responsibility of accu-
rately transmitting the words spoken in council” to neighboring tribes.35
Thus he had plenty of opportunity for observation and imitation, and,
later, practice.

Conclusion

George Kennedy’s study of comparative rhetoric led him to what now

should be a familiar conclusion regarding the acquisition of rhetorical
competence: excepting the rare instances of formal rhetorical education,
oratorical skills are attained through a process of “learning rhetorical con-
ventions by observing older speakers, imitating them, and finding oppor-
tunities for practice.”36 In other words, most people acquire rhetorical
competency the same way they do most of their learning—through social

32. Bourdieu, Theory of Practice, 88–89.

33. Ibid., 89.
34. See Taylor, The Divided Ground, 18–21; Meyer, Mahnen, Prahlen, Drohen,
47–77.
35. Densmore, Red Jacket, 8. Cf. Meyer, Mahnen, Prahlen, Drohen, 83. Michael
Foster’s ethnographic study of ritual oratory in the contemporary Iroquois Longhouse
describes a similar process of acquiring competence (From the Earth to Beyond the
Sky, 31).
36. Kennedy, Comparative Rhetoric, 63.
252 RETHINKING PAUL’S RHETORICAL EDUCATION

interaction. I will conclude this chapter with a few observations regarding

the applicability of such a model to Paul.
Galatians 1:14 has long been taken as an autobiographical statement
referring to Paul’s Jewish education: “I advanced in Judaism beyond many
among my people of the same age, for I was far more zealous [lit. “a zealot”]
for the traditions of my ancestors” (nrsv). For Conybeare and Howson,
what we see here is an “eager and indefatigable student”; likewise, more
recently, Margaret Mitchell speaks of “Paul’s self-portrait in Gal 1:14 of his
youthful studious zeal.”37 The interpretation is offered far more often than
it is argued; in fact, I have yet to locate an attempt to explain why Paul’s
progress ἐν τῷ ᾿Ιουδαϊσμῷ should be interpreted as scholastic achievement.
In any case, the reading is insupportable.38 As John Knox rightly insists,
Paul “nowhere claims to have been an expert in the law, only zealous of
carrying it out.”39
What then does Paul mean by saying that he “advanced” (προκόπτω)
beyond his contemporaries? Josephus does use this word to refer to his
own progress εἰς μεγάλην παιδείας (Vita 8), but its usage elsewhere makes
clear that there is no inherent connection to education. Josephus also, for
example, uses the word to describe Agrippa’s growing consolidation of
political power (A.J. 18.142; cf. 18.339). And Luke uses it to describe the
adolescent Jesus’ growth in σοφίᾳ καὶ ἡλικίᾳ καὶ χάριτι (Luke 2:52). Paul’s
own use of the cognate noun refers to something similarly intangible: he
speaks of the Philippians’ “progress and joy in faith” (Phil 1:25).
Paul himself connects his “advancement” with the fact that he was
more of a zealot than most for “the traditions of his ancestors” (τῶν
πατιρκῶν μου παραδόσεων). Again, there is nothing in the phrase to suggest
that he is talking about scholarship. In Paul’s single other use of παράδοσις
(1 Cor 11:2) he is clearly referring not to doctrine but to customary prac-

37. Conybeare and Howson, St. Paul, 62; Mitchell, The Heavenly Trumpet, 241.
See also Farrar, St. Paul, 23; Hengel, Pre-Christian Paul, 41; Bruce, Paul, 43; Murphy-
O’Connor, A Critical Life, 86; Légasse, Paul apôtre, 43; Hooker, Paul, 35–36; Vegge,
Paulus und das antike Schulwesen, 440; Hock, “Greco-Roman Education,” 216.
38. Note that, despite its frequent occurrence in biographical treatments of Paul,
such a reading is conspicuously absent from recent commentaries on Galatians. See,
e.g., Betz, Galatians, 66–69; Longenecker, Galatians, 27–30; James D. G. Dunn, The
Epistle to the Galatians (Black’s New Testament Commentaries; London: Black, 1993),
55–62.
39. John Knox, Chapters in a Life of Paul (rev. ed.; Macon, Ga.: Mercer University
Press, 1987), 54.
 ACQUISITION OF INFORMAL RHETORICAL KNOWLEDGE 253

tice (cf. συνήθεια in 11:16). Likewise the similar phrase ἡ παράδοσις τῶν
πρεσβυτέρων in the Synoptic Gospels (Matt 15:2; Mark 7:3, 5).40 Josephus
gives us helpful context for understanding what zeal for these traditions
might mean:

The Pharisees have delivered (παρέδοσαν) to the people a great many

observances (νόμιμα) by succession from their fathers, which are not
written in the law of Moses; and for that reason it is that the Saddu-
cees reject them and say that we are to esteem those observances to be
obligatory which are in the written word, but are not to observe (τηρεῖν)
what are derived from the tradition (παραδόσεως) of our forefathers. (A.J.
13.297 [trans. Whiston]; cf. 10.51; 13.408)

Some, clearly, are more zealous for the traditions than others, but what sets
them apart is not knowledge of these customs, let alone classroom study
thereof, but zeal for practical observance. Indeed, such traditions are, by
their very nature, not esoteric; they are matters of practice well known, as
Josephus explains, among the people (δῆμος). What Paul is reminding the
Galatians, then, is that in his former life he had been among the most scru-
pulous observers of ancestral tradition—κατὰ νόμον Φαρισαῖος, as he puts
it in Phil 3:5. Further, the context of Paul’s remarks in Galatians makes
clear that he associates this former zeal for tradition with his persecution
of those who strayed from traditional practice on account of their Christ
faith (1:13).41 This is rather a different sort of zeal from the “intense com-
mitment to his studies” of which Jerome Murphy O’Connor speaks.42

40. Note also the frequent use of παραδίδωμι, not least by Paul himself, to refer
not to formal education but to transmission of customary knowledge or practice: Luke
1:2; Acts 6:14; 16:4; Rom 6:17; 1 Cor 11:2, 23; 15:3; 2 Pet 2:21; Jude 3; Josephus, A.J.
15.268. Cf. Plato, Charm. 157E; Phileb. 16C; Aristotle, Poet. 1451b; Pol. 5.1313a; Dem-
osthenes, Aristocr. 65 (noted by LSJ, s.v. I.4).
41. Further clarification of Paul’s meaning here comes from Steve Mason’s recent
work on the significance of ᾿Ιουδαϊσμός in its rare pre-Christian usage (“Jews, Judae-
ans, Judaizing, Judaism: Problems of Categorization in Ancient History,” JSJ 38 [2007]:
460–71). Although almost universally translated “Judaism,” Mason clearly demon-
strates that prior to the 3rd c. c.e. the word “is not a general term for ‘Judaism,’ but
rather a certain kind of activity over against a pull in another, foreign direction” (p.
466). This makes admirable sense in the context of Gal 1: Paul is not simply stating
that he was a Judean, but rather that he fought against the dilution of Judean custom—
in this case by persecuting the church.
42. Murphy-O’Connor, A Critical Life, 86.
254 RETHINKING PAUL’S RHETORICAL EDUCATION

So, Gal 1:13–14 gives us no indication that Paul was striving to be

at the top of his class nor indeed that he spent any time in class at all.
It does, however, demonstrate the extent of the youthful Paul’s participa-
tion in a particular community with particular social practices. Such par-
ticipation would have provided one forum within which Paul would have
had opportunity to observe and to imitate effective speakers—particularly
such speakers, I would suspect, as nourished his zeal.
Such an understanding of Paul’s acquisition of rhetorical competence
fits well with the evidence presented so far. Second Corinthians 10–13 does
include, as recent scholars have noted, some rhetorical figures and strate-
gies discussed by ancient theorists, but these are also attested in speakers
with no formal rhetorical training, and Paul’s use thereof lacks the specific
markers associated with formal education. Therefore, they are best under-
stood as deriving from informal social practice. If this is correct, we may
conclude that Paul, like the majority of speakers in most human societies,
learned what he knew of persuasive speech not through formal education
but through an informal process of observation, imitation, and practice.
 12
ΙΔΙΩΤΗΣ ΤΩ ΛΟΓΩ

There is no evidence in 2 Cor 10–13 that Paul received formal training

in rhetoric. Many of the alleged correspondences between Paul and the
rhetoricians derive from superficial or misleading treatments of the evi-
dence; others are too general to be compelling, for we find the same fig-
ures, tropes, and rhetorical strategies among speakers who demonstra-
bly have no training in formal rhetoric. To put it crudely, the presence of
prosōpopoiia, prodiorthōsis, elements of catalogue style, and sensitivity to
charges of boastfulness in Paul’s letters tells us nothing more than that Paul
was a relatively adept speaker, and that he had a basic sense of the social
dynamics of his situation.
In other words, our foray into comparative rhetoric has demonstrated
that the presence of these rhetorical figures cannot in itself be adduced
as evidence of rhetorical education. Neither does it constitute evidence
of eloquence. In the course of our analysis, we have seen these rhetorical
devices used by speakers artful and tasteless alike. Red Jacket, though not
formally educated, uses prosōpopoiia to powerful ironic effect. Elia, speak-
ing Spanish as a second language and not fully in control of her grammar,
does so clumsily—though she still manages to get her point across with a
certain colloquial force. Billy Sunday is uneducated but artful, as well as
bombastic. The Mexicano orator we overheard was reported to be pow-
erful, though not eloquent by learned standards. His speech derived its
rhetorical force from adept use of prosodic variation as well as invocation
of his audience’s shared values.
I expect none of these characterizations to be controversial, although,
depending on our own tastes and our own social locations, we may value
such rhetorical styles differently. What I want to draw attention to are the
indicators that enable such characterizations. Rhetorical figures per se do
not help us much, although the specific manner of their use may be telling.

-255-
256 RETHINKING PAUL’S RHETORICAL EDUCATION

Instead, two discursive features are particularly significant. First and most
fundamental is the speaker’s control of grammatical and syntactical con-
ventions. It is failure here that immediately marks Elia and our Mexicano
orator as uneducated speakers. However much we might admire various
aspects of their speech, they cannot attain to what generally is consid-
ered—at least by their cultured despisers—to be eloquence.
Second, our characterization of these speakers owes much to what
I have called their “voice,” the particular way in which each speaker
negotiates the dynamics of his or her own identity vis-à-vis his or her
audience and within a particular social location. Late in his career, Red
Jacket, accustomed to deference and respect, defends himself by adopting
a dignified posture of immovable superiority; he disdains his accusers.
Elia, an indigenous Peruvian, casually insinuates herself to her European
interviewer by laughing at the naivety of her co-ethnics, highlighting the
knowledge that she alone among her peers shares with her interlocu-
tor. Billy Sunday occupies a dual—one might say duplicitous—location
as cultural insider and cultural outsider, projecting at once both power
and alienation. Each of these speakers seeks room to maneuver within the
constraints of a given social location; each adopts a persuasive ethos that
is available within those bounds.
How, then, shall we characterize Paul’s rhetoric? Or—again to para-
phrase Rudy Wiebe’s question—where is his voice coming from? The
question is far too large to receive a complete answer here. I will, however,
follow up on a number of specific leads that the comparisons undertaken
in the present study have provided. To do so will necessitate further con-
sideration of Paul’s prose style, as well as sustained exegesis of two key
verses, 2 Cor 10:10 and 11:6. I will also reprise the comparison begun in
chapter 4 of Paul’s self-praise with that recommended by Plutarch, before
concluding by reflecting on the significance of Paul’s boasting in weak-
ness.

Untempered Vigor

As noted briefly in chapter 1, prior to the recent rise of rhetorical criti-

cism, it was generally agreed that Paul’s letters were forceful, in their own
peculiar way, but hardly represented the sort of eloquent discourse culti-
vated in the schools of rhetoric. For decades, even centuries, competent
readers came to more or less the same conclusion, namely, that “dieses
Griechisch mit gar keiner Schule, gar keinem Vorbilde etwas zu tun hat,
 ΙΔΙΩΤΗΣ ΤΩ ΛΟΓΩ 257

sondern unbeholfen in überstürztem Gesprudel direkt aus dem Herzen

strömt.”1
Such evaluations may appear impressionistic and may be couched
in romantic language, but in fact they derive from three well-founded
observations regarding Paul’s prose, each of which will be demonstrated
at greater length below. First, grammatical and syntactical irregularities
are numerous. By Benjamin Jowett’s estimation, “more numerous ana-
colutha occur in St. Paul’s writings … than in the writings of any other
Greek author of equal length.”2 Second, his train of thought is often dif-
ficult to follow. According to Ernest Renan: “His language is, if I dare
express myself so, hackled, not a connected phrase.”3 Finally, when Paul
does attempt paronomasia, the results are often far from elegant.4 In sum,
then, if for Quintilian the three virtues of style are correctness, lucidity,

1. Ulrich von Wilamowitz-Moellendorff, “Die griechische Literatur des Alter-

tums,” in Die griechische und lateinische Literatur und Sprache (ed. Paul Hinneberg;
3rd ed.; Die Kultur der Gegenwart 1.8; Leipzig: Teubner, 1912), 232. For similar eval-
uations, see below and Calvin, Corinthians, 2:345; Baur, Paul, 2:280–81; Farrar, St.
Paul, 1:619–25; Beet, Corinthians, 439; Heinrici, Der zweite Brief an die Korinther,
453; Heinrici, Der litterarische Charakter der neutestamentlichen Schriften, 65–66;
Deissmann, Light from the Ancient East, 70; Deissmann, Paul, 59; W. M. Ramsay, The
Teaching of Paul in Terms of the Present Day (2nd ed.; London: Hodder & Stoughton,
1914), 330 n. 2, 423 (but cf. 418); Carl von Weizsäcker, The Apostolic Age of the Chris-
tian Church (trans. James Millar; 2 vols.; 3rd ed.; London: Williams & Norgate, 1907),
1:224–26, 311; Philipp Vielhauer, Geschichte der urchristlichen Literatur: Einleitung in
das Neue Testament, die Apokryphen und die apostolischen Väter (Berlin: de Gruyter,
1975), 68; Bruce, Paul, 15–16; Knox, Chapters in a Life of Paul, 78. More recently,
Reiser, Sprache und literarische Formen, 69–77.
2. Benjamin Jowett, The Interpretation of Scripture and Other Essays (London:
Routledge, 1907), 51. Cf. John Calvin, Commentaries on the Epistle of Paul the Apostle
to the Romans (trans. John Owen; Edinburgh: Calvin Translation Society, 1849), 206,
211. For numerous specific examples, see Nigel Turner, Style (vol. 4 of A Grammar of
New Testament Greek; ed. J. H. Moulton; Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1976), 85–86; BDF
§466–470.
3. Ernest Renan, Saint Paul (trans. Ingersoll Lockwood; New York: Carleton,
1875), 155. Cf. Jowett, The Interpretation of Scripture, 165; Norden, Die antike Kun-
stprosa, 2:499. In 1975, Hans Dieter Betz observed, “Scholars of the later twentieth
century seem in basic agreement that Paul’s letters are ‘confused’, disagreeing only
about whether the confusion is caused by emotional disturbances, ‘Diktierpausen’ or
‘rabbinic’ methodology” (“Literary Composition and Function,” 354).
4. See esp. Norden, Die antike Kunstprosa, 2:502–3.
258 RETHINKING PAUL’S RHETORICAL EDUCATION

and elegance (Inst. 1.5.1), it is no wonder Paul was seldom thought to have
benefited from the sort of education on offer from Quintilian’s ilk.
What positive things were said about Paul’s powers of expression
also display a striking uniformity. He was, above all, praised for his vigor:
“There are no formal periods,” concedes A. D. Nock, “but there is a rhe-
torical movement and energy which express a powerful personality.”5
Similarly, for Calvin, Paul is “not an eloquent orator,” yet he sends forth
“thunderbolts, not mere words.”6 Such untempered vigor, we might note,
is the one (dubious) virtue Quintilian is willing to grant the unschooled
(indoctus) speaker (Inst. 2.12; cf. Lucian, Somn. 8).7

Epistolary Style: A Red Herring

It remains the case that no one attributes oratorical diction to Paul. Weiss’s
century-old description would still be uncontroversial:

Es ist anerkannt, dass Paulus nicht periodisch schreibt. Man braucht

nur den Hebräerbrief zu vergleichen, … und man wird den Unterschied
merken. Das Grundelement der Rede des Apostels ist der einzelne
kurze Satz, der nur selten mit anderen zu einer grösseren, wirklichen
Periode verbunden wird. Die Regel ist entweder das asyndetische
Nebeneinander, das namentlich in der lebhaften Rede sehr häufig ist
oder die lockere Anreihung durch Copula, antithetische oder verglei-
chende Partikeln, Appositionen, oft mit Participiis conjunctis, sehr
selten mit absoluten Genitiven. Zur anreihenden, nicht periodisierten
Rede gehören auch die Sätze mit ὅτι, ἵνα, ὅπως, ὥστε etc., wenn, was fast
immer der Fall ist, der Hauptsatz sie nicht periodisierend umklammert

5. Nock, St. Paul, 27, 235. Cf. already Theodore of Mopsuestia, Comm. ep. Paul.
1:93.
6. Calvin, Corinthians, 2:344–45.
7. This characteristic of Paul’s prose has occasionally been attributed to a pro-
pensity for “Asianic” rhetoric. So, tentatively, Norden, Die antike Kunstprosa, 507;
and, more emphatically, Friedrich Blass, Die Rhythmen der asianischen und römischen
Kunstprosa (Paulus-Hebräerbrief-Pausanias-Cicero-Seneca-Curtius-Apuleius) (repr.
ed.; Hildesheim: Gerstenberg, 1972). The latter work, originally published in 1905,
was not well received. See J. E. Sandys, “Rhythm in Greek and Latin Prose” (review of
Blass, Die Rhythmen der asianischen und römischen Kunstprosa), CR 21 (1907): 85–88.
And recent studies suggest that so-called “Asianic” rhetoric gets us no closer to Paul
than its Attic counterpart. See Fairweather, “Galatians and Classical Rhetoric,” 233–
34; Anderson, Ancient Rhetorical Theory, 283.
 ΙΔΙΩΤΗΣ ΤΩ ΛΟΓΩ 259

und so zu einem runden Schluss führt. Auch die längeren Satzgefüge

bestehen nur aus locker aneinander geknüpften Sätzen, die beliebig ver-
mehrt werden könnten.8

Whatever one makes of such a style, this is certainly not what was taught in
rhetorical school—which is why Pseudo-Demetrius, for example, can take
for granted that the use of periods sounds σοφιστικός and the lack thereof
ἰδιωτικός (Eloc. 15).9 Apparently, the argument for Paul’s formal rhetorical
education has proceeded not because of his diction, but despite it.
At this point it will surely be objected that I am comparing apples
and oranges: Paul wrote letters, not orations, and therefore can hardly
be evaluated on the basis of his conformity to oratorical stylistic conven-
tions. Letter writers were expected, after all, to employ a “looser,” nonperi-
odic style (Ps.-Demetrius, Eloc. 229; cf. Quintilian, Inst. 9.4.19). Margaret
Mitchell has taken Marius Reiser to task recently for precisely this error,
namely, considering style independently of genre.10 But when one looks

8. Weiss, “Beiträge zur Paulinischen Rhetorik,” 167: “It is generally accepted that
Paul does not write in periodic style. One need only compare the letter to the Hebrews
… and one will notice the difference. The basic element of the speech of the apostle
is the individual short sentence, which is only rarely bound with others into a larger,
genuine period. The rule is either asyndetic juxtaposition, which, particularly in lively
speech, is very common, or loose parataxis using the copula, antithetical or compara-
tive particles, apposition, often with the conjunctive participle, very rarely with the
genitive absolute. The sentences with [subordinating conjunctions] also belong to
paratactic, not periodic, speech when, as is almost always the case, the main clause
does not embrace them in periodic style and thus lead to a conclusion that rounds
off the sentence. Even the longer complex sentence consists only of loosely connected
clauses that can be multiplied at will.” Cf., more recently, Anderson, Ancient Rhetorical
Theory, 185 n. 125. Also BDF §464.
9. Of course, stylistic theory was more complicated than this simple dichotomy
would suggest, with some preferring to avoid periodic composition in certain situa-
tions. See esp. Dionysius of Halicarnassus, Comp. 22. Still, the basic point is indisput-
able: The style most associated with rhetorical education and prowess was periodic.
Note that short sentences and asyndeton are what characterize the speech attributed
to ignorant slaves and rustics by Menander. See A. G. Katsouris, Linguistic and Stylistic
Characterization: Tragedy and Menander (Dodone Supplement 5; Ioanina, 1975), 108,
121; W. Geoffrey Arnott, “Menander’s Manipulation of Language for the Individuali-
sation of Character,” in Lo spettacolo delle voci (ed. Francesco de Martino and Alan H.
Sommerstein; vol. 2; Le Rane 14; Bari: Levante, 1995), 157.
10. Mitchell, “Le style, c’est l’homme,” 376–77; cf. Reiser, Sprache und literarische
Formen, 69–77.
260 RETHINKING PAUL’S RHETORICAL EDUCATION

more carefully at the texts she adduces, her appeal to the conventions of
epistolary style looks rather like a red herring.
Mitchell turns our attention here to Pseudo-Demetrius’s “valuable and
… still largely unappreciated discussion,” which does indeed advocate a
looser, more conversational style (Eloc. 223–235).11 What she fails to men-
tion is that Pseudo-Demetrius in fact expressly forbids treatises disguised
as letters or letters that are overly didactic. Moral exhortation, he opines,
is not fitting in a letter (232), nor is philosophizing: “If anybody should
write of logical subtleties or questions of natural history in a letter, he
writes indeed, but not a letter” (231 [trans. Roberts]; cf. 230, 234; Gregory
of Nazianzus, Ep. 51.4; Ps.-Libanius 50). Pseudo-Demetrius is similarly
opposed to letters of excessive length:12 “Those that are too long, and
further are rather stilted in expression, are not in sober truth letters but
treatises with the heading ‘My dear So-and-So” (συγγράμματα τὸ χαίρειν
ἔχοντα προσγεγραμμένον [228; trans. Roberts]). A true letter, he explains, is
a περὶ ἁπλοῦ πράγματος ἔκθεσις καὶ ἐν ὀνόμασιν ἁπλοῖς (231). Clearly, if Paul
knew anything about conventional epistolary style, he flagrantly violated
its strictures. It seems rather odd, then, to look here for an explanation of
his nonperiodic prose. Why should he have taken to heart just this one
piece of advice?
Quintilian follows Pseudo-Demetrius closely on this matter, distin-
guishing periodic from nonperiodic style and noting that the latter gen-
erally is appropriate for letters (Inst. 9.4.19). Notice, though, his qualifi-
cation: “… except when [the letters] deal with some subject above their
natural level, such as philosophy, politics or the like” (Butler, LCL). From
Quintilian’s perspective, then, it is the conversational content of the letter
that makes its conversational diction appropriate. Once outside the natu-
ral purview of the epistolary genre—as Paul’s letters clearly are—epistolary
stylistic considerations are no longer relevant.13 In any case, Paul hardly
can be said to abide by them.
Letters, according to Pseudo-Demetrius, are to be a mixture of plain
and elegant style (235), neither of which has any room for the sort of
untempered vigor readers have long seen in Paul (cf. 128; 193; Gregory
of Nazianzus, Ep. 51.5–7). Further, if there was one stylistic virtue all but

11. Mitchell, “Le style, c’est l’homme,” 376.

12. On the unusual length of Paul’s letters relative to contemporary conventions,
see Richards, Secretary in the Letters of Paul, 213.
13. Cf. Anderson, Ancient Rhetorical Theory, 186 n. 131.
 ΙΔΙΩΤΗΣ ΤΩ ΛΟΓΩ 261

unanimously deemed appropriate to the letter, it was clarity (σαφήνεια).14

Thus Pseudo-Libanius, quoting Philostratus of Lemnos, remarks, “One
should adorn the letter, above all, with clarity … for while clarity is a good
guide for all discourse, it is especially so for the letter” (48 [trans. Mal-
herbe]; cf. Gregory of Nazianzus, Ep. 51.4; Julius Victor, Rhet. 27.19–21;
Ps.-Demetrius, Eloc. 190–235). Few would suggest that Paul’s letters have
been thus adorned. Now, I agree wholeheartedly with Mitchell’s assertion
that Paul “is not only to be measured by the singular virtue of ‘clarity,’ but
also by other elements, such as profundity, passion, brevity, power, etc.”15
But is this not simply to admit that Paul is not to be measured by the sty-
listic conventions of epistolography—at least not the conventions current
among those with literary education?

ΤΟ ΕΝ ΛΟΓΩ ΙΔΙΩΤΙΚΟΝ ΤΟΥ ΑΠΟΣΤΟΛΟΥ

Until recent decades, modern scholars generally assumed that Paul was
formally educated, but not, as we have seen, specifically trained in rheto-
ric. As I have demonstrated elsewhere, patristic interpreters did not attri-
bute formal paideia to Paul at all.16 In Chrysostom’s evaluation, Paul “did
not demonstrate the power of eloquence, but, to the utter contrary, was
unlearned, to the lowest degree of poor learning.”17 To support this claim,
Chrysostom, like other early exegetes, frequently cited Paul’s concession in
2 Cor 11:6 that he was an ἰδιώτης τῷ λόγῳ.18

14. See Jeffrey T. Reed, “Using Ancient Rhetorical Categories to Interpret Paul’s
Letters: A Question of Genre,” 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), 310–11.
15. Mitchell, “Le style, c’est l’homme,” 387.
16. On patristic evaluations of Paul’s learning, see further my “τὸ ἐν λόγῳ ἰδιωτικὸν
τοῦ Ἀποστόλου: Revisiting Patristic Testimony on Paul’s Rhetorical Education,” NovT
54 (2012): 354–68. Cf. Norden, Die antike Kunstprosa, 2:501–5; Deissmann, Light from
the Ancient East, 71; James W. Voelz, “The Language of the New Testament,” ANRW
25.2:895–96; Judge, “Paul’s Boasting,” 58–62; Maurice F. Wiles, The Divine Apostle: The
Interpretation of St. Paul’s Epistles in the Early Church (Cambridge: Cambridge Univer-
sity Press, 1967), 16–18; Kern, Rhetoric and Galatians, 167–203.
17. Laud. Paul. 4.10 (trans. Mitchell): οὐ λόγων ἰσχὺν ἐπιδεικνύμενος, ἀλλὰ καὶ
τοὐναντίον ἅπαν, τὴν ἐσχάτην ἀμαθίαν ἀμαθὴς ὤν.
18. Laud. Paul. 4.10; Hom. Rom. pr. (PG 60:394); Hom. 1 Cor. 3.4 (PG 61:27
262 RETHINKING PAUL’S RHETORICAL EDUCATION

Notably, Chrysostom and his peers came to this conclusion despite

their recognition that Paul’s letters contained identifiable rhetorical
tropes and figures. Augustine, like Chrystostom, devoted considerable
attention to Paul’s rhetoric and discussed his use of a number of specific
figures (Doct. chr. 4.7).19 Still, he insisted that the learned and unlearned
alike would laugh if anyone were such an imperite peritus—perhaps
pedant captures the sense—to claim that Paul was following the rules of
rhetoric (4.7.11).
Apparently these readers did not consider the use of rhetorical fig-
ures decisive evidence of rhetorical education (cf. Augustine, Doct. chr.
4.4.6)—and this is no wonder, seeing as they also identified such figures in
the writings of Amos, Isaiah, and Jesus.20 Instead, like Jowett, Renan, and
Norden, their estimation of Paul’s education derived from his failure to
fulfill learned expectations regarding clarity of grammar and syntax. Here
patristic readers found unambiguous indicators of untutored speech.
This is clear already in the exegesis of Origen. Significantly, it is the
comparably elevated style of the book of Hebrews that convinced Origen
that this text came from a different hand than Paul’s (Fr. Heb. [PG 14:1308–
1309]). According to Origen, anyone who knows how to make stylistic
distinctions (πᾶς ὁ ἐπιστάμενος κρίνειν φράσεων διαφοράς) is able to rec-
ognize that Hebrews lacks τὸ ἐν λόγῳ ἰδιωτικὸν τοῦ Ἀποστόλου. This text is
simply “Greeker,” says Origen, than we should expect from Paul (συνθέσει
τῆς λέξεως ἑλληνικωτέρα). His detailed exegesis of Romans provides spe-
cific examples to support this general evaluation of Paul’s style.21
Admittedly, early interpreters managed to get considerable apologetic
and theological mileage from Paul’s lack of worldly eloquence, refiguring
this apparent weakness into a mark of unique and divine power.22 Peter

[ἀμαθής, ἰδιώτης, ἀπαίδευτος]); Sac. 4.6. See also Origen, Fr. Eph. 13; Comm. Rom. 6.3.2
(PG 14:1059); Jerome, Comm. Eph. 2.586 (PL 26:477); Gregory of Nyssa, Eun. 3.1.106.
19. On Chrysostom’s “rhetorical criticism,” see Mitchell, The Heavenly Trumpet,
244–45, 278–91; Mitchell, “Patristic Perspective”; Malcolm Heath, “John Chrysostom,
Rhetoric and Galatians,” BibInt 12 (2004): 369–400; Lauri Thurén, “John Chrysostom
as a Rhetorical Critic: The Hermeneutics of an Early Father,” BibInt 9 (2001): 180–218;
Fairweather, “Galatians and Classical Rhetoric,” 2–22.
20. Augustine, Doct. chr. 4.7.16–21; Chrystostom, Comm. Isa. 3.10; 5.5 (PG 56:54,
63); Hom. Matt. 22.4 (PG 57.304). The latter are noted in Mitchell, “Patristic Perspec-
tive,” 366 n. 62.
21. See esp. Comm. Rom. 1.9.6 (PG 14:853); 3.1.2–3 (PG 14:921); 6.3.2 (PG 14:1059).
22. See Origen, Cels. 1.62; 3.39; 6.1–2; 7.37, 41; Comm. Jo. 4.2; Augustine, Conf.
 ΙΔΙΩΤΗΣ ΤΩ ΛΟΓΩ 263

Brown rightly speaks of “a long tradition that reached back to the apolo-
gists of the second and third centuries [in which] Christian writers insisted
that the miraculous character of their religion was proved by the manner
in which it had been spread throughout the Roman world by humble men,
without paideia.”23 But it will not do to claim, as does Margaret Mitch-
ell, that their assessment of Paul’s diction should therefore be discounted,24
for early commentators used this apologetic topos to account for specific
exegetical problems arising from these less than perspicuous letters. More-
over, it is clear that they did so in response to persistent critique from
hostile readers who mocked the vulgarity of their sacred texts.25 Paul’s let-
ters evidently were susceptible to such critique, thus alternative evalua-
tions of rhetoric were deployed according to which, to quote Chrysostom,
“this accusation becomes an encomium” (Hom. 1 Cor. 3.4 [PG 61:27]).
Paul’s defenders—like Paul himself, I would argue—did their best to make
a virtue of necessity.

“Confused and Insufficiently Explicit”

Alfred Plummer describes 2 Cor 10–13 in accordance with the general eval-
uations of Paul’s diction noted above: Although the language is “powerful”
and “sometimes has a rhythmical and rhetorical swing that sweeps one along
in admiration of its impassioned intensity … at the same time [it] bewilders

3.5.9; Ep. 137.5.18 (PL 33:524); Ambrosiaster, Comm. 199 (PL 17:321); Jerome, Comm.
Eph. 2.587–588 (PL 26:478); Chrysostom, Hom. 1 Cor. 3.4 (PG 61:27–28); Hom. 2. Cor.
21.4 (PG 61:546); Laud. Paul. 4.13.
23. Peter Brown, Power and Persuasion in Late Antiquity: Towards a Christian
Empire (Madison: University of Wisconsin Press, 1992), 73. See also Mitchell, The
Heavenly Trumpet, 200–50.
24. Margaret M. Mitchell, “Reading Rhetoric with Patristic Exegetes: John Chrys-
ostom on Galatians,” in Antiquity and Humanity: Essays on Ancient Religion and Phi-
losophy (ed. Adela Yarbro Collins and Margaret M. Mitchell; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck,
2001), 333–55; Mitchell, “Patristic Perspective,” 369–70; Mitchell, The Heavenly Trum-
pet, 242 n. 198.
25. See esp. Celsus 1.27; 6.2; Chrysostom, Hom. 1 Cor 3.4 (PG 61:27); Ambrose,
Ep. 8.1 (PL 16:911); Arnobius, Gent. 1.58–59 (PL 5:796–97); Augustine, Doct. chr.
4.7.14; Lactantius, Inst. 5.2.17 (PL 6:555–556). Cf. Xavier Levieils, Contra Christia-
nos: La critique sociale et religieuse du christianisme des origines au concile de Nicée
(45–325) (BZNW 146; Berlin: de Gruyter, 2007), 257–74.
264 RETHINKING PAUL’S RHETORICAL EDUCATION

us as to the exact aim of this or that turn of expression.”26 Indeed, there

are a number of instances in our text of language that is, to quote Origen,
“confused and insufficiently explicit” (Comm. Rom. pr. 1 [trans. Scheck]).
In their rush to locate Paul’s use of tropes and figures of speech, rhetorical
critics generally have ignored these features of his prose. But if, as Quintil-
ian has it, “the first of all virtues is the avoidance of faults” (Inst. 8.3.41), we
cannot evaluate Paul’s rhetoric without attending to his grammar.
Commenting on 2 Cor 10:2, Ralph Martin notes, “The sentence is con-
voluted and hard to unravel, but the meaning is tolerably plain.”27 It is con-
voluted indeed: δέομαι δὲ τὸ μὴ παρὼν θαρρῆσαι τῇ πεποιθήσει ᾗ λογίζομαι
τολμῆσαι ἐπί τινας τοὺς λογιζομένους ἡμᾶς ὡς κατὰ σάρκα περιπατοῦντας.
A few problems are worthy of note. First, from the outset, the sentence is
hampered by Paul’s failure to articulate what, precisely, he is asking of the
Corinthians. As it stands, he begs that he should not be bold—an entreaty
he is presumably in a better position to oblige than are his addressees. In
lieu of a discussion of the problem, most commentators elect to refer us to
Blass’s treatment of the accusative articular infinitive (BDF §399.3).28 Fine.
But the construction still fails to express what Paul is trying say—that is,
that he does not want to feel forced to “show boldness.” Barrett adds “to
compel me” here, noting that the “words are not in the Greek but bring out
the force of Paul’s request.”29 The nrsv elects for “need not show boldness.”
It is not difficult to determine what Paul must mean, but it is important to
recognize that he does not in fact say it.
Second, the awkwardness of θαρρῆσαι τῇ πεποιθήσει ᾗ λογίζομαι τολμῆσαι
is exacerbated by the inexplicable redundancy of the clause: “be bold with
the confidence with which I propose to be courageous” (nasb). There is
no good reason not to take θαρρέω and τολμάω as synonyms here,30 so, if
Paul wanted to reuse τολμάω (cf. v. 1), perhaps in order to echo his rival’s
language, why not skip θαρρέω altogether? Indeed, the whole of θαρρῆσαι
τῇ πεποιθήσει ᾗ λογίζομαι could be dropped from the sentence without

26. Plummer, Second Epistle, xlviii.

27. Martin, 2 Corinthians, 304.
28. Windisch, Der zweite Korintherbrief, 294; Furnish, II Corinthians, 456; Bult-
mann, Second Corinthians, 183. The use of the nominative participle παρών is correct;
it agrees with the implied subject of δέομαι. See BDF §409.5.
29. C. K. Barrett, A Commentary on the Second Epistle to the Corinthians (Black’s
New Testament Commentaries; London: Black, 1973), 248.
30. So Windisch, Der zweite Korintherbrief, 294; Thrall, Second Epistle, 2:605 n. 64.
 ΙΔΙΩΤΗΣ ΤΩ ΛΟΓΩ 265

losing anything but confusion.31 Unlike the nasb—a translation bold and
confident and courageous enough to render the text as it stands—most
recent English versions resort to paraphrase: “be as bold as I expect to be”
(niv); “show boldness by daring to oppose” (nrsv).
Third, this absolute use of τολμάω with ἐπί is perhaps comprehensi-
ble, but certainly not idiomatic. The only approximate parallel is from the
Greek version of 1 Enoch32—hardly evidence for its currency among fluent
speakers. In every other occurrence of ἐπί with τολμάω I have examined,
the prepositional phrase either sets out the motivation for one’s boldness,
or modifies not τολμάω but an infinitive that is dependent on it.33 Harris
solves the problem by supplying χρᾶσθαι as a complement to τολμάω, thus
conforming the phrase to this latter usage (“the confidence that I reckon I
will dare to use”).34 Others point us to the occurrence of τολμάω with κατά
in a few papyri: BGU III 909.18 has τὰ τολμηθέντα ὑπ᾿ αὐτῶν κατ᾿ ἐμοῦ.35
But even if this is a good guide to what Paul means, it only highlights the
oddity of his usage.
It is difficult to be certain whether the repetition of λογίζομαι here is a
conscious play on words.36 As recent research demonstrates, such repetition
is often unintentional, since it is normal for speakers to gravitate toward
recently used words.37 But even if this is intentional paronomasia, it is not

31. Cf. Jean Héring, The Second Epistle of Saint Paul to the Corinthians (trans. A.
W. Heathcote and P. J. Allcock; London: Epworth, 1967), 69–70.
32. οἱ γίγαντες ἐτόλμησαν ἐπ᾿ αὐτούς, καὶ κατησθίοσαν τοὺς ἀνθρώπους (1 En. 7:4).
Cited in BDAG, s.v. τολμάω.
33. For the former, see Philo, Ios. 225. For the latter, Thucydides 6.86.4; Herodo-
tus, Hist. 7.158; Lysias, 1 Alc. 10; Diodorus Siculus 14.24.7; Dionysius of Halicarnas-
sus, Ant. rom. 5.62.3; Josephus, B.J. 4.391; A.J. 17.230; 17.278; 18.266; 20.181; Lucian,
Tox. 54.
34. Harris, Second Corinthians, 673 (my emphasis).
35. Cited in MM 638. See also P.Lips. I 39.8, cited by Philip Bachmann, Der zweite
Brief des Paulus an die Korinther (4th ed.; ZKNT 8; Leipzig: Scholl, 1922), 342; Win-
disch, Der zweite Korintherbrief, 295.
36. So Barnett, Second Epistle, 460; Furnish, II Corinthians, 456–57; Harris, Second
Corinthians, 673–74; H. A. W. Meyer, Critical and Exegetical Handbook to the Epistles
to the Corinthians (trans. David Hunter; 2 vols.; KEK 5–6; Edinburgh: T&T Clark,
1879), 2:392. Bultmann’s suggestion (Second Corinthians, 184; cf. Georgi, Opponents of
Paul, 235) that Paul is taking up the wording of his rivals is pure speculation, and is not
really necessary: Paul employs such paronomasia frequently enough. See esp. Norden,
Die antike Kunstprosa, 2:502–3; Anderson, Ancient Rhetorical Theory, 283–88.
37. Willem J. M. Levelt, “Accessing Words in Speech Production: Stages, Pro-
266 RETHINKING PAUL’S RHETORICAL EDUCATION

particularly effective. In this context, with all the distracting static gener-
ated by the obscurity of the sentence, it merely muddies the waters further.38
Moreover, as Dean Anderson notes, ancient theorists considered parono-
masia inappropriate for solemn or emotionally charged subject matter.39
Even at their best, such figures produce charm, says Pseudo-Demetrius,
not forcefulness (Eloc. 27–29; cf. Rhet. Her. 4.32). Compare an example of
paronomastic repetition that Pseudo-Demetrius does favor, an otherwise
unattested quip from Aristotle: ἐγὼ ἐκ μὲν Ἀθηνῶν εἰς Στάγειρα ἦλθον διὰ
τὸν βασιλέα τὸν μέγαν, ἐκ δὲ Σταγείρων εἰς Ἀθήνας διὰ τὸν χειμῶνα τὸν μέγαν
(29, 154; cf. 211).40 Here it is the simplicity and lucidity of the antithetical
construction that creates an appropriate backdrop for the elegant repeti-
tion of μέγαν. Even excusing the clutter of his sentence, what Paul does
with λογίζομαι in 2 Cor 10:2 is, if intentional, more reminiscent of the trite
wordplay Quintilian censures as “a poor trick even when employed in jest”:
Amari iucundum est, si curetur ne quid insit amari (Inst. 9.3.70 [Butler,
LCL]).41 Perhaps a more charitable comparison could be made with the
folksy wit exemplified by Jay-Z in a recent radio interview: “You have to
either know how to deal with that situation, or it deals with you.”42
Tellingly, in his homily on the passage, Chrysostom does us the favor
of a paraphrase, explaining what Paul means but is not quite able to articu-
late: δέομαι γὰρ ὑμῶν, φασὶ, μή με ἀναγκάσητε δεῖξαι, ὅτι καὶ παρὼν ἰσχυρός

cesses and Representations” in Lexical Access in Speech Production (ed. Willem J. M.

Levelt; Cambridge, Mass.: Blackwell, 1993), 8; repr. from Cognition 42 (1992); Tannen,
Talking Voices, 92–100.
38. It remains possible that the first occurrence of λογίζομαι is passive, not middle,
hence “the confidence with which I am reckoned to dare …” Though out of favor now,
this is how the Vulgate understood it, as also, reports Meyer, did Anselm, Luther, Beza,
Bengel, and Semler, among others (Corinthians, 2:392). The reading has the advantage
of cohering with the motif, frequently repeated throughout this section, that Paul is
aware of being considered too bold (cf. vv. 1, 8–11). Whatever voice of the verb Paul
intended, he has clearly left himself open to misunderstanding.
39. Anderson, Ancient Rhetorical Theory, 283–85.
40. “I went from Athens to Stageira because of the great king, and from Stageira
to Athens because of the great storm” (trans. Roberts).
41. For a thoughtful treatment of ancient discussions of repetition, see P. E. Pick-
ering, “Did the Greek Ear Detect ‘Careless’ Verbal Repetitions?” CQ 2/53 (2003):
490–99.
42. National Public Radio, Fresh Air, “The Fresh Air Interview: Jay-Z ‘Decoded,’ ”
16 November 2010. Cited 2 February 2011. Online: http://www.npr.org/templates/
transcript/transcript.php?storyId=131334322.
 ΙΔΙΩΤΗΣ ΤΩ ΛΟΓΩ 267

εἰμι καὶ δύναμιν ἔχω (Hom. 2 Cor. 21.1 [PG 61:542]). And again: ὃ γὰρ θέλει
εἰπεῖν, τοῦτό ἐστι· δέομαι ὑμῶν, μή με ἀναγκάσητε, μηδὲ ἀφῆτε χρήσασθαι τῇ
δυνάμει μου κατὰ τῶν ἐξευτελιζόντων ἡμᾶς, καὶ νομιζόντων σαρκικοὺς ἄνδρας
εἶναι (21.1 [PG 61:541]). After the murkiness of Paul’s prose, the clarity of
Chrysostom’s is striking. He resolves all of the problems noted above: The
addition of με ἀναγκάσητε clarifies the content of Paul’s request, and the
confusing string of datives and infinitives has found a suitable replace-
ment. Further, the awkward τολμάω plus ἐπί has given way to the clearer
χρήσασθαι τῇ δυνάμει μου κατά.…43
Notice again what has happened here: Paul has written an awkward but
comprehensible sentence; Chrysostom has drawn out its essence—that is,
“what he wishes to say” (ὃ θέλει εἰπεῖν).44 Significantly, this is just what we
noted in the speech of Elia: The sense could be deciphered—we could read
it between the lines, so to speak—but it did not sit on the surface of the
text. The grammar and the logic were not coterminous. This disjuncture
between grammar and logic is, I submit, characteristic of Paul’s prose and
is a significant indicator of the level of his rhetorical aptitude.
Plummer’s comment on 2 Cor 10:8–9 sounds the same tone as Mar-
tin’s on 10:2: “The constr[uction], though not quite regular, is intelligible
enough.”45 Here I think he is overly optimistic: ἐάν [τε] γὰρ περισσότερόν
τι καυχήσωμαι περὶ τῆς ἐξουσίας … οὐκ αἰσχυνθήσομαι. ἵνα μὴ δόξω ὡς ἂν
ἐκφοβεῖν ὑμᾶς διὰ τῶν ἐπιστολῶν. The basic problem here is accounting
for the ἵνα: There simply is no logical connection between Paul’s refusal
to be ashamed and the purpose or result clause that follows. As Windisch
observes: “Wenn zwischen V. 8 und V. 9 nichts ausgefallen ist, dann ist
V. 9 wieder ein Beispiel für den außerordentlich brachylogischen Stil des
P[aulus].”46 There are two quite credible “solutions,” but neither leaves us
with a particularly coherent text.47

43. Notice also the addition of ὑμῶν to δέομαι, which eliminates the ambiguity
that had led some commentators to view the verse as a prayer. See Thrall, Second Epis-
tle, 2:605 n. 63.
44. See also Hom. 2 Cor. 24.2 (PG 61:566), where Chrysostom uses a similar
phrase (ὁ γὰρ βούλεται εἰπεῖν) to introduce a paraphrase of the “obscure” (ἀσαφής)
11:21b.
45. Plummer, Second Epistle, 281.
46. Windisch, Der zweite Korintherbrief, 305: “If nothing has fallen out between
v. 8 and v. 9, then v. 9 is an example of the extraordinarily brachylogical style of Paul.”
47. For a thorough survey of the exegetical options, see Harris, Second Corinthi-
ans, 696–98; Thrall, Second Epistle, 2:626–29.
268 RETHINKING PAUL’S RHETORICAL EDUCATION

First, v. 9 can be taken as the protasis of a construction that is resumed

in v. 11, with v. 10 forming a parenthesis.48 This would be analogous to
what we see in 10:1–2, with Paul breaking off in order to interject the
words of his rivals: “In order that I may not seem as though I were [merely]
trying to frighten you with my letters—[v. 10: ‘for this is what he is saying,
that I am bold in my letters but weak in person’]—let such a one consider
this, that just as we are in word through letters when absent, thus also
[will we be] when present in deed.” This reading makes decent sense of the
flow of thought here, but it leaves us with rather garbled syntax. Verse 10
cannot be a true parenthesis, since, on this interpretation, it provides the
antecedent of the τοιοῦτος in v. 11.49 Moreover, this interpretation results in
an odd disjuncture between the protasis and the apodosis: “In order that I
should not seem … let such a one consider.”50 Finally, we are still left with
a “very palpably abrupt” transition between v. 8 and v. 9.51
The other possibility, more frequently advocated by recent commenta-
tors, is that v. 9 connects with v. 8 “by means of some intermediate thought
that remains unexpressed.”52 But which thought, precisely? Perhaps what
is elided here is an implicit decision not to boast any further, in which case
Barrett’s addition of “I forbear to do this” prior to ἵνα captures the sense.53
Moule suggests supplying a verb of volition prior to ἵνα.54 Harris prefers
to add τοῦτο λέγω.55 In any case, Paul has not made himself clear; that is,

48. So Martin, 2 Corinthians, 310–11; BDF §483. Meyer reports this as the inter-
pretation of Calvin, Rückert, de Wette, and Ewald (Corinthians, 2:402).
49. So Thrall, Second Epistle, 2:627; cf. Plummer, Second Epistle, 281.
50. Such a construction would be awkward, but by no means exceptional in Paul’s
letters. Nigel Turner provides a number of examples from Paul (Rom 2:17; 16:27; Gal
2:4–6) of “the anacoluthon whereby the original construction is forgotten after an
insertion.” Syntax (vol. 3 of A Grammar of New Testament Greek; ed. J. H. Moulton;
Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1963), 343. See also Marius Reiser, “Paulus als Stilist,” SEÅ 66
(2001): 158–61.
51. Meyer, Corinthians, 2:402. Note the addition of δέ after ἵνα in Chrysostom’s
reported text (Hom. 2 Cor. 22.2 [PG 61:548]) and of autem in the Vulgate.
52. Thrall, Second Epistle, 2:626.
53. Barrett, Second Corinthians, 259. Cf. Plummer, Second Corinthians, 281;
Chrysostom, Hom. 2 Cor. 22.2 (PG 61:548).
54. C. F. D. Moule, An Idiom Book of New Testament Greek (2nd ed.; Cambridge:
Cambridge University Press, 1959), 145.
55. Harris, Second Corinthians, 697; also Thrall, Second Epistle, 2:626.
 ΙΔΙΩΤΗΣ ΤΩ ΛΟΓΩ 269

his syntax does not conform to the logic of the sentence, however it is we
reconstruct that logic.
One could argue, I suppose, that this is intentional ellipsis for stylis-
tic purposes,56 but it is difficult to see what Paul would gain thereby. For
his part, Pseudo-Demetrius acknowledges that admission of hiatus and
even “disconnected composition” (ἡ διαλελυμένη σύνθεσις) befit a forceful
style (Eloc. 299–301; cf. Dionysius of Halicarnassus, Comp. 22). But what
he means here is nonperiodic composition, as is evident from his earlier
discussion (12). He certainly is not advocating such ellipses as obscure the
sense of a passage. Indeed, he specifically censures prose that is downright
disjointed (διεσπασμένος), complaining about cola that “resemble frag-
mentary pieces” (303 [trans. Roberts]; cf. Quintilian, Inst. 2.11.7).57 In any
case, the notion that this is an intentional stylistic choice becomes increas-
ingly untenable when we observe the extent of the syntactical irregularities
and ambiguities in this text.58

56. Cf. Mitchell, “Le style, c’est l’homme,” 384. Mitchell notes Dionysius of Hali-
carnassus’s displeasure with Plato’s sometime lack of clarity (Dem. 5), suggesting that
Paul, like Plato, sometimes chose to use language “cryptically” (384–88). But such a
comparison is hardly relevant here: Dionysius is complaining about exotic figures, not
disjointed prose, and 2 Cor 10:7–11 is hardly a passage of such esoteric content that it
requires cryptic language.
57. Notice that it is not only the transition between vv. 8 and 9 that is abrupt;
rather, the whole section is disjointed. Observes Windisch regarding the transition
from v. 7 to v. 8: “Nicht leicht ist der logische Zusammenhang … zu bestimmen” (Der
zweite Korintherbrief, 303).
58. A few additional problems in these verses are worthy of note: First, if Paul
intended by his use of περισσότερον in v. 8 to suggest that he could boast of more
than simply being equally Χριστοῦ (cf. v. 7; so Barrett, Second Corinthians, 258; Meyer,
Corinthians, 2:401), he has not made himself clear. Alternatively, he may have used
the word without comparative force (so Plummer, Second Epistle, 280; Harris, Second
Corinthians, 692), which usage is acceptable, but, in this context, introduces the sort
of ambiguity that has led Barrett and Meyer astray. Chrysostom clarifies the matter
by substituting the simply adjective περισσόν (Hom. 2 Cor. 22.1 [PG 61:547–548]).
Second, Paul’s use of ὡς ἄν (or ὡσάν) in v. 9 is both unusual and, with δοκέω, pleo-
nastic, prompting Moule to suggest that two distinct modes of expression have been
conflated here (Idiom Book, 152). Finally, a number of manuscripts, including ‫א‬, have
καυχήσομαι in place of καυχήσωμαι (B D 1739) here. The two words appear consecu-
tively in P46, an oddity that is best attributed to conflation of variant readings already
preserved in its Vorlage. See Zuntz, Text, 254–56. Both readings, then, are very early.
The aorist subjunctive, unlike the future indicative, is grammatically correct with
ἐάν, and thus generally is deemed the original. So Thrall, Second Epistle, 2:623 n. 210;
270 RETHINKING PAUL’S RHETORICAL EDUCATION

The chart below lists a number of additional difficulties that commen-

tators have identified in 2 Cor 10–13. In most cases—for example, the lack
of explicit negation to explain the γάρ in 10:3—we can discern the sense
with confidence. That is, despite inexplicitness on the level of syntax, we
know what Paul must have meant. Occasionally, however, there is sharp
disagreement among commentators—and, as the state of the text attests,
among early scribes—regarding how to render the text. Regardless of the
merits of Paul’s usage in any one particular instance, the cumulative effect,
I submit, is to obscure the logic of the passage. This sort of writing may
facilitate the proliferation of exegetical commentaries; it does not facilitate
comprehension, let alone effective persuasion.
10:2 see above
10:3 – γάρ negation elided Plummer 275; Harris 275;
Bultmann 184
10:4 – δυνατὰ τῷ questionable use of Turner, Style, 90–91; Plum-
θεῷ dative (“Semitism”?) mer 276; Thrall 2:609–10
10:4–6 – anacoluthic nomina- Turner, Syntax, 343; Plum-
καθαιροῦντες … tive absolute with finite mer, 276; Allo 244; Harris
αἰχμαλωτίζοντες … sense (or v. 4 is a difficult 680–81; Meyer 2:394;
ἔχοντες parenthesis) cf. BDF §468
10:7 – πέποιθεν a use of dative “rare in MM 501; Lambrecht 156
ἑαυτῷ Hellenistic prose”
10:8–10 see above
10:12– τισιν more regular would Windisch 308
τῶν ἑαυτοὺς be τισιν ἑαυτοὺς
συνιστανόντων συνιστάνουσιν
10:12 – ἀλλὰ αὐτοί* implies contrast with οὐ Thrall 2:637–39; Windisch
γὰρ τολμῶμεν that would 309; Bultmann 192
demand Paul as the con-
tinued referent

Harris, Second Corinthians, 665. But is a scribal error a priori more likely than an
error by Paul himself? Admittedly, scribal confusion of omega and omicron is not
uncommon (cf. Rom 5:1; Luke 16:25), but neither are scribal attempts to smooth out
perceived errors and irregularities in Paul. For examples, see Turner, Style, 86; Zuntz,
Text, 187.
 ΙΔΙΩΤΗΣ ΤΩ ΛΟΓΩ 271

* This difficulty, and the next on our chart, are ameliorated in the Western text,
which omits οὐ συνιᾶσιν ἡμεῖς δὲ, thereby making Paul the referent of αὐτοί and pre-
serving the contrastive sense of ἀλλά. See Plummer, Second Epistle, 284–85; Meyer,
Corinthians, 2:408; Thrall, Second Epistle, 2:636–39. The longer text is surely correct:
it has better external attestation, and is difficult to account for if not original. Plum-
mer suggests that the shorter reading results from an attempt to clarify a text that
even early readers (e.g., Theodoret, Int. Paul. [PG 82:437]) recognized as unclear.
Cf. Barrett, Second Corinthians, 264.
10:12 – οὐ συνιᾶσιν “flat and obscure” Thrall 2:638; cf. Bultmann
195; Windisch 309
10:13 – τὸ μετρόν 1) redundant; 1) final μέτρου omitted in
τοῦ κανόνος οὗ Vulgate; cf. Windisch 310;
ἐμερισεν ἡμῖν ὁ θεὸς 2) referent of genitive rel- 2) BDF §294.5; Barrett 266;
μέτρου ative pronoun contested Harris 714; Héring 74; Lam-
brecht 166
10:13 – ἐφικέσθαι for infinitive of result Bultmann 194; Windisch
τοῦ ἐφικέσθαι would be 310; cf. BDF §391.4
expected
10:14 – the apparent sense Windisch 310–11; Thrall
ἐφικνούμενοι demands aorist, not pres- 2:648; cf. Meyer 2:411; Lam-
ent, participle brecht 166
10:14 – ἐφθάσαμεν if comparative sense Meyer 2:411; Harris 718;
(“preceded”) is intended, cf. explicit comparison with
insufficiently clear φθάνω in 1 Thess 4:15
10:15 – καυχώμενοι anacoluthic nominative Turner, Syntax, 343, Thrall
… ἔχοντες absolute with finite sense 2:649 n. 385; Plummer 289;
(or v. 14 is a difficult Meyer 2:410–12; Martin
parenthesis) 322; cf. BDF §468
10:15 – ἐν ὑμῖν ambiguous, depend- Plummer 289; Bultmann
ing (awkwardly) on 196; Windisch 312–13;
either αὐξανομένης or Meyer 2:413 n. 3; cf. Thrall
μεγαλυνθῆναι 2:651 n. 397
10:15 – context seems to demand Meyer 2:412 n. 1; Harris
μεγαλυνθῆναι unusual sense of passive 720; cf. BDAG s.v.; MM 392
10:15–16 – εἰς … εἰς “gehackten, grimmig Lietzmann 143; cf. Windisch
… εἰς hingeworfenen Satz- 312–13; Martin 323–24
brocken”
272 RETHINKING PAUL’S RHETORICAL EDUCATION

10:16 – ὑπερέκεινα “vulgarism”? coinage? Plummer 289; Meyer 2:414;

MM 653
10:16 – connection of asyndetic Bultmann 196–97; Win-
εὐαγγελίσασθαι … infinitive clauses unclear disch 313–14; Thrall 2:651
καυχήσασθαι n. 399; Meyer 2:414; ; Allo
253; Furnish 473–74; Héring
75
10:16 – εἰς τὰ obscure Plummer 290; Windisch
ἕτοιμα 314; Héring 75
11:1 – ἀνείχεσθέ amphibolous μου Meyer 2:419; Lietzmann
μου μικρόν τι 144; Windisch 317–18;
ἀφροσύνης Héring 78; Plummer
292–93; Thrall 2:658
11:3 – φθαρῆναι ἀπό awkward use of preposi- BDF §211; Thrall 2:662 n. 51
tion
11:4 –ἀνέχεσθε/ scribal corrections to Meyer 2:417, 424–25;
ἠνείχεσθε create coherent condi- Lietzmann 145; Plummer
tional sentence? 297–98; Thrall 2:665–66;
Zmijewksi 93
11:5 – γάρ unclear transition Meyer 2:426; Windisch
329–30; Thrall 2:671; Martin
342; cf. Lambrecht 174
11:6 see section “Boorish in
Speech” below
11:12 – ὃ ποιῶ καὶ unclear whether complex Meyer 2:433–44; Windisch
ποιήσω subject (conjunctive καὶ; 339; Allo 284; Harris 768;
cf. v. 9) with verb elided, Martin 348; Thrall 2:690 n.
or relative clause + main 247
verb (adjunctive καὶ)
11:12 – ἀφορμήν … redundant
ἀφορμήν
11:12 – ἵνα … ἵνα false parallel Meyer 2:435–437; Windisch
339; Bultmann 207; Allo
284–85; Plummer 307; Lam-
brecht 177–78
 ΙΔΙΩΤΗΣ ΤΩ ΛΟΓΩ 273

11:17 – ἐν ταύτῃ difficult usage of Windisch 346; Héring 82

τῇ ὑποστάσει τῆς ὑπόστασις
καυχήσεως
11:21 – κατὰ “obscure” Plummer 317; cf. Meyer
ἀτιμίαν λέγω ὡς ὅτι 2:444–46; Thrall 2:718–21
ἡμεῖς ἠσθενήκαμεν
11:28 – χωρὶς τῶν unclear Meyer 2:451–53; Plummer
παρεκτός 329; Bultmann 217; Thrall
2:748–49; Martin 381
11:32 – ἐν Δαμασκῷ redundant Meyer 2:457; Plummer 334
… τὴν πόλιν
Δαμασκηνῶν
12:1 relationship between Meyer 2:459–62; Windisch
three clauses? (note vari- 367; Furnish 523
ants)
12:2 – ἄνθρωπον ἐν expect ἄνθρωπον τὸν ἐν Turner, Syntax, 221; Harris
Χριστῷ Χριστῷ 834; cf. Plummer 340
12:2 – πρὸ ἐτῶν awkward use of genitive Moule 74; Harris 835
δεκατεσσάρων (of time?) with πρό
12:3–4 – οἶδα τὸν hyperbaton Harris 842
τοιοῦτον ἄνθρωπον
… ὅτι ἡρπάγη
12:6 – γάρ unclear transition Meyer 2:472; Windisch 381;
Martin 408
12:6 – φείδομαι unusual absolute usage Meyer 2:472; Plummer 346;
cf. Barrett 312
12:6 – μή τις εἰς ἐμὲ awkward construction Plummer 346; Thrall
λογίσηται 2:800–801; Harris 849–50
12:6 – τι apparently superfluous Meyer 2:473; Harris 850;
(if original) Thrall 2:801 n. 228
12:7 – καὶ τῇ anacoluthic connec- Lietzmann 155; Plummer
ὑπερβολῇ τῶν tion either with what 347; Bultmann 224; Thrall
ἀποκαλύψεων precedes or with what 2:802–5
follows
274 RETHINKING PAUL’S RHETORICAL EDUCATION

12:7 – ἵνα μὴ redundant (note vari- Lietzmann 155; Bultmann

ὑπεραίρωμαι ants) 225; Allo 310; Lambrecht
202
12:9 – μᾶλλον force of comparison Barrett 317; Martin 421
unclear
12:14 – τρίτον τοῦτο word order introduces Meyer 2:486; Plummer
ἑτοίμως ἔχω ἐλθεῖν ambiguity 360–61; Allo 326; Martin
439–40; Thrall 2:843; Barrett
323; Lambrecht 213
12:14 – οὐ transitive verb used as Harris 882; Plummer
καταναρκήσω intransitive, or adverbial 361–62; cf. Lambrecht 212
genitive elided (note
variants)
12:17 – τινα … δι᾿ anacoluthic resumption BDF §466.1; Meyer 2:488;
αυτοῦ Lietzmann 159; Plummer
364; Windisch 403; Harris
890; Moule 176; Barrett 325
12:18 – παρεκάλεσα verbal idea incomplete Windisch 403; Harris 891
Τίτον
12:19 – πάλαι unusual usage (note Meyer 2:490; Plummer 367;
variants) Harris 893
12:19 – τὰ δὲ πάντα verb elided (or Meyer 2:491; Plummer 368;
κτλ. amphibolous) Thrall 2:861
12:20 – μή πως ἔρις verb elided Windisch 408; Plummer
κτλ. 369; Harris 897–98; Lam-
brecht 214–15
12:21 – ἐλθόντος incorrect genitive abso- BDF §423.2; Thrall 2:865
μου lute (note variants) n. 703; Furnish 562; but
cf. Allo 334
12:21 – πάλιν ambiguous reference Windisch 409; Barrett 330;
Thrall 2:865 n. 704; Bult-
mann 238–39; Allo 334
12:21 – πολλοὺς cumbersome Windisch 409; Harris 902
κτλ.
 ΙΔΙΩΤΗΣ ΤΩ ΛΟΓΩ 275

12:21 – πολλοὺς τῶν misleading use of geni- Lietzmann 159–160; Win-

προημαρτηκότων tive disch 410; Bultmann 239;
Barrett 332; Furnish 562;
Lambrecht 215
13:2–7 – προείρηκα inconsistent use of first/ Plummer 337; Thrall 2:892
… ἡμεῖς ἀσθενοῦμεν third person (note vari- n. 165, 893 n. 172; Furnish
… ἐλπίζω … ἡμεῖς ants) 572; Harris 922; cf. Meyer
οὐκ ἐσμέν … 2:508–9
εὐχόμεθα
13:4 – καὶ γάρ repetition (for parallel?) Bultmann 243; Thrall 2:885
obscures connection
13:4 – εἰς ὑμᾶς awkward (note variants) Meyer 2:498; Thrall 2:887 n.
125; Barrett 336–37; Harris
905
13:5 – ᾿Ιησοῦς awkward ellipsis of Thrall 2:890 n. 152; Harris
Χριστὸς ἐν ὑμῖν copula (note variants) 918
13:7 – ὑμᾶς ambiguous (subject or Lietzmann 161; Windisch
object?) 422; Bultmann 247; Allo
339; Thrall 2:893–94
13:7 – ἵνα … ἵνα unclear (verbal comple- Meyer 2:509–10; Win-
κτλ. ments [of εὐχόμεθα] or disch 422; Allo 339; Thrall
final clauses?) 2:894–95; Barrett 923–24
13:8 – οὐ γὰρ κτλ. explanatory force unclear Bultmann 247–48; cf. Bar-
rett 339; Harris 925

Again, it is important to note that such difficulties can hardly be

explained as resulting from an intentional stylistic decision.59 The only
possible benefit that could arise from the use of such disjointed syntax
is the impression of unrestrained vehemence (cf. “Longinus,” Subl. 8.4;

59. In only a few cases have stylistic explanations been proposed. With regard
to Paul’s amphibolous use of ἐν ὑμῖν in 10:15, Thrall proposes that its location before
rather than after μεγαλυνθῆναι is chiastic (Second Epistle, 2:651 n. 397). But cf. Quintil-
ian, Inst. 7.9.9–12, who assumes that such ambiguity is a fault that should be remedied.
Similarly, some suggest the duplication of ἵνα μὴ ὑπεραίρωμαι in 12:7 is intended to
form an emphatic chiasm. So Zmijewski, Der Stil der paulinischen “Narrenrede,” 366;
Martin, 2 Corinthians, 393.
276 RETHINKING PAUL’S RHETORICAL EDUCATION

22.1–4; Ps.-Demetrius, Eloc. 300 [but cf. 303]). But being overly force-
ful from afar is precisely what Paul knows he is accused of in Corinth
(cf. 10:1, 8–11), and it would be a strange rhetorical move indeed to fan
the flames by intentionally selecting such a style. Surely a more straightfor-
ward explanation is that Paul’s irregular syntax arises from a lack of articu-
lateness, exacerbated, perhaps, by real anger and distress.60 It was widely
recognized already in antiquity that redundancy and frequent anacolutha
and parentheses signaled speakers possessed of strong emotion.61 Thus to
explain Paul’s uneven diction by appeal to conscious stylistic choice is both
far-fetched and unnecessary.62
What, then, does this analysis of Paul’s syntax indicate with regard to
his rhetorical education? First, it must be admitted that such diction does
not itself necessarily rule out formal rhetorical training. Pseudo-Plutar-
ch’s synkrisis of fire and water (An ignis), discussed in chapter 7 above,
is evidence enough that the rudiments of a rhetorical education provide
no guarantee of articulateness, let alone eloquence. But notice what shape
Pseudo-Plutarch’s incorporation of rhetorical theory takes: a clumsy and
rather wooden adherence to formal expectations. He clearly has some rhe-
torical education, but not enough to be fully fluent. All agree that such
wooden application of rhetorical forms is not what we find in Paul, which
is why Betz and his followers consistently have argued that if Paul knew
rhetorical theory, he had so thoroughly digested it that he could benefit
from its insights without being bound by mere imitation of its forms.63 But

60. So already Calvin, Corinthians, 2:318; cf. Plummer, Second Epistle, xlviii, 270.
61. This is clear from the representation of angry and agitated speech in ancient
comedy. For Menander’s use of anacolutha in such circumstances see Karakasis, Ter-
ence and the Language of Roman Comedy, 4. For repetition, see Katsouris, Linguistic
and Stylistic Characterization, 107.
62. Aware of the difficulty, apparently, Ben Witheringon lays the blame at the feet
of Paul’s secretary: “Paul has composed [1 Corinthians] by dictation … This explains
why there are infelicities of grammar, syntax, structure, and anacoluthon along the
way. The poor scribe could not entirely always keep up—hence some incomplete
sentences” (review of Kenneth E. Bailey, Paul through Mediterranean Eyes: Cultural
Studies in 1 Corinthians, Review of Biblical Literature [http://www.bookreviews.org]
[2012]). For Witheringon, then, stylistic assets can be attributed to Paul, and deficien-
cies to his scribe—a convenient arrangement indeed.
63. See Betz, “Literary Composition and Function,” 356, 369; Vegge, Paulus und
das antike Schulwesen, 405; Swearingen, “The Tongues of Men,” 233. Cf. Kraftchick,
“Πάθη in Paul,” 39.
 ΙΔΙΩΤΗΣ ΤΩ ΛΟΓΩ 277

here Paul’s syntax becomes a fatal problem, for the degree of rhetorical
proficiency Betz posits can hardly be reconciled with the clumsiness of
expression and inelegant diction we find in 2 Cor 10–13. Perhaps neither
Paul’s uneven syntax nor his failure to abide by formal conventions is, on
its own, irreconcilable with the claim that he received a formal rhetorical
education. But taken together they point rather straightforwardly, I think,
to a different world of discourse altogether.

2 Corinthians 10:10; 11:6

Our survey of 2 Cor 10–13 has substantiated the evaluations of Norden,

Jowett, et alia: Paul’s diction is, to quote Windisch, “wirklich holperig,”64 and
frequently renders his train of thought difficult to follow. There is often a dis-
juncture between Paul’s apparent flow of thought and his syntax. Sometimes
we can discern the intended sense with confidence; sometimes we cannot.
There is an old habit of attributing this lack of clarity to the profundity
of Paul’s thought. Already F. C. Baur opined that “the peculiar stamp of
the apostle’s language” was a sign that “the thought is too weighty for the
language, and can scarcely find fit forms for the superabundant matter it
would fain express.”65 But such an explanation hardly accounts for 2 Cor
10, where there is no “thought” to speak of, let alone “superabundant
matter.” Why should it be so difficult for Paul to articulate with clarity his
conviction that his opponents’ boasting is vacuous, and that he will be as
powerful when present as he is in his absence?
So, if Baur’s explanation is unconvincing, perhaps we should revisit
the possibility that Paul simply was not, by any conventional standard, an
eloquent man. This is, after all, what Paul’s rivals in Corinth seem to have
thought—and, as we will see, Paul himself admitted as much.

“His Letters Are Forceful and Bold”

Together with 2 Cor 11:6, which will be considered in detail below, 2 Cor
10:10 has become a central text in discussions regarding Paul’s rhetorical
ability. As noted in chapter 2 above, the verse preserves a characteriza-
tion of Paul that derives from his rivals in Corinth. It is, one might say,
the earliest record of the reception history of Paul’s letters. Therefore, its

64. Windisch, Der zweite Korintherbrief, 313.

65. Baur, Paul, 2:280–81.
278 RETHINKING PAUL’S RHETORICAL EDUCATION

interpretation is pivotal in our attempt to locate Paul’s voice. The report in

question is as follows:
αἱ ἐπιστολαὶ μέν … βαρεῖαι καὶ ἰσχυραί
ἡ δὲ παρουσία τοῦ σώματος ἀσθενὴς
καὶ ὁ λόγος ἐξουθενημένος

All agree this is a highly significant text, but what exactly it signifies is
disputed. One interpretive crux concerns the meaning of the twin adjec-
tives βαρεῖαι and ἰσχυραί. Are they complimentary in their intent (“weighty
and strong”), or, on the contrary, disdainful (“tyrannical and oppressive”)?66
Of course, those who see Paul as well trained in rhetoric advocate
the former interpretation. In its essence, the argument runs as follows:67
What this passage preserves is the perceived difference in rhetorical capac-
ity between Paul the letter writer and Paul the extempore orator. Paul’s
letters, his detractors admit, are rhetorically effective and powerful. (In
fact, βαρεῖαι and ἰσχυραί, we are told, are words that derive from rhetorical
theory, wherein they designate positive stylistic traits.) What Paul lacks
is the capacity for compelling rhetorical delivery (ὑπόκρισις), something
cultivated among professional orators and sophists—and sought by the
Corinthians. So, Paul was well trained in rhetoric and used it capably in
his letters, but, for whatever reason, was either incapable or unwilling to
deliver in person.
I have explained in chapter 7 above why I am not persuaded by the
notion that the trouble in Corinth spawned from the rhetorical sensitivi-
ties of a community infatuated with oratorical performance. But, however
one conceives of the context in Corinth, what is troubling about the read-
ing summarized above is that an external interpretive lens—in this case,
rhetorical theory—is allowed to trump clear indicators in the text itself
that point decisively to a different interpretation.

66. These alternatives are taken, respectively, from the nrsv and Harris, Second
Corinthians, 698.
67. See esp. Winter, Philo and Paul, 204–23; Winter, “Philodemus and Paul on
Rhetorical Delivery (ὑπόκρισις),” in Philodemus and the New Testament World (ed.
John T. Fitzgerald, Dirk Obbink, and Glenn S. Holland; NovTSup 111; Leiden: Brill,
2004), 323–43; Welborn, An End to Enmity, 101–22; Marshall, Enmity in Corinth, 384–
86; Witherington, Conflict and Community in Corinth, 433–36; Mitchell, “Le style, c’est
l’homme,” 382. Cf. Betz, “Rhetoric and Theology,” 154–55.
 ΙΔΙΩΤΗΣ ΤΩ ΛΟΓΩ 279

It must be admitted from the outset that the words βαρεῖαι and ἰσχυραί
can, in various contexts, signify either positive or negative qualities:68 The
word βαρύς most commonly means heavy, oppressive, or grievous (LSJ
s.v.), but the closely related βάρος is also used by Dionysius of Halicarnas-
sus to refer to the stylistic virtue of “gravity” (Thuc. 23 [Usher, LCL]). The
term ἰσχυρός is occasionally used in reference to positively forceful prose
(Dionysius of Halicarnassus, Comp. 22; Thuc. 31), but can also designate
severity or violence (LSJ s.v., I.3). Clearly, then, the sense of both words
must be determined from their context in 2 Cor 10–13.69
Here it will be helpful to work outward, in concentric circles, from 10:10
itself. Notice how Paul introduces the accusation in v. 9: “I do not want to
seem as though I am trying to frighten you with my letters.” This alone is
not decisive, but does seem to suggest that “threatening” would be more apt
than “powerful” as a description of how Paul’s letters are perceived.70
Even more telling is v. 11: “Let such a one [as says this about me] con-
sider this, that just as we are in word through letters when absent (τῷ λόγῳ
δι᾿ ἐπιστολῶν ἀπόντες), so also will we be in deed when present (παρόντες
τῷ ἔργῳ)” (my trans.).71 The appropriateness of this as a rebuttal to the
accusation in v. 10 is not at all clear if we follow the rhetorical interpretive
model.72 On that model, remember, the discrepancy between the pres-
ent Paul and the absent Paul is one of rhetorical aptitude: he writes with
eloquent power, but speaks poorly. But v. 11, where Paul insists that his
words-from-afar and deeds-when-present will in fact coincide, makes no
sense as a response to such an accusation—unless, perhaps, Paul is saying
that he is on his way to Corinth to deliver his oratorical pièce de résistance,
which, inexplicably, he characterizes not as λόγος but as ἔργον. No, what

68. For the range of significations, see esp. Corin Mihaila, The Paul-Apollos Rela-
tionship and Paul’s Stance toward Greco-Roman Rhetoric: An Exegetical and Socio-
Historical Study of 1 Corinthians 1–4 (LNTS 402; London: T&T Clark, 2009), 155–60;
Vegge, A Letter about Reconciliation, 310–16.
69. It should be noted, however, that neither is a common rhetorical term. See
Anderson, Ancient Rhetorical Theory, 278. The fact that Dionysius occasionally uses
both with reference to prose style does not alter this fact, for, as he himself explains,
his descriptive vocabulary is not technical but metaphorical (Comp. 21). Cf. Vegge, A
Letter about Reconciliation, 314–16.
70. Cf. Harris, Second Corinthians, 699.
71. The future tense I have used in the second clause is not explicit, but is surely
implied. See ibid., 702–3.
72. Cf. Vegge, A Letter about Reconciliation, 321–22.
280 RETHINKING PAUL’S RHETORICAL EDUCATION

Paul’s rebuttal evidently addresses is a perceived discrepancy in how Paul

asserts his authority when present versus when absent: whatever he is bold
enough to say from afar, he insists, he will henceforth be bold enough to
follow through on in person. So there is no evidence here that his letters
were admired for their rhetorical force. Rather, the sense of the accusation
in 10:10 is that Paul’s bark is bigger than his bite: from a safe distance, he
poses as strong and authoritative, but, when in Corinth, his abject weak-
ness is manifest.
This interpretation is confirmed when we look at the broader con-
text. The characterization of Paul in 10:10 is, as is widely acknowledged,
reflected also in v. 1b:73 “I who am humble (ταπεινός) when face to face
with you, but bold toward you (θαρρῶ εἰς ὑμᾶς) when I am away.” Again,
the perceived discrepancy is hardly one of rhetorical competence. It rather
concerns the authority (ἐξουσία) in which Paul boasts (v. 8; cf. 13:10), but
which, apparently, he has not (yet) been able to exercise.74 On his proxi-
mate visit, he insists at the letter’s close, he will not be lenient (οὐ φείσομαι)
but will manifest the disciplinary power of God (13:1–4; cf. 10:2, 6).75

73. So Chrysostom, Hom. 2 Cor. 21.1 (PG 61:542); Calvin, Corinthians, 2:330;
Meyer, Corinthians, 2:403; Windisch, Der zweite Korintherbrief, 305; Harris, Second
Corinthians, 698; Jan Lambrecht, “Dangerous Boasting: Paul’s Self-Commendation
in 2 Cor 10–13,” in The Corinthian Correspondence (ed. Reimund Bieringer; BETL
125; Leuven: Leuven University Press, 1996), 329; Martin, The Corinthian Body, 53;
Vegge, A Letter about Reconciliation, 260–62. Betz’s interpretation of v. 1b (Der Apostel
Paulus und die sokratische Tradition, 45–57), wherein both ταπεινός and θαρρεῖν have
positive connotations as characteristics of a true (Cynic) philosopher, tears the fabric
of the text, failing in particular to cohere with v. 11. Moreover, as Margaret Thrall
observes, Betz adduces but one example of the use of ταπεινός in this sense (Lucian,
Somn. 9–13), and it is unconvincing (Second Epistle, 2:604 n. 62). Similarly, it is telling
that 2 Cor 10:11 is nowhere to be found in Donald Walker’s treatment of “Paul’s offer
of leniency,” and 13:1–4 is given only perfunctory treatment (Paul’s Offer of Leniency).
This results in a failure to recognize the straightforward sincerity of Paul’s threatened
discipline, and thus seriously undermines Walker’s reading.
74. Cf. Jennifer Larson, “Paul’s Masculinity,” JBL 123 (2004): 91–92; Savage, Power
through Weakness, 65–66.
75. How, exactly, Paul expected to manifest this power remains obscure. We may
find a clue, however, in 1 Cor 5:4, where he uses similar language—exercising power
(δύναμις) with (σύν) Christ—in speaking of the role of his spirit in handing over the
sexually immoral man to Satan: συναχθέντων ὑμῶν καὶ τοῦ ἐμοῦ πνεύματος σὺν τῇ
δυνάμει τοῦ κυρίου ὑμῶν ᾿Ιησοῦ. See Thrall, Second Epistle, 2:887, following Karl Prümm,
Diakonia pneumatos: Der zweite Korintherbrief als Zugang zur apostolischen Botschaft,
 ΙΔΙΩΤΗΣ ΤΩ ΛΟΓΩ 281

This language would have sounded familiar to the Corinthians, for, in

a previous letter, he had issued a similar ultimatum:76

But some of you, thinking I am not coming to you, have become arro-
gant. But I will come to you soon, if the Lord wills, and I will find out
not the talk of these arrogant people but their power. For the kingdom
of God depends not on talk but on power. What would you prefer? Am I
to come to you with a stick, or with love in a spirit of gentleness? (1 Cor
4:18–21; cf. 2 Cor 13:2)

One wonders whether Paul is now reaping the consequences of having

made but not followed through on such threats. Paul had indeed gone
to Corinth prior to writing 2 Cor 10–13, and, he says, this had been “a
painful visit” (2 Cor 2:1)—painful not for the Corinthians, however, as
Paul had threatened, but instead for Paul himself (cf. 2:5–10; 7:12; 13:1–4).
We do not know precisely what occurred, but it stands to reason that the
insulting characterization of Paul as bold from afar but weak in person
derives at least in part from his failure on that visit to exercise authority as
promised.77 (Perhaps we catch a glimpse of this in 2 Cor 12:21, where Paul
speaks of having been humiliated by God [ταπεινώσῃ με ὁ θεός] before the
Corinthians [πρὸς ὑμᾶς]).78

Auslegung und Theologie (3 vols.; Rome: Herder, 1960–1967), 1:712. Presumably what
is expected is a charismatic display with decisive social consequences. Chrysostom,
interestingly, read 1 Cor 4:21 (see below) in conjunction with the account of the death
of Ananias and Sapphira in Acts 5:1–11 (Hom. 1 Cor. 14.2 [PG 61:116–117]).
76. Cf. Chrysostom, Hom. 2 Cor. 21.1 (PG 61:541), who connects 2 Cor 10:1–2
to 1 Cor 4:18–21, noting that Paul’s threat (ἀπειλή) in 2 Cor 10:2 is even more severe
(βαρύτερον [!]) than in the previous letter.
77. Cf. Plummer, Second Epistle, 283.
78. Note that πάλιν in 12:21 can taken be taken with ἐλθόντος (i.e., “lest when I
come again”) or with ταπεινωσῃ (i.e. “lest God should humble me again”). The latter
is almost certainly intended. See Meyer, Corinthians, 2:493; Plummer, Second Epistle,
369; Furnish, II Corinthians, 562; Barrett, Second Epistle, 330–31; Martin, 2 Corin-
thians, 464–65; Philip E. Hughes, Paul’s Second Epistle to the Corinthians (2nd ed.;
NICNT; Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1967), 472 n. 166; Harris, Second Corinthians, 901.
Paul associates his humiliation—though rather obscurely—with unrepented sin in the
community. But what would it mean for him to be humiliated by God before them?
The context in Corinth makes one wonder if this is a reference to failure on Paul’s part
to manifest spiritual power, a failure that he interprets as resulting from divine inac-
tion as a response to sin. To my knowledge, no satisfactory interpretation of the verse
282 RETHINKING PAUL’S RHETORICAL EDUCATION

In any case, this much is clear: Paul is being treated with derision: ἡ δὲ
παρουσία τοῦ σώματος ἀσθενὴς καὶ ὁ λόγος ἐξουθενημένος. Two recent studies
have sought, in complementary ways, to uncover the connotations of this
characterization of Paul, both indebted, in various ways, to Maud Glea-
son’s Bourdieu-inflected discussion of physiognomy and self-presentation
in the Roman Empire.79 For Jennifer Larson, what is at issue for Paul—
as, somewhat differently, for Gleason’s Favorinus—is masculinity: Paul’s
status as a powerful and virile male has been challenged. Viewed in the
light of Roman preoccupation with vigilant “performance” of manhood,
this is a serious impugnation of his honor indeed.80 Albert Harrill thinks
rather that Paul is being characterized in accordance with “the ancient
physiognomic principle that a weak bodily presence signifies a slave.”81 His
citation of Lucian, wherein the satirist reflects autobiographically on the
choice between παιδεία and a manual trade (τέχνη τῶν βαναύσων [Somn.
1]), is particularly instructive:

On the other hand, if you turn your back upon these men so great and
noble, upon glorious deeds and sublime words, upon a dignified appear-
ance (σχῆμα εὐπρεπές), upon honor, esteem, praise, precedence, power
(δύναμιν) and offices … then you will put on a filthy tunic, assume a
servile appearance (σχῆμα δουλοπρεπές), and hold bars and gravers and
sledges and chisels in your hands, with your back bent over your work;
you will be a groundling, with groundly ambitions, altogether humble
(πάντα τρόπον ταπεινός); you will never lift your head, or conceive a single
manly or liberal thought, and … you will make yourself a thing of less
value than a block of stone. (Somn. 13 [Harmon, LCL])

has been proffered. Bultmann’s notion (Second Corinthians, 238–39), similar to that of
Chrysostom (Hom. 2 Cor. 28.2 [PG 61:591–592]; cf. Meyer, Corinthians, 2:493), that
Paul feared the “humiliation” of having to exercise his authority for tearing down, not
building up (cf. 13:10), fails to account for Paul’s previous humiliation, or makes it of a
different order altogether. Cf. Martin, 2 Corinthians, 465–66. Larry Welborn compel-
lingly links Paul’s humiliation with the dissention and mutual disfavor Paul highlights
in v. 20, but does not offer an adequate explanation for the unrepented sin in v. 21 (An
End to Enmity, 181, 186–87).
79. Gleason, Making Men.
80. Larson, “Paul’s Masculinity.”
81. J. Albert Harrill, “Invective against Paul (2 Cor 10:10), the Physiognomics of
the Ancient Slave Body, and the Greco-Roman Rhetoric of Manhood,” in Antiquity
and Humanity: Essays on Ancient Religion and Philosophy (ed. Adela Yarbro Collins
and Margaret M. Mitchell; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2001), 192.
 ΙΔΙΩΤΗΣ ΤΩ ΛΟΓΩ 283

Harrill and Larson are to be commended, certainly, for helping us

locate terms like ἀσθενής and ταπεινός: weak, abject, inarticulate, servile,
emasculate—this is the sort of characterization of Paul that is reflected in
2 Cor 10–13 generally and 2 Cor 10:10 specifically. But both Larson and
Harrill sidestep what would appear to be the evident conclusion, namely,
that Paul was indeed a man susceptible to derision and contempt. Larson’s
Paul looks and acts weak and servile, but the implication throughout is
that this is (merely) voluntary behavior and therefore not indicative of
Paul’s essential identity. Though the Corinthians mistook his behavior for
actual weakness, Paul and his interpreters know better. The prince remains
the prince even when playing the pauper. That is, what Larson seems to
imagine is that Paul, secure in his apostolic identity, simply stands above
the fray.82 He visits Corinth, but he is not really implicated in the precari-
ousness of his position there.
Harrill has a more explicit means of evading what would seem to be
the consequences of his own study. For him, it’s all just rhetoric: “The lan-
guage conforms to conventions and techniques of character assassination
common in Greco-Roman invective.”83 Such invective, we are told, “was
rarely directed at slaves, per se, but rather at freeborn men, often politi-
cal enemies.”84 Paul had a more philosophical attitude toward the whole
thing than did his sophistic rivals in Corinth, who apparently were taken
in by the pseudoscience of physiognomy, and thus Paul responded to their
invective by intentionally taking on the slavish σχῆμα of a Cynic.85 The
implication, then, is that behind the abject appearance effected by Paul’s
filthy tunic and work-bent back stands a noble Odysseus or Antisthenes.
His ταπεινότης is merely a disguise.
What Harrill seems to have overlooked is that what allows the topos
of the servile body to function effectively as elite invective is, in fact, the
actual body of the slave. In other words, physiognomy is compelling pre-

82. See also, far more egregiously, Lars Aejmelaeus, “ ‘Christ is Weak in Paul’:
The Opposition to Paul in Corinth,” in The Nordic Paul: Finnish Approaches to Pauline
Theology (ed. Lars Aejmelaeus and Antti Mustakallio; LNTS 374; London: T&T Clark,
2008), 129: “His weakness is in reality, if rightly understood, nothing but the greatest
spiritual strength.… Because it is so, he is able to accept with calmness [!] the Corin-
thian evaluation of him.”
83. Harrill, “Invective against Paul,” 209.
84. Ibid., 201.
85. Ibid., 208–13.
284 RETHINKING PAUL’S RHETORICAL EDUCATION

cisely to the extent that it articulates the habitus. If the literary record pre-
serves elite men calling each other slavish in appearance, that is because
they agreed—indeed, it generally went without saying—that the somatic
characteristics of slaves were despicable. Therefore to imply, as Harrill
does, that Paul cannot really have been slavish because he was called slav-
ish is, if not absurd, at least profoundly arbitrary.
No, if Paul was called slavish, it was because he really was susceptible
to such characterization: his ταπεινότης was embodied.86 Indeed, what
2 Cor 10:10 reveals, I submit, is that it was his somatic vulnerability that
constituted the interpretive matrix through which Paul’s failure convinc-
ingly to exercise authority in Corinth was seen. Although 2 Cor 10:10 may
be invective, it is not merely so: Paul, to all appearances, is weak and deris-
ible—utterly unlike the man who issues bold threats from afar.
But we have still to consider the final clause: ὁ λόγος ἐξουθενημένος.
As indicated above, there are no grounds for restricting the sense of λόγος
here such that it refers to Paul’s rhetorical ὑπόκρισις. What, then, does the
word mean in this context?
There are, I suggest, two credible readings. The first fits admirably with
the context, but, to my knowledge, has not previously been proposed. If,
as I have argued, 2 Cor 10:10 preserves the charge that Paul wrote boldly,
even threatening to come to Corinth with a rod of discipline (cf. 1 Cor
4:21), but could not follow through in person, it is attractive to read ὁ λόγος

86. In addition to the Corinthians’ reported evaluation in 10:10, there are a

number of significant indicators in the Pauline corpus of the ignominy of Paul’s bodily
appearance. First, he was repeatedly whipped, beaten, and deprived (2 Cor 11:23–27),
and, as Jennifer Glancy has emphasized, the resulting scars would have been humiliat-
ing indicators that he lacked the power of self-determination (“Boasting of Beatings”).
Similarly, Paul’s work as a manual laborer (1 Thess 2:9; 1 Cor 4:11–12; cf. Acts 18:3)
would surely have taken its toll on his body, earning him the soiled clothes and slav-
ish posture that, as Lucian attests, generally accompanied such work. Cf. Hock, Social
Context, 35–36. Timothy Savage argues that Paul’s Corinthian converts can hardly
have despised him on the grounds of his labor, since many of them would have been
manual laborers themselves (Power through Weakness, 84–86). But to invite disdain
for Paul on this account, his rivals need not in fact belittle laborers; they need only
remind the Corinthians that the demeanor of a laborer ill-befits one who would exer-
cise authority. Finally, see Gal 4:13–14, where Paul recollects that the Galatians did not
express disdain nor disgust (οὐκ ἐξουθενήσατε οὐδὲ ἐξεπτύσατε) at his bodily weakness
(ἀσθένεια τῆς σαρκός), though they may have been expected to. The similarity of the
vocabulary here to that in 2 Cor 10:10 is striking, and makes it impossible to argue that
the Corinthians were spinning invective out of whole cloth.
 ΙΔΙΩΤΗΣ ΤΩ ΛΟΓΩ 285

ἐξουθενημένος here as a related taunt: “He talks big, but what he says comes
to nothing.” ῾Ο λόγος, then, would refer specifically to what Paul had said
in his βαρεῖαι καὶ ἰσχυραί letters, thus completing the contrastive sense of
the sentence. This is a perfectly reasonable way to render λόγος (cf. BDAG
s.v., 1.γ), and, importantly, coheres well with the next verse, wherein τῷ
λόγῳ corresponds not with παρόντες, as we should expect if it were a ref-
erence to Paul’s speech in general, but rather with δι᾿ ἐπιστολῶν ἀπόντες.87
A possible objection to this interpretation is that it seems to require
reading ἐξουθενέω in terms of its etymology and not its established usage.
The word generally means “despise” or “disdain,” or, in the passive voice
used here, “be despised or contemptible.” “Come to nothing” appears to
be a stretch. Interestingly, though, in the only instances I could locate of
ἐξουθενέω (or the equivalent ἐξουδενέω) with reference to λόγος, the word
has precisely the connotation required by the interpretation I have pro-
posed. In both 1 Macc 3:14 and 2 Chr 36:16, the active participle is used of
those who scorn the command(s) (λόγος/λόγοι) of someone who attempts
to exercise authority. Thus Judas Maccabeus and his companions, by virtue
of refusing to comply with Antiochus’s notorious prohibition, become τοὺς
ἐξουδενοῦντας τὸν λόγον τοῦ βασιλέως (cf. 1:50). We have the same situ-
ation, mutatis mutandis for the participle in the passive voice, in 2 Cor
10:10: Paul has sought to exercise authority, but his threats, commands,
and instructions are deemed worthy only of scorn.
If this reading is correct, 2 Cor 10:10 tells us nothing about Paul’s
knowledge of rhetoric per se. Alternatively, if, as most think, λόγος should
be construed more generally as “speech,”88 what we have here is a damning
report indeed. The word ἐξουθενημένος, like ἀσθενής and ταπεινός, belongs
to the vocabulary of honor and shame. Second Maccabees apposes the pas-
sive participle to βδελυκτός (“abominable” [1:27]). Paul himself famously
sets it alongside μωρός, ἀσθενής, and ἀγενής and over against σοφός and

87. Contrast Bultmann, Second Corinthians, 191, who resorts to the conclusion
that “the λόγος of verse 10 belongs precisely to the ἔργον [of v. 11].” Cf. Windisch, Der
zweite Korintherbrief, 307.
88. So ibid., 306; Plummer, Second Epistle, 279; Harris, Second Corinthians, 700;
Furnish, II Corinthians, 468. Lacking anything in the context to demand such a read-
ing, “rhetoric” is too technical a translation for the word as it is used here, contra
Martin, 2 Corinthians, 311. Others argue that λόγος refers to Paul’s message or teaching
in toto, not merely its form. Cf. Bultmann, Second Corinthians, 190; Barrett, Second
Epistle, 261.
286 RETHINKING PAUL’S RHETORICAL EDUCATION

ἰσχυρός (1 Cor 1:27–28). If this is a description of Paul’s speech, the impli-

cation is that it is not only unskilled, but derisible.
I should clarify that I am not arguing that the characterization of Paul
preserved in 2 Cor 10:10 can be taken as an objective historical observa-
tion. Clearly it derives from those who would belittle him. But in order to
generate such an impassioned response from Paul, it must have hit close
to home. In other words, Paul was at least susceptible to such a character-
ization, which is itself a telling indicator both of his voice and of his social
location.

“Boorish in Speech”

Prior to the rise of rhetorical criticism, scholars frequently accounted

for Paul’s anacolutha and difficult syntax by citing his apparent conces-
sion in 2 Cor 11:6 that he was an ἰδιώτης τῷ λόγῳ.89 In recent decades,
however, the significance of this phrase has been contested. No longer
considered straightforward attestation of Paul’s lack of literary educa-
tion, it is now frequently read as itself a sophisticated rhetorical figure—
namely, asteismos or urbanitas, a figure wherein, to quote E. A. Judge,
who first, though tentatively, proposed this interpretation, “one urbanely
displayed one’s own skill by affecting the lack of it.”90 On this reading, the
concession is an ironic one, akin to that of the eloquent and sophisticated
Dio Chrysostom:

89. E.g., Norden, Die antike Kunstprosa, 2:492–93; Nock, St. Paul, 234; BDF §464.
For patristic examples, see ch. 12 n. 18 above.
90. Judge, “Paul’s Boasting,” 57; cf. Watson, “Paul and Boasting,” 86; Murphy-
O’Connor, A Critical Life, 50; Pogoloff, Logos and Sophia, 136; DiCicco, Ethos, Pathos,
and Logos, 24; Classen, Rhetorical Criticism, 44; Forbes, “Comparison, Self-Praise,
and Irony,” 17. H. D. Betz has proposed an alternative reading, suggesting that by
emphasizing his knowledge over his verbal prowess Paul is positioning himself on the
philosophical side of the philosophy vs. sophistry divide. See Der Apostel Paulus und
die sokratische Tradition, 57–69; cf. Keener, 1-2 Corinthians, 227–28; Walker, Paul’s
Offer of Leniency, 275 n. 41. This is not convincing. First, as argued in ch. 7 above,
there is no evidence that Paul was contending with sophistry in Corinth. Second, this
interpretation requires a more precise signification for both λόγος and γνῶσις than the
words can bear in this context (cf. 2 Cor 2:14; 4:6; 8:7). See further below, and Barrett,
Second Epistle, 279–80; E. A. Judge, “St Paul and Socrates,” in The First Christians in the
Roman World: Augustan and New Testament Essays (ed. James R. Harrison; WUNT
229; (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2008), 670–83.
 ΙΔΙΩΤΗΣ ΤΩ ΛΟΓΩ 287

ὅταν μὲν γὰρ εἰς ἐμαυτὸν ἀπίδω καὶ τὴν ἀπειρίαν τὴν ἐμαυτοῦ, περὶ πάντα
μὲν ἁπλῶς, μάλιστα δὲ τὴν περὶ τοὺς λόγους, ὡς ἰδιώτης ὢν διανοοῦμαι
καὶ τὸ λοιπὸν ἰδιώτου βίον βιωσόμενος· ὅταν δὲ εἰς τοὺς σπουδάζοντας καὶ
παρακαλοῦντας, ὑπονοεῖν ἐμαυτὸν ἀναγκάζομαι, μὴ ἄρα τι τῶν ἐμῶν λόγου
ἄξιον … (Dial. 3; cf. Lucian, Bis acc. 33)91

The comparison is more telling than Judge and his followers have seen
and does not support their reading. Notice Dio’s stature: he credibly can
claim that he is being eagerly urged to make a speech (cf. 1–2, 4) by those
who expect to hear from him τι θαυμαστόν (1). In this situation a show of
modesty is indeed well advised. It has the potential to head off not only
envy but also the sort of criticism that can arise from a failure to live up to
exalted expectations. What possible objection remains for his audience to
raise, except perhaps that Dio’s modesty is itself ostentation (cf. Quintil-
ian, Inst. 11.1.21)? But no, Dio has thought of that too, and disarmed the
accusation simply by naming it (Dial. 2).
Paul’s situation is strikingly different. His competence as a proclaimer
of the gospel has been at issue in Corinth for some time (cf. 1 Cor 1:18–
2:16). Indeed, it is often argued that the dismissive phrase ἰδιώτης τῷ λόγῳ
derives not from Paul himself but rather from his rivals in Corinth.92 The
claim, I think, goes beyond the evidence; however, it is clear that the basic
thrust of the characterization had currency in Corinth. Paul, then, is in no
position to indulge in faux modesty. An ironic concession would be rather
ill advised and liable to be taken as a real admission of inarticulateness93—
especially given the clumsiness of expression manifested in this very letter,
and, indeed, in this very verse.
The central antithesis of 11:6a is clear enough, even if the omission
of both εἰμί and a clarifying personal pronoun is unusual:94 εἰ δὲ καὶ
ἰδιώτης τῷ λόγῳ, ἀλλ᾿ οὐ τῇ γνώσει. “Now even though I am an ἰδιώτης with

91. “For on the one hand, whenever I consider myself and my inexperience, my
inexperience in simply everything, but especially in speaking, recognizing that I am
only a layman, I am minded for the future to live the life of a layman; on the other
hand, when I consider those who take me seriously and invite me to make a speech, I
am constrained to feel suspicious of myself, lest some quality of mine may after all be
worth while …” (Crosby, LCL).
92. Windisch, Der zweite Korintherbrief, 331; Martin, 2 Corinthians, 342–43;
Harris, Second Corinthians, 748–49; Winter, Philo and Paul, 223.
93. Cf. Thrall, Second Epistle, 2:677.
94. Cf. BDF §128.2, and notice the addition of εἰμί in a few manuscripts (D* E).
288 RETHINKING PAUL’S RHETORICAL EDUCATION

respect to speech, nevertheless I am not with respect to knowledge.”95 The

trouble comes in the next clause, which, concedes Bultmann, is “scarcely
intelligible”:96 ἀλλ᾿ ἐν παντὶ φανερώσαντες ἐν πᾶσιν εἰς ὑμᾶς. This is likely
another instance of Paul using a participle where the syntax demands a
finite verb,97 the difficulty of which is exacerbated, in this case, by the tran-
sition from a singular verb in v. 5 to a plural participle in v. 6b, then back
to a singular verb in v. 7. If what is to be supplied in v. 6a is ἐσμέν, not εἰμί,
this is rather late notice—not to mention the solecism that would result
(ἐσμέν [pl.] + ἰδιώτης [sg.]).98
In any case, even if we simply take φανερώσαντες to mean ἐφανερώσαμεν,
we are still left with an impenetrable turn of phrase. Plummer’s rendering,
which takes πᾶσιν as masculine, is a decent attempt to make sense of the
apparent redundancy of the prepositional phrases ἐν παντί … ἐν πᾶσιν:
“in all things … among all men.”99 But more likely this is simply poorly
executed emphasis (cf. Phil 4:12: ἐν παντὶ καὶ ἐν πᾶσιν).100
Finally, and most confoundingly, the sentence is lacking an object.
Following Paul’s train of thought, it seems most probable, despite being
grammatically untenable, that he is referring to the manifestation of his
γνῶσις, which is to be supplied from the previous clause.101 Alternatively,
one could resolve the problem by adding something like an αὐτήν or, with

95. My trans. On this sense of ἀλλά in conditional sentences, see BDF §448.5;
LSJ s.v., I.2. The datives are construed as datives of respect with Bultmann, Second
Corinthians, 203; Harris, Second Corinthians, 748. Notice that the syntax suggests a
real concession—that is, the protasis is assumed to be factual—as per a “first-class”
condition. See Turner, Syntax, 115; Plummer, Second Epistle, 299; Harris, Second Cor-
inthians, 748.
96. Bultmann, Second Corinthians, 204.
97. So Turner, Syntax, 343; Plummer, Second Epistle, 300; Barrett, Second Epistle,
280; Harris, Second Corinthians, 749–50.
98. The appearance of the singular participle in D* appears to be an attempt to
resolve this problem. So Plummer, Second Corinthians, 300.
99. Plummer, Second Epistle, 300; cf. Bultmann, Second Corinthians, 204; Meyer,
Corinthians, 2:429; Windisch, Der zweite Korintherbrief, 332.
100. So Furnish, II Corinthians, 491; and, tentatively, Thrall, Second Epistle, 2:678;
Barrett, Second Epistle, 281. Welborn asserts here that Paul “makes intentionally
clumsy use of a rhetorical flourish” and thereby “simultaneously mocks the ineptitude
of his own delivery and undermines the rhetorical pretensions of his apostolic rivals”
(An End to Enmity, 131).
101. Cf. Windisch, Der zweite Korintherbrief, 333; Plummer, Second Epistle, 300.
 ΙΔΙΩΤΗΣ ΤΩ ΛΟΓΩ 289

a number of ancient witnesses, an ἑαυτούς.102 The scribe who brought us

P46 stumbled upon another solution: he omitted the offending clause
entirely. However we make sense of the text, Paul certainly has not made
all things clear. This is hardly the sort of rhetorical display in the context
of which an admission of untutored speech is likely to be taken ironically.
Contrast Dio Chrysostom’s sparklingly clear yet expressive diction.
As Paul also frequently does, Dio admits a parenthesis (περὶ πάντα μὲν
ἁπλῶς, μάλιστα δὲ τὴν περὶ τοὺς λόγους); however, in contrast to what we
have seen in Paul, Dio’s is clearly structured and brief, and, above all, does
not disturb the syntax of the period. It adds a nice touch of spontaneity
and authenticity without sacrificing eloquence. Again, like but very unlike
Paul, Dio indulges in ellipsis: we must supply ἀπίδω from the μέν clause
into the δέ clause. But, again, the clear structure of the sentence precludes
any ambiguity or obscurity. Finally, as Paul also often does, Dio utilizes
repetition, reusing, to elegant effect, the words ὅταν, ἐμαυτοῦ, and ἰδιώτης.
Paul’s ἐν παντί … ἐν πᾶσιν may also be repetition, but it hardly has a com-
parable rhetorical effect. In short, Dio’s is the sort of elegant diction that
provides an apt setting for an ironic confession of ineptitude; Paul’s is not.
So this is a sincere concession, albeit one that may be prompted by
the uncharitable evaluation of his rivals. But what does it mean? The word
ἰδιώτης is very common, and its meaning is not really in doubt, but there
has been some debate of late regarding the sense in which it should be
taken in this context. Dale Martin well articulates the interpretation cur-
rently in vogue: “When Paul calls himself a ‘layman with regard to speech,’
… he is saying that he is not a professional orator or teacher of rhetoric;
but he is not denying that he has had a rhetorical education.”103 But such a
reading cannot be sustained: It misconstrues both ἰδιώτης and λόγος, and
it fails to attend to the context of Paul’s concession. It is, in short, an egre-
gious case of special pleading.

102. For the former option, see Barrett, Second Epistle, 280–81; Harris, Second
Corinthians, 750; Thrall, Second Epistle, 2:656 n. 147. The latter can be observed in
0121 0243 630 1739 1881. A roughly equivalent emendation is replacing the active
with a passive participle, as in P34 ‫א‬2 D Ψ 0278.
103. Martin, The Corinthian Body, 49; cf. Peterson, Eloquence and the Proclama-
tion of the Gospel, 109; Harris, Second Corinthians, 748–49; Keener, 1–2 Corinthians,
227. And see already Ramsay, Teaching of Paul, 420–22.
290 RETHINKING PAUL’S RHETORICAL EDUCATION

Derived from ἴδιος, ἰδιώτης means, firstly, a private individual, one who
tends to his own affairs.104 Accordingly, the word is often used to designate
those who play no active role in political life or public service—that is,
those outside the political class or aristocracy.105 By extension, apparently,
it came to have two related but distinct significations: First, it could be
used of a layperson, someone who was not an expert or professional in a
given field.106 Second, it could be used with reference to the plebs—ordi-
nary folk—in implied opposition to the noble classes.107 It is this latter
sense that allows Lucian to appose “laymen” (ἰδιῶται) to “workingmen”
(βάναυσοι) and “tradesmen” (ἀγοραῖοι [Vit. auct. 27; Harmon, LCL]).
Given the widespread equation of paideia with power and elite status,
it is not surprising that these two senses frequently were conflated in the
Koine such that the word came to signify the rustic or the ignorant com-
moner. Hence Josephus contrasts the foolish masses (ἰδιῶται) with οἱ λόγιοι
(B.J. 6.295). For Lucian, ἰδιῶται are characterized by ἀπαιδευσία (Nigr. 24;
cf. Ind. 29), and can thus be set in opposition to the πεπαιδευμένοι (Dom.
2; Lex. 24)108 and the σοφοί (Symp. 35). Reflecting these same assumptions,
Luke puts ἰδιῶται in apposition to ἀγράμματοι (Acts 4:13).109 And, for Dio-
nysius of Halicarnassus, ἰδιῶται, more ignorant even than farmers and arti-
sans, are those who do not know how to pay attention to an ordinary, well-
composed speech (Dem. 15; cf. Lys. 3; Epictetus, Diatr. 2.12.2–4, 11–13).
It remained possible to refer to those in private life as ἰδιῶται with-
out implying boorishness, but only when the context demanded this more
technical sense. Dio Chrysostom, for example, spoke of ἰδιῶται—by which,

104. For numerous examples, see LSJ s.v., I, II; MM 299. Also Josephus, A.J. 5.344;
9.227; B.J. 4.602.
105. E.g., Plato, Symp. 185B; Herodotus, Hist. 1.59.1; Lysias, Call. 5.3 (οὔτ᾿ ἰδιώτης
… οὔτε ἄρχων); Josephus, A.J. 3.332; 8.24; 19.213; Lucian, Vit. auct. 10.3; Aristides, Or.
2.189, 195.
106. For varied examples, see BDAG s.v; LSJ, s.v., III.1. Note also Paul’s use of the
word to refer to the uninitiated in 1 Cor 14:16, 23, 24.
107. LSJ s.v., II.2. See esp. Plutarch, Thes. 24.2 (τῶν μὲν ἰδιωτῶν καὶ πενήτων … τοῖς
δὲ δυνατοῖς); Herodotus, Hist. 1.32.1; Herodian, Excess. div. Marc. 4.10.2; Josephus, B.J.
6.300; Lucian, Dom. 3.
108. So also Gregory of Nazianzus, Ep. 51.4; Sextus Empiricus, Math. 1.155; Phi-
lostratus, Vit. Apoll. 3.43 (σοφὸς μὲν … δόξειν ἐξ ἰδιώτου τε καὶ ἀσόφου, πεπαιδευμένος δὲ
ἐκ βαρβάρου). Cf. Origen, Cels. 7.41 (PG 11:1480).
109. So also Didymus, Fr. 2 Cor. 4.7 (Staab 25); Theophilus, Autol. 2.35; John
Chrysostom, Hom. Gen. 28.3 (PG 53:258).
 ΙΔΙΩΤΗΣ ΤΩ ΛΟΓΩ 291

in this context, he simply meant individuals as opposed to πόλεις (see LSJ

s.v., I)—who possessed good breeding and education (Nicom. 29). But it
is only the clarity of Dio’s antithetical construction that, in this instance,
activates a nonderogatory signification.110 When the context of its usage
does not specify such an opposition, the word consistently implies low
social status and the vulgarity assumed to attend it.111
It is misleading, then, to adduce texts like Isocrates’s Antidosis, in
which he characterizes trained but nonpracticing orators as ἰδιῶται, as par-
allels for Paul’s usage.112 Isocrates differentiates those who retire into pri-
vate life (ἰδιώτας ἀπαλλαττομένους) from those who pursue careers in dec-
lamation or forensic rhetoric (ἀγωνιστὰς γιγνομένους [201]; cf. ἰδιωτεύειν
ἐβουλήθησαν [204]). The context here leaves no room for doubt regarding
in which sense these men are ἰδιῶται: they are, to borrow a phrase from
Dionysius of Halicarnassus, ἰδιώτην βίον ζῆν (Ant. rom. 5.5.3; cf. Isocrates,
Soph. 14). Nevertheless it would be an affront to their sophistication to
refer to them as ἰδιῶται τῷ λόγῳ.113
In addition to demanding an unlikely rendering of the word ἰδιώτης
here, the “nonprofessional” interpretation makes no sense in the imme-
diate context. This is an antithetical construction—“but not [an ἰδιώτης]
with respect to knowledge,” Paul insists—and it will not do to interpret the
first half of the antithesis in a way that renders the second half incoherent.
Whatever Paul means by saying that he is not an ἰδιώτης τῇ γνώσει, he is

110. Cf. Dio Chrysostom, Regn. 12; Aristides, Or. 1.311; 11.17. Likewise, Dio-
nysius of Halicarnassus, Dem. 56, differentiating between speeches that concern pri-
vate vs. public interests; Epictetus, Diatr. 3.15.13 (φιλοσόφον στάσιν ἔχειν ἢ ἰδιώτου);
3.16; 3.19.
111. See also LSJ, s.v. ἰδιωτεία, ἰδιωτεύω, ἰδιωτικός, ἰδιῶτις, and ἰδιωτισμός.
112. Cf. Martin, The Corinthian Body, 48; Pogoloff, Logos and Sophia, 149; Winter,
Philo and Paul, 224–25; Peterson, Eloquence and the Proclamation of the Gospel, 109.
113. Bruce Winter also cites Philo, Agr. 160 as evidence that the ἰδιῶται could
“include not only students of rhetoric, but also those who have graduated from such
schools” (Philo and Paul, 102). What Winter fails to see is that Philo’s use of the word
ἰδιώτης here derives from an extended military metaphor wherein sophists are expe-
rienced, professional soldiers (ἐμπειροπόλεμοι) while their would-be combatants are
civilians or private recruits (ἰδιῶται). For ἰδιῶται as civilians (vs. soldiers), see Xeno-
phon, Eq. mag. 8.1; and, as privates (vs. men of military rank), P.Hamb. I 26.11 (BGU
X 1958); P.Hib. I 30.12; I 89.2; Xenophon, Anab. 1.3.11; Polybius, Hist. 1.69.11. Thus
Philo’s usage tells us nothing about the rhetorical knowledge of an ἰδιώτης τῷ λόγῳ.
292 RETHINKING PAUL’S RHETORICAL EDUCATION

not claiming to be a professional γνῶσις practitioner. What Paul insists on

here is not that he has made a career out of γνῶσις, but that he possesses it.
Two further considerations tell against the reading of Martin et alia.
First, it demands a more specific signification for λόγος than the context
allows. The word may occasionally mean “rhetoric,” but that is hardly its
usual sense. In order to translate it as such, we should need some contex-
tual indication that Paul means something more specific than “speech.” In
this case, there is no such evidence; there is only the recent habit of reading
the text through the lens of ancient rhetorical theory. I have demonstrated
above the inappropriateness of such a reading.
Second, this interpretation of Paul’s concession fails to account for
these scholars’ own reading of 2 Cor 10:10, where Paul cites the specific
accusation to which he is usually thought to be responding in 11:6. Paul’s
rivals do not accuse him of being, like Isocrates’s students, a well-trained
orator living a private life; they characterize his rhetorical delivery—at
least according to these scholars—as despicable (ὁ λόγος ἐξουθενημένος).
According to these scholars’ own claims, then, the terms of the dispute
have already been established such that an admission that one is an
ἰδιώτης τῷ λόγῳ is necessarily a concession of ineloquence, even rudeness
of speech.114
Indeed, given the pattern of usage elucidated above, translations
like “layman” and “untrained” fail to capture the full connotations of the
phrase. If Paul were merely conceding that he was untrained, normal
usage would require an objective genitive here in place of his dative of
reference.115 Rather, what Paul concedes is that he is an ἰδιώτης—a boor, a
plebian, an “ignoramus” (LSJ s.v., III.3)—with regard to speech. His use of
the language, he cannot deny, is uncultured and unrefined.
A particularly illuminating glimpse into the characteristics associated
with such λόγος ἰδιωτικός is afforded by Sextus Empiricus. Sextus digresses
to consider Dionyius Thrax’s definition of grammar as “expertness in the
language of poets and composers” (Math. 1.63 [Bury, LCL]). He notices a
contradiction here, for this definition restricts the grammarian to learned
language, yet, in practice, grammarians often enough take aim at the
common usage of τῶν ἰδιωτῶν καὶ ἀνεπιστημόνων (1.64). And notice what

114. The objection holds on my own preferred reading of 2 Cor 10:10 also, since
we have evidence elsewhere that the manner of Paul’s proclamation was under cri-
tique—on which see ch. 2 above.
115. See LSJ s.v., III.2. Cf. Plato, Prot. 345A; Xenophon, Oec. 3.9.
 ΙΔΙΩΤΗΣ ΤΩ ΛΟΓΩ 293

such grammatical activity involves: καὶ τὸ βάρβαρον καὶ τὸ ῾Ελληνικὸν τό

τε σόλοικον καὶ τὸ μὴ τοιοῦτον ἐξελέγχουσαν. In other words, the ἰδιῶται are
those who, precisely by speaking vulgarly, generate an ample store of raw
material for pedantic grammatical analysis.116
Our image of the ancient plebs and their defective Umgangsprache is
enriched later in the treatise, when Sextus goes on to describe the useful-
ness of graciously adjusting one’s vocabulary so as to avoid ridicule from
one’s audience:

Aiming at propriety and clearness and the avoidance of ridicule from

our serving lads and ordinary folk (τῶν διακονούντων ἡμῖν παιδαρίων καὶ
ἰδιωτῶν),117 we shall use the [term] πανάριον (even if it is barbarous), not
ἀρτοφορίς … And again, in serious discussion, having regard to the com-
pany present, we shall put aside commonplace phrases (ἰδιωτικὰς λέξεις)
and pursue after a more refined (ἀστειοτέραν) and cultured (φιλολόγον)
manner of speech. (Meth. 1.234–235 [Bury, LCL])

In the discursive gap that separates slaves and aristocracy, the ἰδιῶται,
apparently, belong with the slaves, speaking in language unfit for serious
discussion.118

116. For his part, Dionysius of Halicarnassus insists that composition that resem-
bles the prose of the ἰδιώτης—he specifies the ἀδολέσχης (“prater”) and the φλύαρος
(“babbler”)—is unworthy of critical attention (Comp. 26).
117. In his Teubner edition, J. Mau brackets καὶ ἰδιωτῶν here, referencing an
emendation suggested by Richard Harder. More recently, Harder’s proposed emenda-
tion has been rejected by D. L. Blank (Sextus Empiricus, Against the Grammarians
[Clarendon Later Ancient Philosophers; Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1998], 47
n. 49). For our purposes, the question is immaterial: the following sentence makes
clear that Sextus does, in any case, associate ἰδιωτικὰς λέξεις with the speech of
“serving lads” et al.
118. Sextus concludes with a remark that should invite us to rethink recent
interpretation of 1 Cor 2:1–5: ὡς γὰρ ἡ φιλολόγος γελᾶται παρὰ τοῖς ἰδιώταις, οὕτως ἡ
ἰδιωτικὴ παρὰ τοῖς φιλολόγοις (Math. 1.235). Notice that what is attested here is nei-
ther a “rhetorical [disavowal] of rhetorical activity” (Martin, Corinthian Body, 49), nor
philosophical disapproval thereof (Betz, “Rhetoric and Theology,” 137–52). Rather, it
appears that in antiquity, as today, the non-elite were able to take paradoxical satisfac-
tion precisely in what was, from an elite perspective, their deficiency. Indeed, it does
not take a philosopher to be dismissive of elite speech. Cf. William Labov, Sociolinguis-
tic Patterns (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 1972), 311–13; and, more
generally, Pierre Bourdieu, Distinction: A Social Critique of the Judgement of Taste
(trans. Richard Nice; Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1984), 193–200.
294 RETHINKING PAUL’S RHETORICAL EDUCATION

To sum up, then, when Paul concedes that he is an ἰδιώτης τῷ λόγῳ, he

is not merely admitting that he is a nonprofessional orator, or even that he
lacks rhetorical education, although certainly that can be inferred. What
he is admitting is, rather, that his speech locates him among those liable
to be deemed ταπεινός (10:1) and ἀσθενής (10:10). His is an abject voice,
and, I submit, the drama of 2 Cor 10–13 derives from his vehement and
sometimes vulgar attempt to refigure his degradation into a mark of status
and authority—or, more specifically, into a representation of the crucified
yet powerful body of Christ (12:9–10; 13:3–4).

Envy and Foolishness: The Social Locations of Self-Praise

As demonstrated in detail in chapter 4 above, the idea that Plutarch’s De

laude ipsius provides us with an inventory of the rhetorical precepts that
shaped Paul’s boasting derives from a misreading both of Paul and of Plu-
tarch and cannot be sustained. However, that does not render comparison
of the two unfruitful. On the contrary, as was noted repeatedly, De laude
ipsius provides a telling contrast with Paul’s boasting, as it appears to be
predicated on a very different set of values and social assumptions. These
differences, I will suggest here, can be distilled into a single opposition:
whereas Plutarch is concerned with the social consequences of envy, Paul
is worried about being derided as a fool. Further, this distinction attests
to two different social realities inhabited by Plutarch and Paul: Plutarch’s
concerns presuppose the constraints of an aristocratic social milieu; Paul’s
attest to his marginality, and the tenuousness of his claim to status.
For his part, Plutarch is negotiating a fundamental tension inherent in
his social and political reality, what Ian Rutherford describes as “a prob-
lem of decorum created by a conflict between the social pressure to assert
oneself in public and the social criticism of excessive assertiveness.”119 In
other words, everyone wants honor, and everyone is reluctant to grant too
much of it to others. This dynamic is most explicit in Plutarch’s description
of how hearing the praise of others begets self-praise. The passage is worth
reproducing in full:

First, when others are praised, our rivalry (φιλότιμον) erupts, as we said,
into praise of self (περιαυτολογίαν); it is seized with a certain barely con-
trollable yearning and urge for glory (ὁρμὴ πρὸς δόξαν) that stings and

119. Rutherford, “Poetics of the Paraphthegma,” 201.

 ΙΔΙΩΤΗΣ ΤΩ ΛΟΓΩ 295

tickles like an itch, especially when the other is praised for something
in which he is our equal or inferior. For just as in the hungry the sight
of others eating makes the appetite sharper and keener, so the praise of
others not far removed inflames with jealousy (ζηλοτυπίᾳ) those who are
intemperate in seeking glory. (546C–D [De Lacy and Einarson, LCL];
cf. 540A–C)120

Elsewhere in the tractate Plutarch’s descriptions of the negative effects

of unseemly self-praise tend to mystify this social tension. His terminol-
ogy is diverse, but generally revolves around two corporeal symbols: dis-
gust and burden-bearing. Unmitigated self-praise is heavy, burdensome,
and oppressive (ἐπαχθής [539A; 541B; 541D; 543F; 547A; 547D]; φορτικός
[539B; 547A]; βαρύς [547D; cf. 542F; 543E]; cf. ἄχθομαι [539D; 542C]);121
moreover, it is nauseating (ἀηδής [547D]; cf. ἀηδία [539B; 539C]) and it
disgusts us (δυσχεραίνομεν [539D; cf. 540A]). This is not very perspicuous,
but what all of this body language seems to effect is the elevation of Plu-
tarch’s socially constructed conception of decorum to the level of a natural
aversion: when we encounter self-praise, we feel discomfort in our guts—
“as if by nature” (ὥσπερ φύσει), as Plutarch has it (547D; cf. Demosthenes,
Cor. 3).122
Like most arguments from nature, Plutarch’s serves his larger interest
in preserving stability and social order.123 The point here is that restraint
from self-praise—and restraint of ambition generally (cf. Praec. ger. rei
pub. 809C; 819F–820B)—attenuates the envy and rivalry that always

120. On Plutarch’s conception of the relationship between envy and the search
for honor, see also Inv. od. 537B. On Plutarch’s Platonic understanding of the passions
more generally, see esp. Virt. mor. and Duff, Plutarch’s Lives, 72–98.
121. Plutarch’s vocabulary here is not unique. Laurant Pernot identifies in discus-
sions of self-praise “une série de termes, toujours les mêmes” that depict the burden-
some experience of enduring another’s boasting: ἐπαχθής, φορτικός, ἐπίφθονος (“Peri-
autologia,” 107).
122. Cf. Fields, “Aristides and Plutarch on Self-Praise,” 156–57. Note also Plu-
tarch’s use of the constraining language of shame: It is seemly to be embarrassed
(αἰδεῖσθαι προσῆκον) even when others praise us, hence boasters are derided as “shame-
less” (ἀναισχύντους [539D]). Cf. 547B: δεῖ γὰρ ἐρυθριᾶν ἐπαινούμενον.
123. So ibid., 157–60. On the political context which lends this task particular
urgency—that of an aristocrat in the Greek East under Rome—see Simon Swain, Hel-
lenism and Empire: Language, Classicism, and Power in the Greek World, AD 50–250
(Oxford: Clarendon, 1996), 135–86.
296 RETHINKING PAUL’S RHETORICAL EDUCATION

threaten to disrupt a harmonious society.124 In short, self-praise is a prob-

lem because it incites envy; the solution is decorous modesty.
Hence when Plutarch approves a particular occasion as appropriate
for self-praise, it is almost invariably the unlikelihood that boasting in
such a situation will arouse envy that provides his rationale. When one is
speaking in answer to an accusation, Plutarch notes that bold self-defense,
in its refusal to be humiliated, “humbles and overpowers envy” (540D [De
Lacy and Einarson, LCL]). Likewise, when one boasts in the midst of hard-
ship, the boaster’s peril removes all thought of envy (ἀφῄρει τὸν φθόνον ὁ
κίνδυνος [541A]). Blending praise of one’s audience with praise of oneself
makes self-praise unlikely to incite envy (ἀνεπίφθονος) since the audience
is allowed to take some credit for the great deeds that are recited (542B–C).
Further, statesmen can remove φθόνος by praising fortune or the gods—
the logic being that people “would rather be bested by luck than by merit”
(542F). Conspicuous rejection of flattery from others makes room for inof-
fensive self-praise, since ὁ φθόνος οὐκ ἀηδῶς τῷ τὰ μείζονα παραιτουμένῳ
τὰ μετριώτερα δίδωσι (543D). Finally, envy can be averted by confession of
minor shortcomings (544B). For good reason, then, the work is entitled
Περὶ τοῦ ἑαυτὸν ἐπαινεῖν ἀνεπιφθόνως—or, as Dana Fields paraphrases: “On
praising oneself without engendering the odium that accompanies too-
eminent success.”125
Again, then, it is profoundly misleading to speak as if Plutarch were
reiterating abstract rhetorical rules, enumerating the occasions when, in
ancient society, boasting was “permissible.”126 Instead, his recommenda-
tions—and they are but a single take on the matter127—derive from social
observation. Tautologous as it might sound, self-praise is acceptable when
it is well received, that is, when it arouses emulation rather than envy—

124. See esp. Dimos Spatharas, “Self-Praise and Envy: From Rhetoric to the Athe-
nian Courts,” Arethusa 44 (2011): 199–219.
125. Fields, “Aristides and Plutarch on Self-Praise,” 159.
126. Watson, “Paul’s Boasting in 2 Corinthians 10–13,” 270; cf. Betz, Der Apostel
Paulus und die sokratische Tradition, 78.
127. For example, Plutarch and Quintilian disagree outright regarding the
appropriateness of Cicero’s self-praise (De laude 541A; Inst. 11.1.17–18), and differ-
ent perspectives altogether are evidenced by Aristides and Pliny, e.g., both of whom
are rather more forthright about their own virtues than Plutarch would countenance.
See Fields, “Aristides and Plutarch on Self-Praise,” 160–72; Rutherford, “Poetics of the
Paraphthegma”; Gibson, “(In)offensive Self-Praise.”
 ΙΔΙΩΤΗΣ ΤΩ ΛΟΓΩ 297

and Plutarch’s keen analysis into the workings of envy enables him to give
a sound estimate of when that might be.
Plutarch’s emphasis on the dangerous nexus of self-praise and envy is
not novel. In Plato’s Phaedo, Socrates, having been praised for undertaking
a brilliant argument, demurred, attentive to the possibility that such speech
should arouse an evil eye (βασκανία [95B]). As noted above, Aristotle too
recognized the proclivity of speaking about oneself (περὶ αὐτοῦ λέγειν) to
perpetuate envious rivalry (ἐπίφθονος [Rhet. 3.17.16]). The same sensitivity
is evident in the Homeric scholia: in book 18 of the Iliad, Achilles avers
that no Achaean is his equal in the art of war, yet concedes that others
perform better in council (18.105–106). One ancient commentator notes
that by divvying up the praise thus Achilles steers clear of envy (τῷ διελεῖν
τὸν ἔπαινον ἀπελύσατο τὸν φθόνον [schol. T. Il. 18:105–106a]).128 Finally,
Isocrates remarks, at the outset of his Antidosis, that he has adopted the
form of a fictional defense speech because if he were to have undertaken
his own encomium (εἰ … ἐπαινεῖν ἐμαυτὸν ἐπιχειροίην) he could not have
avoided arousing displeasure and envy (οὔτ᾿ ἐπιχαρίτως οὐδ᾿ ἀνεπιφθόνως
εἰπεῖν … δυνησόμενος [8]).129
Evidently, the recognition that self-praise had a dangerous tendency to
incite envy was widespread. It is striking, then, that this concern is entirely
lacking from Paul’s expressions of hesitancy to boast.130 What worries Paul
is the possibility not that he will be envied but that he will appear to be
a fool—an evaluation he repeatedly seeks to preempt by using a series of
disclaimers (2 Cor 11:1, 16–17, 21, 12:6, 11). How are we to account for
this difference in perspective?
For Ulrich Heckel, the explanation for Paul’s concern with foolish-
ness is his dependence on “the Jewish wisdom tradition,” in which “the
fool” (ἄφρων) is the principal antagonist.131 Foolishness, Heckel concludes,
thus consists in “Gegensatz zum Herrn,” and Paul manifests it—though

128. See further Fish, “Giving Credit Where Credit is Due,” 470–72.
129. See also Demosthenes, Ep. 2.4, 24; Pliny, Ep. 1.8.5–6; 9.23.5–6; Thucydides
2.35.2; Pindar, Pyth. 1.81–85.
130. The closest Paul comes is a single mention of jealousy (11:2), but here he
is describing his own “righteous zeal” (ζηλῶ γὰρ ὑμᾶς θεοῦ ζήλῳ) for the Corinthians
(11:2) which has been aroused by his rivals’ intrusion. There is no connection to self-
praise. Cf. 11:12, where there is perhaps recognition that envy leads to boasting, but
no sensitivity to the inverse possibility.
131. Heckel, Kraft in Schwachheit, 194–202.
298 RETHINKING PAUL’S RHETORICAL EDUCATION

only in parody of his opponents—by boasting in 11:16–12:10 accord-

ing to “äußerlich-weltlichen Maßstäben.”132 The trouble here is that it is
Heckel’s theology, not anything in the texts themselves, that provides the
link between Paul’s foolishness and the wisdom tradition. Though the fool
of the Proverbs is often characterized as loud and brash,133 there is not
much talk of boastfulness (only Sir 20:7), and nothing at all about pride in
one’s own äußerlich-weltlichen accomplishments. Moreover, there is noth-
ing in 2 Cor 10–13 that brings to mind that willful rejection of God that
is, as Heckel correctly notes, fundamental to the characterization of the
fool in Psalms 13 and 52 lxx.134 Only if we ourselves provide the middle
term—namely, the theological conviction that pride in one’s own accom-
plishments is rejection of God—can we link Paul’s foolishness with the
wisdom tradition.
To appreciate the significance of Paul’s concern with foolishness rather
than envy, we must look, I suggest, not to a particular theological—or dra-
maturgical135—tradition, but rather to two different mechanisms of social
control by which any number of groups seek to restrain the disruptive self-
assertion of their individual members. Here Quintilian provides us with a
helpful starting point, describing the varied responses of an audience to
one who boasts:

There is ever in the mind of man a certain element of lofty and unbend-
ing pride that will not brook superiority: and for this reason we take
delight in raising the humble and submissive to their feet, since such an
act gives us a consciousness of our superiority, and as soon as all sense
of rivalry disappears, its place is taken by a feeling of humanity. But the
man who exalts himself beyond reason is looked upon as depreciating
and showing a contempt for others and as making them seem small
rather than himself seem great. As a result, those who are beneath him

132. Ibid., 194, 202: “opposition to the Lord … external-worldly standards.” Thus
Heckel sees two different kinds of boasting here, boasting “in the Lord” in ch. 10,
and foolish boasting in the Narrenrede (p. 202). Cf. Travis, “Paul’s Boasting,” 529, who
thinks that with the “fool’s speech” Paul deliberately crosses the line from Hebrew
“boasting in the Lord” to Greek rhetorical performance—though, again, only as a
parody.
133. See Prov 9:13; 12:23; 15:2; 18:6–7, 13; 20:3; 29:11, 20; Eccl 5:3; 10:13–14.
134. Heckel, Kraft in Schwachheit, 196.
135. On Windisch’s suggestion that Paul’s foolishness derives from his imitation
of the Greek mime, see the discussion beginning in the first section of ch. 6 above.
 ΙΔΙΩΤΗΣ ΤΩ ΛΟΓΩ 299

feel a grudge (invident) against him (for those who are unwilling to yield
and yet have not the strength to hold their own are always liable to this
failing), while his superiors laugh at him and the good disapprove. (Inst.
11.1.16–17 [Butler, LCL])

As Quintilian explains, boasting engenders different responses from dif-

ferent groups within one’s audience, with the significant criterion, appar-
ently, being the hearers’ social status relative to the speaker: his inferiors
envy him (invident humiliores), while his superiors laugh (rident superiores
[Inst. 11.1.17]). What we have here, then, are two different ways of dealing
with an overambitious status claim: Those who aspire to similar status but
find themselves overshadowed by the boaster (qui nec cedere volunt nec
possunt contendere) feel slighted and cannot resist envy. Those whose rec-
ognized status exceeds that of the boaster merely laugh, deriding his claim
to honor by treating it as unworthy of serious response.
Quintilian’s observation accords with Hesiod’s old quip: potter strives
with potter, artisan with artisan; beggar envies beggar and singer singer
(Op. 25–26). Indeed, the notion that envy obtains primarily among rela-
tive equals in status was widespread in the ancient world.136 According to
Aristotle:

The kind of people who feel envy are those who have, or seem to
themselves to have [more fortunate acquaintances among] those like
themselves. I mean those like themselves in terms of birth, relationship,
age, disposition, reputation, possessions, as well as those who just fall
short of having all these on an equal basis. (Rhet. 2.10.1–2 [trans. Ken-
nedy]; cf. 2.10.5–7)

This is Plutarch’s basic assumption too: Envy attaches itself in particu-

lar to those who are increasing in virtue and honor and fame, but only
if they are within range of competitors. The truly resplendent, like Alex-
ander or Cyrus, are immune to envy; they are in a category all their own
(Inv. od. 538A–B). Plutarch uses shadow analogies to explain how this
works: Those who reach the heights of good fortune are like the noontime

136. See Peter Walcot, Envy and the Greeks: A Study of Human Behaviour (Warm-
inster, Eng.: Aris & Phillips, 1978), 11–12; D. L. Cairns, “The Politics of Envy: Envy
and Equality in Ancient Greece,” in Envy, Spite and Jealousy: The Rivalrous Emotions
in Ancient Greece (ed. David Konstan and N. Keith Rutter; Edinburgh Levantis Studies
2; Edinburgh: Edinburgh University Press, 2003), 240 n. 15.
300 RETHINKING PAUL’S RHETORICAL EDUCATION

sun—they shine from far above our head and thus cast hardly a shadow
(538A–B); the thing that irritates us is dwelling in the shade of our neigh-
bor’s house when it rises above our own (538E).
It is not difficult to transpose this conception of envy onto Plutarch’s
own political milieu: Roman imperial power is ultimately beyond envy,
but rivalry among the local aristocracy is a perpetual threat (cf. Praec.
ger. rei pub. 815A–B; 825E–F). Indeed, Plutarch’s use of the pronoun “we”
throughout De laude ipsius suggests that what concerns him about immod-
erate self-praise is precisely its potential to incite envy among people like
himself—his circle of provincial aristocrats and statesmen137—and thus
disrupt the harmonious status quo.138 Plutarch’s entire discussion, then, is
predicated on particular aristocratic values and indeed presupposes a par-
ticular social location. That is, his “voice” locates him as a man accustomed
to a particular set of social constraints.
Paul’s concern with appearing foolish is remote from Plutarch’s inter-
ests; however, it does recall the response to immoderate boasting that
Quintilian ascribes to a boaster’s superiors, namely, derision. The function
of derision as a response to an inordinate status claim is well illustrated
by Lucian’s account of Peregrinus Proteus. According to Lucian, Peregri-
nus was so eager for fame (Peregr. 38; cf. 1, 2, 4, 8, 20, 22, 42, 43) that he
immolated himself by leaping onto a pyre at the Olympic Games. Lucian’s
one-dimensional diagnosis—φιλόδοξος (38)—tells us more, I suspect,
about Lucian himself than about Peregrinus: perhaps Peregrinus’s action
was misguided, but there really is no reason to suspect that his motives
were insincere.139 In any case, Lucian interpreted his behavior as a status
claim—Peregrinus “[dared] to exalt himself as an authority figure inde-
pendent of the constraints of received culture”140—but not one to be taken
seriously. No, for Lucian, the only appropriate response to the man’s mad-
ness (απόνοια [2]) was laughter: “I think I can see you laughing heartily at
the old man’s drivelling idiocy (ἐπὶ τῇ κορύζῃ τοῦ γέροντος),” Lucian tells
his addressee. “Pray, what else … are we to do when we hear utterances so

137. See Swain, Hellenism and Empire, 135–86.

138. So Fields, “Aristides and Plutarch on Self-Praise,” 159–60.
139. So already Eduard Zeller, “Alexander und Peregrinus: Ein Betrüger und ein
Schwärmer,” in Vorträge und Abhandlungen: Zweite Sammlung (Leipzig: Fues, 1877),
173–74.
140. James A. Francis, Subversive Virtue: Asceticism and Authority in the Second-
Century Pagan World (University Park: Pennsylvania State University Press, 1995), 54.
 ΙΔΙΩΤΗΣ ΤΩ ΛΟΓΩ 301

ridiculous (οὕτω γελοίων ῥήσεων), and see old men all but standing on their
heads in public for the sake of a little despicable notoriety?” (2, 8 [Harmon,
LCL]). This is the behavior of fools and vainglorious men (μωροὺς καὶ
κενοδόξους ἀνθρώπους [25]) and merits only ridicule (34).
Lucian’s strained insistence on the authenticity of his laughter (ἐγέλα
καὶ δῆλος ἦν νειόθεν αὐτὸ δρῶν [7]) makes one suspect that he is, despite
himself, entering into rivalry with Peregrinus for cultural influence and
secretly fighting off envy—an emotion, after all, that no one admits to
feeling (so Plutarch, Inv. od. 537E). Still, he is clearly working from the
assumption that when a status claim is unlikely to get much traction it
can simply be laughed off. Pierre Bourdieu observed the same phenom-
enon among the Kabyle, where boastfulness is routinely met with ridicule:
“ ‘Only dung swells,’ they say.”141
Bourdieu’s related observation has become a commonplace in biblical
studies due to the work of Bruce Malina: “Only a challenge issued (or an
offence caused) by one’s equal in honour deserves to be taken up.… An
affront from an inferior in humanity or honour recoils upon the presump-
tuous person who makes it.”142 But this principle must be modified slightly.
As Zeba Crook recently has demonstrated, “inter-status honor challenges”
did occur in the ancient world; indeed, even the honor of emperors and
gods was vulnerable.143 What finally makes an honor challenge—or,
accordingly, a boast—worthy of a rivalrous response is not, pace Bourdieu
and Quintilian, the antagonist’s relative status per se, but rather the cred-
ibility of the challenge in the eyes of a “public court of reputation”144—and
it just so happens that challenges and boasts from people of inferior status
are seldom credited. An insult or a boast only engenders rivalry if it is per-
ceived to hit close to home; if not, it can be met with laughter and ridicule.
And laughter and ridicule, we should remember, constitute precisely
the sort of treatment to which those deemed “fools” in the ancient world
were susceptible. This is evident above all from the theater, where, as Larry
Welborn explains, the “fool” (μωρός), who represented those in society
most susceptible to derision and abuse, became a stock character:

141. Bourdieu, “Sentiment of Honour,” 198.

142. Ibid., 200; cf. Malina, The New Testament World, 35.
143. Crook, “Honor, Shame, and Social Status Revisited,” 599–604.
144. Cf. Ibid., 609–10.
302 RETHINKING PAUL’S RHETORICAL EDUCATION

The “foolishness” of this social type consisted in a weakness or defi-

ciency of intellect, often coupled with a physical grotesqueness. Because
the concept of the laughable in the Greco-Roman world was grounded
in contemplation of the ugly and defective, those who possessed these
characteristics were deemed to be “foolish.”145

But, of course, the association of foolishness and derision was by no means

limited to the mime. Dionysius of Halicarnassus, for example, reports the
discovery of the Sibylline oracles by telling of a woman who, oddly, burnt
six of the books she had for sale, then came back and tried to sell the
remaining three for the same price she had asked for the whole set. Not
surprisingly, all thought her a fool (ἄφρων) and derided her (γελασθεῖσα
[Rom. ant. 4.62.2]; cf. Cicero, De or. 2.61; Diodorus Siculus 17.101.4–5).
Here the fool is someone who cannot put two and two together
(cf. Diodorus Siculus 12.12.1; 12.14.2; Polybius 33.20; Hesiod, Op. 210),
and thus incites mockery. More relevant to Paul’s usage, perhaps, is the
assumed connection between foolishness and silly babble (cf. Plutarch,
Garr. 510A), and the association of foolishness with groundless boasting
or ἀλαζονεία (Dionysius of Halicarnassus, Ant. rom. 14.9.4; Plutarch, Def.
orac. 419B; Dio Chrysostom, Virt. [Or. 69] 7). Note that it appears not
to be boasting itself that makes one a fool, but rather the making of self-
assertions that one is not able to realize or substantiate (Diodorus Siculus
16.70.2; cf. 2 Cor 12:6). Clearly, then, as Dio Chrysostom’s usage attests,
being considered a fool is a shameful thing indeed (In cont. 16).
Accordingly, it is of great significance for understanding Paul’s hesi-
tant boasting that it is the perception of foolishness that Paul seeks spe-
cifically to preempt (11:1, 16–18; 12:6, 12; cf. 1 Cor 4:10). His status is
apparently tenuous enough that his claim to apostolic authority teeters on
the verge of being derisible. He cannot assume that his status claim will
be taken seriously or confronted head on; he fears that it will simply be
ridiculed, that he will become a laughingstock. Indeed, who insists that

145. L. L. Welborn, Paul, the Fool of Christ: A Study of 1 Corinthians 1-4 in the
Comic-Philosophic Tradition (JSNTSup 293; London: T&T Clark, 2005), 32–33. Wel-
born treats the word μωρός, but the observation is relevant to the ἄφρων as well—
despite his own overdrawn distinction between μωρός as a social term and ἄφρων
as a cognitive one (An End to Enmity, 156–62). In addition to the texts cited below,
for the correlation of foolishness and physical defect, see Plutarch, Lyc. 15.8; Galen,
Quod qual. incorp. 19.479. For the correlation of foolishness and low social status, see
Dionysius of Halicarnassus, Ant. or. 1; Ant. rom. 5.67.1–2.
 ΙΔΙΩΤΗΣ ΤΩ ΛΟΓΩ 303

he is “not inferior” (11:5), except a man who knows that he is liable to be

considered so?
Paul’s sensitivity to this possibility is evident from the way he speaks
of the perceived gap between the authoritative tone of his letters and the
weakness of his personal presence (10:8–11; cf. 10:1–2; 13:2). He will
not be ashamed, he insists, for being excessively boastful of his author-
ity (10:8)—that is, for making status claims that overreach the Corinthi-
ans’ rather belittling estimation of him.146 We tend to miss his reference to
shame here, assuming that what he really means is that he is not apologetic
for boasting,147 but such a reading obscures the social dynamics of the
situation: Paul is being accused of making himself ridiculous, thus he must
defiantly insist that his status claim be taken seriously: “If I wish to boast,
I will not be a fool, for I will be speaking the truth” (12:6).148
This is a voice remote from that of Plutarch, Quintilian, and Dem-
osthenes, and also from that of Red Jacket, who, in keeping with his own
social location as a man accustomed to deference, grounds his self-defense
precisely on his dignified demeanor and thus his immunity to his inter-
locutors’ derisive characterization. Tellingly, we find a closer analogue to
Paul in Elia, who, like Paul, speaks from a place of marginality. Indeed,
although these two speakers make what are in many respects very different
rhetorical moves, their strategies are in one key way alike.
Elia, remember, was asked if she had been afraid of the gringos. No,
not me, she insisted, but you should have seen how scared Atalaina and
the others were. Thus she fends off the threat that she herself will be per-
ceived as a naïf. By internalizing the evaluation of the Europeans, and
laughing through it at her peers, Elia insinuates herself with her inter-
viewer and ensures that she will be laughed with, not laughed at. Clearly,

146. Cf. Arthur J. Dewey, “A Matter of Honor: A Social-Historical Analysis of

2 Corinthians 10,” HTR 78 (1985): 212.
147. So Harris, Second Corinthians, 692; Roetzel, 2 Corinthians, 100; cf. Ragnar
Leivestad, “ ‘The Meekness and Gentleness of Christ’ II Cor. x. 1,” NTS 12 (1966):
164; Barnett, Second Epistle, 473. Garland recognizes the social dynamics at play here
(“shame comes when one exceeds one’s social boundaries”) but is too embedded in
Paul’s own view of his status (“he has certainly not exceeded his”) to notice the impli-
cations (2 Corinthians, 443).
148. See also 2 Cor 7:14, where the fact that Paul’s boasting in Titus has been
shown to be truthful prevents him from being shamed, and 9:3, where the possibility
that Paul’s boasting in the Corinthians should prove empty creates the potential for
his humiliation.
304 RETHINKING PAUL’S RHETORICAL EDUCATION

in the particular social space constituted by this interaction, it is her

European interviewer who possesses symbolic capital and thus whose
evaluative perspective is decisive. Elia occupies a subaltern position, and,
in this context, exercises control over her identity only to the extent that
she is able to inhabit and then to manipulate this European perspective.
Paul’s relationship with his addressees is assuredly quite different;
still, like Elia, he knows that he is susceptible to ridicule, and he appar-
ently occupies a marginal position. Indeed, according to the dominant
evaluative perspective—that is, the common sense that governs the social
space of the Corinthian community—Paul is ἀσθενής and ταπεινός. Like
Elia, then, in order to get any traction, he must inhabit and then seek to
manipulate that dominant perspective. For Paul, this involves a rather tor-
tured admission of weakness, then an attempt to refigure that weakness
as a mark of divine strength. In short, he seeks to resolve his ambivalent
status by making a virtue of necessity.

Boasting in Weakness

It is surely an indicator of the inadequacy of the underlying interpre-

tive approach that Paul’s boasting in 2 Cor 10–13 has, by various recent
scholars, been considered both a sincere attempt at a peristasis catalogue
and a parody of (self-)encomiastic conventions. In fact, neither proposal
does a very good job of explaining the peculiarities of this text.
The latter reading can be traced to the work of Anton Fridrichsen,
who, positing formal parallels between Paul’s boasting in 2 Cor 11 and
Augustus’s Res gestae, concluded:

Wenn der Apostel trotz dieser christlichen Grundstimmung des Mar-

tyriums und der Schwäche sich dem Stil der Ruhmeschronik anschließt,
zeugt das von einer gewissen Spannung in seinem Wesen zwischen
menschlichem Selbstbewußtsein und christlicher Selbstentäußerung;
einer Spannung, die in der paradoxalen Diskrepanz zwischen Form und
Inhalt des Peristasenkatalogs hervorbricht.149

149. Anton Fridrichsen, “Zum Stil des paulinischen Peristasenkatalogs 2 Cor. 11,
23ff.,” SO 7 (1928): 29: “That the apostle, despite this Christian sentiment of martyr-
dom and weakness, follows the style of the chronicle of glorious deeds testifies to a
certain tension in his character between human self-confidence and Christian self-
renunciation—a tension that erupts through the paradoxical discrepancy between the
form and content of the hardship catalogue.”
 ΙΔΙΩΤΗΣ ΤΩ ΛΟΓΩ 305

If, for Fridrichsen himself, formal comparison with the Ruhme-

schronik highlighted the tension both in the text and in the one who wrote
it, subsequent interpreters, building on his work, have resolved this ten-
sion by suggesting that Paul uses the form only for the purposes of parody.
In any case, the stylistic parallels noted by Fridrichsen are insufficient to
suggest formal imitation, amounting, essentially, to the use of the first-
person aorist, repeated use of πολλάκις, and enumeration of deeds. These
are hardly unique to the Res gestae.150 Moreover, the isolated similarities
Fridrichsen identifies occur in the context of texts that are, on the whole,
hardly comparable.151 If Paul was attempting to pillory the sort of self-
display the Res gestae represent, he seems to have missed his target.
The fundamental problem with the former explanation is perhaps
best summarized by Scott Andrews: In contrast to what we should expect
on the basis of John Fitzgerald’s discussion of the meaning of peristaseis
for the ancient sage, “the apostle boasts of hardships that reveal his weak
status and not of the fact that he has overcome or endured the hardships.”152
Indeed, Paul says this explicitly: τὰ τῆς ἀσθενείας μου καυχήσομαι (11:30).

150. See Fitzgerald, Cracks in an Earthen Vessel, 19–20.

151. The sentences cited by Fridrichsen that, stylistically, have the most in common
with 2 Cor 11:23–28 are these: Δὶς ἐπὶ κέλητος ἐθριάμβευσα, τρὶς ἐφ᾿ ἅρματος. Εἰκοσάκις
καὶ ἅπαξ προσηγορεύθην αὐτοκράτωρ (Res. gest. divi. Aug. 4 [2.9–10]). This does, indeed,
look rather like Paul’s enumeration of his beatings: ὑπὸ ᾿Ιουδιάων πεντάκις τεσσεράκοντα
παρὰ μίαν ἔλαβον, τρὶς ἐραβδίσθην, ἅπαξ ἐλιθάσθην, τρὶς ἐναυάγησα (vv. 24–25). But, as
one reads on, all stylistic similarities cease: “Although the Senate decreed me addi-
tional triumphs I set them aside. When I had performed the vows which I had under-
taken in each war, I deposited upon the Capitol the laurels which had adorned my
fasces” (4 [2.10–14; Shipley, LCL]). And so on. Unfortunately for Fridrichsen’s thesis,
it is this latter sort of prose, devoid of the rhythmic qualities that characterize Paul’s
catalogue, that predominates in the Res gestae. An unsympathetic reader might accuse
the Emperor of droning on, an accusation that Paul’s catalogue would hardly incite.
F. W. Shipley characterizes Augustus’s style as one of “studied simplicity”: “There is no
attempt at literary embellishment.… The superlative is purposefully avoided, and there
is also an absence of the usual descriptive adjectives and adverbs” (Velleius Paterculus,
Compendium of Roman History; Res gestae divi Augusti [LCL; London: Heinemann,
1924], 336). This sort of style is difficult to reconcile with Paul’s overwrought descrip-
tions (νυχθήμερον ἐν τῷ βυθῷ [11:25]; ἐν λιμῷ καὶ δίψει [11:27]) and hyperbolic adverbs
(περισσοτέρως … περισσοτέρως … ὑπερβαλλόντως [11:23]).
152. Andrews, “Too Weak Not to Lead,” 272. Cf. Fitzgerald, Cracks in an Earthen
Vessel, 203–4.
306 RETHINKING PAUL’S RHETORICAL EDUCATION

The importance of Andrews’s distinction is clear from what Aelius

Theon has to say about hardships in his discussion of encomia (Progymn.
9 [RG 2:111–112]). Theon adheres to the view, emphasized by Fitzgerald,
that “virtue shines brightest in misfortunes” (trans. Kennedy).153 But notice
what sort of rhetorical use of hardships he recommends: “One should say
that he was not brought low by his misfortunes (ἀτυχῶν ταπεινὸς οὐκ ἦν)
nor unjust in poverty nor servile (ἀνδραποδώδης) when in want.”154 Clearly,
what was considered praiseworthy among Theon’s ilk was not undergoing
hardships per se but enduring them with one’s head held high.155 Indeed,
as Andrews correctly insists, whereas endurance of hardship could be
adduced as evidence of ἀνδρεία or constantia, succumbing to difficulty was
simply humiliating.156
The ignominy of Paul’s self-presentation is particularly evident from
his willingness to boast of his beatings. As Jennifer Glancy has shown,
the ancients were keenly aware of the difference between honorable war
wounds and the humiliating scars of corporal punishment.157 Whereas
one could unveil one’s battle-scarred chest as attestation of martial valor,158
uncovering a back marred by whips and rods was an admission of servile
status;159 for, in the moral logic of antiquity, “dishonorable bodies were
whippable; honorable bodies were not.”160 Therefore, as Glancy insists, “in
boasting of beatings, Paul boasts not of his ἀνδρεία but of his humiliating
corporal vulnerability.”161 So, although Paul might insist that his weak-
ness means something different from what the Corinthians think it means,

153. See Fitzgerald, Cracks in an Earthen Vessel, 42–44.

154. See also Plutarch, De laude 544B–C and the discussion in ch. 4 above.
155. See esp. Fitzgerald, Cracks in an Earthen Vessel, 59–65; Stephen D. Moore
and Janice Capel Anderson, “Taking It like a Man: Masculinity in 4 Maccabees,” JBL
117 (1998): 249–73.
156. Andrews, “Too Weak Not to Lead,” 268–69.
157. Glancy, “Boasting of Beatings.” Cf. Marshall, Enmity in Corinth, 363 n. 83.
158. Cf. Livy 45.39.16; Xenophon, Ages. 6.2; Sallust, Bell. Jug. 85.29–30; Quin-
tilian, Inst. 2.15.7. See further Matthew Leigh, “Wounding and Popular Rhetoric at
Rome,” Bulletin of the Institute of Classical Studies 40 (1995): 192–215.
159. Cf. Philo, Flacc. 10.75; Aelian, Var. hist. 12.21; Livy 2.23.4–7. See further Jon-
athan Walters, “Invading the Roman Body: Manliness and Impenetrability in Roman
Thought,” in Roman Sexualities (ed. Judith P. Hallett and Marilyn B. Skinner; Princ-
eton, N.J.: Princeton University Press, 1997), 29–43.
160. Glancy, “Boasting of Beatings,” 109.
161. Ibid., 101.
 ΙΔΙΩΤΗΣ ΤΩ ΛΟΓΩ 307

nevertheless this sort of self-presentation has little in common with the

Stoic values Fitzgerald has described.162
But Paul’s self-confessed ἀσθένεια does not only constitute a failure to
live up to the standards of the austere Stoics; it represents a more funda-
mental deficiency as well: Paul’s “weakness” signifies his inability to act as
befits a freeborn man—specifically, to possess ἀνδρεία and autonomy.163 In
Greco-Roman antiquity, as Jennifer Larson explains, “masculinity was all
but identified with social and political dominance”—that is to say, with
power.164 Clement of Alexandria pithily expresses what was the conven-
tional view on the distinction between the genders: It is given to man to act
(τὸ δρᾶν), to woman to be acted upon (τὸ πάσχειν [Paed. 3.3.19.2; cf. Philo,
QE 1.8]). Slaves were tossed in with latter.165 Thus Paul’s weakness—that
is, precisely his inability to act or to dominate—was not something about
which a self-respecting freeborn man would boast.
Of all the possible explanations for Paul’s failure to conform to such
expectations, the one least often considered is that Paul was, in fact, no
self-respecting freeborn man. But it is precisely when we make this inter-
pretive move—that is, when we recognize that Paul’s voice comes not from
a body accustomed to mastery and autonomy but rather from a body that
bears the scars of subjugation—that we are in a position to make sense of
this text. The voice that speaks here is abject yet defiant, and presents us
with what can only be considered a shameless spectacle of persuasion.
Plutarch speaks admiringly of those noble unfortunates who, like the
Stoics discussed by Fitzgerald, brave adversity without resort to piteous
appeals or self-abasement (φεύγειν ὅλως τὸ ἐλεεινὸν καὶ συνεπιθρηνοῦν τοῖς
ἀβουλήτοις καὶ ταπεινούμενον [De laude 541A]). What is interesting about
this comment is that it presupposes that self-abasement is in fact a tempt-
ing rhetorical move, which is why a self-respecting freeborn man must
steel himself and flee it. But for someone without such scruples—some-

162. Fitzgerald himself is aware of the tension here, though he fails to see its
extensive implications for his interpretive proposal. See esp. “Cracks in an Earthen
Vessel,” 387 n. 267.
163. For shameful ἀσθένεια contrasted with virtuous and honorable ἀνδρεία, see
Plutarch, Cor. 15.5; Menander Rhetor, RG 3:379; Athanasius, C. Gent. 16.5. Cf. 1 Cor
16:13; 1 Pet 3:7; 2 Tim 3:6.
164. Larson, “Paul’s Masculinity,” 86; see also Moore and Anderson, “Taking It
like a Man,” 250; Harrill, “Invective against Paul,” 191.
165. See Harrill, “Invective against Paul,” 192–201; Larson, “Paul’s Masculinity,”
92–94; Moore and Anderson, “Taking It like a Man,” 262.
308 RETHINKING PAUL’S RHETORICAL EDUCATION

one, for example, for whom it is more important that his master stop whip-
ping him than that he appear to possess ἀνδρεία—self-abasement might be
an attractive means of persuasion indeed. Here, I submit, we begin to hear
Paul’s voice.
 Conclusion
“Where Is the Voice Coming From?”

When I began this project, I expected part 2 to be considerably shorter. I

had done enough work with speakers like Red Jacket and Elia to know, as
demonstrated in chapter 10, that many of the rhetorical figures attributed
to Paul could securely be placed in the realm of “general rhetoric.” But
what I did not expect was to find that much of the alleged correspondence
between Paul and the theorists and practitioners of formal Greco-Roman
rhetoric would turn out to be unsubstantiated and illusory. I did not expect
to find blatant but pervasive misreadings of the ancient rhetorical sources,
not to mention of 2 Cor 10–13, or recently invented termini technici being
used as if they designated ancient rhetorical concepts.
So we have spent much more time than I anticipated clearing away the
overgrowth, as it were, of a methodology that seems to have taken on a life
of its own. Apparently, once elevated to the level of one of New Testament
scholarship’s many “criticisms,” rhetorical criticism has quickly morphed
from scholarly query to methodological presupposition, and, accordingly,
much recent scholarship has approached our text having already decided
that the ancient rhetorical sources constitute the lens through which Pau-
line persuasion should be analyzed. As part 2 of this study has amply
demonstrated, this presupposition has not facilitated clarity of analysis.
The rhetorical-critical model that has dominated the landscape of Pauline
scholarship fails to account for what we find in 2 Cor 10–13, and, more-
over, misconstrues the rhetorical sources themselves.
Chapters 9–11 tested another model for explaining Paul’s rhetoric, one
that had been anticipated quite frequently by scholars chafing at the con-
fines of the dominant model but had not been subjected to critical analysis.
Using George Kennedy’s work on comparative rhetoric and the insights of
sociolinguists on language socialization, we examined the possibility that
what Paul knew of persuasion derived not from formal education but from

-309-
310 RETHINKING PAUL’S RHETORICAL EDUCATION

informal social practice. Here, amid a diverse assortment of speakers from

a variety of social and cultural locations, we found a compelling context
within which to apprehend the nature of Pauline persuasion.
Finally, in chapter 12 we took a few key steps toward a redescription
of what I have been calling Paul’s “voice.” First, we observed that Paul’s
control of grammatical and syntactical conventions is at times unsteady,
a fact that points decisively away from the only sort of formal rhetori-
cal competence that could explain his widely observed independence
from formal conventions, namely, fully integrated fluency.1 This point is
important, and bears repeating: Since the earliest rhetorical-critical work
of Betz and his followers, it has been widely agreed that Paul’s letters do
not in fact closely conform to the formal prescriptions of the rhetorical
handbooks. Betz’s explanation for this fact has become commonplace:
Paul, like any good rhetor, does not slavishly follow schoolbook forms
but creatively adapts them to his own persuasive ends. And certainly it is
true that the best ancient exemplars attest not to mechanistic adherence
to formal prescriptions but rather, as Mitchell puts it, to “the fluidity and
variety of possibilities of rhetorical composition.”2 But note that such flu-
ency is predicated on a degree of skill considerably beyond that achieved
through only rudimentary rhetorical training; indeed, such basic training,
we have seen, is likely to result in precisely such wooden, formally cor-
rect productions as all agree we do not find in Paul.3 Accordingly, if the
rhetorical features of Paul’s letters are to be attributed to formal educa-
tion, we must impute to him considerable mastery of the subject, not just
elementary exposure. And this is where Paul’s unsteady prose is telling,
for, so long as formal education remains our explanatory paradigm, such
mastery of rhetoric simply is not compatible with Paul’s failure to master
grammar and syntax. No, here Paul resembles the Mexicano orator we met
in chapter 10—rhetorically astute, in his own way, but lacking the niceties
of polished prose—far more than either Demosthenes, on one end of the
scale of formal rhetoric, or Pseudo-Plutarch, on the other. In other words,
informal rhetorical socialization provides a far more credible explanation
than does formal education for the nature of Paul’s rhetoric.

1. See further the section “Confused and Insufficiently Explicit” in ch. 12 above.
2. Mitchell, Rhetoric of Reconciliation, 9.
3. See esp. the discussion of Ps.-Plutarch’s An ignis in the last section of ch. 7
above.
 CONCLUSION 311

This conclusion received confirmation from exegesis of two key

verses in our text, 2 Cor 10:10 and 11:6. Although neither verse directly
addresses the question of Paul’s rhetorical education, both imply that he
speaks unimpressively, and, moreover, attest to a voice that inhabits a very
different position in Corinth than does the authoritative apostle generated
by the rhetorical-critical model. Paul evidently is susceptible to charac-
terization as weak, derisible, and vulgar. Importantly, he is in no position
to refute these characterizations; instead, he seeks to redeploy his evident
weakness as a mark of divine commission.
Finally, comparison of Paul’s rhetorical demeanor with that of Plu-
tarch, Demosthenes, Red Jacket, and Elia highlighted the abjectness of
Paul’s rhetoric in 2 Cor 10–13. Paul cannot rely on the persuasive power
of calm and dignified self-possession. His voice comes from a more tenu-
ous place. His is a rhetoric that arises from vulnerability, desperation,
and defiance.

Voice, Habitus, and the Individual Speaker

I have referred throughout this study to what I have been calling Paul’s
“voice,” a term I have often glossed as “rhetorical comportment.” It may
seem odd to reserve a theoretical discussion of this concept for this con-
cluding chapter; nevertheless, it will be most effective, I think, to explain
now, in retrospect, how the notion of voice has functioned and what are its
theoretical underpinnings.
As noted in the introduction, my starting point here is the correlation
between voice, as a mode of comportment, and social location—a correla-
tion we have observed repeatedly throughout this study. There was some-
thing particularly “aristocratic,” remember, about Plutarch’s voice—and,
differently, Red Jacket’s—but not Paul’s. But what exactly was it, and why
should this be? Here sociolinguistic theory can provide a framework for
conceptualizing what we have seen. Let us begin with a striking article by
Edward Sapir, first published in 1927.
Sapir introduces the concept of “voice” with a discussion of a number
of characteristics of speech for which the term commonly serves as a met-
onym: intonation, rhythm, pronunciation, and, more significantly for our
purposes, vocabulary and style.4 As Sapir observed, these features together

4. Edward Sapir, “Speech as a Personality Trait,” in Selected Writings of Edward

312 RETHINKING PAUL’S RHETORICAL EDUCATION

constitute a “form of gesture,”5 which, like other modes of comportment,

derives from and thus attests to both cultural patterns and the particular-
ity of an individual speaker: “Society has its patterns, its set ways of doing
things,” Sapir noted, “while the individual has his method of handling
those particular patterns of society, giving them just enough of a twist to
make them ‘his’ and no one else’s.”6 For Sapir, then, “voice” serves as an
indicator both of social location and of individual identity.7
What interested Sapir was how people spoke, not what they said. In
other words, to use Dell Hymes’s distinction, he was interested in “stylis-
tic” as opposed to “referential” aspects of speech.8 But, as Hymes’s own
work in particular has shown, the content of speech, not only its style,
derives its meaning from its relationship to conventional social norms.9
So, when I speak of voice, I refer not only to vocabulary and style, but also
to referential content insofar as it pertains to Sapir’s two domains of analy-
sis, namely, social patterns and individual negotiation thereof.
Sapir’s basic insight can be extended in both directions, toward con-
sideration of voice as an indicator of social location and toward analysis
of the particularity of individual speech. In conceptualizing the former,
the work of Pierre Bourdieu is particularly useful. For Bourdieu, social
interaction is structured not by “rules” but by habitus, “systems of durable,
transposable dispositions”10 that are, quite literally, the embodiment of
(social) history: “Biological individuals carry with them, at all times and
in all places,” he explains, “their present and past positions in the social
structure … in the form of dispositions which are so many marks of social
position.”11 These are “values given body, made body” in keeping with what

Sapir in Language, Culture, and Personality (ed. David G. Mandelbaum; Berkeley:

University of California Press, 1949), 533–43; repr. from American Journal of Sociol-
ogy 32 (1927).
5. Ibid., 535.
6. Ibid., 538.
7. See also Hymes, “Ways of Speaking,” 436.
8. Ibid., 435–39.
9. See esp. Dell Hymes, “Sociolinguistics and the Ethnography of Speaking,” in
Social Anthropology and Language (ed. Edwin Ardener; London: Tavistock, 1971), 56.
10. Bourdieu, Theory of Practice, 72.
11. Ibid., 82. Relevant here is Richard Rohrbaugh’s helpful clarification that social
location is “a structural term describing a position in a social system,” not a reference
to group membership (“ ‘Social Location of Thought’ as a Heuristic Construct in New
Testament Study,” JSNT 30 [1987]: 114).
 CONCLUSION 313

Bourdieu refers to as bodily hexis: “a permanent disposition, a durable

manner of standing, speaking, and thereby of feeling and thinking.”12 In
other words, an individual’s bodily hexis or comportment represents the
somatic reinscription of his or her social location and attendant history of
social interaction.
It follows, then, that discursive elements of social interaction—in a
word, speech—take place in accordance with the dispositions inculcated
by and constitutive of the habitus.13 Communication, as social practice, is
structured not only by grammar and syntax—let alone by literary forms
and genres, which are merely the tip of the iceberg of discursive con-
ventions—but by a “durably installed generative principle of regulated
improvisations.”14 What I am calling voice, then, is one instance of such
regulated improvisation, one aspect of the embodiment of the structur-
ing dispositions of the habitus—namely, their vocalization. A voice comes
from a particular body, and a particular body comports itself in accor-
dance with its particular social location—that is, in accordance with a rep-
ertoire of past experiences specific to its particular place in society.15
But this is not to say that each individual who occupies a comparable
position in society will speak or act identically. On the contrary, although
it is often suppressed in both linguistic and sociological theory—includ-
ing that of Bourdieu—individual variation and idiosyncrasy are, in actual
occurrence, constant features of social practice. As Hymes has repeatedly
insisted, their analysis is fundamental to any adequate empirical account of
human communication.16 Individuals have different resources—different

12. Bourdieu, Theory of Practice, 93–94.

13. See esp. Ochs, “Linguistic Resources for Socializing Humanity.” Cf. William F.
Hanks, “Pierre Bourdieu and the Practices of Language,” Annual Review of Anthropol-
ogy 34 (2005): 72.
14. Description of the habitus from Bourdieu, Theory of Practice, 78.
15. No one has demonstrated this more compellingly than William Labov, who,
in his studies of English usage and pronunciation in New York City, correlated such
features of spoken English as post-vocalic r and diphthong variation with both social
location and personal aspiration. See esp. The Social Stratification of English in New
York City (Washington, D.C.: Center for Applied Linguistics, 1966).
16. See esp. Dell Hymes, “Sapir, Competence, Voices,” in Individual Differences
in Language Ability and Behavior (ed. Charles J. Fillmore, Daniel Kempler, and Wil-
liam S-Y. Wang; Perspectives in Neurolinguistics and Psycholinguistics; New York:
Academic Press, 1979), 33–45. Also Hymes, “Sociolinguistics and the Ethnography
of Speaking,” 51–59; Hymes, “In Vain I Tried to Tell You”: Essays in Native Ameri-
314 RETHINKING PAUL’S RHETORICAL EDUCATION

sorts of “communicative competence”—at their disposal, and they do dif-

ferent things with what they have. In other words, within the constraints
of the habitus, persons speak and act with varying degrees of skill, appro-
priateness, and creativity.17 Each has his or her own “personal voice.”18 Or,
as Albert Vanhoye puts it, intuiting, apparently, the theoretical insight of
Sapir and Hymes:

Quoi que je dise, c’est avec ma voix que je le dis et ma voix n’est identique à
aucune autre. Elle a des inflexions et des modulations, qui correspondent
à mon caractère et à mon éducation, à ma sensibilité, à mes capacités de
décision et de relations, bien plus elle reflète ma situation physique et
psychologique du moment.19

This, then, is what I mean by the evaluation of voice: the attempt to eluci-
date the social location of a speaker as well as his or her particular negotia-

can Ethnopoetics (Studies in Native American Literature 1; Philadelphia: University

of Pennsylvania Press, 1981), 8–10. The point has recently been taken up by Barbara
Johnstone, “The Individual Voice in Language,” Annual Review of Anthropology 29
(2000): 405–24.
17. Bourdieu explicitly downplays the significance of individual variation, stating
that “sociology treats as identical all the biological individuals who, being the product
of the same objective conditions, are the supports of the same habitus” (Theory of
Practice, 85; and cf. 79). But of course he cannot deny such variation outright. For
Bourdieu, then, “it is in a relation of homology, of diversity within homogeneity …
that the singular habitus of the different members of the same class are united; the
homology of world-views implies the systematic differences which separate singular
world-views, adopted from singular but concerted standpoints” (86). In other words,
personal style is analogous to an individual specimen: it can meaningfully be charac-
terized only in relation to its genus. What is personal is, in Bourdieu’s terms, a “struc-
tural variant” (86; cf. Hanks, “Practices of Language,” 71). On Bourdieu’s reification of
the habitus here, and his consequent failure adequately to account for human agency,
see Brenda Farnell, “Getting Out of the Habitus: An Alternative Model of Dynami-
cally Embodied Social Action,” Journal of the Royal Anthropological Institute 6 (2000):
397–418.
18. Hymes, “Sapir, Competence, Voices,” 43.
19. Albert Vanhoye, “Personnalité de Paul et exégèse paulinienne,” in L’apôtre
Paul: Personnalité, style et conception du ministère (ed. Albert Vanhoye; BETL 73;
Leuven: Leuven University Press, 1986), 4: “Whatever I say, it is with my voice that
I say it, and my voice is not identical to any other. It has inflections and modulations
that correspond to my character and my education, to my sensibilities, to my decision-
making and relational capacities—even more it reflects my physical and psychological
situation of the moment.”
 CONCLUSION 315

tion of what we might call, alluding to Bourdieu, the “habitual” constraints

of that location. So, when I speak of Paul’s voice, I mean to indicate the dis-
cursive dispositions, correlative of his social location but also distinctly his
own, that characterize his letters as artifacts of social practice. Paul’s voice
comes from Paul’s body; Paul’s body inhabits a particular social location,
and it does so in its own peculiar way.

Toward a Reading of 2 Corinthians 10–13

Although the primary focus of this study has been the question of Paul’s
rhetorical education, the use of 2 Cor 10–13 as a case study has involved
sustained exegesis as well. Indeed, scattered throughout the previous pages
lie the basic contours of a reading of 2 Cor 10–13, a reading that runs
counter to the interpretive model that currently prevails. My aim here,
by way of conclusion, is to provide a brief synthesis of these exegetical
insights, and thus to suggest an alternative model.
First, I have been at pains to show that the crisis that occasioned Paul’s
“Letter of Tears” was not a dispute concerning rhetoric—though certainly
it was, in the broadest sense of the phrase, a rhetorical dispute. There is
no evidence that the Corinthian community was especially enamored of
rhetorical display, and no reason to imagine that words in 2 Cor 10–13 like
λόγος and συγκρῖναι refer to the practice of formal rhetoric. If 2 Cor 11:6
reflects criticism of Paul’s manner of speech, this is not because Paul was
deemed a rhetorical amateur but because his unrefined speech was deris-
ible and thus served for the Corinthians as one further indicator that he
was, as his rivals said openly, ταπεινός and ἀσθενής.
Thus 2 Cor 10–13 represents Paul’s attempt to reassert his status in
Corinth by confronting the demeaning characterization to which he was
evidently susceptible. Paul’s response, I have argued, was not a parody of
the boasting of his opponents. Indeed, a close reading here suggests that
their so-called boasting consisted not in verbal (let alone rhetorical) brag-
ging but simply in their willingness to claim apostolic status and to do so
in Corinth, where Paul—by divine commission, he believes—had been the
first to arrive with the gospel.20 Nor is Paul’s response essentially ironic,
although it does include isolated moments of irony. Rather, Paul straight-

20. See now James C. Hanges, Paul, Founder of Churches: A Study in Light of the
Evidence for the Role of “Founder-Figures” in the Hellenistic-Roman Period (WUNT
292; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2012), 388–89, 391–97.
316 RETHINKING PAUL’S RHETORICAL EDUCATION

forwardly insists that he is not inferior to his rivals, and, with all sincerity,
threatens the Corinthians with disciplinary tokens of his authority when
he arrives.
But Paul was, apparently, in no position straightforwardly to deny his
ἀσθένεια, hence the tortured and tortuous “boasting” wherein he attempts
to refigure his ignominious weakness into a mark of divine power. The
passage is, as C. K. Barrett once remarked, a “puzzling mixture of humil-
ity and aggression, of self-abasement and authority.”21 Indeed, as we have
seen, one important aspect of Paul’s “boasting” in 2 Cor 10–13 is the
shameless display of his own humiliation. But there is defiance in Paul’s
voice too, and this complicates the rhetoric of the text considerably: at one
and the same time he abases himself and insists on his status (cf. 11:21;
12:11; 1 Cor 15:8–10)—two rhetorical moves that may appear to be mutu-
ally exclusive, but in fact occur in concert often enough (though not, to be
sure, in the mouths of powerful speakers).22 In other words, Paul is willing
to forfeit any normal claim to self-respect in an attempt to win status of a
different sort: Yes, I am shamefully weak and I have no claim to ἀνδρεία;
nevertheless, as one in whose body dwells the spirit-power of Christ, I
merit your respect and fear (cf. 13:3–4). Receive me as a fool if you must,
but you must receive me (cf. 11:16).
This apparently paradoxical self-presentation derives, I suggest, from
the profound ambivalence of Paul’s self-understanding. Paul is at once
convinced of his status as an apostle in whom Jesus Christ is manifest
(Gal 1:1, 15–16) and cognizant of his equally manifest humiliation (Gal
4:12; 2 Cor 10:1, 10). This conflicted self-understanding finds a manner
of resolution in Paul’s conviction regarding the conformity of his embod-
ied existence to that of Jesus. “[We are] always carrying around the dying
[νέκρωσιν] of Jesus in the body,” he says, “so that the life of Jesus also may
be made manifest in our body” (2 Cor 4:10 [my trans.]; cf. 13:3–4; Phil
3:10–11, 21). But such resolution is necessarily unstable, for this sort of

21. C. K. Barrett, “Boasting (καυχᾶσθαι, κτλ.) in the Pauline Epistles,” in L’apôtre

Paul: Personnalité, style et conception du ministère (ed. Albert Vanhoye; BETL 73;
Leuven: Leuven University Press, 1986), 368.
22. For two striking examples, see Joanna Brooks, ed., The Collected Writings of
Samson Occom, Mohegan: Leadership and Literature in Eighteenth-Century Native
America (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2006), 52–58; Bertram Wyatt-Brown, “The
Mask of Obedience: Male Slave Psychology in the Old South,” American Historical
Review 93 (1988): 1228–29.
 CONCLUSION 317

conviction is difficult to sustain unless it is recognized and affirmed by

those to whom one imagines oneself to be manifesting Christ. In their Por-
traits of Paul, Malina and Neyrey helpfully discuss the need, particularly
acute in “collectivist cultures,” to maintain conformity between the pri-
vately defined self and the self as defined by one’s in-group.23 But they fail
to note the extent to which, in Paul’s case, these two selves are in conflict:
both in Corinth and in Galatia, after an initial period of enthusiasm, Paul’s
converts—his in-group, to use Malina and Neyrey’s term—have ceased to
validate the honorable identity he claims for himself.
Again, Malina and Neyrey correctly note that Paul’s “ ‘independence’
of any group authorization would have been a major liability for him,”24
but, presumably because their rigid schematization makes little room for
Paul even to possess a discrete sense of self, they fail to consider how Paul
negotiates the resulting tension: on the one hand, Paul insists that he is
Παῦλος ἀπόστολος οὐκ ἀπ᾿ ἀνθρώπων οὐδὲ δι᾿ ἀνθρώπου ἀλλὰ διὰ ᾿Ιησοῦ
Χριστοῦ (Gal 1:1; cf. 1:10–11); on the other hand, his very insistence on
this point attests to his need for this status to be recognized ἐν ἀνθρώποις.
It is this same tension, I submit, that animates 2 Cor 10–13: not least in
his relationship with the Corinthians, Paul experiences himself both as
weak and as strong, as derisible and as glorious, and he struggles to give an
account of himself as nevertheless a coherent self.25
If, then, as George Kennedy suggests, rhetoric is the energy that inheres
in a communicative act, Paul’s “boasting” in 2 Cor 10–13 is precisely the
energy he must expend in his effort to hold together two (socially con-
structed) conceptions of himself, the man he knows himself to be from
habitual experiences of public derision and subjugation and his own inter-
nalization thereof, and the man he knows himself to be from experiences
of Christ-glory and erstwhile in-group ratification thereof.

“Where Is the Voice Coming From?”

I began by posing a question derived from the title of a short story by

novelist Rudy Wiebe: “Where is Paul’s voice coming from?” I intended the
question to be evocative and exploratory, to open up space for reflecting

23. Bruce J. Malina and Jerome H. Neyrey, Portraits of Paul: An Archaeology of

Ancient Personality (Louisville: Westminster John Knox, 1996), 213.
24. Ibid., 217.
25. Cf. Shantz, Paul in Ecstasy, 128–29.
318 RETHINKING PAUL’S RHETORICAL EDUCATION

on the alternative to the prevailing assumption that Paul’s letters represent

intellectual discourse.
I know of at least one compelling attempt to name this alternative,
one I cited in the opening sentence of this study: In his Paulus, Adolf
Deissmann insisted that Paul’s was the mission of an artisan, not the mis-
sion of a scholar; that, although incidentally interested in Χριστολόγος, he
was, “above all and in everything,” a Χριστοφόρος; that the center of grav-
ity of Pauline discourse was religion, not theology.26 Unlike the major-
ity of Pauline interpreters then and since, Deissmann attended to the way
Paul’s voice arose from and attested to his embodied experience.27 In other
words, he conceptualized Paul as a human subject, not merely as a cipher
for a theological system.
Deissmann’s Paulus generally is dismissed as a romantic flight of fancy
rather than serious scholarship.28 This is not least, I imagine, because of
his fondness for a vivid phrase. But interpreters of Paul have perceived a
more serious difficulty with his emphases as well, one aptly summarized
by Albert Vanhoye in a neglected rumination not on Deissmann but on
the place of “personality” in exegesis of Paul: “Il n’y a pas de science de
l’individuel [cf. Aristotle, Metaph. 13.1086b]. En s’intéressant à ce qu’il y
a d’unique dans une personne, l’exégèse risque de devenir subjective et de
n’être donc plus scientifique.”29
The guild’s collective fear of such subjectivity, of losing our status as
objective historians,30 is invoked to powerful effect by advocates of rhe-
torical criticism. Observe, for example, Troy Martin’s rebuttal to Michael
Cosby’s “Red-Hot Rhetoric.” Cosby had taken issue with the tendency
of rhetorical critics—Lauri Thurén is the focus of his ire—to read “every
emotional sounding outburst” in Galatians as the fruit of a dispassionate

26. Deissmann, Light from the Ancient East, 385; Deissmann, Paul, 136–37; 6,
79–81, 135–57.
27. See esp. Deissmann, Paul, x, 13, 63–64.
28. E.g., Albrecht Gerber, Deissmann the Philologist (BZNW 171; Berlin: de
Gruyter, 2010), 149; Ramsay, Teaching of Paul, 446; Malherbe, Social Aspects, 32;
Meeks, First Urban Christians, 51.
29. Vanhoye, “Personnalité de Paul,” 10: “There is no science of the individual.
By focusing on what is unique about a person, exegesis risks becoming subjective and
thus no longer being scientific.”
30. On which see the insightful comments of Ward Blanton, Displacing Christian
Origins: Philosophy, Secularity, and the New Testament (Religion and Postmodernism;
Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2007), 11.
 CONCLUSION 319

rhetorical strategy: “To relegate Paul’s emotional language to a calculated

use of rhetorical techniques,” he insists, “is to miss a vital source of the
letter’s power.”31 Notably, Martin responds not by assessing the evidence,
but simply by raising the daunting specter of a “methodological void”: the
mark of the “judicious” scholar, we are told, is the recognition “that Paul
was probably not overwhelmed by emotions but as an effective rhetorician
knew exactly what he was doing.”32
I must confess this baffles me. Is it not precisely as arbitrary to pre-
sume Paul to be dispassionate as to presume him to be under the sway
of intense emotion? Surely neither conclusion is judicious if it cannot be
demonstrated from a reading of the text.33 Whether we like it or not, Paul’s
letters derive from a human subject, and thus his discourse must be inter-
preted as human behavior.34 We cannot simply evade the question of Paul’s
subjectivity because it is methodologically inconvenient. As Vanhoye goes
on to say, “Ce risque inverse consiste à stériliser les textes bibliques en les

31. Michael Cosby, “Galatians: Red-Hot Rhetoric,” in Rhetorical Argumentation

in Biblical Texts: Essays from the Lund 2000 Conference (ed. Anders Eriksson, Thomas
H. Olbricht, and Walter G. Übelacker; ESEC 8; Harrisburg, Pa.: Trinity, 2002), 299; cf.
Lauri Thurén, “Was Paul Angry? Derhetorizing Galatians,” in The Rhetorical Interpre-
tation of Scripture: Essays from the 1996 Malibu Conference (ed. Stanley E. Porter and
Dennis L. Stamps; JSNTSup 180; Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 1999), 302–20.
32. Troy W. Martin, “Invention and Arrangement in Recent Pauline Rhetorical
Studies: A Survey of the Practices and the Problems,” in Paul and Rhetoric (ed. J. Paul
Sampley and Peter Lampe; New York: T&T Clark, 2010), 110.
33. Moreover, Martin’s comment surely poses a false alternative: The assump-
tion that persuasive intention is incompatible with the expression of emotion surely
reflects a remarkably superficial conception of what it is that people do when they
speak. And note that it is precisely on the basis of this false alternative that Thurén and
his ilk posit a dispassionate Paul: If Paul can be shown to be using a rhetorical figure,
the argument goes, then we must assume that he is not in fact expressing emotion. See
esp. Derhetorizing Paul: A Dynamic Perspective on Pauline Theology and the Law (Har-
risburg, Pa.: Trinity, 2002), 59–64.
34. Peter Lampe offers another way to circumvent consideration of Paul’s subjec-
tivity by advocating that scholars of Pauline rhetoric join the march of “secular studies
of literature” toward consideration of the text and its reception apart from authorial
intention (“Rhetorical Analysis of Pauline Texts—Quo Vadit? Methodological Reflec-
tions,” in Paul and Rhetoric [ed. J. Paul Sampley and Peter Lampe; New York: T&T
Clark, 2010], 20–21). I am in no position to tell Lampe he cannot undertake such a
reading. But one cannot make such a move and still claim, as most are wont, to be
saying something about Paul.
320 RETHINKING PAUL’S RHETORICAL EDUCATION

soumettant à des analyses incomplètes, qui ne tiennent pas suffisamment

compte de leur aspect personnel.”35 Indeed,

Est-il possible d’exposer correctement la christologie de Paul, sans analy-

ser la relation personnelle de Paul avec le Christ, telle qu’il l’exprime en
parlant de lui-même, et de sa vie dans le Christ? Peut-on rendre compte
de l’ecclésiologie de Paul sans analyser avec soin la place que prend la
personnalité de l’apôtre dans ses rapports avec les communautés au
moment de leur fondation, lors de leur croissance, dans les périodes de
tension et de crise?36

My intent here is not to vindicate Deissmann’s portrayal of Paul—

though I am, in fact, persuaded by each of his three proposals noted above.
Rather, my intent is to highlight the crucial significance of addressing the
fundamental question of Paul’s voice. Who speaks? What sort of discourse
do we have here? As long as we persist in avoiding this question, all our
attempts at methodological rigor have us straining out gnats while swal-
lowing a camel.
Il n’y a pas de science de l’individuel. Perhaps. But, as I hope this study
has begun to demonstrate, what confronts us is not, as Martin would have
it, a methodological void but rather a void of methodological imagination.

A Weak Apostle in Corinth

If the Corinthian correspondence is not our only opportunity to observe

the diachronic development of Paul’s relationship with a community of his
founding, it is certainly the most substantive. Indeed, to my knowledge,
there is no other moment in the history of earliest Christianity that is so
well attested as Paul’s relationship with the Corinthian community in the
mid-50s of the first century.

35. Vanhoye, “Personnalité de Paul,” 10: “The opposite risk consists in sterilizing
the biblical texts by subjecting them to incomplete analyses that do not take sufficient
account of their personal aspect.”
36. Ibid., 9: “Is it possible adequately to explain Paul’s Christology without analyz-
ing Paul’s personal connection with Christ, as he himself expresses it, and his life in
Christ? Can one give an account of Paul’s ecclesiology without analyzing carefully the
role of the apostle’s personality in his relationship with the communities at the time of
their foundation, during their growth, in the periods of tension and crisis?”
 CONCLUSION 321

That does not mean we know all we should like to know; for, although
we have tantalizing clues, they do not always admit of confident histori-
cal reconstruction. Even the fundamental question of the number and
sequence of letters contained in canonical 1 and 2 Corinthians continues
to defy consensus. Still, with regard to one key element of the story all seem
to be in agreement: Paul initially had significant success in Corinth; there-
after, his influence was increasingly uncertain. Explaining “this deteriora-
tion of Paul’s relationship with the Corinthians” may be, to quote Margaret
Mitchell, “the largest puzzle on the landscape of Corinthian studies.”37
For F. C. Baur, the roots of Paul’s difficulties in Corinth were twofold:
First, the introduction of the Gospel to “the classic ground of ancient
Greece” inevitably brought with it cultural complications: “How,” asked
Baur, “could the Greek spirit disown its original nature, even when new-
born in Christianity?”38 Second, and more famously, Baur posited that
Paul’s “Judaising opponents … introduced a new and most disturbing ele-
ment into the life of this Greek Christian Church, when still in the first
stage of its development.”39 Specifically, his opponents asserted that Paul
was disqualified from true apostleship because he had not had direct inter-
action with Jesus.40
Although the details of Baur’s reconstruction no longer exert much
influence, these have remained the two dominant modes of explanation:
Paul’s waning influence in Corinth is attributed, on the one hand, to per-
during Corinthian characteristics—their profligacy, their factiousness,
their “worldly values,” or, more recently, their sophistic orientation—and,
on the other, to the influence of intruders, whose specific identity has
long been a preoccupation of Pauline scholarship.41 Seldom, then, have
we framed this as a question about Paul himself: What was it about Paul
that made him initially so compelling and then, within a few years, all but
disposable? Why was he susceptible to this sudden loss of stature?

37. Mitchell, “The Birth of Pauline Hermeneutics,” 23.

38. Baur, Paul, 1:258.
39. Ibid., 1:259.
40. Ibid., 1:267–74.
41. For the latest permutation, see Thomas R. Blanton, “Spirit and Covenant
Renewal: A Theologoumenon of Paul’s Opponents in 2 Corinthians,” JBL 129 (2010):
129–51.
322 RETHINKING PAUL’S RHETORICAL EDUCATION

There appear to have been multiple factors at play, and it is beyond my

scope here to give a full explanation.42 Nevertheless, the abject voice we
have heard in 2 Cor 10–13 provides a telling clue, as does our exegesis of 2
Cor 10:10 and 11:6: Paul was not a man whose dignity commanded respect;
rather, he was weak and servile, subject to derision and subjugation.
I have not attempted in this study to isolate the biographical details
correlative of this characterization but rather have been content with the
more general observation that Paul evidently did not occupy an elevated
social location. He was not, as I concluded above, a respectable freeborn
man. Still, it may be useful at least to list those aspects of his precarious
and ignominious existence to which the letters, more or less arguably,
attest: Paul was, to use Glancy’s term, “whippable”;43 he was frequently
imprisoned;44 he was a manual laborer;45 he was itinerant;46 he seems to
have suffered from some sort of bodily infirmity;47 and, as the present
study has emphasized, his speech was rude and uncultured.
If this is Paul, perhaps the real puzzle is not why the Corinthians
wavered in their loyalty, but why they attended to Paul and his gospel in the
first place. This is a problem of some moment, and one that has received
surprisingly little attention. In general, the implicit assumption seems to
be that Paul drew in converts through convincingly reasoned articulation
of (proto-)Christian theology. He expounded the truth.
If this is our starting point, it is easy to see why we have been so
quick to assume that the source of Paul’s difficulty in Corinth was some
form of “false teaching,” for, on this model, only the intrusion of an allur-
ingly deceptive doctrinal alternative can explain why Paul’s teaching,

42. For a number of valuable recent contributions, see Mitchell, “The Birth of
Pauline Hermeneutics,” 23, 26–30; Shantz, Paul in Ecstasy, 182–84; Ron Cameron and
Merrill P. Miller, eds., Redescribing Paul and the Corinthians (SBLECL 5; Atlanta: Soci-
ety of Biblical Literature, 2011).
43. Glancy, “Boasting of Beatings.” See esp. 2 Cor 11:24–25.
44. Rom 16:7; Phlm 1, 9, 23; Phil 1:12–17.
45. 1 Thess 2:9; 1 Cor 4:12. See further Hock, Social Context.
46. On the precariousness and ignominy associated with Paul’s traveling, see my
“ ‘Danger in the Wilderness, Danger at Sea’: Paul and the Perils of Travel,” in Travel
and Religion in Antiquity (ed. Philip A. Harland; Studies in Christianity and Judaism/
Études sur le christianisme et la judaisme 21; Waterloo, Ont.: Wilfred Laurier Univer-
sity Press, 2011), 141–61.
47. Illness or infirmity is clearly in view in Gal 4:13–14. And there is, of course,
much speculation on the nature of Paul’s “thorn in the flesh.”
 CONCLUSION 323

once so convincing, had now lost its luster. A basic difficulty here, as we
have seen, is that when the chips are down this is not the level on which
Paul engages his rivals in Corinth. Indeed, when Paul does talk about
his own foundational proclamation, he says nothing to suggest that it
was comprised primarily of intellectual activity—unless, perhaps, in the
attenuated sense of “intellectual” employed in the excellent recent work
of Stanley Stowers.48 On the contrary, as Colleen Shantz has insisted,
what he refers to is “unequivocal experience of the spirit.”49
And notice that such powerful charismatic display is precisely what
appears to have been absent on Paul’s second and painful visit to Corinth.50
Paul had promised to come with a rod of discipline, to demonstrate that
the kingdom of God consisted not in word but in power. He did not
follow through. Instead, he was humiliatingly “lenient”—or, as his rivals in
Corinth put it, less charitably, he who had been bold and overbearing from
afar turned out to be powerless and derisible in person.
In the face of such derision, Paul the weak apostle insists, like Aesop
the whippable slave, “My worthless body is my instrument, by which I utter
wise words to benefit the lives of mortals” (Vit. Aesop. 99 [trans. Wills])—
or, more in keeping with Paul’s own self-understanding: My worthless
body is God’s instrument, in which—and for your benefit, you Corinthi-
ans!—Christ-power dwells. This is a voice at once abject and defiant—a
voice, I submit, that arises from a decidedly precarious “social location.”

48. See esp. Stanley K. Stowers, “Kinds of Myth, Meals, and Power: Paul and
the Corinthians,” in Redescribing Paul and the Corinthians (ed. Ron Cameron and
Merrill P. Miller; SBLECL 5; Atlanta: Society of Biblical Literature, 2011), 115, 117:
“Paul was certainly not a sophist legitimated in the dominant fraction of the field [of
paideia] (as some have supposed), but belonged to one of the aspiring, competing
illegitimate fractions that were every bit as necessary to the existence of the field as a
field of cultural-production-as-contestation.… One must view Paul as a producer and
distributor of an alternative esoteric paideia different from the dominant sophistic
or philosophical kinds, yet still recognizable as a form of the same broader game of
specialized literate learning.”
49. Shantz, Paul in Ecstasy, 178–81; citing 1 Cor 2:4–5; Gal 3:1–5; 1 Thess 1:4–5.
Cf. Rom 1:9; 15:19; 2 Cor 12:12.
50. See the exegetical discussion in section “His Letters are Forceful and Bold”
of ch. 12.
 Bibliography

1. Ancient Texts and Translations

Most citations of primary sources are from the editions of the Loeb Clas-
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translations and editions to which I have made express reference. Papyri
are cited in accordance with John F. Oates et al., eds., Checklist of Greek,
Latin, Demotic and Coptic Papyri, Ostraca and Tablets. Cited 15 May 2011.
Online: http://scriptorium .lib.duke.edu/papyrus/texts/clist.html. Inscrip-
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compiled by the Packard Humanities Institute. Cited 15 May 2011. Online:
http://epigraphy.packhum.org/inscriptions.

Ambrosiaster. Commentaries on Romans and 1–2 Corinthians. Translated

by Gerald L. Bray. Ancient Christian Texts. Downers Grove, Ill.: IVP
Academic, 2009.
Aristotle. On Rhetoric: A Theory of Civic Discourse. Translated by George
A. Kennedy. 2nd ed. New York: Oxford University Press, 2007.
Augustine. “Latin Text, Translation, and Commentary of Book IV of De
Doctrina Christiana.” Translated by Thérèse Sullivan. Pages 33–185 in
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Press, 2008.
Aelius Théon. Progymnasmata. Edited and translated by Michel Patillon.
Budé. Paris: Les belles lettres, 1997.
Bertalotto, Pierpaolo, Ken M. Penner, and Ian W. Scott, eds. “1 Enoch.”
Prepublication edition. In The Online Critical Pseudepigrapha. Edited
by Ken M. Penner, David M. Miller, and Ian W. Scott. Atlanta: Society

-325-
326 RETHINKING PAUL’S RHETORICAL EDUCATION

of Biblical Literature, 2006. Cited 15 May 2011. Online: http://ocp.tyn-

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Hermogenes. Opera. Edited by Hugo Rabe. BSGRT. Rhetores Graeci 6.
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Philodemus. Volumina rhetorica. Edited by Siegfried Sudhaus. BSGRT.

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———. “The Identification of 2 Corinthians 10–13 with the ‘Letter of
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———. Paul, the Fool of Christ: A Study of 1 Corinthians 1–4 in the Comic-
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———. “The Runaway Paul.” HTR 92 (1999): 115–63.
Wendt, Hans Hinrich. Die Apostelgeschichte. 9th ed. KEK 3. Göttingen:
Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1913.
White, John L. Light from Ancient Letters. FF. Philadelphia: Fortress, 1986.
White, L. Michael. “Favorinus’s ‘Corinthian Oration’: A Piqued Panorama
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Whitmarsh, Tim. “Reading Power in Roman Greece: The paideia of Dio
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Wifstrand, Albert. “Stylistic Problems in the Epistles of James and Peter.”
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Wikenhauser, Alfred. New Testament Introduction. Translated by Joseph
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 Index of Ancient Texts

Old Testament/Hebrew Bible 12:23 298 n. 133

15:2 298 n. 133
Genesis 18:6–7, 13 298 n. 133
40:8, 16, 22 158 n. 39 20:3 298 n. 133
41:12–15 158 n. 39 29:11, 20 298 n. 133

Exodus Ecclesiastes
16:3 222 n. 65 5:3 298 n. 133
10:13–14 298 n. 133
Numbers
14:2 222 n. 65 Isaiah
20:3 222 n. 65 8:22 130–31 n. 27

Deuteronomy Jeremiah
19:15 72 n. 44 9:22 lxx 157 n. 34
28:48 131 9:23 lxx 156–57 n. 34
16:4 130–31 n. 27
2 Kings 25:18–26 136
5:3 222
Ezekiel
2 Chronicles 14:21 130–31 n. 27
6:28–29 131–32, 136
20:9 130–31 n. 27 Daniel
36:16 285 5:7 158 n. 39

Job Hosea
14:13 222 n. 65 1:7 130–31, 134

Psalms Amos
13 lxx 298 4:6–10 130–31 n. 27
52 lxx 198
118:5 lxx 222 n. 65

Proverbs
9:13 298 n. 133

-373-
374 RETHINKING PAUL’S RHETORICAL EDUCATION

Jewish Apocrypha and Testament of Issachar

Pseudepigrapha 6 132 n. 28

1 Maccabees Testament of Joseph

1:50 285 1.4–7 132–34
3:14 285
10:71 158 n. 40 Testament of Judah
23 132 n. 28
2 Maccabees
1:27 285 Ancient Jewish Writers

Sirach Josephus, Antiquitates judaicae

20:7 298 3.332 290 n. 105
39:24–30 132 n. 28 4.33 158 n. 41
5.77 158 n. 41
Wisdom of Solomon 5.344 290 n. 104
7:17–21 134 8.24 290 n. 105
7:29 158 n. 40 8.42 158 n. 41
8:17–18 132 n. 28 8.99 158 n. 41
15:18 158 n. 40 9.227 290 n. 104
10.51 253
2 Baruch 13.89 158 n. 41
59.5–11 132 n. 28 13.297 253
73.4 132 n. 28 13.408 253
15.268 253 n. 40
1 Enoch 17.230 265 n. 33
7.4 265 17.278 265 n. 33
60.11–13 132 n. 28 18.142 252
18.266 265 n. 33
2 Enoch 18.339 252
65.9 132 n. 28 19.213 290 n. 105
66.6 132 n. 28 20.121 265 n. 33
20.236 138 n. 43
Jubilees
23.12–19 134–36 Josephus, Bellum judaicum
1.402 158 n. 41
Liber antiquitatum biblicarum 2.151–153 136
3.9 132 n. 28 4.165 136
4.391 265 n. 33
Sibylline Oracles 4.602 290 n. 104
3.601–603 132 n. 28 6.295 290
4.67–69 132 n. 28 6.300 290 n. 107

Testament of Dan Josephus, Contra Apionem

2 132 n. 28 1.50 138 n. 43
 INDEX OF ANCIENT TEXTS 375

Josephus, Vita 6:14 253 n. 40

1–11 138 n. 43 7:2 208 n. 24
8 252 13:16 208 n. 24
16:4 253 n. 40
Philo, De agricultura 17:16–34 21
160 291 n. 113 18:3 21, 284 n. 86
21:22 208 n. 24
Philo, Quod deterius potiori insidari soleat 21:39 20
34 136 22:3 46
22:25–39 20
Philo, In Flaccum 23:27 20
10.75 306 n. 159 26:2–3 208 n. 24
27 21 n. 15
Philo, De Iosepho
225 265 n. 33 Romans
1:9 323 n. 49
Philo, Legum allegoriae 2:17 268 n. 50
3.88 137 n. 41 5:1 269–70 n. 58
6:17 253 n. 40
Philo, De vita Mosis 7 145
2.16 136 8:35–39 238
8:35b 127 n. 12
Philo, Quaestiones et solutiones in Exodum 8:37 136 n. 33
1.8 307 8:38–39 124, 128 n. 15
15:19 323 n. 49
Philo, De somniis 16:7 322 n. 44
2.84 136 16:27 268 n. 50

New Testament 1 Corinthians

1–4 70–71
Matthew 1:10 61 n. 17
15:2 253 1:12 70, 161 n. 49
1:17 71, 73
Mark 1:17–2:13 70
7:3–5 253 1:18–23 73
1:18–2:16 287
Luke 1:25 157 n. 34
1:2 253 n. 40 1:27–28 285–86
2:52 252 1:28 174
16:25 269–70 n. 58 1:31 157 n. 34
2:1–5 71, 73, 155 n. 28
Acts 2:4–5 323 n. 49
2:22 208 n. 24 2:4 70, 161 n. 49
4:13 290 2:5 60
5:1–11 280–81 n. 75 2:13 158
376 RETHINKING PAUL’S RHETORICAL EDUCATION

1 Corinthians (cont.) 13 23 n. 23
2:14–3:3 70 14:16 290 n. 106
3:6 111 14:23–24 290 n. 106
3:7 174 15:3 253 n. 40
3:8, 9 71 15:8–10 174, 316
3:10–17 71 15:10 172
3:21–22 128 n. 21 16:13 307 n. 163
4:8 222 n. 65
4:10 302 2 Corinthians
4:10–13a 127 1–7 64 n. 24, 83
4:11–12 284 n. 86 1–9 63–64, 66, 68
4:12 41, 322 n. 45 1:1–2:13 64 n. 24, 69
4:15 111, 156 1:15–2:1 67
4:18–21 281 1:15–2:4 63
4:20 70 1:15–2:13 67
4:20–21 72 1:17 67
4:21 71, 280–81 n. 75, 284 1:23 63–64
5:4 280–81 n. 75 2:1 69, 281
6:12 62 n. 17 2:1–5 72
7 47–50 2:3–4 63
7:1 49 2:4 63, 69
7:2 62 n. 17 2:5–10 281
7:2–4 48 2:5–11 69
7:2–5 49 2:9 64
7:3–4 48–49 2:14 286 n. 90
7:5 48, 62 n. 17 2:14–6:13 64 n. 24
7:9 62 n. 17 2:14–7:4 64 n. 24
7:13, 15 161 n. 49 3:1 63, 64 n. 24
7:26–35 62 n. 17 4:6 286 n. 90
7:28b 48 4:8 136 n. 33
7:34 48 4:8–9 126–27, 133–34, 235, 238
7:35 62 n. 17 4:10 316
7:35a 48 4:10–11 136 n. 33
7:36–37 62 n. 17 5:12 63, 64 n. 24
8 73–74 n. 47 6:4 136 n. 33
8:4 37 6:4–7 131
9:3–18 73–74 6:4b–5 127 n. 12
9:19 41 6:4b–10 134
10:20 37 6:8–10 127
10:23, 33 62 n. 17 6:10 136 n. 33
11:2 252–53 6:14–7:1 64 n. 24
11:14 48 7:2–4 64 n. 24
11:16 253 7:5–16 64 n. 24, 69
11:23 253 n. 40 7:8–12 63
12:15 161 n. 49 7:12 69, 72, 75–76, 281
 INDEX OF ANCIENT TEXTS 377

7:14 156 n. 31, 303 10:11 72, 73, 228, 268, 279–80, 285
7:14–15 68 n. 36 n. 87
8 64 n. 24, 75 n. 50 10:11b–12 69
8:6 64 n. 24, 75 10:12 34–35, 63, 87, 110, 111,
8:7 286 n. 90 112, 150–51, 155–56, 157–60, 228,
8:18 75 270–71
8:20–21 75 n. 51 10:12–13 150
8:22 64 n. 24 10:12–16 71, 156
9 64 n. 24, 65 n. 24 10:12–18 157 n. 34
9:3 303 10:13 147 n. 20, 271
10–13 2, 5–7, 25, 30, 31, 34, 51, 10:13–14 156
57–77, 81–84, 86, 88, 96, 97–98, 10:13–16 110, 112
102 n. 19, 107–109, 113–14, 150, 10:13–18 222 n. 65
155–57, 174–75, 179–81, 185, 201, 10:14 111, 156 n. 32, 271
207 n. 21, 227–28, 231, 263–77, 10:14–18 87
304, 315–17 10:15 71, 147 n. 20, 271, 275 n. 59
10:1 67, 73, 264, 266 n. 38, 276, 294, 10:15–16 271
316 10:16 272
10:1–2 63, 69, 83, 87, 268, 281 n. 76, 10:17–18 156, 157 n. 34
303 10:18 63, 112
10:1–11:15 66 11 125 n. 9, 138, 140, 166, 231, 304
10:1b 145, 201, 223 n. 69, 227, 228 n. 11:1 118–19, 142 n.
81, 280 7, 145–46, 148, 172, 177, 212, 216,
10:2 69, 228, 264–67, 280, 281 n. 76 222–23, 272, 297, 302
10:2–4 67 11:1–15 146
10:3 270 11:1–21a 142
10:3–5 70–71 11:1–12:10 76
10:4 270 11:1–12:11 148
10:4–6 270 11:1–12:13 60
10:6 64, 71, 102 n. 19, 280 11:1b 222 n. 67
10:7 71, 72, 174, 270 11:2–3 113, 222 nn. 65 and 67
10:7–8 146 11:2–4 112, 222–23
10:7–11 87, 269 n. 56 11:3 272
10:7–12 178 11:4 70, 71, 113, 272
10:8 114, 147, 156, 157 n. 34, 216, 11:4–15 146
228, 280, 303 11:5 69, 71–72, 73, 112, 157, 177,
10:8–9 267–69 272, 288, 302–3
10:8–11 69, 266 n. 38, 276, 303 11:5–6 71, 87, 178
10:9 279 11:6 7, 31, 34, 60, 73, 256, 261, 277,
10:9–11 63, 67, 73 286–94, 311, 315, 322
10:10 7, 31, 34, 72–73, 145, 155 n. 11:6–12 146
28, 201, 223 n. 69, 227, 228, 256, 11:6a 73, 287–88
268, 277–86, 292, 294, 311, 316, 11:6b 288
322 11:7 41, 74, 173, 228, 288
10:10–11a 69 11:7–9 74
378 RETHINKING PAUL’S RHETORICAL EDUCATION

2 Corinthians (cont.) 11:32–33 171–72

11:7–12 87 12:1 103, 114–15, 118–19, 212, 222,
11:9 74, 272 273
11:10 74, 146 12:1–4 115 n. 45
11:11 146 12:2 273
11:12 71, 157, 272 12:2–4 114
11:12–13 87 12:3–4 273
11:12–15 69 12:5–6 222
11:13–15 71, 112, 113, 146 12:6 147, 148, 177, 273, 297, 302,
11:16 142 n. 7, 145–46, 147–48, 303
212–13, 216, 316 12:7 273–74, 275 n. 59
11:16–17 172, 177, 297 12:8 64 n. 24
11:16–18 222, 302 12:9 274
11:16–21 215 n. 43 12:9–10 173, 228, 294
11:16–12:10 66, 77, 297–98 12:10 131, 145 n. 16
11:17 118–19, 142, 148, 273 12:11 63, 69, 71–72, 87, 103, 115,
11:17–18 172 148, 157, 177, 178, 218, 222, 297,
11:17–12:10 87 316
11:18 69, 172 n. 12 12:11–13 87
11:19 142 n. 7, 148 12:11–13:10 66
11:20 69 12:11b 173–74
11:21 142, 148, 177, 221, 222, 228, 12:11b–12 146
273, 297, 316 12:12 323 n. 49
11:21–12:11 141 12:12–14 74
11:21a 69, 145–46 12:13 74, 145 n. 16
11:21b 69, 142 n. 7, 145 n. 16, 267 12:14 74, 274
n. 44 12:15–19 87
11:21b–23 160–64, 167 12:16 73–75, 145, 201, 223 n. 69,
11:21b–30 134 228 n. 81
11:22 145 n. 16 12:16–18 75
11:22–23 112, 146 12:17 274
11:22–23a 69 12:18 75 n. 50, 145 n. 16, 274
11:23 131, 142 n. 7, 148, 161, 172, 12:19 74, 106, 274
221, 222, 305 n. 151 12:20 274, 281–82 n. 78
11:23–27 284 n. 86 12:21 69, 274–75, 281–82
11:23–28 123, 305 n. 151 13:1–2 69
11:23–30 76 13:1–4 63, 71, 178, 280, 281
11:23b–29 127 n. 12 13:1a 72 n. 44
11:24–25 305 n. 151, 322 n. 43 13:2 69, 72 n. 44, 73, 172–73 n. 13,
11:24–12:10 161–62 228, 281, 303
11:26 235 13:2–4 67, 72 n. 44, 228
11:27 131, 305 n. 151 13:2–7 275
11:28 273 13:3–4 87, 294, 316
11:30 103, 146–47, 171, 172, 305 13:4, 5 275
11:32 272 13:6–8 87
 INDEX OF ANCIENT TEXTS 379

13:7, 8 275 Hebrews 258–59

13:10 67, 69, 71, 73, 172–73 n. 13, 7:5–25 165 n. 58
228, 280, 281–82 n. 78
1 Peter
Galatians 32–33, 57–59 3:7 307 n. 163
1:1 316, 317
1:10–11 317 2 Peter
1:13 253 2:21 253 n. 40
1:13–14 254
1:14 252–54 Jude
1:15–16 316 3 253 n. 40
2:4–6 268 n. 50
3–4 32, 58 Greek and Roman Literature
3:1–5 323 n. 49
4:12 316 Achilles Tatius, Leucippe et Clitophon
4:13–14 284 n. 86, 322 n. 47 5.18.4 136
4:19 3
5–6 58 Aelian, Varia historia
5:12 222 n. 65 12.21 306 n. 159
6:3 174
6:13 156 n. 31 Aelius Theon, Progymnasmata
pr. 158 n. 37
Philippians 1 144
1:12–17 322 n. 44 6 158 n. 37
1:14 161 n. 49 8 90–91, 144
1:18 222 n. 66 9 162 n. 53, 166 n. 63, 306
1:25 252 10 149 n. 1, 158 n. 37, 162–63
3:2–6 172 11 47–49
3:4–6 163
3:5 253 Alexander Numenius, De figuris
3:10–11, 21 316 1.3 119, 213 n. 35
4:12 127, 136 n. 33, 288 1.4 218
1.9 137 n. 39
1 Thessalonians
1:4–5 323 n. 49 Alexander Numenius, Περὶ ῥητορικῶν
2:9 284 n. 86, 322 n. 45 ἀφορμῶν
2:17 161 n. 49 RG 3:4 100–101
4:15 271 RG 4:9 102 n. 20

2 Timothy Anaximenes, Rhetorica ad Alexandrum

3:6 307 n. 163 3.7–8 149, 166 n. 63
21 171 n. 6
Philemon
1, 9, 23 322 n. 44 Anonymous Seguerianus, Ars rhetorica
4.230 137 n. 40
380 RETHINKING PAUL’S RHETORICAL EDUCATION

Apsines, Ars rhetorica 2.10.1–2 299

5.5 137 2.10.5–7 299
10.34 119, 213 n. 35 2.22.3 190–91 n. 21
3.14.7 208
Apthonius, Progymnasmata 3.14.7–8 190–91 n. 21
10 149 n. 1, 158 n. 37, 162 n. 53, 164 3.17.16 101–2, 117, 297
11 144 n. 14 3.18.7 178

Aristides, Orationes Athenaeus, Deipnosophistae

1.311 291 n. 110 4.45 162, 167
2.189 290 n. 105
2.195 290 n. 105 Cassius Dio, Historiae romanae
11.17 291 n. 110 69.3.4–69.4.1 152 n. 13

Ps.-Aristides, Ars rhetorica Celsus, Ἀληθὴς λόγος

1.2.1–2 173 n. 14 1.27 263 n. 25
1.12.2.7 119 n. 55 3.55 17
6.2 263 n. 25
Aristotle, Ethica nichomachea
4.3.19 220 n. 60 Chariton, De Chaerea et Callirhoe
4.3.28 178 3.8.9 136
4.7.15–16 178 5.5.2 136

Aristotle, Fragmenta varia Cicero, In Catalinam

669 266 3:1–2 209

Aristotle, Metaphysica Cicero, De domo suo

1.981a–b 188 n. 15 92–95 105
13.1086b 318
Cicero, Epistulae ad Atticum
Aristotle, Poetica 1.16.8 117 n. 49, 221
1451b 253 n. 40
Cicero, De haruspicum responso
Aristotle, Politica 17 105, 106
5.1313a 253 n. 40
Cicero, De inventione rhetorica
Aristotle, Rhetorica 1.2.2–3 189
1.1–2 188 1.16.22 102
1.1.4–6 190–91 n. 21
1.6.29 74 n. 47 Cicero, Orationes philippicae
1.7.32 101 14.13 106
1.9.15 137 n. 41
1.9.38 149, 158 n. 37, 166 n. 63 Cicero, De oratore
1.9.40 137 n. 40 1.4.14 189
2.2.24–25 178 1.23.107–109 189
 INDEX OF ANCIENT TEXTS 381

1.32.146 190 Demosthenes, Epistulae

2.61 302 2.1 209
2.189–196 220 n. 59 2.3 209
3.20.74–75 189 2.4 297 n. 129
3.197 190 2.11 209
3.215–219 219 2.24 297 n. 129
3.5 209
Cicero, Tusculanae disputationes 3.28–31 209 n. 28
4.43–55 220 n. 59
Demosthenes, Exordia
Ps.-Demetrius, De elocutione 1.1 208
12 269 4, 5 208 n. 24
15 259 48.1 208
27–29 266 49 208 n. 24
29 266
128 260 Demosthenes, Philippica i
154 266 1 208
190–235 261
193 260 Dio Chrysostom, Ad Alexandrinos
211 266 1–2 208 n. 24
223–235 260–61
229 259 Dio Chrysostom, De compotatione
299–301 269 3 153 n. 21
300 275–76
303 269, 275–76 Dio Chrysostom, De concordia cum
Apamensibus
Ps.-Demetrius, Τύποι ἐπιστολικοί 32 153 n. 21
pr. 85, 91
1 86 n. 15 Dio Chrysostom, In contione
4, 6, 7–9 83 16 302
11 86 n. 15
12 83 Dio Chrysostom, De dei cognitione
17 83, 84 n. 8 5 153 n. 21, 154 n. 23
18 83, 84–88, 211 n. 31
20 83 n. 5 Dio Chrysostom, Dialexis
1–2 287
Demosthenes, In Aristocratem 3 286–87, 289
65 253 n. 40 4 287

Demosthenes, De corona 209–10 Dio Chrysostom, Nestor 103

3 106, 221–22 n. 62, 295 3, 4–8, 9 109
4 105, 208, 219, 220–21
10 108 Dio Chrysostom, Ad Nicomedienses
71 137 29 290–91
382 RETHINKING PAUL’S RHETORICAL EDUCATION

Dio Chrysostom, Politica Dionysius of Halicarnassus, De composi-

2 105 tione verborum
12 108 21 279 n. 69
22 259 n. 9, 269, 279
Dio Chrysostom, De regno 26 293 n. 116
12 291 n. 110
Dionysius of Halicarnassus, De Demos-
Dio Chrysostom, De regno iv thene
96 153 n. 21 5 269 n. 56
15 290
Dio Chrysostom, De virtute 17 158 n. 37, 166 n. 64
(Or. 8) 152–53 21 158 n. 37
6, 9 153 56 291 n. 110
10 153–54
15–16 127 n. 14 Dionysius of Halicarnassus, Epistula ad
33 154 n. 23 Pompeium Geminum
36 153 1.11 158 n. 37

Dio Chrysostom, De virtute (Or. 69) Dionysus of Halicarnassus, De Isocrate

7 302 17 166 n. 63

Diodorus Siculus, Bibliotheca historica Dionysus of Halicarnassus, De Lysia

12.12.1 302 3 290
12.14.2 302
14.24.7 265 n. 33 Dionysius of Halicarnassus, De Thucy-
15.66–72 107 n. 30 dide
16.70.2 302 23 279
17.101.4–5 302 31 279

Diogenes Laertius, Vitae philosophorum Dionysius of Halicarnassus, De Thucy-

6.47 153 didis idiomatibus
6.57 153 14 158 n. 37

Dionysius of Halicarnassus, De antiquis Ps.-Dionysius, Ars rhetorica

oratoribus 5.6 102
1 302 n. 145
Epictetus, Diatribai
Dionysius of Halicarnassus, Antiquitates 1.1.12 128
romanae 1.1.14 128
4.62.2 302 1.1.22–24 127 n. 14
5.5.3 291 1.2.36–37 128
5.62.3 265 n. 33 1.3.7 129
5.67.1–2 302 n. 145 1.6.14 129
14.9.4 302 1.11.33 124, 127 n. 14
1.18.21–22 125–26, 127 n. 14
 INDEX OF ANCIENT TEXTS 383

1.24.1 127 Ps.-Herodian, De figuris

2.1.35 127 n. 14 33 118–19, 213 n. 35
2.10.17 127 n. 12 34 218
2.12.2–4 290
2.12.11–13 290 Herodotus, Historiae
2.16.42 127 n. 14 1.32.1 290 n. 107
2.19.18 127 n. 14 1.59.1 290 n. 105
2.19.24 127 7.158 265 n. 33
3.1 154–55
3.1.1 154 Hesiod, Opera et dies
3.1.34 154–55 25–26 299
3.9.12–14 139 210 302
3.15.13 291 n. 110
3.16 291 n. 110 Homer, Ilias
3.19 291 n. 110 1.260–268 109
1.273–274 109
Favorinus, Corinthiaca 152 n. 13 10.227–232 130
25–27 151–52 n. 10 11.655–762 103
18.105–106 297
Galen, Quod qualitates incorporeae sint
19.479 302 n. 145 Homer, scholiast T
Il. 18:105–106 297
Hermogenes, Περὶ ἰδεῶν λόγου
1.1 173 n. 14 Horace, Satirae
2.4 119, 213 n. 35 2.7.83–87 127 n. 14
2.8 173 n. 14
Isaeus, De Philoctemone
Ps.-Hermogenes, De inventione 17 220
3.5 123–4 n. 2
3.9 158 n. 37 Isocrates, Antidosis
4.12 119 1–8 105
4.14 158 n. 37 2–3 209 n. 25
8 297
Ps.-Hermogenes, Περὶ μεθόδου δεινότητος 201–204 291
25 101
Isocrates, Evagoras
Ps.-Hermogenes, Progymnasmata 34–37 166 n. 64
7 158 n. 37, 162 n. 53
8 149 n. 1, 158 n. 37, 162 n. 53 Isocrates, De pace
9 144 n. 14 41–44 166 n. 64
24–25 49 n. 135
Isocrates, In sophistas
Herodian, Ab excessu divi Marci 14 291
4.10.2 290 n. 107 14–15 189
384 RETHINKING PAUL’S RHETORICAL EDUCATION

Isocrates, Trapeziticus Lucian, De morte Peregrini 154

1 106 1 300
2 300–301
Julius Victor, Ars rhetorica 4 300
27.19–21 261 7 301
8 300–301
Libanius, Progymnasmata 20, 22 300
10 149 n. 1 25, 34 301
38, 42, 43 300
Ps.-Libanius, Ἐπιστολιμαῖοι χαρακτῆρες
7, 9, 13, 24 83 n. 5 Lucian, Nigrinus
48 261 24 290
50 260
54, 56, 60 83 n. 5 Lucian, Rhetorum praeceptor
64 83 n. 5, 84 n. 8 1–2 154 n. 23
69, 71 83 n. 5
92 83–84 n. 5 Lucian, Somnium
1 282
Livy, Ab urbe condita libri 8 258
2.23.4–7 306 n. 159 9–13 280 n. 73
45.39.16 306 n. 158 13 282

[Longinus, De sublimitate] Lucian, Symposium

8.4 275 35 290
11.2 137
12.1–2 137 Lucian, Toxaris
18.2 190 54 265 n. 33
22.1 190, 219
22.1–4 275–76 Lucian, Vitarum auctio 154
23.1–4 137 10.3 290 n. 105
27 290
Lucian, Bis accusatus
33 287 Lysias, In Alcibiadem i
10 265 n. 33
Lucian, De domo
2 290 Lysias, Pro Callia
3 290 n. 107 5.3 290 n. 105

Lucian, Adversus indoctum Menander Rhetor, Περὶ ἐπιδεικτικῶν

29 290 RG 3:372 158 n. 37
RG 3:377 158 n. 37
Lucian, Lexiphanes RG 3:380 158 n. 37
24 290 RG 3:381 158 n. 37
RG 3:383 158 n. 37
RG 3:386 158 n. 37
 INDEX OF ANCIENT TEXTS 385

RG 3:397 307 n. 163 Plato, Gorgias

RG 3:402 158 n. 37 465A 188
RG 3:417 158 n. 37
RG 3:425 158 n. 37 Plato, Menexenus
RG 3:427 158 n. 37 245D 128 n. 15

Nepos, Epaminondas Plato, Phaedo

7–8 107 n. 30 95B 297
8.2–5 107
Plato, Phaedrus
Nicolaus, Progymnasmata 245C 137 n. 41
8 162 n. 53 271D–272B 217
9 149 n. 1, 158 n. 37, 162 n. 53
10 91 n. 32, 144 n. 14 Plato, Philebus
16C 253 n. 40
Philodemus, De bono rege secundum
Homerum Plato, Protagoras
col. 16 102, 103 n. 22 345A 292 n. 115
col. 18 102, 103 n. 22
col. 20 102, 103 n. 22 Plato, Respublica
col. 21 102 361E–362A 127 n. 14
col. 22 102–3
fr. 9 103, 109–10 Plato, Symposium
185B 290 n. 105
Philodemus, Volumina rhetorica 212C–222B 142 n. 8
2.28 190
Pliny, Epistulae
Philostratus, Vita Apollonii 1.8.5–6 297 n. 129
3.43 290 n. 108 9.23.5–6 117, 297 n. 129

Philostratus, Vitae sophistarum Plutarch, Quomodo adolescens poetas

1.7–8 152 audire debeat
1.8 152 n. 13 29B 102 n. 20

Pindar, Pythionikai Plutarch, An seni respublica gerenda sit

1.81–85 297 n. 129 783C–E 99 n. 10

Plato, Charmides Plutarch, Comparatio Demetrii et Antonii

157E 253 n. 40 1.1–2 163 n. 55

Plato, Epistulae Plutarch, Comparatio Demosthenis et

3 86 n. 16 Ciceronis
7 86 n. 16 1.3–4 165
2.1 102 n. 20
2.3 100
386 RETHINKING PAUL’S RHETORICAL EDUCATION

Plutarch, Comparatio Niciae et Crassi 542C–D 114

1.4 164–65 542E 103, 114
542F 295, 296
Plutarch, De defectu oraculorum 543D 296
419B 302 543E 295
543F 295
Plutarch, Demosthenes 543F–544B 103
2 116 n. 46 544B 109 n. 33, 296
544B–C 306 n. 154
Plutarch, De garrulitate 544C 102 n. 20
510A 302 544D 103, 109
544D–F 110
Plutarch, De gloria Atheniensium 545D 112
251A 138 545D–E 210
545E 112
Plutarch, De invidia et odio 546B 100
537B 295 n. 120 546C 102 n. 20
537E 301 546C–D 294–97
538A–B 299–300 546D 102 n. 20
538E 300 546E 102 n. 20
547A 295
Plutarch, De laude ipsius 547B 295 n. 122
539A 295 547C 102 n. 20
539B 295 547D 295
539A–B 104 547F 109, 208, 215
539C 102 n. 20, 295
539D 210, 215, 295 Plutarch, Lycurgus
539D–E 215 15.8 302 n. 145
539E 102 n. 20, 103
539E–F 109 Plutarch, Marcius Coriolanus
539F 99, 215 15.5 307 n. 163
540A 215, 295
540A–C 110–12, 295 Plutarch, Pelopidas
540B 102 n. 20 25.1–2 107 n. 30
540C 105, 112, 208
540D 106–7, 108, 209, 296 Plutarch, Praecepta gerendae rei publicae
540E 107 798A–825F 99 n. 10
540F 102 n. 20, 103 809C 295
541A 103, 108, 296, 307–8 815A–B 300
541A–C 108–9 819F–820B 295
541B 108, 295 825E–F 300
541B–D 103
541D 295 Plutarch, De Pythiae oraculis
542B–C 296 408D 154 n. 23
542C 295
 INDEX OF ANCIENT TEXTS 387

Plutarch, Quaestionum convivialum libri 2.12.6 220

IX 2.12.8 219–20
5.3 154 2.12.9–10 220
8.4 154 2.15 116
2.15.7 306 n. 158
Plutarch, De recta ratione audiendi 2.15.34 118
41C 102 n. 20 2.17.6 189
44A 102 n. 20 2.17.12 188–89
3.2.3 188
Plutarch, Romulus 3.5.5–18 123–4 n. 2
12.5 137 n. 41 4.1.6 208
4.1.7–12 208
Plutarch, Stoicos absurdiora poetis dicere 6.2.26–27 220 n. 59
1057E 126–27, 133 6.3.35 220 n. 60
7.9.9–12 275 n. 59
Plutarch, Theseus 8.3.41 264
24.2 290 n. 107 8.3.86 189 n. 17, 190
8.4 237
Plutarch, De tuenda sanitate praecepta 8.4.26–27 137
131A 154 n. 23 8.6.4 189 n. 17
8.6.51 189 n. 17
Plutarch, De virtute morali 295 n. 120 8.6.54 171 n. 6
8.6.75 189 n. 17
Ps.-Plutarch, Aquane an ignis utilior 276, 9.2.29–37 144 n. 14
310 n. 3 9.2.30 144
2–6 165–66 9.3.70 266
9.4.19 259, 260
Polybius, Historiae 10.1.105–114 116 n. 48
1.69.11 291 n. 113 10.1.123 116 n. 48
12.9.1 158 11.1.1 116
14.3.7 158–59 11.1.8–9 116
33.20 302 11.1.11 116, 118
11.1.14 116
Quintilian, Institutio oratoria 11.1.15 116
1 pr. 9–10 155 11.1.15–26 116–18
1 pr. 10–18 118 11.1.16 110
1 pr. 15 155 11.1.16–17 298–300
1.2.18 155 11.1.17 107 n. 31, 117, 299
1.5.1 257–58 11.1.17–18 296 n. 127
1.10.1 92 n. 39 11.1.17–26 117
2.10.12 219 11.1.18 105, 117
2.10.13 219 11.1.21 117, 178, 287
2.11.7 189, 269 11.1.22 208
2.12 258 11.1.22–23 105
2.12.4 219 11.1.23 117
388 RETHINKING PAUL’S RHETORICAL EDUCATION

Quintilian, Institutio oratoria (cont.) 1.155 290 n. 108

11.1.29 117 2.16–17 189
11.1.30 117
11.1.57 117 Strabo, Geographica
11.1.91 117 14.5.13 46–47
11.3.184 220 n. 60
12 pr. 2–4 118 Thucydides, Historiae
12.1.1 118 2.35.2 297 n. 129
12.1.16–21 116 n. 48 6.86.4 265 n. 33
12.2.6–9 118
Tiberius, De figuris Demosthenicis
Res gestae divi Augusti 304–5 8 119, 213 n. 35
4 305 n. 151
Vita Aesopi
Rhetorica ad Herennium 99 323
1.5.8 102
1.8 208 Xenophon, Agesilaus
4.32 266 6.2 306 n. 158
4.52.65 144 n. 14 9:1–2 166–67

Sallust, Bellum jugurthinum Xenophon, Anabasis

85.29–30 306 n. 158 1.3.11 291 n. 113

Seneca, Apocolocyntosis divi Claudii 142 Xenophon, De equitum magistro

n. 8 8.1 291 n. 113

Seneca, De clementia Xenophon, Memorabilia

1.10.3 107 n. 31 2.1.31 210

Seneca, De constantia sapientis Xenophon, Oeconomicus

6.3 127 nn. 12 and 14 3.9 292 n. 115
8.3 127 n. 14
13.5 107 n. 31 Xenophon of Ephesus, Ephesiaca
14.3 107 n. 31 5.1.4–5.1.11 41

Seneca, Epistulae morales Inscriptions and Papyri

71.25–29 127 n. 14
82.10–14 127 n. 14 BGU III 909.18 265
P.Bon. 5 83 n. 5, 90
Seneca, De ira P.Bon. 5 col 11.6–27 83 n. 5
3.25.3 107 n. 31 P.Hamb. I 26.11 291 n. 113
P.Hib. I 30.12 291 n. 113
Sextus Empiricus, Adversus mathematicos P.Hib. I 89.2 291 n. 113
1.63–64 292–93 P.Lips. I 39.8 265 n. 35
1.234–235 293 P.Oxy. XVIII 2190 159 n. 43
 INDEX OF ANCIENT TEXTS 389

P.Oxy. XLVIII 3396 159–60 n. 44 4.7.16–21 262 n. 20

P.Paris 63.1–7 90 n. 28
Augustine, Epistulae
Rabbinic Works 137.5.18 262–63 n. 22

m. ’Abot Clement of Alexandria, Paedagogus

2:2 19 3.3.19.2 307

m. Pesaḥ im Didymus, Fragmenta in Epistulam ii ad

10:5 136 Corinthios
4.7 290 n. 109
m. Ta‘anit
3:5 136 Gregory of Nazianzus, Epistulae
51.4 260, 261, 290 n. 108
t. Qiddušin 51.5–7 260
1:11 19
Gregory of Nyssa, Epistulae
Early Christian Literature 17.11 17 n. 1

Ambrose, Epistulae Gregory of Nyssa, Contra Eunomium

8.1 263 n. 25 3.1.106 262 n. 18

Ambrosiaster, Commentaria in xiii Jerome, Commentariorum in Epistulam

epistolas beati Pauli ad Ephesios libri III
199 262–63 n. 22 2.586 262 n. 18
200 97 2.587–588 262–63 n. 22

Arnobius, Disputationum adversus gentes John Chrysostom, Commentarius in

1.58–59 263 n. 25 Isaiam
3.10 262 n. 20
Athanasius, Contra gentes 5.5 262 n. 20
16.5 307 n. 163
John Chrysostom, Homiliae in epistulam
Athanasius, Vita Antonii i ad Corinthios
39 222 n. 62 3.4 17 n. 1, 55 n. 159, 261–62 n. 18,
262–63 n. 22, 263
Augustine, Confessionum libri XIII 14.2 280–81 n. 75
3.5.9 262–63 n. 22
John Chrysostom, Homiliae in epistulam
Augustine, De doctrina christiana ii ad Corinthios
4.3.4–5 190 21.1 227 nn. 77–78, 266–67, 280 n.
4.4.6 262 73, 281 n. 76
4.7 262 22.1 269 n. 58
4.7.11 55 n. 159, 262 22.2 268 nn. 51 and 53
4.7.14 263 n. 25 23.1 119 n. 52, 223
390 RETHINKING PAUL’S RHETORICAL EDUCATION

John Chrysostom, Homiliae in epistulam John Chrysostom, Ad populum Antio-

ii ad Corinthios (cont.) chenum de statuis
24.1 119 n. 52, 262–63 n. 22 5.6 17 n. 1
24.2 267 n. 44
25.1 119 n. 52 John Chrysostom, De sacerdotio
28.2 281–82 n. 78 4.6 262 n. 18

John Chrysostom, In illud: Utinam susti- John Chrysostom, Ad eos qui scandalizati
neretis modicum sunt
4 108, 119 n. 52, 212–13 20.10 17 n. 1

[John Chrysostom, In illud: Sufficit tibi Lactantius, Divinarum institutionum

gratia mea] libri VII
1 17 n. 1 5.2.17 263 n. 25

John Chrysostom, Homiliae in epistulam Origen, Contra Celsum

ad Hebraeos 1.62 262 n. 22
1.2 17 n. 1 3.39 262 n. 22
6.1–2 262 n. 22
John Chrysostom, Homiliae in epistulam 6.2 139
ad Romanos 7.37 262 n. 22
pr. 261 n. 18 7.41 262 n. 22, 290 n. 108

John Chrysostom, Homiliae in epistulam Origen, Commentarii in evangelium

ii ad Timotheum Joannis
4.3 17 4.2 55 n. 159, 262 n. 22
4.4 17 n. 1
5.2 17 n. 1 Origen, Commentarii in Romanos
pr. 1 264
John Chrysostom, Homiliae in Genesim 1.9.6 262 n. 21
28.3 290 n. 109 3.1.2–3 262 n. 21
6.3.2 262 nn. 18 and 21
John Chrysostom, Homiliae in
Matthaeum Origen, Fragmenta ex commentariis in
22.4 262 n. 20 epistulam ad Ephesios
13 262 n. 18
John Chrysostom, De laudibus sancti
Pauli apostoli Origen, Fragmenta ex homiliis in
4.10 17 n. 1, 261 epistulam ad Hebraeos 262
4.13 17, 55 n. 159, 262–63 n. 22
5.12 108, 114 n. 44, 119 n. 52, Theodoret, Graecarum affectionum
212–13 curatio
5.15 114 n. 44 5.67 17 n. 1
 INDEX OF ANCIENT TEXTS 391

Theodoret, Interpretatio in xiv epistulas

sancti Pauli
PG 82:437 271

Theophilus, Ad Autolycum
2.35 290 n. 109

Texts from Nag Hammadi

VI,4 Concept of our Great Power

39.21–33 136
 Index of Modern Authors

Abbott, Don Paul 193 n. 26 Baur, Ferdinand Christian 2–3, 97,

Adam, Karl 18 n. 4 98 n. 3, 120 n. 56, 257 n. 1, 277, 321
Adams, Edward 1 n. 3 Becker, Jürgen 26 n. 39
Aejmelaeus, Lars 283 n. 82 Beet, Joseph Agar 104 n. 27, 120 n.
Alexandre, Manuel 138 n. 43 56, 216 n. 49, 257 n. 1
Allen, Walter 116 n. 48 Bell, Robert A. 178 n. 33
Alles, Gregory D. 9 n. 22, 10 n. 24 Bengel, Johann Albrecht 266 n. 38
Ameling, Walter 152 n. 12 Betz, Hans Dieter 31–32, 50, 57–
Anderson, Graham 152 n. 14 59, 62 n. 18, 86 n. 16, 99, 100, 103 n.
Anderson, Janice Capel 3 n. 10, 306 24, 105 n. 28, 108 n. 32, 109 n. 34,
n. 155, 307 nn. 164–65 110 n. 36, 113 n. 42, 114, 115, 121,
Anderson, R. Dean 53–54, 61–62 n. 124, 142 n. 8, 150, 223, 227 nn. 76
17, 155 n. 15, 266 and 78–79, 239, 252 n. 38, 257 n. 3,
Andrews, Scott B. 305–306, 61 n. 16 276–77, 278 n. 67, 280 n. 73, 286 n.
Ankersmit, F. R. 171 n. 9 90, 293 n. 118, 296 n. 126, 310
Arnim, H. F. A. 153 n. 17 Blank, D. L. 293 n. 117
Arnott, W. Geoffrey 259 n. 9 Blank, Les 225 n. 70
Ascough, Richard S. 1 n. 3 Blanton, Thomas R. 321 n. 41
Ashton, John 3 n. 10, 9 n. 22, 156 Blanton, Ward 318 n. 30
n. 31 Blass, Friedrich 258 n. 7, 264
Aune, David E. 32, 86 n. 16, 144 n. 12 Bloch, Maurice 51 n. 143, 250
Austin, J. L. 244 n. 4 Bloomer, W. Martin 96 n. 56
Austin, John N. H. 130 Bogan, James 225 n. 70
Bachmann, Philip 265 n. 35 Böhlig, Hans 22
Ball, Charles R. 22 n. 20 Booth, Alan D. 92 n. 38, 94 n. 49
Barclay, John M. G. 138 n. 43 Booth, Wayne C. 171 n. 6, 172, 174 n.
Barnett, Paul 143 n. 9, 265 n. 36, 17, 175 n. 19
303 n. 147, Borg, Marcus J. 36 n. 76
Barrett, C. K. 264, 268, 269 n. 58, Bornkamm, Günther 63 n. 20, 64 n. 24
271, 273–75, 281 n. 78, 285 n. 88, Bourdieu, Pierre 1, 12, 103, 120
286 n. 90, 288 nn. 97 and 100, 289 n. 57, 191, 245, 250–51, 293 n. 118,
n. 102, 316 301, 312–13, 314 n. 17, 315
Bartchy, S. Scott 113 n. 43 Bowersock, G. W. 151 n. 10, 152 n.
Basso, Keith H. 90 n. 30 14, 153 n. 20

-392-
 INDEX OF MODERN AUTHORS 393

Bowie, Ewen 151 n. 10 Crossan, John Dominic 36 n. 76

Brawley, Robert L. 20 n. 14 D’Ambra, Eve 155 n. 27
Briggs, Charles L. 247–50 Dahl, Nils A. 26 n. 39
Brooks, Joanna 316 n. 22 Danker, Frederick W. 61 n. 16
Brown, Penelope 176 n. 24, 214–16 Deissmann, Adolf 1–2, 3 n. 10, 4, 9,
Brown, Peter 263 18, 257 n. 1, 261 n. 16, 318, 320
Bruce, F. F. 21 n. 17, 252 n. 37, 257 Delia, Jesse G. 51
n. 1 Denney, James 104 n. 27, 161 n. 49
Bultmann, Rudolf 42, 43 n. 112, 64 Dennis, Matthew 229 n. 83
n. 24, 98 n. 5, 124–27, 143 n. 10, 156 Densmore, Christopher 202 n. 1, 251
n. 31, 157 n. 34, 227 n. 78, 264 n. 28, n. 35
265 n. 36, 270–75, 282 n. 78, 285 n. Dewey, Arthur J. 303 n. 146
87–88, 288 Dews, Shelly 176 n. 24
Bürgi, E. 101 n. 15 Dibelius, Martin 19 n. 5
Buswell, Lois E. 193 n. 27 DiCicco, Mario M. 36 n. 76, 100 n.
Cairns, D. L. 299 n. 136 13, 103 n. 24, 105 n. 28, 286 n. 90
Calvin, John 26 n. 39, 104, 129 n. Dilts, Mervin R. 101 n. 15
56, 216 n. 49, 223, 257 nn. 1–2, 258, Dodd, C. H. 97 n. 1
268 n. 48, 276 n. 60, 280 n. 73 Dorsett, Lyle W. 236 n. 112, 237 nn.
Cameron, Ron 322 n. 42 113 and 115
Camp, Charles 193 n. 27 Douglas, Mary 1, 191 n. 23
Campbell, Douglas A. 33 n. 66 Downing, F. Gerald 53 n. 150
Chadwick, H. 49, 50 n. 137 Dubay, Ronald 20 n. 12
Chatman, Seymour 162 n. 52 Duff, Timothy E. 99 n. 10, 162 n. 53,
Chen, Rong 215 n. 43 295 n. 120
Chilton, Bruce 20 n. 12, 22 n. 20 Duling, Dennis C. 100 n. 13, 103
Church, F. Forrester 32 n. 24, 150 n. 7, 175 n. 20
Classen, Carl Joachim 4 n. 15, 27, Dunn, James D. G. 252 n. 38
33 n. 66, 34 n. 68, 54 nn. 153–54, 57, Edwards, Mark J. 5, 190
188 n. 14, 286 n. 90 Edwards, Mark W. 130 n. 24
Clements, William M. 193 n. 27, 194 n. Einhorn, Lois J. 210 n. 30
29, 195, 196 nn. 39–40, 203 n. 5, 205 Ek, Richard A. 195 n. 38
n. 14 El-Alayli, Amani 179 n. 34
Clift, Rebecca 176 n. 25 Ellis, William T. 237 n. 118
Clines, David J. A. 3 n. 10 Ericson, Jon M. 210 n. 29
Conley, Thomas 138 n. 43 Eriksson, Anders 51 n. 143
Connolly, Joy 95 n. 56 Exler, Francis Xavier J. 88 n. 19
Conybeare, W. J. 21, 22 nn. 18 and Fairchild, Hoxie Neale 195 n. 35
20, 252 Fairweather, Janet 53 n. 163, 258
Cosby, Michael 318, 319 n. 31 n. 7, 262 n. 19
Cribiore, Raffaella 46 n. 123, 90 n. 27, Fantham, Elaine 189 n. 17
91 n. 32, 93 nn. 42–43, 94 Farnell, Brenda 314 n. 17
Crook, Zeba 129 n. 57, 301 Farrar, Frederic W. 19, 22, 257 n. 1
394 RETHINKING PAUL’S RHETORICAL EDUCATION

Fee, Gordon D. 50 Garrett, Mary M. 197 nn. 45–46

Fenton, William N. 231 n. 92, 229 Georgi, Dieter 64 n. 24, 66 n. 29, 70
n. 85 n. 40, 113 n. 41, 265 n. 36
Fields, Dana 99 n. 10, 295 n. 122, Gerber, Albrecht 318 n. 28
296, 300 n. 138 Ghita, Andreea 178 n. 32
Firth, Raymond 51 n. 143 Gibson, Roy K. 117 n. 49, 296 n. 127
Fish, Jeffrey 103 n. 22, 297 n. 128 Given, Mark D. 29 n. 46
Fitzgerald, John T. 61 n. 16, 82–84, Glancy, Jennifer A. 3 n. 10, 109 n. 33,
89–90, 123 n. 2, 124 nn. 2–3, 125, 284 n. 86, 306, 322
126, 129, 130 n. 23, 133 n. 30, 134 n. Gleason, Maud W. 96 n. 56, 155 n.
31, 136 nn. 33 and 37, 137, 143 n. 9, 27, 282
161 n. 48, 172 n. 12, 305–7 Gnilka, Joachim 20 n. 9, 26 n. 39,
Foakes-Jackson, F. J. 19 nn. 4–5, 20 27 n. 40, 36 n. 46, 157 n. 34
nn. 10–11 and 13 Goffman, Erving 176, 214, 215 nn.
Focke, Friedrich 164 n. 57 41–42
Foley, John Miles 233 n. 103 Gooch, P. W. 178 n. 31
Forbes, Christopher 31 n. 55, 34–36, Goodspeed, Edgar J. 18 n. 4, 19 n. 5,
38, 52, 60, 100 n. 13, 101, 109 n. 35, 22 n. 20, 59
150, 157, 159 n. 43, 160–63, 167, 170 Gossen, Gary 235
n. 3, 173 n. 14, 175 nn. 18 and 20, Gottschalk, H. B. 44, 45 n. 120
176 n. 23, 286 n. 90 Grant, Robert M. 23 n. 23
Ford, David F. 65 n. 25 Green, Lucy 247 n. 16
Foster, Michael K. 210 n. 30, 251 n. 35 Gross, Alan G. 188 n. 15
Francis, James A. 300 n. 140 Guthrie, Thomas H. 194 nn. 32–32,
Frazier, F. 138 n. 42 195 n. 36
Fridrichsen, Anton 59 n. 9, 106, 126 Haacker, Klaus 23 n. 22, 27 n. 40
n. 10, 304–5 Haenchen, Ernst 21 n. 15
Friesen, Steven J. 21 n. 16, 52 n. 146, Hafemann, Scott J. 61 n. 16, 97 n. 2,
65 n. 24, 95, 111 n. 38, 152 n. 13 156 n. 33, 157 n. 34, 169 n. 2
Furnish, Victor Paul 73 n. 46, 103 Haines, Elijah M. 193 n. 27
n. 24, 105 n. 28, 115 n. 45, 119 n. 53, Hajdú, Kerstin 119 n. 54
143 n. 9, 145 n. 16, 156 n. 32, 264 n. Hall, Robert G. 138 n. 43
28, 265 n. 36, 272–75, 281 n. 78, 285 Hanges, James C. 198 n. 48, 315 n. 20
n. 88, 288 n. 100 Hanks, William F. 313 n. 13, 314 n. 17
Gaertner, Jan Felix 130 n. 24 Harrill, J. Albert 282–84, 307 nn.
Ganter, Granville 49 n. 134, 195 164–65
n. 38, 202 n. 2, 203, 204 nn. 8–11, Harris, Murray J. 33 n. 66, 110
205 nn. 12 and 15, 206 nn. 17–19, n. 36, 143, 145 n. 16, 172 n. 10, 175
207 nn. 21–23, 209 n. 26, 217 n. 53, n. 18, 222 nn. 65 and 67, 265, 267 n.
228, 229 nn. 83–87, 230–231, 234 47, 268, 269 n. 58, 270–75, 279 nn.
nn. 106–107 66 and 70, 280 n. 73, 281 n. 78, 285
Garland, David E. 143 nn. 9–10, n. 88, 287 n. 92, 288 nn. 95–97, 289
169 n. 1, 303 n. 147 nn. 102–3, 303 n. 147
 INDEX OF MODERN AUTHORS 395

Harris, William V. 94 Horsfall, Nicholas 53 n. 150, 93 n. 42,

Haskell, Robert E. 198 n. 48 94 n. 47
Hauptman, Laurence M. 206 nn. 16 Howson, J. S. 21, 22 nn. 18 and 20,
and 20 252
Hausrath, Adolf 19 n. 5, 62–63, 66 Hubbard, J. Niles 196 n. 40, 203
Heath, Malcolm 91, 173 n. 14, 262 Hughes, Philip E. 281 n. 78
n. 19 Hum, Sue 197 n. 45
Heath, Shirley Brice 94 n. 48 Hurd, John Coolidge 49 n. 136, 50 n.
Heckel, Ulrich 141 n. 3, 154 n. 34, 138, 75 nn. 49 and 51
156 n. 34, 297–98 Hutchinson, G. O. 159 n. 44
Heinrici, C. F. Georg 23–25, 26 n. 38, Hymes, Dell 6 nn. 18–19, 243 n. 1,
59 n. 9, 77 n. 53, 106 n. 29, 108 n. 32, 244, 312–14
119, 140, 257 n. 1, 227 n. 77 Jakobson, Roman 231 n. 95
Hellholm, David 36 n. 46, 45, 51 Jefferson, Thomas 194 n. 30, 204
Hengel, Martin 20 nn. 9 and 12, 22 n. Jocelyn, H. D. 44 n. 118
18, 23 n. 22, 24 n. 30, 26 n. 39, 27 n. Johanson, Bruce C. 36 n. 76
43, 33 n. 66, 35 n. 73, 252 n. 37 Johnson, Lee A. 144 nn. 4–5, 172
Héring, Jean 265 n. 31, 271–73 Johnson, Luke Timothy 98 n. 5
Hester Amador, J. David 65–66 Johnson, William A. 92 n. 36
Hewitt, John P. 177, 204 Johnstone, Barbara 314 n. 16
Hezser, Catherine 20 n. 8, 96 n. 56 Jones, C. P. 101 n. 16, 116 n. 46
Hochbruck, Walter 195 n. 38 Jones, Ivor H. 66–67
Hock, Ronald F. 3 n. 10, 19, 20 Jones, Louis Thomas 193 n. 27
n. 8, 26 n. 39, 27 n. 40, 29, 39–43, 47, Jowett, Benjamin 257, 262, 277
52–53, 74 n. 48, 93 nn. 40–41, 144 n. Judge, E. A. 28–31, 34, 60, 97 n.
13, 145 n. 15, 252 n. 37, 284 n. 86, 1, 113 n. 42, 119, 150, 171 n. 10, 261
322 n. 45 n. 16, 286–87
Hodge, Charles 104 n. 27, 120 Jülicher, Adolf 18 n. 4, 19 n. 5
Hodgson, Robert 127 n. 12, 130 n. 27, Karakasis, Evangelos 139 n. 45, 276 n.
133 n. 30, 136 61
Hoffman, Yair 131 n. 27, 233 Käsemann, Ernst 169 n. 2
Holland, Glenn S. 61 n. 16, 143 Kaster, Robert A. 94 nn. 49–51, 96 n.
nn. 9–10, 145 n. 16, 146–47, 150 n. 56, 116 n. 48
7, 169 n. 1, 170–75, 178 n. 32 Katsouris, A. G. 259 n. 9, 276 n. 61
Holloway, Paul A. 51 n. 141 Kaufer, David S. 174 n. 17
Holmes, Janet 214 n. 38 Kaplan, Joan 176 n. 24
Holtzmann, H. J. 19 n. 5 Keener, Craig S. 111 n. 37, 144 n. 12,
Holzner, Josef 19 n. 4, 20 n. 10, 22 145 n. 16, 150 n. 7, 176 n. 22, 286 n.
n. 20 90, 289 n. 103
Hooker, Morna D. 26 n. 39, 27 n. 40, Kennedy, George A. 6, 11, 33–34, 51
36 n. 76, 252 n. 37 n. 143, 54 n. 155, 63, 66, 88 n. 18, 91
Hopper, Robert 178 n. 33 n. 32, 116 n. 46, 173 n. 14, 186–88,
Horrell, David G. 1 n. 3, 10 n. 23, 111 191, 192, 193 n. 27–28, 195, 196 n.
396 RETHINKING PAUL’S RHETORICAL EDUCATION

Kennedy, George A. (cont.) Lincoln, Andrew T. 114 n. 44

39, 197, 201, 207 n. 22, 212, 215, 225 Lis, Catharina 42 n. 111
n. 71, 231, 240, 245, 251, 101 n. 15, Litfin, A. Duane 33 n. 66
309, 317 Litwa, M. David 143 n. 9
Kennedy, James Houghton 62–63 Long, A. A. 44 n. 119, 139 n. 46
Kern, Philip H. 53 n. 152, 54 n. 153, Long, Fredrick J. 65–68, 114 n. 44,
57 n. 2, 261 n. 16 150 n. 7
Klauck, Hans–Josef 85 nn. 11 and Longenecker, Bruce W. 26 n. 39, 27
13, 86 n. 15, 88 n. 18, 90 n. 28, 91 n. 43, 33, 42 n. 108, 52 n. 146
n. 34 Longenecker, Richard N. 252 n. 38
Kleinknecht, Karl Theodor 133 n. 30 Lord, Albert B. 234 n. 108, 246–47
Knox, John 252, 257 n. 1 Loubser, J. A. 169 n. 1
Ko, Mei-yun 216 n. 48 Lu, Xing 197 n. 45, 225 n. 71
Koester, Helmut 139 n. 44 Lyon, Arabella 197 n. 45
Korta, Kepa 244 n. 4 Lyons, George 99 n. 9
Koskenniemi, Heikki 88 n. 19 Mack, Burton L. 33 n. 66, 138 n. 43
Kraftchick, Steven J. 276 n. 63 Malherbe, Abraham J. 27–28 n. 43,
Kraus, Thomas J. 45, 46 n. 123 29, 83 n. 6, 85 nn. 10 and 13, 88–90,
Kremendahl, Dieter 36 n. 76 91 nn. 33–34, 318 n. 28
Krenkel, Max 19 n. 5 Malina, Bruce J. 1, 120 n. 57, 301, 317
Labov, William 293 n. 118, 313 n. 15 Malinowski, Bronislaw 243–44
Lake, Kirsopp 63 nn. 21–22, 66, 67 Mann, Barbara Alice 194 n. 32, 195
n. 34, 70 n. 40, 113 n. 41 nn. 36 and 38
Lambrecht, Jan 82 n. 1, 143 n. 9, Mao, LuMing 197 n. 45
270–72, 274–75, 280 n. 73 Márquez-Reiter, Rosina 214 n. 40
Lampe, Peter 319 nn. 32 and 34 Marrou, Henri I. 93 nn. 40–41, 95
Larson, Jennifer 280 n. 74, 282–83, n. 56
307 Marshall, Peter 35 n. 69, 36 n. 76, 60,
Leech, Geoffrey N. 215 n. 44 74 n. 48, 99 n. 8, 100 n. 13, 105 n. 28,
Légasse, Simon 27 n. 39, 252 n. 37 112 n. 39, 113 n. 43, 150, 157, 158 n.
Leigh, Matthew 306 n. 158 36, 160 n. 45, 161, 162 n. 51, 163 n.
Leivestad, Ragnar 303 n. 147 56, 169 n. 1, 278 n. 67, 306 n. 157
Lentz, John Clayton 20 n. 14, 21 nn. Martin, Dale B. 1 n. 3, 4–5, 26 n. 39,
15–17 27 nn. 40 and 43, 36–37, 38, 41–42
Leopold, J. 138 n. 43 n. 108, 50, 52 n. 145, 280 n. 73, 289,
Levelt, Willem J. M. 265 n. 37, 266 291 n. 112, 292, 293 n. 118
n. 37 Martin, Ralph P. 73 n. 46, 143 nn. 9–
Levieils, Xavier 263 n. 25 10, 161 n. 47, 222 n. 66, 228 n. 81,
Levin, Richard 175 264, 268 n. 48, 271–74, 275 n. 59, 281
Levinson, Stephen C. 176 n. 24, n. 78, 282 n. 78, 285 n. 88, 287 n. 92
214–16, 245 n. 8 Martin, Raymond A. 22–23 n. 22
Lietaert Peerbolte, Bert Jan 26 n. 39 Martin, Robert F. 236 n. 112, 237 nn.
Lietzmann, Hans 19 n. 4, 271–75 113–14 and 116
 INDEX OF MODERN AUTHORS 397

Martin, Troy W. 3, 318–320 Murphy-O’Connor, Jerome 19 n.

Mason, Steve 138 n. 43, 253 n. 41 39, 27 nn. 40 and 43, 37–38, 42 n.
McCant, Jerry W. 114 n. 44, 143 nn. 108, 46 n. 125, 60, 152, 169 n. 1, 253
9–10, 169 n. 1 Murray, David 194 n. 32, 195 n. 36
McNelis, Charles A. 96 n. 56 Murray, Oswyn 102 n. 21, 103 n. 22
Meeks, Wayne A. 1, 26 n. 39, 61 n. Nanos, Mark D. 58 n. 2
16, 318 n. 28 Neusner, Jacob 19
Meggitt, Justin J. 10 n. 23, 26 n. 39, 40 Neyrey, Jerome H. 20 n. 14, 21
n. 103, 42, 52–53, 95 n. 54 n. 16, 26 n. 39, 38–40, 42–43, 52, 58,
Meyer, Christian 187 n. 11, 193 n. 82 n. 2, 93 n. 40, 120 n. 57, 123, 150
27, 196 n. 39, 225 n. 71, 231 n. 95, n. 7, 317,
233–34, 236, 240 n. 124, 251 nn. Nock, A. D. 19 nn. 4–5, 22 n. 20, 258,
34–35 286 n. 89
Meyer, Eduard 19 n. 4, 20 n. 10 Norden, Eduard 23, 25, 47 n. 127,
Meyer, H. A. W. 265 n. 36, 266 106 n. 29, 257 nn. 3–4, 258 n. 7, 261
n. 38, 268 nn. 48 and 51, 269 n. 58, n. 16, 262, 265 n. 36, 277, 286 n. 89
270–75, 280 n. 73, 281–82 n. 78, 288 Ochs, Elinor 245 n. 8, 313 n. 13
n. 99 O’Mahony, Kieran J. 36 n. 76
Mihaila, Corin 279 n. 68 Omerzu, Heike 27 n. 40
Miller, Merrill P. 322 n. 42 Ong, Walter J. 196
Minchin, Elizabeth 130 n. 24, 139 Osterreich, Peter L. 188 n. 14, 196
n. 47 Padilla, Osvaldo 96 n. 56
Mitchell, Margaret M. 8–9, 17 n. 1, Patillon, Michel 48 n. 132, 91 n. 32
36 n. 76, 55 n. 160, 58, 59 n. 8, 61 n. Pernot, Laurant 100 n. 11, 101 n. 16,
16, 61–62 n. 17, 64 n. 24, 70 n. 42, 72 295 n. 121
n. 44, 74 n. 47, 75 n. 50, 96 n. 56, 100 Pervo, Richard I. 21 nn. 14 and 17
n. 13, 114 n. 44, 119, 143 n. 10, 144 Peterson, Brian K. 82 n. 1, 289 n. 103,
n. 12, 147 n. 19, 185 n. 1, 227 nn. 74 291 n. 112
and 76, 252, 259–61, 262 nn. 19–20, Phillips, Thomas E. 21 n. 17, 26 n. 76
263, 269 n. 56, 278 n. 67, 310, 321, Pickering, P. E. 266 n. 41
322 n. 42 Pitta, Antonio 61 n. 16, 100 n. 13,
Moe, Olaf 18 n. 4, 22 n. 20, 257 n. 1 119 n. 53
Moles, J. L. 153 n. 17 Pitts, Andrew W. 24 n. 30, 35 n. 73
Momigliano, Arnaldo 86 n. 16 Plummer, Alfred 59–60, 63
Mommsen, Theodor 18 n. 4 nn. 20–22, 66 n. 29, 67 n. 34, 73 n.
Moore, Stephen D. 3 n. 10, 306 n. 46, 97–98, 104 n. 27, 156 nn. 31–32,
155, 307 nn. 164–65 161, 177, 222 n. 63, 227 n. 76, 228 n.
Morgan, Teresa 46 n. 123, 92 nn. 81, 263, 264 n. 26, 267, 268 nn. 49
36–37 and 39, 93 and 53, 269 n. 58, 270–75, 276 n. 60,
Motsch, Andreas 193 n. 26 281 nn. 77–78, 285 n. 88, 288
Moule, C. F. D. 268, 269 n. 58, 273–74 Pogoloff, Stephen M. 286 n. 90, 291
Moulton, James Hope 222 n. 66 n. 112
Muir, John 90 Pomerantz, Anita 214 n. 39, 216, 219
398 RETHINKING PAUL’S RHETORICAL EDUCATION

Porter, Stanley E. 21 n. 17, 33 n. 66, Scenters-Zapico, J. 51 n. 144

44 nn. 118–19, 57 n. 2 Scheidel, Walter 52 n. 156
Poster, Carol 85–86, 89, 91 n. 34, 92 Schellenberg, Ryan S. 17 n. 2, 27 n.
n. 35, 95, 191 n. 21 42, 155 n. 28, 261 n. 16, 322 n. 46
Prümm, Karl 280 n. 75 Schiappa, Edward 191 n. 21
Radermacher, L. 99–101 Schiefer Ferrari, Markus 127 n. 14
Rahn, Helmut 44 n. 119 Schieffelin, Bambi B. 245 n. 8
Ramsay, W. M. 18 n. 4, 21 n. 15, Schmitt, Rudolf 136 n. 35
289 n. 227, 257 n. 1, 318 n. 28 Schmitz, Thomas 96 n. 56
Rapske, Brian 26 n. 39 Schnelle, Udo 20 n. 9, 27 nn. 40 and
Reed, Jeffrey T. 261 n. 14 43, 36 n. 76
Regenbogen, O. 129 n. 22 Schrage, Wolfgang 132, 133 n. 30, 135
Reinhardt, Tobias 116 n. 46 n. 32
Reiser, Marius 54 n. 157, 257 n. 1, Schreiber, Stefan 142 n. 8
259, 268 n. 50 Schreiner, Josef 157 n. 34
Reisman, Karl 212 n. 32 Schütz, John H. 1 n. 3, 169 n. 2
Reitzenstein, Richard 22 n. 21 Schweitzer, Albert 4 n. 14
Renan, Ernest 257, 262 Seid, Timothy W. 162 n. 53, 165 n. 58
Richards, E. Randolph 33 n. 66, 54 n. Sellin, Gerhard 71 n. 43
158, 90 n. 31, 92 n. 35, 207 n. 21, 260 Semler, Johann Salomo 62, 266 n. 38
n. 12 Shantz, Colleen 2 n. 4, 3 n. 10, 115
Richardson, Peter 71 n. 43 n. 45, 317 n. 25, 322 n. 42, 323
Riesner, Rainer 20 n. 9 Sherzer, Joel 195 n. 38, 231 n. 95
Robertson, F. W. 104, 120 n. 56, 213 Shipley, Frederick W. 305 n. 151
Robie, Harry W. 203 n. 6, 205 Sifianou, Maria 214 n. 40
Roetzel, Calvin J. 26 n. 39, 40 n. 103, 53 Smit, Joop F. M. 71 n. 43
n. 151, 143 n. 9, 145 n. 16, 303 n. 147 Smith, Jonathan Z. 9–10, 13, 198
Rohrbaugh, Richard L. 312 n. 11 Sorber, Edna C. 193 nn. 26–27, 194
Roochnik, David 188 n. 15 Spatharas, Dimos 296 n. 124
Rosaldo, Michelle Z. 215 n. 45 Spencer, Aida Besançon 169 n. 1
Russell, D. A. 99 n. 10, 116 n. 46, 138 Stanton, G. R. 154 nn. 23 and 25
n. 42 Stegemann, Wolfgang 20 n. 8, 26 n.
Rutherford, Ian 216, 294, 296 n. 127 39, 27 n. 39
Saldarini, Anthony J. 26 Steinmann, Alphons A. 22 n. 21
Salmeri, Giovanni 152 n. 15 Still, Todd D. 40 n. 103, 42
Sammons, Benjamin 130 n. 24 Stoddard, Amos 193 n. 27, 195 n. 35
Sampley, J. Paul 102 n. 19 Stone, Michael E. 132 n. 28
Sandbach, F. H. 166 Stone, William L. 203
Sanders, E. P. 26 n. 29, 42 n. 108 Stokes, Randall 177
Sandys, J. E. 258 n. 7 Stowers, Stanley K. 29, 42–45, 54
Sapir, Edward 311–12, 314 n. 154, 84–85 n. 9, 85 n. 12, 86 n. 14,
Savage, Timothy B. 42 n. 110, 169 n. 88, 145 n. 15, 323
1, 280 n. 74, 284 n. 86 Strachan, R. H. 98, 120 n. 56
 INDEX OF MODERN AUTHORS 399

Strecker, Georg 36 n. 76, 142 n. 8 Vega, Garcilaso de la 193, 196

Street, Brian V. 94 n. 48 Vegge, Ivar 33 n. 66, 54 n. 154, 63
Sumney, Jerry L. 3 nn. 8–9, 34 n. 66, n. 18, 68 n. 36, 143 n. 9, 150 n. 7, 169
70 n. 41, 113 n. 40 n. 1, 173 n. 14, 279 nn. 68–69 and
Sundermann, Hans-Georg 82 n. 72, 280 n. 73
1, 100 n. 13, 105 n. 28, 119 n. 53, 143 Vegge, Tor 27 n. 40, 45–52, 60, 144 n.
nn. 9–10, 145 n. 16 13, 150 n. 7, 170 n. 3, 239, 252 n. 37,
Swain, Simon 152 n. 13, 295 n. 123, 276 n. 63
300 n. 137 Vielhauer, Philipp 257 n. 1
Swearingen, C. Jan 239 n. 123, 276 Voelz, James W. 261 n. 16
n. 63 Vos, Johan S. 33 n. 66
Talbert, Charles H. 105 n. 28, 112 Walker, Donald Dale 143 n. 11, 144
n. 39 n. 12, 169 n. 1, 280 n. 73, 286 n. 90
Tannen, Deborah 231 n. 95, 236 Wallace, Richard 47 n. 127
n. 110, 266 n. 37 Wallach, Barbara Price 44 n. 119, 45
Taylor, Alan 196 n. 39, 204 n. 9, 205 n. 121
n. 15, 209 n. 26, 217, 251 n. 34 Walters, Jonathan 306 n. 159
Taylor, N. H. 64 n. 24 Walzer, Arthur E. 116 n. 47, 118 n. 51,
Tell, Håkan 154 n. 24 188 n. 15
Theissen, Gerd 1 n. 3, 26 n. 39, 37, Wan, Ske-kar 150 n. 7
52 n. 145, 74 n. 48 Wanamaker, Charles A. 61 n. 16, 71
Thrall, Margaret E. 62 n. 18, 70 n. 43
n. 31, 105 n. 28, 115 n. 45, 119 n. 53, Wang, Tzu-fu 216 n. 48, 313 n.
141 n. 3, 156 n. 31, 161 nn. 47–48, 16
222 n. 67, 264 n. 30, 267 nn. 43 and Watson, Duane F. 2 n. 7, 57 n.
47, 268 nn. 49 and 52 and 55, 269 n. 2, 60 n. 12, 100 n. 13, 103, 105 n. 28,
58, 270–75, 280 nn. 73 and 75, 287 108 n. 32, 109 n. 35, 110, 117 n. 50,
n. 93, 288 n. 100, 289 n. 102 121, 143 n. 9, 163 n. 54, 169 n. 1, 175
Thurén, Lauri 262 n. 19, 318, 319 nn. n. 20, 218, 286 n. 90, 296 n. 126
31 and 33 Watson, Francis 63 nn. 18 and 20,
Thwaites, Reuben Gold 194 n. 29, 210 64 n. 23
n. 30 Watson, Nigel M. 97 n. 2
Toorn, Karel van der 9 n. 22 Webb, Ruth 96 n. 56
Travis, S. H. 97 n. 1, 143 n. 9, 175 nn. Weiss, Johannes 23–25, 64 n. 24, 77,
18 and 21, 298 n. 132 124, 127, 138, 140, 258, 259 n. 8
Trüb, Hansrudolf 129 n. 22 Weizsäcker, Carl von 257 n. 1
Turner, Nigel 222 n. 66, 257 n. 2, Welborn, L. L. 62 n. 18, 63 nn. 19–20
268 n. 51, 270–71, 273, 288 nn. 95 and 22, 64 n. 23, 69, 72 nn. 44–45,
and 97 75 n. 51, 76 n. 52, 141–42, 147 n. 20,
Ulmer, Rivka 45 n. 121 177 n. 29, 222 n. 65, 228 n. 80, 278
Unnik, W. C. 22, 46 n. 67, 282 n. 78, 288 n. 100, 301, 302
Vanhoye, Albert 314, 318–19, 320 n. 145
n. 35 Wendt, Hans Hinrich 19 n. 5
400 RETHINKING PAUL’S RHETORICAL EDUCATION

White, John L. 88 n. 19 Zmijewski, Josef 77 n. 53, 136 n. 33,

White, L. Michael 152 n. 13 143 n. 9, 145 n. 16, 275 n. 59
Whitmarsh, Tim 95 n. 56, 154 n. 25 Zuntz, Günther 269 n. 58, 270 n. 58
Wiebe, Rudy 3, 256, 317
Wifstrand, Albert 132 n. 28, 139 n. 44
Wikenhauser, Alfred 19 n. 4
Wilamowitz-Moellendorff, U. von 257
n. 1
Wiles, Maurice F. 261 n. 16
Williams, Wynne 47
Windisch, Hans 59, 83, 98–99, 103
n. 24, 115, 141–43, 145 n. 16, 147 n.
20, 222 n. 65, 227 nn. 76 and 78, 228
n. 81, 264 nn. 28 and 30, 267, 269 n.
57, 270–75, 277, 280 n. 73, 285 n. 87,
287 n. 92, 288 nn. 99 and 101, 298 n.
138
Winner, Ellen 176 n. 24
Winter, Bruce W. 26 n. 39, 82 n.
1, 113 n. 42, 150 n. 7, 151–55, 156 n.
30, 157, 278 n. 67, 287 n. 92, 291 nn.
112–13
Winterbottom, Michael 116 n. 46,
118 n. 51, 188 n. 16
Wire, Antoinette Clark 241
Witherington, Ben 26 n. 39, 27 nn.
40 and 43, 38, 59 n. 8, 65 n. 25, 99 n.
9, 150 n. 7, 169 n. 1, 175 n. 21, 278 n.
67
Wojciechowski, Michael 61 n. 16, 100
n. 13, 103 n. 24, 105 n. 28
Woodbury, Anthony C. 195 n. 38,
231 n. 95
Wrede, William 18 n. 3
Wuellner, Wilhelm H. 31 n. 57, 33 n.
66
Wyatt-Brown, Bertram 316 n. 22
Young, Frances M. 65 n. 25
Youtie, Herbert C. 46 n. 123, 93 n. 42
Yu, Ming-Chung 214 n. 40
Zahn, Christopher J. 178 n. 33
Zeller, Eduard 300 n. 139
Zerba, Michelle 220 n. 59
 Index of Subjects

alliteration, 129, 139, 234, 238, 246 envy and, 294–300

amplificatio. See auxēsis in letters, 117 n. 49
anacolutha, 54 n. 158, 257, 268 n. 50, of Paul’s rival(s), 150–151, 155–57,
270, 271, 273, 274, 276, 286 160, 169–70, 315
anaphora, 7, 77, 123, 129, 130, 131, 132, κατὰ σάρκα, 157 n. 34, 172 n. 12
134, 138, 185, 187, 190, 201, 231, as status claim, 299, 300–301, 302–3
232, 234, 235, 238 of weakness, 146–47, 150, 171, 172–
ἀνδρεία. See Paul: masculinity of 75, 178, 304–8, 316–17
antithesis, 127, 129, 132–33, 235, 238, captatio benevolentia, 207–8
266, 287, 291. See also parallelism catalogue style, 7, 77, 129–36, 137, 139,
Apollos, 71, 151 140, 180, 201, 231–39, 240, 249–50,
apologetic letter, 31, 66–67, 83–88. See 255, 305 n. 151. See also peristasis
also epistolography catalogue
aposiopesis, 221–22 n. 62, 236 chiasm, 129, 275 n. 59
apostrophe, 238 n. 120 chreia, 25
ἀσθενής/ἀσθενεία, 72, 283, 284 n. 86, Chrysostom. See Dio Chrysostom; John
285, 294, 303, 304, 305, 307, 311, Chrysostom
315, 316, 323 Cicero, 43, 88, 91, 94, 101 n. 16, 105,
assonance, 123, 129, 138, 139, 201, 231, 116–18, 165, 189–90, 194, 209–10,
246 221–23, 296 n. 127
asteismos, 286–87 clarity. See σαφήνεια
asyndeton, 7, 123, 127, 129, 131, 132, communicative competence, 6, 243,
134, 138, 190, 191, 201, 238, 258, 244, 313–14
259 n. 9, 272 comparative rhetoric, 6, 10, 187–88,
auxēsis, 123, 137, 139, 149, 166, 233, 192, 197–99, 240, 251, 255, 309
237–38 comparison. See also synkrisis
βαρύς, 278–79, 281 n. 76, 284–85, 295 analogical versus genealogical, 9–12
βαρύτης, 173 n. 14 historiographical method and, 4,
Billy Sunday, 236–39, 255–56 8–13, 192, 198–99, 201, 309–10
boasting, 2, 30, 34–35, 97–98, 119–21, Corinth. See also under Paul’s letters
143, 146–47, 161, 169–70, 177–79, characterization of Paul in, 30,
212, 227, 255, 280. See also foolish- 72–76, 147–48, 177, 227–28, 264,
ness: boasting and; periautologia 265 n. 36, 276, 277–86, 287, 289,
of eloquence, 116–17 292, 303–4, 311, 315–17, 322–23

-401-
402 RETHINKING PAUL’S RHETORICAL EDUCATION

Corinth (cont.) epanalepsis, 221

factionalism in, 61–62 n. 17, 70, 151 Epictetus, 29, 125, 127–29, 130, 139
Paul’s rival(s) in, 30, 34–35, 69–72, epidiorthōsis, 218
73, 75–76, 84, 87, 97–98, 110–13, epistolography, 76, 180. See also apolo-
150–51, 155–57, 158, 160, 168, getic letter
169, 172 n. 12, 227–28, 268, 277, documentary papyri, 44, 45, 93,
283, 288 n. 100, 297 n. 130, 321, 159–60 n. 44
323. See also under boasting epistolary style, 88–89, 167, 259–61
Paul’s visits to, 63, 64–65 n. 24, handbooks for, 39, 82, 83–86, 89, 91,
66–67, 69, 70, 72, 280, 281, 96
322–23 rhetoric and, 86, 88–92, 167
social context of, 1, 37, 50, 304, 320 training in, 39, 43–44, 82, 88–96,
sophists in, 150, 151–57, 278, 283, 180
286 n. 90, 321 epistrophe, 132, 134, 138, 233, 234
curricula. See under paideia ēthopoiia. See prosōpopoiia
Cynics, 29, 43 n. 114, 152–53, 280 n. ethos, 13, 101–2, 187, 208, 209, 222,
73, 283 226, 240, 249, 256
Demosthenes, 7, 58, 101 n. 16, 105, examples. See παραδείγματα
165, 180, 194, 202, 203, 208–211, exordium, 102 n. 19, 189, 207–8
219, 220–23, 303, 310, 311 Favorinus, 151–52, 282
diatribe, 24, 42–45, 72, 76, 124 foolishness, 73, 120, 142, 145–46, 148,
Dio Chrysostom, 29, 105, 109–10, 138, 172, 209 n. 25, 297–98, 300–303,
152–54, 286–87, 289 316
disclaimer, 6, 147–48, 172, 177–79, boasting and, 173, 177, 179, 212,
181, 214, 216, 220, 222, 297 221, 297–98, 302–3
dispositio. See rhetorical arrangement “Fool’s Speech,” 60, 76, 121, 141–48,
education. See paideia; rhetorical edu- 149, 171, 180, 227, 298 nn. 132 and
cation 135
Elia (Peruvian girl), 223–26, 255–56, friendship, 86–87, 117 n. 49, 230–31
267, 303–4, 309, 311 general rhetoric. See under rhetoric
ellipsis, 269, 270, 272, 274, 275, 287, habitus, 12, 191, 250–51, 284, 312–15
289 historiography, 9–10, 318–20. See also
elocutio. See Paul’s letters: style of under comparison
emphasis, 189 n. 17, 288 homoioteleuton, 77, 129, 130, 187
encomium, 39, 101, 149, 162 n. 53, 163, hyperbaton, 273
166–67, 181, 239, 297, 304, 306 hyperbole, 187, 189 n. 17, 190, 305 n.
enkyklios paideia. See paideia: curri- 151
cula ἰδιώτης, 17, 31, 59, 60, 73, 113, 261–62,
enthymeme, 51–52, 187 286, 287, 289–94, 315
envy, 106–7, 109 n. 33, 110, 112, 115, indignation. See βαρύτης
149, 153, 209, 215, 287, 294–300, informal rhetoric. See under rhetoric
301 intonation, 24, 225, 234, 245, 249, 255,
Epaminondas, 107–8, 209 311
 INDEX OF SUBJECTS 403

inventio. See rhetorical invention pathos, 2–3, 187, 190 n. 21, 209, 222,
irony, 35, 77, 141, 147 n. 20, 150, 165, 240
169–76, 177–78, 179, 181, 222 n. 65, patristic exegesis. See under Paul’s let-
230, 255, 286–89, 315 ters
isocolon, 7, 77, 129, 201, 231, 232, 234 Paul. See also Paul’s letters
n. 106, 238 authority of, 67, 69, 72, 97–98, 110,
John Chrysostom, 17, 55, 261–63, 111, 113, 146, 147, 157 n. 35,
266–67 169–70 n. 2, 172, 223, 280–81,
Klangfiguren, 24, 25, 140 281–82 n. 78, 284–85, 294,
language socialization. See under rhe- 302–3, 311, 316
torical education body of, 3, 13, 31, 282–84, 306–7,
“letter of tears,” 2, 63–64, 65, 69, 315. 315, 316, 318, 322, 323. See also
See also under Paul’s letters ἀσθενής; ταπεινός
letter writing. See epistolography collection project of, 64–65 n. 24, 75
literacy, 39, 82, 92, 93, 94, 95, 196–97 education of, 17–18, 22–23, 30,
logos (rhetorical proof), 187, 190 n. 21, 43–44, 46, 252–54, 261 (see also
240 under rhetorical education)
λόγος (Greek word), 70, 72, 279, 284– financial support for, 37, 73–75,
85, 286 n. 90, 289, 292, 315 113, 157, 228 n. 81
metaphor, 189 n. 17 Judean identity of, 18, 22, 43, 161,
Mexicano orator. See rhetoric: Mexi- 163, 172, 252–53
cano Luke’s portrait of, 20–21, 46, 207–8
Narrenrede. See “Fool’s Speech” manual labor of, 4, 5, 17, 18–22,
oral epic, 139, 234–25 n. 108, 246–47 26–27, 36, 37, 40–42, 43, 52–53,
paideia, 17, 45–46, 82, 85, 151–52 n. 56, 282, 284 n. 86, 318, 322
10, 163, 252, 261, 263, 282, 290, 323 masculinity of, 282–83, 306–8, 316
n. 48. See also rhetorical education opponents of (see under Corinth)
curricula, 39–40, 45, 53, 82, 89, as Pharisee, 19, 253
92–95, 180, 212 popular philosophy and, 4, 39, 43,
indicators of, 43 n. 115, 95–96, 181, 45, 51–52, 76, 123, 127, 142 n. 8,
192, 219–21 239, 286 n. 90, 323 n. 48
παραδείγματα, 54, 61 n. 17, 74 n. 47 Roman citizenship of, 5, 17–19, 20,
parallelism, 24, 77, 209 n. 27, 231 n. 95, 27, 36, 38, 41, 52–53, 56
234–35, 272, 275. See also antithesis social location of, 1–2, 4–5, 7, 13,
parataxis. See periodic style 17–22, 26–27, 29–30, 36, 37–42,
parenthesis, 221, 228 n. 81, 268, 270, 43, 45–47, 52–53, 55–56, 211,
271, 276, 289 286, 302–3, 307–8, 311, 317,
parody, 35, 76, 150, 151, 161–63, 167, 321–23. See also voice: of Paul
171–72 n. 10, 175, 180, 297–98, 304, rhetorical delivery of, 31, 278, 279,
305, 315 284, 288 n. 100, 292
paronomasia, 159–60, 257, 265–66 zeal of, 252–54, 297 n. 130
partes orationis. See rhetorical arrange- Pauline communities, 2, 111
ment
404 RETHINKING PAUL’S RHETORICAL EDUCATION

Paul’s letters 31, 233, 234, 235, 243, 255, 256, 303,
patristic evaluation of, 5, 17–18, 55, 309
261–63, 264, 266–67 education of, 7, 11, 208, 218, 231,
presence versus absence motif in, 251
63, 67, 69, 72–73, 227–28, 279– voice of (see under voice)
80, 281, 284, 303, 323 repetition, 131, 132, 187, 191, 222, 231,
2 Corinthians, partition theories 233, 234–35, 238, 265–66, 275, 276
of, 62–68, 321 (see also “letter of n. 61, 289
tears”) rhetoric. See also rhetorical education
style of, 23–25, 43, 54, 59–60, 198, as art, 188, 189–90, 219
256–59, 260, 261, 262, 263–64, Asianic (versus Attic), 258 n. 7
269, 275–76, 305 n. 151. See also Chinese, 187, 214 n. 40, 225 n. 71
βαρύς comparative (see comparative rhet-
syntax of, 7, 54 n. 158, 257, 262–63, oric)
263–77, 287–89, 310 comportment and (see voice)
Peregrinus, 29, 300–301 deliberative, 61–62 n. 17, 74 n. 47,
periautologia, 6, 35, 76, 98–118, 119, 187, 195–96, 249, 251
120–21, 149, 175, 179–80, 201, 202, emotion and, 2–3, 23, 25, 59–60,
206–12, 213–17, 221, 240, 256, 294– 187, 220–21, 223, 257 n. 3, 266,
300. See also boasting 276, 318–19
periodic style, 24, 54, 220–21, 258–59, epideictic, 199 n. 55, 187
260, 269 forensic, 32, 66, 116, 187, 219, 291
peristasis catalogue, 41, 76, 77, 123–30, formal versus informal, 6–7, 10,
132, 135–36, 149, 175, 180, 232, 304, 11–12, 25, 28, 32–33, 190–92,
305, 306–7. See also catalogue style 212, 214, 218, 219, 226, 240, 245,
physiognomy, 282–84 254, 309–10
Plutarch, 7, 9, 35, 51, 98, 99–100, 103, general, 6–7, 11, 34, 54, 61 n. 17,
107, 120, 138, 211–212, 294–97, 136, 140, 186–92, 201, 212, 213,
300, 303, 311 214, 215, 218–19, 225, 240, 309
politeness theory, 214–16, 217 Greco-Roman theory of, 6, 8–9, 11,
prodiorthōsis, 6, 11, 118–20, 180, 185, 33–34, 53–54, 57–59, 149, 158,
191, 192, 201, 212–23, 240, 255 176, 179–80, 187–90, 191–92,
Progymnasmata, 39, 40 n. 99, 44, 46, 197–99, 212, 239, 276, 309
48–50, 91, 149, 160, 162–67, 181, handbooks of, 5, 31–33, 58, 185,
239. See also Rhetoric: handbooks of 310. See also Progymnasmata
prosōpopoiia, 6, 39, 40 n. 99, 91, 114 n. “of the heart,” 5, 23, 55, 197, 256,
44, 144–48, 175–76, 180, 185, 201, 257
223–31, 236, 238, 240, 255 Mexicano, 247–50, 255–56, 310
Quintilian, 7, 31, 43, 46, 88, 93, 105, Native American, 192–97, 203 n. 5,
116–18, 120, 188–89, 222, 233, 257– 233–34, 251
58, 303 “New Rhetoric,” 199
Red Jacket, 8, 9, 49 n. 134, 192, 199, “natural,” 25, 32, 55, 185, 189 n. 17,
202–5, 206–12, 217, 218, 222, 228– 194–95, 196, 197, 219–20
 INDEX OF SUBJECTS 405

letters and (see under epistologra- Sagoyewatha. See Red Jacket

phy) σαφήνεια, 54, 257–58, 260–61, 267, 269
Paul and (see under Paul’s letters) n. 56, 277, 289
rhetorical arrangement, 38, 39, 40 n. secretary, 85, 90, 91–92, 95, 207 n. 21,
99, 53–54, 58–59, 81–82, 189, 191, 276 n. 62
198, 207 n. 22, 240 self-defense, 67–68, 72 n. 44, 84, 87, 97,
rhetorical criticism, 1–3, 7–8, 13, 105–8, 109, 115, 117, 118, 121, 180,
31–33, 39, 57–61, 81, 175–76, 256, 201, 202, 206, 208, 209 n. 25, 211,
264, 309, 310, 311, 318–20 256, 296, 297, 303, 305 n. 151
rhetorical education, 58–59, 92, 123, self-praise. See periautologia
138–39, 144, 149, 155, 219–20, 236– social class. See under Paul; rhetorical
37. See also paideia education
formal, 7, 11, 46, 47, 50, 53, 82, 120, sociolinguistics, 6, 10, 245, 309, 311–12
140, 145, 185, 190, 191–92, 196– sophists, 28–29, 95, 138, 209 n. 25, 291
97, 201, 212, 216, 218, 225, 228, n. 113, 323 n. 48. See also Corinth:
231, 236, 243, 245, 248, 254, 251, sophists in
276–77, 310 philosophers and, 154 n. 25, 286 n. 90
grammar as indicator of, 226, 255– speech community, 6, 192, 214, 218,
56, 262, 264, 267, 310 244, 248
Judeans and, 24, 35, 138–39 speech-in-character. See prosōpopoiia
as observation and imitation, 32, Stoics, 29, 123, 124–25, 126, 130, 132,
139, 188, 190, 237, 246–51, 254 306–7
of Paul, 4–7, 18, 23–25, 27, 30–42, συναθροισμός, 137
44–56, 58–61, 81–82, 90, 95–96, “super-apostles.” See Corinth: Paul’s
99, 139, 140, 145, 170 n. 3, 181, rivals in
185–86, 192, 197, 198–99, 201, synkrisis, 34–35, 39, 76, 149–51, 155–
202, 208, 211–12, 218, 223, 239– 56, 157–68, 176, 180–81, 239, 276,
40, 254, 255, 276–77, 294, 309–11 315
(see also Paul: education of) syntax. See under Paul’s letters
social location and, 4–5, 27–28, τάξις. See rhetorical arrangement
36–42, 53, 55–56, 92, 94 n. 48 ταπεινός, 41, 73, 106, 108–9, 228, 280,
as socialization, 5–6, 30, 33–34, 186, 281, 282–85, 294, 304, 306, 307–8,
189–90, 212, 241, 243–52, 254, 315
309–10 (see also rhetoric: formal Tarsus, 20, 22, 30, 31, 38, 46–47, 52
versus informal) tentmaking. See Paul: manual labor
rhetorical invention, 54, 198 thesis, 47–50, 61–62 n. 17
rhetorical terminology, 27, 34 n. 68, Titus, 63, 64 nn. 23–24, 68 n. 36, 75,
159–60, 197 303 n. 148
rhyme, 130, 131, 138, 201, 231, 234, 235 ὑπόκρισις. See Paul: rhetorical delivery
rhythm, 23–24, 60, 125 n. 7, 127, 128, of
130, 131, 134, 139, 140, 201, 233, urbanitas, 286–87
234, 235, 237, 238, 239 n. 121, 246, voice, 3, 12–13, 181, 244, 251, 255–56,
249, 263, 305 n. 151, 311 311–15
406 RETHINKING PAUL’S RHETORICAL EDUCATION

voice (cont.)
aristocratic, 7, 88, 106–7, 181, 211,
219–21, 300, 303, 311
of Elia, 225–26, 256, 303–4, 311
of Paul, 3–4, 7–8, 81, 88, 107–8,
143–44, 175, 178–79, 181, 201,
211, 222–23, 256, 278, 286, 294,
303–4, 307–8, 310–11, 315, 316,
317–18, 320, 322–23
of Red Jacket, 7, 205, 208–9, 211,
256, 303, 311
 D id Paul have formal training in Greco-Roman rhetoric, or

Rethinking Paul’s Rhetorical Education

did he learn what he knew of persuasion informally, as EARLY CHRISTIANITY
social practice? Pauline scholars recognize the importance of
this question both for determining Paul’s social status and for
AND ITS LITERATURE
conceptualizing the nature of his letters, but they have been
unable to reach a consensus. Using 2  Corinthians 10–13 as a
test case, Ryan Schellenberg undertakes a set of comparisons
with non-Western speakers—most compellingly, the Seneca
orator Red Jacket—to demonstrate that the rhetorical strategies
Paul employs in this text are also attested in speakers known
to have had no formal training in Greco-Roman rhetoric. Since
there are no specific indicators of formal training in the way
Paul uses these strategies, their appearance in his letters does
not constitute evidence that Paul received formal rhetorical
education.

RYAN S. SCHELLENBERG is Assistant Professor of Biblical

Rethinking Paul’s
Studies at Fresno Pacific University.
Rhetorical Education
Comparative Rhetoric and
2 Corinthians 10–13

Ryan S. Schellenberg

Society of Biblical Literature Schellenberg