사도 바울과 세네카의 작품 비교 - 새로운 관점으로 성경 읽기

 "바울과 세네카의 대화(Paul and Seneca in Dialogue)"라는 책이 나온 이후, 바울과 세네카의 글 속 철학적 및 신학적 주제를 비교하는 작업이 최근 한창입니다. 잘 알려졌듯, 1세기 비기독교 작가 중에서 바울의 사상과 가장 유사한 것은 세네카이며,  그 동안 학자들은 종종 바울과 세네카의 글을 비교하여 둘 사이에서 새로운 가치를 찾아냈습니다. 안타깝게도 그동안 1961년 Sevenster의 논문 이후 50년 이상 이러한 작업이 더디게 진행되었는데, 최근 그러한 작업의 방향을 설정하는 좋은 논문이 출판되었네요!

 -> 세네카와 바울은 동시대를 살았기에 그리고 둘 사이에 '기독교'에 관한 어떤 대화가 있었음을 추론할 증거가 있기에, 둘을 비교하는 작품이 최근에 강조됩니다. 

---

 -> PDF와 HTML을 첨부합니다.

Paul and Seneca on Consolation - A Comparative Study(by Alexander W. Muir).pdf

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This thesis has been submitted in fulfilment of the requirements for a  

postgraduate degree (e. g. PhD, MPhil, DClinPsychol) at the University of  

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author, title, awarding institution and date of the thesis must be given.  

Paul and Seneca on Consolation: A Comparative Study  

by  

Alexander W. Muir  

Submitted for the degree of Doctor of Philosophy in New  

Testament and Christian Origins  

2022  

1

Abstract  

This thesis provides the first book-length comparative treatment of consolation in the writings  

of the apostle Paul and Seneca the Younger. It starts by offering a fresh conceptualisation of  

consolation in antiquity through a survey of ancient sources earlier than and contemporaneous  

with them. It is argued that consolation is best conceived in terms of tradition and mode, rather  

than genre. Following this overview, the comparative focus on the writings of Paul and Seneca  

is justified in dialogue with contributions to the field of New Testament studies that embrace  

or problematise comparison – particularly between New Testament authors and ancient Greek  

and Roman philosophers. Seneca is shown to be the best candidate for comparison with Paul  

on consolation owing to the tradition linking them and the availability of primary source  

material.  

The central chapters comprise a thoroughgoing exegetical treatment of consolatory  

themes, firstly in Seneca’s writings, then Paul’s letters. In order to console, both figures  

construct a consolatory discourse with narrative features. In Seneca’s case, his consolations  

were composed during two distinct periods. Firstly, the Ad Marciam, Ad Helviam, and Ad  

Polybium were written earlier in his career as he was gaining influence in Rome, before and  

during his exile in Corsica. Secondly, the Natural Questions and Epistles were written some  

two decades later, after he had been expelled from Nero’s imperial court. These writings  

provide an array of consolatory material. I then attempt to construct a similar career for Paul  

by looking at three of his letters: 1 Thessalonians, 2 Corinthians, and Philippians. Over the  

course of these letters, Paul engages in consolation through various modes and develops  

different narratives depending on the situations facing him and his predominantly gentile  

addressees.  

Having taken account of both Paul and Seneca on their own terms, in the final chapter,  

I construct a comparative dialogue between the pair. I contend that there are sufficient features  

in both figures’ discourses that allow this to take place under the headings of the Stoic tripartite  

system: physics, logic, and ethics. From the comparison, a number of striking similarities and  

differences emerge because of the pair’s different contexts. In Paul’s case, his consolatory  

narrative derived from being en christo (in Christ/messiah) represents a distinctive contribution  

to the ancient consolation tradition that is consistent with his Jewish heritage, but also  

incorporates Graeco-Roman cultural and philosophical notions, which the comparison with  

Seneca enables us to see.  

2

By highlighting the importance of consolation as a practical undertaking for both Paul  

and Seneca, I offer contributions to scholarly discussions around comparison, rhetoric, the self,  

and emotions – particularly in the fields of New Testament studies and Classics.  

3

Lay Summary  

This thesis compares two contemporaries from the mid-first century CE, the apostle Paul, and  

the Roman philosopher, Seneca the Younger, on the topic of consolation. The first chapter  

offers some initial definitions of consolation as a practice and tradition in the ancient world. In  

the second chapter, I justify comparing Paul and Seneca on consolation in dialogue with other  

scholars who have engaged in comparison between New Testament writers and ancient  

philosophers. Despite their different contexts, Paul and Seneca wrote to console individuals or  

communities amid suffering. They are suitable dialogue partners because of the tradition  

linking them and the availability of primary source material.  

The central chapters of the thesis explore many of these sources. In Seneca’s case, we  

have some consolations that he wrote earlier in his life before and during his exile in Corsica  

(Ad Marciam, Ad Helviam, and Ad Polybium), as well as some texts from towards the end of  

his life (Natural Questions and Epistles). Together, these constitute a career of consolation. In  

Paul’s case, a similar career can be constructed through analysis of three of his letters (1  

Thessalonians, 2 Corinthians, and Philippians). Each letter provides a different angle on his  

consolatory practice.  

Having analysed Seneca and Paul’s consolations on their own terms, in my final  

chapter, I compare them. In writing to console, both create discourses and narratives that can  

be meaningfully compared. Under the headings of the Stoic three-part system of physics, logic,  

and ethics, I identify similarities between Seneca and Paul’s consolatory narratives, but also  

show how they differ in key areas. A significant difference is that Paul’s consolatory narrative  

derives from being ‘in Christ’ in continuity with his Jewish heritage. Around this narrative,  

however, Paul employs broader cultural and philosophical notions from the Graeco-Roman  

world, which the comparison with Seneca enables us to see.  

4

Acknowledgements  

Central to the following thesis is the concept of networks of consolation, comfort, and  

exhortation from divine and human sources. Here I would like to acknowledge some of the  

people who have provided me with such a network as I have written it.  

This research took place at the University of Edinburgh at the beautiful New College  

atop the Mound. I thank the School of Divinity for sponsorship by way of a Postgraduate  

Research Scholarship. I met and deepened connections with some wonderful people during my  

years of doctoral study. Chief among them was my supervisor, Matthew Novenson, who  

patiently and generously oversaw this project, often believing in its potential more than I did.  

He was always attentive and stood by me in good and difficult patches of the programme. I  

always left his office feeling edified; I could not have asked for a better Doktorvater.  

Other faculty at New College greatly assisted and encouraged me along the way:  

namely, Helen Bond, Alison Jack, Suzanna Millar, Timothy Lim, Paul Foster, and Paul Parvis.  

Perhaps the true bosses of New College are Karoline McLean and Robert McKay – I thank  

them both for their sterling service and support to me and all postgraduate students in the  

college. Given the importance of Seneca to this study, I made regular visits to the Edinburgh  

Classics department. I am especially grateful to Benjamin Harriman for his lectures on the  

Roman Stoics and his astute feedback on my Seneca chapters at a critical time in the project.  

The aspect of the PhD programme at Edinburgh that most surpassed expectations was  

the environment within the Novenson cohort. Many of them were key collaborators for this  

thesis. Some of them have already moved on to new and exciting things, and I look forward to  

seeing what this group goes on to contribute within and outwith academia. These individuals  

are: Sydney Tooth, Brian Bunnell, Patrick McMurray (who generously and expertly read and  

commented on a full draft of the thesis), Matthew Sharp, Ryan Collman, Sofanit Abebe,  

Charles Cisco, Manse Rim, Daniel Lam, Jared Hay, Daniel Mikkelsen, Zac McNeal, and Geon  

Kang. Not only did I benefit from a vibrant community of New Testament scholars, but I also  

had friends from other theological disciplines who taught me much, including: Patrick Brown,  

Esgrid Sikahall, James Thieke, Lucy Schouten-Thieke, Nuam Hatzaw, Nathan Hood, Calida  

Chu, and Dingjian Xie.  

Outside of the university, several other people and groups impacted this project. The  

backbone of this thesis was written while lodging with the Porteous family, who were so  

generous to me. Ps & Gs Church has been a spiritual home throughout, and I particularly thank  

Nate Johnson and Libby Talbot for their love, care, and encouragement. The running  

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community provided a wonderful outlet away from writing. I thank especially Tom  

Cunningham for some enjoyable lockdown training and therapeutic runs towards the end.  

Although at one stage I was kept away from my hometown of Newbury for eighteen months, I  

know many people there – particularly at St Nic’s Church – have remembered and upheld me.  

Lastly, my family. I am grateful for my mother’s family (the Royle’s), who have always  

taken a keen interest in this research. My grandmother in Scotland, Betty Muir, has been an  

unfailing supporter and offered wonderful hospitality over the last few years, particularly when  

the border was closed. My sister and brother, Fiona and Nick, both wonderfully different from  

me, have always inspired me and cheered me on in my endeavours. My mother is the epitome  

of a strong woman: her gentle and faithful encouragement not only convinced me to pursue  

this research but also helped me to finish it.  

It has been nearly ten years since my father died. Although I miss him often, I remain  

grateful for his life and the memories. I think he would have liked the idea of comparing Paul  

and Seneca on consolation and accounting for similarities and differences between them. This  

thesis is, therefore, dedicated to him.  

Alexander W. Muir  

June 2022  

6

Contents  

Chapter 1: Defining Consolation in Antiquity: Traditions and Modes......................................8  

Chapter 2: Comparing Paul and Seneca on Consolation: How and Why................................24  

Chapter 3: Seneca’s Early Career Consolations ......................................................................43  

Chapter 4: Seneca’s Later Career Consolations.......................................................................71  

Chapter 5: Paul’s First Letter to the Thessalonians .................................................................91  

Chapter 6: Paul’s Second Letter to the Corinthians...............................................................113  

Chapter 7: Paul’s Letter to the Philippians ............................................................................149  

Chapter 8: Comparing Paul’s and Seneca’s Consolatory Narratives.....................................179  

Conclusion: Paul and Seneca within the Ancient Consolation Tradition..............................219  

Bibliography ..........................................................................................................................226  

Abbreviations of primary and secondary sources follow the SBL Handbook of Style.  

7

Chapter 1: Defining Consolation in Antiquity: Traditions and Modes  

‘La souffrance est aussi ancienne que l’homme, et avec elle est né le besoin de consolation’.¹  

‘Suffering is as old as mankind – and with it, the need for consolation was born’.  

Consolation: Initial Definitions  

The aim of this project is to host the most detailed dialogue to date between the apostle Paul,  

and the Roman statesman and philosopher, Seneca the Younger, on the topic of consolation.  

While some readers of Seneca and Paul may question the legitimacy of the title of consoler in  

either or both of their cases, I seek to show that both figures contributed to an ancient tradition  

of consolation. By analysing their respective consolatory practices on their own terms before  

bringing them into comparative conversation, I envisage that a more plausible and imaginative  

understanding of consolation and other related themes in their writings will emerge.  

As the quotation at the head of the chapter suggests, humanity has always required  

consolation amid suffering. Recent years have reminded us that this remains as true today as it  

was in the first century CE, as well as before that and in the intervening years. While as twenty-  

first century interpreters of Paul and Seneca on consolation we should be aware of the reception  

history of consolation² and not impervious to insights from other fields outside Classics and  

New Testament studies,³ our primary objective is to analyse, as best as we can,⁴ Paul and  

Seneca’s consolatory discourse within the context of that ancient tradition.  

The first task, therefore, is to come to a more precise definition of consolation based on  

the evidence we have from antiquity. Since all the Pauline material is epistolary and some of  

Seneca’s writings were classified as letters, the ancient epistolary handbooks provide a helpful  

starting point in defining consolation. In the Epistolary Types, which could be dated to  

anywhere between 200 BCE and 300 CE,⁵ pseudo-Demetrius posits that there are twenty-one  

¹ Charles Favez, La consolation latine chrétienne (Paris: J. Vrin, 1937), 9.  

² See Christoph Jedan, ‘What is consolation? Towards a new conceptual framework’, in Consolationscapes in the  

Face of Loss: Grief and Consolation in Space and Time, eds. idem et al. (London: Routledge, 2018), 17–46.  

3

For a recent literary understanding of consolation, see David James, Discrepant Solace: Contemporary  

Literature and the Work of Consolation (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2019); for notions of consolation  

among the Reformers, particularly Melanchthon, see Simeon Zahl, The Holy Spirit and Christian Experience  

(Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2020), 127–141.  

⁴ For a brief, yet incisive, discussion of the benefits and limits of the historical-critical enterprise concerning Paul,  

see Matthew V. Novenson, ‘Our Apostles, Ourselves’, in idem, Paul, Then and Now (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans,  

2022), 1–12.  

⁵ See Abraham J. Malherbe, Ancient Epistolary Theorists, SBLSBS 19 (Atlanta: Scholars Press, 1988), 4–5.  

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different letter types. He describes the fifth type as ‘consoling’ (παραμυθητικός), giving the  

following definition:  

Παραμυθητικὸς δέ ἐστιν ὁ γραφόμενος τοῖς ἐπὶ λύπης καθεστηκόσι δυσχεροῦς τινος  

γεγονότος.⁶  

The consoling [type] is written to those who have experienced, through grief, something  

difficult happen.⁷  

Although this definition is brief, it highlights an important point about consolation: grief is a  

necessary precondition. If there is not underlying grief, then any appeals to the emotions are  

not primarily motivated by consolation. Pseudo-Demetrius goes on to give an example of such  

a letter:  

Hearing of the terrible things of unfavourable chance that befell you, I felt deep pain,  

considering that what had happened had not come upon you, but me instead. Therefore,  

that day, I bewailed everything that opposes life, but recognised that by nature such  

things are reserved for all: premised neither on a time nor an age during which it is  

necessary to suffer something, but often arriving uncertainly, awkwardly, and  

unfittingly. Since I happened not to be present to console you, I determined to do so by  

letter. Bear what has happened as lightly as is possible and exhort yourself, just as you  

would exhort anyone else. For you know that with the passing of time, reason will make  

it easier for you to be relieved.  

While other ancient letter examples could also be adduced,⁸ this initial example conveys  

principal topoi of ancient consolatory discourse. This sample letter begins on the note of  

sympathy: the writer informs the consoland ‘I felt deep pain’ (καθ’ ὑπερβολὴν ἤλγησα) at what  

had befallen them. This leads to a period of lamentation and mourning on the part of the writer,  

who is permitted to say: ‘I bewailed’ (συνεφόραζον) the suffering that (s)he sees. At this point,  

however, there is a transition: the writer moves from lamentation to reflect more soberly on the  

human condition. The recognition (ἐννοηθείς) that ‘such things of nature are reserved for all’  

is a common consolatory argument developed by various philosophers. The later parts of the  

letter offer a combination of consolation and exhortation. Lack of presence (μὴ παρὼν) and  

⁶ Epistolary Types 5.  

⁷ Translations are my own unless stated.  

8

Pseudo-Libanius (§25) gives the following definition of the consolatory letter (παραμυθητική): ‘we console  

someone because grievous circumstances have befallen him’ (παραμυθούμεθα τινα ἐπὶ τοῖς συμβᾶσιν αὐτῷ  

λυπηροῖς). Unfortunately, the corresponding example of the consolatory letter has not been preserved. See J. H.  

D. Scourfield, ‘Towards a Genre of Ancient Consolation’, in Greek and Roman Consolations: Eight Studies of a  

Tradition and Its Afterlife, ed. Han Baltussen (Swansea: The Classical Press of Wales, 2013), 12, for the possibility  

that the example would have been similar to that of pseudo-Demetrius. Other related letter types include the  

paraenetic (παραινετική; §5); encouraging (παραθαρρυντική; §36); grieving (λυπητική; §43).  

9

distance are also prerequisites for consolation. Accordingly, consolation and comfort are  

offered (τετύχηκα παρακαλεῖν σε) by the distanced writer along with paraenetic exhortation  

based on what the recipient already knows – ‘just as you would exhort another, exhort yourself  

(καθὼς ἄλλῳ παρῄνεσας, σαυτῷ παραίνεσον)’ – to bear the hardship lightly. Finally, it is  

promised that when reason (λόγος) is applied, the suffering will become lighter and pass away  

through time.  

Since it is a sample letter, the specific causes of suffering and grief are not detailed. We  

might assume that there has been a bereavement. Many ancient consolations were indeed letters  

of condolence following a bereavement. Cicero describes grief following a bereavement as ‘the  

type of grief (genus aegritudinis), which is the greatest one of all’ (Tusc. 3.33.81). Ancient  

consolations, however, were not restricted to bereavements; Cicero continues that they could  

be composed ‘concerning any misfortune, to which the term of disaster is generally applied (de  

omni casu, in quo nomen poni solet calamitatis)’ (Tusc. 3.34.81). Such situations included:  

poverty, career disappointment, exile, slavery, illness, and blindness. Each consolatory  

situation is different and so the sample letter presents only the most general advice; but it is  

nevertheless a valuable resource.  

The sample letter introduces some common philosophical topoi for consolation, but  

rhetorical theorists provide another perspective. Firstly, in Theon’s Progymnasmata 117.6-24,  

advice for consolation is given. In most cases, the consoler should say that ‘what has happened  

was necessary (ἀναγκαῖον), common to all, and involuntary’, since ‘the intelligent do not grieve  

(λυποῦνται) at all at involuntary things’. Theon advocates pity as being powerful for  

consolation (ὁ οἶκτος δὲ μεγάλην ἰσχὺν ἔχει πρὸς παραμυθίαν): consolation will be more  

readily received, if the consoland’s lamentation is shared. There should only be aspects of  

admonition (νουθετικούς) following lament (θρήνους).⁹  

Secondly, Menander Rhetor in the third century CE held that the main components of  

a consolatory speech (ὁ παραμυθητικὸς λόγος) – particularly in the context of the funeral  

speech¹⁰ – comprised two main parts: an encomiastic lament (θρῆνον) which was to be  

‘augmented, as much as is possible’ (413.3); and the consolatory part of the speech (μέρος τοῦ  

λόγου τὸ παραμυθητικόν). This part was intended to be overtly philosophical rather than  

limited to generalised sayings about mortality. This consolatory part would draw on reflections  

from epics and tragedies, as well as stories of cities that had fallen to show that departure from  

⁹ Less sympathy is accorded, however, if grief was voluntary and on account of self-love (φιλαυτία).  

10  

Robert C. Gregg, Consolation Philosophy: Greek and Christian Paideia in Basil and the Two Gregories,  

Patristic Monograph Series 3 (Cambridge, Mass.: Philadelphia Patristic Foundation, 1975), 33.  

10  

life is not an evil. In line with pseudo-Demetrius, Menander Rhetor and Theon both show that  

consolation not only involves offering sympathy to the bereaved,¹¹ but also some exhortation.  

These theorists introduce some of the core consolatory vocabulary which we can use to  

produce an initial definition. We have already encountered some important and related Greek  

lexemes: two of which are used by the apostle Paul (παραμυθέομαι¹² and παρακαλέω¹³), and a  

third (παραινέω), although never employed by him,¹⁴ is often co-opted by Pauline scholarship  

to describe the so-called paraenetic parts of his letters.¹⁵ Some scholars have, however, reached  

questionable interpretive judgements about how these terms should be understood. James  

Barr’s critique of the TWNT entries on παραμυθέομαι and παρακαλέω provides a case in point.  

Gustav Stählin argues for a ‘double character’¹⁶ for both verbs – exhorting and comforting –  

which Barr ultimately finds to be rooted in ‘a correspondence between biblical language and  

theological reality’.¹⁷ This is problematic for two reasons. Firstly, to support his case, Stählin  

drives too great a wedge between the use of these verbs in Greek and Roman literature – where  

apparently ‘exhortation intends no more than the bringing of lamentation to an end, without  

any true comfort of the heart’¹⁸ – and the ‘Gospel’ at the heart of the New Testament.¹⁹  

Secondly, for Barr, Stählin’s meaning is symptomatic of the TWNT’s failure to analyse ‘not …  

the word individually but … the word-combination or sentence’,²⁰ viz. semantic elements.  

Stählin’s tendency to separate the vocabulary of the New Testament from wider  

Graeco-Roman usage perhaps explains his avoidance of consolation as a major category. Yet  

my contention is that consolation provides the basis for comfort and exhortation, as the  

handbooks attest. I accordingly define each term slightly differently. While paraenesis was in  

the first instance a Greek concept, consolation, comfort, and exhortation are terms derived from  

Latin. Consolation (from the Latin consolor, which frequently appears in Seneca’s writings)  

can etymologically be defined as presence in isolation or absence. It concerns the initial effort  

¹¹ On the intersection of rhetoric and the emotions, including consolation, see Matthew Leigh, ‘Quintilian on the  

Emotions (Institutio Oratoria 6 preface and 1–2)’, JRS 94 (2004): 122–140.  

¹² 1 Cor 14:13; Phil 2:1; 1 Thess 2:12, 5:14.  

¹³ In the undisputed letters of Paul, παρακαλέω/παράκλησις language appears: 8x in Romans; 7x in 1 Corinthians;  

29x in 2 Corinthians; 3x in Philippians; 9x in 1 Thessalonians; 2x in Philemon.  

¹⁴ The term is, however, used of him by the writer of Acts: see Acts 27:9, 27:22. The only other possible instance  

of παραινέω in the New Testament is one manuscript (D) providing a variant of Lk 3:18 with John the Baptist  

described as παραινῶν – instead of παρακαλῶν as other manuscripts attest.  

¹⁵ See Anders Klostergaard Petersen, ‘Paraenesis in Pauline Scholarship and in Paul – An Intricate Relationship’,  

in Early Christian Paraenesis in Context, eds. James M. Starr and Troels Engberg-Pedersen, BZNW 125 (Berlin:  

De Gruyter, 2004), 267–296.  

¹⁶ Gustav Stählin, ‘παραμυθέομαι’, in TDNT 5:821.  

¹⁷ James Barr, The Semantics of Biblical Language (London: Oxford University Press, 1961), 232.  

¹⁸ Ibid., 232.  

¹⁹ See ch. 2 on problematising claims of Christian uniqueness.  

²⁰ Barr, Semantics, 233.  

11  

on the part of the consoler to displace the sensation of loss or grief (aegritudo or dolor) on the  

part of the consoland and to replace it with a positive affect or virtue. We shall see that Seneca,  

Paul, and other ancient consolers provide several examples of how this can be achieved.  

Comfort (from the Latin cum and fortis, literally ‘with’ and ‘strong’) represents a secondary  

phase after this initial consolation, where the consoler strengthens the consoland once the  

obstacle or source of grief has been treated in some way. Exhortation or encouragement, often  

through paraenetic appeal, represents a final stage of summoning the consoland beyond  

hardship, or a more general directive towards ideal ethical behaviour. The following graph  

shows the ideal progression between consolation, comfort, and exhortation over time as grief  

decreases:  

By foregrounding consolation, this study approaches the meaning of παρακαλέω and other  

semantically related terms from a different direction from previous studies. In his study  

dedicated to the παρακαλῶ sayings in the letters of Paul, Carl Bjerkelund concluded that these  

transitional phrases do not have a consolatory component as is the case in the LXX.²¹ Instead,  

he emphasised the fraternal and paraenetic aspects of this formula.²² The lexeme παρακαλέω,  

however, often appears in contexts where there is underlying grief. Although it was beyond the  

scope of Bjerkelund’s study, this study will highlight and explore consolatory notions in Paul’s  

letters, as well as their intersection with hortatory and paraenetic elements.  

21  

C. J. Bjerkelund, Parakalô: Form, Funktion Und Sinn Der Parakalô-Sätze in Den Paulinischen Briefen,  

Bibliotheca Theologica Norvegica 1 (Oslo: Universitetsforlaget, 1967), 188: ‘Selbst wenn Paulus παρακαλῶ in  

der Bedeutung ermahnen, trösten kennt, vgl. LXX, kommt das Wort in den p.-Sätzen in dieser Bedeutung nicht  

vor’.  

²² Ibid., 188–190.  

12  

In recent years, Troels Engberg-Pedersen has argued παρακαλεῖν has more to do with  

exhortation than consolation. I shall frequently commend Engberg-Pedersen’s contribution in  

offering a Stoic framework for interpreting Paul, but while having merit for certain passages,  

his judgement that Paul’s paraklesis and Stoic paraenesis are interchangeable²³ overlooks the  

complex emotions of grief in other sections of Paul’s letters, where there is often a concern  

with consoling. This initial survey shows how Greek terms, namely παράκλησις, παραμυθία  

and παραίνεσις, are related to the Latin terms, consolatio and adhortatio. Even if, as I argue,  

consolation as a means of overcoming absence through presence initially precedes comfort,  

exhortation, and (paraenetic) appeals, they remain inextricably linked. We shall see this most  

clearly through the comparison between Paul and Seneca on consolation, but with this basic  

theory and definition of consolation in place, we can move onto some other proponents of this  

ancient tradition to expand it.  

Ancient Sources on Consolation  

We shall start by considering some key figures of the broader Graeco-Roman ancient  

consolation tradition, who wrote before and in the same era as Seneca, before moving onto  

Jewish writers, prior to and contemporaneous with Paul, who also sought to console amid  

hardship.²⁴ For each of these areas, we shall work through the sources, as far as is possible,  

diachronically.²⁵  

Ancient Graeco-Roman Consolation  

Since our initial sources have come from Greek handbooks and this project will focus on the  

consolatory writings of Seneca, a predominantly Roman Stoic, we shall start with the Graeco-  

Roman tradition. Ancient consolation stemmed from rhetorical and philosophical backgrounds,  

often combining these two broad streams.²⁶ In this section we shall consider how consolatory  

23  

Troels Engberg-Pedersen, ‘The Concept of Paraenesis’, in Starr and idem, Early Christian Paraenesis in  

Context, 68: ‘Paul’s paraklesis is Stoic paraenesis. And that is why we call it paraenesis.’  

24  

I follow the tradition inaugurated by Martin Hengel, Judaism and Hellenism: Studies in Their Encounter in  

Palestine During the Early Hellenistic Period (London: SCM Press, 1974), in seeing Judaism as culturally  

contained within Hellenism in this period, rather than discrete or opposed entities.  

25  

The following overview is indebted to Paul A. Holloway, Coping with Prejudice: 1 Peter in Social-  

psychological Perspective, WUNT 244 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2009), 76–112, although I seek to provide some  

additional details and offer my own synthesis of the sources.  

²⁶ The classic scholarly treatment on ancient consolation is Rudolf Kassel, Untersuchungen zur griechischen und  

rꢀmischen Konsolationsliteratur (Munich: Beck, 1958). Kassel adeptly shows this dual influence from philosophy  

and rhetoric (Untersuchungen, 4–48). Kassel extends Carl Buresch, ‘Consolationum a Graecis Romanisque  

scriptarum historia critica’, Leipziger Studien zur classischen Philologie 9 (1886), 1–170, by establishing the  

arguments and topoi that the ancients used from the beginning to the end of antiquity.  

13  

themes entered ancient literature and how different philosophical schools or traditions  

employed consolation.  

While the ancient Graeco-Roman consolation tradition developed over time, its precise  

origins are debated. Consolation is discernible within Homeric epic.²⁷ Achilles’ speech to  

Priam (Il. 24.518–51) has consolatory characteristics and has been viewed as the ‘first example  

of the παραμυθήτικος λόγος or consolation’.²⁸ Grieving the loss of his beloved friend Patroclus,  

Achilles offers Priam sympathy for the loss of his son, Hector, whose body Priam has come to  

recover. Yet Achilles soon recognises that lamentation achieves little and is a common  

experience: he relates to Priam’s situation by furnishing exempla of powerful rulers who  

received hardship from the gods. He concludes with the exhortation: ‘bear up, do not grieve  

unabatingly within your heart’ (Il. 24.549).  

After Homeric epic, the next real candidate for the source of the tradition is Plato’s  

Phaedo. Here, Socrates prepares to die a noble death. Based on his own philosophical insights  

about the immortality of the soul, he is unafraid of death: ‘a man, who has conducted his life  

in philosophical mode, is bold when about to die (ἀνὴρ τῷ ὄντι ἐν φιλοσοφίᾳ διατρίψας τὸν  

βίον θαρρεῖν μέλλων ἀποθανεῖσθαι)’ (Phaed. 63e–64a). Other philosophical works are also  

associated with a first wave of philosophical consolation, although they are regrettably no  

longer extant or fragmentary. These include the pre-Socratic Democritus’ On Those in Hades  

and according to Plutarch (Vit. X orat. 833C-D), the fifth-century sophist Antiphon from  

Corinth composed a handbook τεχνὴ ἀλυπίας (Treatise on the Removal of Grief). In the fourth  

century, we know of some letter-essays on consolation, particularly Theophrastus’ Kallisthenes  

or About Mourning (Περὶ πένθους) and Epicurus’ Epistle to Dositheus.²⁹  

While there are several texts which can be situated within an ancient Greek tradition of  

consolation, its origins are diverse. A text from the third century BCE, the Academic Crantor’s  

On Mourning (Περὶ πένθους), however, represents a fresh starting point. Although it, too, is  

no longer extant, its effect on subsequent consolers is notable. No consolatory work approached  

the significance of Crantor’s until Cicero’s Consolatio ad se following the death of his  

daughter, Tullia. A remark from Pliny the Elder reveals that Crantor’s piece greatly influenced  

27  

Homer was viewed by later rhetoricians as a master consoler: Quintilian, Inst. 10.1.47 and Menander Rhetor  

2.15.434.11–18.  

²⁸ Arthur Darby Nock, ‘Orphism or Popular Philosophy?’, HTR 33.4 (1940), 309.  

²⁹ See further Gregg, Consolation Philosophy, 6; Holloway, Prejudice, 78.  

14  

Cicero; Cicero said: ‘I follow Crantor (Crantorem sequor)’³⁰ (Nat. pref. 22) regarding his  

consolatory technique.  

By this time, significant differences in consolatory approach between the different  

philosophical schools had materialised. In his third book of Tusculan Disputations, which  

forms the seed of his reflections for his Consolatio, Cicero sets out the different positions of  

various philosophical thinkers and schools (Cleanthes, Peripatetics, Epicureans, Cyreniacs,  

Chrysippus).³¹ At the start of this section, he sketches some of these different strategies in  

handling grief and different levels of invasiveness (Tusc. 3.31.75–76):  

haec igitur officia sunt consolantium, tollere aegritudinem funditus aut sedare aut  

detrahere quam plurimum aut supprimere nec pati manare longius aut ad alia traducere.  

These are the duties of consolers: to remove grief totally; or to sedate it; or to remove  

it as much as possible; or to suppress it by not allowing it to remain any longer; or to  

transfer it to other things.  

Having set out the various positions, he discusses how some like to combine these consolatory  

outlooks. This was, to some extent (fere), what he did in his own consolation for Tullia on  

account of the pain he experienced (Tusc. 3.31.76):  

There are some who combine all these types of consolation – by changing one thing for  

another thing – as I did, to some extent, in my Consolatio throwing (coniecimus) all  

these things into one consolation: for my mind was swollen (in tumore animus) and  

every form of healing was tried on it.  

Cicero’s attitude demonstrates how consolations became more varied, even eclectic, over time.  

Cicero was also an influential political figure, intimately involved with the affairs of the  

republic. When dealing with consolations, particularly from the Roman late republic and  

imperial period, we need to be aware that they are the writings of élite Roman males and  

unlikely to represent the general societal view,³² and that they often have ulterior political  

motives.³³  

30  

This remark is, however, ambiguous: did Cicero strictly adhere to Crantor’s style and consciously imitate it –  

or was he merely sympathetic to Crantor’s philosophical affiliations? Given Cicero’s composite set of influences,  

it seems reasonable to posit the latter.  

31  

See further Paul A. Holloway, Consolation in Philippians: Philosophical Sources and Rhetorical Strategy,  

SNTSMS 112 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2001), 65–74.  

³² See Valerie M. Hope, Death in Ancient Rome: A Sourcebook (London: Routledge, 2007), 3, for this perspective  

on the literature of Roman death.  

33  

See Amanda Wilcox, ‘Sympathetic Rivals: Consolation in Cicero’s Letters’, AJP 126 (2005): 237–55, who  

contends for the display of emulation and ‘rhetorical one-upmanship’ in Cicero’s consolatory exchanges with his  

friends, notably, Titius (Fam. 5.16), Sulpicius (Fam. 4.5, 6), and Brutus (Brut. 17) as a means of enhancing  

personal virtue.  

15  

Beyond overtly philosophical writings, the consolation tradition can be detected in the  

first century (BCE and CE) Roman poets, Catullus, Horace, Ovid and Propertius.³⁴  

Additionally, the pseudo-Ovidian Consolatio ad Liviam on the death of Drusus, as well as  

Statius’ Silvae, provide further case studies.³⁵ Juvenal and Lucian saw much in society to  

satirise and, interestingly, consolations were no exception for both writers. In Satire 13.120-  

123, while extending a mock-consolation to a friend who has been defrauded, Juvenal pillories  

some of the different philosophical schools (Stoics, Cynics and Epicureans).³⁶ Similarly,  

Lucian published his own Περὶ πένθους which, on some level,³⁷ satirises mourning practices.  

Among more conventional prose examples of consolations, one of the most famous and  

popular consolations in antiquity was (pseudo-)Plutarch’s Consolatio ad Apollonium, likely  

written in the late first or early second century CE.³⁸ The writer employs several standard  

consolatory topoi emanating from traditions that endorsed ‘moderate-feeling’ (metriopatheia)  

to console Apollonius following the death of his son. Here we should also note the Axiochus,  

written with similar conceptions and falsely attributed to Plato – it was probably composed  

closer to Plutarch’s time than Plato’s.³⁹ Finally, Galen’s recently discovered On Freedom from  

Grief provides a further example of consolatory theory – even if it is a treatise, rather than a  

consolation directed towards an individual or community.⁴⁰  

There was, then, a rich literary tradition of consolation stemming from the earliest texts  

of antiquity, which developed through the influence of rhetorical and philosophical theories  

and was further adapted by eminent figures in the empire. We can see, therefore, how pseudo-  

Demetrius arrived at the material for his sample letter. Would those from non-elite  

backgrounds, however, have been so au fait with consolatory theory? Here, we can turn to  

some documentary evidence: particularly the collection of papyri from Egypt that Juan Chapa  

has analysed.⁴¹ Chapa examines twelve letters of condolence dating from the first or second  

³⁴ e.g., Catullus 68, 96, 101; Horace, Carm. 2.9; Ovid, Am. 3.9, Ex Ponto 4.11; Propertius 2.13; 3.18  

³⁵ e.g., Silvae 2.6, 3.3, 5.1. Although see Jean-Michel Hulls, ‘Poetic Monuments: Grief and Consolation in Statius  

Silvae 3.3’ in Memory and Mourning: Studies on Roman Death, eds. Valerie M. Hope and Janet Huskinson  

(Oxford: Oxbow Books, 2011), 150–175, who questions labelling this poem a consolatio on account of the  

complex political agendas in the poem.  

³⁶ See Kassel, Konsolationsliteratur, 29.  

³⁷ See David Konstan, ‘The Grieving Self: Reflections on Lucian’s On Mourning and the Consolatory Tradition’,  

in Baltussen, Greek and Roman Consolations, 139–152.  

³⁸ The Consolatio ad Uxorem is, however, attributed to Plutarch. On Plutarch and consolation, see Han Baltussen,  

‘Personal Grief and Public Mourning in Plutarch’s Consolation to His Wife’, AJP 130.1 (2009): 67–98; Kassel,  

Konsolationsliteratur, 49–98.  

³⁹ See Tim O’Keefe, ‘Socrates’ Therapeutic Use of Inconsistency in the Axiochus’, Phronesis 51.4 (2006): 388–  

407.  

⁴⁰ See Caroline Petit, ed., Galen’s Treatise Περὶ Ἀλυπίας (De indolentia) in Context: A Tale of Resilience, Studies  

in Ancient Medicine 52 (Leiden: Brill, 2019).  

⁴¹ Juan Chapa, Letters of Condolence in Greek Papyri (Florence: Edizioni Gonnelli, 1998).  

16  

century CE to the Byzantine period. Although there are broad differences in content between  

the documents, Chapa recognises a common dual pattern within them, resembling findings  

from the rhetorical and epistolary handbooks: a first part of sympathy and a second part of  

exhortation.⁴² Chapa conjectures that such ‘patterns might also have been learnt and used by a  

larger number of people, without their being very much aware of the rhetorical theory behind  

it, by means of social practice and mimesis’.⁴³  

Chapa’s findings are particularly pertinent for our study comparing Paul and Seneca,  

who came from different social backgrounds. Even if we allow for a considerable Greek  

education for Paul, he was not composing literary consolations like Seneca. He was writing for  

predominantly non-elite readers and auditors. Nevertheless, consolation was a common social  

and cultural practice. All sectors of society drew, deliberately or subconsciously, on different  

parts of the tradition described here.  

Ancient Jewish Consolation  

No study of Paul can eschew his Jewish context. The variety of Judaisms throughout the  

diaspora formed an important subset of wider Graeco-Roman culture. We now consider the  

traditions of consolation identifiable throughout Jewish history. While there is considerable  

scholarship on grief and lament in ancient Judaism,⁴⁴ consolation is a relatively understudied  

concept. The language of comfort and consolation, however, is common in the Hebrew Bible.  

The Hebrew verb 

נחם

 features 108 times: frequently in the piel and pual binyanim where  

consolation is usually implied amid, or following, affliction. In the LXX, παρακαλέω is used  

not only to translate 

נחם

, but also other concepts. Reimund Bieringer rightly argues that in Isa  

40:2: ‘to emphasize the theme of comfort … the translator deliberately introduced παρακαλ-  

terminology in places where this idea was not present in the Hebrew text’.⁴⁵ Deutero-Isaiah is  

a locus classicus of consolation in the Hebrew Bible,⁴⁶ but the notion also features elsewhere:  

⁴² Chapa, Letters of Condolence, 26.  

⁴³ Ibid., 47.  

44  

See, e.g., Walter Brueggemann, ‘Costly Loss of Lament’, JSOT 11 (1986): 57–71; Ekaterina E. Kozlova,  

Maternal Grief in the Hebrew Bible (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2017); Angela Kim Harkins, ‘The Function  

of Prayers of Ritual Mourning in the Second Temple Period’, in Functions of Psalms and Prayers in the Late  

Second Temple Period, eds. Mika S. Pajunen and Jeremy Penner, BZAW 486 (Berlin: De Gruyter, 2017), 80–  

101.  

⁴⁵ Reimund Bieringer, ‘“Comfort, comfort my people” (Isa 40,1): the use of παρακαλέω in the Septuagint version  

of Isaiah’, in Florilegium Lovaniense: Studies in Septuagint and Textual Criticism in Honour of Florentino Garcꢁa  

Martꢁnez, ed. Hans Ausloos et al., BETL 224 (Leuven: Peeters, 2008), 70. Here, the LXX renders the MT ꢀ

וקרא

 

ה

אלי

 (‘say to her’) as παρακαλέσατε αὐτήν (‘console her’); note also the preference for ‘destitution’ (ταπείνωσις;  

LXX) in contrast to MT ꢂ

צבא

 (‘her army’).  

⁴⁶ Note certain commentaries: e.g, E. Beaucamp, Livre de la consolation d’Israël (Paris, 1991).  

17  

the stories of Joseph in Genesis and Ruth both contain consolatory elements of good  

circumstances prevailing from suffering;⁴⁷ and in the Psalms,⁴⁸ there are references both to  

consolation from God to the psalmist on an individual level, as well as to the nation of Israel.  

There are also scriptural passages where consolation is lacking: for instance, Lamentations 1,⁴⁹  

and throughout Job, where he receives scant consolation from his friends.⁵⁰  

Consolation is a major element in a variety of Second Temple texts. Within the  

intertestamental literature, Baruch’s third part constitutes a poem of consolation (Bar 4.5–5.9).  

Jerusalem is personified and declares that God has brought great mourning (πένθος) upon her  

(4.9). Yet she is called to be bold (4.21) and to endure (4.25) because the ‘one who named you  

[God] will console (παρακαλέσει) you’ (4.30).⁵¹ Consolatory themes also feature in Wisdom  

of Solomon, as part of its function as a λόγος προτρεπτικός (‘hortatory word’).⁵² It is written  

to ‘give comfort and encouragement to the oppressed’,⁵³ namely Alexandrian Jews doubting  

God’s divinity faced with persecution. They are told that ‘their hope is full of immortality (ἡ  

ἐλπὶς αὐτῶν ἀθανασίας πλήρης)’ (Wis 3:4). 2 Maccabees strikes a similar note when the  

brothers are facing martyrdom. Having been consoled, they express their confidence in the  

‘king of the world who will raise us (ἡμᾶς ἀναστήσει), when we have died, by his laws into  

everlasting life’ (2 Macc 7:9).  

Consolation is also a frequent trope in apocalyptic literature. Instead of addressing a  

people at large, apocalyptic literature addresses an elect, insider group. There were two  

particular crises in ancient Judaism: firstly, the Hellenistic crisis which led to apocalyptic texts  

such as the Enochic writings, Daniel, Testament of Moses, and the Sixth Sibylline Oracle;  

secondly, the Roman subjugation of Judaea, which led to texts such as Psalms of Solomon, 2  

and 3 Baruch, and 4 Ezra. Consolation was necessary at such times. The writer of 2 Baruch  

recognises the potency of God in such situations as ‘the one who reveals to those who fear  

[him] that which is prepared for them so that [he] might console them’ (2 Bar 54:4).  

⁴⁷ Note especially Gen 50:21 and Ruth 2:13 which both have the Hebrew expression ‘speak to the heart’ (dabar  

‘l lēb) in proximity to 

נחם

.  

48  

E.g., Ps 23:4, 71:21, 86:17, 119:52, 135:14. Note again the translation of παρακαλέω at Ps 125:1 LXX: ‘we  

became like those who had been comforted’ (ἐγενήθημεν ὡς παρακεκλημένοι) for Ps 126:1 MT 

כחלמים

 ꢀ

היינ

 (‘we  

were like those who dreamed’).  

⁴⁹ Lam 1:2, 1:9, 1:16, 1:17, 1:21.  

⁵⁰ E.g., Job 21:34. On the ending of Job, where there is possibly a sense of consolation (Job 42:11), see Suzanna  

R. Millar, ‘Did Job live “happily ever after”? Suspicion and naivety in Job 42:7–17’, JTI (forthcoming).  

51  

See Sean A. Adams, ‘Jerusalem’s Lament and Consolation: Baruch 4:5-5:9 and Its Relationship with Jewish  

Scripture’, in Studies on Baruch, ed., idem, DCLS 23 (Berlin: De Gruyter, 2016), 61–77.  

⁵² Holloway, Coping with Prejudice, 95.  

53  

John M. G. Barclay, Jews in the Mediterranean Diaspora: From Alexander to Trajan (323 BCE to 117 CE)  

(Berkeley: University of California Press, 1996), 185.  

18  

Elsewhere in ancient Jewish literature, we have a tantalising fragment from Qumran  

(4Q176), which consists of consolations (tanchumim) from a selection of passages in the  

Hebrew Bible, chiefly Deutero-Isaiah.⁵⁴ Owing to their fragmentary state, it is very difficult to  

know why they have been arranged in this way, and to establish the purpose of the document,⁵⁵  

but its mere existence demonstrates the importance of consolatory motifs for ancient Jews of  

this period. It is uncertain whether the Qumran community produced such a document, but its  

ideas and reflections conceivably corresponded to their worldview.⁵⁶  

We can also identify consolatory elements in the writing of Philo of Alexandria. Two  

examples will suffice for our purposes.⁵⁷ Firstly, the In Flaccum can be described as  

consolation for the persecuted community in Alexandria.⁵⁸ The denigration and fate of Flaccus,  

the orchestrator of the persecution, is presented as God’s judgement which would have brought  

assurance to the Jews living in Alexandria. Secondly, Sharon Weisser argues that in De  

Abrahamo 241-261, Philo accounts for Abraham’s lamentation over Sarah’s death (cf. Gen  

23:2) as a form of consolation that mirrors wider ancient Graeco-Roman consolatory practice.⁵⁹  

Since Philo is a Hellenized Jew, this is logical, but whereas elsewhere Philo idealises Stoic  

apatheia,⁶⁰ here he endorses metriopatheia. Weisser resolves this inconsistency by arguing that  

this passage is divided into two parts: a eulogy to the deceased Sarah, followed by consolatory  

arguments,⁶¹ thus producing a full λόγος παραμυθητικός.  

This survey shows that particularly in later texts of the Second Temple period, when  

Jews were more assimilated within Hellenistic culture, there was considerable overlap between  

Jewish and Graeco-Roman traditions. Nevertheless, some features from Israel’s specific  

history were retained. The apostle Paul stands at the crossroads of these overlapping traditions.  

Inspired by Paul, the ancient consolation tradition became a markedly Christian enterprise in  

antiquity. This trajectory is already discernible elsewhere within the New Testament,  

54  

We can identify quotations from Isa 40:1-5; 41:8-9, 10; 43:1-7; 44:3; 49:7, 13-17; 51:22-23; 52:1-3; 54:4-10;  

Zech 13:9. Additionally, Column I appears to allude to Psalm 79.  

⁵⁵ See Jesper Høgenhaven, ‘The Literary Character of 4QTanhumim’, DSD 14.1 (2007): 99-123.  

⁵⁶ Ibid., 123.  

57  

Peter van Nuffelen also brings out some consolatory elements in Philo’s De migratione Abrahami. See idem,  

‘De Migratione Abrahami und die antike Exilliteratur’, in Abrahams Aufbruch: Philon von Alexandria, De  

Migratione Abrahami, eds. Maren R. Niehoff and Reinhard Feldmeier, SAPERE 30 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck,  

2017), 203-218.  

58  

On In Flaccum, as ‘Trostschrift’, see Pieter Willem Van Der Horst, Philo's Flaccus: The First Pogrom:  

Translation and Commentary, PACS 2 (Atlanta: Society of Biblical Literature, 2003), 3.  

59  

Sharon Weisser, ‘Why does Philo criticize the Stoic ideal of apatheia in On Abraham 257? Philo and  

Consolatory Literature’, ClQ 62.1 (2012): 242–259.  

⁶⁰ e.g., Opif. 148.  

⁶¹ Weisser, ‘Philo and Consolatory Literature’, 242.  

19  

particularly in the Gospel of John⁶² and 1 Peter,⁶³ then is developed with different  

philosophising influences by certain Church Fathers.⁶⁴ Speaking of their consolatory outlook,  

Charles Favez avers:  

S’il est vrai que la pensée de ces auteurs chrétiens plonge quelques racines dans la  

philosophie grecque, c’est de l’Evangile qu’elle tire le plus pur de sa sève.⁶⁵  

While we shall not primarily be concerned with the afterlives of Paul’s consolatory writings,  

this eventual trajectory ought to be borne in mind. Our focus, however, is on the first century  

contexts of Paul and Seneca before Christianity and Judaism parted ways. These sources show  

that there was a common ancient consolation tradition with various proponents: Greek, Roman,  

and Jewish. The aim of the thesis is to show, through comparison, what Paul and Seneca both  

contributed to it. Having offered a working definition of consolation and fleshed it out by  

surveying some key ancient sources, there remains one final question before we undertake this  

comparison: can we speak of a genre of ancient consolation as well as an ancient consolation  

tradition?  

Consolation as Genre?  

If not always with flowing praise,⁶⁶ many scholars have been content to speak of a genre of  

ancient consolation.⁶⁷ In his work on the gospels, Richard Burridge argues that for genre to be  

a hermeneutically useful tool, there must be ‘sufficient features for the family resemblance to  

be recognised’.⁶⁸ In the most recent modern discussion on consolation and genre, Scourfield  

recognises ‘how established a form this [consolation] was’.⁶⁹ This is validated by the shared  

⁶² See Wendy E.S. North, ‘“Lord, If You Had Been Here …” (John 11.21): The Absence of Jesus and Strategies  

of Consolation in the Fourth Gospel’, JSNT 36.1 (2013): 39–52; George L. Parsenios, Departure and Consolation:  

The Johannine Farewell Discourses in Light of Greco-Roman Literature, NovTSup 117 (Leiden: Brill, 2005).  

63  

See Paul A. Holloway, ‘Nihil inopinati accidisse – “Nothing unexpected has happened”: A Cyrenaic  

Consolatory Topos in 1 Pet 4.12ff.’, NTS 48.3 (2002): 433–448.  

⁶⁴ J. H. D. Scourfield, ‘The De Mortalitate of Cyprian: Consolation and Context’, VC 50.1 (1996): 12–41; idem,  

Consoling Heliodorus: A Commentary on Jerome, Letter 60, Oxford Classical Monographs (Oxford: Clarendon  

Press, 1993); Gregg, Consolation Philosophy; Jane F. Mitchell, ‘Consolatory Letters in Basil and Gregory  

Nazianzen’, Hermes 96.3 (1968): 299-317; L. Malunowiczówna, ‘Les éléments stoïciens dans la consolation  

grecque chrétienne’, StPatr 13.2, TU 116 (Berlin: Akademie-Verlag, 1975): 35–45.  

65  

Favez, La consolation latine chrétienne, 75: ‘If it may be true that the thinking of these Christian authors had  

some roots in Greek philosophy, it drew its purest sap from the Gospel’.  

⁶⁶ For Favez, consolation is ‘un genre usé et rabattu’ (La consolation latine chrétienne, 176).  

⁶⁷ E.g., W. Kierdorf, ‘Consolatio as a Literary Genre’, in Brill’s New Pauly: Encyclopedia of the Ancient World.  

Antiquity, eds. H. Cancik and H. Schneider (Leiden: Brill, 2003), 704–706.  

⁶⁸ Richard A. Burridge, What Are the Gospels? A Comparison with Graeco-Roman Biography (2^nd Edition; Grand  

Rapids: Eerdmans, 2004), 42. Emphasis original.  

⁶⁹ Scourfield, ‘Towards a Genre of Consolation’, 18.  

20  

features from the handbooks and popular letters of consolation. Chapa sees several  

commonplace consolatory sayings regarding the inevitability of death⁷⁰ and bearing death as  

nobly as possible,⁷¹ which lead him to detect ‘patterns’⁷² of consolation. Nowhere, however,  

does Chapa posit a genre of consolation, which leads us to question whether this taxonomy is  

useful.  

At this point, it should be conceded that a fixed genre is artificial; any literary type is  

subject to development, as Burridge argues: ‘new genres do not spring into being fully formed  

… but they emerge and develop through the mixing and extending of previous forms’.⁷³ This  

happens in stages: when something sufficiently crystallised to be labelled an Urtext is formed,  

this represents a primary stage; in the secondary stage, subsequent writers engage in imitatio  

resulting in modifications; in the tertiary stage, there is greater experimentation and even  

deconstruction of previous work, resulting in ‘quite a new interpretation’⁷⁴ of the genre in  

question. From the ancient texts we have just surveyed, we could argue that Crantor’s On  

Mourning represents that primary stage, then Cicero’s Consolatio constitutes the second stage  

of imitatio, extending some elements but taking the genre in a new direction by being addressed  

to himself. Finally, we could see Juvenal’s mock-consolation as representing the final stage.  

In short, genres were and remain flexible notions; literature can be understood as ‘a  

network of relationships with flexible boundaries’.⁷⁵ This was true of ancient consolations  

which emanated from the two broad streams of philosophy and rhetoric within which there  

were a diversity of styles and genres. Some of these were more established than the ancient  

consolation, as Scourfield argues: ‘consolatory writing can be seen to bear a close relation to –  

indeed, to form part of – the much broader stream of philosophical literature of ethical  

exhortation, moral progress, and self-formation’.⁷⁶ This made consolation a versatile practice  

that could be accommodated within a variety of more established genres with the result that  

consolatory topoi appeared in all sorts of ancient literature.⁷⁷  

70  

Chapa, Letters of Condolence, 23-4, 35-6; see PSI VII 831: οὐδὲν δυνάμεθα πρὸς τὸν θάνατον (‘we can do  

nothing against death’); P.Oxy. LIX 4004: πλὴν τί δυνάμεθα ποιῆσαι πρὸς τὸ ἀνθρώπινον; (‘what, though, could  

we do against that which is human?’).  

⁷¹ Ibid., 33, 38: particularly the phrases ‘bear nobly’ (γενναίως φέρε) and ‘to bear mortally’ (ἀνθρώπινον φέρειν).  

⁷² Ibid., 47–49.  

⁷³ Burridge, What are the Gospels?, 45.  

⁷⁴ Ibid., 45.  

⁷⁵ Ibid., 57.  

⁷⁶ Scourfield, ‘Towards a Genre of Consolation’, 7.  

77  

See Baltussen, ‘Introduction’ in idem, Consolations, xix: consolation ‘cuts across other, more unified and  

familiar, literary genres’.  

21  

Yet even with these allowances, for a genre of consolation to be useful, there ought to  

be some way of classifying or demarcating an individual consolation. The ancient evidence,  

however, is that not only were the form and content varied in consolations, but actual  

classifications also vague. Some of Statius’ Silvae were known both as consolationes and  

epicedia, which are different entities.⁷⁸ The three pieces of Seneca’s that came to be designated  

De consolatione (‘On consolation’) are classified among dialogi, which emphasises their  

philosophical character.⁷⁹ It was in fact rare in antiquity for a piece to be called a consolation;  

consolation was more often subsumed within larger literary conceptions. Moreover, texts  

which claimed to be consolations also often had other interests besides consoling, which  

contributed to their eclectic nature.  

In sum, there are inherent issues with defining consolations in terms of genre; we need  

to seek alternative language. Although tradition is useful for describing the contours of how  

consolation developed historically as a literary practice, it does not account for how consolation  

is manifest in individual texts. A solution for this issue is to conceive of a consolatory mode  

rather than a genre of consolation. Jeff Jay argues that the Gospel of Mark, like other  

contemporaneous ancient Graeco-Roman and Jewish writings, employs a tragic mode. In line  

with Alastair Fowler’s definition of mode as a ‘selection or abstraction’⁸⁰ from a genre, Jay  

argues that mode ‘incorporates samples of a genre’s internal repertoire, especially its motifs,  

moods, and values’ and that ‘mode is to genre as an adjective to a noun, so that if a work’s  

genre is biography, its mode may be, for instance, comic or tragic’.⁸¹  

We can make a similar move in terms of consolation: underneath all these texts which  

we have surveyed is a consolatory mode or undercurrent.⁸² Although a little differently from  

Jay, two key contemporary theorists of consolation have applied the language of mode to  

consolation. Firstly, Scourfield instructively distinguishes between consolatory writings that  

are in ‘address mode’ and ‘reflective mode’ to construct a scale of consolation. The former is  

more consolatory, whereas the latter less so; thus, for Scourfield, ‘texts that do not embody the  

⁷⁸ Scourfield, ‘Towards a Genre’, 7, notes that Psuedo-Ovid’s Consolatio ad Liviam was also known as Epicedion  

Drusi.  

⁷⁹ Scourfield, ‘Towards a Genre’, 8.  

⁸⁰ Alastair Fowler, Kinds of Literature: An Introduction to the Theory of Genres and Modes (Cambridge: Harvard  

University Press, 1982), 16.  

⁸¹ Jeff Jay, The Tragic in Mark, HUT 66 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2014), 13; cf. Burridge, What are the Gospels?,  

40. For a recent treatment of Mark as a bios with reference to genre theory, see Helen K. Bond, The First  

Biography of Jesus: Genre and Meaning in Mark’s Gospel (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2020).  

⁸² Interestingly, Jay sees consolation and tragedy as interrelated in Gospel of Mark and other ancient texts: ‘forms  

of consolation, even hope, can and do exist within narratives where the tragic undercurrent is strong’ (The Tragic  

in Mark, 265).  

22  

social practice of consolation must hold a less central place’.⁸³ Conversely, any document  

addressed to an individual or group of people with consolatory elements is more easily  

accommodated within the consolation tradition. We shall see that Seneca’s and Paul’s writings  

satisfy these conditions: they are almost totally in ‘address mode’ which, in turn, leads to a  

consolatory mode.  

Secondly, Christoph Jedan has argued that in antiquity, consolation existed on a  

continuum from so-called religion to philosophy. Consequently, ancient consolation should be  

seen as a ‘theo-philosophy’ which is to say that ‘there is no fundamental difference between  

philosophical and theological modes of consolation’.⁸⁴ For Jedan, a ‘mode of consolation’  

signifies the arguments that ancient consolers used so that their addressees would ‘retain or  

regain a sense of their own agency in the face of adversity’.⁸⁵ This understanding of mode has  

the advantage of highlighting the practical component of consoling that both Paul and Seneca  

bring without the limitation of shoe-horning them into a fixed genre.  

This study will, therefore, resist talking about a genre of ancient consolation, but instead  

conceive of an ancient tradition and analyse its varied modes of expression, bearing in mind  

that such a common practice lends itself to a broad spectrum or continuum of notions.⁸⁶ This  

conceptualisation will be especially beneficial for Paul, since it is hard to maintain that  

consolation is the exclusive concern in any of his letters. As for Seneca, even if there is a more  

sustained practice of consoling at work in his writings, he is not bound by an absolute genre  

either. Both writers, however, contribute to a tradition of ancient consolation and participate in  

it through various modes, and so, they are pertinent dialogue partners, as we shall now justify  

and explain in the next chapter.  

⁸³ Scourfield, ‘Towards a Genre’, 19. He offers the example of the end of the third book of Lucretius’ De rerum  

natura.  

84  

Christoph Jedan, ‘The Rapprochement of Religion and Philosophy in Ancient Consolation: Seneca, Paul and  

Beyond’, in Religio-Philosophical Discourses in the Mediterranean World: From Plato, Through Jesus, To Late  

Antiquity, eds. Anders Klostergaard Petersen and George H. van Kooten, APhR 1 (Leiden: Brill, 2017), 183.  

⁸⁵ Ibid., 167.  

⁸⁶ Modifying John M. G. Barclay’s finding – ‘Grace is everywhere in Second Temple Judaism but not everywhere  

the same’ (idem, Paul and the Gift [Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2015], 6) – it could be said that grief is everywhere  

in antiquity but not everywhere the same.  

23  

Chapter 2: Comparing Paul and Seneca on Consolation: How and Why  

‘The human brain comprehends by comparing and contrasting, and consequently, comparison  

in the study of religion is essential, not optional’.¹  

Introduction  

In a review of Rudolf Kassel’s landmark study on consolation at the end of the 1950s, the  

eminent classicist Herbert Musurillo opined: ‘the literature on the Consolatio has tended to  

multiply beyond all useful proportions; now, with Kassel’s work, it ought definitely to be clear  

that certain avenues should be closed to further traffic’.² Since then, however, one major  

highway has opened to academic traffic: the study of the emotions across all periods, including  

antiquity.³ While the field of New Testament studies has lagged behind other related fields in  

study of the emotions, there has been a gradual shift towards their importance for  

interpretation.⁴ Moreover, New Testament scholars often appeal to ancient theorists of the  

emotions including many of the figures mentioned in the last chapter, along with Aristotle, as  

comparative indices for emotional phenomena in biblical passages.  

In this chapter, we shall consider some major contributions in our predominant field –  

New Testament studies – which have compared biblical writers with extra-biblical ones on a  

variety of topics, before focusing specifically on the emotions. As with studies on the emotions,  

comparative studies have become increasingly popular in New Testament study. We shall show  

that our carefully chosen topic of consolation, as broadly defined in the previous chapter, makes  

for a meaningful ‘third thing’ (tertium quid) for comparison between two comparanda: Paul  

and Seneca the Younger. We then consider how some of Seneca’s writings can be taken to  

represent the ancient consolation tradition against which Paul can be compared. Comparative  

studies, however, are not without methodological issues and require careful justification.  

Therefore, we shall firstly examine some of these difficulties and consider how they might be  

¹ E. P. Sanders, ‘Comparing Judaism and Christianity: An Academic Autobiography’, in Redefining First-Century  

Jewish and Christian Identities: Essays in Honor of Ed Parish Sanders, eds. Fabian E. Udoh et al. (Notre Dame:  

University of Notre Dame Press, 2008), 14–15.  

2

Herbert Musurillo, ‘Review of Untersuchungen zur griechischen und römischen Konsolationsliteratur by R.  

Kassel’, CP 54.4 (1959): 266-267.  

³ See Baltussen, ‘Introduction’, xviii. Seminal studies on emotions in antiquity include: Martha C. Nussbaum, The  

Therapy of Desire: Theory and Practice in Hellenistic Ethics (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1994);  

Richard Sorabji, Emotion and Peace of Mind: From Stoic Agitation to Christian Temptation (Oxford: Oxford  

University Press, 2000); Margaret Graver, Stoicism and Emotion (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2007).  

4

See the essays in F. Scott Spencer, ed., Mixed Feelings and Vexed Passions: Exploring Emotions in Biblical  

Literature (Atlanta: SBL Press, 2017).  

24  

 

mitigated, before articulating why consolation is a valuable comparative index in the cases of  

Paul and Seneca. We shall survey previous New Testament scholarship that has engaged in  

comparison, and latterly, emotional aspects including consolation, highlighting possible  

correctives and improvements along the way.  

Issues with the Comparative Endeavour  

The primary accusation that can be levelled against a comparative project is superficiality. This  

was the warning that Samuel Sandmel issued in his address to the Society of Biblical Literature  

in the early 1960s, when he coined the term ‘parallelomania’ to describe what he perceived to  

be a problematic phenomenon of his time: an ‘extravagance among [biblical] scholars’,⁵ in the  

light of the discoveries from Qumran, of adducing parallels between Jewish and early Christian  

sources that were not as informative as they supposed. Sandmel urged going beyond traces of  

similarity to ‘detailed study’ which ‘ought to respect the context and not be limited to  

juxtaposing mere excerpts’,⁶ since frequently, the context signals differences.  

Others have followed Sandmel in issuing similar admonitions. Nearly three decades  

later, Jonathan Z. Smith also recognised the hazards of noting similarity but eschewing context.  

He states: ‘from such a parataxis of “likeness”, little of value can be learned’.⁷ So, too, E. P.  

Sanders, within an explicitly comparative project, realised the limitation of motif research as  

imbalanced: ‘motif research often overlooks the context and significance of a given motif in  

one (or sometimes both) of the religions’.⁸ These preliminary remarks warn against a  

superficial comparative project: the selected theme, idea or motif needs to be readily  

identifiable and sustained – not simply appearing once or twice in isolation on either side of  

the comparison.  

A second issue in comparative projects is ensuring that suitable entities are chosen.  

Many comparativists maintain that this ought to mean wholes. In his work on comparing  

midrashim, Jacob Neusner states that: ‘what should be compared at the outset is whole to  

whole, document to document’.⁹ This is relatively straightforward in the case of comparing  

⁵ Samuel Sandmel, ‘Parallelomania’, JBL 81.1 (1962), 1.  

⁶ Ibid., 2.  

7

Jonathan Z. Smith, Drudgery Divine: On the Comparison of Early Christianities and the Religions of Late  

Antiquity (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1990), 43.  

⁸ E. P. Sanders, Paul and Palestinian Judaism: A Comparison of Patterns of Religion (London: SCM Press, 1977),  

13.  

⁹ Jacob Neusner, Comparative Midrash: The Plan and Program of Genesis Rabbah and Leviticus Rabbah, Brown  

Judaic Studies 111 (Atlanta: Scholars Press, 1986), 4.  

25  

Genesis Rabbah and Leviticus Rabbah; both texts ‘fall into a common genus’.¹⁰ The situation  

is more complicated, however, when comparing literature across traditions and religions. E. P.  

Sanders takes this to an extreme in his project by attempting ‘a comparison … of a whole  

religion [Paulinism] with a whole religion [Palestinian Judaism]’.¹¹ Although he subsequently  

narrows this down to a ‘pattern of religion’,¹² this is a significantly wider project and, as some  

have recognised,¹³ raises several contentious issues concerning what defines a religion.  

Therefore, the decision to choose wholes for comparison is not always feasible. Nevertheless,  

comparing suitable genera and the ‘identification of appropriate commonalities’¹⁴ are  

important notions.  

A third issue is the positing of uniqueness and hierarchy concomitant with comparative  

studies. There can be a tendency, even once two subjects have been compared, to attribute  

differences to uniqueness, which is academically facile. Jonathan Z. Smith went as far as  

wishing to dispense with the term¹⁵ since it represents ‘an ontological rather than a taxonomic  

category’.¹⁶ This coincides with what Smith writes elsewhere concerning difference: in seeing  

something as unique, this implies ‘absolute “difference”’ but, he argues, that this ‘is not a  

category for thought, but one which denies the possibility of thought’.¹⁷  

We can, however, argue for difference. Here, there are at least two areas to consider.  

Firstly, it is important to seek to treat both sides as equally as possible. Smith warns:  

Difference is seldom a comparison between entities judged to be equivalent. Difference  

most frequently entails a hierarchy of prestige and the concomitant political ranking of  

superordinate and subordinate.¹⁸  

A comparison should not, at the outset, privilege one side over the other. In a comparison like  

this involving Paul and Seneca, confessional scholars – particularly Protestants, of which I am  

one – could be tempted to view one writer as more authoritative than the other. For the purposes  

¹⁰ Ibid., 5.  

¹¹ Sanders, Paul and Palestinian Judaism, 12.  

¹² Ibid, 16.  

¹³ See Jonathan Z. Smith, Imagining Religion: From Babylon to Jonestown (Chicago: University of Chicago Press,  

1982), 33–35. Recently, Brent Nongbri, ‘The Concept of Religion and the Study of the Apostle Paul’, JJMJS 2  

(2015), 7–13, summarises Smith’s and others’ critiques very well.  

¹⁴ Neusner, Comparative Midrash, 8.  

¹⁵ Smith, Drudgery Divine, 36.  

¹⁶ Ibid., 39.  

17  

Jonathan Z. Smith, ‘What A Difference A Difference Makes’, in “To See Ourselves as Others See Us”:  

Christians, Jews, “Others” in Late Antiquity, eds. Jacob Neusner and Ernest S. Frerichs (Chico: Scholars Press,  

1985), 46.  

¹⁸ Ibid., 5.  

26  

of academic enquiry, however, each writer needs to be treated with equal consideration on their  

own terms. In his work comparing Romans and Wisdom of Solomon, Jonathan Linebaugh  

recognises the ‘tendency to assume and impose the normative status of Paul in comparative  

projects’.¹⁹ Paul was an atypical thinker: his upbringing as a Hellenized Jew who experienced  

a particular calling to be apostle to the gentiles led to considerable idiosyncrasy that twenty-  

first century interpreters can forget by domesticating Paul.²⁰  

Secondly, Smith shows how comparing two subjects is inadequate: ‘the statement of  

comparison is never dyadic, but always triadic; there is always an implicit “more than”, and  

there is always a “with respect to”’.²¹ In this study, the ‘with respect to’ part is easily accounted  

for: our comparison has a clearly defined tertium quid: consolation. While we shall focus  

primarily on Seneca and Paul as the main comparanda, by situating them in an ancient  

consolation tradition employed by a variety of Graeco-Roman and Jewish authors across the  

Mediterranean, we shall occasionally be able to glance at other exponents of consolation and  

compare both Seneca and Paul to them.  

These, then, are some of the issues with the comparative endeavour, which we shall  

have to mitigate in this project. Conversely, what are some of the merits of comparisons?  

Merits of the Comparative Endeavour  

In response to Sandmel, Sanders defends the utility of parallels. His assessment provides a  

summary for what has been established thus far and indicates the direction of travel for this  

section: ‘Parallels are often illuminating, as long as one does not jump from “parallel” to  

“influence” to “identity of thought”’.²² If differences alone are observed, then this is not  

particularly illuminating. Sanders’ project depends on more than parallels and goes many steps  

further; in comparing Paulinism and Palestinian Judaism, he searches for patterns that describe  

how they function. Sanders states: ‘Once the various entire patterns clearly emerge, the  

comparison can take place, and not before’.²³ A comparative project, properly undertaken,  

offers a perspective on how more than one religion functions based on the patterns and themes  

perceived.  

19  

Jonathan A. Linebaugh, God, Grace, and Righteousness in Wisdom of Solomon and Paul’s Letter to the  

Romans: Texts in Conversation, NovTSup 152 (Leiden: Brill, 2013), 21.  

²⁰ See Novenson, ‘Our Apostles, Ourselves’, 3, for the enterprise of ‘mak[ing] Paul weird again’.  

²¹ Smith, Drudgery Divine, 51.  

²² Sanders, Paul and Palestinian Judaism, 11. Emphasis original.  

²³ Ibid., 18.  

27  

Scholarship stands to gain from comparison in situations where there are shared  

contexts. Certain sets of texts lend themselves to comparison because of a shared heritage.  

Thus, Neusner and Frerichs can write concerning Judaism and Christianity that they ‘invite  

comparison and contrast because they stand close enough to seek mutual intelligibility and  

(therefore) to conduct vigorous and protracted argument with one another’.²⁴ While Judaism  

and Christianity are inherently interrelated, such remarks could be extended to other groups:  

we shall be particularly interested in assessing the relationship between the letters of Paul and  

ancient philosophers.  

Returning to the work of Jonathan Z. Smith, even if comparisons are inevitably chosen  

based on personal interest, so long as this is admitted, they can serve academia. He writes:  

‘comparison, in its strongest form, brings differences together within the space of the scholar’s  

mind for the scholar’s own intellectual reasons’.²⁵ Scholarly pursuits are often positively  

existential: responding to present situations based on one’s own experiences and interests.  

Returning to ancient texts through the lens of present experiences and circumstances can  

generate rich new readings, kept in check by a well-defined comparison. Even if the  

comparative undertaking is guided by ‘the scholar’s intellectual purpose’,²⁶ this can still be  

historically and heuristically useful.²⁷ Smith famously defines comparison as a ‘disciplined  

exaggeration in the service of knowledge’.²⁸ In a recent article building on this perspective,  

John Kloppenborg introduces some further modes of analytic and illustrative comparison for  

his work on Graeco-Roman associations:  

Comparison, whether analytic, as in the case of comparing group sizes, or illustrative,  

comparing the ideological bases of a particular practice, normalizes discourse about  

Christian origins rather than exoticizing it and turning it into something sui generis.²⁹  

Provided that the scholar is honest about his or her interest in a particular comparative theme,  

engagement in a detailed, even exaggerated comparison, can lead to a measured and plausible  

²⁴ Neusner and Frerichs, ‘Preface’, in idem, ‘To See Ourselves As Others See Us’, xv.  

²⁵ Smith, Drudgery Divine, 51.  

²⁶ Ibid., 53. Emphasis original.  

²⁷ See John M. G. Barclay, ‘Matching Theory and Practice: Josephus’ Constitutional Ideal and Paul’s Strategy in  

Corinth’, in Paul Beyond the Judaism/Hellenism Divide, ed. Troels Engberg-Pedersen (Louisville: Westminster  

John Knox Press, 2001), 141: ‘I believe the experiment [comparing Josephus and Paul] is worth conducting as a  

heuristic exercise, which at least helps us see how others might analyse and assess Paul’s church-forming  

strategies’.  

²⁸ Smith, Drudgery Divine, 52.  

²⁹ John S. Kloppenborg, ‘Disciplined Exaggeration: The Heuristics of Comparison in Biblical Studies’, NovT 59.4  

(2017), 414. Emphasis original.  

28  

reimagining of the historical context. The best possible result is recognised by Troels Engberg-  

Pedersen in an important collection of essays for the next section: ‘the aim of the comparison  

should be to understand each individual thinker better through the comparison’.³⁰ Thus, a well-  

worked comparative project can offer contributions back to two or more fields in the light of  

similarities and differences between different writers.  

Having considered the merits and demerits of comparison, we can move towards  

thinking about how and why we might compare Paul and Seneca on the topic of consolation.  

Yet as an intermediary step, we should consider the question of the relationship between Paul  

and ancient philosophies, particularly Stoicism, as well as the tradition linking the pair. Modern  

scholarship furnishes several positions – both for and against this comparative enterprise –  

which we shall survey.  

Comparing New Testament Writers with Ancient Philosophers  

Marcia Colish’s diachronic study of how the Church Fathers, figures from Medieval,  

Renaissance and Enlightenment eras, and modern scholars up until the late 1980s, conceived  

of the relationship between Stoic and New Testament writers remains influential.³¹ After  

surveying up to the mid-twentieth century, she notes that by this time, ‘classicists had achieved  

a consensus and had laid to rest the idea that Seneca and the other Roman Stoics had been  

influenced by the Christian faith’.³² My study does not dispute this claim: early Christianity  

was not sufficiently established in the first and much of the second century to have mounted a  

serious challenge to Stoicism or other popular philosophies in Rome.³³ The reverse of this  

judgement, viz. the extent of the influence of the ancient philosophers upon the New Testament  

writers, is, however, a more complex and contested issue. Scholars have approached the issue  

from a variety of views, which has led to some polarised perspectives.  

30  

Troels Engberg-Pedersen, ‘Paul in Philippians and Seneca in Epistle 93 on Life after Death and Its Present  

Implications’, in Paul and Seneca in Dialogue, eds. Joseph R. Dodson and David E. Briones, APhR 2 (Leiden:  

Brill, 2017), 268. Emphasis original.  

³¹ Marcia L. Colish, ‘Stoicism and the New Testament: An Essay in Historiography’, ANRW II.26.1 (1992): 334–  

379.  

³² Ibid., 367.  

³³ See George R. Boys-Stones’ chapter, ‘The Invention of Hebraeo-Christian Orthodoxy’, in his Post-Hellenistic  

Philosophy: A Study of Its Development from the Stoics to Origen (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2001), 151–  

175, for such defences only materialising in the second century CE.  

29  

Colish shows how some scholars opposed any borrowings or resemblances,³⁴ while  

others took the Hellenistic environment of the New Testament more seriously, but still  

ultimately saw major differences.³⁵ In the wake of Sanders and the so-called New Perspective  

on Paul, scholarship focused almost exclusively on Paul’s Jewish background to the point that  

it overlooked his simultaneously Hellenistic one. There has, nevertheless, been considerable  

compensation for this shift in scholarship over the last two or three decades.³⁶ Many scholars  

have become more receptive to the presence of ancient philosophical notions in New Testament  

writers, but there remains some opposition to the viability of comparing these spheres.  

In another influential ANRW article, Abraham J. Malherbe locates and discusses some  

significant points of contact between the worlds of the New Testament and the Hellenistic  

moralists.³⁷ He includes sections on: paraenesis, descriptions of the wise man, lists of  

hardships, psychagogy, household codes, diatribe, and topoi. Discussing the lists of hardships  

in the Corinthian correspondence with the support of John Fitzgerald’s work,³⁸ Malherbe  

reasonably argues that these ‘take us to the centre of Paul’s understanding of God and his own  

self-understanding, yet anchor him in the culture and conventions of his time’.³⁹ Towards the  

end of the article, however, Malherbe asserts that Paul’s method of borrowing philosophical  

material was not typical of Second Temple Jewish literature: ‘in many respects Paul had no  

Jewish antecedents for the way he appropriated elements from the moralists’.⁴⁰ This is less  

convincing because figures like Philo operated precisely in this way, as we saw briefly above.  

Even when the comparative focus is on Paul and ancient philosophy, the importance of his  

Jewish context must be considered.  

Malherbe valuably shows how appropriate similarity in comparison should be sought  

before difference.⁴¹ Malherbe recognises that Hellenistic philosophy of this period was  

³⁴ E.g., H. Preller, ‘Paulus oder Seneca?’, in Festschrift Walther Judeich, ed. A. Cartelleri et al. (Weimar: Böhlaus,  

1929), 68–80.  

35  

E.g., Adolf Deissmann, Light from the Ancient East: The New Testament Illustrated by Recently Discovered  

Texts of the Graeco-Roman World (trans. Lionel R. M. Strachan; London: Hodder and Stoughton, 1910); Max  

Pohlenz, ‘Paulus Und Die Stoa’, ZNW 42.1 (1949): 69-104.  

³⁶ See, e.g., the essay collections: John T. Fitzgerald, ed., Friendship, Flattery, and Frankness of Speech, NovTSup  

82 (Leiden: Brill, 1996); Engberg-Pedersen, ed., Paul Beyond the Judaism/Hellenism Divide (Louisville:  

Westminster John Knox Press, 2001); John T. Fitzgerald, Thomas H. Olbricht, and L. Michael White, eds., Early  

Christianity and Classical Culture, NovTSup 110 (Leiden: Brill, 2003); John T. Fitzgerald, ed., Passions and  

Moral Progress in Greco-Roman Thought (London: Routledge, 2008); Joseph R. Dodson and Andrew W. Pitts,  

eds., Paul and the Greco-Roman Philosophical Tradition, LNTS 527 (London: Bloomsbury, 2017).  

³⁷ Abraham J. Malherbe, ‘Hellenistic Moralists and the New Testament’, ANRW II.26.1 (1992): 267-333.  

38  

John T. Fitzgerald, Cracks in an Earthen Vessel: An Examination of the Catalogues of Hardships in the  

Corinthian Correspondence, SBLDS 99 (Atlanta: Scholars Press, 1988).  

³⁹ Malherbe, ‘Hellenistic Moralists’, 299.  

⁴⁰ Ibid., 332.  

⁴¹ Ibid., 300: ‘dissimilarity as the decisive criterion in comparison does not enrich our understanding’.  

30  

‘syncretistic in character, with Stoicism as its major component’,⁴² but rarely limits himself to  

a single philosopher or tradition.⁴³ Other scholars have followed this approach.⁴⁴ For example,  

Stanley Stowers has asked from a social-scientific perspective whether Pauline Christianity  

resembled a Hellenistic philosophy.⁴⁵ Based on seven similar features, an overall picture  

emerges in which Pauline Christianity can be readily identified with ancient philosophical  

groups. Stowers, however, cautions that Pauline Christianity did not spring from philosophical  

sects, even if it resembled them in broad structure: ‘Even though Christianity did not derive  

from philosophy in any direct way, but from Judaism, it shared the structural features that made  

it philosophy-like’.⁴⁶  

While Malherbe and Stowers explore a cross-section of ancient philosophical groups,  

some recent scholars have chosen to focus on Paul and the Stoics. The pioneer of this  

movement is Troels Engberg-Pedersen who believes that Paul’s thought-system is profoundly  

Stoic.⁴⁷ For Engberg-Pedersen: ‘much of what appeared problematic and incoherent in Paul’s  

letters falls into place and makes coherent sense once it is seen in the light of central ideas in  

Stoic ethics and, more generally, the ancient ethical tradition’.⁴⁸ In Paul and the Stoics,  

Engberg-Pedersen proposes a particularly innovative model that represents the similar  

trajectories of a Stoic and a Christ-believer. Then in Cosmology and Self, Engberg-Pedersen  

moves away from ethics by recognising similarities between Stoic and Pauline physics without  

recourse to such a model.⁴⁹  

Engberg-Pedersen consistently resists theological categories in favour of a supposed  

naturalist and philosophical reading of the apostle Paul in dialogue with various Stoics:  

especially, Epictetus, Seneca, and Marcus Aurelius. While he has attracted criticism for this,⁵⁰  

his sustained comparative analysis of Paul and Stoics yields significant exegetical insights on  

both sides of the comparison. There are, however, some issues which this study seeks to address  

⁴² Ibid, 330.  

⁴³ See especially Abraham J. Malherbe, Paul and the Popular Philosophers (Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 1989).  

44  

E.g., George H. van Kooten, Paul’s Anthropology in Context: The Image of God, Assimilation to God, and  

Tripartite Man in Ancient Judaism, Ancient Philosophy, and Early Christianity, WUNT 232 (Tübingen: Mohr  

Siebeck, 2008).  

45  

Stanley K. Stowers, ‘Does Pauline Christianity Resemble a Hellenistic Philosophy?’, in Engberg-  

Pedersen, Paul Beyond the Judaism/Hellenism Divide, 81–102.  

⁴⁶ Ibid., 100.  

47  

Troels Engberg-Pedersen, Paul and the Stoics (Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 2000); Cosmology and Self in the  

Apostle Paul: The Material Spirit (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2010).  

⁴⁸ Engberg-Pedersen, Paul and the Stoics, 4.  

⁴⁹ Ibid., 33–44.  

⁵⁰ See J. Louis Martyn, ‘De-apocalypticizing Paul: An Essay Focused on Paul and the Stoics by Troels Engberg-  

Pedersen’, JSNT 86 (2002): 61–114; John M. G. Barclay, ‘Stoic Physics and the Christ-event: A Review of Troels  

Engberg-Pedersen, Cosmology and Self in the Apostle Paul: The Material Spirit (Oxford: Oxford University Press,  

2010)’, JSNT 33.4 (2011): 406–414.  

31  

and improve. Firstly, Engberg-Pedersen’s focus on Stoicism occasionally comes at the expense  

of other discernible influences on Paul: notably from Platonism and varieties of Second Temple  

Judaism. Secondly, his major studies insufficiently recognise the differences that make  

comparison interesting. As a result, Paul is too easily cast as the sage of elite philosophy.  

Some of these elements are improved in a study by Runar Thorsteinsson.⁵¹ Calling for  

‘a more balanced approach to the question of the relationship between Christianity and  

Stoicism’,⁵² Thorsteinsson devotes his study to a defined tertium quid of ancient morality in a  

well-chosen collection of texts from Roman Stoics (Seneca, Musonius Rufus and Epictetus)  

and documents addressed to Christ-believers in Rome (Romans, 1 Peter, 1 Clement). The shape  

and symmetry of Thorsteinsson’s project marks an improvement upon Sanders’ and Engberg-  

Pedersen’s projects and he offers a richer final comparative analysis. He establishes five themes  

on which Roman Stoicism and Roman Christianity are in broad agreement: a particular way of  

life as proper worship; the figure of the moral sage; mutual love and care; non-retaliation and  

‘love of enemies’; the social dimension.⁵³ For each of these themes, Thorsteinsson concludes:  

‘The larger moral framework was fundamentally similar, and, despite all differences of social  

setting, so was its social dimension’.⁵⁴ Concerning the ethical dimension, however, he finds  

that ‘the moral teaching of Roman Christianity does not teach unconditional universal  

humanity’.⁵⁵ This is a well-articulated difference which, again, improves on Engberg-  

Pedersen’s study. Conversely, though, there is still space to consider the differences occasioned  

by the Jewish apocalyptic context of the New Testament.  

Despite the enthusiasm of scholars like Malherbe, Stowers, Engberg-Pedersen and  

Thorsteinsson, some scholars remain cautious or opposed to seeing the New Testament as  

influenced by ancient philosophy, notably Stoicism.⁵⁶ Two recent studies illustrate this  

tendency from different angles. Firstly, Dru Johnson contends that the New Testament writers  

employed and even retrieved a ‘Hebraic philosophical style’.⁵⁷ Johnson devotes significant  

space to the apostle Paul in a later chapter⁵⁸ but his direction is already intimated and  

51  

Runar M. Thorsteinsson, Roman Christianity and Roman Stoicism: A Comparative Study of Ancient Morality  

(Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2010).  

⁵² Ibid., 5.  

⁵³ Ibid., 137–189.  

⁵⁴ Ibid., 189.  

⁵⁵ Ibid., 206. Emphasis original.  

56  

See the distinct viewpoints represented by George van Kooten, Oda Wischmeyer and N. T. Wright,  

‘Quaestiones Disputatae: How Greek Was Paul’s Eschatology?’, NTS 61.2 (2015): 239–253.  

⁵⁷ Dru Johnson, Biblical Philosophy: A Hebraic Approach to the Old and New Testaments (New York: Cambridge  

University Press, 2021), 4.  

⁵⁸ See his chapter 7, ‘Paul in Stoic Garments’, ibid., 203–223.  

32  

summarised by a statement earlier in the book: ‘Paul appropriates the superficial veneer of  

Hellenistic argument for the sake of redirecting readers to the Hebraic philosophical content’.⁵⁹  

To be sure, Paul frequently writes with the framework of the Torah in mind but his mission is  

primarily focused on gentiles (Rom 1:13, 15:16; Gal 2:9; 1 Thess 2:16). We shall see how  

Paul’s discourse accordingly reflects Hellenistic cultural and philosophical interests. Nowhere,  

problematically, does Johnson mention the contribution of Martin Hengel in allowing for both  

Hebraic and Hellenistic notions in the composition of the New Testament.  

Secondly, C. Kavin Rowe has called into question the endeavour of comparing early  

Christianity and Stoicism because they are incommensurable systems.⁶⁰ To support his case,  

Rowe employs Alasdair MacIntyre’s three versions of enquiry: the encyclopaedia, genealogy,  

and tradition. Rowe particularly censures ‘encyclopedism’ – defined by MacIntyre as ‘a single  

framework within which knowledge is discriminated from mere belief’⁶¹ – and believes that  

scholars such as Malherbe and Engberg-Pedersen foster this approach. Concerning Malherbe,  

he writes:  

Malherbe’s hermeneutical direction has not moved past the encyclopedist to ask how  

we relate words whose meaning is determined by the tradition in which they live to  

words whose meaning is determined by another tradition in which they live.⁶²  

Conversely, Rowe conceives of Christianity and Stoicism as traditions which can only be  

juxtaposed, but for them to be compared meaningfully, they need to be accessed from an emic  

perspective as lived traditions and narratives. For Rowe, if one identifies as a Christian and not  

a Stoic, one cannot understand the Stoic narrative in toto. In some later reflections, Rowe  

instructively recognises that ‘when we engage in comparing ancient texts, we engage in  

narrative reasoning’.⁶³ While it requires patience to follow or befriend⁶⁴ narratives within  

which one does not live, refusal to compare and, consequently, judgements of  

⁵⁹ Ibid., 153.  

60  

C. Kavin Rowe, One True Life: The Stoics and Early Christians as Rival Traditions (New Haven: Yale  

University Press, 2016). See also idem, ‘The Grammar of Life: The Areopagus Speech and Pagan Tradition’, NTS  

57.1 (2011): 31–50.  

61  

Alasdair C. MacIntyre, Three Rival Versions of Moral Enquiry: Encyclopaedia, Genealogy and Tradition  

(London: Duckworth, 1990), 42.  

⁶² Rowe, One True Life, 186–187.  

63  

Rowe, ‘Making Friends and Comparing Lives’, in The New Testament in Comparison: Validity, Method and  

Purpose in Comparing Traditions, eds. John M. G. Barclay and B. G. White, LNTS 600 (London: Bloomsbury,  

2020), 28.  

64  

Rowe’s stance of friendship which he develops after One True Life is particularly promising: see ‘Making  

Friends’, 37–40.  

33  

incommensurability are deficient.⁶⁵ Instead, dialogue on a defined tertium quid is the way  

forward. Jonathan Linebaugh, who ultimately argues for incongruity in his comparison of  

Romans and Wisdom of Solomon, fosters the productive approach of dialogue. When Paul  

(probably) uses Wisdom of Solomon, ‘textual dependence serves the rhetorical function of  

establishing theological difference’.⁶⁶  

This study makes no claims of any textual dependence in the case of Paul and Seneca,  

but I contend that we can defensibly and meaningfully compare them through a comparative  

dialogue. I should only concede that this theme is my own choice and that I identify more with  

the Pauline narrative but have sought to befriend Seneca’s also. We now move onto past  

attempts to compare these two figures specifically.  

Comparing Paul and Seneca  

A long historical tradition links Paul and Seneca but, in recent years, the duo have been brought  

together afresh for comparison.⁶⁷ This tradition goes back to Acts. The proconsul of Achaea,  

Gallio, who oversaw the accusation of apostasy brought against Paul by the Jews of Corinth  

(Acts 18:12-17), is thought to have been Seneca’s brother, so it is not inconceivable that Paul  

and Seneca met then. The Church Father Tertullian then famously referred to Seneca as ‘often  

ours (saepe noster)’ (A Treatise on the Soul, 20.1) and Lactantius believed that Seneca was  

close to an enlightened faith: ‘he [Seneca] could have been a true worshipper of God if someone  

had shown him’ (Inst. 6.24.14).  

The most intriguing ancient source, however, remains the correspondence purportedly  

between Paul and Seneca.⁶⁸ This amicable exchange is now largely agreed to be apocryphal  

and datable to the late fourth century.⁶⁹ Nevertheless, the question remains: why was it  

composed? Malherbe’s answer is that the piece is part of a later strategy ‘to exalt Paul despite  

his epistolary style’.⁷⁰ This is reflected in the letters themselves. Seneca is highly sympathetic  

towards Paul: he intends to read Paul’s letters to Nero and hopes that Nero will give Paul a  

65  

See Matthew V. Novenson, ‘Beyond Compare Or: Some Recent Strategies for How Not to Compare Early  

Christianity with Other Things’, in Barclay and White, New Testament in Comparison, 92: ‘The human mind can  

both compare phenomena and make existential decisions’.  

⁶⁶ Linebaugh, God, Grace and Righteousness, 96. Emphasis original.  

67  

See Harry M. Hine, ‘Seneca and Paul: The First Two Thousand Years’, in Dodson-Briones, Paul and Seneca  

in Dialogue, 22–48.  

68  

For a critical introduction and bibliography, see Chance Bonar, ‘Epistles of Paul and Seneca’, e-Clavis:  

Christian Apocrypha, accessed 9 February 2022, http://www.nasscal.com/e-clavis-christian-apocrypha/epistles-  

of-paul-and-seneca/.  

⁶⁹ Colish, ‘Stoicism and the New Testament’, 338.  

⁷⁰ Abraham J. Malherbe, ‘“Seneca” on Paul as Letter Writer’, in The Future of Early Christianity: Essays in Honor  

of Helmut Koester, eds. Birger A. Pearson et al. (Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 1991), 418.  

34  

hearing in person. The order of epistolary greeting is particularly noteworthy. In Letter 10, Paul  

apologises when he notices that Seneca customarily puts his name first, while his usual practice  

is to put it second. Letter 12 follows in which Seneca says that Paul should not consider himself  

unworthy of this position in the letter: they are equal in position. Accordingly in Letter 14,⁷¹  

Paul’s name appears first.⁷² Thus, the apostle and by extension Christianity are both dignified,  

as Malherbe expands:  

Paul accepts the higher status accorded him by the Roman philosopher. Epistolary  

theory and practice have been put to service in the apologetic effort to secure  

Christianity its proper status in society.⁷³  

The purpose of the correspondence, then, is to place Christianity – as represented by Paul – on  

comparable terms with Seneca, who represents learned philosophy and proximity to imperial  

power. However much of an accident of tradition the correspondence may be, it should not be  

dismissed as trivial. It can be viewed within a tradition which saw a fundamental relationship  

between early Christianity and ancient philosophy.⁷⁴  

Our task, however, is to host a conversation based on the actual first-century letters of  

Paul and writings of Seneca. Here, we should mention the study of Jan Sevenster, who has  

offered the most sustained comparative analysis of Paul and Seneca in the modern era.⁷⁵  

Sevenster reaches the judgement that there are marked differences between them. The  

relationship between Christianity and Stoic philosophy developed over time; ‘this process was  

not ushered in by Paul’.⁷⁶ Sevenster compares Paul and Seneca under five headings: firstly, the  

pair’s conceptions of God; secondly, anthropological issues, exploring the differing notions of  

body, soul, flesh, and conscience; thirdly and fourthly, the individual and social components  

of Pauline Christianity and Seneca’s brand of Stoicism; fifthly, eschatology and differing  

conceptions of death.  

⁷¹ It is uncertain whether this is the final letter of the correspondence or not; Letter 11 refers to the fire in Rome,  

which appears to be set five years after the rest of the letters.  

72  

Although this reading is based mainly on one manuscript. See Laura Bocciolini Palagi, Il Carteggio Apocrifo  

Di Seneca e San Paolo: Introduzione, Testo, Commento, Accademia Toscana di Scienze e Lettere La Colombaria  

46 (Florence: 1978), 188, who favours the reading Senecae Paulus salutem over Paulus Senecae salutem.  

⁷³ Malherbe, ‘“Seneca” on Paul as Letter Writer’, 421.  

74  

Rowe assumes a cavalier attitude towards the correspondence: ‘Sometime in the second century or so and  

somewhere in the Mediterranean basin, someone wrote a fictitious correspondence between Seneca and St. Paul.  

This correspondence is indubitably significant for the philosophical claim made by its existence: simply by the  

fact that its form is a series of short letters, it says that Stoics and Christians can talk to each other’ (One True  

Life, 223).  

⁷⁵ Jan Nicolaas Sevenster, Paul and Seneca, NovTSup 4 (Leiden: Brill, 1961).  

⁷⁶ Ibid., 240.  

35  

While Sevenster incorporates an impressive range of Pauline and Senecan texts, the  

line of investigation is driven less by dialogue than an attempt to prove that the pair’s notions  

are diametrically opposed. For instance, on the issue of philosophy and reason, Sevenster finds  

that: ‘Seneca evinces such an unimpaired faith in man’s reason … his ethical principles must  

of necessity stem from a different root from Paul’s message’.⁷⁷ While Sevenster can  

occasionally be commended for detecting real differences,⁷⁸ he does not treat each  

comparandum on its own terms. Malherbe showed some praise for Sevenster but believed that:  

‘the differences would likely have been ameliorated had Sevenster brought other  

contemporaries or near-contemporaries to Paul and Seneca into the comparison’.⁷⁹ Conversely,  

however, adding more voices risks interference from too many echoes. A one-to-one  

comparison is defensible if the comparanda and the tertium quid can all be situated within  

traditions. I shall now explain this approach with reference to Paul and Seneca on consolation  

and then outline how the rest of the study will proceed.  

Comparing Paul and Seneca on Consolation  

Our introduction showed that in the task of consoling, philosophical affiliations receded in  

importance as different outlooks were combined as a means of handling grief. David Konstan  

remarks that: ‘consolation is practical and is not given to precise philosophical analysis’.⁸⁰  

Although I shall argue in the next two chapters that Seneca incorporates conventional Stoic  

dogma as part of his consoling practice, he often adds other philosophical and literary  

perspectives, depending on the needs of his consoland and wider audience. While the apostle  

Paul is less tied to a specific Graeco-Roman philosophical system or tradition, he lives within  

Second Temple Jewish tradition and employs the sacred writings of Israel to interpret current  

events: notably, the Christ-event.⁸¹ Like Seneca, one of Paul’s principal prerogatives is to  

attend to the emotional needs of his predominantly gentile addressees, which happens, inter  

alia, through a comparable practice of consoling.  

⁷⁷ Ibid., 135.  

78  

E.g., Highlighting Seneca’s quotation of Cleanthes’ prayer to Zeus at Ep. 107.10–11, Sevenster reasonably  

argues that ‘acquiescence to the inevitable is the true theme’ (Paul and Seneca, 44), rather than accepting the will  

of God, as at Rom 12:2.  

79  

Malherbe, ‘Hellenistic Moralists’, 300. For a recent attempt at a three-way comparison, see Brian J. Tabb,  

Suffering in Ancient Worldview: Luke, Seneca and 4 Maccabees in Dialogue, LNTS 569 (London: Bloomsbury  

T&T Clark, 2017). While our topics are related, since Tabb does not consider Paul or consolation in detail, I do  

not interact with his study.  

80  

David Konstan, ‘Senecan Emotions’, in The Cambridge Companion to Seneca, eds. Shadi Bartsch and  

Alessandro Schiesaro (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2015), 182.  

81  

For a comparison of Paul’s divinatory practice and use of the Septuagint as oracles, see Matthew Sharp,  

Divination and Philosophy in the Letters of Paul (Edinburgh: Edinburgh University Press, forthcoming).  

36  

In terms of a dialogue partner for Paul on consolation, I contend that Seneca provides  

the best available ancient evidence. While Kassel took (pseudo-)Plutarch’s Consolatio ad  

Apollonium to represent the ancient consolation tradition and referred to other related texts  

around it, I believe that we can make a similar move in the case of Seneca’s consolatory  

writings. What is more, Seneca provides a rich array of writings in which, as in Paul’s letters,  

consolation appears in different modes. In his study on the catalogues of sufferings in the  

Corinthian correspondence, Fitzgerald used Seneca as a central figure in his analysis as a means  

of bringing out similarity and difference: ‘since a concentration on Seneca will allow both the  

unity and diversity in ancient thought to emerge more clearly, he will frequently (but not  

invariably) be used to organize the discussion’.⁸² While this study is strictly comparative and  

will look at each of Seneca and Paul in turn, this does not mean that we need to limit ourselves  

to them; we shall benefit from occasional glances to other Graeco-Roman and Jewish writers  

who belong within similar traditions, but a primary focus on Seneca in dialogue with Paul will  

yield a deeper, more sustained analysis.  

Also writing with relation to Paul, Seneca, and the Corinthian correspondence, Larry  

Welborn concludes by advocating a thought-experiment whereby the pair might be fruitfully  

compared:  

These two therapists of the emotional life – one the counsellor of emotional thrift, the  

other the apostle of emotional excess – both died under Nero. We may assume that they  

did not endure their final moments unattended by their respective theories and therapies.  

Which of the two should we imagine had the better death? ⁸³  

While the question is rhetorical and the dichotomy between the pair reductionistic, Welborn  

instructively shows how the pair are both emotional therapists. Consolation is defensibly at the  

centre of both of their practices.  

Thus far, however, no-one has undertaken a monograph length study of Paul’s and  

Seneca’s consolatory practices. There have, however, been some important studies which have  

brought ancient theories of the emotions, including consolation, to bear on the New Testament  

and the Stoics. In recent years, Paul Holloway has been the most influential voice in favour of  

situating the apostle Paul within the ancient consolation tradition. The centre of Holloway’s  

work has been Philippians and he has argued that the letter conforms, in whole, to an ancient  

⁸² Fitzgerald, Cracks, 50.  

⁸³ L. L. Welborn, ‘Paul and Pain: Paul’s Emotional Therapy in 2 Corinthians 1.1–2.13; 7.5–16 in the Context of  

Ancient Psychagogic Literature’, NTS 57.4 (2011), 570.  

37  

letter of consolation.⁸⁴ Surprisingly, however, Holloway has never seriously extended the scope  

beyond Philippians within the Pauline corpus.  

The most detailed recent treatment of consolation in Paul is provided by Ian Jew, who  

constructs a Pauline ‘emotional regime’⁸⁵ through an exegetical study of Philippians and 1  

Thessalonians in the light of ancient Stoic and modern theories of the emotions.⁸⁶ Jew’s account  

of Stoic ethics is thorough and includes some helpful orientation on Seneca’s consolatory  

practice.⁸⁷ Although Jew commendably draws attention to some consolatory themes in  

Philippians and 1 Thessalonians and the social aspect of emotions in the Pauline assemblies,  

he is rather eager to see Paul transcending both his ancient Graeco-Roman and Jewish contexts.  

For instance, in his chapter on joy in Philippians, he concludes that ‘the ground of joy in  

Philippians is theological’⁸⁸ and gestures towards notions of ‘true Christian joy’.⁸⁹ Then, in  

writing about grief in 1 Thessalonians, specifically 1 Thess 4:13–18, Jew argues that ‘the  

eschatological ideas that Paul injects into the consolatory tradition make it his own’,⁹⁰ without  

sufficiently acknowledging messianic components carried over from ancient Jewish traditions.  

Ultimately, Jew does not engage in a full comparison between Paul and the Stoics and  

understands Paul’s ‘emotional regime’ more through social-scientific theory. While some of  

these modern insights are useful, I argue that there is room for a deeper comparison between  

Paul and Seneca in historical terms. While, like Jew, I believe that there is an element of  

distinctiveness in Paul’s consolatory practice, this can be discerned through a more  

symmetrical comparison that reckons with similarities before differences. My focus on  

consolation in Paul and Seneca will depend on Stoic ethics, but also allow for physical and  

logical components, which will provide a fuller picture of Paul’s practice. In short, while  

Holloway, Jew, and at least two others have compared one or more of Paul’s letters to one or  

84  

See Paul A. Holloway, Philippians: A Commentary, Hermeneia (Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 2017), 1. See  

chapter 7 for my discussion of this taxonomy.  

⁸⁵ Ian Y. S. Jew, Paul’s Emotional Regime: The Social Function of Emotion in Philippians and 1 Thessalonians,  

LNTS 629 (London: Bloomsbury, 2020), 145. Jew borrows this language from Ole Riis and Linda Woodhead, A  

Sociology of Religious Emotion (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2010).  

86  

In taking this approach, Jew follows in the trajectory of two fruitful studies by fellow Durham researchers:  

Stephen C. Barton, ‘Eschatology and the Emotions in Early Christianity’, JBL 130.3 (2011): 571–591; Katherine  

M. Hockey, The Role of Emotion in 1 Peter, SNTSMS 173 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2019).  

⁸⁷ For instance, he judges: ‘In his consolationes, Seneca comes across as a defender of metriopatheia. Yet in his  

letters to Lucilius … his views become more nuanced’ (Paul’s Emotional Regime, 56). While these initial  

impressions are not inaccurate, my next two chapters will offer a more comprehensive picture.  

⁸⁸ Jew, Paul’s Emotional Regime, 95.  

⁸⁹ Ibid., 99.  

⁹⁰ Ibid., 125.  

38  

more of Seneca’s writings on consolation,⁹¹ an extended comparative treatment of consolation  

in Paul and Seneca remains a scholarly desideratum.  

Through my emphasis on consolatory traditions, practices, and modes over genre, I  

seek to provide a fresh conceptualisation of consolation in Paul and Seneca. Throughout this  

comparative study, and in response to Rowe, I shall speak in terms of consolatory discourses  

and narratives. In Drudgery Divine, after problematising comparisons generally, J. Z. Smith  

moves on to discuss how to compare words and stories. In terms of words, Smith exposes an  

apologetic aspect to several studies from the twentieth century.⁹² The notion of discourse,  

however, usefully goes beyond the confines of semantics by allowing for both creativity and  

selectivity. Emma Wasserman recognises this in arguing that Paul employs Platonic notions  

about the nature of the soul. Although her work is not strictly comparative, Wasserman offers  

various illuminating interpretations of Paul’s discourse in light of Platonic writers. She defines  

discourse as ‘open ended’, insofar as ‘it presupposes creative elaboration’.⁹³ Ancient writers,  

like Paul, did not have to subscribe to whole patterns but could select certain arguments to  

advance the points which they made.⁹⁴ This is how I shall approach Paul and Seneca’s  

consolatory discourses: by seeing how they employ and adapt ideas around grief, joy, and other  

related ideas from their various traditions, and thereby, construct their own discourses.  

In terms of stories, Smith employs the language of myths over narratives, but he offers  

salutary warnings against the concept of a unique myth. He notes how ‘regardless of whether  

we are studying myths from literate or non-literate cultures, we are dealing with historical  

processes of reinterpretation, with tradition’.⁹⁵ Like discourses, myths or narratives are adapted  

retellings from previous traditions; they are not produced in a vacuum. In each of Seneca’s and  

Paul’s cases, we shall therefore look at the narratives they relate when they console, but also  

be mindful of their provenance.  

Recent decades have witnessed debates around the usefulness of narratives as a way of  

reading Paul’s letters. In introducing a volume devoted to the subject, Bruce Longenecker  

⁹¹ See Paul A. Holloway, ‘Paul as Hellenistic Philosopher: The Case of Philippians’, in Paul and the Philosophers,  

eds. Ward Blanton and Hent de Vries (New York: Fordham University Press, 2014), 58-62; Jedan,  

‘Rapprochement’; Joseph R. Dodson, ‘Elements of Apocalyptic Eschatology in Seneca’s Writings and Paul’s  

Letters’, in Dodson and Pitts, Paul and the Greco-Roman Philosophical Tradition, 33–54.  

92  

Smith, Drudgery Divine, 83: ‘the issue of comparing words … has never been primarily a philological issue,  

but always an apologetic one’.  

⁹³ Emma Wasserman, The Death of the Soul in Romans 7: Sin, Death, and the Law in Light of Hellenistic Moral  

Psychology, WUNT II/256 (Tꢆbingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2008), 41.  

⁹⁴ Wasserman reasons that Philo ‘used Platonic philosophy to distinctive literary ends’ rather than for ‘the creation  

of something radically and uniquely religious’ (Death of the Soul, 75–76). She makes a similar move regarding  

Paul in Romans 7.  

⁹⁵ Smith, Drudgery Divine, 107. Emphasis original.  

39  

remarks that scholars who argue for the importance of ‘story’ in Paul believe that ‘the discourse  

of Paul’s letters … is best understood as the product of any underlying narrative bedrock’.⁹⁶  

While establishing the make-up of that narrative bedrock is a more contentious issue, seeing  

both Paul and Seneca as consolers whose discourse stems from, and in turn, creates narratives  

is productive. This is particularly significant for a study on the emotive practice of consoling.  

In dialogue with other emotional theorists, Michal Beth Dinkler realises how ‘narratives can  

be persuasively productive by invoking emotional reactions in their audiences’.⁹⁷ In what  

follows, we shall see how Seneca and Paul set out to produce emotional effects through their  

consolatory narratives.  

In sum, I propose that consolation provides an excellent subject matter for a discussion  

between Paul and Seneca. Consolation, an established although variegated ancient  

philosophical practice, was a legitimate tradition and so is a prime candidate for a tertium quid  

through which a comparison can be meaningfully conducted.⁹⁸ In each of Seneca’s and Paul’s  

careers, their consolatory praxis calls for a construction of a discourse that results in narratives.  

To co-opt Rowe’s language, this means that two narrative traditions can be compared rather  

than two encyclopaedic entries. Far from being the thief of joy, comparison of Paul’s and  

Seneca’s consolatory narratives will help us understand the movement from grief to joy as an  

important concern within their writings.  

Direction of Study  

Having offered an initial definition of consolation (ch. 1) and justified an extended comparison  

between Paul and Seneca on this topic (ch. 2), I shall now outline the direction of the rest of  

the study. Since Seneca is more commonly held to be a consoler than Paul and is the best  

representative of the ancient consolation tradition for Paul’s era, we shall start with a selection  

of his writings where he engages in modes of consolation. From Seneca, we have three  

designated literary consolations (Ad Marciam, Ad Helviam, and Ad Polybium) among the so-  

called Dialogi, but we should be wary of seeing them purely as consolations. Although like  

96  

Bruce W. Longenecker, ‘Narrative Interest in the Study of Paul: Retrospective and Prospective’, in ed. idem,  

Narrative Dynamics in Paul: A Critical Assessment (London: Westminster John Knox Press, 2002), 3.  

97  

Michal Beth Dinkler, ‘Reflexivity and Emotion in Narratological Perspective: Reading Joy in the Lukan  

Narrative’, in Spencer, Mixed Feelings, 272.  

⁹⁸ For all the erudition within Rowe’s accounts of ancient Stoicism and early Christianity, his refusal to compare  

different notions within the two systems is short sighted. Dale B. Martin rightly points out that Rowe ‘never  

introduces a ‘third thing’ that can serve as a measure for similarity and difference’ (idem, ‘The Possibility of  

Comparison, the Necessity of Anachronism and the Dangers of Purity’, in Barclay and White, New Testament in  

Comparison, 67).  

40  

other Dialogi, these three texts are broadly ‘monothematic’⁹⁹ in that they treat and develop one  

broad theme (viz. consolation), they often digress. Additionally, some of Seneca’s Epistulae –  

particularly Ep. 63, 99, and others – have consolatory concerns.¹⁰⁰ Yet the letter form is even  

more susceptible to treating a diversity of themes; in a collection of letters such as Seneca’s,  

‘different letters can offer different angles on a theme’.¹⁰¹ Seneca’s three Consolationes and  

the Epistulae are all different literary undertakings, and have other interests and intentions  

besides consolation, but in all of them, Seneca engages in a consolatory practice and employs  

varied modes of consoling.  

Taking a cue from James Ker, we shall think about Seneca’s consolatory career¹⁰² in  

two acts in chapters 3 and 4. In Seneca’s case, his career can be established with some  

confidence. The texts which treat consolation most systematically can be dated early, shortly  

before and during his exile in Corsica (De consolatione ad Marciam, ad Helviam, ad  

Polybium), and at the very end of his life once he had been dismissed from the imperial court  

under Nero (Natural Questions and Epistles).¹⁰³ Although these two distinct periods are  

separated by nearly two decades, they provide us with ample material for constructing Seneca’s  

discourse and resulting narratives of consolation.  

In chapters 5–7, we shall analyse Paul’s corresponding consolatory career. Although  

we are less certain of the dating of each of Paul’s letters, I explore three of his letters (1  

Thessalonians, 2 Corinthians, Philippians), where there is some degree of consolation.¹⁰⁴ We  

shall start with 1 Thessalonians (ch. 5), since it is generally agreed to be an early letter, and  

consolation is most necessary, since some believers had died before the parousia (1 Thess 4:13-  

18). Around this important passage, we shall explore other sections where Paul employs  

consolatory discourse and constructs consolatory narratives. Secondly, we shall turn to 2  

99  

See Matthew Roller, ‘The Dialogue in Seneca’s Dialogues (and Other Moral Essays)’, in The Cambridge  

Companion to Seneca, eds. Shadi Bartsch and Alessandro Schiesaro (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press,  

2015), 65.  

¹⁰⁰ For instance, Ep. 93, as Troels Engberg Pedersen recognises (‘Life After Death and Its Present Implications’,  

in Dodson and Briones, Paul and Seneca, 276): ‘Epistle 93 is not directly a letter of consolation … but it provides  

the kind of reflection that might go into such a letter.’  

¹⁰¹ Roller, ‘Dialogue’, 66.  

¹⁰² See the excellent treatment in James Ker, The Deaths of Seneca (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2009), 87–  

112, on which my chapters seek to build.  

103  

On questions of dating, see Miriam T. Griffin, Seneca: A Philosopher in Politics (Oxford: Clarendon Press,  

1976), 396.  

¹⁰⁴ I focus on these three letters for the following reasons: i) the probable chronology that provides a counterpart  

to Seneca’s consolatory career; ii) the network that links the two Macedonian assemblies in Thessalonica and  

Philippi with the one in Corinth (2 Cor 8:1); iii) each letter contains at least one passage in which Paul expresses  

a purposeful desire for grief to be replaced by a virtue (1 Thess 4:13; 2 Cor 2:4; Phil 2:28). I believe that there is  

scope for an exploration of consolation in Romans. Paul’s sole use of συμπαρακαλέω (Rom 1:12), for instance,  

calls for further attention, as do themes of lament and grief in Rom 7–10. These, however, will need to be tackled  

elsewhere owing to constraints of space.  

41  

Corinthians (ch. 6), which represents a tense period in the middle of the apostle’s ministry,  

when he came into conflict with individuals and the assembly in Corinth, which required  

consolation and reconciliation. Since the concentration of παρακαλέω and cognates is the  

densest in the Pauline corpus, this validates our including it here. Thirdly, we shall investigate  

Paul’s consolatory discourse in Philippians (ch. 7). While there is significant debate about its  

place of composition, I believe that it can be read as a later letter. I shall assess Paul Holloway’s  

thesis that Philippians conforms in whole to a letter of consolation by following Paul’s  

consolatory narratives that culminate in joy, but with other related concerns.  

Since each text in Paul and Seneca pertains to different circumstances, varied modes,  

discourses, and narratives emerge. Nonetheless, there are unifying consolatory themes within  

each of Paul and Seneca and between them. Having analysed consolation across the works of  

Seneca and Paul on their own terms, we shall be well placed to host a comparative dialogue  

between them (ch. 8). I contend that the most expedient way of seeing similarities and  

differences is to compare consolatory aspects in Seneca and Paul based on the Stoic tripartite  

system of physics, logic, and ethics. While there are important resonances that go beyond  

surface-level parallels in each of these three areas, Seneca and Paul write from different  

contexts which account for their different consolatory narratives. I focus particularly on Paul’s  

narrative where consolation is derived from being ‘in Christ/messiah’ (ἐν Χριστῷ) which  

differs from Seneca’s narrative of acquiring virtue through contemplation of divine nature.  

With this roadmap in place, we are now ready to start our exegetical journey by listening  

to Seneca’s consolatory narrative, as a prime representative of a creative ancient consolation  

tradition.  

42  

Chapter 3: Seneca’s Early Career Consolations  

‘Seneca’s career of consolation is in many ways the story of his changing perspectives on the  

complex and sometimes problematic methods of reintegration that he offers to himself and his  

age as he adapts to ever new conditions of life in the Principate’.¹  

Introduction  

The previous chapter argued that a sustained analysis of Seneca’s and Paul’s discourses and  

narratives of consolation would lead to a deeper appreciation of each writer’s contribution to  

the ancient consolation tradition when brought together for comparison. We shall firstly listen  

to Seneca’s voice in this dialogue through an examination of his writings that relate to the  

practice of consoling.  

In thinking about Seneca’s contribution to the ancient consolation tradition, we should  

return to his cultural context, particularly his literary and philosophical predecessors. One of  

the principal influences on Seneca is Cicero, and the differences between them are instructive.  

Firstly, Seneca engages in a more popular brand of philosophy than Cicero’s more technical  

discussions in the Tusculan Disputations; he does not systematise his arguments and  

acknowledge philosophical influences to the same degree. Secondly, he writes less about  

political circumstances in his oeuvre. At one point, Seneca explains why he passes over these  

elements that Cicero includes: ‘It is more than enough to deal with one’s own misfortunes  

without dealing with those of others’ (Ep. 118.2).  

This is not to say, however, that personal elements are wholly lacking in Seneca’s work.  

He occasionally speaks in the first person – not least in the Ad Helviam and Ad Polybium from  

exile – but concerning the momentous events in his life, there is a paucity of detail.² In order  

to fill these lacunae, we rely on second-hand evidence from biased historiographical sources.  

We learn from Tacitus’ Annals about some key episodes: the influence of Agrippina – who had  

just become Claudius’ wife – in having Seneca recalled from exile in Corsica to be tutor for  

her son, Nero (Ann. 12.8); Seneca’s influence over Nero in the early years of his imperial rule  

(Ann. 13–14.14); and his effective second exile from the imperial court when he fell out of  

favour (Ann. 14.52–56). Moreover, Ann. 15.60–64 portrays Seneca’s death, in which he  

¹ Ker, Deaths, 92.  

² Griffin, Philosopher in Politics, 3.  

43  

 

commits suicide in imitation of Socrates, Cato, and other Stoics. While Ker refers to this  

moment as ‘the culmination of a career of writing consolations’,³ whether this was a successful  

climax is debatable. Tacitus’ account appears to depict Seneca as acting relatively virtuously,  

but irony has been detected beneath it.⁴ Cassius Dio’s account (Histories 62.25) is less  

complimentary and highlights Seneca’s failure to arrange for his wife, Paulina, to die at the  

same time as him.⁵  

Although Seneca may write in a popular and personable style, the true person of Seneca  

is elusive. We need to recognise that Seneca’s life and works are variegated:⁶ there is more  

than one Senecan self,⁷ often amid a polyphony of dialogical voices.⁸ Our conception of Seneca  

the person impacts how we conceive of him as a consoler. For Seneca, consoling is a  

philosophical prerogative but often⁹ there is nothing new under the sun: past voices have  

already developed the main ideas. Appearing in a letter following one where consolation had  

been central (Ep. 63), Seneca writes: ‘Cures for the mind were found by the ancients; but it is  

our task to seek how and when they might be applied (admoveantur)’ (Ep. 64.8).¹⁰  

This raises questions about the orthodoxy of Seneca’s Stoicism,¹¹ which are intensified  

when it comes to consolation. Owing to its practical nature, emotional appeal often directed  

through meditation on exempla is privileged,¹² with less discussion of the subtleties of Stoic  

philosophy. This also helps to explain why Platonic and Epicurean notions also feature in his  

³ Ker, Deaths, 87.  

4

See, for example, Stephan Schmal, ‘Held oder Harlekin? Der sterbende Seneca bei Tacitus’, Klio 90.1 (2008):  

105–23.  

5

See also Petronius, Sat. 111.8–9 which parodies this episode and suggests the consolation was not recognised  

(ignota consolatione).  

⁶ See Susanna Braund, ‘Seneca Multiplex: The Phases (and Phrases) of Seneca’s Life and Works’, in Bartsch and  

Schiesaro, The Cambridge Companion to Seneca, 15–28.  

7

Study on Seneca has undergone a considerable renaissance in the last generation particularly in relation to the  

‘self’: see, e.g., A. A. Long, ‘Seneca on the Self: Why Now?’, in idem, From Epicurus to Epictetus: Studies in  

Hellenistic and Roman Philosophy (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2006), 360–376; Catharine Edwards, ‘Self-  

Scrutiny and Self-Transformation in Seneca’s Letters’, Greece and Rome 44.1 (1997): 23–38. The work of Michel  

Foucault inaugurated by The Care of the Self (London, 1986) is doubtless a contributory factor. For critique of  

Foucault, however, see Brad Inwood, Reading Seneca: Stoic Philosophy at Rome (Oxford: Oxford University  

Press, 2005), 331–340.  

⁸ Shadi Bartsch, ‘Senecan Selves’, in Cambridge Companion to Seneca, 187, posits that there are two main selves:  

one for display in the imperial court; and one for the readers of the Epistles and posterity.  

⁹ See the discussion below of Helv. 1.2 as a notable exception.  

¹⁰ See further the discussion by Bernhard Zimmerman, ‘Philosophie als Psychotherapie: Die griechisch-römische  

Consolationsliteratur’, in Stoizismus in Der Europꢂischen Philosophie, Literatur, Kunst Und Politik Eine  

Kulturgeschichte Von Der Antike Bis Zur Moderne, eds. Barbara Neymeyr et al. (Berlin: De Gruyter, 2008), 193;  

cf. Pliny, Ep. 5.16.8–10 for the difficulty of the consolatory enterprise.  

¹¹ This tradition goes back to Quintilian’s remark that he was ‘not at all diligent (parum diligens) in philosophy’  

(Inst. 10.1.129). For defences of Seneca as a Stoic, see John M. Rist, ‘Seneca and Stoic Orthodoxy’, ANRW II.36.3  

(1989), 1993–2012; George R. Boys-Stones, ‘Seneca Against Plato: Letters 58 and 65’, in Plato and the Stoics,  

ed. A. G. Long (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2013), 128–146.  

¹² See Robert J. Newman, ‘Cotidie Meditare. Theory and Practice of the meditatio in Imperial Stoicism’, ANRW  

II.36.3 (1989), 1493.  

44  

consolatory discourse.¹³ Seneca permitted himself a certain level of flexibility and eclecticism¹⁴  

which is particularly suited to consoling. Seneca talks about the possibility of ‘crossing over  

into someone else’s camp, not as a refugee, but as an explorer’ (Ep. 2.5), and advocates  

imitating bees’ honey-making techniques (Ep. 84.5): reading from diverse sources and then  

carefully separating them to make a new, sweet substance. C. E. Manning’s remark is apt in  

showing Seneca’s preference for the efficacy of a philosophical remedy, as opposed to its  

source: ‘In advancing a consolatory argument, Seneca was concerned not with its absolute  

merit, but with its effectiveness in producing more healthy attitudes in the mind of the recipient  

of his work’.¹⁵  

Nevertheless, Seneca still deploys much conventional Stoic theory in his consolatory  

discourse. Ancient consolation primarily involved the removal of negative emotions and  

subsequent replacement with positive emotions. Ancient philosophers broadly aligned with  

Stoicism, including Seneca, articulated this scheme with four πάθη (desire, pleasure, fear, and  

grief) and three corresponding εὐπάθειαι (wish, joy, and caution). There was no counterpart,  

however, to grief (λύπη; dolor, aegritudo): being a present evil, it would not have been felt by  

the Stoic sage.¹⁶ This does not, however, preclude the possibility that the wise person could  

respond affectively based on pre-emotions (propatheiai). Seneca realises that there is an  

unavoidable initial sting (ictus) but advocates active handling of it.¹⁷ In the imperial era, Seneca  

joined and contributed to a trajectory in which personal virtue, rather than civic virtue,¹⁸  

became the chief aim of Stoic philosophy. Consolation was a practice in keeping with imperial  

Stoic meditatio, which responded to present grief, and inculcated fortifying virtues for the  

future through recourse to past memory. This enabled an individual to replace his or her anxiety  

(sollicitudo) with steadfastness (securitas).  

Having considered Seneca as a portrayed ‘self’ and the extent of his Stoicism, we can  

proceed with an analysis of his chief writings. While we might associate consolation  

¹³ In any event, the philosophical schools were closed by the mid-first century. See Benjamin Harriman, ‘Musonius  

Rufus, Cleanthes, and the Stoic Community at Rome’, Elenchos 41.1 (2020): 71–104.  

14  

See Benoît Castelnérac, ‘The Method of “Ecleticism” in Plutarch and Seneca’, Hermathena 182 (2007): 135-  

163.  

15  

C. E. Manning, ‘The Consolatory Tradition and Seneca’s Attitude to the Emotions’, Greece & Rome 21.1  

(1974), 81.  

16  

See Cicero, Tusc. 4.6.13-14. See Margaret R. Graver, Stoicism and Emotion (Chicago: University of Chicago  

Press, 2007), 204, on this passage.  

17  

See Richard Sorabji, Emotion and Peace of Mind: From Stoic Agitation to Christian Temptation (Oxford:  

Oxford University Press, 2000), 66–75, on this phenomenon in the De ira.  

¹⁸ Newman, ‘Cotidie Meditare’, 1473.  

45  

predominantly with ethics,¹⁹ when Seneca enters consoling mode, he often thinks with physical  

and logical categories. This takes us back to the original tripartite Stoic philosophical system  

of Zeno with physical, ethical, and logical axes.²⁰ Consolation is predominantly ethical because  

it is to do with emotions and virtue; but the other two components are not excluded –  

cosmological arguments also feature and logic qua rhetoric underpins the whole endeavour.  

The present chapter aims to bring out the main themes of the first part of Seneca’s consolatory  

career by analysing the discourse and wider narratives that he constructs in each of the three  

designated Consolationes.  

Ad Marciam  

Many scholars in the first part of the twentieth century were ill-disposed towards Seneca’s early  

oeuvre including the three Consolationes, finding its style insipid and its philosophy  

underdeveloped compared to his later writings.²¹ This scholarly perspective, however, has  

changed significantly.²² These texts are held to represent an important part of Seneca’s oeuvre  

and contain pertinent insights into Seneca’s brand of Stoicism. The Ad Marciam is probably  

the earliest of the three consolations. The dialogue purports to be addressed to Marcia, the  

daughter of the late distinguished historian, Cremutius Cordus, who having been sentenced for  

literary treason (maiestas) during the reign of Tiberius, committed suicide following pressure  

from Sejanus (Ann. 4.34–35).²³ We know from a reference in Suetonius (Caligula 16.1) that  

Cordus’ works were allowed to be republished under Caligula. Since there is no mention of  

exile, most scholars place it before Seneca’s exile under Claudius, somewhere in Caligula’s  

reign 37–41 CE, with 40 CE being the most likely year.²⁴  

¹⁹ With relation to psychagogy, Aldo Setaioli notes: in ‘the Hellenistic period … primacy was gradually awarded  

to ethics’ (‘Ethics I: Philosophy as Therapy, Self-Transformation and “Lebensform”’, in Brill’s Companion to  

Seneca: Philosopher and Dramatist, eds. Gregor Damschen and Andreas Heil [Leiden: Brill, 2014], 239).  

²⁰ Diogenes Laertius, Lives 7.39–40.  

21  

Summarised by Janine Fillion-Lahille (‘La production littéraire de Sénèque sous les règnes de Caligula et de  

Claude, sens philosophique et portée politique: les “Consolationes” et le “De ira”’, ANRW II.36.3 [1989], 1608):  

‘In the view of many scholars, in these texts we barely have anything more than school exercises where trite  

expression and excessive subtleness combine: the overall product is frozen in the detachedness of a declamatory  

style where stereotyped devices are easily identifiable’.  

²² This consensus began shift at the end of the 1960s, see Karlhans Abel, Bauformen in Senecas Dialogen: Fꢃnf  

Strukturanalysen: dial. 6, 11, 12, 1 und 2 (Heidelberg: Winter, 1967); Ilsetraut Hadot, Seneca Und Die  

Griechisch-rꢀmische Tradition Der Seelenleitung, Quellen Und Studien Zur Geschichte Der Philosophie 13  

(Berlin: De Gruyter, 1969).  

²³ See Mary R. McHugh, ‘Historiography and Freedom of Speech: The Case of Cremutius Cordus’, in Free Speech  

in Classical Antiquity, eds. Ineke Sluiter and Ralph Rosen (Leiden: Brill, 2004), 391–408.  

²⁴ C. E. Manning, On Seneca’s “Ad Marciam” (Leiden: Brill, 1981), 1–4.  

46  

Exemplary Virtue – Among Women  

By attributing the renewed publication of Cordus’ works to Marcia, Seneca demonstrates how  

she dealt with her father’s death virtuously through this positive act of remembrance (Marc.  

1.3–4). Marcia, however, was aggrieved following another bereavement: the death of her  

young son, Metilius.²⁵ Three years had passed, yet her grief had intensified rather than abated,  

leading Seneca to ask: ‘What end will there be?’ (Quis enim erit finis?) (1.6).²⁶ Since her grief  

had reached this stage, instead of using more gentle medicine, Seneca now professes to employ  

a highly invasive strategy to restore Marcia to her former self (1.8):  

non possum nunc per obsequium nec molliter adgredi tam durum dolorem: frangendus  

est.  

I am no longer able to approach so hardened a grief considerately or softly, it must be  

crushed.  

On first appearance, this is an unusual consolatory strategy.²⁷ One might expect Seneca to deal  

with Marcia softly (molliter);²⁸ but her prolonged grief surpasses the expected boundaries of  

grief for women and is not in keeping with her past virtue, so Seneca opts for different  

treatment. He inverts the conventional practice of moving from praecepta to exempla. Here he  

starts with exempla via a rhetorical comparison between two women, Octavia and Livia, who  

evinced contrasting attitudes in the face of grief. When Octavia lost her son Marcellus, she put  

no limits to her weeping and did not allow anyone to console her or to hold onto any memories  

of her son (2.4).²⁹ Conversely, when Livia lost her son Drusus, she endured his long funeral  

procession, then simultaneously and decisively, buried both her son in the tomb and her own  

grief (3.2). Unlike Octavia, Livia actively chose to remember her son; indeed, ‘she lived with  

his memory’ (3.2). With this comparison in place, Seneca turns back to the encoded reader,  

Marcia: ‘So, choose which example you consider more commendable’ (3.3).  

²⁵ Christoph Jedan, ‘Rapprochement’, 165, instructively describes Marcia’s state in modern psychological terms  

as ‘complicated grief’ because of this cumulative aspect.  

26  

See Ker, Deaths, 96, for a possible allusion to Juno’s anger towards Aeneas, which Jupiter challenges: quae  

iam finis erit, coniunx? (Aen. 12.793)  

27  

Women were, however, the recipients of ancient consolations: see, e.g., Plutarch, Consolatio ad Uxorem;  

pseudo-Ovid, Consolatio ad Liviam; Jerome, Ep. 108.  

28  

See C. E. Manning, ‘Seneca and the Stoics On the Equality of the Sexes’, Mnemosyne 26.2 (1973): 170–177;  

Pauline Nigh Hogan, ‘Paul and Seneca on Women’, in Dodson and Briones, Paul and Seneca in Dialogue, 212–  

217, for women’s equal aptitude for virtue. See also 2 Macc 7:21, where the mother’s reaction to the death of her  

sons is described in male and noble terms: ‘she exhorted (παρεκάλει) each of them in a noble, fatherly voice  

(πατρίῳ φωνῇ γενναίῳ), being filled with insight and elevating her womanly reasoning to manly courage (θῆλυν  

λογισμὸν ἄρσενι θυμῷ διεγείρασα)’.  

29  

This included her not listening to the poetry written to commemorate him, which Seneca paraphrases: ‘she  

barred her ears against all consolation (solacium)’ (Marc. 2.4; cf. Aen. 6.860–892).  

47  

In this process, Seneca makes two main moves. Firstly, he presents Livia as the  

womanly example to follow; but he has not done so as aggressively as the opening suggested.  

Instead, with considerable ‘psychagogical skill’,³⁰ he leads Marcia to the correct choice in  

handling her grief. Jo-Ann Shelton highlights how the comparative probabilius along with the  

other comparatives of mitius (‘more mildly’) and moderatius (‘more moderately’) (3.4) serve  

to avoid ‘an explicit condemnation of excessive grief’.³¹ By the following section, he assumes  

that Marcia has been won over by Livia’s example: they are figuratively akin and can console  

one another (4.1):  

I do not hesitate to think that the example of Julia Augusta [Livia], with whom you  

foster friendly relations (familiariter), is more attractive to you; she now calls you to  

her counsel.  

Seneca situates Marcia within a consolatory network of virtuous women. That said, Seneca not  

only addresses Marcia but a male, elite audience beyond her. Amanda Wilcox shows how virtus  

is an inherently male concept for Seneca – if women can show virtue too, this should  

‘complement masculine virtue or correct masculine vice’.³² The imperative, elige, then, should  

also be interpreted as an admonition to male addressees not to be conquered by grief. The Ad  

Marciam serves as ‘an added means of goading’³³ such hearers towards the appropriate  

behaviour for elite Roman society. If Marcia and other exemplary women can conquer grief,  

then there is no excuse for males to be unable to do so.³⁴  

This wider audience is highlighted through the male exempla later in the dialogue  

(12.4–15.4). Nevertheless, he returns to Marcia and anticipates an objection from her: ‘I know  

what you will say: “You have forgotten that you are consoling a woman, you relate examples  

of men”’ (16.1). This affords him another opportunity to talk about the near equal propensity  

for virtuous action among women, before offering a few examples, although the list is  

noticeably shorter (16.2–8). In sum, female exempla are central to Seneca’s consolatory  

strategy in the Ad Marciam, but it would be simplistic to think that Seneca writes concerning  

³⁰ Jochen Sauer, ‘Consolatio ad Marciam’ in Damschen and Heil, Brill’s Companion to Seneca, 137.  

³¹ Jo-Ann Shelton, ‘Persuasion and Paradigm in Seneca’s Consolatio ad Marciam 1–6’, Classica et Mediaevalia  

46 (1995), 176.  

32  

Amanda Wilcox, ‘Exemplary Grief: Gender and Virtue in Seneca’s Consolations to Women’, Helios 33.1  

(2006), 74.  

³³ Ibid., 93.  

34  

For further perspectives on the role of women in the Ad Marciam, see Paul A. Holloway, ‘Gender and Grief:  

The Consolation of Women’, in Women and Gender in Ancient Religions: Interdisciplinary Approaches, eds.  

Stephen P. Ahearne-Kroll et al., WUNT 263 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2010), 299–321.  

48  

Marcia’s grief alone. This is part of a broader strategy which involves challenging male  

perceptions on virtue in hardship, as the later concatenation of male exempla reveals.  

Rhetorical and Political Motives  

The acquisition of appropriate virtue is a major ethical consideration for Seneca. His exempla  

– both male and female – are important but he also deploys speech-in-character (prosopopoeia)  

through the figures of Areus and Cremutius Cordus. We shall return to Cordus’ speech, but  

here we consider how and why Seneca becomes Areus, as a way into a discussion of Seneca’s  

political motives amid his consolatory praxis.  

Livia is commended for the decision to solicit the help of Areus, the philosopher of her  

husband, Augustus ‘at the first sign of pain’ (4.2) rather than delaying. Seneca relates that  

Areus’ aid was efficacious and imagines how Areus would have addressed Livia (4.3). In the  

speech, Seneca-Areus relates the precepts that had led to Livia’s virtuous remembrance of  

Drusus: ‘lend an open ear to the name and memory of your son’ (5.3). Reassuming his own  

voice, Seneca remarks that this speech applied to her (6.1):  

Tuum illic, Marcia, negotium actum, tibi Areus adsedit; muta personam – te consolatus  

est.  

Your distress was dealt with there, Marcia: Areus sat beside you. Change the role – he  

consoled you.  

After this rhetorically charged, even theatrical opening,³⁵ Seneca reverts to more conventional  

philosophical consolation in arguing that death is not a malum.³⁶ Seneca reflects on consolation  

within nature, noting that animals only grieve for a short while; accordingly, being crushed by  

grief is not natural (7.3).³⁷ He also considers time as ‘the most effective way of soothing the  

ferocity [of grief] (efficacissimum mitigandae ferociae)’ (8.2), and the hazards of Fortune in  

what she assigns to mortals: ‘at her will (arbitrio), we shall suffer worthy and unworthy things’  

(10.6).  

35  

Wilson, ‘Seneca the Consoler?’, in Baltussen, Greek and Roman Consolations, 96, describes the introduction  

of Areus as an ‘ecphrastic consolatory oration’ as in invented speeches typical of Greek and Roman  

historiography. Seneca is also advertising his services as a would-be philosopher to the emperor; see Ker, Deaths,  

95.  

36  

Rightly: Shelton, ‘Persuasion’, 188, that the exempla in §§1–6 prepared the ground for this next phase of  

argumentation.  

³⁷ Cf. Ep. 121 for Seneca’s discussion on nature and virtue in animals.  

49  

The examples in the central section, however, offer occasional insights into the political  

status quo. Around commonplace remarks to Marcia about the comfort that can be derived  

from grandchildren (16.7), the Roman political scene is evoked. This becomes most acute at  

Marc. 19.4, where Seneca considers Metilius’ condition. Seneca maintains that Metilius has  

been fortunate to die young, which he uses to console Marcia: ‘Consider how much good a  

timely death offers, how it has been harmful to many to have lived too long (diutius vixisse)’  

(20.4).³⁸ The protracted lives of Pompey, Cicero, and Cato meant they all saw regrettable  

moments during the Republic (20.4–6). Conversely, Metilius died young but with his virtue  

fully intact, untarnished by moral pollution in Rome. Seneca argues in this vein: ‘Who  

guarantees that your son’s most handsome body and utmost regards for chastity could have  

been preserved amid the gazes of a decadent city?’ (22.2)  

This section builds towards Seneca’s moving account of Cremutius Cordus’ suicide.  

Cordus had been unable to resist speaking out against the honours given to Sejanus, which had  

led to his imprisonment. The inimical henchmen of Sejanus are characterised in bestial terms  

– ‘the fiercest dogs, whom he … fed with human blood’ (22.5) – in antithesis to Cordus’  

exemplary actions. Seneca pathetically remarks how when faced with complying with Sejanus  

or death, Cordus chose the latter through starvation. To do so, however, he had to decide to  

deceive Marcia. Seneca assumes the voice of Cordus as he imagines him rationalising this  

choice to her: “I have entered upon the journey of death … neither must you nor can you call  

me back” (22.6). His suicide in Stoic terms³⁹ thwarts the intentions of Sejanus and his men,  

granting Cordus a virtuous end. In Seneca’s narrative, this event shows the philosophical  

advantage of death in certain situations, but also indicts Sejanus and others in imperial Rome  

who wish to suppress the truth about history. Given that Marcia had just republished Cordus’  

histories and Seneca had planned to republish his own father’s Historiae around the same  

time,⁴⁰ we see how Seneca’s philosophical and political motives intersect in a consolatory  

context.  

38  

For a thorough treatment of this topos, see James L. Zainaldin, ‘“We fortunate souls”: Timely Death and  

Philosophical Therapy in Seneca’s Consolation to Marcia’, AJP 142.3 (2021): 425–460.  

³⁹ While Zainaldin is most informative on Seneca’s initially guiding Marcia through Epicurean principles in Marc.  

19.3–22, before moving onto Stoic principles in Marc. 23–26, Seneca’s approbation of suicide in this section  

perhaps aligns him with Stoicism more than Zainaldin admits (‘“We fortunate souls”’, 434n27).  

⁴⁰ Ker, Deaths, 94.  

50  

A Consoling Conflagration?  

So far, we have focused on ethical and logical dimensions of the Ad Marciam but have only  

seen physical aspects tangentially in a few remarks about Nature. The ending, however, offers  

significant insights into the interplay between consolation and Stoic cosmology. Before this,  

Seneca occasionally discusses the afterlife; we encounter the topos of the deceased being sent  

ahead as a consolatory remedy: ‘Let us consider that they [the dead] are absent and deceive  

ourselves, we have dismissed them (dimisimus); or rather, we have sent them ahead  

(praemisimus) and we shall follow’ (19.1). The ending, however, offers a more compelling  

vision compared to this commonplace.⁴¹ En route, Seneca appropriates Plato’s perspective that  

‘the entire soul of the wise man projects itself towards death (in mortem prominere) … and  

stretches towards matters beyond’ (23.2)⁴² to show that death is not a malum. So, too, when  

Seneca depicts Metilius’ soul as ‘taken on high and running among happy souls (ad excelsa  

sublatus inter felices currit animas)’ (25.1), this mirrors Platonic notions of the soul’s escape  

from the body⁴³ and the joys of the celestial realm.⁴⁴  

When, however, he presents Metilius being greeted by the ‘sacred gathering’ including  

Scipios, Catos, and Cordus, and instructed about the secrets of nature, including the movement  

of stars (25.2), this is an introduction to a new cosmic city, which is profoundly Stoic.⁴⁵ Marcia  

and other readers are exhorted to ‘blush at considering anything lowly or vulgar and weeping  

over your men who have been changed for the better’ (25.3), which includes considering  

Metilius and Cordus ‘intermingled with the stars (intermixtique sideribus)’ (25.3) in true Stoic  

cosmological style.  

This leads to the final rhetorical consolatory flourish: the lengthy prosopopoeia  

involving Cordus. According to Seneca-Cordus, it is illogical that Marcia should continue to  

mourn Metilius – although he has died, he is happy: ‘Why is there such lengthy mourning in  

our home for he who dies most happily (qui felicissime moritur)?’ (26.3). From his cosmic  

vantage point, Cordus argues that earthly circumstances are less favourable than the living  

think: ‘we see that … there is nothing among you – as you think – which is desirable, nothing  

lofty (nil excelsum), nothing splendid, but everything is lowly (humilia cuncta), serious, and  

⁴¹ Here, Zainaldin is on target that these commonplace, predominantly Epicurean arguments, ‘play an important  

preliminary role in unsticking Marcia from her tenacious belief in the evil of death’ (‘“We Fortunate Souls”’,  

431).  

⁴² cf. Plato, Phaed. 64a.  

⁴³ Phaed., 79c2–84b8.  

⁴⁴ Resp. 6.20–25.  

⁴⁵ See the discussion in Zainaldin, ‘“We Fortunate Souls”’, 446–447, but note Zainaldin’s conclusion: ‘Platonizing  

elements are always kept within the bounds of orthodox Stoicism’ (447).  

51  

troubled’ (26.3). Although Cordus offered a fine perspective on earthly Roman history, he now  

has an unobstructed cosmic perspective: the tricolon of licet (26.5) connotes things that it is  

now possible for him to see, compared to the confined space he occupied while alive.  

The climax of this visionary speech is a description of what happens at the end of the  

cycle of the universe (26.6–7). Time is the chief agent in completely altering the whole  

landscape: ‘nothing will stand where it currently stands, old age will scatter and take away  

everything with it’ (26.6). This leads into Seneca’s account of what happens at the  

conflagration (ἐκπύρωσις) as attested in older Stoic sources⁴⁶ (26.6–7):  

When the time comes, when the world which is about to be renewed (mundus  

renovaturus) extinguishes itself, those things will destroy themselves through their own  

force, stars will collide with stars (sidera sideribus incurrent) and with all the fiery  

matter (flagrante materia); whatever now gleams through its arrangement will burn up  

in one fire.  

Seneca shows that the cosmos as it is known will be burned up; but this is not the end of the  

account: it will be recreated in another cycle. This will come about through divine agency:  

‘when it seems best to god to construct these things again … we shall be turned into the former  

elements’ (26.7).  

From this tour de force of a Stoic conflagration,⁴⁷ Marcia is supposed to be consoled  

by the Stoic sympathy (συμπάθεια) within the cosmos⁴⁸ and count her sons among the felices  

animae (26.7). The conflagration shows how physical, rhetorical, and ethical components of  

consolation can coalesce and is a fitting end to the Ad Marciam.  

46  

See Diogenes Laertius, Lives 7.134.3 on the Stoic conflagration, as well as other sources in Long and Sedley  

1.274–279. Note also A. A. Long, ‘The Stoics on World-Conflagration and Everlasting Recurrence’, Southern  

Journal of Philosophy 23.1 (1985): 13–38. On similarities of this text to Posidonius, see Karlhans Abel,  

‘Poseidonios und Senecas Trostschrift an Marcia’, Rheinisches Museum für Philologie 107 (1964): 221–260.  

⁴⁷ James P. Ware describes it as ‘perhaps the most lyrical and poetic statement of the doctrine in antiquity’ (‘The  

Salvation of Creation: Seneca and Paul on the Future of Humanity and of the Cosmos’, in Dodson and Briones,  

Paul and Seneca in Dialogue, 286). For possible epic metrical effects of the ending that recall elements of Aeneid  

6 and Metamorphoses 15, see Francis M. Dunn, ‘A Prose Hexameter in Seneca? (Consolatio ad Marciam 26.7)’,  

AJP 110.3 (1989): 488–491.  

48  

Michael Lapidge, ‘Stoic Cosmology and Roman Literature, First to Third Centuries A.D.’, ANRW II.36.3  

(1989), 1383–4; cf. SVF 2.546: οὔτε τῶν μερῶν αὐτοῦ συμπάθειά τις ἄν ἦν πρὸς ἄλληλα (‘and there is no  

sympathy of parts which are against each other’).  

52  

Ad Helviam⁴⁹  

While Seneca’s own life and interests are in the background of Ad Marciam, he is more distant  

from Marcia’s loss and relatively unaffected by it. This produces a more conventional  

consolation where Seneca is unmistakably the consoler. The other two consolations to Helvia  

and Polybius, however, are written from exile in Corsica and implicate Seneca. Exile was a  

locus classicus for receiving consolation, but exile also afforded opportunities for the  

philosopher to defy and transcend the oppressive circumstances, thus blurring the boundaries  

between consoler and consoland.⁵⁰ In composing consolations from exile, Seneca thus  

inscribes himself in a literary tradition. In the Ad Helviam, Seneca writes to his mother, Helvia,  

about his exile. Seneca sets out to assure his mother that he is not suffering. He writes: ‘Firstly,  

I shall address what your familial concern (pietas) wishes to hear: that I consider nothing (here)  

to be evil (nihil mihi mali esse)’ (Helv. 4.2). If we had only the Ad Helviam from Seneca’s  

exile, we could be convinced that this was genuinely Seneca’s position, but there are hints in  

the Ad Polybium that Seneca is discontented in exile and seeks a return to Rome. This led some  

scholars to argue that Ad Helviam is an ‘insincere’⁵¹ piece. Yet we shall see that this is unfair  

to Seneca on account of rhetorical exigencies.⁵² Instead, we shall focus on the consolatory  

strategies and conceits that Seneca employs in the Ad Helviam vis-à-vis exile and their  

conformity to Stoic doctrine.  

Present Pains, Present Deaths (Helv. 1–4)  

Most scholars believe that Seneca composed the Ad Helviam early in his exile, probably in 42  

CE.⁵³ Seneca mentions the civic law granted to women regarding ‘the interval of ten months  

for mourning men’ (Helv. 16.1), which indicates a similar timescale in the case of the Ad  

Helviam. The opening also implies that some time has passed but that, during this time,  

Seneca’s consolatory efforts have been constrained: ‘Often now, dearest mother, I have  

⁴⁹ This section is a lightly adapted and extended version of my article, ‘“Our πολίτευμα Belongs in Heaven” (Phil  

3:20): Comparing Paul’s and Seneca’s Narratives of Consolation’, NovT 64.2 (2022), 253–258.  

⁵⁰ See Cicero, Tusc. 3.34.81 for exile (exilium) and loss of country (interitus patriae) as conditions for consolation.  

On exile tradition with reference to Cicero, Ovid, Seneca, Dio Chrysostom, and Boethius, see Jo-Marie Claassen,  

Displaced Persons: The Literature of Exile from Cicero to Boethius (London: Bloomsbury, 1999). Other notable  

treatises include: Musonius Rufus, That Exile Is Not an Evil; and Plutarch and Favorinus’ On Exile.  

⁵¹ Arther Ferrill, ‘Seneca’s Exile and the Ad Helviam: A Reinterpretation’, CP 61.4 (1966), 256: ‘The Ad Helviam  

is sincere only in its major point, i.e., that exile was simply a loci commutatio, and in its stated purpose, to console  

Helvia’.  

52  

See, e.g., Elaine Fantham, ‘Dialogues of Displacement: Seneca’s Consolations to Helvia and Polybius’, in  

Writing Exile: The Discourse of Displacement in Greco-Roman Antiquity and Beyond, ed. Jan Felix Gaertner  

(Boston: Brill, 2007), 192: ‘the issue is not one of sincerity, but one of effective persuasion and a double audience’.  

⁵³ Sauer, ‘Consolatio ad Helviam’, in Damschen and Heil, Brill’s Companion to Seneca, 171.  

53  

undertaken to console you (impetum, cepi consolandi te); often I have held back’ (1.1). Seneca  

emphasises that this difficulty has been caused by the novelty of his consolatory situation. He  

shows awareness of a literary tradition of consolation but portrays himself struggling with how  

an aggrieved consoler might console (1.2–3):  

Moreover, when I unrolled the literary monuments of the most distinguished minds  

which were composed for restraining and moderating griefs (ad compescendos  

moderandosque luctus), I did not find an example of someone who had consoled his  

own people (non inueniebam exemplum eius qui consolatus suos esset), when he was  

being lamented by them; thus in a new situation (in re nova), I hesitated and I feared  

that this would not be a consolation but an irritation.  

Seneca tries to situate himself within a consolatory tradition but claims that he is unable to do  

so. This opening is theatrical and raises questions: did Seneca have access to consolatory  

literature, and if so, which texts? While Ovid, Vergil, Crantor and Plato are all possibilities, an  

important literary antecedent is Cicero’s self-consolation following the loss of his daughter,  

Tullia. Cicero writes to his friend, Atticus (Att. 12.14.3):  

Yet indeed I have done something, which assuredly no-one before me has (ante me  

nemo): I have consoled myself through letters (ipse me per litteras consolarer) … I  

confirm to you that there has not been such a consolation (nullam consolationem esse  

talem)’.  

By also claiming that the Ad Helviam is without prior exemplum and res nova, Seneca engages  

in aemulatio: he bids to outdo Cicero.⁵⁴ He goes further by portraying himself as dead:⁵⁵ Seneca  

comments that he was being lamented by his people (suos). We can infer that this includes  

Helvia and his family but extends beyond them on account of his popularity before exile:  

Suetonius writes that Seneca was widely considered ‘exceedingly pleasing at that time’  

(Caligula, 53.2) on account of his elegant rhetoric that Caligula characteristically disdained.  

Seneca develops this unusual trope of the dead consoler with continued theatricality (1.3):  

There is a need for new words not taken from common and everyday speech for a man  

lifting his head from the funeral pyre itself to console his own people (ad consolandos  

suos).  

54  

This also applies to the handling of grief: Cicero is almost inconsolable since his ‘grief conquers every  

consolation (omnem consolationem vincit dolor)’; Seneca portrays himself otherwise.  

55  

See Claassen, Displaced Persons, 90–91, for the parallel of a ‘voice from the dead’ in Cornelia’s elegy at  

Propertius 4.11.  

54  

Seneca presents himself not merely as an exile – but one who is on the bier. The severity of the  

exile is such that his return from exile is uncertain; he is essentially dead. While Seneca extends  

Cicero’s trope of self-consolation, he draws on Ovid, the Roman poet who died in exile. Ovid  

wrote: ‘when I have lost my fatherland, then consider me to have died (cum patriam amisi,  

tunc me periisse putato)’ (Tristia 3.3.53).⁵⁶ Seneca has not, however, given up hope of  

returning to Rome and this consolation is how he might secure it. This intimate consolatory  

arrangement with mother and son in the principal roles represents a ‘restricted textual  

economy’ which ‘Seneca exploits … to generate maximum returns’.⁵⁷ In turning to the explicit  

task – consoling his mother – Seneca embodies both consoler and consolation (1.4):  

In any case, I shall eagerly strive [to speak] not through confidence in my ability, but  

because, as a consoler myself (ipse consolator), I can be the representation of the most  

effective consolation (instar efficacissimae consolationis).  

In 1.2, Seneca had spoken of the ingenium of past consolers, but through captatio  

benevolentiae, claimed to be inferior. Here, however, he is bold enough to play both roles.  

Seneca’s consolatory strategy in the Ad Helviam is more consistently invasive than in the Ad  

Marciam where the exempla diverted much of the force. He enumerates his mother’s many  

misfortunes: from losing her mother at birth and being orphaned, to losing her uncle, husband,  

and three grandchildren. Now, on burying one of Seneca’s sons, she heard the news that Seneca  

had been ‘seized (raptum)’ (2.4–5). Pretending to be between the living and dead, Seneca  

remarks: ‘You still lacked this one thing: to mourn the living (lugere vivos)’ (2.5). On top of  

all the past tragedies Helvia has endured, Seneca’s exile is portrayed as ‘the most severe  

(gravissimum)’ because it is a ‘fresh wound (recens vulnus)’ (3.1). This is not, however, an  

excuse for ‘womanly grief (muliebris dolor)’ (3.2), which Seneca views dimly and scornfully:  

‘banish, indeed, all lamentation (lamentationes … amove), wailing, and other things’ (3.2).  

Here, Seneca’s modus operandi aligns more with conventional Stoic apatheia, and so,  

the elimination of grief: ‘I have decided to conquer (vincere) your grief, not to circumvent  

(circumscribere) it’ (4.1).⁵⁸ He will conquer Helvia’s grief in two stages (4.1):  

⁵⁶ Gareth D. Williams, ‘States of Exile, States of Mind: Paradox and Reversal in Seneca’s Consolatio ad Helviam  

Matrem’, in Seeing Seneca Whole: Perspectives on Philosophy, Poetry and Politics, eds. idem and Katharina Volk  

(Leiden: Brill, 2006), 150.  

⁵⁷ James Ker, ‘Seneca: Man of Many Genres?’, in Williams and Volk, Seeing Seneca Whole, 39.  

⁵⁸ Thus, Sauer, ‘Consolatio ad Helviam’, 172: ‘the Stoic ideal of apatheia is present in all its strictness throughout  

the piece – quite in contrast to other consolationes’; cf. Claassen, Displaced Persons, 90: ‘all three consolations  

have a partly non-Stoic thrust’.  

55  

Firstly, if I show that I am not suffering anything (nihil me pati) … secondly, if I turn  

to you and prove that not even your fortune, which depends wholly on mine, is severe.  

With this strategy in place, Seneca can move away from present pains and meditate on the  

indifference of his exile with the support of Stoic doctrine, which will console Helvia.  

Home and Away: Exemplary Exile and Stoic Doctrine (Helv. 5–13)  

At this point, Helvia recedes from view and Seneca begins his discussion about exile. In the  

process, he incorporates himself within a philosophical tradition that rationalises exile as ‘a  

transferral of place (loci commutatio)’ (6.1). Although there are some disadvantages to exile,  

Seneca argues against a common objection, voiced through an interlocutor: ‘To be without a  

fatherland is unbearable (carere patria intolerabile est)’ (6.2). This leads to a series of  

arguments which both rationalise and defy exile from one’s fatherland.  

Firstly, prior to this section, Seneca had appealed to the sufficiency of nature and the  

self for human flourishing. Instead of deriving happiness from great resources every individual  

can make himself happy (unusquisque facere se beatum potest; 5.1) through nature. This is  

precisely what the sage manages to achieve; on Seneca’s view, the sage ‘has always laboured  

… so that he might attain all joy from himself (ut a se omne gaudium peteret)’ (5.2). The  

eupatheiai can be cultivated through reflection upon nature, proper anticipation of fortune (5.3–  

4), and internal self-reflection, regardless of where the sage finds himself.  

Secondly, Seneca argues that exile is a form of migration. Movement (towards Rome  

and elsewhere) is a natural human inclination (6.6) and consistent with divine nature (6.8).  

People move around for diverse purposes; but Seneca argues that migration, whether  

involuntary or voluntary, is no different from exile. He asks rhetorically: “But what are all these  

migrations (transportationes) of peoples other than public exiles?” (7.6). For Seneca, neither  

change nor loss of homeland are hardships; instead, they are natural, and ought to be  

rationalised as such.  

To lend greater weight to his argument, Seneca invokes mythical and historical figures.  

He argues that Rome was founded by Aeneas, an oppressed exile and refugee, who came to  

Italy out of necessity rather than volition (7.7). In other words, Rome was originally a place of  

exile, which blurs the distinction between exile and patria, and in the process, mitigates  

grievous feelings. Seneca also incorporates precepts from two Roman authorities, Varro and  

56  

Marcus Brutus, to show that the Stoic cosmic city is accessible anywhere.⁵⁹ Seneca reasons  

that this makes for effective consolation for the exile: wherever he goes, ‘common nature and  

individual virtue (natura communis et propria virtus)’ also follow because of the beneficence  

of nature, including its ‘divine spirit (divinus spiritus)’ (8.3). Corsica, by being ‘within the  

world (intra mundum)’ (8.5) is categorically not a place of exile. Concerning his own situation,  

he comments: ‘provided that I always have my mind (animum) directed on high … what does  

it matter on which land I tread?’ (8.10). This is Seneca’s first major vision and narrative of  

cosmic consolation in the Ad Helviam.  

Thirdly, Seneca provides further proof that exile can be a place of virtue through the  

exemplum of Marcellus. Seneca narrates how Brutus visited Marcellus when the latter was  

exiled but, contrary to expectation, found him ‘living most happily (beatissime)’ (9.4). Indeed,  

when Brutus had to return to Rome without Marcellus (sine illo), it was as if Brutus was the  

one headed for exile (9.5). On hearing Brutus’ report, the senate in Rome echo his position:  

they beg for Marcellus’ return ‘so that they might not be exiles – if they should be without him  

(sine illo)’ (9.6). As well as highlighting the possibility of cultivating virtue in exile, Seneca’s  

rhetorical strategy in invoking Marcellus is deliberate: he endeavours to generate his own recall  

by identifying himself with Marcellus. Such co-identification is apparent in a section of  

prosopopoeia where Seneca even imagines how Marcellus would have exhorted (adhortatus)  

himself in exile (9.7–8).  

Finally, as the Marcellus exemplum shows, rather than being idealised as the patria par  

excellence, Rome is more accurately a place of exile, thus turning the tables. Helv. 10–13  

functions as an indictment of contemporary Rome as the real place of exile, which defies the  

notion that Seneca is an exile in Corsica. Although the issue of poverty in exile is noted,⁶⁰ for  

Seneca, this is less harmful than ‘the madness of greed and luxury that is overturning  

everything’ (10.1) in Rome. In contradistinction to Marcellus, there are exempla of profligacy  

in Rome: Caligula and his dinner of ten million sesterces represents the zenith of Roman  

decadence (10.4), but it percolates down through the Roman elite. Seneca defies and condemns  

the elite custom of procuring luxury food items unnecessarily, believing that such comportment  

⁵⁹ On the topos of ‘common fatherland’ (κοινὴ πατρίς) as employed by writers of the Second Sophistic, see Tim  

Whitmarsh, Greek Literature and the Roman Empire: The Politics of Imitation (Oxford: Oxford University Press,  

2001), 133–180.  

60  

The extent of Seneca’s wealth is well known. It was the primary accusation brought against Seneca by his  

detractors when he was dismissed as Nero’s tutor (see Tacitus, Ann. 14.52), and accusations of hypocrisy have  

been levelled against Seneca by his past and present detractors. See Thorsteinsson, Roman Christianity and Roman  

Stoicism, 25–27, who ultimately defends Seneca from such charges.  

57  

acts as a barrier to virtue: ‘if they should want to return to a sound mind, what need is there for  

so many manners of serving the stomach (ventri)?’ (10.5).  

This part of the Ad Helviam, therefore, challenges social mores.⁶¹ The true exiles are  

the ones who fall victim to luxury in Rome, compared to the sapiens who is free to contemplate  

the cosmos – even in exile. The exempla in this section illustrate this dichotomy very effectively  

and allow Seneca both to rationalise and defy his exile.  

Grief and Exile Transcended (Helv. 14–20)  

Although Helvia goes unmentioned in the central sections, in the final sections, Seneca’s  

consolation is more specifically directed towards her. Throughout, she is characterised as a  

virtuous woman and exhorted to continue in this vein.⁶² Seneca also directs her towards other  

exempla of virtuous matronae who did not grieve the deaths of her sons (16.6–7). Thus, James  

Ker fittingly describes Seneca’s rhetorical strategy here as ‘characterising the household as a  

secure relational space’.⁶³ The secure household becomes a locus and image of consolation  

amid grief. Seneca features briefly and dramatically in the middle of this tableau. Envisaging  

his son playing and smiling, he is prompted to offer himself as a scapegoat (piamentum) for  

the family’s suffering (18.6):  

May all the exhausting cruelty of the fates end with me; whatever my mother should  

have to grieve (dolendum fuit), may it carry over to me (in me transierit); whatever my  

ancestors to suffer, to me also. May my surviving tribe flourish in its present state. I  

shall not complain at all about want or my condition: only may I be the scapegoat of a  

household so that it will grieve no more (nihil amplius doliturae).  

With these words, Seneca casts himself as a tragic hero.⁶⁴ He is vicariously (in me) prepared to  

suffer exile and more so that his family might not have to do so. He wishes that his exile might  

lead to an end to grief for his family, or to put it another way, that his grief might transcend  

theirs.  

⁶¹ Thus, Gareth Williams rightly comments that this section represents ‘an oblique commentary on the nature and  

limits of Roman imperial power’ (‘States of Exile’, 149).  

62  

See Helv. 15.4: ‘just as with a well-known enemy and now often conquered, you must contend all the more  

fiercely’. She is also directed towards studies (17.5) and surviving family members (18.4–5).  

⁶³ Ker, Deaths, 97.  

64  

Ker, Deaths, 99; Rita Degl’ Innocenti Pierini, ‘“Ritratto di familia”: Seneca e i suoi nella Consolatio ad  

Helviam’, in Gli Annei: Una Famiglia Nella Storia E Nella Cultura Di Roma Imperiale: Atti Del Convegno  

Internazionale Di Milano-Pavia, 2-6 Maggio 2000, eds. Isabella Gualandri and Giancarlo Mazzoli (Como: New  

Press, 2003), 339–356.  

58  

However much pietas this attitude may evince, Seneca realises that it will not fully  

console his mother. This, on some level, accounts for the climax of the Ad Helviam, which  

centres on him and in which he portrays himself blissfully transcending exile on a cosmic level.  

He assures his aggrieved mother that he is ‘happy and lively just as in the best of times’ (20.1);  

his entire animus is ‘free from concern’ (20.1) because of the philosophical reflection that he  

can undertake in exile. With lyrical prose, he narrates the journey and ascension of the animus  

through lands, seas, and the regions between heaven and earth. Finally, it reaches heaven, from  

where the mind – and Seneca – has a divine and cosmic perspective on space and time (20.2):  

Then, when the lower places have been traversed, it bursts into the upper ones (ad  

summa perrumpit), enjoying the most beautiful spectacle of divine matters.  

Remembering its immortality (aeternitatis suae memor), it journeys into everything  

which has been and will come in all ages.  

Consequently, the Ad Helviam concludes on a note of cosmic consolation.⁶⁵ Seneca’s animus  

is free to roam the cosmos, which provides consolation for his mother, and by becoming a  

quasi-divine sage, grief is eliminated by being transcended. Admittedly, there is not the same  

depth of Stoic cosmology as in the Ad Marciam. The ascent of the soul here recalls the end of  

Plato’s Republic and the topos of becoming like god, which although Platonic in origin, was  

adapted by Stoics, including Seneca.⁶⁶ Throughout the Ad Helviam, nonetheless, we see  

physical, cosmological concerns within Seneca’s ethical project of alleviating his mother’s and  

his own grief amid exile, which he achieves through logical and rhetorical means.  

Ad Polybium  

The Ad Polybium combines characteristics of the previous two consolations. Like the Ad  

Marciam, the relationship between consoler and consoland is more conventional. It is  

addressed to someone outside the family circle: an imperial freedman, Polybius, whose brother  

had recently died. During the reign of Claudius, Polybius appears to have held a post that gave  

him a degree of influence over imperial petitions, requests, and literary matters.⁶⁷ This is  

65  

This is well described by Mireille Armissen-Marchetti: ‘c’est une disposition naturelle et qui honore l’esprit  

humain – disposition qui lui est commune avec les dieux – que de se plaire à parcourir par la mémoire et par  

l’imagination l’espace et le temps’ (‘Sénèque et l’appropriation du temps’, Latomus 54.3 [1995], 558).  

66  

Plato, Resp. 614–620. See the excellent discussion by Gretchen J. Reydams-Schils, ‘“Becoming like god” in  

Platonism and Stoicism’, in From Stoicism to Platonism: The Development of Philosophy, 100 BCE - 100 CE, ed.  

Troels Engberg-Pedersen (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2017), 142–158.  

⁶⁷ Suetonius (Claudius, 28.3) refers to Polybius as an a studiis; but as Fergus Millar has shown, there is no other  

ancient evidence of what this role precisely involved (‘Emperors at Work’, JRS 57.1 [1967], 16–17). It is more  

59  

important because the Ad Polybium is also written from Seneca’s exile in Corsica. Whereas in  

the Ad Helviam Seneca portrayed himself content and self-sufficient in exile, the Ad Polybium  

narrates scenes of captivity and dissatisfaction.  

Of the three Consolationes, the Ad Polybium is the most complex. It was likely written  

in the first part of Seneca’s exile before Claudius’ triumph in Britain in early 44 CE,⁶⁸ and in  

view of Claudius’ presence in Rome (Helv. 12.3, 14.1), a date towards the end of 43 CE is a  

reasonable estimate.⁶⁹ The uncertainty stems from the lost beginning of the Ad Polybium.⁷⁰  

Cassius Dio (Histories, 61.10.2) narrates how Seneca ‘out of shame suppressed (ὑπ’ αἰσχύνης  

ἀπήλειψε)’⁷¹ a piece of writing from Corsica which flattered Messalina and imperial freedmen;  

but whether this is the original beginning to the text is unclear.⁷² The rest, however, is more  

coherent.⁷³ The figure of Caesar (Claudius) looms large in the Ad Polybium and parts of it,  

prima facie, are closer to imperial panegyric than consolation, which raises questions about  

Seneca’s intentions. Later in Seneca’s life following Claudius’ death, Tacitus records that  

Seneca’s funeral speech for the emperor aroused laughter (Ann. 13.3), and Seneca composed a  

satire, the Apocolocyntosis, in which Claudius is denied divine status and is sent down to the  

underworld. While some scholars see this as Senecan hypocrisy, recent scholarship has become  

more sympathetic towards Seneca given the complex political circumstances in which he found  

himself. Liz Gloyn’s recent work on the Ad Polybium will be important for this section and she  

summarises this position well:  

To dismiss the Ad Polybium as sycophancy or to read the Apocolocyntosis as apologetic  

fails to understand the political realities of continued existence under the empire. In the  

Ad Polybium, praise is necessary for survival; in the Apocolocyntosis, so is mockery.⁷⁴  

probable that Polybius was an a libellis – an overseer of general requests and petitions that came to the emperor  

– who, on account of his literary ability, oversaw some imperial literary matters.  

⁶⁸ Polyb. 13.2 is a future wish: ‘May this man [Claudius] pacify Germany, and open up Britain (Hic Germaniam  

pacet, Britanniam aperiat)’.  

⁶⁹ See, e.g., Sauer, ‘Consolatio ad Polybium’ in Brill’s Companion to Seneca, 167.  

70  

On the complicated manuscript tradition of the Ad Polybium, see Leighton D. Reynolds, ‘The Medieval  

Tradition of Seneca’s Dialogues’, ClQ 18 (1968), 355–72.  

71  

F. Giancotti, ‘La consolazione di Seneca a Polibio in Cassio Dione LXI, 10, 2’, Rivista di Filologia e di  

Istruzione Classica 84 (1956), 41, argued, however, that Dio also uses this verb to mean ‘repudiated’.  

72  

See the discussions in J. E. Atkinson, ‘Seneca’s ‘Consolatio ad Polybium’, ANRW II.32.2 (1985), 860–866;  

Griffin, Seneca: A Philosopher in Politics, 415–416.  

⁷³ Those who argue that only the proem is missing, include: Sauer, ‘Consolatio ad Polybium’, 167; Thomas Kurth,  

Senecas Trostschrift an Polybius, Dialog 11: Ein Kommentar (Berlin: De Gruyter, 1994), 25.  

⁷⁴ Liz Gloyn, ‘Show Me the Way to Go Home: A Reconsideration of Seneca’s “De Consolatione ad Polybium”’,  

AJP 135.3 (2014), 476.  

60  

The following discussion will consider Seneca’s modes of consoling in the Ad Polybium and  

how they intersect with his political and philosophical perspectives, particularly his  

relationship to Stoicism, as he tries both to console Polybius and generate his own recall from  

Caesar.  

Relating to Polybius: Stoic Doctrine? (Polyb. 1–11)  

In the first eleven sections of the text we possess, Seneca focuses on Polybius’ situation. He  

begins with some discussion of the universe and fate as a general consolatory precept, but  

without the Stoic and Platonic flavours of the Ad Marciam and Ad Helviam. He argues that the  

suffering which comes to all is one of the greatest sources of consolation (maximum …  

solacium): ‘that the impartiality (aequalitas) of fate might be a consolation (consolaretur) for  

cruelty’ (1.4).  

Seneca then attends to the source of Polybius’ grief. Whereas lament was largely  

disallowed in Marcia’s and Helvia’s cases, Seneca initially accommodates it in Polybius’. As  

a consolation from exile, the Ad Polybium has an accentuated geographical distance, but Seneca  

collapses the relational distance by constructing a fraternal relationship with Polybius.⁷⁵ At  

first, Seneca beckons Polybius to join him in lamenting (conqueramur) his brother’s loss at the  

hands of Fortune. Seneca defends Polybius in a mock trial (2.2): because of his virtue, Polybius  

would have dealt admirably with almost anything that could have been wrested from him. In  

the middle of his case, Seneca states (2.5):  

And what if you were to remove (eriperes) his great strength (valetudinem)? You knew  

that his mind has been rooted in philosophical disciplines (liberalibus disciplinis) – he  

has not only been educated in these matters, but they are innate to him – so that he  

might rise above all bodily pains (dolores).  

Seneca depicts Polybius as an ideal philosopher (cf. Helv. 17.3) and accordingly inscribes him  

in a philosophical tradition of liberalia studia.⁷⁶ According to Seneca, the only thing that could  

shake Polybius is Fortune’s removal of his brother. Although the deceased brother’s virtue is  

not highlighted to the same degree, he is worthy of Polybius as a brother (dignus … fratre) in  

having appropriate pietas (3.1–2). The opening, therefore, highlights the virtue of Polybius and  

his family. Seneca’s complaint against Fortune reaches its apex when he argues that she has  

attacked a genuine brotherly and philosophical community: “What is this cruelty of yours: to  

⁷⁵ Ibid., 470.  

⁷⁶ Ibid., 458.  

61  

make an attack among brothers and to weaken a most united (concordissimam) group with such  

a bloody removal (rapina)?” (3.4)  

Seneca, therefore, seeks to reconstruct a brotherly and philosophical community as a  

means of consoling Polybius.⁷⁷ The primacy of Stoicism is admittedly intermittent at this point:  

Epicurean and Platonic philosophical communities could also be viewed as functioning in this  

way. It is precisely at this point, however, that Seneca turns from lamentation to rational  

argument against grief (4.1):  

If it [grief] torments and does not help us, it should be laid aside at the first opportunity  

and the soul should be withdrawn from empty consolations (ab inanibus solaciis) and  

that certain bitter lust for grief (amara quadam libidine dolendi).  

From this, Seneca makes some remarks about tears. He realises that tears are ubiquitous and  

natural, borrowing the trope that Nature desired that the first action of a new-born should be  

weeping (4.3);⁷⁸ but he advocates both that ‘reason should put an end (ratio finem fecerit)’ (4.2)  

to them; and that ‘even if we cannot end (finire) tears, we must assuredly keep them back  

(reservare)’ (4.3).⁷⁹ By positing that after the initial reaction, continued weeping is futile,  

Seneca adheres to Stoic apatheia. Seneca frankly tells Polybius that it dishonours his brother:  

‘nothing could be more bitter (acerbius) to him’ (5.3). This technique serves to comfort  

Polybius through rational argument. Moreover, Seneca reasons with Polybius that he should  

be an exemplum for his brothers after great military leaders: ‘make the effort (da operam) so  

that your brothers might imitate you … you must be both their consolation (solacium) and  

consoler (consolator)’ (5.5).  

Outside of the household, Seneca gestures towards Polybius’ public influence because  

of his literary prowess. A consequence of such prominence, however, is that his grief is  

externally observed (6.1–2) and, while in public, the onus is on him to control his own grief  

(6.5):  

⁷⁷ Note Polyb. 3.5: ‘Polybius mourns (luget), having been warned (admonitus) in the case of one brother what he  

can fear about the rest’. On Stoic community, see Gretchen J. Reydams-Schils, The Roman Stoics: Self,  

Responsibility, and Affection (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2005); Carey B. Seal, Philosophy and  

Community in Seneca’s Prose (New York: Oxford University Press, 2021).  

⁷⁸ Cf. Lucretius, Nat. 5.226–227: ‘[the new-born child] fills the place with crying and mourning, as is appropriate  

for someone for whom so much suffering remains in life (cui tantum in vita restet transire malorum)’.  

⁷⁹ See also the discussion of Ep. 99 in the following chapter.  

62  

You cannot, I say, cry: so that you might listen to the many who weep, of those who  

are endangered (periclitantium) and desire to come to the mercy (misericordiam) of  

most mild Caesar, you must dry your own tears (lacrimae tibi tuae adsiccandae sunt).  

It is incumbent on Polybius to console himself so that he might bring consolation to others,  

especially those who, like Seneca, are in danger and seek the emperor’s mercy.⁸⁰ Seneca’s  

identification with Polybius, however, is more subtle than this mere appeal and he does not  

shirk his own duty of consoling Polybius. Throughout these middle sections, Seneca applies  

three consolatory topoi to Polybius’ situation.  

Firstly, Seneca incorporates the Socratic alternative⁸¹ concerning the deceased. Seneca  

performs the sort of internal monologue that Polybius should have with himself. On the one  

hand, Polybius should think that ‘if no feeling remains for the deceased (si nullus defunctis  

sensus superest), my brother has escaped all life’s disadvantages (incommoda)’ (9.2); and, on  

the other, ‘if the deceased have some feeling (si est aliquis defunctis sensus), the soul of my  

brother has been released (emissus) as if from lengthy imprisonment’ (9.3). Either option –  

whether there is sensus after death or not – therefore, logically represents a good for the  

deceased. For the earthly survivor, Polybius, this happy alternative means that: ‘To weep for  

someone who is happy is envy, for someone who does not exist is madness’ (9.3). By showing  

both parts of the alternative, Seneca offers rational consolation to Polybius so that he does not  

fall into either vice of envy or madness.  

Secondly, Seneca uses the consolatory topos of grateful remembrance. This frequently  

involves financial metaphors. Seneca reasons with Polybius about his brother: ‘If you reckon  

properly (si bene computes), more has been restored to him (remissum) than snatched (ereptum)  

from him’ (9.5). Polybius is directed not to focus on the brother he has lost, but the gift he  

derived from his life (beneficium datum) (10.1). Although Seneca does not accuse Polybius of  

either attitude, he depicts both the ungrateful person (ingratus), ‘who calls the end of pleasure  

an injustice’ and the fool (stultus), ‘who considers no return (fructum) to be good unless it is a  

present one’ (10.2). Thus, Seneca directs Polybius towards present gratitude through past  

memory.⁸² Armed with this attitude, memory of Polybius’ brother brings joy, and hence,  

consolation: ‘rejoice (gaude), therefore, that you had such a good brother’ (10.6).  

⁸⁰ The trope of mitis Caesar is not unique to Seneca, see Valerius Maximus, Facta et Dicta Memorabilia, 6.2.11.  

⁸¹ See Jedan, ‘Rapprochement’, 168–173, and Ware, ‘Salvation of Creation’, 295–6.  

⁸² See, e.g., Armissen-Marchetti, ‘L’appropriation du temps’, 553: ‘le passé, lui, n’est jamais objet de crainte’.  

63  

Thirdly, Seneca incorporates the philosophical practice of meditatio mortis that the  

Stoics extended and popularised.⁸³ Seneca counters an objection spoken by an interlocutor:  

‘But he was taken from me unexpectedly (At inopinanti ereptus est)’ (11.1). Through a  

‘negative proof’⁸⁴ which demonstrates the consequences of not considering the phenomenon  

of death which presents itself daily, Seneca highlights the importance of meditatio mortis. He  

praises the attitude of a new father who realised: “When I produced him, I knew then that he  

would die (moriturum)” (11.2). Although sobering, there is still room for prospective joy, while  

realising that such goods ought to be returned: ‘Let us rejoice (gaudeamus) in whatever will be  

given (dabitur), and let us return it, when we are asked for it’ (11.3).  

Although quite generalised, these three examples demonstrate Seneca’s consolatory  

practice. None of it compromises the authenticity of Seneca’s Stoicism. Polybius, however, is  

a literatus before a philosopher. Seneca appropriately recognises this and identifies Polybius’  

skill as a writer and the consolation that can come from literature. Seneca, therefore, commends  

renewed literary study: ‘Then your books which you have loved so long and faithfully will  

repay the favour (gratiam referant); then they will vindicate you, its high-priest and worshipper  

(antistitem et cultorem)’ (8.1).⁸⁵ Thus, a literary bond is established between Seneca and  

Polybius. Seneca directs Polybius towards the creation of literature in honour of Caesar in the  

style of Homer and Vergil (8.2) whose works are replete with consolatory exempla (11.5–6):  

There will be no book among their writings, which does not furnish you with abundant  

examples of the vicissitude of humanity, unsettled misfortunes, and tears that flow for  

some reason or other.  

From the consolation of literature, Seneca issues his final apotreptic move: exhorting Polybius  

to remain strong so that no-one might see an inconsistency between person and writer: ‘Do not  

undertake such behaviour (ne commiseris), so that someone who admired your writings might  

wonder how a mind so fragile conceived such great and powerful things’ (11.6). Seneca,  

himself a prolific writer, identifies Polybius’ literary talent both to console and exhort him.  

While there are some Stoic ideas, Seneca’s relation to Polybius through fraternal and literary  

perspectives is more significant. This both consoles Polybius and establishes proximity to  

Polybius who, in turn, is close to Caesar.  

⁸³ See Newman, ‘Cotidie meditare’, 1474 and passim.  

⁸⁴ Newman, ‘Cotidie meditare’, 1488n34.  

⁸⁵ Ker, Deaths, 101. Note Ovid, Trist. 3.14.1, where Ovid addresses his patron: O most holy worshipper and high-  

priest of learned men (cultor et antistes doctorum sancte virorum)’.  

64  

Consolation from Caesar?  

In these earlier sections, Seneca expresses a contradiction: Polybius mourns while Caesar is  

favourable towards him (propitio … Caesare; 3.5). Seneca goes through various strategies in  

suppressing grief and tears described as ‘lighter remedies’, but a change of intensity follows:  

‘when you wish to forget all things, consider (cogita) Caesar’ (7.1). Here, Gloyn argues that  

Seneca conflates Caesar with Stoic reason.⁸⁶ Caesar is portrayed as kosmokrator in his earthly  

imperial rule: Caesar is a metaphor for pneumatic Stoic reason ‘in the manner of the stars  

(siderum modo)’ (7.2). Many scholars have found it problematic that Seneca should equate the  

emperor with a deity, but by likening Caesar to reason, and directing Polybius to reason over  

and above the emperor, this diminishes accusations of obsequiousness.⁸⁷ Thus, when Seneca  

writes: ‘while Caesar holds the universe, you cannot share in pleasure, grief, or anything; you  

owe yourself wholly to Caesar’ (7.3), Caesar functions as a synecdoche for Stoic reason.  

The figure of quasi-divine Caesar features most prominently in Helv. 12–17. Initially,  

there is a similar conflation and Caesar – or Stoic reason – is held up as the ultimate source of  

consolation: ‘while that one [Caesar/reason] presides over human affairs, there is no danger  

that you may feel that you have lost anything; in this one (in hoc uno), there is sufficient  

protection (praesidi) and consolation (solaci) for you’ (12.3). Up to this point, Gloyn’s reading  

that Caesar represents Stoic reason holds. Here, however, the relationship between Seneca and  

Caesar becomes more ambiguous: they are brought closer together, but then distanced. Seneca  

initially expresses a confidence in Caesar’s or reason’s consoling capacity: ‘nor do I doubt that  

he has already covered over your wound (vulnus) with many consolations (solaciis)’ (12.4).  

Then, however, Seneca backtracks: ‘Supposing he has done none of these things, surely merely  

the sight and reflection (cogitatus) upon Caesar is the greatest consolation (maximo solacio)  

for you?’ (12.5). Although upholding Caesar’s inherent consoling capacity, the personal  

connection between Polybius and Caesar is attenuated. This occurs just as the piece shifts from  

consolatory to panegyric mode: even if the discourse is Stoic,⁸⁸ the wishes (12.5–13.2) are  

unequivocally centred on the emperor. Seneca moves from Polybius’ situation to his own  

situation in the analysis, hoping that Claudius might come to his rescue out of mercy (13.4):  

But he knows very well the time when he should support (succurrere) each person; I  

shall endeavour everything so that he may not blush to come to me. O, your blessed  

86  

Gloyn, ‘Show Me’, 460. Gloyn builds on Brad Inwood’s notion of Seneca’s ‘two-level mode of discourse’  

where he ‘operates on both a philosophical and ‘everyday’ level’ (Reading Seneca, 90).  

⁸⁷ Gloyn, ‘Show Me’, 466.  

⁸⁸ See Gloyn, ‘Show Me’, 463, vis-à-vis the continued astral language.  

65  

mercy (clementiam), Caesar, which causes exiles (exules) to live more peaceably under  

you, than princes recently decreed under Gaius!  

Recent scholars are right not to dismiss these words as ironic;⁸⁹ they present Seneca’s vision  

for merciful imperial rule in contrast to Gaius’ regime. Marcus Wilson argues convincingly  

that the Ad Polybium articulates ‘a conception of enlightened Roman government that could  

never be attained so long as he [Seneca] and others were to remain banished’.⁹⁰ Although this  

represents a major adaptation of the consolation tradition, it is an understandable move for  

Seneca to make in his complex situation.  

The foray into imperial panegyric, however, is relatively brief. In the following section,  

Seneca shows how Claudius is an effective consoler for Polybius and all humanity (14.1). As  

with Cordus, Seneca uses prosopopoeia to represent quasi-divine Claudius (14.2):  

No-one will have better grasped these roles of exhorting (partes adloquendi). When  

this man speaks, his words will have a different weight like those issued from an oracle;  

his divine authority will crush the entire force of your pain.  

Seneca proceeds to speak as Claudius at length (14.2–16.3). Claudius’ speech comprises  

exempla: he enumerates how previous emperors and consuls have endured loss in exemplary  

fashion. Augustus is extolled for being ‘a conqueror (victor) not only of foreign peoples, but  

also of sorrows (dolorum)’ (15.3) and Claudius’ own handling of the loss of his brother is  

particularly virtuous: ‘thus I controlled my emotion (affectum meum rexi)’ (16.3). Not even the  

imperial family is spared suffering; but when they do, they handle their emotions rationally.  

Seneca exhorts Polybius to imitate this attitude in keeping with Claudius’ praecepta and  

exempla: ‘you must imitate their tenacity in enduring and conquering sorrows (debes illorum  

imitari firmitatem in perferendis et evincendis doloribus)’ (17.1). There is only one negative  

exemplum that acts as a synkrisis for all the positive examples: the emperor Gaius, whose  

reaction to the loss of Drusilla was thoroughly dishonourable. Seneca’s vituperation of Gaius’  

actions is crushing (17.5):  

May that man’s example be far from every Roman man: to divert (sevocare) his sorrow  

through inappropriate games, or to stimulate it through the ugliness of filth and squalor,  

89  

Thus Fantham, ‘Dialogues of Displacement’, 185: ‘there is no place for irony in the genre of consolatio, nor  

was Seneca’s exile as a political suspect the time for such experimentation’.  

⁹⁰ Wilson, ‘Seneca the Consoler?’, 114.  

66  

or, in imposing suffering on others, to delight in the least humane consolation of all  

(alienis malis oblectare minime humano solacio).  

Within this prosopopoeia section, Seneca conveys a powerful vision of imperial clemency. This  

is extremely unusual in the ancient consolation tradition, but Seneca’s circumstances  

necessitate it. While Caesar is initially conveyed as quasi-divine, Seneca gives him a more  

human face as he narrates how he handled his emotions. Caesar, therefore, becomes both divine  

and an exemplum: for both Seneca and Polybius, in him alone (in hoc uno) is consolation.  

A Failed Consoler?  

Ker surmises that ‘Claudius … is at the heart of all the narratives through which Seneca both  

mediates Polybius’ recovery and figures his own integration into Rome’.⁹¹ This is an accurate  

summary of the trajectory of the previous section. In Polyb. 18, however, Claudius recedes  

from view, leaving Seneca to give Polybius some final consolation and exhortation for what  

lies ahead. This starts on a paraenetic note: ‘you do not have to change at all from your custom  

(ex consuetudine)’ (18.1). Polybius is on the path to Stoic virtue and is exhorted to immerse  

himself more deeply in his writing pursuits because they will fortify him and provide  

consolation through proper remembrance of his brother. Seneca issues consolatory promises  

that Fortuna will change her unjust ways (quibus hanc emendaret iniuiriam; 18.3) and because  

of this, Polybius should cognitively distance himself from his grief. Seneca directs Polybius:  

‘do not give attention to your grief (noli adesse dolori tuo)’ (18.4).  

While this instruction aligns with apatheia, this final section comes closer to  

metriopatheia. Seneca tells Polybius: ‘But I shall never demand (exigam) from you that you  

should not grieve at all (ne ex toto maereas)’ (18.5). Seneca critiques strict Stoic apatheia here  

because only someone who has never ‘experienced some kind of misfortune’ (18.5) could  

behave like this.⁹² Instead, Seneca advocates the keeping of a ‘mean (modum)’ (18.6) in  

distinctly Aristotelian terms. Seneca, however, qualifies this position in a way that coheres with  

Stoic ethics (18.6–7):  

Let tears (lacrimae) flow; but let them also cease; let groaning (gemitus) be drawn from  

the depths of the heart, but let it also finish. Rule your mind (rege animum tuum) in  

such a way that you may win approval both from the wise and from brothers.  

⁹¹ Ker, Deaths, 101.  

⁹² Graver, Stoicism and Emotion, 196.  

67  

While Polybius is invited to reflect (cogita) upon his brother’s virtue in Stoic terms and is  

portrayed as a Stoic proficiens, it is his literary ability that distinguishes him more than his  

philosophical ability. Polybius’ ability to write is what will ultimately bring him relief with  

time and is his raison d’être. ⁹³  

Having offered this consolation and exhortation to Polybius, Seneca concludes with a  

description of his own situation. Again imitating Ovid at the end of the Tristia, he apologises  

for how the effects of exile have negatively affected his consolatory style: ‘I have written these  

things, as best as I could, with a mind which has been dulled and is now worn out through  

lengthy inactivity (longo iam situ)’ (18.9).⁹⁴ Ovid, like Polybius, was famed for his poetry and  

Tristia 3.14 is an appeal from exile for the preservation of his books in Rome. Seneca’s  

expertise and raison d’être, however, is different: he is a philosopher and consolation is an  

integral part of that. He, therefore, pathetically highlights how this practice is under threat and  

presently failing.⁹⁵  

Consequently, Seneca apologises to Polybius if his words have been inadequate (parum)  

on two fronts: ‘matching his (literary) ability (respondere ingenio tuo)’ and ‘healing his grief  

(mederi dolori)’ (18.9). His excuse is that since his own sufferings imprison him, ‘he is not  

able to be free for consoling others (non possit … alienae vacare consolationi)’ (18.9). Whereas  

in the Ad Helviam, he had concluded with a vision of how his mind was free to roam, in the Ad  

Polybium, he finds himself in barbaric circumstances, bereft of consolatory discourse.⁹⁶  

This conclusion, therefore, represents an appeal for Seneca to be brought back to Rome so  

that he can properly resume his philosophical duty of consolation. While Seneca has argued  

that nothing can be done about Polybius’ brother present situation, it emerges something can  

be done about Seneca’s. He is a brother outside the Stoic cosmopolis who need not stay there.⁹⁷  

Although in a different order from the two previous Consolationes, Seneca combines physical,  

ethical, and logical elements in the Ad Polybium. Yet the figures of Polybius and Claudius have  

greater agency than anyone evoked in the Ad Marciam and Ad Helviam. This results in a more  

adaptable consolation that employs certain Stoic traits, but also plays with the limits of a  

consolation.  

⁹³ See Gloyn, ‘Show Me’, 470, on a construction of a Stoic cosmopolis by evoking the wise and brothers. I wonder,  

however, if her judgement that ‘Seneca’s use of Stoic doctrine in the Ad Polybium creates a coherent consolatory  

argument throughout the text’ (477) overlooks other philosophical strands and Polybius’ status as literatus.  

⁹⁴ cf. Ovid, Tristia 3.14.35–36: ‘but whatever [stream] there was, it has flowed away, since there was nothing to  

supply it; having become arid, it perished through lengthy inactivity (longo … situ)’.  

⁹⁵ Ker, Deaths, 103.  

⁹⁶ cf. Ovid, Trist. 3.14.46: ‘words fail me and I have unlearned speaking (verba mihi desunt dedidicique loqui)’.  

⁹⁷ Gloyn, ‘Show Me’, 475.  

68  

Summary  

Despite the craft of the Ad Polybium, there is no evidence that Polybius or Claudius was  

persuaded. Seneca had to wait another six years until he was recalled through the agency of  

Agrippina. In contrast to some of her devastating political moves when she first became  

Claudius’ wife,⁹⁸ Tacitus describes this as an astute move (Ann. 12.8):  

So that she might not be known just for crimes, she obtained pardon from exile for  

Seneca, as well as a praetorship, believing that it would bring public joy on account of  

the reputation of his writings (ob claritudinem studiorum eius).  

We cannot be certain whether these studia refer to Seneca’s consolations from exile; but clearly  

Seneca’s exile had not harmed his writerly renown.⁹⁹ Seneca was able to return to Rome to be  

tutor to Nero, who, again through Agrippina’s influence, would become emperor. Our next  

chapter will explore the contours of his consolatory practice in Neronian Rome.  

Here, however, we have seen that in the first part of Seneca’s consolatory career under  

Caligula and Claudius, he composed three very different literary Consolationes. They bear  

many of the hallmarks and tropes of the ancient consolation tradition, but they are not merely  

rhetorical exercises; they are important texts for understanding Seneca’s relationship with  

imperial Rome as a moral philosopher. While Seneca incorporates consolatory theory from  

philosophical traditions other than Stoicism, there is nevertheless a recognisable Stoic system  

in all three pieces. They are grounded in Stoic ethics regarding the acquisition of virtue and  

view of grief as a passion to be removed through meditatio. They were intended for a readership  

beyond the encoded consolands, which accounts for Seneca’s direct strategies in Marcia’s and  

Helvia’s cases. There are also notable physical components with the focus on god, nature and  

Stoic cosmology. There is an inherent logical argument within each piece that is augmented by  

the rhetorical devices of exempla and prosopopoeia.  

In all three pieces, there are marked political elements: objections to individuals like  

Sejanus; dismay at luxury in Rome; and visions of a more beneficent emperor compared to the  

last. Seneca writes not only for his own sake, but also for Rome: making a real contribution  

98  

See Ann. 12.7 for Tacitus’ damning remarks about how ‘all things yielded to a woman (cuncta feminae  

oboediebant)’ in what was ‘stringent and almost masculine servitude (adductum et quasi virile servitium)’.  

⁹⁹ Griffin, Philosopher in Politics, 22, considers how Seneca had generated a reputation for himself while absent  

through his writing – particularly, perhaps, through the Ad Helviam.  

69  

was a more attractive proposition than being consigned to exile.¹⁰⁰ Overall, the first part of  

Seneca’s consolatory career shows him employing Stoic philosophy to address different people  

in Rome, where he hoped to return. In the next chapter, we shall explore how his consolatory  

career developed when he did.  

¹⁰⁰ Rist writes insightfully on Seneca’s subsequent choice to accept the post of Nero’s tutor: ‘Ignorant neither of  

the character of Agrippina and her lust for power, nor of something of the nature of Nero himself, Seneca took  

the dangerous decision to enter the life-and-death struggle at the centre of the Imperial court – whether from  

weariness of exile, desire for power, or hope to do good in accordance with his Stoic lights’ (‘Seneca and Stoic  

Orthodoxy’, 1995).  

70  

Chapter 4: Seneca’s Later Career Consolations  

‘I have lived, most dear Lucilius, as long as was enough; full, I await death (mortem plenus  

exspecto)’ (Seneca, Ep. 61.4).  

Introduction  

In his Dialogi, Seneca frequently discusses the preservation and cultivation of joy instead of  

the unnatural passion of grief, which is endemic to consolation. This is, for example, a central  

component in De tranquilitate animi: ‘Therefore we ask, how the mind might always travel on  

a steady and favourable course … and might not interrupt this joy (hoc gaudium non  

interrumpat)’ (Tranq. 2.4). Later in the piece, there is an acceptance that life is full of grief but  

a recognition that ‘there is nothing so bitter, in which a calm mind might not find consolation  

(solacium)’ (10.4). In the Consolationes, Seneca seldom wrote about the sage (sapiens). The  

sage emerges more fully, however, in the Dialogi, notably in De constantia sapientis. Seneca  

describes how the sage’s mind becomes steadfast through meditatio: ‘elevated in continual joy  

(continuo gaudio elatus)’ (Const. 9.3). These examples among others¹ highlight the importance  

of consolation in Seneca’s overall philosophical outlook, even if they cannot be securely dated  

within his consolatory career.  

In this second chapter on Seneca, we focus on the writings which come assuredly from  

Nero’s reign, when Seneca is effectively evicted from the Neronian court in a second exile.²  

This represents a hiatus of some two decades following the Consolationes. While his  

philosophical reflections were stifled by his eminent position as tutor and advisor to Nero,³ his  

time in the imperial court conceivably provided stimulus for conceptualising the limits of the  

passions.⁴ Following his expulsion, we have Seneca’s writings involving his interlocutor,  

Lucilius,⁵ particularly the Natural Questions and the Epistles, which can both be securely dated  

¹ e.g., Vit. Beat. 3.4: the phrase, ‘a huge joy goes up (ingens gaudium subit)’, appears in a section where Gallio is  

directed ‘to follow perpetual tranquillity’.  

2

Ker (Deaths, 106) highlights the resonance between Tacitus’ description of Seneca’s second exile from the  

imperial court: ‘after Seneca had been cast down (perculso Seneca)’ (Ann. 14.57.1) and Seneca’s own perception  

of his first exile in Corsica: ‘I have been cast down (perculsus sum)’ (Helv. 15.2).  

3

See Christopher Star, ‘Commanding Constantia in Senecan Tragedy’, TAPA 136.1 (2006), 216, on the De  

clementia: ‘Seneca was in a rhetorical and ethical bind: he had to get Nero to convince himself’.  

⁴ We shall not have space here to look specifically at Seneca’s tragedies in this section, where this is most patent.  

For Seneca’s tragedies and their failure to console, see Wilson, ‘Seneca the Consoler?’, 99-104.  

5

In the Consolationes, Seneca occasionally interjected the voice of an interlocutor. His use of interlocutors  

becomes more sustained in his later writings, with Lucilius perhaps being his most famous (although Novatus in  

71  

 

to the early 60s CE.⁶ I shall argue that these writings are the culmination of his reflections on  

consolation, as a popular philosopher now removed from politics, and consider how Seneca’s  

consolatory outlook compares with his three earlier literary Consolationes. While the Stoic  

system of physics, ethics, and logic is still operative, albeit slightly modified, I submit that in  

these later writings, Seneca prepares himself, Stoic proficientes represented by Lucilius, and  

others for his impending death through his consolatory discourse and narratives.  

Natural Questions  

Professing a life-long interest in natural science (Helv. 20.2; Nat. 6.4.2), Seneca returns to this  

topic at the end of his career in his seven books of Natural Questions. The Natural Questions  

are influenced by texts like Plato’s Timaeus, Aristotle’s Metereologica, and Epicurus’ Letter  

to Pythocles. According to Diogenes Laertius, Epicurus treats ‘various phenomena (τὰ  

μετέωρα)’ in order to instil ‘tranquillity and steadfast faith (ἀταραξίαν καὶ πίστιν βέβαιον)’  

(Lives 10.85) in Pythocles and his philosophical circle.⁷ The most famous proponent of  

Epicurean philosophy in Rome was Lucretius, who innovatively set down its key tenets in epic  

form in the De rerum natura. Seneca’s Natural Questions are a Stoic response to this Lucretian  

undertaking:⁸ Seneca, like Lucretius, demonstrates the role of reason in gaining superiority  

over nature.⁹ This is central to Book 6 of Natural Questions, which will be the focus of this  

section.  

In Nat. 6, Seneca investigates the natural phenomenon of earthquakes, following the  

one in Campania in 62/63 CE.¹⁰ Like Lucretius, Seneca privileges reason (ratio) over religion  

(religio).¹¹ Although religio occasionally provides inspiration (incutit mentibus; 6.3.3) when a  

the De ira and Serenus in De tranquilliate animi are other candidates). There is considerable debate as to whether  

Lucilius and these other interlocutors are real, fictional, or otherwise. See Alberto Setaioli, ‘Epistulae Morales’,  

in Damschen-Heil, Brill’s Companion to Seneca, 193n19, for bibliography.  

⁶ I shall not treat De providentia here, also addressed to Lucilius. Certain scholars have dated it to the same period  

as the Natural Questions and Epistles and even described it as a self-consolation, see Alberto Grilli, ‘Problemi del  

‘De Providentia’ in Seneca e il suo tempo: atti del convegno internazionale di Roma-Cassino, 11-14 novembre  

1998, ed. Piergiorgio Parroni (Rome, Salerno: 2000), 261–273. R. Scott-Smith, ‘De Providentia’, in Damschen  

and Heil, Brill’s Companion to Seneca, 115, counters that: ‘the tone of the work, which is intensely protreptic  

rather than (self-)consolatory, does not support this thesis’.  

⁷ Gareth D. Williams, The Cosmic Viewpoint: A Study of Seneca’s Natural Questions (Oxford: Oxford University  

Press, 2012), 6–7.  

⁸ Williams, Cosmic Viewpoint, 9.  

⁹ Ibid., 214.  

10  

This earthquake is also discussed in Ep. 91. For the dating of the earthquake, and consequently, the Natural  

Questions, see Harry M. Hine, ‘Rome, the Cosmos, and the Emperor in Seneca’s Natural Questions’, JRS 96  

(2006): 68–72.  

11  

As well as famously denouncing religio vis-à-vis the sacrifice of Iphigenia – ‘religion prevailed in fomenting  

so many evils (tantum religio potuit suadere malorum)’ (1.101), Lucretius’ project relates reason to celestial  

circumstances (quapropter bene cum superis de rebus habenda / nobis est ratio; 1.126–127).  

72  

natural phenomenon like an eclipse takes place, such an event cannot be watched ‘without fear  

(sine timore)’ (6.3.4). Seneca, therefore, equates religion with the irrational passion of fear.  

Ratio, conversely, ‘removes terror from the astute (ratio terrorem prudentibus excutit)’  

(6.2.1),¹² and becomes the principal means of dispelling fear and providing consolation through  

physical, ethical, and logical means.¹³  

In the opening to Book 6, Seneca considers the deleterious effects of earthquakes such  

as the one in Campania. Yet he rationalises them based on nature (6.1.12):  

For we are deceived, if we believe any part of the world to be exempt and immune from  

this danger [earthquakes]. They all lie under the same law; nature generated (natura  

concepit) nothing such that it should be immovable (immobile).  

This cosmological perspective helps explain the causation of earthquakes: the earth moves,  

causing friction which can result in danger. Nevertheless, Seneca maintains that despite these  

inherent localised flaws in nature, the earth forms a coherent whole: ‘but there is a defect  

(vitium) in every land; it ill holds together … its whole remains, but it collapses in parts (male  

cohaerere … summa manere, partibus ruere)’ (6.1.15). Herein lies a source of consolation,  

according to Seneca: ‘a huge consolation for death is to see that the earth is also mortal (ingens  

mortis solacium est terram quoque videre mortalem)’ (6.2.9). Consequently, earthquakes  

should not be cause for surprise or alarm: the cosmos is not as consistent as might be expected.  

At this point, Seneca considers different theories regarding the physical cause of  

earthquakes.¹⁴ Seneca’s preferred option is that earthquakes are caused by moving air. He  

highlights its vitality and role in sustaining the cosmos: ‘There is clearly no land without air  

(sine spiritu) … it is present in that which is living, active, and feeding all things’ (6.16.1).  

While air has a generative aspect, Seneca also understands that it is present ‘in rocks and dead  

bodies’ (6.16.1) and is unpredictable in nature: ‘there is no doubt that there is anything as  

restless (inquietum) as air, as changeable and delighting in movement (agitatione gaudens)’  

(6.16.4). Air, like the earth, moves. When movement takes place, there is a risk of disturbance,  

which is uncontrollable: Seneca concludes that ‘air is truly an unconquerable matter (spiritus  

¹² Williams, Cosmic Viewpoint, 214.  

13  

Williams firmly believes that this is instructive for the Natural Questions. He argues for a ‘cultivation of a  

hybrid physico-ethical mode of discourse’ (Cosmic Viewpoint, 1–2) that is underpinned by logic and rhetoric.  

¹⁴ The other main theories are: water (Thales), fire (Anaxagoras), air (Archelaus and other authorities), evaporation  

(Aristotle).  

73  

vero invicta res est)’ (6.17.4) which must be accepted by Stoic proficientes who enquire into  

the causes of earthquakes.  

Seneca then defends his position and accounts for some of the unusual aspects of the  

earthquake in Campania. In the concluding section, he returns to nature. As in the conclusion  

of the Ad Marciam, notions of an afterlife are prominent. Seneca imagines what he would say  

to someone who is departing (6.32.6):  

What must I do other than exhort the one departing (exeuntem hortari) and to release  

him with good omens? “Go bravely, go happily. Do not hesitate about anything; you  

are being returned … the nature of things, which bore you, awaits you – and a better  

and safer place (locus melior ac tutior).”  

Seneca moves between exhortation and consolation: starting with the absence of earthquakes  

(6.32.7), Seneca enumerates the lack of natural disasters and hardships that await the exeuntem  

after death, including storms, shipwrecks, wars, and plagues. Death, therefore, is not something  

which should be feared. Seneca highlights how nature and the cosmos have consolatory aspects  

to compensate for earthly disasters like the earthquake in Campania. Moreover, he does so  

logically by analysing scientific theories of previous philosophers, as Ker recognises in Book  

6: ‘Seneca fuses scientific content (on terrae motus) with the movere function of his  

consolatory rhetoric’.¹⁵  

In the Consolationes, exempla were central to Seneca’s consolatory narratives. There  

is only one exemplum in Nat. 6, but it is someone notable: Callisthenes, whose ideas on air  

Seneca incorporates. Seneca movingly recalls how Callisthenes was murdered by Alexander  

the Great. For Seneca, this murder eclipses all of Alexander’s achievements: ‘Although he  

surpassed all the former examples (antiqua … exempla) of leaders and kings, none of these  

things which he has achieved will be as great as the crime’ (6.23.3). His praise of Callisthenes,  

in contradistinction to his blame of Alexander, elevates Callisthenes’ scientific explanations.  

Callisthenes had described how the cities of Helice and Buris had been submerged following  

an earthquake (6.23.4, 6.26.3) and Seneca invokes Callisthenes’ findings from previous  

earthquakes to rationalise the present earthquake in Campania.  

Nat. 6 offers a consolatory perspective on earthquakes through ratio which is conveyed  

both scientifically and rhetorically. There is also a practical dimension: Seneca seeks to enable  

Lucilius and other readers to progress in virtue. This ethical project of meditatio mortis is  

¹⁵ Ker, Deaths, 107.  

74  

articulated most clearly at the beginning and end of the book. Seneca begins by considering  

various ways of dying, but they are relativised; the mode of death does not matter: ‘when it  

comes to death (exitum), we are all in the same position … [death] is everywhere the same’  

(6.1.8-9). This initially leads to exhortation: ‘let us take up great courage against that disaster  

which can neither be avoided nor foreseen (magum sumamus animum adversus istam cladem  

quae nec evitari nec provideri potest)’ (6.1.10). Seneca, however, is psychagogically astute  

and realises that consolation is required ‘amid rare dangers’ (6.2.1).  

Having offered theoretical insights into the physical causes of earthquakes with  

occasional hints of consolation, in his conclusion, Seneca focuses on ethical elements. Lucilius’  

return in the conclusion highlights this shift. He is firstly directed to see that mental strength  

(confirmationem animorum) is equated with contemplating nature (6.32.1). Having presented  

all these proofs of mortality from nature, Seneca appeals to Lucilius to engage in active  

meditatio mortis: ‘Therefore, as far as you are able, exhort yourself (ipse te cohortare),  

Lucilius, against the fear of death’ (6.32.9). Furnished with precepts, Lucilius must now take  

control for himself.  

This exhortation towards internal reflection is followed by reflection on time and its  

passing. Lucilius is directed to consider time an adiaphoron (6.32.9–10):  

You will bear all things uniformly (feres constanter) if you consider there to be no  

difference (nihil interesse) between a scarce and a long time … time flows by and  

deserts those who desire it most (avidissimos).  

This lays the groundwork for Seneca’s final rhetorical flourish. Here, he redirects Lucilius  

towards the one thing which matters, viz. meditatio mortis (6.32.12):  

When you have laid aside all these things, meditate on this one thing, Lucilius (hoc  

unum, Lucili, meditare): that you may not fear the name of death again; familiarise  

yourself with it through much reflection, so that if it should present itself in this way,  

you might also be able to go out to meet it.  

There is more taking place than displacing the single source of present grief: the earthquake in  

Campania. Williams describes Seneca’s project in Book 6 as follows: ‘to turn our gaze from  

the aggravating unum and to focus instead on the alleviating totum’.¹⁶ Through increased  

familiarity and fixation on death, as with the alleviating cosmos, one’s fear in confronting death  

¹⁶ Williams, Cosmic Viewpoint, 257.  

75  

disappears. This is Seneca’s consolatory narrative in Nat. 6, which draws upon nature and  

physics, in ways that were adumbrated in the Consolationes. Nat. 6, however, contains more  

detailed reflection on death in the light of his own circumstances. Whereas in the Ad Polybium,  

Seneca wrote hoping to be recalled to Rome, this is not so in his Natural Questions: he is no  

longer at the centre of Rome, neither wishing nor able to return. We shall test this new trajectory  

for this latter part of Seneca’s consolatory career by moving on to the Epistles.  

Epistles  

Seneca’s Epistles are often held as the highlight of his oeuvre and to constitute a summum of  

its key themes.¹⁷ The extant collection amounts to 124 separate letters subdivided into twenty  

books. While there is a definite opening, the ending is less clear; indeed, we may not have the  

whole collection.¹⁸ Aldo Setaioli describes each letter as ‘an everyday conversation (sermo  

cotidianus)’.¹⁹ Yet for all their playfulness, a serious threat overshadows the collection: each  

day, and consequently, each letter could be the last for Seneca, since Nero’s men could come  

for him at any point.²⁰ The beginning of the Epistles pick up where Nat. 6 left off with an  

introspective focus on death and time (Ep. 1.1–2):  

Act in this way, my Lucilius; claim yourself for yourself (vindica te tibi), and the time,  

which until now was being stolen or purloined or was escaping, gather and keep it … Whom  

will you show me, who puts some price on time (pretium tempori), who values the day, and  

who understands that he is dying every day (qui diem aestimet, qui intelligat se cotidie  

mori)?  

Seneca, then, is the one aware that he is dying every day. Accordingly, his Epistles are intended  

to furnish Lucilius, a Stoic proficiens, with a similar mastery of self, time, and death. Although  

Seneca does not portray himself as a Stoic sage, by virtue of his seniority, he is further along  

that pathway than Lucilius.²¹ The Epistles are, thus, arranged towards this goal of educating  

Lucilius and others after him.²² Amid the interiorising of the Epistles, Seneca occasionally  

¹⁷ See, e.g., Ker, ‘Seneca, Man of Many Genres’, 29. Consolation in Ep. 63 and 99 provide a case in point.  

¹⁸ Aulus Gellius refers to a twenty-second book (Attic Nights, 12.2.3).  

¹⁹ Setaioli, ‘Epistulae Morales’, 199n66.  

²⁰ Catharine Edwards, ‘Ethics V: Death and Time’, in Damschen and Heil, Brill’s Companion to Seneca, 339.  

²¹ Note Ep. 6.1: ‘I do not understand myself to be corrected (emendari) but to be transformed (transfigurari). John  

Schafer, ‘Seneca’s Epistulae Morales as Dramatized Education’, CP 106.1 (2011), 51, describes how Lucilius  

‘comes along (incidit), saves the senescent guru from loneliness, and reminds him why he fell in love with  

philosophy in the first place’.  

22  

Notably, Ep. 21.5: ‘I will have favour among posterity (apud posteros), I can carry along with me  

(mecum…educere) names that will endure’.  

76  

offers perspectives concerning how future generations will receive him, which we do not gain  

in the earlier Consolationes.  

Concerning the Epistles as a collection, Hildegard Cancik-Lindemaier writes: ‘the  

corpus of epistles is a narrative performance of moral progress’.²³ There is certainly a trajectory  

across the Epistles: Lucilius develops in Stoic thought, as attested by the growing length of  

letters and increasing complexity of Stoic doctrine across the collection. Yet moral progress is  

also possible within a single letter. Margaret Mitchell responds to Cancik-Lindemaier’s thesis  

by arguing that individual letters can represent ‘microcosms of the whole’.²⁴ In this section, we  

shall consider both approaches vis-à-vis consolation: the place of consolation in Lucilius’  

moral formation across the whole of the Epistles, and also in individual letters. We shall  

consider physical, logical, and ethical aspects of consolation in the Epistles in turn.  

Location and Physics  

Although Seneca’s second exile does not result in a physical separation from Rome, he  

mentally distances himself from the city in the Epistles: Rome is only mentioned six times.²⁵  

Lucilius, stationed outside of Rome in Sicily, is therefore a convenient addressee. In Epistle 91  

– which contains two of these six instances (91.13, 91.16) – Seneca treats the fire in Lyon, a  

natural disaster like that of the earthquake in Campania. The letter encapsulates the consolatory  

argument of being prepared: such calamity can befall any city, regardless of how great it is,  

and cannot be ignored (91.15). Of course, Rome had just endured a great fire, but any  

commentary on this specific event is conspicuously absent in the Epistles.²⁶  

Rome is again no longer home for Seneca; in the Epistles, he reinscribes himself within  

a Stoic cosmopolis, as Catharine Edwards describes: ‘Seneca is absent from Rome in spirit, if  

not in body … Seneca works rather to actualize his citizenship of the cosmic city of the  

Stoics’.²⁷ Epistles 78 and 93 provide both continuity and illuminating new angles on previous  

displays of cosmological consolation in Seneca’s writings.  

²³ Hildegard Cancik-Lindemaier, ‘Seneca’s Collection of Epistles: A Medium of Philosophical Communication’,  

in Ancient and Modern Perspectives on the Bible and Culture: Essays in Honor of Hans Dieter Betz, ed. Adela  

Yarbro Collins (Atlanta: Scholars Press, 1998), 109.  

²⁴ Margaret M. Mitchell, ‘Reading to Virtue’, in Collins, Ancient and Modern Perspectives, 112.  

²⁵ Catharine Edwards, ‘On Not Being in Rome: Exile and Displacement in Seneca’s Prose’, in The Production of  

Space in Latin Literature, eds. William Fitzgerald and Efrossini Spentzou (Oxford: Oxford University Press,  

2018), 180.  

²⁶ For analysis of how and why Seneca focuses on the fire in Lyon rather than Rome, see R. Bedon, ‘Seneque, Ad  

Lucilium, 91: L’incendie de 64 à Lyon: exploitation littéraire et réalité’, in Présence de Sénèque, eds. R. Chevalier  

and R. Poignault (Paris: Touzot, 1991), 45–61.  

²⁷ Edwards, ‘On Not Being in Rome’, 191. Cf. Ep. 104.7.  

77  

In Epistle 78, Seneca sympathises with Lucilius about his illness by sharing his own  

experience about his own health conditions. They were sufficiently severe that he considered  

suicide, but consideration for his father’s old age kept him from doing so (78.2). He attributes  

his convalescence to philosophical study (studia mihi nostra saluti fuerunt; 78.3) and to his  

friends from within that community (78.4). A significant proportion of the letter focuses on  

logical arguments for seeing suffering as an adiaphoron²⁸ and something that should be  

eradicated.²⁹ Towards the end of the letter, Seneca sees a relationship between one’s attitude  

towards life (and death), and one’s contemplation of nature (78.26–27):  

For self-sufficiency (satietas sui) cannot seize a life which travels through so many  

varied, great, and divine things … To the one who roams through the nature of things  

(rerum naturam peragranti), truth will never become tiresome; false things will be  

superfluous … Nature has been understood in great part by him (cognita est illi ex  

magna parte natura).  

In other words, through a properly cosmological perspective on nature, the proficiens can come  

to a greater appreciation of life in accordance with truth.³⁰ Seneca links a right understanding  

of life to competence in handling time (scientia utendi; 78.28). He favourably cites his Stoic  

predecessor, Posidonius: ‘one day among learned men lasts longer than the longest span of an  

unknowledgeable man’ (78.29). Time, good company, and right attitudes to life and death in  

contemplating the cosmos form an important nexus in Seneca’s consolatory reflections.  

This is further demonstrated by Epistle 93, where Seneca censures Lucilius for  

lamenting the death of the philosopher Metronax on the grounds that ‘he both could and should  

have lived longer (potuisset diutius vivere et debuisset)’ (93.1). Seneca challenges Lucilius  

about his attitudes towards nature concerning length of life: ‘I ask you, whether you consider  

it more reasonable (aequius) for you to obey nature or for nature to obey you?’ (93.2). For  

Seneca, the individual’s contribution in life is more important than the length of their life: a  

short life can be a valuable one (93.4). This means that individuals like Metronax have not died  

before their time; they need not be mourned but praised. He employs cosmological notions to  

illustrate this: ‘whatever little time befell him; he has employed well – indeed he has seen the  

28  

For more on the bodily aspect of Seneca’s suffering in Ep. 78, see Catharine Edwards, ‘The Suffering Body:  

Philosophy and Pain in Seneca’s Letters’, in Constructions of the Classical Body, ed. James I. Porter (Ann Arbor:  

University of Michigan Press, 1999), 260–265.  

29  

Ep. 78.15: ‘Therefore, two things must be lopped off (circumcidenda): both fear (timor) of a future  

inconvenience (incommodi) and memory of a past one.’  

³⁰ cf. Lucretius, Nat. 1.74, who describes how Epicurus ‘traversed the entire vast universe in mind and soul (omne  

immensum peragravit mente animoque)’.  

78  

true light (veram lucem)’ (93.5).³¹ Seneca, therefore, conveys to Lucilius that Metronax is more  

alive than dead: ‘Why do you ask how long he has lived (vixit)? He still lives (vivit): he has  

passed over to posterity and he has given himself into memory’ (93.5).  

Seneca returns to cosmic notions at the close of the letter. In thinking about how he and  

his addressees might continue to live (vivimus, 93.9), he considers all they have come to enjoy  

and know about nature: ‘We have delighted (fruiti sumus) in the cognition of all things. We  

know from what beginnings nature raises itself…’ (93.9). He details the movements of the  

celestial bodies – stars, sun, and moon – and argues that they are the intended destination: ‘You  

must go there, where you may see those things more closely (propius aspicias)’ (93.10). At  

this point, Seneca introduces the sapiens and highlights his god-like character, assuming his  

voice: ‘And I do not depart more bravely (fortius exeo) in this hope, because I judge that my  

journey to my gods lies open’ (93.10). Inhabiting the divine is the goal for Seneca, Lucilius  

and his wider readership. While they may have learned much about the cosmos, they have not  

reached the same position as the sapiens who has attained god-like status. Engberg-Pedersen  

observes that the sapiens ‘already has in this present life that good … wisdom’;³² proficientes  

are exhorted to work towards wisdom by contemplating nature. Such present contemplation  

provides consolation in the face of death regardless of whether there is life after death or not.  

Therefore, consolation from Stoic physics continues in Seneca’s Epistles. Seneca  

mentally distances himself from Rome and situates himself in a cosmic city, as he considers  

his own suffering and prepares to make his own exitus, armed with the knowledge of nature  

that he has developed in the present.  

Logic and Rhetoric  

As the letter-collection progresses, Seneca broaches more technical philosophical topics with  

Lucilius. In Epistle 94, Seneca deals with the arguments of the renegade Stoic, Aristo, who  

argues that philosophical praecepta (precepts for specific events) are ineffective compared to  

decreta (wholesale philosophy that can be applied to any circumstance). Seneca states Aristo’s  

position thus: ‘this [category of precept] does not sink into the mind (in pectus) … he says that  

these philosophical principles prevail (proficere ipsa decreta) the most and are the basis of the  

utmost good’ (94.2). Consolation and exhortation fall into the category of praecepta, and on  

Aristo’s logic, are not necessary; they are ‘superfluous (supervacuae)’ (94.21). Seneca  

³¹ Note also: Ep. 93.5: ‘the gleam of a radiant star shone through the clouds’.  

³² Engberg-Pedersen, ‘Life After Death’, 276.  

79  

anticipates an objection based on the analogy of civil laws not being efficacious ‘in every case  

(apud omnis)’ (94.39). Even if, by extension, philosophy does not prevail apud omnis, it is  

nevertheless, ‘not ineffective for forming the mind (nec … formandis animis inefficax est)’  

(94.39). On these grounds, according to Seneca, Stoics like Aristo arguing against praecepta  

would be forced to: ‘deny that consolations prevail (consolationes nega proficere), as well as  

warning, exhortation, rebuke and praise’. Instead, Seneca argues that, rather than being  

harmful, consolation and these various types of admonition aid the process of ‘reaching a  

perfect state of mind (ad perfectum animi statum pervenitur)’ (94.39).³³  

Consolation for Seneca emerges as a rational exercise aimed at virtue. It is an important  

and effective praeceptum for Seneca, even if it is not successful on every occasion.³⁴ By being  

practical, consolation is removed from the subtleties of syllogistic reasoning synonymous with  

the Stoic school towards which Seneca is ill-disposed. In Ep. 82, Seneca treats the fear of death,  

but professes to do so in a simple, yet persuasive manner: ‘For the sake of truth, we must act  

simply; against fear, courageously. These things, which are rolled round by them  

[dialecticians], I prefer to loosen and weigh: so that I might persuade, not so that I might  

impose’ (82.20).  

In other words, as Marcus Wilson summarises well: ‘desperate circumstances call for  

inspiration, not logic’.³⁵ While praecepta are necessary to aid with decreta, exempla are more  

effective in helping Seneca towards his goal that ‘the fear of death should be removed (detrahi)  

from all mortals’ (82.23). Accordingly, exempla – both positive and negative – feature more in  

the Epistles than praecepta when it comes to consoling.³⁶  

Epistle 24 provides a fine case study. At its outset, Seneca portrays Lucilius as ‘anxious  

about the outcome of a legal judgement (sollicitum … de iudicii eventu)’ (24.1) and in need of  

moral support and strengthening. Seneca’s technique, however, is to tackle Lucilius’ fear in  

toto. He directs Lucilius towards exempla from Roman history: ‘The exempla, by which you  

will be strengthened (quibus confirmeris), need not be gathered for a long time; every age has  

borne them’ (24.3).  

Seneca enumerates figures like Rutilius who bore his conviction (damnatio) without  

complaint, and Metullus and Rutilius who bore exile bravely and willingly respectively (24.4).  

³³ cf. Ep. 94.49  

³⁴ See also the next letter which substantiates this claim about consolation: Ep. 95.34, 95.65  

³⁵ Marcus J. Wilson, ‘Seneca’s Epistles to Lucilius: A Revaluation’, in Seneca, ed. John G. Fitch (Oxford: Oxford  

University Press, 2008), 81.  

36  

See Amy Olberding, ‘“The Stout Heart”: Seneca’s Strategy for Dispelling Grief’, Ancient Philosophy 25.1  

(2005), 145.  

80  

Seneca anticipates an interlocutory objection that such exempla are hackneyed (decantatae),  

likening them to tales which have been taught in schools (24.6); but nevertheless, continues to  

discuss Cato’s contempt of death (24.7-8). These exempla have a distinctly hortatory function;  

consolation is displaced. With a compelling correctio, Seneca explains his reason for this: ‘I  

am not heaping examples (non … congero) so that I might ply my wit, but so that I might exhort  

you (sed ut te … exhorter) against that which seems most terrible’ (24.9).  

Seneca is convinced that death is not to be feared: ‘Believe me, Lucilius, death is not  

to be feared to the extent that through its aid (beneficio) nothing is to be feared’ (24.12). After  

disabusing Lucilius of the notion that life is not full of hardships – conversely, he states: ‘you  

were born for these things (in haec natus es)’ (24.15) – and reminding Lucilius of what he has  

begun to apprehend about dying everyday (24.19–20), Seneca directs Lucilius to the  

perspective of the sage vis-à-vis death (24.25):  

The brave and wise man (sapiens) must not flee from life, but depart (exire). Before  

everything else, let him also avoid the passion (affectus), which has invaded many: a  

lust for dying (libido moriendi).  

In Epistle 24, Seneca makes extensive use of exempla to convey to Lucilius a proper Stoic  

attitude not only towards a present fear, such as a legal case, but also towards death. Death is  

not a malum; rather it is a beneficium. The most important thing, however, is one’s exitus: there  

are many positive exempla in Epistle 24 who die nobly.  

Conversely in Epistle 12, Seneca presents a negative exemplum of Pacuvius, who  

enacted a daily death. Wolfgang-Rainer Mann argues that Seneca offers an implicit synkrisis  

between Pacuvius and Dido.³⁷ In the Aeneid, when Dido ended her life on her own terms, Vergil  

furnished her with the words Seneca cites in Ep. 12.9: ‘I have lived and the course which  

fortune had given me, I have completed (vixi et quem dederat cursum fortuna, peregi)’ (Aen.  

4.653).³⁸ By contrast, the wealthy Syrian ruler, Pacuvius, enacts a daily ritual of having servants  

carrying him out saying in Greek: ‘he has lived, he has lived (βεβίωται, βεβίωται)’ (Ep. 12.9).  

Seneca denounces Pacuvius’ ritual as being ‘from a wrong conscience (ex mala conscientia)’  

(12.9). Therefore, as Mann expands: ‘far from having learned how to die and being reconciled  

to his mortality, Pacuvius is a slave to the fear of death’.³⁹ Seneca seeks to instil the opposite  

attitude in Lucilius and his readers: ‘what he [Pacuvius] would do from a wrong conscience,  

37  

Wolfgang-Rainer Mann, ‘Learning How to Die: Seneca’s Use of Aeneid 4.653 at Ep. 12.9’, in Volk and  

Williams, Seeing Seneca Whole, 106.  

³⁸ Although Juno sees Dido’s death as ante diem (Aen. 4.697); Mann, ‘Learning How to Die’, 103-105.  

³⁹ Mann, ‘Learning How to Die’, 121.  

81  

let us do it with good conscience (ex bona), and may we say happily and gladly (laeti  

hilaresque) as we go to sleep: I have lived’.  

Despite these cases, Miriam Griffin and others have remarked that there is relatively  

little focus on exempla in the Epistles wholesale.⁴⁰ Exempla do not dominate to the same extent  

as in the Consolationes. Seneca’s exhortation to Lucilius that they embody exemplarity  

accounts for this phenomenon: ‘let us be among the examples (simus inter exempla)’ (Ep.  

98.13). Martha Nussbaum posits that the Epistles are ‘one long rich exemplum, an open-ended  

and highly complex story of two concrete lives’.⁴¹ Although other lives come into the Epistles,  

Seneca and Lucilius are its centrepieces and the means of performing and inculcating ethical  

virtue.  

Consolation, Ethics, and the Self  

In Epistle 113, Seneca portrays Alexander the Great as a deprecatory example;⁴² despite his  

success in conquest, he was a troubled soul (113.29):  

He would devastate [nations] and put them to flight; but after a friend had been killed  

or had died, he would lie in the darkness, at one moment weeping over his crime, at  

another moment his loss (alias scelus, alias desiderium suum maerens). The conqueror  

of so many kings and peoples succumbed to anger and sadness (irae tristitiaeque  

succumbens). For he had achieved this: that he might have all things in his power except  

his passions (omnia … in potestate quam affectus).  

For all his military acumen, Alexander had little self-mastery: alone in the darkness, the  

passions of anger and grief afflicted him gravely. In Epistle 75, Seneca distinguishes between  

passions (adfectus) and diseases (75.12):  

Passions (adfectus) are objectionable movements of the soul, sudden and violent, which  

when repeated and neglected have become diseases (morbi) … those who have  

advanced (profecere) very greatly are beyond diseases, but they still feel passions.  

Even if the passion of grief could not be instantly removed, the practical goal of consolation  

was to ensure it did not become a disease. We come now to the two letters where Seneca offers  

his most sustained ethical treatment of consolation, namely Epistles 63 and 99.  

40  

Miriam T. Griffin, ‘Seneca’s Pedagogic Strategy: “Letters” and “De Beneficiis”’, Bulletin of the Institute of  

Classical Studies Supplement 94 (2007), 95n26.  

⁴¹ Nussbaum, Therapy of Desire, 340.  

⁴² cf. Ep. 91.17-18.  

82  

In both Epistles 63 and 99, someone has died. In Epistle 63, Seneca writes to Lucilius  

following the death of Lucilius’ friend, Flaccus, and offers insights into how he should  

simultaneously grieve and honour his friend. Epistle 99 is the only letter in the collection which  

does not primarily concern Lucilius. Instead, it is an attachment of a previous letter from Seneca  

to Marullus, following the death of Marullus’ young son. Seneca explains the situation to  

Lucilius in an introductory remark, but after that, Epistle 99 is the letter that Seneca sent to  

Marullus. This introductory remark accounts for the unusual invective tone of the letter. He  

justifies it ‘since he [Marullus] was more worthy of rebuke (obiurgatione) than consolation  

(solacio)’ (99.1) because of his prolonged and unmanly grief. On the one hand, Marcus Wilson  

avers that Ep. 99 contains ‘exaggerated invective precisely because it was never intended for  

delivery’ and so, the ‘extremist “consolatory” mode’ implies the invention of a fictional  

situation.⁴³ On the other hand, Margaret Graver has contended that Ep. 99 was composed on a  

doctrinally Stoic basis; its radical nature owes to Marullus’ training in philosophy and his  

virtus.⁴⁴ While there are significant differences between the two letters, there are some repeated  

ideas,⁴⁵ which lead us to compare the two letters.⁴⁶  

In his opening words to Lucilius, Seneca express some degree of sympathy at Flaccus’  

death. It is, however, limited (63.1):  

I regret (moleste fero) that your friend, Flaccus, has died; however, I do not want you  

to grieve more than is right (plus tamen aequo dolere te nolo). I shall scarcely dare to  

demand that you not grieve (ut non doleas); but I know a better course.  

Seneca, however, quickly disallows any grief on Lucilius’ part. He argues that: ‘no one is sad  

for himself … there is also some surrounding aspect of grief (doloris ambitio)’ (63.2).⁴⁷ Grief  

is not a natural mode of introspection; it is an external force which requires active handling.  

Seneca’s desire is that Lucilius’ grief is not simply removed slowly through the passing and  

passivity of time; instead he wants him to abandon it quickly and actively: ‘Yet the most  

shameful remedy for grief in a prudent man is tiring of grieving (lassitudo maerendi). I prefer  

that you abandon (relinquas) grief than be abandoned (relinquaris) by it’ (63.12). Failure to  

⁴³ Wilson, ‘Seneca the Consoler?’, 97.  

⁴⁴ Margaret Graver, ‘The Weeping Wise: Stoic and Epicurean Consolations in Seneca’s 99^th Epistle’, in Tears in  

the Graeco-Roman World, ed. Thorsten Fögen (Berlin: De Gruyter, 2009), 235-237.  

⁴⁵ Notably, the deceased who is sent on ahead (praemissus est)’ (Ep. 63.16, 99.7).  

⁴⁶ Thus Marcus J. Wilson: ‘we are not so subtly invited to compare the two consolationes’ (‘The Subjugation of  

Grief in Seneca’s ‘Epistles’, in Passions in Roman Thought and Literature, eds. Susanna Morton Braund and  

Christopher Gill [Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1997], 57.  

⁴⁷ Cf. Ep. 99.16 for ostentatio doloris and self-imposed grief.  

83  

abandon grief results in chronic grief that no longer finds or merits any sympathy: ‘Nothing  

becomes hated more quickly than grief, which when fresh (recens) finds a consoler … but  

when chronic (inveteratus) it is mocked, not undeservedly. For it is either feigned or stupid’  

(63.13).  

If notions of sympathy are short-lived in Ep. 63, they are nearly absent in Ep. 99. Seneca  

upbraids Marullus for his handling of his son’s death: ‘You are bearing the death of a son softly  

(molliter); what would you do, if you had lost a friend?’ (99.2) For Seneca and his  

contemporaries, the death of a small child did not merit the same degree of consolation as the  

death of a friend.⁴⁸ Seneca directs Marullus towards ‘countless examples of those, who buried  

their adolescent children without tears’ (99.6). This does not, however, imply absolute  

analgesia. Seneca impresses this upon Marullus: ‘What? Am I now promoting hard-  

heartedness: do I want your countenance to be frozen at the funeral itself and not even allow  

your mind to be contracted? Not at all. That is inhumanity, not virtue’ (99.15).  

In the following section (99.16–21), Seneca considers the relationship between tears  

and emotions. Far from drifting into metriopatheia, Seneca shows that both are unavoidable  

and healing propatheiai: ‘Tears even fall when we check them, and having been poured forth,  

they lighten (levant) the soul’ (99.16). Therefore, Lucilius and others can be justified in  

allowing them to fall (permittamus illis cadere; 99.16). As in Ep. 63, however, they ought not  

to be shed in reaction to external views and forces. Tears are to flow: ‘insomuch as the passion  

releases them, not as imitation demands’ (99.16). Crucially, the sage can shed tears: ‘sometimes  

[tears] have been allowed to fall [by him], at other times, borne by their own force (alias  

permissas cadere, alias vi sua latas)’ (99.18).⁴⁹ Graver deftly describes the sage’s tears in the  

former case as ‘eupathic response’.⁵⁰ Seneca articulates the difference between these two  

modes of crying to show that it is possible to weep in a controlled manner⁵¹ (99.19):  

These tears fall through being forced out, against our will (nolentibus nobis); the other  

sort, whose issue we allow (exitum damus) when the memory of those whom we have  

lost is recalled … then the eyes are loosened, as in joy (velut in gaudio).  

⁴⁸ Cf. Plutarch, Cons. ux. 612a.  

⁴⁹ Cf. the alias … alias contrast in Alexander’s case above in Ep. 113.29.  

⁵⁰ Graver, ‘Weeping Wise’, 244-5.  

⁵¹ Cf. Ep. 99.21: imprudentes whose ‘joys like griefs are excessive’.  

84  

In the closing sections of Ep. 99, Seneca engages with the philosophical positions of the  

Epicurean school vis-à-vis consolation, including a certain Metrodorus.⁵² In the previous letter,  

Seneca had approved of Metrodorus’ outlook about mortal goods (98.9), but here he censures  

Metrodorus’ position on pleasure: ‘What, do you say that pleasure should be mixed with grief  

itself (miscendam ipsi dolori voluptatem)?’ (99.27). Seneca impugns this attitude elsewhere in  

Epistle 23 where he considers how pleasure is opposed to true joy. Unlike joy, which is to be  

developed internally and self-reflexively (de tuo gaude),⁵³ ‘pleasure bends headlong to grief,  

unless one has held its bound (in praecipiti voluptas ad dolorem vergit, nisi modum tenuit)’  

(Ep. 23.6).  

While Ep. 99 is unusual, the specific situation and Marullus’ learning justify Seneca’s  

invasive consolatory strategies. Ep. 63 is broadly similar regarding the passions and tears. In  

Ep. 63.1, even the sage ‘will experience a prick (vellicabit)’. Yet for Stoic proficientes such as  

Lucilius and Seneca, the shedding of tears is ‘pardonable (ignosci potest)’ as long as these tears  

‘have not run down too much (nimiae decucurrerunt)’ and a conscious effort is made to check  

them (repressimus).  

The main difference in the consoling tactics of Ep. 63 and Ep. 99 lies in the notion of  

friendship. Seneca anticipates Lucilius’ objection: ‘So what? Do you say, “Am I to forget a  

friend (obliviscar animi)?”’ (63.3). Seneca wants to move Lucilius beyond ‘short-term memory  

(brevem … memoriam)’ of the deceased which is merely ‘commensurate with his grief (cum  

dolore mansura est)’ to an enduring ‘pleasant recollection (iucunda … recordatio)’ without  

grief of lost friends (63.3–4). As in his arguments against Metrodorus in Ep. 99, he rejects the  

position of his former tutor, Attalus, who believes that like wine, bitter feelings with time  

become pleasurable (63.5–7). Instead, Seneca asserts that meditating upon deceased friends  

can be wholly sweet and appealing (amicorum defunctorum cogitatio dulcis ac blanda est;  

63.7). This stems from an open-handed attitude towards friends and ongoing meditation that  

they could die at any moment. In a stylistic and chiastic sententia, Seneca states: ‘For I had  

them as if I would lose them, I have lost them as if I still have them (habui enim illos tamquam  

amissurus, amisi tamquam habeam)’. Thus, death is not separation: when friends like Flaccus  

die, memory and reflection enable them to remain in one’s possession. These are the attitudes  

which enable the Stoic proficiens, like Lucilius, to be both prepared for and consoled by the  

death of a friend.  

⁵² On this passage, see Manning, ‘The Consolatory Tradition’, 80.  

⁵³ cf. Ep. 98.1, 124.24.  

85  

Friendship is a significant theme in the Epistles. As far back as Epistle 9, Seneca  

explicates how the sapiens can cultivate friendships, despite being content in himself. Contrary  

to the Epicurean, who cultivates friendship for their own benefit or business (negotiatio), the  

Stoic sage cultivates friendship on altruistic grounds that involve suffering. Seneca notes: ‘For  

what reason do I acquire (paro) a friend? So that I might have someone for whom I am able to  

die, so that I might have someone whom I might follow into exile, for whose death I might  

pledge and expend myself (opponam et impendam)’ (Ep. 9.10). Catharine Edwards recognises  

that ‘friendship is a particular concern of the sequence of Letters 49 through 64’.⁵⁴ This cycle  

begins with Seneca being reminded of Lucilius as he passes Lucilius’ native Campania. He  

recalls their final parting (49.1):  

You are wholly in my eyes. It is the very last moment I leave (discedo) you. I see you  

repressing (conbibentem) tears and not sufficiently resisting your emotions as they  

come out (exeuntibus) at the very moment of restraining. I seem to have just lost  

(amisisse) you.  

Epistle 63, however, signals a turning-point in this cycle; in Ep. 64, Seneca emphasises his  

figurative presence with Lucilius again: ‘You were here with us yesterday. You might complain  

if I only put yesterday. Therefore, I added “with us”. For you are always with me’ (Ep. 64.1).  

Seneca locates himself – and by extension, Lucilius – in prestigious philosophical company as  

they hear the work of Sextius being read. In this letter, Seneca considers the legacy of  

philosophical predecessors. Seneca concludes by enumerating the archetypal figures of the  

wise Stoic community, declaring that: ‘indeed, I revere them, and I always arise for such great  

names’ (Ep. 64.11). Although classing himself as inferior to them, Seneca nevertheless  

inscribes himself within the same community: these men are his friends and guides for  

consolation that he and Lucilius should imitate.  

With its reflection on consolation and friendship, Epistle 63 facilitates this transition to  

the Stoic ‘community of the wise, a community that transcends both space and time’.⁵⁵ This  

community comes into view later in Ep. 63: ‘He whom you loved, you have buried; search for  

someone you may love. It is preferable (satius) to acquire a friend again (amicum reparare)  

than to weep’ (63.12). Without this context of a Stoic community, these words would be severe:  

the friend would be buried and forgotten. Instead, a friend is exalted by being replaced – but  

54  

Catharine Edwards, ‘Absent Presence in Seneca’s Epistles: Philosophy and Friendship’, in Bartsch and  

Schiesaro, Cambridge Companion to Seneca, 45. Epistles 49-64 cover slightly more than a book: Ep. 49-62  

constitutes book 6; Ep. 63-64 form the start of the following book.  

⁵⁵ Edwards, ‘Absent Presence’, 51.  

86  

not totally displaced – by another worthy person within the community. Friendship through  

community, therefore, is one of Seneca’s principal ethical strategies in consoling.  

Despite this community, throughout the Epistles, Seneca shows Lucilius how it is  

incumbent on the individual to exercise self-reflexivity and to attend to one’s own emotions.  

While Seneca never professes to be a sapiens and sometimes disdains his own moral progress,⁵⁶  

he is nevertheless preceptor to Lucilius. There are, however, as Edwards puts it: ‘fissures and  

slippages in the picture of the authorial self’⁵⁷ in the letter collection. This is most acute at Ep.  

63.14 where Seneca describes his failure in restraining his grief when his friend Serenus died:  

I am writing these things to you – I, who wept so immoderately (tam immodice flevi)  

for Annaeus Serenus, who was most dear to me, with the result that, entirely against  

my will, I am among the examples of those whom grief has conquered (inter exempla  

sim eorum, quos dolor vicit). Today (hodie), however, I condemn my action and I  

understand that the greatest reason for my grieving (causam … lugendi) was that I had  

never considered (numquam cogitaveram) that he could die before me.  

Miriam Griffin accounts for Seneca’s attitude here as a show of ‘tenderness … an insight into  

weakness … that doubtless made Seneca an effective teacher for those who, once stirred by his  

style, tried to follow the Stoic way’.⁵⁸ This is an attractive idea: the level of virtue and self-  

mastery necessary to attain anything approaching sapiens status could have left proficientes  

disillusioned. On this reading, by portraying the possibility of individual weakness, Seneca  

brings the ‘Stoic way’ down from unachievable heights. In his De laude ipsius, Plutarch  

describes the philosophical benefit of those who: ‘injecting some minor defects, failures, or  

faults (ἁμαρτίας), displace (ἀφαιροῦσι) any invidiousness and disapproval against them’  

(543F). He continues that ‘when faults (ἁμαρτίαι) which are neither altogether shameful nor  

ignoble are put alongside praise, they displace envy (τὸν φθόνον ἀφαιροῦσιν)’ (544B). We  

know from De vita beata 17.1 that Seneca was subject to much criticism and envy from his  

detractors in his handling of his emotions when faced with grievous circumstances: ‘Why …  

are you moved by a loss (damno) and when, having heard of the death of a spouse or friend,  

you shed tears (lacrimas … demittis)?’. In Ep. 63, however, he addresses his friend, Lucilius:  

his stance serves to make his philosophical outlook more relatable and to temper notions of  

self-praise.⁵⁹  

⁵⁶ See Ep. 87.5: ‘Yet I have achieved too little (parum adhuc profeci)’.  

⁵⁷ Edwards, ‘Self-Scrutiny and Self-Transformation’, 33.  

⁵⁸ Miriam T. Griffin, ‘Imago Suae Vitae’, in Seneca, ed. C. D. N. Costa (London: Routledge & Kegan Paul, 1974),  

33–34.  

⁵⁹ See Fitzgerald, Cracks, 110–111.  

87  

While his self-censure is considerable, it is only with hindsight and contingent on his  

mindset that day (hodie). Seneca now realises that meditatio mortis on Serenus’ behalf was  

improper; today, he is able to correct himself and to advise Lucilius. To put it another way, his  

self has shifted. In Ep. 120, Seneca notes that ‘no one acts a single role apart from the sage, the  

rest of us play multiple roles (multiformes)’ (120.22). Edwards is illuminating about Seneca’s  

and Nero’s theatrical proclivities: ‘Seneca’s fascination with the slipperiness of the self, his  

urge to dramatize tensions within the self, may perhaps be related to the particularities of  

Neronian Rome’.⁶⁰ It is fitting that the time scale of each Epistle is the same as that of an  

ancient tragedy: an individual day. While each day brings its own perils and misfortunes, each  

day also allows Seneca and Lucilius the opportunity to progress in virtue, and grief should not  

extend beyond the day.⁶¹ Ep. 63 shows that Seneca has transformed himself and is prepared for  

the death of a friend: this is the consolation that he imparts to Lucilius. While he might have  

shown weakness in the past, today he realises that ‘[a] life of flourishing is achieved not without  

sorrow but in spite of it’,⁶² and he shows strength of character in the face of death.  

While Seneca’s self-admission can be interpreted dramatically, it can also be read as  

preparation for his own death. Alongside the topos of friendship in Book 6, there is  

considerable meditatio mortis: Epistles 58, 60 and 61 all conclude with remarks about death.⁶³  

In Ep. 61.4, Seneca moves from general reflections and precepts on death to readiness for his  

own death:  

Sooner must we be prepared for death than for life … Neither years nor days ensure  

that we have lived enough (ut satis vixerimus), but the mind. I have lived, most dear  

Lucilius, as long as was enough; full, I await death (mortem plenus exspecto).  

Throughout the Epistles, we have considered how Seneca’s own exitus – another dramatic term  

– is foregrounded. Amanda Wilcox argues that Ep. 63 is written ‘to meditate on the lesson of  

his own death’.⁶⁴ Since Ep. 63.14 expresses his past, but now resolved, grief about the passing  

of an Annaeus Serenus and Seneca’s full name is Lucius Annaeus Seneca, we should take  

seriously Wilcox’s claim that ‘it is Seneca’s own death for which the letter chiefly consoles  

us’.⁶⁵ Seneca counsels Lucilius and other readers to see travel and absence from friends as  

⁶⁰ Edwards, ‘Self-Scrutiny and Self-Transformation’, 35.  

⁶¹ Via the exemplum of Niobe, Seneca argues that grief ought to be limited to one day (Ep. 63.2).  

⁶² Olberding, ‘The Stout Heart’, 151.  

63  

Amanda Wilcox, The Gift of Correspondence in Classical Rome: Friendship in Cicero’s Ad Familiares and  

Seneca’s Moral Epistles (Madison: University of Wisconsin Press, 2012), 158.  

⁶⁴ Ibid., 174.  

⁶⁵ Ibid., 171.  

88  

preparation for death: ‘Let us consider (cogitemus), how often we leave them when we depart  

(exituri) on some long journey’ (63.8). This is precisely what is happening in Ep. 63 and in  

every individual letter: they are writings by which Seneca’s philosophy and raison d’être as  

consoler can be remembered.  

Yet above all, it is Seneca’s exitus that looms largest and for which he is preparing himself  

and others. Again, Wilcox is illuminating; for her, Ep. 63 ‘not only extends consolation but  

also bears witness to an inwardly directed practice of consoling the self’.⁶⁶ Evicted from the  

imperial court, Seneca was already preparing himself for his own death, so the death of the  

markedly younger (minorem … et multo minorem) Serenus was a surprise. This leads him to  

correct himself through proper meditatio mortis,⁶⁷ towards which he also directs Lucilius and  

posterity: ‘Therefore let us unremittingly consider our own (nostra) mortality rather than those  

whom we love’ (63.15). In Ep. 63, Seneca consoles Lucilius for the death of a friend, offers  

consolation for his own impending death, and fortifies himself through individual meditatio  

mortis. This is the peak of Seneca’s consolatory career and where, connectedly, Seneca’s self  

comes into sharpest focus, albeit fleetingly.  

Conclusion  

For the very end of Seneca’s consolatory career, viz. his actual exitus, we rely on the testimony  

and portrayal of historiographers, which is beyond the scope of this discussion.⁶⁸ Nevertheless,  

in these two chapters, we have constructed a genuine career of consolation that stands alone.  

Despite the time difference between the early career Consolationes and the later career Natural  

Questions and Epistles, we encounter a recognisably Stoic form of consolation throughout,  

although Seneca occasionally incorporates Epicurean and Platonic philosophical tropes  

according to the pedagogical needs of his addressees and interlocutors. Consolation was an  

adaptable practice for Seneca; he employs varied modes of consoling which result in diverse  

narratives depending on context.  

This second chapter has identified a principal difference between the Consolationes and  

later texts, especially the Epistles: knowing that his own death (exitus) is approaching, Seneca  

engages in greater self-reflexivity. He places greater emphasis on time, and in particular the  

⁶⁶ Ibid., 172.  

67  

The phrase hoc unum (cf. Nat. 6.32.12) appears again to reflect where Seneca was mistaken, in this case, that  

Serenus would die before him.  

⁶⁸ Griffin, Seneca: A Philosopher in Politics, 367–388, remains an excellent discussion on what she describes as  

Seneca’s ‘long-meditated death (mors diu meditata)’.  

89  

individual day, within his consolatory outlook. Consequently, the Natural Questions, and to a  

greater extent, the Epistles, function as a praemeditatio mortis. Alongside contemplation of  

nature, logic and exemplarity, Seneca advocates and inspires self-introspection for himself,  

Lucilius, other proficientes, and posterity. Nevertheless, there is still room for community and  

friendship: specifically, that of fellow philosophers whose minds are directed away from Rome  

and towards present virtue. In these later writings, Seneca’s consolatory narratives are  

cognisant of mortality. Seneca, the dramatist turned actor-philosopher intensifies the rehearsals  

for his own exitus: the Epistles are that legacy and consolatory narrative for himself and  

others.⁶⁹  

Seneca has therefore provided a fertile case study of a consolatory career that results in  

a rich discourse and narrative. Having sketched his practice, we can now move onto that of his  

contemporary, the apostle Paul, whom we shall consider in three of his undisputed letters.  

Although Paul wrote in a very different context, he employed varied modes of consolation that  

can be meaningfully compared with Seneca’s.  

69  

This differentiates him from Cicero: see Wilcox, Gift of Correspondence, 171-172. Jonathan Mannering  

highlights this well in his review of Wilcox’s book: ‘Seneca’s epistolary corpus can become a sufficient proxy for  

Seneca the man, in contrast to Cicero’s letters which present themselves as a palliative measure for his absence’  

(JRS 104 [2014], 327).  

90  

Chapter 5: Paul’s First Letter to the Thessalonians  

‘City folk used common forms in many areas of life. Inscriptions from all over the East use  

stereotyped phrases: city councils announced decrees, clubs honoured their patrons, the  

bereaved commemorated their dead in like fashion from Alexandria to Thessalonica’.¹  

Introduction  

In the previous two chapters, we saw that the majority of Seneca’s consolatory discourse was  

written in the context of bereavement or meditatio mortis. We now turn to our first Pauline  

text: 1 Thessalonians. There are two major reasons why this is particularly appropriate. Firstly,  

in seeking to limn a parallel consolatory career to Seneca’s, 1 Thessalonians likely represents  

the start of the apostle’s epistolary career. Secondly, 1 Thessalonians includes an important  

section where Paul explicitly tackles a case of bereavement in writing to the Thessalonians  

‘concerning those who have fallen asleep (περὶ τῶν κοιμωμένων)’ (1 Thess 4:13) within their  

community. Since Paul writes to assuage grief in some way (4:13),² the following section  

displays a consolatory character, which is reinforced by the concluding command: ‘console  

(παρακαλεῖτε) one another with these words’ (1 Thess 4:18).  

A sizeable portion of this chapter will focus on 1 Thessalonians 4:13–18 and highlight  

its defined consolatory aspects. Yet around this important passage, we shall explore other  

instances of consolatory discourse and resulting narratives. The verb παρακαλέω features  

frequently (2:12, 3:2, 3:7, 4:1, 4:10, 4:18, 5:11, 5:14) and it is the only Pauline letter which  

employs the verb παραμυθέομαι alongside παρακαλέω in two cases (2:12, 5:14). As well as  

the reference to grief in 1 Thess 4:13, there is a motif of affliction (θλῖψις) in the epistle (1:6,  

3:3, 3:4, 3:7), but there are also references to joy (χαρά) (1:6, 2:19, 2:20, 3:9, 5:16) and hope  

(ἐλπίς) (1:3, 2:19, 4:13, 5:8). My study is not the first to draw attention to consolation in 1  

Thessalonians, so before embarking on my analysis of the text, I consider previous scholarship  

which has either emphasised or downplayed consolatory aspects within the epistle.  

Most interestingly for our purposes, David Luckensmeyer and Bronwen Neil analyse  

what they consider to be Seneca’s main consolatory letters (Ep. 63, 93 and 99) and find that  

1

Wayne A. Meeks, The First Urban Christians: The Social World of the Apostle Paul (New Haven: Yale  

University Press, 1983), 15.  

2

See below for my discussion of the precise meaning of the purpose clause ἵνα μὴ λυπῆσθε, which is a crux  

interpretum.  

91  

 

Seneca does not adhere to a set consolatory structure. This gives rise to the possibility that 1  

Thessalonians could be similarly flexible.³ They accordingly identify different parts of the  

letter under aspects that they believe to represent a consolatory letter: 1:2-10 as laudatio amid  

suffering; 2:1-12 as lamentatio; 2:17-3:13 as self-consolation; 4:1-12 as exhortatio; and,  

finally, 4:13-5:11 as consolatio proper. They conclude that 1 Thessalonians firmly belongs  

within the ancient consolation tradition: ‘Paul’s response to the distress of the Thessalonian  

Christians gave them an eschatological matrix for understanding and accepting affliction,  

superimposed upon the standard tropes of the classical consolatory tradition’.⁴ In what follows,  

we shall assess some of Luckensmeyer and Neil’s categories and show that even if their  

categorisation in terms of rhetorical handbooks is not perfect, their article is most commendable  

for opening up the potentiality of ancient consolation as a mode for Paul.  

Abraham Smith has also made a strong case for seeing 1 Thessalonians as a letter of  

consolation; he shows how ‘this genre option can account for virtually every aspect of 1  

Thessalonians’.⁵ By considering consolatory elements in 1 Thess 1–3, as well as in 4:13–18,  

he concludes that consolation should not be confined to this short section.⁶ Smith analyses the  

rhetorical situation in Thessalonica and, from there, ‘how Paul coopted the fluid set of formal  

topoi in the consolatory letter to express a typical social interaction practiced in the Hellenistic  

world’.⁷ Although we have seen that there are problems with conceiving of consolation as a  

genre, Smith’s readiness to embrace consolation as a social practice that draws upon cultural  

commonplaces represents a promising line of enquiry.  

Along similar lines, Hans-Josef Klauck focuses on the philophronetic character of 1  

Thessalonians and links this to consolation because of the ‘family or friendship connection …  

also presupposed in the pagan examples of acts of consolation’.⁸ Klauck instructively does not  

argue for total conformity to genre because of consolatory elements which are omitted, but he  

nevertheless posits that the ‘consolation letter may prove to be the one common denominator  

that covers more and integrates more than any other single term’.⁹  

³ David Luckensmeyer and Bronwen Neil, ‘Reading First Thessalonians as a Consolatory Letter in Light of Seneca  

and Ancient Handbooks on Letter-Writing’, NTS 62.1 (2016), 45.  

⁴ Luckensmeyer-Neil, ‘Reading First Thessalonians’, 48.  

5

Abraham Smith, Comfort One Another: Reconstructing the Rhetoric and Audience of 1 Thessalonians  

(Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 1995), 47–48.  

⁶ Ibid., 58.  

⁷ Ibid., 54. Emphasis original.  

8

Hans-Josef Klauck, Ancient Letters and the New Testament: A Guide to Context and Exegesis (Waco: Baylor  

University Press, 2006), 386.  

⁹ Ibid., 386.  

92  

Other scholars are more cautious about viewing 1 Thessalonians as a deliberate letter  

of consolation. Juan Chapa brings his findings of standard patterns of consolation in the papyri  

to bear on 1 Thessalonians. Although he finds similar consolatory patterns in the letter, he  

argues that they ‘are somewhat scattered and lack an overall linking theme’.¹⁰ While Chapa is  

wise to allow for other intentions besides consoling,¹¹ his move to explain Paul’s consolation  

in 1 Thessalonians with reference to Paul’s Jewish context reinscribes a common false  

dichotomy. For instance, Chapa argues: ‘Paul’s paraklesis comes from a position that seems to  

be closer to the role of the prophets of the Old Testament than to the moral authority of  

philosophers and moralists who wrote works of consolation in the Graeco-Roman world’.¹²  

This is particularly problematic for 1 Thessalonians: can we identify definite allusions to  

prophetic writings in the letter, and more seriously, can we be certain that they would have  

resonated with its primary audience?  

There is no doubt that Paul combines Jewish and Hellenistic tropes in his writings. This  

brings us to the scholarship of Abraham Malherbe, who argues that 1 Thessalonians is  

fundamentally a paraenetic letter.¹³ This classification, however, results in an ambivalent  

attitude towards consolatory modes in the letter. On the one hand, Malherbe recognises the  

relationship between paraenesis and consolation in 1 Thessalonians: it is a ‘paraenetic letter  

that contains a strong interest in consoling as part of its hortatory aim’.¹⁴ On the other hand,  

Malherbe is only partially prepared to accommodate 1 Thess 4:13-18 within the ancient  

consolation tradition. Like Chapa, Malherbe alleges that Paul avoids common consolatory  

conventions, but he explains this more convincingly on account of apocalyptic discourse in the  

letter. Thus, for Malherbe: ‘Paul … reaches for traditional apocalyptic language to comfort his  

readers’.¹⁵ Yet for Malherbe, this tradition means that Paul is closer to a Jewish prophet like  

Baruch than a moral philosopher like Plutarch (or Seneca): Paul ‘acts as a prophet who has  

received the Lord’s message with which to comfort’.¹⁶ This was a surprising conclusion for  

Malherbe to reach; he argues positively throughout his work on 1 Thessalonians for an affinity  

between Paul and the moral philosophers, but such a departure from this position in terms of  

the ancient practice of consolation is debatable.  

¹⁰ Juan Chapa, ‘Is First Thessalonians a Letter of Consolation?’, NTS 40.1 (1994), 159.  

¹¹ Ibid., 160: ‘we may, nevertheless, be justified in calling it a consoling letter without intending to exclude other  

valid purposes’.  

¹² Ibid., 159.  

¹³ See Abraham J. Malherbe, ‘Exhortation in First Thessalonians’, NovT 25.3 (1983): 238-256.  

¹⁴ Idem, The Letters to the Thessalonians, AYB 32B (New Haven: Yale University Press, 2000), 280.  

¹⁵ Ibid., 286.  

¹⁶ Ibid., 286.  

93  

In this chapter, I aim to offer a more nuanced reckoning of Paul’s consolatory practice  

in 1 Thessalonians that accounts for both his Jewish and Hellenistic contexts. My proposal is  

that although 1 Thessalonians is not a wholly consolatory letter, Paul consistently employs a  

discourse of apocalyptic consolation. David Hellholm’s expansion upon John Collins’ initial  

Semeia 14 definition of apocalyptic is particularly insightful. He states that apocalypses are  

‘intended for a group in crisis with the purpose of exhortation and/or consolation by means of  

divine authority’.¹⁷ This is true in Thessalonica: the Thessalonians, by virtue of undergoing  

affliction for the gospel, are part of an insider Christ-community that receives consolation from  

God through Paul ahead of the eschaton. While containing some commonplace aspects from  

pagan consolers and from associations models as described by Meeks at the head of this  

chapter, Paul adds an apocalyptic dimension to 1 Thessalonians that is found elsewhere in  

Second Temple Jewish literature. This blend of topoi and motifs centred on the parousia of the  

messiah offers an innovative contribution to the ancient consolation tradition.  

This chapter will go through 1 Thessalonians¹⁸ sequentially, showing how Paul  

employs modes, discourses, and narratives of consolation not only in 1 Thess 4:13–18, but in  

parts of 1 Thess 1–3, and also in certain parts of 1 Thess 5, particularly 1 Thess 5:12–14, where  

a consoling community is constructed.¹⁹ By following the trajectory of the letter, this chapter  

will highlight the dominant consolatory themes in 1 Thessalonians that can be stored up for the  

final comparative analysis.  

Consoling through Praise of Virtue in a Time of Apocalyptic Affliction (1 Thess 1)  

1 Thessalonians is composed as a fundamentally philophronetic letter:²⁰ the apostle wishes to  

maintain cordial and familial relations with the Thessalonians. Thankful for the believers in  

Thessalonica (1:2), he commends them through a tricolon of virtues that demonstrate their  

¹⁷ David Hellholm, ‘The Problem of Apocalyptic Genre and the Apocalypse of John’, Semeia 36 (1986), 27.  

¹⁸ I do not propose to explore consolatory language in 2 Thessalonians; on this issue, see Roger D. Aus, Comfort  

in Judgement: The Use of the Day of the Lord and Theophany Traditions in 2 Thessalonians 1 (Ph.D. diss., Yale  

University, 1971). For a comparative analysis of the eschatologies of 1 and 2 Thessalonians, see Sydney E. Tooth,  

‘Suddenness and Signs: The Eschatologies of 1 and 2 Thessalonians’ (PhD diss., University of Edinburgh, 2020).  

See also John M. G. Barclay, ‘Conflict in Thessalonica’, CBQ 55.3 (1993), 525-529, for an argument that the  

change in apocalyptic outlook owed to an over-zealousness among the Thessalonians that the apostle had to  

temper.  

19  

See Jew, Paul’s Emotional Regime, 127–131; Hajnalka Ravasz, Aspekte der Seelsorge in den paulinischen  

Gemeinden: Eine exegetische Untersuchung anhand des 1. Thessalonicherbriefes, WUNT II/443 (Tübingen:  

Mohr Siebeck, 2017).  

20  

See Heikki Koskenniemi, Studien zur Idee und Pharaseologie des Griechischen Briefes bis 400 n. Chr.  

(Helsinki: Suomalainen Tiedeakatemia, 1956); Ryan S. Schellenberg, ‘“Making My Prayer with Joy”: Epistolary  

Prayer as Emotional Practice in Philippians and 1 Thessalonians’, NovT 64.1 (2022), 80–81.  

94  

active allegiance to God in adversity: ‘remembering (μνημονεύοντες) your work through faith,  

labour through love, and perseverance (ὑπομονῆς) through hope (ἐλπίδος) in our Lord Jesus’  

(1:3).  

Paul then draws attention to their status as brothers (ἀδελφοί), who are recipients of  

election (ἐκλογήν) from God (1:4). This term only appears elsewhere in the Pauline corpus in  

Romans 9–11 with relation to God’s elective purposes for Israel (Rom 9:11, 11:5, 11:7, 11:28).  

Here, a parallel can be drawn to 1 Enoch which purports to be a vision for a later generation  

and concerning the elect (1 En 1.2–3). In her work comparing 1 Enoch and 1 Peter, Sofanit  

Abebe recognises how both writers conceive of an ‘eschatological community of the elect’.²¹  

We see a similar relationship here between Paul and his insider ἀδελφοί, the Thessalonians, as  

he writes to remind them of their election in both a hortatory and consolatory style.  

In the following verses, Paul portrays himself and his apostolic team as exemplars in  

their presentation of the gospel. According to Paul’s account, the Thessalonians then became  

‘imitators’ (μιμηταί) of them and the Lord (1:6). This was remarkable given the context in  

which they found themselves. Paul writes that they ‘received the proclamation in much  

affliction (θλίψει) with joy (χαρᾶς) of the holy pneuma’ (1:6).²² Paul describes how the  

Thessalonians were able to replace grievous affliction with consolatory joy. Their initial source  

of joy is received pneuma rather than reason acquired: the apostle commends their receipt of  

virtue and writes so that they might continue to live in this way.  

The Thessalonians are already themselves an example (τύπον; 1:7) for believers further  

afield: their faith is sufficiently secure that in paraenetic style, Paul believes that ‘we have no  

need to say anything’ (1:8). Nevertheless, by advertising the Thessalonians’ exemplary nature  

in affliction, Paul both praises²³ and consoles the Thessalonians in their present hardships. They  

are known as an elect and virtuous community who await the return of Jesus so that they may  

be rescued from the coming wrath (1:10), and thus consoled, as in other apocalyptic Jewish  

writing.²⁴  

²¹ Sofanit T. Abebe, ‘Peter and the Patriarch: Eschatological Perspectives from 1 Peter and 1 Enoch’, in Beyond  

Canon: Early Christianity and the Ethiopic Textual Tradition, eds. Meron T. Gebreananaye, Logan Williams and  

Francis Watson, LNTS 643 (London: T&T Clark, 2020), 42.  

²² θλῖψις can assume a wide range of meanings. In the context of 1 Thessalonians, it seems most likely to see it as  

local opposition, although not necessarily systematic persecution, based on a turning from the imperial cult to  

seeing Jesus as Lord; thus Barclay, ‘Conflict’, 514: ‘I think it is best to understand the Thesalonians’ thlipsis as  

social harassment’.  

²³ Here the label of laudatio with relation to 1 Thess 1:2–10 is appropriate, see Luckensmeyer and Neil, ‘Reading  

First Thessalonians’, 45.  

24  

See Albert-Marie Denis, ‘L’Apôtre Paul, Prophète “Messianique” Des Gentils: Étude thématique de 1 Thess.  

II, 1-6”, ETL 33 (1957): 259-67, for possible allusions to Isa 54 in 1 Thess 1:10. At Isa 54:11, Jerusalem is  

95  

Paul’s Dramatic Entrance in Thessalonica: Mutual Consolation (1 Thess 2)  

Paul twice talks of a favourable ‘entrance’ (εἴσοδος; 1:9, 2:1) to Thessalonica. Why was he  

received so positively by the Thessalonians? 1 Thess 2 provides a narrative of his visits to  

Thessalonica and his multifaceted παράκλησις (2:3) which draws on tropes from both the moral  

philosophers, ancient drama, and Jewish prophetic and apocalyptic tradition as part of his  

consolatory strategy. Therefore, I submit that there is a consolatory aspect of παράκλησις in  

addition to hortatory and kerygmatic aspects.  

In 1 Thess 2:2, Paul recalls the suffering to which he and his apostolic team had  

previously been subjected (προπαθόντες) in Philippi before going to Thessalonica to  

sympathise with the Thessalonians. While there are parallels between the situations, the  

apostolic team’s suffering is presented as particularly humiliating (ὑβρισθέντες). Nevertheless,  

Paul portrays himself as emboldened and frank in speech (ἐπαρρησιασάμεθα) in the face of  

much opposition (ἐν πολλῷ ἀγῶνι).  

In 1 Thess 2:3-6, the apostle defines his consolatory practice (παράκλησις) by what it  

is not. He offers a comparison with the practices of certain popular philosophers, whom he  

portrays as deceitful. While such figures are self-approved, Paul and his team are divinely  

approved (δεδοκιμάσμεθα ὑπὸ τοῦ θεοῦ); while such figures seek to please people, Paul and  

his team seek to please God (2:4). The reminder that they did not use flattering arguments (ἐν  

λόγῳ κολακείας) locates his practice alongside contemporary philosophical and theatrical  

practices. Decrying flattery was common among the moral philosophers with Plutarch’s  

Adulator offering our best extant evidence.²⁵ In ancient comedy, particularly in the plays of  

Menander, the flatterer (κόλαξ) was a stock-character. Coupled with another stock-character,  

the parasite, as conveyed by Paul’s declaration that he was ‘not in pretence of greed (οὔτε ἐν  

προφάσει πλεονεξίας)’ (2:5) like the parasite,²⁶ this contributes to a quasi-theatrical context  

that Paul is subverting.  

These philosophical and theatrical tropes continue in the consolation offered in 1 Thess  

2:7-10. Scholars are divided over the variant νήπιοι (‘children’) or ἤπιοι (‘gentle’): those who  

described as ‘afflicted, disturbed and not consoled’ (ταπεινὴ καὶ ἀκατάστατος, οὐ παρεκλήθης) but her rebuilding  

is promised. The letter’s recipients could not be expected, however, to recognise these allusions; but they are  

conceivably texts upon which Paul could draw from memory.  

25  

See Troels Engberg-Pedersen, ‘Plutarch to Prince Philopappus on How to Tell a Flatterer from a Friend’, in  

Fitzgerald, Friendship, Flattery, and Frankness of Speech, 61–79.  

²⁶ On allusions to parasites in 2 Cor 11 where similar sophistic opponents are in view, see L. L. Welborn, ‘Paul’s  

Caricature of His Chief Rival as a Pompous Parasite in 2 Corinthians 11.20’, JSNT 32.1 (2009): 39–56.  

96  

read ‘children’²⁷ generally see Paul as operating within a broadly Jewish familial context; while  

those who read ‘gentle’ situate Paul within the context of the moral philosophers.²⁸ The latter  

reading makes greater sense in continuing to highlight the contrast between would-be moral  

philosophers and an apostle appointed by God: ‘gentle’ provides a better balance to ‘able in  

weightiness’ (δυνάμενοι ἐν βάρει). If appropriate, a philosopher could be gentle, and Paul, in  

seeking to be an ideal philosopher, believes that this is the right attitude in this situation.  

Paul likens himself to a ‘nurse (τροφός) who cherishes her children’ (2:7). The  

quotidian figure of the nurse would have been readily apprehended by the Thessalonians.  

Nurses also had significant roles in ancient drama. They served as confidantes for the main  

characters in tragedies, often offering consolation in dire circumstances. In Seneca’s Phaedra,  

the Nurse tries to persuade Phaedra not to kill herself, as she has determined to do, having been  

consumed with an illicit passion for the stepson, Hippolytus, of her absent husband, Theseus  

(Phaedra 255–256): ‘Moderate, my pupil, the attacks of an unbridled mind; restrain your soul’  

(moderare, alumna, mentis effrenae impetus / animos coerce).  

This discourse is reminiscent of Seneca’s other writings. Here, Phaedra, cannot be  

swayed from her action; she states: ‘no reason (nulla ratio) can prevent someone who is about  

to die’ (266). This leaves the nurse, who has tried so hard to console her, inconsolable: Phaedra  

is her ‘only solace (solamen … unicum)’ in her old age (267).  

Although there is not such a tragic situation in 1 Thess 2, there is apocalyptic tension.  

In 1 Thess 2:7, Paul casts himself in a consoling role like that of a devoted nurse. There is  

surprising intimacy as Paul, along with his team, is willing ‘to share not only the gospel of God  

but also our souls (ψυχάς)’ (2:8). Paul’s assumption of a maternal,²⁹ theatrical and servile role  

is a variation on ancient psychagogical practice, but it is still identifiable with the tradition. His  

desire ‘not to weigh down (ἐπιβαρῆσαι)’ any of the Thessalonians illustrates his gentleness  

amid a continued conviction to preach the consoling gospel of God (2:9).  

In 1 Thess 2:11-12, Paul alters persona and casts himself as a father. While some  

scholars would situate Paul’s παράκλησις here within the sphere of Jewish family values, I  

follow Malherbe in maintaining that Paul remains within a broader paraenetic tradition because  

of its paternal aspect:  

27  

See, e.g., Trevor J. Burke, ‘Mother, Father, Infant, Orphan, Brother: Paul’s Variegated Pastoral Strategy  

Towards his Thessalonian Church Family’, in Paul as Pastor, eds. Brian S. Rosner et al. (London: Bloomsbury  

T&T Clark, 2017), 127–131.  

²⁸ See especially the seminal treatment by Abraham J. Malherbe, ‘“Gentle as a Nurse”: The Cynic Background to  

1 Thess ii’, NovT 12.2 (1970): 203–217.  

29  

On gender dynamics in 1 Thess 2 and other passages, see Grace Emmett, ‘The Apostle Paul’s Maternal  

Masculinity’, JECS 11.1 (2021): 15–37.  

97  

It is possible that the original context of paraenesis was that of a father giving advice to  

his son, but it had become common by Paul’s time for the sage to exhort his listeners  

as their father, and to think of them as his children.³⁰  

The moral philosophers gave individual psychagogic advice. Malherbe goes on to invoke Dio  

Chrysostom at Or. 77.38 concerning the ideal leader: ‘sometimes persuading and sometimes  

consoling (παρακαλῶν); sometimes insulting and sometimes reproaching (ὀνειδίζων) …  

sometimes taking each aside individually (ἰδίᾳ ἕκαστον) and sometimes admonishing  

(νουθετῶν) them collectively’. Paul embodies such psychagogic adaptability, although more  

mildly. In 1 Thess 2:11, the paternal address to each individual Thessalonian child – ‘as each  

one of you (ὡς ἕνα ἕκαστον ὑμῶν)’ – evinces a similar attitude; as do the varied triad of  

participles in 1 Thess 2:12: ‘consoling (παρακαλοῦντες) you, comforting (παραμυθούμενοι)  

and witnessing (μαρτυρόμενοι), in order for you to walk worthily of God’. The collocation of  

παραμυθέομαι with παρακαλέω points to a consolatory context which issues forth in comfort,  

exhortation, and proclamation of the gospel. The goal of this section is to displace any grief by  

directing them towards a new destination in ‘the kingdom [of God] and glory’ (2:12). By living  

in this kingdom, the Thessalonians are both consoled in their context of apocalyptic affliction,  

and their trust in Paul and his apostolic team is established more profoundly.  

While implicit in 1 Thess 2:1–12, affliction becomes explicit once more in 1 Thess  

2:14, both for the Thessalonians and for Paul himself. Paul commends the Thessalonians for  

becoming imitators of the Christ-following assemblies in Jerusalem in suffering the same  

persecution (τὰ αὐτὰ ἐπάθετε) from their community.³¹ Paul also suffers in terms of freedom  

of movement and proclamation of the gospel. In 1 Thess 2:17, Paul’s shared grief is manifest:  

instead of being consoled, he expresses how he experienced desolation: his separation from the  

Thessalonians became so devastating that he saw himself as orphaned (ἀπορφανισθέντες;  

Vulgate: desolati). Paul’s opposition, however, is not merely human but cosmic, which squares  

with the apocalyptic climate of the letter. Paul is apparently impeded from proclaiming his  

gospel to gentiles not only by a specific faction of Jews (2:16), but he is also obstructed by  

Satan (ἐνέκοψεν ἡμᾶς ὁ Σατανᾶς; 2:18).  

While in 1 Thess 2:12, the consolation was directed towards the Thessalonians, in 2:19–  

20, it is the Thessalonians’ loyal reception of his entrance which consoles Paul. Here, Paul  

³⁰ Abraham J. Malherbe, ‘Exhortation in First Thessalonians’, 244.  

31  

Here I leave aside 1 Thess 2:15–16 because of the vexed history of interpretation. For a sampling of the  

scholarship regarding the authenticity of this section, see Malherbe, Letters to the Thessalonians, 164–165. My  

view is that Paul is talking about a certain group of Jews in Jerusalem who were particularly opposed to the Jesus-  

movement rather than indicting all the Jews in Jerusalem.  

98  

introduces the notion of the parousia of Christ and the focus is eschatological. While hope, joy  

and boasting will result in full at the eschaton (2:19), Paul is consoled in the present through  

the Thessalonians’ πίστις. It is notable how he repeats χαρά in both verses 19 and 20: the  

Thessalonians are a source of joy to Paul and his team. Accordingly, in 1 Thess 2, Paul  

composes a narrative of mutual consolation between himself and the Thessalonians that has  

dramatic, philosophical, and apocalyptic dimensions.  

Consolatory Envoys and Networks (1 Thess 3)  

Throughout 1 Thess 2, Paul speaks in the plural, but his fellow-apostles come into sharpest  

focus in 1 Thess 3. Despite his optimism in 1 Thess 2:19–20, Paul becomes concerned about  

the Thessalonians and aggrieved on account of their absence. He, therefore, seeks to overcome  

distance by making them more present. While Jane Heath argues that Paul uses the rhetorical  

device of enargeia throughout 1 Thess 1–3,³² it is particularly pronounced in 1 Thess 3, where  

Paul constructs a consolatory network between himself and the Thessalonians that involves  

Timothy as a consolatory envoy.  

The passage begins on a note of repeated despair: the apostolic team, then Paul himself  

(μηκέτι στέγοντες ... μηκέτι στέγων), are no longer able to put up with being absent from the  

Thessalonians (1 Thess 3:1, 3:5). στέγω is a relatively rare Greek verb, but Philo uses it in a  

similar sense in his In Flaccum to describe the destitution that the Jews in Alexandria  

experienced in the pogrom; they begged for supplies from friends and neighbours since they  

were ‘no longer able (μηκέτι στέγειν) to bear their poverty’ (Flacc. 64). Initially in 1 Thess 3,  

Paul expresses desperation about his separation from the Thessalonians, while stationed in  

Athens: he seeks consolation through presence in absence.  

Paul’s solution is to send Timothy, an integral part of his apostolic team, ‘our brother  

and co-worker’ (3:2), to represent him. Appealing to Graeco-Roman diplomatic and epistolary  

conventions, Margaret Mitchell contends that the role of envoys like Timothy was a more  

effective means of presence than the apostle’s own.³³ The role of envoys was to re-establish  

good-will (εὐνοία): ‘to confirm and reaffirm the affection and loyalty of each party to the  

other’.³⁴ This is persuasive as far as Paul’s strategy is concerned. Her conclusion, however, is  

³² Jane M. F. Heath, ‘Absent Presences of Paul and Christ: Enargeia in 1 Thessalonians 1–3’, JSNT 32.1 (2009):  

3–38.  

33  

Margaret M. Mitchell, ‘New Testament Envoys in the Context of Graeco-Roman Diplomatic and Epistolary  

Conventions: The Example of Timothy and Titus’, JBL 111.4 (1992), 642: ‘we have a Pauline corpus in the first  

place because of the relative ineffectiveness of Paul’s personal presence and his own creative recognition of that  

limitation’.  

³⁴ Ibid., 659–660.  

99  

overstated: ‘these envoys were consciously sent by Paul to play a complex and crucial  

intermediary role that he could not play, even if present himself’.³⁵ This overlooks the limits  

on Paul’s movements and the consolatory function of Timothy: he embodies Paul.³⁶ Paul’s  

decision to remain in Athens was a difficult one. There is pathos when he explains his absence:  

‘we decided to remain behind in Athens alone (εὐδοκήσαμεν καταλειφθῆναι ἐν Ἀθήναις  

μόνοι)’ (3:1). Unusually, while consoling, Paul casts himself as a consoland: one who is left  

behind. In other biblical texts, the left behind become the eventual recipients of consolation,  

but in the meantime, they can face grievous circumstances.³⁷ We know that cosmic forces  

opposed Paul’s return to Thessalonica (2:18); because of his forced absence, he seeks  

consolation.  

Paul sends Timothy as an agent of consolation of various modes. The juxtaposition of  

παρακαλέσαι and στηρίξαι – which more definitively means ‘strengthen’ – suggests that  

Timothy comforts the Thessalonians and consoles Paul. While Paul has spoken about the  

Thessalonians’ shared θλῖψις in 1 Thess 2, 1 Thess 3 is concerned with the apostles’ suffering  

and ensuring that this does not aggrieve the Thessalonians. In 1 Thess 3:3–4, Paul introduces  

a common consolatory topos with which the Cyrenians were most identified in antiquity: the  

contemplation of future evils.³⁸ The apostle articulates the theme of affliction in these verses  

(ἐν ταῖς θλίψεσιν ... θλίβεσθαι). His reason for sending Timothy was to ensure that they would  

not be shaken (σαίνεσθαι) by others’ afflictions. Paul repeatedly states that the Thessalonians  

had been apprised that this would happen: ‘we would often tell you in advance (προελέγομεν)  

that we shall be afflicted’ (3:4). He now wants to know about their faith (3:5), concerned that  

in this age of apocalyptic activity, the tempter (ὁ πειράζων), viz. Satan, might have detracted  

from his apostolic work.  

Seeking relief from such concerns, Paul sent Timothy as a consolatory envoy so that he  

might be consoled and so that the Thessalonians might be exhorted and comforted. Happily,  

for Paul, the report from Timothy was good; Paul could no longer be in any doubt that his  

affection for the Thessalonians was matched by their affection for him. This established  

reciprocal good-will is recorded in 1 Thess 3:6: ‘for you still have good memory (μνείαν) of  

us: longing (ἐπιποθοῦντες) to see us, just as we long to see you’. While Mitchell provides some  

³⁵ Ibid., 662.  

³⁶ See also my sections on Titus in 2 Cor 7 and Timothy and Epaphroditus in Phil 2:19–30.  

37  

See, e.g., Isa 4:3 for the remnant left behind in Jerusalem (τὸ καταλειφθὲν ἐν Ιερουσαλημ) who will be holy  

and protected; Paul A. Holloway, ‘Left Behind: Jesus’ Consolation of His Disciples in John 13:31-17:26’, ZNW  

96.1 (2005): 1-34.  

38  

Tusc. 3.31.76: ‘There are those who think it is enough to show that nothing happens unexpectedly (nihil  

inopinati accidisse), like the Cyrenians.’  

100  

meaningful parallels from other epistolary exchanges of parties longing to see one another,³⁹  

she goes too far in seeing Paul’s description of the way the envoys return to him as  

‘formulaic’.⁴⁰ There are notable differences regarding the form consolation takes in each  

context, as befits the epistolary situation and Paul’s consolatory narrative. Paul summarises the  

situation in 1 Thess 3:7–8:  

διὰ τοῦτο παρεκλήθημεν, ἀδελφοί, ἐφ’ ὑμῖν ἐπὶ πάσῃ τῇ ἀνάγκῃ καὶ θλίψει ἡμῶν διὰ  

τῆς ὑμῶν πίστεως, ὅτι νῦν ζῶμεν ἐὰν ὑμεῖς στήκετε ἐν κυρίῳ.  

For this reason, we were consoled, brothers and sisters, because of you in all our distress  

and affliction through your faith; consequently, we are now alive since you are standing  

in the Lord.  

In these verses, Paul’s revivification and consolation in adverse circumstances is portrayed  

through his knowledge of the Thessalonians’ continued πίστις. Without such knowledge of  

this, he is dead and inconsolable; but by hearing of this, he is consoled: the emotional distance  

between Paul and the Thessalonians is significantly decreased. In 1 Thess 3:9, following  

distress, Paul’s emotional state is overwhelmingly joyful, which reveals the extent of this  

consolation. Yet in addition to human sources, God is added to the network and recognised as  

the benefactor of joy:  

τίνα γὰρ εὐχαριστίαν δυνάμεθα τῷ θεῷ ἀνταποδοῦναι περὶ ὑμῶν ἐπὶ πάσῃ τῇ χαρᾷ ᾗ  

χαίρομεν δι’ ὑμᾶς ἔμπροσθεν τοῦ θεοῦ ἡμῶν;  

For with what thanksgiving are we able to repay God concerning you based on all the  

joy with which we rejoice because of you before our God?  

This network with God at its source displays his Jewish heritage. In view of the construction  

with repeated χαρά, Malherbe sees an echo of Isa 66:10⁴¹ – ‘Rejoice, Jerusalem, all who love  

her … rejoice with joy (χάρητε χαρᾷ)’ – in the apocalyptic context of a concluding vision of  

God’s glory before all nations (Isa 66:18). While this is not a definite allusion, Paul employs  

discourse that is familiar to him to show his gratitude to God for his role in consoling.  

With all parties consoled, Paul shifts to comforting and strengthening the Thessalonians  

in preparation for the eschaton. His desire to see them again is palpable, but additionally, he  

tells them that he wishes: ‘to perfect the elements which are lacking in your faith (καταρτίσαι  

³⁹ See Mitchell, ‘Envoys’, 660n90: Cicero, Att. 2.1, 2.2, 2.18, 2.24; Demetrius, Ep. 2.25; from the handbooks, the  

πρεσβευτικὸς λόγος (‘ambassadorial speech’) in Menander Rhetor 2.382–384 also merits consideration.  

⁴⁰ Ibid., 643.  

⁴¹ Malherbe, Letters to the Thessalonians, 204. This construction is conceivably a Semitism; cf. Mt 2:10: ‘seeing  

the star, they rejoiced with an exceedingly great joy (ἐχάρησαν χαρὰν μεγάλην σφόδρα)’.  

101  

τὰ ὑστερήματα τῆς πίστεως ὑμῶν)’ (1 Thess 3:10). The Thessalonians have travelled a pleasing  

distance in terms of their faith, as their perseverance in trial has shown, but further development  

and progress is still possible;⁴² there are elements which they lack. These ὑστερήματα could be  

viewed as consolatory discourse since destitution was a condition which admitted of  

consolation. Here, however, these lacking constituents fall within a hortatory context in view  

of the eschaton (3:13). Paul’s prayer (1 Thess 3:11–13) echoes this blend of consolation and  

exhortation that pervades the rest of the letter. He re-employs language of ‘strengthening’  

(στήριξαι; cf. 3:2) and ‘blameless hearts’ (τὰς καρδίας ἀμέμπτους; cf. 2:10) in the context of  

holiness at the parousia. The ethical conduct required to reach this goal forms the content of  

the paraenesis that follows in 1 Thess 4–5. The parousia is also inherently consolatory because  

it signals the union of believers – past and present – with the Lord. Paul writes of a parousia  

‘of our Lord Jesus with all his saints’ (3:13), which will be elaborated in an even more  

developed narrative in 1 Thess 4.  

In 1 Thess 3, Paul seeks to overcome the distance between himself and the  

Thessalonians. He achieves this by constructing a consolatory network with God at its source  

and Timothy as a consolatory envoy. This section highlights apostolic affliction and is therefore  

self-consolatory but seeks to comfort and strengthen the Thessalonians in their faith,  

particularly as the parousia comes into view in 1 Thess 3:13.  

Preparation for Consolation (1 Thess 4:13)  

When Paul writes in 1 Thess 4:1, ‘we exhort (παρακαλοῦμεν) you in the Lord Jesus … so that  

you might abound more (μᾶλλον)’, this is clearly paraenetic exhortation, rather than  

consolation. In 4:2, Paul goes on to remind the Thessalonians of precepts⁴³ (παραγγελίας;  

Vulgate: praecepta) in two main areas: moral and sexual purity (4:3–8); and relationships  

within the assembly (4:9–12). Paul’s paraenesis, however, is in a different key from moral  

philosophers on account of apocalyptic concerns. The distance that Paul puts between his  

Thessalonian acolytes and akratic pagans who do not know God in 4:5 (μὴ … καθάπερ καὶ τὰ  

ἔθνη) illustrates his different context.⁴⁴ While 1 Thess 4:1-12 constitutes paraenetic reminders  

⁴² See Troels Engberg Pedersen, ‘The logic of action in Paul: how does he differ from the moral philosophers on  

spiritual and moral progression and regression?’, in Fitzgerald, Passions and Moral Progress, 259n43.  

⁴³ For the paraenetic aspect of precepts, see Malherbe, ‘Exhortation’, 250.  

⁴⁴ Compare Psa 78:6: ‘Pour out your wrath on the nations which do not know (γινώσκοντά) you [God]’; and the  

‘God of retributions’ (ὁ θεὸς ἐκδικήσεων) of Psa 93:1 which concludes in consolation for the psalmist: “Lord,  

contrary to the multitude of pains (ὀδυνῶν) in my heart, your consolations (παρακλήσεις) caressed my soul”  

(93:19). This distance is elapsed in 1 Thess 4:9–12, which focuses on relationships inside the assembly, but also  

recognises a need to act ‘decently towards outsiders (εὔσχημόνως πρὸς τοὺς ἕξω)’ (4:12).  

102  

to the Thessalonians, 1 Thess 4:13-18 is a consolatory parousia narrative. The groundwork for  

this narrative is laid in 1 Thess 4:13 which, I argue, introduces novel kerygma and does not  

wholly forbid grieving.  

Although the formula is slightly varied in each case, on three occasions (1:8, 4:9, 5:1),  

Paul talks about not needing to write to the Thessalonians on certain matters (Περὶ δὲ ... οὐ  

χρείαν ἔχετε ὑμῖν γράφεσθαι). In 1 Thess 4:13, however, he does not use this formula; instead,  

he writes: οὐ θέλομεν δὲ ὑμᾶς ἀγνοεῖν, ἀδελφοί, περὶ τῶν κοιμωμένων (‘we do not wish that  

you be unaware, brothers and sisters, concerning those who have fallen asleep’). This  

‘disclosure formula’⁴⁵ appears elsewhere in the Pauline corpus (Rom 1:13, 11:25; 1 Cor 10:1,  

12:1; 2 Cor 1:8), but, significantly, this is its only use in 1 Thessalonians. Some questions arise  

from this: Should the Thessalonians already know about this teaching? To what extent, if at all,  

is the apostle correcting them? Although it is improbable that Paul had not yet encountered  

bereavement in his ministry and offered some words of consolation,⁴⁶ this does not preclude  

the possibility that this represents his first attempt at apostolic kerygma on the subject.  

I believe that the debate hinges on whether the function of this section is to instruct or  

console. Margaret Mitchell argues that by 1 Thessalonians 3, out of the triad of virtues in 1  

Thess 1:3, the faith and love of Thessalonians have been restored, but there remains a  

deficiency of hope.⁴⁷ Mitchell, however, does not believe that Paul deploys common  

consolatory strategies. She believes that the Thessalonians were progressing well in other areas  

but required correction concerning their lack of hope. She writes: ‘Instead, Paul’s diagnosis is  

that the problem resides with the Thessalonians and their loss of hope’.⁴⁸ On this reading, Paul  

is more instructive and corrective than consolatory.  

Although Colin Nicholl is broadly aligned with Mitchell in seeing Paul correcting a  

‘defective eschatology’⁴⁹ in Thessalonica, he sees the formula as a departure from conventional  

paraenesis. This means that this teaching has a novel element: ‘a substantial case can be made  

that each of these instances implies previous ignorance on the part of the letter’s recipients’.⁵⁰  

Indeed, there is more of a consensus that this is the case. Wayne Meeks sees 1 Thess 4:13-18  

as the exception in the letter to paraenesis where, generally, ‘very little … is presented as new  

⁴⁵ See Terence Y. Mullins, ‘Disclosure: A Literary Form in the New Testament’, NovT 7.1 (1964): 44-50.  

46  

See Charles A. Wanamaker, The Epistles to the Thessalonians: A Commentary on the Greek Text, NIGTC  

(Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1990), 165.  

⁴⁷ Mitchell, ‘Envoys’, 661.  

48  

Margaret M. Mitchell, ‘1 and 2 Thessalonians’, in The Cambridge Companion to St. Paul, ed. James D. G.  

Dunn (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2003), 55.  

49  

Colin R. Nicholl, From Hope to Despair in Thessalonica: Situating 1 and 2 Thessalonians, SNTSMS 126  

(Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2004), 20.  

⁵⁰ Nicholl, From Hope, 21.  

103  

instruction’.⁵¹ In this patently eschatological and apocalyptic section, as Paul Foster notes, Rom  

11:25 is especially illustrative.⁵² Here the apostle writes: Οὐ γὰρ θέλω ὑμᾶς ἀγνοεῖν, ἀδελφοί,  

τὸ μυστήριον τοῦτο (‘I do not want you to be unaware, brothers and sisters, concerning this  

mystery’). Romans 11 refers to the ultimate salvific futures of Jews and gentiles which, like  

the teaching in 1 Thess 4:13, may have been part of his general kerygma, but there is no  

evidence that it had been previously codified.  

Therefore, on balance, 1 Thess 4:13 constitutes a degree of new teaching. While ancient  

consolations often comprised well-known ancient examples, they addressed a specific situation  

and communal context. Some of the arguments were more commonplace and would serve as  

reminders; but consolations also allowed for innovation in the form of new narratives. I submit  

that this is what takes place in 1 Thess 4:13–18: Paul introduces a consolatory narrative about  

the parousia to console the believers in Thessalonica.  

Before we look at this narrative, however, we need to consider Paul’s remark about  

grief in 1 Thess 4:13b. Here, Paul outlines his purpose in writing: ἵνα μὴ λυπῆσθε καθὼς καὶ  

οἱ λοιποὶ οἱ μὴ ἔχοντες ἐλπίδα (‘so that you may not be aggrieved like the rest who do not have  

hope’). Does this remark, however, disallow grief beyond the initial sensation like Stoic  

apatheia, or is there room for metriopatheia or other philosophical approaches? Based on the  

resurrection of Christ, for many Church Fathers, 1 Thess 4:13 was the locus classicus for hope  

in the face of death.⁵³ John Chrysostom’s sermon on 1 Thess 4:13f. is a case in point. He stated:  

‘Sufficient (Ἱκανός) therefore, is the argument of the resurrection for consoling  

(παραμυθήσασθαι) the one in grief (ὀδύνῃ)’.⁵⁴ Conversely, he viewed lamentation and  

mourning dimly, surmising that they came ‘from an unreasonable passion’⁵⁵ (πάθους  

ἀλογίστου). Chrysostom speaks approvingly of philosophical techniques vis-à-vis hardship.  

He avers: ‘Nothing is difficult for us, whenever we wish to philosophise’ (Ούδὲν ἡμῖν ἐστι  

δυσχερὲς, ἂν θέλωμεν φιλοσοφεῖν).⁵⁶ A pattern emerges among the Church Fathers,⁵⁷ where  

grief is viewed negatively and to be excised, that mirrors Stoic apatheia. Was such a  

consolatory strategy, however, the original intention of the apostle?  

⁵¹ Meeks, First Urban Christians, 114.  

52  

Paul Foster, ‘The Eschatology of the Thessalonian Correspondence: An Exercise in Pastoral Pedagogy and  

Constructive Theology’, JSPL 1.1 (2011), 63.  

53  

Gregg, Consolation Philosophy, 185. For those in congregations with knowledge of genres, 1 Thessalonians  

was seen to resemble a letter of consolation most closely (ibid., 156).  

⁵⁴ John Chrysostom, Homilies in 1 Thess 6 (PG 62.430).  

⁵⁵ PG 62.431.  

⁵⁶ PG 62.434.  

⁵⁷ cf. Tertullian, De patientia 9; Cyprian, De mortalitate 20.  

104  

John Barclay has argued that 1 Thess 4:13 represents the inauguration of a distinctive  

Christian strategy of hope – not grief – in the face of death.⁵⁸ This reading explains later  

negative Christian attitudes towards grief: both from ordinary parents and more famous  

believers, such as Augustine.⁵⁹ Thus, for Barclay: ‘Paul was providing the mechanism by which  

the power released in the early rush of parousia-enthusiasm could be transmitted into a longer-  

lasting momentum’.⁶⁰ Yet it could be objected whether in such an apocalyptically-oriented  

letter, the apostle envisaged such an enduring mechanism.⁶¹ Barclay is, however, certainly  

correct to highlight the ‘reiterated dualism’⁶² in the passage, which illustrates the apocalyptic  

climate of the letter and separates the Thessalonian Christ-believers from outsiders. The  

expression καθὼς καὶ (‘just as’) signals a comparison like those of 1 Thess 4:5 and 1 Thess  

5:6. Barclay also recognises the apostle’s ‘penchant for rhetorical contrasts’,⁶³ which accounts  

for the hyperbole here: our analysis of Seneca showed there was some optimism beyond the  

grave among pagans.  

At the end of his article, Barclay entertains the possibility that Paul may be drawing  

upon ‘the Stoic call for the extirpation of the passions’,⁶⁴ but he does not bring consolation into  

the picture. More recently, Stephen Barton has considered the affective dimension of Paul’s  

appropriation of Stoic paraenesis as part of the apostle’s consolatory practice. Thus, he writes:  

‘the consolation Paul offers has moral and rhetorical weight among the implied recipients at  

least in part because it accords to a degree with the therapeutic paraenesis of Stoics with their  

emphasis on the strict control of the passions’.⁶⁵ Barton’s main point is that the apostle fosters  

‘an ongoing conversion of the emotions’.⁶⁶ Accordingly, Barton reads Paul’s argument in 1  

Thess 4:13 as follows: ‘a therapy for grief in the face of death is a feeling rule of restraint  

shaped by the consoling reassurance of a distinctively Christian hope’.⁶⁷ This reading has the  

advantage of allowing for a more gradual shift in grief. Given the philophronetic character of  

58  

John M. G. Barclay, ‘“That you may not grieve, like the rest who have no hope” (1 Thess 4:13): Death and  

Early Christian Identity’, in Not in the Word Alone: The First Epistle to the Thessalonians, ed. Morna D. Hooker  

(Rome: ‘Benedictina’ Publishing, 2003), 131–153; pages reference here from Barclay, Pauline Churches and  

Diaspora Jews, WUNT 2/275 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2011), 217–235.  

⁵⁹ See CIL 7112 and Augustine, Confessions 9.12-13.  

⁶⁰ Barclay, ‘Death and Early Christian Identity’, 228.  

61  

For a reading of Paul which stresses the imminency of the parousia, see Paula Fredriksen, Paul: The Pagans’  

Apostle (New Haven: Yale University Press, 2017). With relation to 1 Thess 4:13–18, she writes: ‘The risen Jesus  

was thus in a sense the first swallow of the impending eschatological spring’ (6).  

⁶² Ibid., 223.  

⁶³ Ibid., 219.  

⁶⁴ Ibid., 235n54.  

⁶⁵ Barton, ‘Eschatology and the Emotions’, 588.  

⁶⁶ Ibid., 591. Emphasis original.  

⁶⁷ Ibid., 591.  

105  

the letter so far – not least in Paul’s self-presentation as a gentle nurse (1 Thess 2:7) – it would  

be callous for 1 Thess 4:13 to function as a corrective ban on grief. It is significant that λυπέω  

is passive:⁶⁸ consequently, a translation of ἵνα μὴ λυπῆσθε as ‘so that you may not be  

aggrieved’, which indicates gradual prevention and restraint, instead of ‘so that you may not  

grieve’, which would indicate interdiction, is preferable.  

Both Barclay and Barton describe 1 Thess 4:13 as ‘distinctively Christian’. While this  

is understandable because of the hope given by the Christ-event, it risks overlooking ancient  

philosophical discourse that Paul is adapting through apocalyptic consolation that is also a  

continuation of Jewish messianic tradition. In theorising apocalyptic, Elizabeth Schüssler  

Fiorenza notes: ‘when the present is so much dominated by oppressive forces that it seems to  

be void of divine order and presence, then the hope for the future can become the focus of the  

religious story’.⁶⁹ This is the narrative that Paul sets up in 1 Thess 4:13 and elaborates in 1  

Thess 4:14–17 based on the parousia of Christ. It is a consolatory parousia narrative that blends  

both Jewish and Hellenistic notions.  

Consolatory Parousia Narrative (1 Thess 4:14–18)  

Paul’s kergyma in 1 Thess 4:14–17 is bookended with statements about being with the Lord.  

In 4:14, after inviting the Thessalonians to join him in affirming an early creedal statement –  

‘if we believe that Jesus died and was raised’ – Paul writes about the destination of those in the  

Thessalonian community who are no longer visibly with them: ‘God, through Jesus, will lead  

those who have fallen asleep with him (σὺν αὐτῷ)’.⁷⁰ In 4:17, once the sequence of events at  

the eschaton has been elucidated, Paul concludes: ‘thus we shall always be with the Lord (σὺν  

κυρίῳ)’. Community beyond the grave was a familiar notion to gentiles in this period on  

account of the ubiquity of associations. Richard Ascough has shown that a key function of  

associations was to assure the individual of a burial.⁷¹ Indeed, death symbolised a greater sense  

of communal belonging: ‘One did not cease to be a member of an association at death; rather,  

68  

Todd D. Still, ‘Interpretive Ambiguities and Scholarly Proclivities in Pauline Studies: A Treatment of Three  

Texts from 1 Thessalonians 4 as a Test Case’, CBR 5.2 (2007), 212.  

⁶⁹ Elisabeth Schꢆssler Fiorenza, ‘The Phenomenon of Early Christian Apocalyptic: Some Reflections on Method’,  

in Apocalypticism in the Mediterranean World and the Near East, ed. David Hellholm (2^nd edition; Tübingen,  

Mohr Siebeck, 1989), 309.  

⁷⁰ There is a translation difficulty concerning whether διὰ τοῦ Ἰησοῦ modifies ‘God’ or ‘the deceased’; see Nicholl,  

From Hope, 27-28, for discussion. The translation above, which takes the former option, hints at universality; but  

it becomes clear in 4:16 that this is not so, based on ‘the dead (specifically) in Christ’ (οἱ νεκροὶ ἐν Χριστῷ).  

71  

Richard Ascough, ‘A Question of Death: Paul's Community-Building Language in 1 Thessalonians 4:13-18’,  

JBL 123.3 (2004), 516.  

106  

death was the point at which the association celebrated a person’s membership’.⁷² Therefore,  

Paul relates to the Thessalonians through a cultural practice that they understand but shows that  

the subject of the creed, Jesus, is the patron deity. When Paul talks of ‘those who are asleep’  

(τοὺς κοιμηθέντας), he describes those who ‘are still very much a part of the community’⁷³  

and, to extend Ascough’s argument, consoling those who are left behind.⁷⁴  

In 1 Thess 4:15, Paul contrasts the situation of the deceased with the situation of the  

living, including himself and the Thessalonians:  

ὅτι ἡμεῖς οἱ ζῶντες οἱ περιλειπόμενοι εἰς τὴν παρουσίαν τοῦ κυρίου οὐ μὴ φθάσωμεν  

τοὺς κοιμηθέντας  

For we, the living, who are left around at the coming of the Lord will surely not go  

before those who have fallen asleep.  

In 1 Thess 3:1, Paul cast himself in the position of the consoland since he had been left behind  

(καταλειφθῆναι). Here, and only here, in 1 Thess 4:15 and 4:17, Paul uses a related verb:  

περιλείπομαι. This implies a similar consolatory context, although here, Paul relates the  

narrative about the Lord’s coming or presence (παρουσία). The assurance of the coming of the  

Lord constitutes consolation in an apocalyptic key.⁷⁵ Although περιλειπόμενοι cannot be traced  

to a particular Jewish text in Greek,⁷⁶ the language of 1 Thess 4:16, describing some of the  

events of the παρουσία is clearly Jewish apocalyptic.⁷⁷ As Paul tells this story of the deceased  

being raised first, he engages in apocalyptic consolation, which is a predominantly Jewish  

discourse. He explicitly states: ‘the dead in the messiah (ἐν Χριστῷ) will be raised first’ (4:16).  

Consolation can only be apprehended by insiders to this messiah-group: the gentile  

Thessalonians, deceased and living, are taken up in the messiah.  

⁷² Ibid., 510.  

⁷³ Ibid., 525.  

⁷⁴ Ascough does not use this language anywhere in his article; apart from in his translation of CIL XI 3711, where  

a father records his grief at the passing of his nine-year-old daughter. The father states: “My consolation will be  

that soon I shall see you”. Ascough sees Paul’s practice here as exhortation and is unnecessarily cynical about  

Paul’s motivation in this passage about exhorting them to remain within this social community: ‘Paul needed to  

convince his audience of the superiority of his God. How better to instil superiority than to threaten destruction?’  

(529)  

⁷⁵ Thus Nicholl, From Hope, 36n49: ‘Οἱ περιλειπόμενοι probably issues from the common Jewish and Christian  

apocalyptic idea that the faithful will reach the end only by first passing through all kinds of eschatological  

tribulations.’  

76  

4 Ezra 13:24 is suggested as an intertext in NA28. The Latin version reads: ‘Know, therefore, that those who  

are left behind (derelicti) are more blessed than those who have died’.  

⁷⁷ Thus Barclay, ‘Death and Early Christian Identity’, 223n19: ‘the trumpets, the angels and even the resurrection  

of the dead are the stock-in-trade of Jewish apocalyptic expectation’. Although cf. Plutarch, Apoll. 113c-d: ‘those  

who arrive more slowly at death have no advantage over those who arrive earlier’ (οὐδὲν πλέον ἔχοντες  

τυγχάνουσιν οἱ βραδύτερον ἀφικνούμενοι τῶν θᾶττον παραγιγνομένων).  

107  

Having reflected on the dead in the messiah, the narrative continues in 1 Thess 4:17 to  

discuss the destination of the living:  

ἔπειτα ἡμεῖς οἱ ζῶντες οἱ περιλειπόμενοι ἅμα σὺν αὐτοῖς ἁρπαγησόμεθα ἐν νεφέλαις  

εἰς ἀπάντησιν τοῦ κυρίου εἰς ἀέρα·  

Then we, the living who are left around, together with them, shall be snatched in the  

clouds to meet the Lord in the air.  

Here, Paul could be referring to several ancient notions. Some have argued that Paul had in  

mind the notion of an assumption, where heaven was the destination for those who were led  

(4:14) and seized (4:17) by God.⁷⁸ On this account, Paul teaches that dying before the parousia  

does not render assumption impossible – as the Thessalonians perhaps thought – which was  

the source of their grief. Others have appealed to rabbinic sources. Candida Moss and Joel  

Baden adduce Midrash Tehillim 46.3, which discusses how the sons of Korah were saved from  

Sheol via suspension in the air, noting ‘the consolatory pedagogical function of the  

description’.⁷⁹ In both these cases, however, the journey goes no further than the air. This  

contrasts to the notion of ‘meeting’ (ἀπάντησις), which was a technical term in Hellenistic  

culture to denote the reception of an important dignitary by the inhabitants of a city.⁸⁰ As  

Nicholl demonstrates, a picture emerges in 1 Thess 4:16–17 of ‘the dead and living leaving  

their polis, the earth, to form a reception party to welcome their Lord … and thus form his  

escort in the last stage of his journey to earth’.⁸¹  

Even if we might believe that ἀπάντησις would have been the most readily apprehended  

by the Thessalonians, this final stage is admittedly not explicit.⁸² What is certain, however, is  

that Paul’s focus is, as Malherbe notes, ‘on being with the Lord, which is the source of  

comfort’.⁸³ In 1 Thess 4:17, being seized is a remarkably hopeful event because it involves  

meeting and participation in Christ; again, as Malherbe notes: ‘The dead in Christ will rise, and  

their separation from those who were left is overcome … In a neat twist, Paul uses the  

conventional language of grief to comfort’.⁸⁴ 1 Thess 4:18 forms an inclusio with 1 Thess 4:13;  

⁷⁸ Joseph Plevnik, ‘The Taking Up of the Faithful and the Resurrection of the Dead in 1 Thessalonians 4:13-18’,  

CBQ 46.2 (1984): 274–283. Here, Daniel 7:13 (LXX, Theodotion) is especially influential: ‘Behold, as the Son  

of Man was coming with the clouds (νεφελῶν) of heaven, and he reached (ἔφθασεν) the Ancient of Days and was  

brought (προσηνέχθη) before him.’  

⁷⁹ Candida R. Moss and Joel S. Baden, ‘1 Thessalonians 4.13-18 in Rabbinic Perspective’, NTS 58.2 (2012), 210.  

80  

Nicholl, From Hope, 43; see the classic treatment by E. Peterson, ‘Die Einholung des Kyrios’, ZST 7 (1930):  

682-683.  

⁸¹ Nicholl, From Hope, 44, 46.  

⁸² Cf. Rev 21:1–2.  

⁸³ Malherbe, Letters to the Thessalonians, 268.  

⁸⁴ Ibid., 276.  

108  

it symbolises the effect that the apostle desires to see within the Thessalonian community.  

Having received this consolation, they are to share it within the community: ‘Consequently,  

console (παρακαλεῖτε) one another with these words’. Having consoled the believers in  

Thessalonica with this new kerygma based on their association with Christ, Paul wishes to  

establish a psychagogic community in his absence.  

Consolation in Community (1 Thess 5:12–14)  

Although 1 Thess 5:1-11 is overtly apocalyptic with its reference to the day of the Lord, it  

reverts to paraenesis regarding believers’ conduct in awaiting the eschaton. Although partly  

connected to 4:13-18 in eschatological content, the focus on ethical conduct – as opposed to  

foretelling a consolatory parousia – renders the passage more hortatory than consolatory. This  

is illustrated by the final command of 5:11 which, prima facie, corresponds to 4:18 but, in fact,  

has significant differences. By adding οἰκοδομεῖτε εἷς τὸν ἕνα, καθὼς καὶ ποιεῖτε (‘build up  

one another individually, just as you are doing’) to παρακαλεῖτε ἀλλήλους, Paul emphasises  

paraenesis over consolation. The inclusion of εἷς τὸν ἕνα before ἀλλήλους marks a shift to  

exhortation in a private context from consolation in an open and communal context,⁸⁵ which  

Paul advocated in 4:18.  

In 1 Thess 5:12-14, however, while I agree with Clarence Glad⁸⁶ and Malherbe⁸⁷ that  

Paul urges communal psychagogy in the style of the Epicureans, particularly Philodemus, there  

is a backdrop of apocalyptic consolation which marks a departure from them. Glad recognises  

that in 1 Thess 5:12–13, Paul asks for ‘subordination of some members to others in the  

community’:⁸⁸ ‘We ask you … to acknowledge those who labour among you and who are set  

over you (προϊσταμένους) in the Lord, and who admonish (νουθετοῦντας) you’. Consequently,  

‘a certain asymmetry … is built into psychagogy’,⁸⁹ which is necessary but could cause friction,  

hence the command in 5:13: ‘live in peace (εἰρηνεύετε) among yourselves’. Yet even for the  

moral philosophers, admonition never reflected aggressive criticism; Malherbe notes that it  

was ‘to be undertaken out of goodwill, and the person doing so was required to examine himself  

and apply his admonition to himself’.⁹⁰ This aligns with consolatory practice: the integrity of  

⁸⁵ Thus Abraham J. Malherbe, ‘Pastoral Care in the Thessalonian Church’, NTS 36.3 (1990), 388 on εἷς τὸν ἕνα:  

‘It is unusual, but is not simply equivalent to ἀλλήλους … It draws attention to the individual element in the  

community’s care for each other.’  

⁸⁶ Clarence E. Glad, Paul and Philodemus: Adaptability in Epicurean and Early Christian Psychagogy, NovTSup  

81 (Leiden: Brill, 1995).  

⁸⁷ Abraham J. Malherbe, ‘Paul: Hellenistic Philosopher or Christian Pastor?’, AThR 68.1 (1986), 11–12.  

⁸⁸ Glad, Paul and Philodemus, 206.  

⁸⁹ Ibid., 206.  

⁹⁰ Malherbe, ‘Pastoral Care’, 384.  

109  

the consoler was important as we saw in Paul’s case in 1 Thess 2 as well as in Seneca’s  

consolatory discourse.  

In 1 Thess 5:14, Paul directs the Thessalonians to varied internal psychagogic practices.  

While there is admonition in the first communal command, the other three display gentler  

dispositions, which are closer to consolation:⁹¹  

Παρακαλοῦμεν δὲ ὑμᾶς, ἀδελφοί, νουθετεῖτε τοὺς ἀτάκτους, παραμυθεῖσθε τοὺς  

ὀλιγοψύχους, ἀντέχεσθε τῶν ἀσθενῶν, μακροθυμεῖτε πρὸς πάντας.  

We exhort you, brothers and sisters: admonish the disorderly, console the feeble-  

minded, pay attention to the weak, be long-suffering towards all.  

Again, I side with Malherbe in seeing these different categories as representing different  

psychological conditions as opposed to discrete people groups.⁹² While a parallel could be  

drawn to pre-battle speeches,⁹³ it seems more natural to situate the apostle within a  

philosophical tradition. That said, the ‘disorderly (ἀτάκτους)’ is a challenging psychological  

state to interpret. There is no suggestion in 1 Thessalonians that any insiders are acting  

disruptively and require admonition. Perhaps it is proleptic or as Malherbe, following Spicq  

suggests, it ‘describes a deficiency of character’, viz. consistently unnecessary worry.⁹⁴ The  

next two states – παραμυθία towards the feeble-minded and attention to the weak – readily  

admit of consolation to the distressed. The final and summative command, ‘be long-suffering  

towards all’ (μακροθυμεῖτε πρὸς πάντας), encapsulates the spirit of apocalyptic consolation  

that pervades the letter. Instructively, the Epistle of James uses the verb at the precise moment  

where the writer discusses the parousia (James 5:8):  

μακροθυμήσατε καὶ ὑμεῖς, στηρίξατε τὰς καρδίας ὑμῶν, ὅτι ἡ παρουσία τοῦ κυρίου  

ἤγγικεν  

Be long-suffering, strengthen your hearts, because the coming of the Lord has drawn  

near.  

91  

Thus, Glad, Paul and Philodemus, 203: ‘when compared to the hortatory terms in Philodemus’ On Frank  

Criticism and Clement’s Pedagogue, hortatory blaming terms in the Pauline corpus are few’.  

⁹² Ibid., 376; Ernest Best, The First and Second Epistles to the Thessalonians (London: Black, 1972), 231.  

⁹³ See Nijay K. Gupta, ‘Paul and the Militia Spiritualis Topos in 1 Thessalonians’, in Dodson and Pitts, Paul and  

the Greco-Roman Philosophical Tradition, 30-31.  

94  

Malherbe, ‘Pastoral Care’, 389; C. Spicq, ‘Les Thessaloniciens “inquiets” étaient-ils des paresseux?’, Studia  

Theologica 10 (1956), 1-13. The Vulgate suggests ‘worry’ rather than ‘rebellion’ with its rendering inquietos  

(‘anxious’). This is like Seneca’s category of inbecilliores who require paraenesis (Ep. 94.50-51): see Malherbe,  

‘Pastoral Care’, 378.  

110  

There is a significant difference, however, between being long-suffering and being long-  

suffering towards all: the former is less consolatory and more combative;⁹⁵ while the latter  

considers possible grievances within the community, which require consolation. This is  

precisely the attitude that the apostle fosters with his practice of apocalyptic consolation that is  

most developed in 1 Thess 4:13-18, but which is also discernible here and in other parts of the  

letter.  

Conclusion  

This chapter has demonstrated that Paul’s first letter to the Thessalonians testifies to a practice  

of consoling. Consolatory discourse features throughout and the apostle uses it to construct  

consolatory narratives, particularly in view of the parousia in 1 Thess 4:13–18. 1 Thessalonians  

has a particularly strong eschatological and apocalyptic emphasis: Paul addresses an aggrieved  

but now elect group of insiders to the Christ-faith and seeks to console them, and then comfort  

and exhort them towards continued righteous ethical conduct ahead of the day of the Lord.  

Although this chapter has focused on the consolatory aspects, they often anticipate and intersect  

with the paraenetic components of the letter.⁹⁶ While the apocalyptic elements are retrieved  

from Paul’s own Jewish heritage, he combines them with wider Hellenistic practices, including  

moral philosophy, drama, associations, and the greeting of dignitaries.  

In terms of the main consolatory themes that emerge from this analysis, we see that  

Paul engages in the practice of warding off the emotion of grief with apocalyptic consolation,  

notably the parousia narrative. We also encounter the topos of the expectation of suffering  

specifically for the Christ-faith. The community of consolation also comes to the fore: Paul  

relies on Timothy to embody him and to overcome the distance between himself and the  

Thessalonians, which brings mutual consolation. Given this distance, Paul seeks to establish  

an ongoing community of consolation in Thessalonica which awaits the eschaton with patience  

and long-suffering.  

In this philophronetic letter, Paul is pleased with the progress that the Thessalonians are  

making amid opposition. This makes for a fluid network of consolation and exhortation  

between God, Paul and his apostolic team, and the Thessalonians. We turn now, however, to  

⁹⁵ The remark in Jam 4:9, ‘may your joy turn into dejection (μετατραπήτω καὶ ἡ χαρὰ εἰς κατήφειαν)’, offers a  

different perspective on joy that is difficult to view as consolatory; cf. Jam 1:2.  

⁹⁶ The final section (5:16–28) illustrates this: it is significant that the first command is πάντοτε χαίρετε (‘rejoice  

always’) (1 Thess 5:16; 2 Cor 13:11, Phil 4:4), which captures the consolatory spirit of the letter, but it is then  

followed by other general instructions.  

111  

what is probably a later chapter in Paul’s consolatory career in Corinth where such a network  

needs to be reconstructed.  

112  

Chapter 6: Paul’s Second Letter to the Corinthians  

‘From the first end of this epistle to the last, Paul offers consolation’.¹  

Introduction  

In the previous chapter, we explored Paul’s discourse of consolation in his first letter to the  

Christ-believers in Thessalonica. While much of the letter is paraenetic, Paul intentionally  

consoled the Thessalonians on account of the affliction that they were experiencing for the  

gospel, and the deaths of certain members within the community. While 1 Thessalonians  

centres on grief in Thessalonica, Paul also shows signs of grief on account of his distance from  

the community. This grief is borne out of concern for the believers in Thessalonica, with whom  

he has developed a strong bond through the gospel.  

The situation that unfolds in the Corinthian correspondence, however, is more complex.  

In the earlier parts of the correspondence, particularly 1 Corinthians, there are corrective  

elements because of divisions within the ekklesia in Corinth and misapprehension of gospel  

teaching. By the middle of the correspondence, on account of past exchanges and interim  

events, the situation had reached crisis point. 2 Corinthians records some of the key moments  

of this crisis and how it was eventually resolved through a combination of consolation and  

reconciliation.  

In the quotation at the head of the chapter, Larry Welborn highlights the place of  

consolation in the ‘epistle’. The ‘epistle’ to which Welborn refers, however, is not the entirety  

of canonical 2 Corinthians; but only a portion of it – 2 Cor 1:1–2:13; 7:5–16 – which Welborn  

believes to be a letter fragment.² Admittedly, the majority (19 out of 29) of instances of  

παρακαλέω language in 2 Corinthians are concentrated within these verses. The function of  

this consolatory discourse will form a significant portion of this chapter. We shall also ask  

whether notions of consolation extend beyond this section into other parts of canonical 2  

Corinthians. Although I shall not rehearse the debate in detail here,³ any study of 2 Corinthians  

1

L. L. Welborn, An End to Enmity: Paul and the Wrongdoer of Second Corinthians, BZNW 185 (Berlin: De  

Gruyter, 2011), 463. Emphasis mine. See discussion below about what constitutes the ‘epistle’.  

2

See L. L. Welborn, ‘Like Broken Pieces of a Ring: 2 Cor 1.1–2.13; 7.5–16 and Ancient Theories of Literary  

Unity’, NTS 42.4 (1996): 559–583.  

³ The analysis of H. D. Betz, 2 Corinthians 8 and 9: A Commentary on Two Administrative Letters of the Apostle  

Paul, Hermeneia (Philadelphia: Fortress, 1985), 3–35, remains influential. For an updated re-evaluation in light  

of patristic exegesis of 2 Corinthians, see Margaret M. Mitchell, ‘Can it Work? (How?) Can Exegetical Studies  

of 2 Corinthians Talk Across the “Partition”?’, in Die Exegese des 2 Kor und Phil im Lichte der Literatur, eds.  

Eve-Marie Becker and Hermut Löhr (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2020), 103–145.  

113  

 

must consider theories of partition⁴ or unity⁵ within the letter. While the grounds and calls for  

partitions in 2 Corinthians are stronger than in any other Pauline letter, this has never been  

conclusively proven. We should, nevertheless, proceed with caution, bearing the possibility in  

mind.  

In this chapter, I seek to analyse Paul’s discourse of consolation in 2 Corinthians by  

focusing on passages involving grief (λύπη) and joy (χαρά). Whether Paul was fully cognisant  

of Corinth’s history of grief or not, grief and suffering loom large throughout 2 Corinthians,  

both for Paul and the Corinthians.⁶ In what follows, we shall investigate the reasons for the  

various forms of grief in Corinth, and the narratives of consolation that Paul presents in the  

letter. My main contention is that 2 Corinthians represents Paul’s narrative and depiction of a  

grief cycle involving himself and the Corinthian ekklesia that culminates in consolation and  

reconciliation through human and divine sources. I show how writing the Corinthian  

correspondence was, in part, a therapeutic exercise for Paul in challenging circumstances in the  

middle of his apostolic career: an auto-consolation. Although this practice was relatively rare  

in antiquity, we have already seen hints of it in Seneca’s writings, and we know of Cicero’s  

⁴ There are three broad moves which result in between two and five letters within 2 Corinthians.  

Firstly, as far back as J.S. Semler (1776), scholars have argued for two separate collection letters in 2  

Cor 8 and 9, on the grounds that 2 Cor 9 repeats rather than develops 2 Cor 8. See Paul B. Duff, ‘Tracking Titus  

and Chronicling the Collection: 2 Corinthians 8 and 9’, in Becker-Löhr, Die Exegese des 2 Kor, 198, who argues  

that 2 Cor 9 precedes 2 Cor 8.  

Secondly, a century later, in Germany and Britain respectively, the studies of A. Hausrath (1870) and J.  

H. Kennedy (1900) were influential for separating 2 Cor 10–13 from 2 Cor 1–9. Both identified 2 Cor 10–13 with  

the so-called ‘letter of tears’ alluded to in 2 Cor 2:4. For a defence of this hypothesis, see Francis Watson, ‘2 Cor.  

X-XIII and Paul’s Painful Letter to the Corinthians’, JTS 35.2 (1984), 325. In the twentieth century, however, few  

scholars who also argued for this partition between 2 Cor 10–13 and 2 Cor 1–9 agreed with this identification; in  

most cases, believing the ‘letter of tears’ to be lost. See Margaret E. Thrall, A Critical and Exegetical Commentary  

on the Second Epistle to the Corinthians (Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1994), 17.  

Thirdly, in the early twentieth century, Johannes Weiss argued that 2 Cor 1:1–2:13; 7:5–16 was an  

independent piece of writing given that ‘2.13 and 7.5 fit onto each other as neatly as the broken pieces of a ring’  

(The History of Primitive Christianity, 2 vols.; ed. F. C. Grant [New York: Erickson, 1937], 1.349). This has led  

many scholars like Welborn to view 2 Cor 2:4–7:4 as a separate letter in which the apostle defends his ministry.  

Additionally, following 2 Cor 6:14–7:1 is often viewed as an interpolated because of a cosmology that coheres  

with Qumran. See Joseph A. Fitzmyer, ‘Qumran and the Interpolated Paragraph in 2 Cor 6:14–7:1’, CBQ 23.3  

(1961): 271–280, for an early but influential treatment.  

5

See, e.g., Reimund Bieringer, ‘Love as That Which Binds Everything Together? The Unity of 2 Corinthians  

Revisited in Light of ἀγαπ-Terminology’, in Second Corinthians in the Perspective of Late Second Temple  

Judaism, eds. idem et al., CRINT 14 (Leiden: Brill, 2014), 11–24. In this chapter, rather than assessing only one  

word-group, I assess whether consolation, and its related emotional discourse, links the letter. For a representative  

monograph and commentary that defend unity respectively, see Ivar Vegge, 2 Corinthians – A Letter about  

Reconciliation: A Psychagogical, Epistolographical and Rhetorical Analysis, WUNT II/239 (Tübingen: Mohr  

Siebeck, 2008); Thomas Schmeller, Der zweite Brief an die Korinther (2 Kor 1,1–7,4), EKK VIII/1 (Neukirchen-  

Vluyn: Neukirchener/Patmos, 2010).  

⁶ In her work on the Pauline letters from an archaeological perspective, Laura S. Nasrallah has argued that Corinth  

was a city synonymous with grief: ‘those who dwelt in Corinth in the first century C.E. could have understood  

themselves to be in a kind of topography of grief’ (‘Grief in Corinth: The Roman City and Paul’s Corinthian  

Correspondence’, in Contested Spaces Houses and Temples in Roman Antiquity and the New Testament, eds.  

David L. Balch and Annette Weissenrieder, WUNT 285 [Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2012], 111).  

114  

Consolatio ad se as another example.⁷ Yet the Corinthian correspondence also testifies to  

Paul’s aims of consoling, conciliating, and exhorting the Corinthians to contribute to his gospel  

about Christ. We shall consider how Paul combined ancient philosophical notions, particularly  

concerning the emotions, with his own self-understanding as an apostle of the gentiles, who  

followed the Jewish messiah and was versed in the scriptures of Israel.  

Although mindful of possible partitions, we shall track how consolation is conveyed  

throughout 2 Corinthians in canonical order. Considerable attention will be paid to 2 Cor 1:1–  

2:13; 7:5–16 because of its well-established themes of consolation and reconciliation. Yet we  

shall also analyse how consolation functions in 2 Cor 2:14–7:4, where Paul displays his  

apostolic authority through catalogues of suffering, in the appeal(s) in 2 Cor 8 and 9 involving  

Titus and the other brothers, and in the more polemical section in 2 Cor 10–13, particularly  

where Paul relates his own heavenly ascent and speaks of his thorn in the flesh (2 Cor 12:1–  

10).⁸  

Grief Passim: From 1 Corinthians to 2 Corinthians  

Firstly, we should consider the events in the correspondence leading up to 2 Corinthians  

through a brief foray into 1 Corinthians. Since Paul is correcting specific matters within the  

ekklesia in Corinth in 1 Corinthians, I contend that there is significantly less consolation here  

than in 2 Corinthians. There appear to have been significant contrasts in how Christ-believing  

communities in Thessalonica and Corinth interacted with outsiders to the faith.⁹ Whereas in 1  

Thessalonians the apostle praises the believers for their faith in the face of opposition (1 Thess  

1:6–10), in parts of 1 Corinthians – especially the earlier chapters – it is evident that many  

believers enjoyed great ‘social acceptability’¹⁰ in Corinth. This is something with which the  

apostle takes issue on the grounds that it contributed to an immature faith in Christ.  

Accordingly, there are times where Paul rebukes the Corinthians (1 Cor 4:8–13) and inveighs  

7

On this text, see: Han Baltussen, ‘Cicero’s Consolatio Ad Se: Character, Purpose and Impact of a Curious  

Treatise’, in idem, Greek and Roman Consolations, 67–92. Baltussen concludes: ‘The Consolatio ad se may stand  

alone as a unique case of self-consolation. Yet it also remains problematic as a document charting the personal  

struggle of an intellectual coming to grips with the desperate times, personal grief and the ruin of everything he  

had worked for professionally (Fam. 4.6.2).’ This chapter will show that 2 Corinthians can be read along similar  

lines, and hence challenge this judgement.  

8

By looking at consolation throughout 2 Corinthians, I seek to extend: James R. Harrison, ‘The Rhetoric of  

“Consolation” in 2 Corinthians 1:3–11/7:4–13 in the Context of the Jewish and Graeco-Roman Consolatory  

Literature’, in Paul and Scripture, eds. Stanley E. Porter and Christopher D. Land, Pauline Studies 10 (Boston:  

Brill, 2019), 233-262.  

⁹ John M. G. Barclay, ‘Thessalonica and Corinth: Social Contrasts in Pauline Christianity’, JSNT 47 (1992): 49-  

74.  

¹⁰ Barclay, ‘Thessalonica and Corinth’, 58.  

115  

against the believers in Corinth, drawing on language from earlier in the letter: ‘you have  

become inflated (πεφυσιωμένοι); should you not rather be mourning (ἐπενθήσατε)?’ (5:2).  

While Paul’s directive to mourn is understandable in view of serious ethical  

misconduct, his lack of consolation later in the letter concerning ‘the many who are weak and  

ill; and the considerable number who have fallen asleep (πολλοὶ ἀσθενεῖς καὶ ἄρρωστοι καὶ  

κοιμῶνται ἱκανοί)’ (11:30) is more perplexing, given his consolation concerning those who  

had died in Thessalonica (1 Thess 4:13). Likewise, his eschatological teaching in 1 Cor 15 is  

not framed as new teaching unlike in 1 Thess 4:13: ‘I am reacquainting (Γνωρίζω) you with  

the gospel which I proclaimed to you’ (1 Cor 15:1). There is much to be corrected in the  

Corinthians’ understanding of Christ’s bodily resurrection, which explains the elements of  

rebuke at 1 Cor 15:34 (‘I say this to shame [πρὸς ἐντροπὴν] you’) that are directed at the  

interlocutor, who is labelled a ‘fool (ἄφρων)’ (15:36).  

When Paul narrates the eschaton, however, his discourse becomes more consolatory.  

Paul’s fervent apocalypticism – that ‘the time has become restricted (συνεσταλμένος)’ (7:29)  

and ‘the form (σχῆμα) of this world is passing away’ (7:31) – leads to a revaluation of present  

concerns in line with Stoic notions of adiaphora (ἀδιάφορα).¹¹ Indifference regarding emotions  

is included in this ontological process: ‘so that … those weeping (οἱ κλαίοντες) [might be] like  

those not (ὡς μὴ) weeping, and those rejoicing (χαίροντες) like those not rejoicing’ (7:30). This  

rhetorical and consolatory strategy receives greater definition in his narrative concerning the  

collective transformation of believers at the parousia through the heavenly man, Christ, and the  

pneuma (1 Cor 15:51–54). Paul explains that once this transformation – or reclothing – has  

taken place, then the cosmic power of Death will be swallowed up and defeated (1 Cor 15:54–  

56). From this consolation issues the exhortation in 1 Cor 15:58 to Paul’s beloved (ἀγαπητοί)  

in Corinth: ‘be steadfast and unmoved (ἑδραῖοι γίνεσθε, ἀμετακίνητοι)’.  

Consolation also features in Paul’s vision for the construction of an effective body of  

believers in Corinth (1 Cor 12:24–26):  

But God put together the body, giving greater honour to that which is lacking (τῷ  

ὑστεροῦντι), so that there might not be division in the body, but so that the parts might  

have a shared concern (μεριμνῶσι) for each other. Then if one part suffers (πάσχει), all  

the parts suffer together (συμπάσχει); if a part is glorified, all the parts rejoice together  

(συγχαίρει).  

¹¹ See George van Kooten, ‘Paul’s Stoic Onto-Theology and Ethics of Good, Evil and “Indifferents”: A Response  

to Anti-Metaphysical and Nihilistic Readings of Paul in Modern Philosophy’, in Saint Paul and Philosophy: The  

Consonance of Ancient and Modern Thought, eds. Gert-Jan van der Heiden et al. (Berlin: de Gruyter, 2017), 133–  

164.  

116  

This vision is in line with Stoic theories of πνεῦμα and συμπαθεία.¹² The Corinthians are  

directed towards being a single body in the pneuma which supports one another through  

offering one another συμπαθεία, which is the first part of consolation. From these principles,  

Paul gives specific precepts in 1 Cor 14,¹³ particularly concerning the function of prophecy,  

which is intimately connected with communal consolation within the ekklesia: ‘But the one  

who prophesies to people speaks edification, consolation, and comfort (ὁ δὲ προφητεύων  

ἀνθρώποις λαλεῖ οἰκοδομὴν καὶ παράκλησιν καὶ παραμυθίαν)’ (14:3).  

Paul then elucidates the process by which prophecy should take place within the  

ekklesia so that greater edification might take place (14:17). This is summarised by the  

instruction at 1 Cor 14:31: ‘for you are all able to prophesy individually (καθ᾽ ἕνα), so that all  

might learn, and all might be consoled (παρακαλῶνται)’. As in 1 Thess 5:11–14, consolation  

is a communal activity for Christ-believers. In 1 Cor 14, however, we gain a broader Pauline  

perspective on how this operates in the case of the charism of prophecy.¹⁴ The teaching corrects  

deficiencies in the Corinthian assembly and leads them on the path to becoming a fully  

pneumatic community that consoles one another.  

Thus, in 1 Cor 1–15, there are marked elements of rebuke where issues in the Corinthian  

assembly are addressed as part of Paul’s disciplining and educating the believers, which are  

not consolatory. When the apostle discusses the parousia and presents his vision of the body of  

believers, however, consolatory elements come to the fore. Naturally, we do not know how the  

Corinthians received this teaching, but parts of 2 Corinthians testify to a deterioration in  

relations and a greater focus on grief and suffering than in 1 Corinthians. Establishing how the  

Corinthians and Paul came to be aggrieved over the course of the Corinthian correspondence  

is a crux interpretum. In moving on to consolatory elements within 2 Corinthians, we should  

consider how and why grief came to linger in these middle stages of the conflict.  

John Chrysostom’s first homily on 2 Corinthians begins with this exact question:  

12  

Michelle V. Lee, Paul, the Stoics, and the Body of Christ, SNTSMS 137 (Cambridge: Cambridge University  

Press, 2006), 148–149. Here, Lee also cites Philo, Virt. 103 concerning Moses’ commands to the Israelites to have  

‘the same griefs and joys’.  

¹³ Lee, Paul, the Stoics, 152. She shows that this movement from principles to precepts is precisely what the Stoics  

advocated, e.g., Seneca, Ep. 94.39.  

14  

The vexed issue of the place of female prophets in Corinth cannot be discussed in detail here but should be  

briefly addressed given the significance of gender in two of Seneca’s consolations. I consider it probable that 1  

Cor 14:33–36 could be an interpolation or the words of opponents that Paul is refuting in his teaching. When Paul  

says πάντες in 1 Cor 14:31, I argue that this is to be taken at face-value, including the women in the assembly.  

See, however, Jill E. Marshall, ‘Paul, Plutarch and the Gender Dynamics of Prophecy’, NTS 65.2 (2019): 207-  

222, for an argument that this is not the case; and that Paul, like Plutarch, had different conceptions of prophetic  

practice based on gender.  

117  

Firstly, it is fitting to ask, for what reason (τίνος ἕνεκεν) he [Paul] adds a second letter  

to the first, and why indeed he starts in this way from the mercies of God and  

consolation.¹⁵  

Chrysostom states Paul’s delayed return to Corinth as the primary reason for 2 Corinthians. In  

1 Cor 16:5–7, Paul had expressed an intention to return to Corinth. The return, however, had  

been delayed and Paul addresses this relatively early at 2 Cor 1:15–23. Chrysostom goes so far  

to say that the letter ‘would not have been necessary, if he had only slightly delayed (εἰ παρὰ  

μικρὸν ὑστέρησεν)’.¹⁶ Paul’s delay had led the Corinthians to question the degree of Paul’s  

friendship with them. Consequently, Paul’s absence was the main source of grief for the  

Corinthians for Chrysostom.  

Other sources of grief, however, could be added. Firstly, there is the issue of financial  

miscommunication. In 1 Cor 16:1–4, Paul had agreed with the Corinthians that they would  

compile a collection through regular giving, which those whom the Corinthians approved  

would take to Jerusalem, possibly with Paul. Yet in 2 Cor 8:22–24, Paul takes it upon himself  

to send brothers whom he approves, along with Titus, to collect the gift from the Corinthians.  

Mitchell reasons that these actions ‘led to their anger towards him, suspicion about his motives,  

and doubt about his own credentials’.¹⁷  

Secondly, there are the issues with Paul’s opponents. Between 1 and 2 Corinthians, a  

new individual – the wrongdoer – emerges who caused Paul and the Corinthians considerable  

grief, as shown by 2 Cor 2:1–11.¹⁸ Then, especially in 2 Cor 10–13, but also towards the  

beginning and end of 2 Cor 2:14–7:4, another group of opponents cause Paul continued grief.  

When exactly these opponents, the so-called super-apostles, enter the fray is less clear. While  

I do not propose to solve the issue of the opponents in Corinth,¹⁹ my understanding is that they  

¹⁵ Hom. In 2 Cor 1.1 (PG 61.382–3)  

¹⁶ Ibid., PG 61.383.  

17  

Margaret M. Mitchell, ‘Paul’s Letters to Corinth: The Interpretive Intertwining of Literary and Historical  

Reconstruction’, in eadem, Paul and the Emergence of Christian Textuality: Early Christian Literary Culture in  

Context, Collected Essays Volume 1, WUNT 393 (Tꢆbingen, Germany: Mohr Siebeck, 2017), 151. Cf. Paul Duff,  

‘Tracking Titus’, 229, who argues that 2 Cor 8 triggered the whole crisis, and so, predates other parts of canonical  

2 Corinthians. Conversely, Chrysostom believes that the Corinthians were fully prepared for the collection at the  

first time of asking.  

¹⁸ Chrysostom identifies the wrongdoer mentioned in 2 Cor 2 and 7 with the fornicator in 1 Cor 5. I broadly follow  

Welborn in seeing different figures: ‘in 1 Cor 5, Paul aims to ostracize the sinner, while in 2 Cor 2, anonymity  

serves the goal of reconciliation’ (End to Enmity, 14).  

19  

For the idea that Hellenistic Jewish-Christian missionaries arrived between 1 Corinthians and 2 Corinthians,  

which led to increased tension in Corinth, see Dieter Georgi, The Opponents of Paul in Second Corinthians  

(Philadelphia: Fortress, 1986). This has been well opposed by, e.g., Mitchell, ‘Paul’s Letters to Corinth’, 146; L.  

L. Welborn, ‘Georgi’s Gegner: Reflections on the Occasion of Its Translation’, The Journal of Religion 68.4  

(1988): 566–574.  

118  

do not represent a distinctive teaching programme so much as sophists who enticed some of  

the Corinthians away from Paul’s gospel about Christ.²⁰  

Consequently, while the Corinthians are aggrieved by Paul’s timekeeping and financial  

dealings which demanded reconciliation, the Corinthians and Paul were united in grief on  

account of the actions of the wrongdoer. Paul, however, takes the burden of the grief from the  

super-apostles on top of his other apostolic sufferings. This means that grief is passim in 2  

Corinthians: there is a strong aspect of auto-consolation alongside seeking consolation and  

reconciliation with the Corinthians. Having highlighted the main triggers, we shall analyse  

Paul’s consolatory discourse and resulting narrative in the grief cycle that 2 Corinthians  

represents.  

Consolation from God and the Network of Consolation (2 Cor 1:1–11)  

The start of canonical 2 Corinthians contains the densest concentration of consolatory discourse  

in the letters of Paul. After a conventional letter opening with typical greetings (1:1–2), the  

apostle unusually moves into a blessing-period (1:3–7),²¹ before narrating some of his own  

personal trials to the community in Corinth (1:8–11). Likening the Corinthian correspondence  

to a grief cycle, 2 Cor 1:3–11 is the section where grief is most fully overcome and rationalised.  

Paul inscribes himself within the ancient consolation tradition but offers a somewhat novel  

approach based on ‘the God … of all consolation (ὁ θεὸς … πάσης παρακλήσεως)’ (1:3), ‘the  

sufferings of Christ (τὰ παθήματα τοῦ Χριστοῦ)’ (1:5), and his own sufferings, in which the  

Corinthians are invited to share. In the process, Paul depicts a consolatory network involving  

God, Christ, himself, his apostolic team, and the Corinthians.  

In his opening blessing, Paul draws upon his Judean heritage. The saying, ‘blessed be  

God (Εὐλογητὸς ὁ θεός)’, appears throughout the Hebrew Bible²² and other Second Temple  

texts²³ to acclaim God’s blessing for the people of Israel or for individuals. Such declarations  

are frequently made to YHWH following deliverance from a time of national or personal  

tribulation. This is the consolatory framework within which Paul’s words in 2 Cor 1:3–4 should  

largely be understood. When Paul describes God, the Father, as the ‘God of all consolation’,  

²⁰ For good arguments in favour of identifying the opponents with Apollos and his supporters, see Francis Watson,  

Paul, Judaism, and the Gentiles: A Sociological Approach, SNTSMS 56 (Cambridge: Cambridge University  

Press, 1986), 81–84. For more generic identification with sophists, see George H. Van Kooten, ‘Rhetorical  

Competition within the Christian Community at Corinth: Paul and the Sophists’, in Cults, Creeds and Identities  

in the Greek City after the Classical Age, eds. Richard Alston et al., Groningen-Royal Holloway Studies on the  

Greek City After the Classical Age 3 (Leuven: Peeters, 2013), 261–288.  

²¹ Cf. Eph 1:3–14, 1 Pet 1:3.  

²² See, e.g., Gen 14:20, 1 Chron 29:10; Ps 66:20; Dan 3:28 (on the lips of Nebuchadnezzar); Ezra 7:27.  

²³ Cf. 2 Mac 1:11, ‘blessed be our God, who has handed over those who have committed impiety’.  

119  

James Harrison asserts that this is: ‘Paul’s summary of the Jewish consolatory tradition’.²⁴ This  

is best illustrated in the opening to Deutero-Isaiah (Isaiah 40:1–2, LXX):  

Παρακαλεῖτε παρακαλεῖτε τὸν λαόν μου, λέγει ὁ θεός. ἱερεῖς, λαλήσατε εἰς τὴν καρδίαν  

Ιερουσαλημ, παρακαλέσατε αὐτήν·  

Console, console, my people, YHWH says. Priests, speak to the heart of Jerusalem,  

console her.  

Through the mercies and consolation of God, Paul’s addressees, predominantly gentile Christ-  

believers in Corinth, are incorporated into Israel and her salvation history.²⁵ Additionally, there  

is a personal dimension. This blessing precedes Paul’s narration of his trials in Asia from which  

he was rescued on account of the mercies and consolation of God. The first-person²⁶ form of 2  

Cor 1:3–7 evokes several psalms (Pss. 23, 71, 86, 94) in which the psalmist praises God for  

consoling him in a moment of personal danger.²⁷  

As a common experience for humanity, first-person accounts of suffering are not the  

sole preserve of ancient Jews in antiquity;²⁸ but the apostle’s discourse aligns with Jewish  

monotheists praising God for deliverance.²⁹ In 2 Cor 1:4, Paul constructs a network of  

consolation with an emotional economy.³⁰ Paul sees God as the source of consolation: ‘the one  

who consoles us concerning our every affliction (ὁ παρακαλῶν ἡμᾶς ἐπὶ πάσῃ τῇ θλίψει  

ἡμῶν)’. Although ἐπί could be taken temporally, the cosmic perspective of God concerning  

affliction justifies taking it referentially. From this divine source, consolation can be extended  

by believers to those who are in suffering: ‘so that we are able to console those in every  

affliction (εἰς τὸ δύνασθαι ἡμᾶς παρακαλεῖν τοὺς ἐν πάσῃ θλίψει)’. The apostle emphasises  

that the believers’ capacity to console is not self-generated but comes from God: ‘through the  

²⁴ Harrison, ‘Rhetoric of Consolation’, 261.  

25  

Cf. Romans 12:1: ‘I, therefore, exhort (Παρακαλῶ) you, brothers, by the mercies (οἰκτιρμῶν) of God’. For a  

treatment of this passage along ethnic lines, see Patrick McMurray, Sacrifice, Brotherhood, and the Body:  

Abraham and the Nations in Romans (Lanham: Fortress Academic, 2021), 161.  

26  

Although this could extend to believers also, see M. Carrez, ‘Le ‘Nous’ en 2 Corinthiens’, NTS 26.4 (1980),  

482: ‘Paul ne dit pas JE, mais NOUS, car ses propres souffrances vécues pour le Christ, les croyants de Corinthe  

(ou ailleurs) pourraient bien un jour les subir à leur tour’.  

²⁷ Otfried Hofius, ‘“Der Gott allen Trostes”: Παράκλησις und παρακαλεῖν in 2 Kor 1,3-7’, TBei 14 (1983), 222–  

225.  

²⁸ Fitzgerald, Cracks, 49, gives the example of the Greek novel about Chariton.  

²⁹ E.g., Hodayot and later rabbinic texts such as Ketubot 8B 27 concerning the ‘lord of consolations’.  

30  

David Briones, ‘Mutual Brokers of Grace: A Study in 2 Corinthians 1.3-11’, NTS 56.4 (2010), 544, is very  

instructive on the relationship between God, Paul, and the Corinthians, but he equates παράκλησις too readily  

with χάρις; the latter only features in 2 Cor 1:11. The primary focus instead is on an affective community.  

120  

consolation [through] which we ourselves are consoled by God (διὰ τῆς παρακλήσεως ἧς  

παρακαλούμεθα αὐτοὶ ὑπὸ τοῦ θεοῦ)’.  

Having outlined the role of God, the father, in the consolatory network, in 2 Cor 1:5,  

Paul brings in the son, ‘our Lord Jesus Christ’ (2 Cor 1:2; 1:3). It is arresting that the first  

characteristics of Christ, a divine being, to be highlighted are his παθήματα (sufferings,  

passions, or emotions). Paul states that these παθήματα are ‘abundant in us (περισσεύει ... εἰς  

ἡμᾶς)’: viz. himself, probably Timothy as co-sender, and maybe others in the apostolic team.³¹  

Yet it is correspondingly through Christ that Paul believes that ‘consolation abounds  

(περισσεύει … ἡ παράκλησις)’ for him and others. Christ is, therefore, the hinge in the  

consolatory network. Kar Yong Lim uses this verse as the basis of his argument that Paul’s  

narrative of his sufferings in 2 Corinthians is intertwined with the story of Christ.³² While this  

is a promising way of reading much of 2 Corinthians,³³ this approach risks overlooking the  

rhetorical situation of the letter.³⁴ By evoking the παθήματα of Christ, Paul writes sensitively  

to a community who felt aggrieved by him.  

Having introduced the divine agents in this chain of consolation, in 2 Cor 1:6–7, Paul  

depicts an affective relationship between himself and the Corinthians. This flows from the  

consolation located in the suffering and affections of Christ, as Welborn recognises: ‘Paul  

grounds the possibility of an authentic emotional response upon the community of affection  

established through participating in the παθήματα Χριστοῦ’.³⁵ Regardless of events befalling  

Paul and his team, the result is some form of comfort or consolation for the Corinthians. Paul  

puts forward two scenarios which both have positive affective outcomes. Firstly, if Paul (and  

his team) are afflicted (εἴτε δὲ θλιβόμεθα), παράκλησις results for the Corinthians and is  

combined with salvation (σωτηρία). As in 1 Thessalonians and later letters, emotional and  

eschatological concerns are related. In this instance, the purpose of Paul’s trials is to induce  

courage for the final salvation of the believers; it is more accurate to render παράκλησις as  

‘comfort’ here. Secondly, if Paul is consoled (εἴτε παρακαλούμεθα), then παράκλησις still  

results for the Corinthians. In the case of the Corinthians, however, Paul does not ascribe θλῖψις  

31  

See Samuel Byrskog, ‘Co-Senders, Co-Authors and Paul’s Use of the First Person Plural’, ZNW 87.3 (1996):  

230–250.  

32  

Kar Yong Lim, The Sufferings of Christ Are Abundant in Us: A Narrative Dynamics Investigation of Paul’s  

Sufferings in 2 Corinthians, LTNS 399 (London: Bloomsbury, 2009), 42.  

³³ Margaret M. Mitchell, ‘Rhetorical Shorthand in Pauline Argumentation: The Functions of “The Gospel” in the  

Corinthian Correspondence’, in eadem, Paul and the Emergence, 129, argues that παράκλησις functions ‘in 1:5  

as a συνεκδοχή for the gospel by reference to the resurrection’.  

³⁴ While Lim’s focus on the passages which speak clearly of suffering is valid, little space is devoted to the more  

polemical moments in the letter, where the relationship between Paul and the Corinthians is most threatened.  

³⁵ L. L. Welborn, ‘Paul’s Appeal to the Emotions in 2 Corinthians 1.1-2.13; 7.5-16’, JSNT 82 (2001), 34.  

121  

to them; instead when Paul is consoled, it is for the Corinthians’ consolation activated in the  

endurance of the same sufferings and emotions that Paul has also experienced (τῆς  

ἐνεργουμένης ἐν ὑπομονῇ τῶν αὐτῶν παθημάτων ὧν καὶ ἡμεῖς πάσχομεν).  

Paul has one eye on presently managing emotions and another on the endurance  

necessary ahead of the eschaton. As he concludes his opening captatio benevolentiae for the  

aggrieved believers in Corinth, Paul’s positive emotional and eschatological outlook is  

manifest in his ‘firm hope (ἐλπὶς … βεβαία)’ (1:7) for them. Although they may not have  

identical roles in the chain of consolation, the apostle Paul states that by being participants  

(κοινωνοί) in the sufferings of Christ, they also participate in consolation. Paul incorporates  

philosophical ideas concerning friendship going back to Aristotle: notably, that ‘friends feel  

the same pain’ (Eth. Eud. 7.6.8) but roots them in a discourse about divine consolation through  

a Jewish messiah. In 2 Cor 1:3–7, then, Paul depicts this ideal network between divine and  

human sources, where the currency is consolation in proportion to the extent the Corinthians  

participate in the sufferings of Christ, like the apostle.³⁶  

In 2 Cor 1:8–11, Paul moves from theorising about consolation to praxis based on his  

own experiences of affliction. It becomes clear that the blessing was personal testimony, which  

justifies reading these verses as part of Paul’s introduction, logically following 1:3–7. As in 1  

Thess 4:13, Paul uses a disclosure formula to introduce a narrative – this time his own: ‘For  

we do not want you to be unaware, brothers and sisters, concerning our affliction (θλίψεως)  

which happened in Asia’ (2 Cor 1:8). It is hard to be certain how informed the Corinthians  

were about Paul’s situation and whether this constitutes new information or otherwise.³⁷ What  

is certain, however, is the emotional intensity of Paul’s narrative. Although there are few details  

of what befell him in Asia, in contrast to his rational perspective on consolation in 1:3–7, he  

depicts himself as despairing, even suicidal: ‘we were excessively weighed down beyond our  

control such that we even despaired to live (ὅτι καθ᾽ ὑπερβολὴν ὑπὲρ δύναμιν ἐβαρήθημεν,  

ὥστε ἐξαπορηθῆναι ἡμᾶς καὶ τοῦ ζῆν)’ (1:8).  

Among ancient philosophers, such a depressive outlook would have been incongruous.  

Although Cicero’s grief at his daughter’s death could be an exception, Welborn is right that ‘it  

36  

Rightly, Welborn, ‘Paul’s Appeal’, 58: ‘in the case of 2 Cor. 1.3-7, Paul pronounces a ‘blessing’ (εὐλογία,  

berakhah) upon God for the consolation he has personally experienced in the midst of affliction, and draws the  

readers into the blessing only insofar as they share, or wish to share, in his suffering and consolation’.  

³⁷ See David I. Starling, ‘“We Do Not Want You to Be Unaware …”: Disclosure, Concealment and Suffering in  

2 Cor 1–7’, NTS 60.2 (2014): 266–279, for an argument that 2 Cor 1:8 represents Paul’s transparency about his  

sufferings from the start in the face of accusations. Based on data from epistolary papyri, Starling finds that the  

‘double negative form … is used as a polite expression of confidence that a particular piece of information is (or  

ought to be) already known to the reader’ (275). This is more understandable in relation to 2 Cor 1:8 concerning  

individual events, as opposed to teaching (cf. 1 Thess 4:13).  

122  

is difficult to imagine that there is another letter from antiquity so obsessive in its concern for  

the emotions, so vulnerable in its disclosure of the author’s emotional state’.³⁸ The dial on the  

grief scale appears to have switched from minimum to maximum extremely suddenly.  

Nevertheless, Paul’s narrative acknowledges the past despair but does not linger there; the  

adversative ἀλλ’ (‘but’) in 2 Cor 1:9 takes the apostle in another direction: ‘we, ourselves, have  

had the sentence of death on us (αὐτοὶ ἐν ἑαυτοῖς τὸ ἀπόκριμα τοῦ θανάτου ἐσχήκαμεν)’. The  

perfect verb, ἐσχήκαμεν, highlights that these death sentences are an ongoing apostolic activity  

which he has come to accept. There is an internal logic that allows Paul to rationalise these  

trials based on his experience that has deepened his convictions. This involves a turning away  

from the self (‘so that we might not be reliant on ourselves [ἐφ᾽ ἑαυτοῖς]’) to ‘the God who  

raises the dead (ἐπὶ τῷ θεῷ τῷ ἐγείροντι τοὺς νεκρούς)’.  

Although Paul does not speak explicitly of comfort and consolation, he transposes this  

narrative in the face of suffering and death to highlight divine rescue. He understands this to  

be natural for God and something that he has experienced. The tricolon of verbs in 2 Cor 1:10  

highlight the apostle’s conviction about God as rescuer: ‘[God] who rescued (ἐρρύσατο) us  

from so great a death and will rescue (ῥύσεται) – in whom we have hoped because he will  

rescue again (ῥύσεται)’. Rescue operates in a similar way to consolation: both are divine in  

source but mediated and activated through human participation. In 2 Cor 1:11, the partnership  

with the Corinthian believers in prayer is an integral part of the chain. Paul tells the Corinthians  

that rescue – and we might add consolation – will happen ‘again’ (ἔτι) insofar as ‘you also join  

by helping (συνυπουργούντων καὶ ὑμῶν) us in prayer’. This is the only time in an introduction  

to an epistle where Paul moves his audience to pray. Victor Furnish articulates the apostle’s  

intention well:  

[T]he request … seeks to engage the readers with Paul’s own situation and to accentuate  

their need to be active participants in the partnership of suffering and comfort of which  

he has just written.³⁹  

It is fitting that a congregation which has felt aggrieved should be intricately included⁴⁰ in a  

network of consolation, and relatedly, rescue. In 2 Cor 1:8–11, the apostle develops ‘a  

³⁸ Welborn, ‘Paul and Pain’, 559. Welborn also hypothesises that depression would have been just as common in  

antiquity as today, but it is occluded by elite concerns with anger instead: ‘Paul’s therapeutic epistle, with its  

emphasis upon λύπη, provides privileged access to the mental and psychological world of non-elites in respect to  

the emotions’ (565).  

³⁹ Victor Paul Furnish, II Corinthians: Translated, with Introduction, Notes, and Commentary, AB 32A (Garden  

City: Doubleday, 1984), 125.  

40  

For possibilities of interpretation of 2 Cor 1:11b including what the χάρισμα denotes, see Briones, ‘Mutual  

Brokers’, 549–552.  

123  

community of affection’, consoled by God, and then consoling others who have faced affliction  

and will continue to do so, like Paul. From this introduction, Paul now turns to recent events in  

Corinth, explaining his actions in the light of this opening consolatory narrative.  

Consolation then Reconciliation for Grief in Corinth (2 Cor 1:12–2:11)  

Thus far, I have intentionally avoided the language of reconciliation. There is little  

manifestation in 2 Cor 1:1–11 of tension between Paul and the Corinthians that requires  

reconciliation; instead, the apostle depicts an ideal friendship and network of consolation.⁴¹  

From 2 Cor 1:12 onwards, however, it becomes clear that the relationship between Paul and  

the Corinthians had become strained. 2 Cor 1:1–2:13; 7:5–16 is, therefore, categorised by many  

scholars as ‘the letter of reconciliation’ (‘Versöhnungsbrief’),⁴² and even an outstanding  

example of a therapeutic letter type in antiquity.⁴³ Following and extending a small number of  

scholars who have viewed both conciliatory and consolatory aspects within 2 Cor 1:1–2:13;  

7:5–16, Adam White argues that the epistle combines both. For White, however, reconciliation  

surpasses consolation: ‘Paul’s concern goes beyond just consoling the Corinthians; his primary  

concern is reconciliation’.⁴⁴ In this section, I seek to nuance this by suggesting that consolation  

and reconciliation are more interconnected; and that the latter flows from the former.  

In 2 Cor 1:12–14, the apostle explains his current disposition towards the Corinthians,  

by describing the consistency of his conduct (ἀνεστράφημεν).⁴⁵ These verses are important in  

the overall movement of the correspondence. Functioning as an initial proposition, they  

indicate the apologetic elements that are still necessary for Paul among the Corinthians.⁴⁶ In  

relation to this process of writing, reading, and understanding involving Paul and the  

Corinthians in 1:13–14, Mitchell astutely comments that Paul ‘must exegete the letter in  

question [1 Corinthians] to show that it was really a friendship letter written out of love, not  

malice’.⁴⁷  

⁴¹ Pace Furnish, II Corinthians, 125, that 2 Cor 1:11 is ‘a gesture of reconciliation’.  

⁴² Welborn, ‘Paul and Pain’, 552.  

43  

Ibid., 555: ‘Only if the letter of Marcus Aurelius to Herodes Atticus, excerpted by Philostratus (Vit. Soph.  

2.1.562–63), had survived in its entirety, might we have a more perfect example of the therapeutic type of letter  

than we possess in 2 Cor 1.1–2:13; 7:5–16’.  

44  

Adam G. White, ‘Paul’s Absence from Corinth as Voluntary Exile: Reading 2 Corinthians 1.1–2.13 and 7.5–  

16 as a Letter from Exile’, JSNT 43.1 (2020), 51. For critique of White’s reading that this is a letter from exile,  

see below.  

⁴⁵ On consistency in 2 Corinthians, see Matthew C. Pawlak, ‘Consistency Isn’t Everything: Self-Commendation  

in 2 Corinthians’, JSNT 40.3 (2018): 360–382.  

⁴⁶ See Fitzgerald, Cracks, 149, regarding the centrality of 1:12–14 for the overall (self-)recommendation in 2 Cor  

1–7.  

47  

Margaret M. Mitchell, ‘The Corinthian Correspondence and the Birth of Pauline Hermeneutics’, in Paul and  

the Emergence, 176. Emphasis original.  

124  

Paul starts with practical considerations: explaining why he had not returned to Corinth  

as he had earlier indicated (2 Cor 1:15–17; cf. 1 Cor 16:5–7). Although Paul is distanced from  

the Corinthians, he reminds them that, through God in Christ, they are fully incorporated into  

the promises of God (1:20). They occupy a common position in a divinely orchestrated  

network: ‘God, who ratifies us with you in Christ and has anointed us (ὁ δὲ βεβαιῶν ἡμᾶς σὺν  

ὑμῖν εἰς Χριστὸν καὶ χρίσας ἡμᾶς θεός)’ (1:21). Paul confirms God’s ownership of the  

Corinthians through the possession and endowment of the pneuma in their hearts (2 Cor 1:22),  

which in turn, confirms his own affection for the Corinthians.  

Having established this affective network, Paul explains more boldly why he has not  

returned to Corinth. To do so, he uses an oath, calling upon God as witness (2 Cor 1:23).⁴⁸ His  

fundamental reason, however, for not returning to Corinth consisted in ‘sparing (φειδόμενος)’  

the Corinthians from further grief. The decision was taken for psychagogical purposes: to  

protect and strengthen their faith, and to demonstrate that Paul and his team were ‘co-workers  

of joy (συνεργοί ... τῆς χαρᾶς)’ for the Corinthians (1:24). In 2 Cor 1:12–24, therefore, Paul  

introduces the theme of reconciliation within a framework of divine and human sources, in  

addition to affective and consolatory concerns.⁴⁹  

Then, in 2 Cor 2:1–4, both to console and conciliate the Corinthians, Paul depicts both  

parties’ mutual grief.⁵⁰ Paul’s grief discourse is most concentrated here in all his letters and  

Benjamin White plausibly contends that ‘the λυπ- word group creates rhetorical unity for a  

situation that is otherwise in total disarray’.⁵¹ Recent events have exacerbated both the grief of  

the Corinthians and of Paul. In 2 Cor 2:1, there is deliberate ambiguity as to whose grief is in  

view when Paul explains initially why he resolved not to return to Corinth: ἐν λύπῃ (‘in grief’)  

could modify Paul’s own grief (I resolved … not to come in grief to you again), but also equally  

the Corinthians’ grief (I resolved … not to come to you in grief again). The solution is both-  

and rather than either-or; there was grief on both sides.  

48  

For oath formulae as a phenomenon in the ancient Mediterranean, spanning both broadly Jewish and Graeco-  

Roman contexts, see Matthew V. Novenson, ‘“God Is Witness”: A Classical Rhetorical Idiom in Its Pauline  

Usage’, NovT 52.4 (2010): 355–375.  

49  

While we may concur with A. G. White that this represented ‘a period of painful separation from the  

community’ (‘Voluntary Exile’, 62), that it was in any way an exile – he concedes ‘it was by no means a formal,  

legal exile in the sense of an Ovid or a Cicero’ – is more questionable. As we saw in 1 Thess 3 in dialogue with  

Mitchell, Paul consistently chooses to mediate his presence (and consolation) through letters and envoys. It is hard  

to see this part of 2 Corinthians as a letter from exile compared to Philippians.  

⁵⁰ Thus, Mitchell, ‘Birth of Pauline Hermeneutics’, 176: ‘He must meet their sorrow with a record of his own’.  

⁵¹ B. G. White, ‘The Varieties of Pain: Re-examining the Setting and Purpose of 2 Corinthians with Paul’s λυπ-  

Words’, JSNT 43.2 (2020), 160.  

125  

In 2 Cor 2:2, Paul is painfully aware that grief disrupts the consolatory community. The  

answer to Paul’s rhetorical question (‘for if I aggrieve [λυπῶ] you, then who gladdens  

[εὐφραίνων] me, if not the one who is aggrieved [ὁ λυπούμενος] because of me?’) is precisely  

no-one; the consolatory network has become dysfunctional. Therefore, he seeks to repair it  

through a letter: ‘I wrote in this very way so that, when I came, I would not have grief (λύπην)  

from those who should bring me joy (ἀφ᾽ ὧν ἔδει με χαίρειν)’ (2:3). Paul expresses confidence  

(πεποιθώς) in the Corinthians because of his intimate joy (ἡ ἐμὴ χαρὰ) for all of them. The  

Corinthians, therefore, are a source of consolation for Paul and by expressing this, he seeks  

two-way consolation and reconciliation.  

Nevertheless, Paul is forced to reckon with the fact that the Corinthians were aggrieved  

by the letter.⁵² This explains his intense emotional portrayal in 2 Cor 2:4 as he wrote the so-  

called ‘letter of tears’: ‘from much affliction (θλίψεως) and constriction of heart (συνοχῆς  

καρδίας)’. The apostle does not want the Corinthians to share his grief, but to know the love  

(ἀγάπη) that he has abundantly (περισσοτέρως) for them. Mitchell observes how ἀγάπη is  

promoted in the clause to be juxtaposed with λύπη such that Paul’s ‘self-portrait as the agonized  

author is meant to hang ponderously over the text’.⁵³ By amplifying his own love and grief,  

Paul relates to the Corinthians’ grief concerning the letter, which serves both to reconcile and  

console.  

Having dealt with one source of grief – the Corinthians’ reaction to his letter – in 2 Cor  

2:5–11, Paul moves onto the grief in Corinth related to the actions of the wrongdoer.⁵⁴ Paul  

initially focuses on how the Corinthian believers have been aggrieved by this anonymous  

individual (τις), negating any grief of his own: ‘if anyone has aggrieved, he has not aggrieved  

me (οὐκ ἐμὲ λελύπηκεν)’ (2:5). Although ‘a certain measure of grief’⁵⁵ is attributed to all the  

Corinthian Christ-believers, Paul is cautious not to overstate it.  

The time has come now, however, for the Corinthian assembly to be reconciled. Paul  

advises that the wrongdoer has been sufficiently rebuked (ἱκανὸν … ἡ ἐπιτιμία; 2:6), the  

Corinthians are now ‘to forgive and console (χαρίσασθαι καὶ παρακαλέσαι; 2:7)’. The teaching  

to forgive and console, strictly speaking, applies generally. Yet Paul soon qualifies the precept  

by articulating how it applies to the wrongdoer: if he is neither forgiven nor reconciled, there  

⁵² Mitchell, ‘Birth of Pauline Hermeneutics’, 189.  

⁵³ Ibid., 190.  

⁵⁴ Thus, rightly, Welborn, ‘Paul and Pain’, 553: ‘The Corinthians had been doubly grieved – first, by the actions  

of the wrongdoer (2.5), then by Paul’s severe response’. For the rhetorical convention of periphrasis for those of  

high-standing, see Welborn, End to Enmity, 212–287.  

⁵⁵ Thrall, Second Epistle to the Corinthians, 172, offers this probable reading of ἀπὸ μέρους.  

126  

is a danger that ‘he might be swallowed up by excessive grief (τῇ περισσοτέρᾳ λύπῃ  

καταποθῇ)’ (2:7). Of everyone in the Corinthian correspondence, the wrongdoer is depicted as  

most susceptible to being overcome by grief.⁵⁶ He is to be simultaneously consoled and restored  

within the Corinthian community so that there might be proper affection once more.  

In 2 Cor 2:8, on account of (διό) these general precepts of consolation and  

reconciliation, Paul issues further instructions by way of formal exhortation (παρακαλῶ):  

chiefly, that the Corinthians, in turn, validate their love for the wrongdoer (κυρῶσαι εἰς αὐτὸν  

ἀγάπην). In 2 Cor 2:9, by testing the obedience of the Corinthians, Paul wields apostolic  

authority that appears to differ in tone and content from the abundant love expressed in 2 Cor  

2:4. Nothing is demanded, however, of the Corinthians of which the apostle himself is  

incapable. Even if the wrongdoer did not aggrieve him, he wronged Paul too. Paul sets an  

example in forgiving the wrongdoer (ἐγὼ … κεχάρισμαι) and the Corinthians should imitate  

him (2:10). The final part of the argument takes an unexpected turn: failure to forgive and  

console will open the door to the schemes of Satan (2:11). Within Paul’s apocalyptic and  

eschatological framework, Satan is a significant cause of the suffering in the first place, which  

brings about this chain of consolation and reconciliation in Corinth from divine and human  

sources.⁵⁷  

Beginnings of an Ekphrasis (2 Cor 2:12–17)  

Having addressed the issue of the wrongdoer in Corinth, Paul resumes the narration of his  

travelogue: he heads to Troas, but is distressed because he is unable to find Titus (2 Cor 2:13).  

The perfect tense in the phrase, ‘I did not have repose in my spirit (οὐκ ἔσχηκα ἄνεσιν τῷ  

πνεύματί μου)’, highlights an ongoing emotional distress, which finding Titus will alleviate.  

Nevertheless, despite this distress, the apostle bids the believers in Troas farewell and heads to  

Macedonia.  

As discussed, at this point, many scholars see a suture, arguing that 2 Cor 2:14 does not  

naturally follow 2 Cor 2:13. Instead, 2 Cor 7:5 appears to follow 2 Cor 2:13:  

I had no repose in my spirit (οὐκ ἔσχηκα ἄνεσιν τῷ πνεύματί μου) because I did not find  

my brother Titus; but bidding them farewell, I left for Macedonia (ἐξῆλθον εἰς  

Μακεδονίαν) …  

⁵⁶ Welborn, ‘Paul and Pain’, 549–550.  

57  

Welborn, ‘Paul’s Appeal’, 54: Satan acts as ‘a third party who is held responsible for the alienation’, thus  

ensuring ‘any lingering feelings of resentment are purged, so that the relationship may be reestablished’.  

127  

For when we came to Macedonia (ἐλθόντων ἡμῶν εἰς Μακεδονίαν), our flesh had no repose  

(οὐδεμίαν ἔσχηκεν ἄνεσιν ἡ σὰρξ ἡμῶν), but we were afflicted in everything: battles  

without, fears within.  

The continuity and linguistic parallels make the partition theory appealing. At the end of 2 Cor  

2:14–7:4, Paul considers himself hyper-consoled: ‘I have been filled with consolation, I greatly  

abound in joy over my affliction’ (7:4). For Paul in the next breath to be aggrieved requires  

explanation for which a possible solution is that 2 Cor 7:4 and 2 Cor 7:5 belong to different  

letters. Yet there are linguistic divergences: a change in person from singular to plural, and  

from distress in πνεῦμα to σάρξ. Based on 2 Cor 7:5 alone, Paul (and his apostolic team) is  

strangely more aggrieved than in 2:13. This indicates an intervening narrative.  

Recently, Troels Engberg-Pedersen has suggested that since ‘the motif of travelling appears  

to bridge the gap between 2.13 and 2.14 … 2.14-7.4 is after all carefully situated within at least  

2.12-7.16’.⁵⁸ In the following sections, I argue in line with Engberg-Pedersen that 2 Cor 2:14–  

7:4 represents Paul’s autobiographical reflections as he travels between Troas and Macedonia,  

and connects 2 Cor 2:13 and 2 Cor 7:5.⁵⁹ While some parts of it are paraenetic and directed  

towards the Corinthians, I also contend that this account is self-directed amid apostolic  

suffering and opposition. I see 2 Cor 2:14–7:4 as an ekphrasis in which Paul depicts and  

rationalises his own apostolic ministry of suffering as an auto-consolation and to console,  

conciliate, and exhort the Corinthians.  

Attested in the rhetorical handbooks, an ekphrasis was a rhetorical device. Theon describes  

it as ‘a vivid impression of all-but-seeing what is described’ (Prog. 11).⁶⁰ Ekphrasis was,  

therefore, undergirded by vivid visual and artistic impression (enargeia).⁶¹ A notable ancient  

example of an ekphrasis is Catullus 64. At the centre of this epic poem about the wedding of  

Thetis and Peleus is a coverlet (vestis) depicting Ariadne. This coverlet is the artistic means by  

which Catullus narrates Ariadne’s abandonment by Theseus. The beginning and end of the  

ekphrasis are indicated by Catullus with the repetition of vestis in lines 50 and 266 (of 408)  

resulting in the impression that ‘the ecphrasis is the thematic as much as the structural  

centrepiece of the poem’.⁶²  

⁵⁸ Troels Engberg-Pedersen, ‘Paul’s Temporal Thinking: 2 Cor 2.14–7.4 as Paraenetic Autobiography’, NTS 67.2  

(2021), 160.  

59  

On Paul’s varied travel motifs in 2 Cor 1–9 as grounds for a unified letter, see Timothy Luckritz Marquis,  

Transient Apostle: Paul, Travel, and the Rhetoric of Empire (New Haven: Yale University Press, 2013).  

⁶⁰ Quintilian, Or. 4.3.12-13.  

⁶¹ See Heath, ‘Absent Presences’, 8–12.  

⁶² Andrew Laird, ‘Sounding Out Ecphrasis: Art and Text in Catullus 64’, JRS 83 (1993), 28.  

128  

Granted that Catullus writes poetry for Roman elites rather than epistolary correspondence,  

it is apt that Paul devotes such space to artistic description, or ekphrasis, as in 2 Cor 2:14–7:4.  

While some defenders of the unity of 2 Corinthians see 2 Cor 2:14–7:4 as a digression, the  

notion of ekphrasis is more accurate. Its beginning demonstrably employs visual and sensory  

metaphors (2 Cor 2:14):  

Τῷ δὲ θεῷ χάρις τῷ πάντοτε θριαμβεύοντι ἡμᾶς ἐν τῷ Χριστῷ καὶ τὴν ὀσμὴν τῆς γνώσεως  

αὐτοῦ φανεροῦντι δι᾽ ἡμῶν ἐν παντὶ τόπῳ·  

Thanks be to God who always leads us in triumph in Christ and reveals through us the  

aroma of knowledge of him in all places.  

Harry Maier views this verse in line with others (e.g., Gal 3:1; 1 Cor 4:9) where Paul portrays  

himself sensually: ‘Paul is representing himself with wordimage as a spectacle, but now with  

a dramatically imperial evocation’.⁶³ 2 Cor 2:14–17 starts on a sensuous note of triumph,  

employing imperial symbols which would have resonated to the believers in Corinth, but they  

are reappropriated. Paul Duff describes Paul’s alternative use of the triumph metaphor: ‘He has  

been captured, not as a prisoner of war, but as a devotee of the deity’.⁶⁴ This deity is Christ as  

the repeated language of ‘in Christ (ἐν [τῷ] Χριστῷ)’ at the beginning and end of the section  

demonstrates. Like in 1 Thess 4:13–18, at 2 Cor 2:15–16, there is an apocalyptic divide  

between those who are consoled by being in Christ and who are being saved (ἐν τοῖς  

σῳζομένοις) and the desolate who are being destroyed (ἐν τοῖς ἀπολλυμένοις). These  

metaphors represent Paul’s auto-consolation amid earthly and cosmic opposition. This section  

marks an artistic and geographic transition – but not a new letter – since fragrance is spatially  

distributed (ἐν παντὶ τόπῳ).  

Ekphrastic Auto-Consolation (2 Cor 4:1–5:5)  

We cannot analyse all of 2 Cor 2:14–7:4 in detail, but I shall bring out some of its most  

consolatory elements in connection with other themes. Following the introduction to the  

depiction of his pneumatic ministry in 2 Cor 3 which is directed both internally and towards  

the Corinthians, as a means of ‘epistolary embodiment’,⁶⁵ in much of 2 Cor 4–5, Paul’s  

⁶³ Harry Maier, ‘Vision, Visualisation, and Politics in the Apostle Paul’, MTSR 27.4–5 (2015), 325.  

⁶⁴ Paul Brooks Duff, ‘Metaphor, Motif, and Meaning: The Rhetorical Strategy behind the Image “Led in Triumph”  

in 2 Corinthians 2:14’, CBQ 53.1 (1991), 87.  

⁶⁵ Michal Beth Dinkler, Literary Theory and the New Testament (New Haven: Yale University Press, 2019), 185.  

Emphasis original. Dinkler’s chapter on the Corinthian correspondence (163–190) is illuminating on ekphrasis  

and enargeia.  

129  

reflection is particularly self-directed. In 2 Cor 4:1, Paul realises that this ministry comes from  

divine mercy (καθὼς ἠλεήθημεν) which consoles and comforts him amid present adversity. By  

linking his lack of discouragement (οὐκ ἐγκακοῦμεν) to divine mercy, he highlights the divine  

consolation that he receives for his own afflictions. Here, opposition looms larger: on a human  

level, Paul contrasts himself with those who commend themselves through deceitful schemes  

(4:2); on a cosmic level, the mysterious god of this age – whether Satan, pagan deities or  

otherwise – keeps the gospel veiled from those who are not in Christ and prevents others from  

fully seeing the glorious gospel of Christ (4:3–4). These forces, however, do not deter him from  

preaching about Christ Jesus, the Lord (4:5). Indeed, Paul preaches about his being a slave of  

the Corinthians because – or in imitation – of Jesus (κηρύσσομεν … ἑαυτοὺς δὲ δούλους ὑμῶν  

διὰ Ἰησοῦν). This is closer to Engberg-Pedersen’s notion of paraklesis:⁶⁶ Paul, called as an  

apostle of Christ, has come to a more enlightened knowledge of the glory of God (4:6); but like  

Christ, he lowers himself, which necessarily involves weakness and suffering.  

2 Cor 4:7–11 is shot through with ekphrasis of the afflictions that come through  

participation in Christ.⁶⁷ With the initial metaphor of having ‘this treasure in earthen vessels  

(θησαυρὸν τοῦτον ἐν ὀστρακίνοις σκεύεσιν)’ (4:7), Paul narrates from experience how the  

power which transcends is divine rather than self-generated (τοῦ θεοῦ καὶ μὴ ἐξ ἡμῶν). This is  

very similar to what we saw concerning divine consolation in 2 Cor 1:3–11.⁶⁸ In 2 Cor 1:8,  

Paul introduced the narrative of his suffering, but in 4:8–9, he speaks more generally in his first  

περίστασις catalogue in canonical 2 Corinthians. Four forms of oppression are enumerated but  

their impact is diminished on each occasion with the phrase ‘but not (ἀλλ᾽ οὐ[κ])’. There is  

consolation for apostolic hardships, but they are not eradicated through philosophical self-  

mastery. In 2 Cor 4:10–11, the continuous movement from death to life through participation  

in Christ’s sufferings is stressed. Paul describes his ‘always carrying around the mortification  

(νέκρωσιν) of Jesus in the body’ (4:10), and how ministers of the gospel⁶⁹ ‘are handed over to  

death (εἰς θάνατον παραδιδόμεθα) because of Jesus’ (4:11). These sufferings, however, have  

the purpose of revealing (ἵνα … φανερωθῇ) the life of Jesus in the body, or synonymously,  

mortal flesh.  

⁶⁶ Engberg-Pedersen, ‘Paul’s Temporal Thinking’, 166.  

67  

I shall not be able to engage in any detail with this scholarly discussion; for initial orientation, see Wesley  

Thomas Davey, ‘Playing Christ: Participation and Suffering in the Letters of Paul’, CBR 17.3 (2019): 306–331.  

⁶⁸ For a helpful table highlighting the similarities, see Lim, Sufferings of Christ, 100.  

⁶⁹ This is my understanding of ἡμεῖς οἱ ζῶντες (‘we, the living’), which appears only elsewhere in Paul in 1 Thess  

4:15, 17. I believe that Paul is using it in a slightly different sense here given that 2 Cor 4:7–11 is more centred  

on present ministry than eschatology, although this comes in 4:12–15.  

130  

This provides some present assurance for Paul amid afflictions; but in 2 Cor 4:12–15,  

the Corinthians come back into view. Here it emerges that the life of Jesus has been revealed  

in the apostles for the comfort of the Corinthians: ‘death is active in us (ἐνεργεῖται); life [is  

active] in you’ (4:12). Earlier, Paul had spoken about the activity of consolation amid affliction  

for the Corinthians (1:6), but there is little indication that their suffering is in view here. Instead,  

Paul depicts that which, in their eyes, is a failing ministry. Far from presenting any apostolic  

achievements, he shows that power comes from participating in the story of Christ.⁷⁰ As  

Furnish puts it: ‘4:7–15 is an interpretation of the curriculum vitae Pauli as the curriculum  

mortis et vitae Iesu’.⁷¹  

In 2 Cor 4:16–18, consolation for apostolic affliction is most pronounced:⁷² Paul’s  

antitheses illustrate a fully rationalised movement from adversity to renewal, which can be  

compared to the consolation of the ancient philosophical schools. Firstly, Paul reasons: ‘if our  

outer (ἔξω) self is being decomposed (διαφθείρεται) … our inner (ἔσω) [self] is being daily  

renewed (ἀνακαινοῦται)’ (4:16). Then, relatedly, he adds in even more consolatory terms: ‘for  

the momentary levity of our affliction (τὸ γὰρ παραυτίκα ἐλαφρὸν τῆς θλίψεως ἡμῶν) effects  

for us an extravagantly eternal weight of glory (αἰώνιον βάρος δόξης)’ (4:17). Here Paul  

incorporates notions from across Jewish and Graeco-Roman contexts, but especially  

Platonism.⁷³ Although the transformative process is ongoing, the movement from  

decomposition to renewal and from grief to glory amount, mutatis mutandis, to physical  

consolation based on pneuma.⁷⁴ Through ‘fixating on the things unseen’ (4:18), Paul  

consciously moves away from present, visible affliction to eternal, invisible glory, which he  

has found to be a source of consolation and power.  

Developing his fixation on the ‘things unseen’, in 2 Cor 5:1–5, future considerations  

come to the fore as the apostle contemplates the heavenly realms within an eschatological  

framework. This section provides the brightest consolatory colours of the ekphrasis. The  

70  

See Lim, Sufferings of Christ, 121, for a reading of 4:13–15 as an invitation for the Corinthians to participate  

in the story of Christ. In 4:14, Paul and his team seem to be raised slightly ahead of the Corinthians.  

⁷¹ Furnish, II Corinthians, 288.  

⁷² Cf. Frank J. Matera, II Corinthians: A Commentary (Louisville: Westminster John Knox, 2003), 42. I disagree,  

however, that Paul originally intended this to be for all believers; this is consolation for himself and the apostolic  

team.  

73  

See David E. Aune, ‘Anthropological Duality in the Eschatology of 2 Cor 4:16–5:10’, in Engberg-Pedersen,  

Paul Beyond the Judaism/Hellenism Divide, 220–222, on Resp. 9.588a–589b. Engberg-Pedersen concedes that ‘a  

certain depreciation of the earthly body was built into Platonic ontology’ (Cosmology, 50).  

⁷⁴ Thus Engberg-Pedersen, Cosmology, 48: ‘Paul's body is literally dying (atrophying) while the pneuma that he  

has received gradually fills out more and more of that body’. Emphasis original.  

131  

apostle starts from what he knows to be the differences between the earthly and heavenly (2  

Cor 5:1):  

Οἴδαμεν γὰρ ὅτι ἐὰν ἡ ἐπίγειος ἡμῶν οἰκία τοῦ σκήνους καταλυθῇ, οἰκοδομὴν ἐκ θεοῦ  

ἔχομεν οἰκίαν ἀχειροποίητον αἰώνιον ἐν τοῖς οὐρανοῖς.  

We know that if our earthly home, that is the body, should be destroyed, we have a  

building from God: an eternal home, not crafted by hand, in the heavens.  

In keeping with Paul’s somatic focus in 2 Cor 4, σκῆνος refers to the decaying body.⁷⁵ Even if  

it is not a personal meditatio mortis (cf. Phil 1:20–24), Paul commentates on what happens at  

death.⁷⁶ The primary accent is placed on the divine and eternal edifice which is situated in the  

heavens: the ultimate locus of consolation.⁷⁷  

In awaiting these eschatological events, however, there is considerable present grief.  

Paul twice portrays how the apostles are groaning (στενάζομεν; 5:2, 5:4). On the second  

occasion, groaning is linked to being ‘in the body (ἐν τῷ σκήνει)’ and is described as  

burdensome (βαρούμενοι). In this emotive section, Paul expresses a longing for consolation in  

the form of ‘our dwelling which comes from heaven (τὸ οἰκητήριον ἡμῶν τὸ ἐξ οὐρανοῦ)’  

(5:2).⁷⁸ Recalling 1 Cor 15:53–54, Paul uses the consolatory metaphor of clothing over  

nakedness – a sign of destitution – but he twice intensifies the notion by adding ἐπί to ἐνδύω  

to emphasise that this clothing comes from above. Thus, in 2 Cor 5:4, he writes: ‘we groan …  

since we do not want to be unclothed (ἐκδύσασθαι) but clothed from above (ἐπενδύσασθαι),  

so that the mortal might be swallowed up by life (ἵνα καταποθῇ τὸ θνητὸν ὑπὸ τῆς ζωῆς)’.  

The victory of life in a reclothed, heavenly body, adds substance to ‘the mortal flesh  

(τῇ θνητῇ σαρκὶ)’ of 2 Cor 4:11. While pneuma is limited in Paul’s account in 1 Cor 15,  

appearing only at 15:44–46, it is much more pervasive in these central sections in 2 Corinthians.  

Paul describes how the transformation of the body, a source of physical consolation in the  

present and future, is made possible through the pneuma (2 Cor 5:5):  

ὁ δὲ κατεργασάμενος ἡμᾶς εἰς αὐτὸ τοῦτο θεός, ὁ δοὺς ἡμῖν τὸν ἀρραβῶνα τοῦ  

πνεύματος.  

75  

Thus, rightly: Aune, ‘Anthropological Duality’, 224: ‘The genitive of apposition is Paul’s way of explicitly  

interpreting the metaphor ἡ οἰκία (‘house’) as really referring to the σκῆνος (‘body’)’.  

76  

See further Manuel Vogel, Commentatio Mortis: 2 Kor 5,1-10 Auf Dem Hintergrund Antiker Ars Moriendi,  

FRLANT 214 (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2006).  

77  

For discussion of the phrase, πολίτευμα ἐν οὐρανοῖς (Phil 3:20), as an even more climactic moment of  

consolation in the letter, see the following chapter.  

78  

See Fitzgerald, Cracks, 182, for the wise man’s readiness to depart a temporary dwelling; cf. Seneca, Ep.  

120.12–15.  

132  

The one who moulded us for this very purpose, God, has given us the deposit of the  

pneuma.  

This process of being moulded and effected (κατεργασάμενος) by God recalls 2 Cor 4:17 where  

the apostle consoled himself with the realisation that affliction effects (κατεργάζεται) an eternal  

weight of glory. In 2 Cor 5:5, the role of the pneuma as consolation for the present in awaiting  

the eschaton is most explicit. This concludes Paul’s auto-consolation, and from it, he moves on  

to exhort himself and the Corinthians in the present, while seeking reconciliation.  

Ekphrastic Reconciliation and Exhortation from Consolation (2 Cor 5:6–7:4)  

In 2 Cor 5:6–9, Paul rationalises his current state of inhabiting the body (ἐνδημοῦντες ἐν τῷ  

σώματι; 5:6). Even if it separates him from the Lord and he would prefer to be outside the body  

(ἐκδημῆσαι ἐκ τοῦ σώματος); having been consoled by the promise of full pneumatic  

transformation, he now seeks to please the Lord. This is possible ‘whether at home [in the  

body] or away [from the body] (εἴτε ἐνδημοῦντες εἴτε ἐκδημοῦντες)’ (5:9); his bodily situation  

is an adiaphoron relative to his apostolic ambitions for the Lord.  

Paul now moves onto the rhetorical aim of the ekphrasis: reconciliation with the  

Corinthians. Throughout the ekphrasis, Paul has been implicitly appealing to the Corinthians  

based on what has been displayed through him. This move is made explicit when Paul turns to  

the Corinthians and appeals in the first person singular: ‘we have been displayed  

(πεφανερώμεθα) to God; and I hope (ἐλπίζω) to have been displayed (πεφανερῶσθαι) in your  

consciences’ (5:11). Being before both God and the consciences of the Corinthians, Paul’s  

appeal has divine and human aspects. Instead of commending himself (5:12), Paul seeks  

reconciliation with the Corinthians which, like consolation, is firstly a divine prerogative, but  

then mediated through human sources.  

Paul starts his task of conciliating the Corinthians with proclamation about the love of  

Christ (5:14). Paul depicts Christ as a paradigm who produces action and transformation within  

believers ‘with the result that those who are alive (οἱ ζῶντες) no longer live for themselves’  

(5:15). While Christ assumes a paradigmatic role, this is for the purpose of exhortation in 5:14–  

16. In 5:17, however, Paul describes the novelty that comes from being in Christ: ‘if someone  

is in Christ, there is new creation (εἴ τις ἐν Χριστῷ, καινὴ κτίσις): the old things have passed  

away; see, new things have come to be’. Here Engberg-Pedersen is right that Paul describes  

‘the generation of an altogether new pneumatic world’,⁷⁹ whose new cosmology is made  

⁷⁹ Engberg-Pedersen, Cosmology, 38.  

133  

possible by Christ’s reconciling actions. Yet Paul also draws on Isaiah 43:18–19, where the  

prophet consoles Israel in exile: ‘Do not remember (μὴ μνημονεύετε) the first things and do  

not consider the former (ἀρχαῖα) things; behold I shall do new things (ἰδοὺ ποιῶ καινὰ)’. In  

relation to these verses, Teresa Morgan comments:  

For the faithful, in Paul’s vision, to be in Christ’s hands, in his power, under his  

protection, and in his care, is regenerative, transformative, and all-encompassing. It is  

to be a new creation.⁸⁰  

Like the consolation in 2 Cor 1:3–11, reconciliation is distributed in a network from God  

through Christ to Paul and the believers, in the form of a ‘ministry of reconciliation (τὴν  

διακονίαν τῆς καταλλαγῆς)’ (5:18). This network is described more fully in 2 Cor 5:20, where  

Paul embodies the role of Christ’s envoy with both consolatory and conciliatory tasks:  

‘Therefore, we are ambassadors (πρεσβεύομεν) for the sake of Christ, as God consoles through  

us (ὡς τοῦ θεοῦ παρακαλοῦντος δι᾽ ἡμῶν); we appeal (δεόμεθα) for the sake of Christ, be  

reconciled (καταλλάγητε) to God’. Paul is divinely appointed as an envoy to effect  

reconciliation, but this comes from the consoling nature of God, which the apostle embodies.⁸¹  

While having an affective aspect, Paul’s depiction of the believers’ participation in the  

righteousness of God in Christ and becoming like God (5:21) modifies Paul’s discourse such  

that consolation gives way to exhortation. At 2 Cor 6:1, Paul exhorts the Corinthians to receive  

the gift of God: ‘as collaborators, we encourage (παρακαλοῦμεν) you not to receive the gift of  

God in vain’ (cf. 1 Cor 15:58). In 6:2, Paul quotes from Isa 49:8, where through the prophet,  

YHWH says to the Israelites: ‘In the season of favour (Καιρῷ δεκτῷ), I heard you, and on the  

day of salvation (ἐν ἡμέρᾳ σωτηρίας), I helped you’. This is followed by an exhortation towards  

reconciliation couched in similar terms: ‘see, now, is a favourable season (ἰδοὺ νῦν καιρὸς  

εὐπρόσδεκτος); see, now, is a day of salvation (ἡμέρα σωτηρίας)’. For Engberg-Pedersen, 2  

Cor 6:2 is central to Paul’s temporal and paraenetic scheme in 2:14–7:4: ‘With his repeated  

⁸⁰ Teresa Morgan, Being ‘in Christ’ in the Letters of Paul: Saved through Christ and in His Hands, WUNT 449  

(Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2020), 62  

⁸¹ Cf. PMich. VIII. 502, 7–8, from the second century CE, where a solider seeks to be reconciled to his estranged  

brother: παρακληθείς, ἄδελφε, διαλλάγηθί μοι. John T. Fitzgerald reasonably renders this ‘in response to my  

entreaty, brother, be reconciled to me’ (‘Paul and Paradigm Shifts: Reconciliation and its Linkage Group’, in  

Engberg-Pedersen, Paul Beyond the Judaism/Hellenism Divide, 249). I believe, however, that given the place of  

consolation in the letter so far, Paul is moving from consolation to reconciliation. Engberg-Pedersen overlooks  

the networks of consolation and reconciliation in the ekphrasis: ‘The idea of divine reconciliation is … introduced  

here because the whole of the Pauline psychodrama in 2 Cor. 2:14–7:4 is about reconciliation between the  

Corinthians and Paul himself’ (Cosmology, 202).  

134  

ἰδοὺ νῦν (‘see now’), Paul himself identifies the present moment as the one that really matters,  

the moment when he is (now) encouraging the Corinthians to respond positively to himself’.⁸²  

Although 2 Cor 6:2 is directed towards the Corinthians as exhortation, in 2 Cor 6:3–10,  

Paul provides the finishing touches to his own ekphrasis of his ministry, which is characterised  

by suffering and virtue.⁸³ Although Engberg-Pedersen justly recognises the absence of a main  

verb in 6:3–10, his labelling this section a ‘run-up’ or ‘anacoluthon’⁸⁴ neglects its emotive  

function. In a second περίστασις catalogue (6:4–5), Paul enumerates ten different hardships of  

general and specific natures (e.g., ‘in much perseverance’ [ἐν ὑπομονῇ πολλῇ] and ‘in hunger’  

[ἐν νηστείαις]) for which consolation would have been appropriate. Then, suddenly, Paul goes  

from enumerating hardships to enumerating virtues (6:6–7). These virtues are developed  

through human and divine agency: Paul stresses that as ‘servants of God (θεοῦ διάκονοι)’ (6:4),  

their ministry remains ‘empowered by God (ἐν δυνάμει θεοῦ)’ (6:7). Having listed a catena of  

adversities followed by a catena of virtues, Paul finally juxtaposes broadly negative and  

positive characteristics. This final tour de force merits quotation in full (6:8–10):  

διὰ δυσφημίας καὶ εὐφημίας· ὡς πλάνοι καὶ ἀληθεῖς, ὡς ἀγνοούμενοι καὶ  

ἐπιγινωσκόμενοι, ὡς ἀποθνῄσκοντες καὶ ἰδοὺ ζῶμεν, ὡς παιδευόμενοι καὶ μὴ  

θανατούμενοι, ὡς λυπούμενοι ἀεὶ δὲ χαίροντες, ὡς πτωχοὶ πολλοὺς δὲ πλουτίζοντες,  

ὡς μηδὲν ἔχοντες καὶ πάντα κατέχοντες.  

Through slander and praise, as deceivers yet truthful, as ignorant yet understanding, as  

dying, yet see, we live, as disciplined yet not put to death, as grieving but always  

rejoicing, as poor but enriching many, as having nothing yet possessing everything.  

With each item in the list, the apostle moves from a dishonourable quality or an adversity to  

something virtuous or preferable. Each clause, therefore, represents the trajectory of  

consolation from something grievous to something joyful. This consolatory movement is best  

represented by the clause ‘as grieving but always rejoicing (ὡς λυπούμενοι ἀεὶ δὲ χαίροντες)’  

but it is not restricted to it. 2 Cor 6:3–10 provides the most developed parallels to the figure of  

the Cynic-Stoic sage⁸⁵ because, unlike elsewhere in his letters,⁸⁶ the apostle presents himself  

as mastering his emotions despite hardships. Like the sage, Paul is poor and virtuous; but  

⁸² Engberg-Pedersen, ‘Paul’s Temporal Thinking’, 176.  

83  

For Lim, Isa 49:8 ‘provid[es] the contemporary significance of this passage (6.2) in his [Paul’s] apostolic  

ministry and suffering (Sufferings of Christ, 124).  

⁸⁴ Engberg-Pedersen, ‘Paul’s Temporal Thinking’, 175. At 175n58, he wrestles with the possibility that δίδοντες  

functions as a finite verb. Elsewhere in Paul, anacoluthon is often a sign of charged emotions: see below on Phil  

3:18–19.  

⁸⁵ See Fitzgerald, Cracks, 22 with reference to Dio Chrys, Or. 8.15-16.  

⁸⁶ Fitzgerald, Cracks, 199, also realises this with reference to Paul’s grief: ‘Paul unabashedly confesses his grief  

(2 Cor 2:1-3; Rom 9:1; Phil 2:27), for it, no less than his physical hardships, is the consequence of his diakonia’.  

135  

differently, he is enriched amid opposition as God’s servant. The divine enables him to  

distribute consolation to the Corinthians, which provides effective grounds for reconciliation.  

The emotive importance of this section, particularly concerning how Paul successfully finds  

consolation in hardships, therefore, should not be underestimated. Far from an awkward  

anacoluthon, 2 Cor 6:3–10 is the final portrayal of auto-consolation in the ekphrasis before a  

frank, yet emotive, appeal for reconciliation.  

Paul articulates this appeal in 2 Cor 6:11–7:4.⁸⁷ In 2 Cor 6:11, he asserts that he has  

made the first move openly towards them: ‘our mouth has been open (ἀνέῳγεν) towards you,  

Corinthians, our heart has been widened (ἡ καρδία ἡμῶν πεπλάτυνται)’. Paul’s appeal for  

renewed friendship is framed eupathically from a position of consolation, as David Fredrickson  

highlights: ‘Joy … was often depicted as widening of the heart (SVF. 3.105.17–18; Seneca, Ep.  

59.2)’.⁸⁸ Conversely, in 6:12, Paul describes the Corinthians as emotionally constricted  

(στενοχωρεῖσθε δὲ ἐν τοῖς σπλάγχνοις ὑμῶν). Paul, however, has represented himself as  

‘afflicted in everything but not constricted (στενοχωρούμενοι)’ (4:8) and as a servant of God  

‘in constrictions (ἐν στενοχωρίαις)’ (6:4).⁸⁹ As a result, his final appeal for reconciliation in  

6:13 ought not only be read paraenetically⁹⁰ – although to be sure, the familial language (‘I  

speak as to children [τέκνοις]’) is a paraenetic marker – but also as consolation. With the  

imperative, ‘widen yourselves (πλατύνθητε) also’, Paul attempts to console the Corinthians, by  

instilling joy, and seeking the restoration of a friendship with them.  

Admittedly, Paul is at his most defensive in 2 Cor 7:2. His appeal to the Corinthians –  

‘accommodate (Χωρήσατε) us’ – is followed by a tricolon of rebutted charges: ‘we haven’t  

wronged (ἠδικήσαμεν) anyone, we haven’t corrupted (ἐφθείραμεν) anyone, we haven’t  

defrauded (ἐπλεονεκτήσαμεν) anyone’.⁹¹ Nevertheless, Paul’s greater preoccupation is  

restored friendship with the Corinthians which is integral to the rest of 2 Cor 7. Whereas in 1  

Cor 15:34, Paul had spoken to shame (πρὸς ἐντροπήν) them, his position in 2 Cor 7:3 is  

87  

I shall pass over 2 Cor 6:14–7:1. While I am inclined to see it as an interpolation with strong similarities to  

Qumran cosmology, this has never been definitively shown and its insertion at this precise moment of the letter  

requires further explanation. Contrary to the relationship between 2 Cor 2:13 and 2 Cor 7:5, where a narrative is  

resumed after an ekphrastic section, 2 Cor 7:2 logically develops the content of 2 Cor 6:11–13.  

⁸⁸ David E. Fredrickson, ‘Paul, Hardships, and Suffering’, in Paul in the Greco-Roman World: A Handbook, ed.  

J. Paul Sampley (Harrisburg: Trinity Press International, 2003), 179–180. The key phrase in the Seneca passage  

cited is animi elatio.  

⁸⁹ Cf. 2 Cor 12:10: ‘I shall delight … in constrictions (εὐδοκῶ ... ἐν ... στενοχωρίαις)’  

90  

See Engberg-Pedersen, ‘Paul’s Temporal Thinking’, 176: ‘Thus understood [paraklesis qua encouragement],  

6.3–13, as introduced by 6.1, constitutes the apex of 2.14–7.4 as a whole. It is this text, and not least Paul’s  

concluding imperative in 6.13, to which everything in that whole text has been directed’. Emphasis original.  

⁹¹ Each of these three charges is levelled against another party elsewhere in 2 Corinthians: see, respectively, 2 Cor  

7:12; 2 Cor 11:3; 2 Cor 2:11, 12:17–18.  

136  

different: ‘I do not speak to condemn (πρὸς κατάκρισιν)’. Fitzgerald recognises Paul’s  

invocation of the friendship topos: ‘the language about dying and living together is a  

Christianized version of a traditional friendship formula’.⁹² Paul certainly inculcates κοινωνία  

in the death and life of Christ, in which he participates, and from this consolation, exhorts the  

Corinthians to participate too, as friends.  

The final impression of the ekphrasis is that the apostle has been consoled in his  

affliction: ‘I have been filled with consolation, I overflow abundantly with joy in our every  

affliction (πεπλήρωμαι τῇ παρακλήσει, ὑπερπερισσεύομαι τῇ χαρᾷ ἐπὶ πάσῃ τῇ θλίψει ἡμῶν)’  

(7:4). This final remark reflects consolation on two levels. Firstly, by constructing this  

ekphrasis, the apostle has engaged in a therapeutic exercise, viz. an auto-consolation, in which  

he reminds himself that, contrary to appearances, sufferings positively define his ministry, as  

an ambassador of Christ. Secondly, by extending this consolation to the Corinthians, he  

anticipates that reconciliation between him and them will result and exhorts them in this vein.  

Having now undertaken this emotional journey, Paul now resumes the actual narrative, initiated  

in 2:13. Despite a brief, initial turn for rhetorical effect at 7:5,⁹³ Paul narrates a joyful outcome  

that logically follows the consolatory ekphrasis in 2 Cor 2:14–7:4, which is bolstered by an  

expanded consolatory network.  

The Consolatory Network Developed (2 Cor 7:5–16)  

Ivar Vegge surmises that ‘one almost gets the impression in 7:4b that the Corinthians and Paul  

have already been reconciled’. The continuation of the letter after this point – as opposed to  

the conclusion of a fragment – requires explanation. At 7:5, however, Paul suddenly expresses  

his own grief. As discussed, the phrasing is initially nearly identical to 2 Cor 2:13, but Paul  

adds an extra clause: ‘but we were afflicted in everything: battles without, fears within (ἀλλ᾽  

ἐν παντὶ θλιβόμενοι ἔξωθεν μάχαι, ἔσωθεν φόβοι)’. This addition refers to the previous  

ekphrastic section in which his own afflictions and battles were vividly depicted and  

rationalised. Although Paul amplifies his emotions⁹⁴ in 2 Cor 7:5–16 as he returns to the present  

situation in Corinth, there is a logical continuation of the narrative thus far in 2 Corinthians,⁹⁵  

but some new consolatory aspects emerge.  

⁹² Fitzgerald, ‘Paul and Paradigm Shifts’, 257.  

⁹³ See ibid., 258, where he argues that Titus’ delay is a deliberate strategy, which ‘forces the Corinthians to read  

the whole of 2:14-7:4 in a state of suspense’.  

⁹⁴ For 2 Cor 7:5–16, as a rhetorical amplification, see Vegge, 2 Corinthians, 96–103.  

95  

B. G. White, Pain and Paradox: The Transformative Function of Strength in Weakness, WUNT II/555  

(Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2021), 156, testifies to a narrative sequence: ‘The transformative work of God, to create  

what is not and to bind together what is opposed, has taken root in the community and produced fruit’.  

137  

While 2 Cor 7:6–7 bears remarkable similarities to 2 Cor 1:3–11, Paul adds another  

link to the chain of consolation: his envoy, Titus. Paul narrates events as follows: ‘but the one  

who consoles the downcast, God, consoled us with the presence of Titus (ἀλλ᾽ ὁ παρακαλῶν  

τοὺς ταπεινοὺς παρεκάλεσεν ἡμᾶς ὁ θεὸς ἐν τῇ παρουσίᾳ Τίτου)’ (7:6). Paul again appropriates  

discourse that was extended to Israel in Deutero-Isaiah as consolation for his own situation.⁹⁶  

Although it was common for envoys to act as go-betweens in ensuring goodwill between  

parties,⁹⁷ Titus’ mediation of divine consolation significantly occurs through his embodied  

presence (παρουσία), which effects present consolation.  

Paul sees Titus as not only sent by God, but also the intermediary between himself and  

the Corinthians: not only is he consoled by Titus’ divinely orchestrated presence, ‘but also  

through the consolation with which he was consoled’ (ἀλλὰ καὶ ἐν τῇ παρακλήσει ᾗ  

παρεκλήθη) (7:7) about the Corinthians. Paul’s receiving consolation from God ‘through the  

consolation [through] which we are consoled (διὰ τῆς παρακλήσεως ἧς παρακαλούμεθα)’  

(1:4), which enables him to console, is mirrored by Titus’ receiving consolation from the  

Corinthians, which enables him to console Paul. Thus, a network is developed incorporating  

Paul, Titus, and the Corinthians, with God at its source, wherein consolation is distributed.  

Paul nevertheless recognises the human dimension of consolation derived from the  

Corinthians. Paul summarises Titus’ report from the Corinthians that result in Paul’s joy being  

increased (ὥστε με μᾶλλον χαρῆναι) through three emotions: their longing (ἐπιπόθησιν),  

mourning (ὀδυρμόν), and zeal (ζῆλον). Zeal is an important emotion towards which the apostle  

will direct the Corinthians in this section (cf. 7:11), but the presence of mourning suggests that  

the relationship between Paul and the Corinthians had nearly fractured, or at least, greatly  

harmed. Paul, therefore, is consoled by the sincerity of their consolation, since the Corinthians  

have appropriately mourned but now seek reconciliation with the apostle, which in turn causes  

him joy.  

In 2 Cor 7:8–13, Paul tries to explain the intended effect of his letter upon the  

Corinthians. This section is brimming with ancient philosophical discourse concerning the  

emotions, especially grief, but a paradigm shift occurs through Paul’s notion of grief ‘according  

⁹⁶ See Isa 49:13b: ‘For the Lord has shown mercy (ἠλέησεν) to his people and the downcast (τοὺς ταπεινοὺς) of  

his people, he has consoled (παρεκάλεσεν)’. The differences in context should, however, be noted: the scope of  

consolation is cosmological (Isa 49:13a); and Zion initially cannot accept this consolation, feeling abandoned and  

forgotten by the Lord (Isa 49:14). Note the continuation of Isa 49 from 2 Cor 6:2. For an argument that Paul draws  

on Lamentations as well as Deutero-Isaiah in this section, see Jonathan Kaplan, ‘Comfort, O Comfort, Corinth:  

Grief and Comfort in 2 Corinthians 7:5–13a’, HTR 104.4 (2011): 433–445.  

⁹⁷ Lucilius plays a similar role in Cicero, Fam. 3.5.1. Concerning Lucilius, Cicero observes: ‘you could not have  

sent me any man who is more friendly (amiciorem) or, I think, more suitable and sensitive for examining those  

things which I wished to know’.  

138  

to God (κατὰ θεόν)’ (7:9, 10).⁹⁸ In 7:8–9, Paul recognises the grievous effect that his letter  

temporarily (πρὸς ὥραν) had among the Corinthians. Although he has now reached a point  

where he is joyful (νῦν χαίρω) and feels no remorse (οὐ μεταμέλομαι), he intimates that he felt  

a degree of remorse (εἰ καὶ μετεμελόμην). Margaret Graver argues that remorse (μεταμέλεια)  

was not a wholly negative concept for the moral philosophers; they could ‘make use of their  

pupils’ remorse and shame as promising developments in a course of ethical theory’.⁹⁹ For a  

philosopher to ascribe remorse to himself, however, would have been ill-fitting which accounts  

for some of Paul’s reservation.  

The rhetorical context, however, requires remorse. In this case, however, Paul wishes  

to show that his joy is not derived from his aggrieving the Corinthians, but from their grief  

leading to repentance (εἰς μετάνοιαν) which happens κατὰ θεόν. By attributing the Corinthians’  

grief to God’s consolatory purposes, Paul absolves himself from causing them any desolation:  

‘so that you are not made desolate in anything (ἵνα ἐν μηδενὶ ζημιωθῆτε) through us’ (7:9).  

This leads Paul to compare the philosophically unorthodox concept of ‘godly grief’ (ἡ  

… κατὰ θεὸν λύπη) with ‘worldly grief’ (ἡ … τοῦ κόσμου λύπη) in 7:10. The former produces  

repentance which leads to ‘a salvation without remorse (εἰς σωτηρίαν ἀμεταμέλητον)’, while  

the latter produces ‘death (θάνατον)’. Here, as interpreters from at least Chrysostom onwards  

have recognised, Paul drifts into philosophical mode¹⁰⁰ but in a different key. Although she  

does not cite 2 Cor 7:10, Graver’s comments about religious versus philosophical conceptions  

of remorse can be applied to it:  

If one were to consult Philo, or Origen, or any other Jewish or Christian writer of Greco-  

Roman antiquity, about the proper function of mental distress, an answer would be  

ready to hand: remorse and repentance bring about a change in one’s relationship to  

god, marked by a fuller awareness of one’s responsibilities as a moral agent. This  

explicitly religious conception of remorse, developed under the influence of the Hebrew  

shuv or ‘return’ (i.e., a return to god), is not to be found in the secular philosophical  

tradition.¹⁰¹  

98  

See Welborn, ‘Paul and Pain’, 548: ‘Paul emerges … as the harbinger of an upheaval in the ancient theory of  

the emotions’.  

⁹⁹ Graver, Stoicism and Emotion, 192. Emphasis original.  

¹⁰⁰ See Hom. 15 and language of φιλοσοφεῖ: ‘For this is life, this comfort, this consolation to a teacher possessed  

of understanding (διδασκάλῳ νοῦν ἐχοντι)’.  

¹⁰¹ Graver, Stoicism and Emotion, 206.  

139  

Accordingly, Paul subverts the secular philosophical tradition with his positive reframing of  

grief in terms of God’s agency. Welborn justly recognises ‘how anomalous, even shocking,  

this valorization of λύπη must have seemed’¹⁰² to those versed in ancient emotional theory.¹⁰³  

From Titus’ report, in 2 Cor 7:11, Paul celebrates the results of the Corinthians’ grief  

according to God with a list of seven emotions, all modified and amplified by the quantitative  

pronoun: ‘how great (πόσην)’.¹⁰⁴ The fifth and sixth emotions (longing [ἐπιπόθησιν] and zeal  

[ζῆλον]) are repeated from 2 Cor 7:7, whereas the Corinthians’ mourning is no longer in view,  

implying that consolation has occurred. The other five emotions are expected ones, but Paul’s  

celebration of the fear (φόβον) that has been produced within the Corinthians is not. As one of  

the passions, Paul’s positive evaluation of fear is very difficult to square with philosophical  

tradition. The apostle concludes the amplified list of seven emotions by stating: ‘in everything  

you have commended yourselves as holy (ἁγνούς) in the matter’. According to Diogenes  

Laertius, Zeno viewed good men’s sacrifice to the gods as a means of conferring holiness upon  

themselves (ἀλλὰ μὴν καὶ θύσειν αὐτοὺς θεοῖς ἁγνούς θ᾿ ὑπάρχειν; Lives 7.119), but for Paul  

to see fear as contributing to holiness would have been incomprehensible. It was precisely  

through extirpation of the passions, including fear, that the sage became holy.¹⁰⁵ Yet for Paul,  

fear and holiness are not opposed in divine and human relationships.  

The prospect of reconciliation – on divine and human levels – is a source of consolation  

for Paul, which he expresses in concluding this section: ‘because of this, we have been consoled  

(παρακεκλήμεθα)’ (7:13). At this point, Paul’s own emotional outlook is at its most positive;  

his own grief has been fully displaced. This is augmented by the chain of consolation within  

which Titus forms a central part: ‘In addition to our consolation (παρακλήσει) we rejoiced even  

more at the joy of Titus (ἐχάρημεν ἐπὶ τῇ χαρᾷ Τίτου), because his spirit had been relieved  

(ἀναπέπαυται) by you all’. Titus is the human bridge of consolation: he delivers a letter whose  

goal is to console the Corinthians through eliciting godly grief, is consoled by the Corinthians’  

response to that letter, and delivers joy and consolation to Paul.  

¹⁰² Welborn, ‘Paul and Pain’, 565.  

103  

Although he does not refer to 2 Cor 7:10, Zahl identifies a theological relationship between consolation and  

repentance in Melanchthon’s writings – ‘in repentance, that is, in terrors, faith consoles and uplifts hearts’ (Ap.  

4.45) – which he describes as follows: ‘Melanchthon’s theology of consolation is the establishment of a new  

affectively salient relation of love between Christ and sinner’ (Holy Spirit as Christian Experience, 140). Paul,  

who sees his ministry of consolation and reconciliation as compelled by the love of Christ (2 Cor 5:14), would  

surely agree.  

104  

I am more inclined to agree with Vegge (2 Corinthians, 101) that these seven words create an overall  

impression of perfect reconciliation than with Welborn (End to Enmity, 33) who believes they represent ‘stages  

of an emotional progress’.  

105  

Welborn, End, 475. Welborn also astutely observes that all three major eupatheiai – or close synonyms –  

feature in the therapeutic letter to mitigate some of the shock (End, 476).  

140  

Titus represents Paul such that the boundaries between the pair become blurred. Paul  

claims that Titus remains affectively disposed towards the Corinthians, since he can still  

remember (ἀναμιμνῃσκομένου) their obedience. When Paul writes that the Corinthians  

received ‘him with fear and trembling’ (7:15; cf. Phil 2:12), he means not only Titus, but  

himself embodied through Titus and the letter. Paul derives joy from Titus’ report that leads  

him to declare to the Corinthians: ‘I rejoice because in everything I have confidence in you  

(χαίρω ὅτι ἐν παντὶ θαρρῶ ἐν ὑμῖν)’ (7:16). While such confidence may be amplified, there is  

nothing in 2 Cor 1–7 to suggest that Paul and most of the Corinthians are on anything other  

than philophronetic terms.¹⁰⁶ Although we do not have the Corinthians’ side of the story, from  

Paul’s perspective, having reflected on his ministry and issues in Corinth, thanks to a fully  

functioning consolatory network, he is confident.¹⁰⁷  

Renewed Financial Appeals? (2 Cor 8–9)  

Thus far, I have argued that 2 Cor 1–7 is a literary unity that is held together by the theme of  

consolation. In this section, I shall offer some impressions on the place of 2 Cor 8–9 in the  

correspondence on account of consolatory discourse. While it is possible to contend that 2 Cor  

8:1–24 contributed to a rift in the relationship between Paul and the Corinthians which meant  

that Paul had to seek reconciliation in parts of 2 Cor 1–7, there are reasons to believe that 2 Cor  

8:1–24 is a continuation of the consolation and reconciliation established. Paul now feels  

sufficiently confident to ask and exhort the Corinthians for financial contributions without  

aggrieving them.  

Paul starts his appeal to the Corinthians with two exempla: the Macedonians, and more  

briefly, Christ. Firstly, Paul elaborates on the Macedonians’ generous contribution as a means  

of exhorting the Corinthians to contribute as well. In the Macedonians’ case, despite their  

poverty and affliction, they gave generously: ‘in much testing and affliction (θλίψεως), the  

abundance of their joy (χαρᾶς) … abounded’ (8:2). Paul speaks of their giving in consolatory  

terms: despite their affliction, they joyfully gave. Then, having been consoled, they take the  

initiative and voluntarily seek out Paul and his team to contribute: ‘of their own accord,  

beseeching us with great comfort (αὐθαίρετοι μετὰ πολλῆς παρακλήσεως δεόμενοι ἡμῶν)’  

(8:3–4). The Macedonians model the chain of consolation conveyed in 2 Cor 1:3–7: having  

106  

Extending Welborn, End to Enmity, 469, to cover the whole of 2 Cor 1–7: ‘the emotional vocabulary of this  

letter far exceeds the φιλοφρόνησις required to maintain or restore a friendship’.  

107  

For confidence as the corresponding eupatheia to fear, see Graver, Stoicism and Emotion, 213–220; Cicero,  

Tusc. 4.66.  

141  

been consoled by God in their affliction, they now seek to offer comfort to others. On Paul’s  

account, this takes the form of giving ‘even beyond their power (καὶ παρὰ δύναμιν)’ (8:3),  

which the Corinthians are not commanded, but implicitly challenged to emulate (8:7–8).¹⁰⁸  

Secondly, the apostle briefly refers to Christ’s exemplum in giving.¹⁰⁹ Again,  

consolatory notions are discernible in the poverty that Christ voluntarily imposes on himself to  

enrich believers, including the Corinthians: ‘for your sake, since he was rich, he became poor  

(ἐπτώχευσεν πλούσιος ὤν), so that you might be enriched by his poverty’ (8:9). As in 2 Cor 1,  

Paul presents Christ as the source of consolation and here draws attention to his voluntary  

poverty that enriches believers, so that they may enrich others. It is because of – not despite –  

his rich status that Christ can be the primary agent of consolation.¹¹⁰  

Therefore, through these exempla, the Corinthians are exhorted to participate in a  

consoling community where the capital is emotional, based on ‘goodwill (προθυμία)’ (8:11,  

8:12), as well as financial. This emotional aspect of giving is developed in 8:13, where Paul  

elucidates the giving process, allaying any concerns of enduring emotional penury from giving:  

‘not so that there may be relief (ἄνεσις) for others, and affliction (θλῖψις) for you’. Rather, the  

whole arrangement is undergirded by ‘equality (ἰσότητος)’ (8:13, 14), which forms, as David  

Briones puts it: ‘a community of alternating disequilibrium’.¹¹¹ Having consoled and  

reconciled himself to the Corinthians, Paul exhorts the Corinthians to participate in an  

emotionally and financially generous community, based on the examples of the Macedonians  

and Christ.  

There is one further connection between 2 Cor 1–7 and 2 Cor 8: namely, the presence  

of Titus. Titus remains part of the chain of consolation and giving, which is now expanded  

through the involvement of the assemblies in Macedonia. The Macedonians’ generosity allows  

Paul to ‘comfort (εἰς τὸ παρακαλέσαι) Titus so that just as he previously started, so he might  

complete this gift among you’ (8:6). Having had a favourable reception in Corinth, Titus is  

now charged with the task of collecting money from the Corinthians. Although Titus drifts into  

the background while Paul makes his emotional appeal to the Corinthians (8:7–15), he is  

reintroduced in 8:16–17 and displayed as another exemplum. Once more, the chain involving  

all the agents of consolation – God, Paul, the Corinthians, and Titus – is constructed: ‘Thanks  

108  

On the eristic aspect of consolation among friends in Cicero’s correspondence, see Wilcox, ‘Sympathetic  

Rivals’.  

109  

Cf. Mitchell, ‘Rhetorical Shorthand’, 131 for the deliberate compactness of this example. This is more  

developed in Phil 2:6–11.  

110  

See John M. G. Barclay, Paul and the Power of Grace (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2020), 159, for taking ὤν  

causally instead of concessively.  

¹¹¹ Briones, ‘Mutual Brokers’, 553.  

142  

be to God who has endowed the heart of Titus with the same eagerness that we have for you’  

(8:16). Paul commends Titus to the Corinthians by showing how he responds to this divine  

emotional endowment with remarkable obedience: ‘he embraced the consolation  

(παράκλησιν), being more eager, he came to you of his own accord’ (8:17).  

Therefore, Titus’ role in the letter is logically developed from 2 Cor 7:5–16: in response  

to consolation from divine and human sources, he heads to Corinth once more to embody Paul.  

This will involve consoling the Corinthians and then exhorting them to contribute to the gift.  

The consolation portrayed in 2 Cor 1–7 is therefore continued in 2 Cor 8:1–24. The only  

difference is that, following his consolation, Paul logically exhorts the Corinthians to contribute  

to the collection through a carefully crafted emotional appeal.  

Whether 2 Cor 9 was written at the same time as 2 Cor 8 is less certain. For the  

Corinthians to have become the model that most of the Macedonians have followed in giving  

(9:2; cf. 8:2) demands more time and persuasion than hearing the rhetoric of 2 Cor 8 alone.  

While Paul speaks about sending the brothers (9:3, 9:5), he does not explicitly mention Titus,  

which is surprising given his important place in the letter so far. Therefore, I favour seeing 2  

Cor 9 as a later document,¹¹² that portrays the end of the Corinthian correspondence, once all  

parties have been fully consoled and reconciled.¹¹³  

This becomes apparent at 2 Cor 9:7: ‘For let each of you deliberately choose  

(προῄρηται) [your gift] in his heart, not from grief or from necessity (μὴ ἐκ λύπης ἢ ἐξ  

ἀνάγκης); for God loves a cheerful giver’. The triad of terms commonly used by ancient  

philosophers represent an invitation to eupathic giving, which would not be possible without a  

strong base of reconciliation. Paul expresses greater confidence in the Corinthians’ relationship  

to himself and to God.¹¹⁴ In short, Paul is thankful to God ‘for his indescribable gift’ (9:15)  

and, towards the end of this correspondence, he fully expects the consoled and reconciled  

Corinthians to form part of this chain of giving.  

112  

The evidence assembled by Brent Nongbri which shows how official and financial correspondence could be  

preserved out of chronological order is particularly noteworthy: see idem, ‘2 Corinthians and Possible Material  

Evidence for Composite Letters in Antiquity’, in Collecting Early Christian Letters: From the Apostle Paul to  

Late Antiquity, eds. Bronwen Neil and Pauline Allen (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2015), 64–65.  

¹¹³ See Mitchell, ‘Birth of Pauline Hermeneutics’, 176, concerning the properly restored relationship as the end of  

the correspondence. To my knowledge, no-one has contended for two documents (2 Cor 1–8, 10–13; 2 Cor 9) as  

I do tentatively here.  

114  

There is some instructive overlap of terms with Philippians wherein the partnership between Paul, the  

assembly, and God is less obviously compromised: αὐτάρκεια (9:8; Phil 4:11); προσαναπληροῦσα τὰ ὑστερήματα  

(9:12; Phil 2:30).  

143  

Two-Way Consolation Amid Opposition (2 Cor 10–13)  

Considerations of space preclude a full investigation of 2 Cor 10–13; I shall focus on Paul’s  

account of his heavenly ascent and the thorn in the flesh (2 Cor 12:1–11) and argue that it is  

another consolatory narrative. Some comments are in order, however, about the nature and  

placement of these chapters.¹¹⁵ In 2 Cor 10:1, the tone is noticeably different¹¹⁶ but this is on  

account of the sophistic opponents, the so-called super-apostles, who emerge. Although there  

is a serious conflict between Paul and these interlopers in the assembly in Corinth, the  

militaristic metaphors and Paul’s apostolic prerogative ‘to be ready to avenge every form of  

disobedience’ (10:6) are rightly mitigated by situating them within a philosophical  

framework.¹¹⁷  

In 2 Cor 10:10–11, Paul articulates and responds to the criticism of a sophistic  

detractor¹¹⁸ about his letters:  

For he says (φησίν) that the letters are weighty and strong, but his bodily presence is  

weak and his speech contemptible. Let such a person (ὁ τοιοῦτος) consider that we are  

the same in speech through letters, when absent, as we are in action, when present.  

Although his epistolary style is complimented, his rhetorical delivery and ability in extempore  

speaking are impugned. Paul, however, does not deny the characterisation of himself as weak  

or even disabled.¹¹⁹ Instead, as Malherbe contends: ‘His humble life, in which God’s power is  

manifested, is the armament with which he attacks his opponents’.¹²⁰ Nevertheless, Paul is  

prepared to defend himself often in the face of opponents (10:7; cf. Phil 3:2–4) and even vilify  

them (11:13–15; cf. 1 Thess 2:1–11, Phil 3:19–21). This does not mean, however, that  

consolation is absent in this section. As with much of 2 Cor 2:12–7:4, much of 2 Cor 10–13  

represents Paul’s internal reflection upon events in Corinth. There is, therefore, continued auto-  

consolation, which then extends to the Corinthians.  

¹¹⁵ The main possibilities are that: 2 Cor 10–13 is the letter of tears; a second letter of tears as part of canonical 2  

Corinthians that aims at bringing about full reconciliation (Vegge, 2 Corinthians, 36); a new letter responding to  

new issues in Corinth ahead of a third visit (Thrall, Second Epistle, 20).  

¹¹⁶ Bjerkelund, who defends the unity of 2 Corinthians, reasons that: ‘passt aber der p-Satz in Kapitel 10 besonders  

gut als Ubergangssatz von dem milden zu dem scharferen Briefteil’ (Parakalꢄ, 155). See Thrall, II Corinthians,  

497, for incisive discussion of the differences between ‘I am confident in you’ (θαρρῶ ἐν ὑμῖν; 7:16) and ‘I am  

bold towards you’ (θαρρῶ εἰς ὑμᾶς; 10:1).  

¹¹⁷ See Abraham J. Malherbe, ‘Antisthenes and Odysseus, and Paul at War’, HTR 76.2 (1983), 167, for the use of  

the verbs τολμάω and θαρρέω in such debates.  

118  

Grounds for these words being those of the wrongdoer, which would be a good argument in favour of  

identifying 2 Cor 10–13 with the letter of tears, are strongest here; but note the plural τισιν τῶν ἑαυτοὺς  

συνιστανόντων (10:12).  

¹¹⁹ Van Kooten recognises the issues in antiquity concomitant with physiognomy via parallels to Dio Chrysostom,  

Or. 12.15: ‘Paul and Dio prefer to portray themselves as philosophers, who suffer all kinds of hardships, than as  

sophists’ (‘Rhetorical Competition’, 272).  

¹²⁰ Malherbe, ‘Paul at War’, 172.  

144  

In his final peristasis catalogue (2 Cor 11:21–33), Paul compares himself to his Jewish  

sophistic opponents. Parodying the grandiose curricula vitae that were popularised in the  

ancient Mediterranean, notably in the emperor Augustus’ Res Gestae,¹²¹ Paul enumerates  

sufferings that he experienced both at the hands of his kinsmen and from gentiles in his  

missionary travels (11:23–27). Yet at the centre of this account is Paul’s own ‘anxiety  

(μέριμνα) for all the assemblies’ (11:28). Paul’s emotions are intertwined with the progress  

that the assemblies are making. In 11:29, Paul shares in their weakness (ἀσθενῶ) and, when  

they are threatened, he becomes enraged on their behalf (πυροῦμαι). This highlights Paul’s  

concern for his congregations: his individual trials do not affect him as much as concerns about  

the wellbeing of the assemblies – particularly ones threatened by hostile forces and inimical  

individuals, as in Corinth.  

These narratives of suffering, however, give way to a narrative of consolation. In 2 Cor  

11:30–12:10, as he continues to boast in weakness, Paul briefly narrates two episodes from his  

life: his escape from prison in Damascus (11:31–33), and his sudden heavenly ascent (12:1–9).  

Paula Gooder argues that ‘the Damascus experience and the account of the ascent to heaven  

form a couplet of weakness stories, focused on the particular weakness of opposition, which  

conclude in the climactic statement of vv. 9–10’.¹²² Although the Damascus experience was  

liberative, it is harder to label as consolatory. By contrast, the account of Paul’s heavenly ascent  

has consolatory elements and outcomes that render it more than a weakness story.  

Paul’s grounds for boasting initially confer gravitas on the account and would have  

caused the ears of the super-apostles in Corinth to prick up: ‘I shall enter into visions and  

revelations (ἀποκαλύψεις) about the Lord’ (12:1). Paul, however, sets up a dramatic narrative  

of the revelation, but then leaves the details deliberately vague. Although the account is dated  

to fourteen years previous (12:2), it is shrouded in mystery. Gooder argues that since Paul only  

reaches the third heaven, this amounts to a failed ascent: Paul’s experience of hearing  

‘unutterable utterances (ἄρρητα ῥήματα)’, viz. ‘things which could not (ἃ οὐκ ἐξόν)’ be spoken  

(12:4), could be taken to invalidate the revelation on a human level. Thus, Gooder argues: ‘Paul  

ascended he is not sure how, to a level of heaven which he does not describe, to receive words  

which he cannot speak’.¹²³  

121  

Lim, Sufferings of Christ, 176; the subversive parallels were previously noted by Anton Friedrichsen,  

‘Peristasenkatalogs und res gestae nachtrag zu 2 Kor. 11.23ff’, Symbolae Osloenses 8 (1929): 78–82.  

¹²² Paula R. Gooder, Only the Third Heaven? 2 Corinthians 12.1–10 and Heavenly Ascent, LNTS 313 (London:  

T&T Clark, 2006), 206.  

¹²³ Gooder, Only the Third Heaven?, 188.  

145  

These aspects of failure correspond to Paul’s boasting only in his weaknesses (12:5).  

Nevertheless, Paul twice mentions his being snatched to the third heaven (ἁρπαγέντα; 12:2)  

and paradise (ἡρπάγη; 12:4). In the consolatory parousia narrative of 1 Thess 4:17, the apostle  

talked positively about how ‘we, the living … will be snatched (ἁρπαγησόμεθα) in the clouds’.  

Although the context is not eschatological here, there are still indicators of a consolatory  

narrative. Read this way, the mystical ἄρρητα ῥήματα represent prophetic oracles that acted as  

a source of consolation amid suffering for Paul.¹²⁴  

That said, the outcome of the experience was an incomplete heavenly ascent. Twice in  

12:7, the apostle stresses that these things happened ‘so that I might not become haughty (ἵνα  

μὴ ὑπεραίρωμαι)’. Fourteen years prior, he had been wounded by these divine visions and  

encounters: ‘a thorn in the flesh (σκόλοψ τῇ σαρκί) was given to me, an angel of Satan, so that  

he might beat me (ἵνα με κολαφίζῃ)’. The angel of Satan prevented Paul from a complete ascent  

and exerted a bruising influence on him. Paul, therefore, appealed for consolation for this  

affliction: ‘Concerning this [thorn], I begged (παρεκάλεσα) the Lord three times that he might  

remove (ἀποστῇ) it from me’ (12:8). Whereas the ascent was imperfect, the consolation that  

Paul receives from the Lord is sufficient and even perfect precisely because it is rooted in  

weakness, as Paul describes (12:9):  

καὶ εἴρηκέν μοι· Ἀρκεῖ σοι ἡ χάρις μου· ἡ γὰρ δύναμις ἐν ἀσθενείᾳ τελεῖται.  

He has said to me: “My gift is sufficient for you; for virtue is perfected in weakness.”  

Paul directs this consolation to himself in response to this audible divine utterance. His boasting  

in weakness is undertaken so that the power of God ‘might reside on me (ἐπισκνηώσῃ ἐπ᾽ ἐμέ)’.  

When Paul expresses his delight in weaknesses and other forms of suffering for the sake of  

Christ (12:10), this is his vantage point. Yet as Duston Ellington and others have argued, Paul  

also relates this narrative for the benefit of the many faithful Christ-followers in Corinth who  

could have related to his discourse on weakness; in his words: ‘a thorn-stricken apostle  

becomes no longer an oxymoron but a paradigm for believers and their leaders’.¹²⁵ The perfect  

tense (εἴρηκέν) gives the divine utterance a gnomic character that allows for appropriation on  

124  

For a more positive reading than Gooder’s along these lines, see James Buchanan Wallace, Snatched into  

Paradise (2 Cor. 12:1-10): Paul’s Heavenly Journey in the Context of Early Christian Experience, BZNW 179  

(Boston: De Gruyter, 2011), 285: ‘An extraordinary encounter with Christ … serves as the initial experience of  

grace and a moment of self-transcendence and communion with Christ’.  

¹²⁵ Dustin W. Ellington, ‘Not Applicable to Believers? The Aims and Basis of Paul’s “I” in 2 Corinthians 10–13’,  

JBL 131.2 (2012), 334. White, Pain and Paradox, 8–9, finds this approach favourable but extends it by showing  

how ‘the Corinthians are weak and need to learn from Paul’s experience in the first place’.  

146  

account of personal experiences of weakness. Paul acts as a paradigm who receives  

consolation, which in turn, is offered to the believers in Corinth that will comfort and encourage  

them amid opposition.¹²⁶ Therefore, while the heavenly ascent narrative is defined by  

weakness, Paul receives sufficient consolation from the Lord: this is a chain within which the  

Corinthians are invited to participate.  

Although there are some polemical moments within 2 Cor 12:14–13:10, and much of  

this section is hortatory in view of Paul’s third visit, it remains undergirded by emotive and  

consolatory aspects. In writing this section of the letter, Paul was consoling himself over  

circumstances in Corinth; but reminding himself and educating the Corinthians that power and  

consolation comes from God, and paradoxically, is perfected in weakness. Whether these  

chapters alone fully reconciled everyone in Corinth remains debatable, but they may have  

contributed to the more enthusiastic second appeal for the collection in 2 Cor 9.  

Conclusion  

The Corinthian correspondence provides a window into a challenging spell in the middle of  

Paul’s ministry. For a variety of reasons, sources of grief had multiplied for both parties. In the  

Corinthians’ case, there was disquiet about Paul’s delayed visit to them, Paul’s intentions for  

the collection for Jerusalem, and the effects of the wrongdoer in Corinth. The wrongdoer was  

a shared source of grief; although Paul downplays it, he was also affected by him. As their  

apostle, Paul expresses considerable concern about the edification of the Christ-believers in  

Corinth and, particularly in 2 Corinthians, the pernicious influence of the so-called super-  

apostles. These sophistic figures thought that Paul’s sufferings and weaknesses detracted from  

his apostolic authority, but Paul defends himself from their insinuations by highlighting the  

positive, and indeed, consolatory aspects of suffering and weakness that come from being in  

Christ.  

This chapter has focused on consolatory elements throughout 2 Corinthians and has  

found that, through Paul’s depiction and narration of his emotions, particularly grief,  

consolation goes beyond the therapeutic letter (1:1–2:13; 7:5–16). That said, consolation takes  

many forms in 2 Corinthians because of other concomitant themes. In 2 Cor 1–7, consolation  

and reconciliation become intimately related, but Paul firstly chooses to convey consolation  

¹²⁶ See Ellington, ‘Not Applicable to Believers?’, 335; cf. John Chrysostom, Hom. 2 Cor. 25.3 (PG 61:574), ‘the  

very things all the saints suffered in so many bodies Paul bore in one body’ (trans. Margaret M. Mitchell, The  

Heavenly Trumpet: John Chrysostom and the Art of Pauline Interpretation [Louisville: Westminster John Knox  

Press, 2002], 306).  

147  

before moving onto reconciliation (see especially 1:3–11 and 4:16–5:6). Crucially, consolation  

is divine in source, but mediated through humans, forming a chain or network where the  

currency is emotional. Reconciliation functions in a similar vein: God in Christ takes  

reconciling action, which initiates a network into which believers are called to participate. 2  

Cor 1–7 can be read as an unpartitioned account of consolation and reconciliation from divine  

and human sources. At its centre is an intimate ekphrasis in which Paul depicts aspects of his  

own apostleship as a means of consoling himself. On a literal journey, he reflects on his  

emotional journey with the related goal of conciliating the Corinthians, whose confidence in  

him as their apostle has been misplaced.  

From consolation flows exhortation, and this explains why 2 Cor 1–7 is followed by an  

appeal for the collection for Jerusalem in 2 Cor 8. It is more difficult to see 2 Cor 9 as being  

written so close to 2 Cor 8 on account of the different representations of the Corinthians in  

these two appeals. It appears that Paul was overly optimistic about the consolation and  

reconciliation that had been reached between him and the Corinthians. 2 Cor 10–13 points to  

continued issues and concern about the progress of the ekklesia in Corinth. These issues were  

occasioned by the powerful super-apostles, but Paul challenges them through a portrayal of the  

consolatory aspects of suffering and weakness for the sake of Christ. This, in turn, is designed  

to be paradigmatic for the believers in Corinth.  

Overall, 2 Corinthians represents a grief cycle for both Paul and the Corinthians. More  

than any letter, there is grief on both sides; the correspondence is intended to be therapeutic for  

both parties. Without consolation then reconciliation – from both divine and human sources –  

the Corinthians cannot be successfully instructed, edified, and exhorted as the friends of Paul.  

148  

Chapter 7: Paul’s Letter to the Philippians  

Magnum exemplum nisi mala fortuna non invenit¹ (Seneca, De providentia 3.4)  

Introduction  

Our final case study in the consolatory career of the apostle Paul is his letter to the Philippians.  

Whereas most scholars believe that 1 Thessalonians was an earlier letter and that the Corinthian  

correspondence are the product of some difficult months in the middle of Paul’s itinerant  

apostolic ministry, scholars are divided over the dating of Philippians. The traditional view is  

that Philippians is a single letter written shortly before his death from Rome.² If this is the case,  

then it would conveniently follow that Philippians is a later composition than 1 Thessalonians  

and 2 Corinthians. Several scholars, however, dispute this position³ and see Philippians as  

composed from closer to the middle of his career, perhaps from prison in Ephesus⁴ or  

elsewhere,⁵ since Paul expresses a degree of expectation that he will see the Philippians again  

(Phil 1:25–26; 2:24). Additionally, some of these scholars and others challenge the literary  

unity of Philippians based on two apparent seams. Firstly, at Phil 3:1, Paul is often believed to  

conclude a broadly irenic letter, which is then followed by a separate, invective letter.  

Secondly, Phil 4:10–23 is often considered to be a separate letter of (limited) gratitude for the  

Philippians’ gift.⁶ In this chapter, I reckon with some of these positions, but reach the view that  

Philippians is most plausibly read as a later, unified Pauline conception on account of  

¹ ‘One does not find a great example except in ill fortune.’  

2

For considered defences of this position, see Markus N. A. Bockmuehl, The Epistle to the Philippians, BNTC  

11 (London: A. & C. Black, 1997), 30–34; Holloway, Philippians, 19–24.  

3

See, e.g., Ryan S. Schellenberg, Abject Joy: Paul, Prison, and the Art of Making Do (New York: Oxford  

University Press, 2021), 42, considers it ‘untenable’ on account of Paul’s plans in Rom 15:18–29 to head west  

from Rome.  

⁴ This position normally rests on an identification with the sufferings in Asia described in 1 Cor 15:32 and 2 Cor  

1:8–10. See, e.g., Gerald F. Hawthorne, Philippians, WBC 43 (Revised Edition; Nashville: Thomas Nelson,  

2004), xliii–xlv. For a recent discussion which favours Asia over Rome, see Michael Flexsenhar III, ‘The  

Provenance of Philippians and Why It Matters: Old Questions, New Approaches’, JSNT 42.1 (2019): 18–45.  

5

Caesarea is another option, based on the evidence of Acts 23 that Paul spent two years there. Douglas A.  

Campbell, Framing Paul: An Epistolary Biography (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2014), 148-151, innovatively  

argues that Philippians was written from Corinth: he believes that Phil 4:11-21 is what the Corinthians (the  

Nebenadressat) needed to hear.  

⁶ For a partitioned account of Philippians, see John Reumann, Philippians: A New Translation with Introduction  

and Commentary, AB 33B (New Haven: Yale University Press, 2008), 3, for a division into three parts, all sent  

separately from Ephesus: Letter A (4:10-20), B (1:1-3:1), C (3:2-21). Regarding Phil 4:1-9, Reumann considers  

that it is ‘likely’ partly contained in B and ‘perhaps’ in Letter C. For a middle way between a unified letter and  

partitions, see H. D. Betz, Studies in Paul’s Letter to the Philippians, WUNT 343 (Tübingen, Mohr Siebeck,  

2015), vii, who argues that Phil 3:2–21 is a separate memorandum and Phil 4:10–20 a receipt in the style of an  

administrative letter; but they are all sent as one package from Rome.  

149  

 

consolatory themes that run through the letter within which Paul portrays his own exemplum  

and others.  

Although Philippians is closer in character to 1 Thessalonians than 2 Corinthians by  

being philophronetic, the situations are different. While Paul commends the Thessalonians for  

their exemplary faith in affliction (1 Thess 1:6-7), he is thankful for the Philippians’ continued  

and exclusive partnership (κοινωνία) in the gospel by way of renewed financial support (Phil  

1:5; 4:14–15).⁷ Although there is no mention of θλῖψις on the Philippians’ part, they loyally  

share in the same struggle (τὸν αὐτὸν ἀγῶνα ἔχοντες; 1:30) as Paul in facing opposition to the  

gospel.⁸ Their struggles are not entirely the same, however: unlike in 1 Thessalonians and 2  

Corinthians, Paul writes to the Philippians from prison, whereas there is no suggestion that the  

Philippians have been imprisoned. Therefore, while the Philippians require some consolation,  

it is Paul’s grief which is more pronounced (Phil 2:27–28) meaning that, once more,  

consolation is necessary on both sides. Accordingly, throughout the letter, Paul seeks to replace  

grief with joy. Paul repeatedly expresses his own joy in the Lord (Phil 1:18, 2:17, 4:10) and  

encourages the Philippians to rejoice (2:18, 3:1, 4:4). Paul expresses the joy he feels towards  

the Philippians (1:4, 4:1), as well as eupathic joy that he wants the Philippians to experience  

through progress in the faith (1:25) that will contribute to his own (2:2).  

The work of Paul Holloway is particularly noteworthy for this chapter, since he has  

made the strongest case for Philippians being ‘first and foremost a letter of consolation’.⁹  

Holloway has devoted much of his scholarly career to substantiating this thesis. Holloway  

appeals to the Church Fathers, chiefly John Chrysostom and Jerome, to argue that Paul  

primarily writes to console the Philippians who are grieving his imprisonment.¹⁰ Chrysostom’s  

summary of Phil 1:18–22 is particularly revealing: ‘all these things he says for the consolation  

(πρὸς παραμυθίαν) of the Philippians’.¹¹ Although παραμυθία became the technical term in the  

handbooks to denote consolation and Paul uses the related term, παραμύθιον, in Phil 2:1, we  

7

See David E. Briones, Paul’s Financial Policy: A Sociological Approach, LNTS 494 (London: T&T Clark,  

2013), 58–130, for this positive gift-giving relationship with the Philippians, compared to that with the  

Corinthians.  

8

We shall discuss the opponents that feature in Philippi below but note here, Samuel Vollenweider, ‘Rivals,  

Opponents and Enemies: Three Kinds of Theological Argumentation in Philippians’, in The First Urban Churches  

4, Roman Philippi, eds. James R. Harrison and L. L. Welborn, WGRWSup 13 (Atlanta: SBL Press, 2018), 291-  

305, who plausibly adduces three different groups: fellow believers whose rival preaching makes life more  

difficult in prison for Paul (1:17); imperial forces opposed to the gospel (1:28); and opposition to Paul’s gentile  

mission (3:2).  

⁹ Holloway, Consolation in Philippians, 2.  

¹⁰ Holloway, Philippians: A Commentary, 33. John Chrysostom, Hom. 1.4.15: διανιστῶν αὐτοὺς ἀπὸ τῆς ἀθυμίας  

τῆς ἐπὶ τοῖς δεσμοῖς; Jerome, consolatur eos de sua tribulatione (PL 30:881.15)  

¹¹ Chrysostom, Hom. 4.66.16.  

150  

might ask whether Paul sets out to write a formal letter, and whether he overstates how much  

the Philippians are grieving Paul’s imprisonment. I shall highlight how the Philippians also  

faced challenging circumstances (1:27–30; 4:4–6) and did not become indolent out of grief for  

Paul, as Holloway contends. Instead, Paul is himself consoled through divine consolation.  

While Holloway has offered a wealth of exegetical insights, almost no-one either before or  

following has argued that Philippians is wholly a letter of consolation.¹² Others have posited  

both related and opposing ideas for the purpose of Philippians.  

Recently, Hans Dieter Betz has argued that Philippians functions like Seneca’s Epistles,  

viz. as a praemeditatio mortis.¹³ Betz believes that Paul writes from prison in Rome and faces  

imminent death, which he places in the year 62 CE, when a whole host of Nero’s enemies were  

purged. Betz is reluctant, however, to view Philippians as wholly consolatory; he asserts: ‘even  

when aspects of consolation do occur in the letter, they are associated with more comprehensive  

issues’.¹⁴ Betz relegates the importance of consolation in the letter and believes that fortifying  

the assemblies is more prevalent in Philippians and elsewhere: ‘Parallels in other letters show  

that Paul’s greatest worries are not those caused by fear of death, but by the wavering of  

churches only recently founded’.¹⁵  

Philippians is an important letter for Troels Engberg-Pedersen’s thesis that παράκλησις  

is especially related to exhortation and moral progress. Engberg-Pedersen casts Paul within a  

predominantly Stoic framework, where he is further along the path of moral progress and  

approaching sage status. Paul, like Jesus Christ who called him, is resolved to help the believers  

progress in their faith. Philippians is thus a letter of paracletic practice whose ‘primary aim [is]  

to bring the addressees forward on a line on which they are already settled … (1:5–6), though  

without having gone so far as Paul himself (cf. 3:15–16)’.¹⁶ Engberg-Pedersen, however, does  

not accommodate consolation within this framework. While highlighting the important aspects  

of moral progress and exhortation in Philippians, I shall argue that they are often preceded by  

consolation.  

Although with different emphases, Holloway, Betz, and Engberg-Pedersen all situate  

Paul’s joy within a broadly ancient philosophical framework with Stoic and Platonic  

colourings. Very recently, however, Ryan Schellenberg has reached a different position and  

12  

See Pheme Perkins, ‘Philippians: Theology for the Heavenly Politeuma’, in Pauline Theology Volume I, ed.  

Jouette M. Bassler (Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 1991), 98, for Phil 1:1–3:1 as a letter of consolation.  

¹³ Betz, Studies, 140, 152–154.  

¹⁴ Ibid., 133  

¹⁵ Ibid., 142  

¹⁶ Engberg-Pedersen, Paul and the Stoics, 108.  

151  

divorced Paul from this context. Focusing on the adversity of Paul’s imprisonment,  

Schellenberg is particularly critical of Holloway’s decision to compare Philippians and the Ad  

Helviam on account of a paucity of ‘attention to the divergent social and somatic contexts from  

which Paul and Seneca speak’.¹⁷ Instead, he argues that Paul’s experience is closer to prisoners  

longing to see their community again than the internalised Stoic joy that heroizing Christian  

tradition since Acts has seen in Paul.¹⁸ By viewing Paul’s joy in his subjugated state as ‘abject’  

and more provisional,¹⁹ Schellenberg offers a powerful intervention in the debate. I do not,  

however, think that it is necessary to jettison the notion of consolation in Paul’s case. While  

Schellenberg focuses on the joy visible in Philippians 1 and 4, he gives little attention to the  

grief visible in Philippians 2 and 3, which calls for consolation; I argue that this comes through  

physical and logical means – as well as ethical ones – which can be understood via the Stoics.  

Philippians has also been described as a letter of friendship. Proponents of this approach  

have, however, stressed that while friendship forms a central thrust, other themes can be added.  

John Fitzgerald recognises that friendship is not a ‘self-contained topic, hermetically sealed off  

from other subjects’.²⁰ For effective moral instruction, including consolation, friendship was a  

necessary precondition. Dio Chrysostom writes: ‘What sort of misfortune (συμφορά) is not  

intolerable without friendship (δίχα φιλίας)?’ (Or. 3.101).²¹ As is well known, however, Paul  

never writes of friendship (φιλία) in Philippians. Loveday Alexander has proposed that  

Philippians is a family letter. She adduces some compelling parallels between Philippians and  

a letter from a soldier on campaign with Caesar to his mother. She hypotheses that: ‘Philippians  

is a Verbindungsbrief … adapted and expanded by Paul and employed with the primary  

purpose of strengthening the “family” links between the apostle and the Christian congregation  

in Philippi’.²²  

Moving beyond friendship and family metaphors, Mark Jennings has argued for the  

‘exclusive partnership of the Philippians with Paul and his gospel mission’ as the purpose of  

¹⁷ Schellenberg, Abject Joy, 14.  

¹⁸ E.g., ‘The joy of which Paul speaks in Philippians is real joy – a felt emotion, not a theological corollary’ (Abject  

Joy, 171).  

¹⁹ He concludes: ‘Paul unburdened of his role as universal paradigm, gives poignant witness to something at once  

more modest and more exacting: the strange, unruly art of making do’ (Abject Joy, 179).  

²⁰ John T. Fitzgerald, ‘Philippians in the Light of Some Ancient Discussions of Friendship’, in idem, Friendship,  

Flattery, 142.  

²¹ Thus, Stanley K. Stowers, ‘Friends and Enemies in the Politics of Heaven: Reading Theology in Philippians’,  

in Bassler, Pauline Theology, 114: ‘Philippians is exactly the sort of letter one would expect a leader in the Graeco-  

Roman world to write to his friends when in a vulnerable situation’.  

22  

Loveday Alexander, ‘Hellenistic Letter-Forms and the Structure of Philippians’, JSNT 37 (1989), 95.  

Verbindungsbrief can be translated ‘connection letter’ and implies a stronger bond than friendship. I am not  

persuaded by Holloway’s analysis that the family letter is a subset of the letter of consolation (Philippians, 33).  

152  

the letter.²³ On account of their financial participation, the Philippians are distinguished as an  

‘eschatological nation’²⁴ from Pauline rivals. Therefore, Jennings’ understanding of Paul’s joy  

is transposed from emotive consolation to Paul’s gospel mission.²⁵ Although Jennings reads  

Paul’s rhetorical argumentation charitably, other interpreters have been suspicious about his  

discourse of power, which would attenuate a consolatory reading. Writing about the apostle’s  

notion of imitation in Phil 3:17, Elizabeth Castelli opines: ‘the hierarchy, Christ-Paul-  

Christians, is invoked as a justification for the call to unity under Paul’s aegis’.²⁶ For Castelli,  

this call to imitation results in a binary choice: imitating Paul will lead to heavenly  

transformation, while not imitating Paul will lead to assured destruction.²⁷  

While Jennings focuses on the human and financial aspects, the divine aspect is  

understated. David Briones’ article on the perceived problem of Paul’s ‘thankless thanks’  

provides a helpful corrective. Briones argues that there is a more extensive network in  

Philippians than a classical patron-client model. The Philippians, including Epaphroditus who  

delivers the gift, are brokers or mediators of the gift whose source is God. Consequently,  

Briones argues: ‘Paul intentionally refrains from giving thanks to the Philippians because  

gratitude is always rendered to the ultimate source of all gifts, not those who mediate such  

resources’.²⁸ It emerges, therefore, that Paul’s joy is not dependent on the Philippians’ gift but  

on the God who empowers him (Phil 4:10–13),²⁹ and who initiated the partnership between  

Paul and the Philippians (Phil 1:6).³⁰  

I maintain, however, that there is still an emotional network and partnership alongside  

financial ones, where consolation emanates from both divine and human agents. In what  

follows, aware that there are other interests besides consoling in the letter – namely, moral  

progress, paraenesis, friendship, financial partnership through divine and human sources – I  

seek to identify Paul’s consolatory discourse and the resulting narratives. I contend that  

consolation is a major concern in the letter in co-ordination with all the exempla in Philippians.  

²³ Mark A. Jennings, The Price of Partnership in the Letter of Paul to the Philippians: “Make My Joy Complete”,  

LNTS 578 (London: Bloomsbury T&T Clark, 2018), 4. Emphasis original.  

²⁴ Ibid., 180.  

25  

Jennings describes ‘delight in the advance of his gospel mission, in which he and the Philippians are united’  

(Price of Partnership, 182).  

²⁶ Elizabeth A. Castelli, Imitating Paul: A Discourse of Power (Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 1991),  

96.  

²⁷ Ibid., 96-97.  

28  

David E. Briones, ‘Paul’s Intentional “Thankless Thanks” in Philippians 4.10-20’, JSNT 34.1 (2011), 51.  

Emphasis original.  

²⁹ Ibid., 59-60.  

³⁰ Ibid., 56. Cf. Betz, Studies, 130: ‘the contract and its proceeds are part of a gift offering made to honour God,  

so that they are not to be confused with gift-giving among humans’.  

153  

More than any other Pauline letter, Philippians has exemplarity at its heart.³¹ This is particularly  

apparent in Philippians 2: Jesus Christ (2:5-11), Timothy (2:19-23) and Epaphroditus (2:25-  

30) all experience and convey consolation. Around these examples and in imitation of Christ,  

Paul presents himself as an exemplum who, through divine consolation, makes moral progress  

despite opposition (1:12–26; 3:4–14).³² At various points, Paul turns to the Philippians and  

offers both consolation and exhortation towards transformed ethical lives in the present (1:27–  

2:4; 2:12–16). This will be followed by a full physical transformation at the eschaton, which  

Paul elaborates in his narrative of heavenly πολίτευμα that represents a moment of climactic  

and mutual consolation (3:20–21). Finally, Paul leaves the Philippians with an imprint of his  

own example and Christ’s through valedictory consolation about the peace of God, who is the  

source of all consolation (4:8–9).  

Phil 1:1-11 – From Joyful Memories to Eschatological Paraenesis  

Similarly to 1 Thess 1:3, in Phil 1:3, Paul expresses his gratitude to God for the Philippians: ‘I  

thank my God because of every remembrance of you (ἐπὶ πάσῃ τῇ μνείᾳ ὑμῶν)’.³³ While this  

clause could be rendered subjectively,³⁴ I believe that this is an appeal to good memories that  

were common in epistolary correspondence, including occasions where consolation was  

appropriate.³⁵ Whereas in 1 Thess 1:6, the emphasis was on the Thessalonians’ joy, in Phil 1:4,  

the joy is Paul’s own when he prays ‘with joy’ (μετὰ χαρᾶς) for the Philippians. Paul can  

respond in joyful prayer because he is consoled by the Philippians’ status as shared partners  

(συγκοινωνούς) with him in his chains and defence of the gospel (1:7). This positively affective  

posture³⁶ continues: Paul carries the Philippians ‘in the heart (ἐν τῇ καρδίᾳ)’ as he endures his  

³¹ For a detailed account of exemplarity in Philippians, see Peter-Ben Smit, Paradigms of Being in Christ: A Study  

of the Epistle to the Philippians, LNTS 476 (London: Bloomsbury, 2013). Smit does not connect exemplarity with  

consolation, although he makes a useful case for the positive communal and ecclesiological benefits from Paul’s  

example patterned on Christ.  

32  

My account challenges practically every assertion made by Robert T. Fortna, ‘Philippians: Paul’s Most  

Egocentric Letter’, in The Conversation Continues: Studies in Paul and John in Honor of J. Louis Martyn, eds.  

idem and Beverly R. Gaventa (Nashville: Abingdon, 1990), 220–234.  

³³ Agreeing with Paul A. Holloway, ‘Thanks for the Memories: On the Translation of Phil 1.3’, NTS 52.3 (2006),  

423–427. He sets out the interpretive options well earlier in the article (419–420). Cf. 1 Thess 3:6, ‘because you  

have good memories of us (ὅτι ἔχετε μνείαν ἡμῶν ἀγαθὴν)’ where the genitive is straightforwardly objective  

following a verb of remembering; see Holloway, ‘Memories’, 422.  

³⁴ I.e., ‘because of your every remembrance’, see Briones, ‘‘Paul’s Intentional “Thankless Thanks”’, 55, for this  

translation that emphasises it is the Philippians who remember Paul by way of their financial gift. I think, however,  

that μνεία more simply refers to remembrance than as a cipher for financial support.  

³⁵ Cf. Marc. 4.3–5.6, Polyb. 10.6, John 14:26.  

³⁶ On the affective aspect of joy, see Petra von Gemünden, ‘Der “Affekt” der Freude im Philipperbrief und seiner  

Umwelt’, in Der Philipperbrief des Paulus in der hellenistisch-römischen Welt, eds. Jörg Frey and Benjamin  

Schliesser, WUNT 353 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2015), 223-256.  

154  

chains, and movingly declares: ‘how I long for (ἐπιποθῶ) you all with the affections  

(σπλάγχνοις) of Christ Jesus’ (1:8).³⁷ Paul, therefore, establishes a philophronetic community  

in these verses which administers and exchanges some degree of consolation; despite the  

absence, there is presence and joy which are experienced affectively.³⁸  

At Phil 1:9–11, Paul moves from consoling mode to exhorting the Philippians to moral  

progress ahead of the day of Christ (1:6, 1:10). Here, Troels Engberg-Pedersen is correct to see  

1:9–11 as closer to Stoic paraenesis than consolation,³⁹ but the eschatological perspective, as  

in 1 Thess 4–5, results in a modified discourse. Both divine and human dimensions of  

paraenesis are presented concerning the day of Christ. In 1:6, the starting and completion of  

the good work in the Philippians is a divine prerogative: ‘he [God] will complete it (ἐπιτελέσει)  

until the day of Christ Jesus’. In 1:10, however, the emphasis is on the Philippians: ‘so that you  

(ὑμᾶς) are able to discern the things that matter (δοκιμάζειν ... τὰ διαφέροντα)’. Paul can offer  

his prayer for increased love, knowledge, and insight (1:9) because he has progressed further  

than the Philippians. Endowed with these characteristics, the Philippians, like Paul, will be able  

to discern the things that matter. Owing to his partnership and happy memories of the  

Philippians, he wants them to make progress in their ability to discern, and consequently, be  

blameless and filled with the fruit of righteousness (1:10–11). In the following section, Paul  

alludes to his imprisonment and talks specifically about progress (προκοπή; 1:12, 25). Progress  

is adumbrated in this section and developed in the next, where there is tangible danger to the  

apostle for which he consoles himself.  

Phil 1:12-26: Consolation from Prison  

In Phil 1:12–26, Paul narrates his story and presents himself as an exemplum who engages in  

the practice of consolation. In line with other ancient letters from prison or afar, Paul reports  

his own news, albeit obliquely:⁴⁰ ‘the things which have happened to me’ (τὰ κατ’ ἐμὲ ...  

37  

Although Paul does not mention consolation here explicitly, both κοινωνία and σπλάγχνα feature in Phil 2:1  

where Paul mentions both παράκλησις and παραμυθία, see below.  

38  

Thus Schellenberg, ‘“Making My Prayer with Joy”’, 91: ‘the imprisoned Paul acts at once upon his readers’  

emotions and his own feelings too, strengthening his grasp on the affective posture he has adopted by nursing an  

image of his addressees joining in it’.  

39  

Thus Engberg-Pedersen in reference to Phil 1:9–11: ‘The ultimate goal of Paul’s hortatory practice is that the  

Philippians themselves begin to act on the knowledge that Paul aims to make theirs’ (Paul and the Stoics, 111).  

Emphasis original. Pace, Holloway, Philippians: A Commentary, 80, who is overly committed to consolation  

regarding τὰ διαφέροντα: ‘Paul anticipates his positive approach to consolation in the remainder of the letter,  

where he does not urge the Philippians to put aside their grief (Stoic apathy) so much as to “rejoice”’.  

40  

For possibilities of censorship, see Angela Standhartinger, ‘Letter from Prison as Hidden Transcript: What It  

Tells Us about the People at Philippi’, in The People Beside Paul: The Philippian Assembly and History From  

Below, ed. Joseph A. Marchal, ECL 17 (Atlanta: SBL Press, 2015), 107–140.  

155  

ἐλήλυθεν). Paul is disinterested in his current plight; he embraces what has resulted from it:  

‘the progress (προκοπήν) of the gospel’. Paul endows this Stoic concept of progress (προκοπή)  

with language about the gospel. Far from being an individual notion, this progress assumes  

external dimensions before a widening audience. The gospel is advancing – this is a source of  

consolation for Paul and should be for the Philippians also.  

Paul diverts the attention from himself to the impact that his chains⁴¹ – a metonym for  

himself (1:13. 1:14, 1:17) – are having on fellow believers. Paul compares exemplary believers  

who are loyal to Paul and the gospel, and those who preach Christ in unexemplary fashion  

based on impure rivalry.⁴² On the one hand, many believers have developed greater boldness  

in their proclamation of the gospel because of Paul’s chains (1:14). These same people  

commendably preach Christ ‘because of good-will (δι’ εὐδοκίαν)’ and ‘from love’ (ἐξ ἀγάπης).  

Such qualities mark them out as Paul’s exemplary partners in the gospel: they embody the  

virtues prayed for in 1:9-11: more abundant (περισσοτέρως) in fearless proclamation and love.  

On the other hand, the rivals’ preaching of Christ is ‘on account of envy (φθόνον) and discord  

(ἔριν)’ (1:15).⁴³  

Rather than imitating the exemplary Paul and providing him with support or joy, the  

rivals intend to harm him emotionally by raising up further affliction (θλῖψιν ἐγείρειν; 1:17).  

Yet they are unsuccessful in this; the apostle maintains that he still rejoices (1:18). Paul goes  

on to rationalise the situation: Christ’s being preached is the good and people’s motivation in  

doing so is a source of indifference – ‘whether from pretence or from truth (εἴτε προφάσει εἴτε  

ἀληθείᾳ)’ – and causes him to rejoice.⁴⁴  

Paul’s joy is not only present but future (χαίρω ... χαρήσομαι). On the basis of Phil 1:19  

alone, it appears that Paul expects to be released. In a possible allusion to Job 13:16 (OG), Paul  

remarks: ‘for I know that this will result in my deliverance’ (οἶδα γὰρ ὅτι τοῦτό μοι ἀποβήσεται  

εἰς σωτηρίαν).⁴⁵ Job assures himself, in spite of his so-called friends, that his present sufferings  

are not a sign of divine judgement, and that he will be delivered before God.⁴⁶ The context  

⁴¹ In this section, these chains consistently function synecdochally for the apostle. See: 1:13, 1:14, 1:17.  

42  

So, rightly: Vollenweider, ‘Rivals, Opponents, and Enemies’, 292, who sees the group in 1:15-18 as ‘rivals  

among brothers’.  

⁴³ For these terms, cf. Rom 1:29, where Paul discusses the condition of lawless gentiles. Paul describes the rivals’  

preaching as ritually ‘impure (οὐχ ἁγνῶς)’ (1:17) like those in view in Rom 1:18-32.  

44  

For εἴτε … εἴτε and adiaphora, see James L. Jaquette, ‘Life and Death, “Adiaphora”, and Paul’s Rhetorical  

Strategies’, NovT 38.1 (1996): 30-54, and Vollenweider, ‘Enemies’, 294. For particular emphasis on adiaphora  

and consolation: Holloway, Philippians, 91, especially n65.  

45  

Bockmuehl, Philippians, 82; Jennings, Price of Partnership, 62; Richard B. Hays, Echoes of Scripture in the  

Letters of Paul (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1993), 23–26.  

46  

Bockmuehl, Philippians, 82–83, sees conformity to the topos of adverse circumstances working out for good  

in ancient Jewish literature (e.g., Eccl 8:12), which is also discernible in Rom 8:28.  

156  

here, however, is rather different: Paul expects to be delivered, although this is specifically  

through the collaboration of his Philippian friends through prayer and the pneuma of Jesus  

Christ. In Phil 1:20, however, Paul embarks on a sustained reflection on death and life, which  

casts doubt on σωτηρία simply denoting a release from prison:  

κατὰ τὴν ἀποκαραδοκίαν καὶ ἐλπίδα μου ὅτι ἐν οὐδενὶ αἰσχυνθήσομαι, ἀλλ᾽ ἐν πάσῃ  

παρρησίᾳ ὡς πάντοτε καὶ νῦν μεγαλυνθήσεται Χριστὸς ἐν τῷ σώματί μου, εἴτε διὰ ζωῆς  

εἴτε διὰ θανάτου.  

According to my eager expectation and hope that I shall not be ashamed in anything,  

but with total boldness – now as always – that Christ will be magnified in my body,  

whether through life or death.  

In light of resonances with the letter to the Romans,⁴⁷ Paul’s remarks in Phil 1:20 are  

conceivably a product of later self-reflexivity,⁴⁸ possibly from Rome. In the programmatic  

statement of Phil 1:21,⁴⁹ Paul highlights his bold conviction that life and death are both good  

options: ‘for me, living is Christ and dying is gain (τὸ ζῆν Χριστὸς καὶ τὸ ἀποθανεῖν κέρδος)’.  

Along with Holloway, I believe that there are philosophical and theatrical elements which  

render this section an adapted dubitatio: ‘rhetorical doubt’⁵⁰ about a future choice. For example,  

in Seneca’s Medea, Medea hesitates as to whether she should kill her children:⁵¹ “Am I (egone)  

to shed the blood of my children and of my offspring?” (Med. 929–930). As she approaches  

the heinous act, her hesitation becomes palpable: “Why do you now delay, my soul? Why do  

you hesitate (dubitas)?” (988).⁵²  

Paul’s reflection – ‘I do not know what I am to choose (αἱρήσωμαι)’⁵³ – and his ‘desire’  

(ἐπιθυμία) in 1:22–23 are markers of ancient philosophical discourse, which was possible from  

prison in a tradition going back to Plato’s depiction of Socrates’ imprisonment in the Phaedo.⁵⁴  

⁴⁷ Cf. Rom 1:16; 5:3–5; 8:18–21.  

⁴⁸ See Eve-Marie Becker, ‘Das introspektive Ich des Paulus nach Phil 1–3: Ein Entwurf’, NTS 65.3 (2019), 314:  

‘In Phil 1 beschreibt das denkende Ich’ (‘in Phil 1, the thinking “I” writes’).  

⁴⁹ Betz, Studies, 13, 24, sees Phil 1:21 as a sententia that forms one of the apostle’s gnomic sayings in the letter  

(cf. 4:8-9; 4:11-13); cf. Bockmuehl, Philippians, 87, that this is a ‘deeply felt conviction, palpably forged on the  

anvil of doubts and trials’.  

50  

Paul A. Holloway, ‘Deliberating Life and Death: Paul’s Tragic Dubitatio in Philippians 1:22–26’, HTR 111.2  

(2018), 176n6. Holloway refines and develops: Clayton Croy, ‘To Die is Gain (Philippians 1:19-26): Does Paul  

Contemplate Suicide?’, JBL 122.3 (2003): 517–531. Croy renders dubitatio as ‘feigned perplexity’, which  

Holloway considers an overinterpretation of Paul’s rhetorical motivation.  

⁵¹ She describes them as her ‘dear offspring, the only consolation (solamen) of an afflicted home’ (945–946).  

52  

Dubitatio was not, however, restricted to tragedy; cf. Catullus 64.175 in which Ariadne considers herself  

abandoned and debates where she should go for consolation: “Or am I to console (consoler) myself with the  

faithful love of a husband, who is fleeing …?”  

53  

Although P46 is the only major manuscript attesting αἱρήσωμαι rather than αἱρήσομαι, the subjunctive was  

more often used in ancient Greek in the context of dubitatio, which suggests that it is the correct reading.  

⁵⁴ Betz is prepared to see this section as portraying a ‘dialogical environment’ (Studies, 35).  

157  

That said, while ἐπιθυμία was an undesirable passion in Stoic thought, here the desire to be  

with Christ is an inherently good, even preferable option. The parenthetical exclamation πολλῷ  

… μᾶλλον κρεῖσσον (1:23) – ‘how much considerably better!’ – shows that although  

continuing to live in the flesh is still good and fruitful, being with Christ (σὺν Χριστῷ εἶναι) is  

an even better alternative.  

Paul, therefore, departs from the philosophers with the ultimate consolation of being  

with Christ, which is a central Pauline theme.⁵⁵ While Paul appropriates the device of dubitatio,  

his use of it constitutes a ‘bold departure’⁵⁶ from conventional use in antiquity. Often, they  

were tragic exempla who experienced an inner conflict between a good and evil choice and  

chose wrongly. Yet for Paul, there is no wrong option; both options are good, although dying  

and thus being with Christ is preferable.⁵⁷  

This is not to say, however, that Paul seriously considers suicide like some ancient  

philosophers.⁵⁸ Some philosophical traditions endorsed suicide provided that the time was right  

and that it was necessary.⁵⁹ In 1:24, Paul decides that ‘remaining in the flesh is more necessary  

(ἀναγκαιότερον)’ for the sake of the Philippians. Droge opines: ‘because a divine ἀνάγκη has  

been laid upon him, he cannot depart until a divine signal is given’.⁶⁰ Yet the only divine signal  

that Paul was looking for was the parousia of Christ; despite his chains, Paul was too motivated  

by his ongoing apostolic mission ahead of the parousia to want to die at that point. While alive,  

his mission can fruitfully continue and there is a possibility that he might be able to see the  

Philippians again which is consoling.⁶¹ Consequently, Paul writes to convince himself that  

remaining in the flesh for his Philippian friends is fruitful.⁶² The tricolon of μένω verbs  

highlights this growing resolution, which climaxes in his confident declaration that ‘I shall  

55  

As famously argued by Albert Schweitzer, Die Mystik des Apostels Paulus (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1930);  

cf. Rom 6:8.  

⁵⁶ Holloway, ‘Dubitatio’, 186, n45.  

⁵⁷ Troels Engberg-Pedersen refers to Paul’s ‘distinct, positive longing for death’ (‘Life after Death and Its Present  

Implications,’ 270).  

58  

For this view, see Arthur J. Droge, ‘Mori Lucrum: Paul and Ancient Theories of Suicide’, NovT 30.3 (1988),  

264: ‘Paul’s yearning for death is best explained as his reflection on the possibility – indeed the desirability – of  

suicide’.  

⁵⁹ e.g., Seneca, Ep. 70.4; Musonius Rufus, fr. 29, ‘One who by living is of use to many does not have the right to  

choose to die, unless by dying he may be of use to more’. Droge, ‘Mori Lucrum’, 284, sees this latter text ‘as a  

virtual paraphrase of Phil 1:21-26’; Holloway, Consolatory Strategy, 115, is sympathetic to this line of thinking.  

⁶⁰ Droge, ‘Mori Lucrum’, 284.  

⁶¹ Schellenberg, Abject Joy, 158, reasons: ‘In an epistolary context … joy was what it felt like to hear good news  

from people one loved, to learn that all was well’.  

62  

von Gemꢆnden, ‘Affekt’, 244 discusses how the amicable relationship could have relieved him (‘ein  

freundschaftliches Verhältnis … dꢆrfte … ihm erleichtert haben’) as he wrote.  

158  

remain and continue (μενῶ καὶ παραμενῶ)’.⁶³ This is a profoundly altruistic act that has the  

Philippians’ ‘progress and joy in the faith’ (1:25) in view.⁶⁴  

In sum, Paul is motivated and consoled in his present affliction by the doubly positive  

alternatives of living and dying as well as the prospect of the Philippians’ progress and joy in  

the faith. This is the narrative that he exemplifies and composes to console himself and the  

Philippians from prison. He may still hope for a literal presence (παρουσία; 1:26) among them,  

but in any event, the letter mediates his presence, which becomes clearer in following sections.  

Philippians 1:27-2:5: Comforting the Philippians Between Exempla  

In 1:12-26, Paul writes about his own situation and presents himself as an exemplum. In 1:27–  

2:5, Paul turns to the Philippians in their situation and comforts them by assuring them that  

they share in the suffering of Paul and Christ, and from this, he exhorts them to greater unity.⁶⁵  

With μόνον (‘οne thing alone’) and based on his previous consolation about the progress of the  

gospel, Paul exhorts the Philippians by reminding them of their residence and belonging to the  

gospel: ‘live worthily as citizens (πολιτεύεσθε) of the gospel of Christ’.⁶⁶ We shall return to  

ethnic notions of citizenship in relation to the heavenly πολίτευμα portrayed at Phil 3:20, but  

at this point, it suffices to say that the gentile Philippians are directed towards a new mode of  

living based on the gospel. This requires greater unity: Paul’s desire, even while absent (ἀπών;  

1:27) is that the Philippians stand together in one pneuma and strive together in one soul  

(στήκετε ἐν ἑνὶ πνεύματι, μιᾷ ψυχῇ συναθλοῦντες) in the face of opposition (ἀντικειμένοι;  

1:28).⁶⁷ The patently militaristic discourse suggests an imperial context rather than the  

opponents who emerge in Philippians in relation to circumcision.⁶⁸  

The goal of Paul’s exhortation is that the Philippians are not frightened (πτυρόμενοι;  

1:28) and he presents three consoling perspectives in the face of this (imperial) adversity.  

Firstly, he offers an apocalyptic-oriented proof (ἔνδειξις) that God will judge between the  

⁶³ Socrates in Plato, Protagoras 335d, is begged to remain (παραμεῖναι); see, Betz, Studies, 30-31.  

64  

Contra Holloway, I see no intimation that this section is a rhetorical trap where the Philippians are forced ‘to  

confront the harmful effects of their grief’ (‘Dubitatio’, 190).  

⁶⁵ Holloway is partially right to see 1:27-2:16 as a request from Paul to the Philippians for consolation. He usefully  

identifies a link between exhortation and consolation: ‘if the Philippians wish to console Paul, then they must  

heed his exhortation’ (Philippians, 102). I shall show, however, that he is too critical of the Philippians’ current  

conduct.  

66  

Holloway links this remark to 1:26, endowing μόνον with a concessive quality: ‘the Philippians will not be  

restored to their former “progress and joy in the faith” short of his “presence” again with them’ (Philippians, 105).  

This exhortation, however, is based on Paul’s own example rather than his physical presence.  

⁶⁷ While my reading does not maximise unity as the purpose of the letter, it is an important feature as Phil 4:2–3  

confirms. See Davorin Peterlin, Paul’s Letter to the Philippians in the Light of Disunity in the Church, NovTSup  

79 (Leiden: Brill, 1995).  

⁶⁸ See Vollenweider, ‘Rivals’, 295–297.  

159  

opponents and believers: the former will face destruction; the latter, including the Philippians,  

salvation (1:28). Secondly, as with the Thessalonians in 1 Thess 3, Paul prepares the  

Philippians for future trials, although in different terms: in Phil 1:29, suffering is described as  

a gift to them (ἐχαρίσθη) for the sake of Christ. In preparation for Phil 2:6–11, Paul collocates  

allegiance to Christ (εἰς αὐτὸν) and suffering for Christ (ὑπὲρ αὐτοῦ). Thirdly, the Philippians  

face the same sort of conflict (ἀγών) as Paul (1:30). Although their situation might not be as  

severe and ongoing as Paul’s,⁶⁹ it is serious and relatable, and so, the apostle comforts them.  

Therefore, flowing from his previous example, Phil 1:27-30 begins with exhortation to renewed  

dwelling in the gospel. It also includes comfort for real difficulties that the Philippians face on  

account of the gospel. The apostle wishes to strengthen them by showing that their suffering  

has purpose by being for Christ and like Paul’s own trial.  

Paul continues his ethical exhortation and consolation in Phil 2:1-4. The triad of  

παράκλησις, παραμύθιον (2:1), and χαρά (2:2) represents some of the most distinctly  

consolatory discourse in Paul’s letters. Paul directly associates Christ with consolation and  

apprehending any aspect of it will lead the Philippians to joy and unity amid conflict: ‘if [there  

is] any consolation in Christ (παράκλησις ἐν Χριστῷ): if any comfort (παραμύθιον) through  

his love.’ The Philippians’ progress and unity expressed in terms of Aristotelian phronesis (ἵνα  

τὸ αὐτὸ φρονῆτε … φρονοῦντες) and like-mindedness (σύμψυχοι)⁷⁰ would fill up Paul’s joy  

because of their importance to him in his apostolic mission; but the basis of Paul’s joy is  

consolation in Christ. This establishes consolation as divine in source: Paul narrates these  

divine characteristics which all hinge on παράκλησις⁷¹ as a means of uniting the Philippians  

and exhorting them to further exhortation towards oneness in thought and altruistic virtue (2:3–  

4).⁷² Yet Paul’s paraenesis flows from divine consolation: he comforts and strengthens the  

Philippians by pointing them towards consolation in Christ. While there are parallels to Stoic  

paraenesis,⁷³ Paul’s narrative is primarily rooted in divine consolation rather than any sage-like  

qualities belonging to Paul. The following section illustrates how Christ is a paradigm of  

suffering and consolation.  

69  

So, von Gemꢆnden, ‘Affekt’, 237: ‘Trotz einer für die Gemeinde und noch deutlicher für Paulus schwierigen  

Situation’.  

⁷⁰ See Aristotle, Nic. Eth. 1163b 6–7, and the discussion in Stowers, ‘Friends and Enemies’, 112.  

⁷¹ Bockmuehl, Philippians, 106, sees everything in apposition to παράκλησις. He comments: ‘union with Christ,  

even in the midst of suffering, opens up a treasury of consolation and strength’.  

72  

See Troels Engberg-Pedersen, ‘Radical Altruism in Philippians 2:4’, in Early Christianity and Classical  

Culture, eds. John T. Fitzgerald et al., NovTSup 110 (Leiden: Brill, 2003), 197-214.  

⁷³ Thus, Engberg-Pedersen, Paul and the Stoics, 127: ‘the kind of community to which all of Paul’s paraklesis is  

directed … is nothing but an ideal community of friends, as the philosophers conceived of this’.  

160  

Phil 2:5-11: Christ’s Consolatory Example  

The so-called carmen Christi is very seldom explored as a consolatory narrative,⁷⁴ but in this  

dramatic scene,⁷⁵ through his suffering then glorification, I contend that Christ undergoes an  

adapted form of consolation. The encomium⁷⁶ is prefaced by an exhortation to the Philippians  

to have the same mindset (φρονεῖτε; 2:5) among themselves as in the example of Christ Jesus  

that follows on from the consolation that is found in him. The example of Christ encapsulates  

the preceding teaching: just as the Philippians ought to be ‘considering (ἡγούμενοι) others as  

surpassing themselves’ (2:3), Paul relates how Christ did not consider (ἡγήσατο) his own status  

of equality to God as something to be snatched (2:6). Instead, Paul highlights how Christ  

emptied himself of his divine attributes and took on the appearance of a slave (2:7). This  

humble action on Christ’s part (ἐταπείνωσεν; 2:8) was earlier enjoined upon the Philippians  

(τῇ ταπεινοφροσύνῃ; 2:3). The result of Christ’s humbling himself was his crucifixion: a  

punishment that befitted someone of slave status.⁷⁷ Christ’s dramatic assumption of human  

appearance⁷⁸ and his obedience in undergoing not only the logical end of the ἄνθρωπος, viz.  

death, but a cross-death (μέχρι θανάτου, θανάτου δὲ σταυροῦ; 2:8), represents a voluntary  

desolation.  

Yet Paul’s narrative does not end here: Christ’s voluntary desolation receives  

compensation on a cosmic scale through divine consolation (2:9-11). He is raised, exalted  

(ὑπερύψωσεν), and gifted (ἐχαρίσατο) the divine name on account of his suffering.⁷⁹ This  

recalls Phil 1:29 where the Philippians were told that ‘it was gifted’ (ἐχαρίσθη) them to suffer  

on behalf of Christ. Now it is reinforced that Christ bears the divine name and receives  

universal worship and acknowledgement (2:10–11). Thus, as Holloway puts it, ‘Christ is  

restored to his angelic form’⁸⁰ through his obedience to God. From Christ’s consolatory  

exemplum, the Philippians can undergo and participate in the same transformation.  

In the following section, Paul addresses the Philippians. He provides an exhortation for  

them to be obedient like Christ, and the consolation that they will be transformed like Christ  

⁷⁴ Holloway, Philippians, 114–129, offers a fine treatment of the passage along these lines.  

⁷⁵ Michael Benjamin Cover, ‘The Death of Tragedy: The Form of God in Euripides’ Bacchae and Paul’s Carmen  

Christi’, HTR 111.1 (2018): 66–89, provides an erudite discussion of tragic and comic aspects of this passage.  

⁷⁶ Holloway (Philippians, 116) contends that ‘2:6-11 is a piece of elevated prose produced by Paul precisely for  

the exhortation of Phil 2:1-16’ in view of the linguistic resonances. He likens the section to 1 Cor 13:1-13 on love.  

⁷⁷ For crucifixion as servile supplicium, see Livy 24.14.7.  

78  

Susan G. Eastman, Paul and the Person: Reframing Paul’s Anthropology (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2017),  

130: ‘Christ “im-personates” Adamic humanity on the stage of human history’.  

⁷⁹ See Holloway, Philippians, 129.  

⁸⁰ Ibid., 121.  

161  

both in the present and the future. The story about Christ in Phil 2:6-11 serves a paradigmatic  

function⁸¹ and has the motif of consolation at its heart.  

Phil 2:12-16: Exhortation for Cosmological Transformation  

Following the example of Christ, Paul’s exhortation in Phil 2:12 is amplified. Paul stresses his  

absence (ἀπουσία). While it probably worries the Philippians, it does not incapacitate them.⁸²  

Instead, Phil 2:12 amounts to paraenesis reflecting loyal friendship and partnership: ‘just as  

(καθώς) you have always obeyed’. The remark ‘not only as in my presence, but all the more in  

my absence’ ought to be taken with this first part of the sentence instead of the second part,  

where Paul renews his exhortation in light of Christ’s example: ‘with fear and trembling, work  

out your salvation’. Consequently, Paul encourages their continued obedience in his absence,  

rather than goading them to work out their salvation more effectively than they have been in  

his absence. Through Christ’s example, the Philippians are to assume active responsibility for  

their salvation,⁸³ but this is in collaboration with the agency of God (θεὸς … ὁ ἐνεργῶν) who  

instils the appropriate action in the believer (2:13).⁸⁴  

By imitating Christ in obedience, the Philippians can participate in his resurrected life  

both now and in the future, all while experiencing consolation. The manifestation of this is  

transformed ethical conduct, including doing everything ‘without grumbling (γογγυσμῶν) and  

disputes (διαλογισμῶν)’ (2:14).⁸⁵ The apostle continues to elucidate how obediently following  

the example of Christ leads to present transformation (2:15):  

ἵνα γένησθε ἄμεμπτοι καὶ ἀκέραιοι, τέκνα θεοῦ ἄμωμα μέσον γενεᾶς σκολιᾶς καὶ  

διεστραμμένης, ἐν οἷς φαίνεσθε ὡς φωστῆρες ἐν κόσμῳ  

So that you might be blameless and pure, unblemished children of God amid a crooked  

and perverted generation, among whom you shine like luminaries in the cosmos.  

⁸¹ See Larry W. Hurtado, ‘Jesus’ Death as Paradigmatic in the New Testament’, SJT 57.4 (2004), 419–420.  

⁸² Pace Holloway, Philippians, 131: ‘what Paul here euphemistically calls his ἀπουσία ... is the principal cause of  

the Philippians’ distress and inaction’.  

⁸³ Bockmuehl, Philippians, 153.  

84  

Eastman, Paul and the Person, 149: ‘the divine agent has come near to energize them in the midst of their  

struggles’.  

⁸⁵ Cf. Ex 16:8. Although note that while the Israelites bring suffering on themselves through disobedience, this is  

not so in the Philippians’ case.  

162  

The emphasis in Phil 2:15 is present. While some scholars see allusions here to Deut 32:5⁸⁶  

and Dan 12:3,⁸⁷ Paul is describing the current commencement of a future transformation, which  

these texts do not in precisely the same way. Holloway surmises: ‘in Phil 2:15 the promise is  

that Christ-believers can begin to experience angelification already in this life’.⁸⁸ Read this  

way, Paul exhorts the Philippians towards a full future cosmological transformation,⁸⁹ which  

can be started in an imperfect, even oppressive age and world. The gentile Philippians can  

accordingly also receive present comfort and consolation through becoming divine astral  

beings along with the seed of Abraham.⁹⁰  

At Phil 2:16, Paul brings himself back into the frame in relation to the Philippians: if  

the Philippians heed Paul’s exhortation, this will result in the apostle’s joy; his contentions and  

labours will not have been ‘for nothing’ (εἰς κενὸν), and he can look forward to joy at the  

eschaton. As in 1 Thessalonians and 2 Corinthians, there is a network of consolation involving  

divine and human agents. This comes chiefly in the consolation from Christ (2:1) and his  

corresponding consolatory example (2:6-11). Paul’s paraenetic exhortation issues from divine  

consolation. If the Philippians continue to hold fast to the word of life, this will give him joy  

from boasting (human in origin) but not joy from consolation (divine in origin).  

Phil 2:17-30: Consolation Through Exemplary Envoys  

Although Phil 2:17 logically resumes 1:26, this does not necessitate passing over 1:27-2:16  

like some interpreters⁹¹ and labelling it a ‘hortatory digression’. Phil 1:27-2:16 contains many  

consolatory elements within its hortatory objective. Phil 2:17 marks a significant shift in Paul’s  

perspective. Having decided to remain for the sake of the Philippians and spoken of his  

παρουσία among them again (1:24-26), the prospect⁹² of death resurfaces. Yet as in Phil 1:18,  

86  

On issues with textual transmission, see Bockmuehl, Philippians, 156. Holloway, Philippians, 134, is  

informative on how mapping Israel in Dt 32:5 onto this verse is inapposite and supersessionist.  

⁸⁷ The difference between φωστῆρες and ἀστέρες (Dan 12:3) is significant and Daniel 12 speaks of transformation  

exclusively in the age to come.  

⁸⁸ Holloway, Philippians, 134.  

89  

Troels Engberg-Pedersen, ‘On Comparison: The Stoic Theory of Value in Paul’s Theology and Ethics in  

Philippians’, in Frey-Schliesser, Der Philipperbrief, 303, remarks perceptively about the relationship between  

paraenesis and cosmology: ‘The paraenesis (cognitive) appeals to the pneuma (both cognitive and material) that  

they already possess. And the aim is to bring about their final bodily transformation’. Emphasis original.  

90  

For a comprehensive survey of how stars were viewed as divine in ancient Jewish and Graeco-Roman  

philosophical traditions, see Matthew Thiessen, Paul and the Gentile Problem (New York: Oxford University  

Press, 2016), 140–147.  

91  

Holloway records that Karl Barth ‘recommends passing over “the hortatory digression”’ (Holloway,  

Philippians, 136).  

⁹² Cf. 2 Tim 4:6: ‘I am already poured out (ἤδη σπένδομαι)’.  

163  

he is full of joy: ‘But even if I am poured out on top of your sacrificial service of faith, I rejoice  

and I rejoice (χαίρω καὶ συγχαίρω) with you all’ (2:17).  

Holloway argues that Phil 2:17-18 represents ‘a more frank assessment … with what  

amounts to a consolatio mortis’.⁹³ The intervening section has prepared the Philippians for this  

change in perspective. He regards their faith highly: Paul’s death would be a libation on top of  

it. Far from being aggrieved by Paul’s potential death, Paul directs the Philippians to rejoice in  

it. The balance and reciprocity in the phrases χαίρω καὶ συγχαίρω πᾶσιν ὑμῖν (‘I rejoice and  

co-rejoice with you all’) and ὑμεῖς χαίρετε καὶ συγχαίρετέ μοι (‘you rejoice and co-rejoice with  

me’) (2:18) reflect a deep partnership and friendship between Paul and the Philippians. Paul  

presents himself as an example to be imitated by identifying with Christ in his preparedness to  

die, but there is no indication of disapproval of the Philippians’ conduct. Paul’s own potential  

sacrifice would be aggregative with theirs based on their faith.  

Although the Philippians should be prepared for Paul’s death, it does not appear  

imminent. He is still organising communication between himself and the Philippians through  

Timothy and Epaphroditus: two of Paul’s most loyal partners, who are held up as exempla.⁹⁴  

Timothy and Epaphroditus assume a vital role as envoys of consolation between Paul and the  

Philippians, and substitutes for the presence of Paul.  

In Phil 2:19, Paul writes: ‘I hope, in the Lord Jesus, to send Timothy to you soon, so  

that I may be put at rest (εὐψυχῶ⁹⁵) through knowing about you’. Timothy plays a vital role  

throughout the apostle’s ministry. This is most patent here in Paul’s statement that he has ‘no-  

one of equal soul (ἰσόψυχον)’ (2:20) compared to Timothy. He desires that the Philippians be  

σύμψυχοι (2:2); but by being ἰσόψυχος, Timothy is on a different level from the Philippians  

and is effectively another Paul,⁹⁶ which is especially consoling if Paul is about to die. Should  

Paul die, Timothy will be a suitable replacement for Paul, continuing to mediate the presence  

of both Paul and Christ.  

Timothy possesses several relevant and exemplary qualities for this role. Firstly, he has  

an appropriate pastoral outlook: ‘he will be genuinely concerned (γνησίως ... μεριμνήσει)’  

⁹³ Holloway, Philippians, 136.  

⁹⁴ While 2:19–30 is a form of travelogue, it is far longer than one would expect at the end of a letter. This strongly  

implies that this section is not a conclusion to the letter. See Bockmuehl, Philippians, 163.  

⁹⁵ Chapa (Letters of Condolence, 59) argues that in the case of P. Oxy. I.115, εὐψυχέω could mean ‘farewell’ and  

replace ‘do not grieve’. Given the possibility of death for Paul, hearing a favourable report about the Philippians  

would enable Paul to die happily and peaceably; cf. 1 Thess 3:7-8 for the consolation and life that comes from  

knowing how the Thessalonians are faring.  

⁹⁶ Here, I fully agree with Paul A. Holloway, ‘Alius Paulus: Paul’s Promise to Send Timothy at Philippians 2:19-  

24’, NTS 54.4 (2008): 542–556. Holloway discusses John’s ‘other consoler’ (ἄλλος παράκλητος; Jn 14:16) in  

some detail (‘Alius Paulus’, 548); see also Parsenios, Departure and Consolation, 78-109.  

164  

(2:20) for them. Timothy is not overtaken by worry but has a caring presence which will aid  

the Philippians. Secondly, in contrast to Paul’s rivals (1:15-18) and all who ‘seek their own  

affairs (τὰ ἑαυτῶν ζητοῦσιν)’ (2:21), Timothy seeks the affairs of Jesus Christ (2:22). Thirdly,  

Timothy and Paul have a father-son relationship. Earlier, in 1 Corinthians 4:17, Paul wrote: ‘I  

have sent Timothy to you … my beloved and faithful child (τέκνον) in the Lord, who will  

remind (ἀναμνήσει) you of my ways in Christ’. Finally, following Paul and the example of  

Jesus who took on the nature of a slave, ‘he has enslaved (ἐδούλευσεν)’ (2:22) himself with  

Paul for the gospel. Therefore, Timothy is a suitable replacement for Paul because he continues  

his ministry: he forms part of a consolatory network between Paul, the Philippians, and God.  

Having commended Timothy as a consolatory example and replacement for Paul, he  

returns to his own circumstances. Paul’s confidence in the Lord that he will come soon (2:24)  

leads many interpreters to situate Paul in Ephesus. If, as argued, he has prepared the Philippians  

for his absence, even death, this apparent volte-face demands explanation.⁹⁷ In addition to the  

foregoing argument that Timothy will continue to mediate Paul’s presence, it makes sense that  

Paul’s παρουσία might be in epistolary form rather than bodily presence in line with ancient  

epistolography.⁹⁸ It is appropriate that he introduces the letter and gift bearer, Epaphroditus, at  

precisely this moment.  

As in Phil 1:24, Paul explains the necessary component of his decision: ‘I considered it  

necessary (Ἀναγκαῖον δὲ ἡγησάμην) to send Epaphroditus to you’ (2:25; cf. 2 Cor 9:5).  

Epaphroditus is clearly valuable to Paul, as his enumerated roles (brother, co-worker, co-  

soldier) show. Yet Epaphroditus is mutually valuable to the Philippians as their apostle,⁹⁹ who  

has come to bring their gift. In imitation of Christ, Paul altruistically considers the Philippians’  

need of Epaphroditus to be greater than his own.  

Epaphroditus reciprocates the longing (ἐπιποθῶν ἦν) (2:26) for the Philippians that Paul  

had at the start of the letter (1:8). This longing was surely heightened by recent events: on his  

journey to Paul, Epaphroditus became grievously ill. The fact that the Philippians heard about  

his illness, in turn, caused Epaphroditus considerable distress (ἀδημονῶν). In Phil 2:27, Paul  

narrates a scene of consolation and depicts a network of consolation on account of God’s  

healing Epaphroditus:  

⁹⁷ Holloway argues that Paul does not express his own confidence, but the Lord’s, of which Paul is less cognisant:  

‘Paul’s circumstances taken on their own (i.e. without divine intervention) are not that promising’. This, in turn,  

‘leaves open the realistic possibility that he will be poured out as a libation’ (Philippians, 141). The issue here is  

whether apostolic confidence ἐν κυρίῳ is likely to be misplaced.  

⁹⁸ See Pseudo-Demetrius, On Style, 4.223-235.  

⁹⁹ Epaphroditus is the only named ἀπόστολος in the letter; Paul does not even use the term of himself – perhaps  

because his apostleship is currently more static in prison.  

165  

καὶ γὰρ ἠσθένησεν παραπλήσιον θανάτῳ· ἀλλὰ ὁ θεὸς ἠλέησεν αὐτόν, οὐκ αὐτὸν δὲ  

μόνον ἀλλὰ καὶ ἐμέ, ἵνα μὴ λύπην ἐπὶ λύπην σχῶ.  

For indeed he [Epaphroditus] was ill; he nearly died. But God showed him mercy – and  

not only him, but me also, so that I might not encounter still more grief.  

Epaphroditus came as a consolatory envoy; but his visit nearly ended in a tragic death. Yet God  

intervened and healed, showing mercy to Epaphroditus, which the apostle sees as extended to  

him in the form of alleviated grief.¹⁰⁰ While Epaphroditus’ healing is a source of consolation  

for Paul, he does not appear to be wholly free of grief unlike the Philippians, who will rejoice  

at Epaphroditus’ return to Philippi (2:28):  

σπουδαιοτέρως οὖν ἔπεμψα αὐτὸν ἵνα ἰδόντες αὐτὸν πάλιν χαρῆτε κἀγὼ ἀλυπότερος  

ὦ.  

Therefore, I have sent him most hastily so that by seeing him again, you might rejoice,  

and I might be less aggrieved.  

By sending Epaphroditus back to the Philippians, he aims to console them fully. Knowing that  

they are joyful will further reduce his grief;¹⁰¹ but it does not eradicate it.¹⁰² Nevertheless, Paul  

concludes this section with a reflection on the exemplary character of Epaphroditus and his  

role in the consolatory network. The Philippians are instructed to receive Epaphroditus as an  

envoy ‘with total joy (πάσης χαρᾶς)’ (2:29). Epaphroditus and others like him, foremostly  

Timothy, who are known to be loyal to Paul and the gospel are to be highly esteemed  

(ἐντίμους). Paul underlines the contribution that Epaphroditus has made ‘on account of the  

work of Christ’ (2:30). Epaphroditus is a worthy example because of his imitation of Christ.  

Just as Christ was obedient ‘unto death (μέχρι θανάτου)’ (2:8), Epaphroditus also ‘approached  

unto death (μέχρι θανάτου)’ (2:30).¹⁰³ He did this in service of Paul and Christ, ‘disregarding  

his own life (παραβολευσάμενος τῇ ψυχῇ)’ to bring the contribution from Philippi.  

100  

Bockmuehl (Philippians, 172-3) argues that Paul’s grief precedes Epaphroditus’ arrival but is on account of  

‘the selfish rivalry of some Christian leaders (1.15, 17) which has left him without any allies other than Timothy  

(2:20-21; cf. Col. 4:11)’. This reasonably accounts for the costliness of sending back someone loyal like  

Epaphroditus. Pace Holloway, Philippians, 143, who sees the source of Paul’s grief being the disruption of his  

imprisonment for the Philippians’ progress. Engberg-Pedersen argues that Paul’s grief is purely rhetorical for the  

benefit of the Philippians to whom he is bending down: ‘When he is on his own, Paul is wholly like the Stoic  

sage’ (Paul and the Stoics, 98). This, however, does not square with other apostolic experiences; see below on  

Paul’s grief from Judaizing opponents in Phil 3:18–19.  

¹⁰¹ Holloway’s translation of ἀλυπότερος as ‘one cause fewer for worry’ (Philippians, 142) is commendable.  

¹⁰² See von Gemunden, ‘Affekt’, 242n103: ‘Wir lesen nur, dass Paulus Epaphroditus schickt, dass sie sich wieder  

freuen können.’  

¹⁰³ Holloway, Philippians, 143.  

166  

Epaphroditus is portrayed by Paul as an exemplum who mediates consolation. The  

Philippians, however, are not goaded for any ‘want’ (ὑστέρημα) of service towards him. The  

phrase ὑστέρημα τῆς πρός με λειτουργίας is often translated without due consideration of  

ἀναπληρόω (‘fulfil’) which neutralises the expression. Paul has already affirmed the  

Philippians for their λειτουργία (2:18): negating that suddenly now would be illogical. Instead,  

Epaphroditus is the representative who bears and ‘discharges fully’¹⁰⁴ the Philippians’ offering:  

he represents the absent Philippians in bringing the offering and is commended for his faith in  

a hazardous enterprise. Epaphroditus, like Timothy, is both an exemplum of consolation and a  

harbinger of it, in partnership with other agents – both human and divine.  

Phil 3:1-14: Knowledge Changes Everything?¹⁰⁵  

The space given to Timothy and Epaphroditus defies epistolary conventions, but this is  

explained by their exemplarity and place in the network of consolation. Some final greetings  

might be expected at this point and τὸ λοιπόν and χαίρετε (Phil 3:1) – sometimes  

(mis)translated ‘finally’ and ‘farewell’ – heighten this expectation. Yet the canonical epistle to  

the Philippians continues¹⁰⁶ and, moreover, the apostle becomes more impassioned in the face  

of opposition, as he narrates his own experience of knowing Jesus Christ.  

Among scholars favouring partitions in Philippians, Phil 3:2-21 is thought to constitute  

much, if not all, of a separate letter. This is often referred to as a Kampfbrief since Paul reacts  

against certain opponents to his apostolic gospel. While these opponents greatly concern Paul  

and induce rhetorical comparisons (συγκρίσεις), to say that they dominate Phil 3 is an  

overstatement: Paul’s own example, which the Philippians are to imitate (Phil 3:17), is  

foregrounded. In her valuable discussion of Phil 3 as exhortation to imitation, Angela  

Standhartinger notes that: ‘Philippians 3.2-21 … consists mainly of an explicit biographical  

part (3.4–14/15a) that branches off into parenes[i]s (3.15b-17) and an eschatological  

perspective (3.20-21)’.¹⁰⁷ Consequently, the opponents are background figures for much of the  

section.  

104  

Bockmuehl, Philippians, 174; cf. 1 Cor 16:17 and the παρουσία embodiment of Stephanas, Fortunatus and  

Achaicus in a more strained context. A similar sentiment is probable in Col 1:24, where Paul embodies the  

afflictions of Christ rather than making up for any deficiency on Christ’s part: ‘I represent the afflictions of Christ  

in my flesh’ (ἀνταναπληρῶ τὰ ὑστερήματα τῶν θλίψεων τοῦ Χριστοῦ ἐν τῇ σαρκί μου).  

¹⁰⁵ The following sections on Phil 3 are a lightly modified version of Muir, ‘“Our πολίτευμα’, 258–265.  

¹⁰⁶ See Alexander, ‘Structure of Philippians’, 96, for an argument that τὸ λοιπόν means ‘further’ on account of a  

family letter where the phrase λοιπόν οὖν βλέπε μη πίσθῃς (‘therefore, further, ensure that you are not persuaded’)  

appears before the halfway point.  

¹⁰⁷ Angela Standhartinger, ‘“Join in imitating me” (Philippians 3:17): Towards an Interpretation of Philippians 3’,  

NTS 54.3 (2008), 420. Emphasis mine. Standhartinger also includes Phil 4:8-9 within this fragment.  

167  

In this section, I argue that there are some consolatory aspects in Phil 3:1–14¹⁰⁸ but they  

are secondary to Paul’s presentation of his own exemplum towards moral progress. While the  

emphasis that Paul places on knowledge of Christ (3:8, 3:10) affects the primacy of consolation  

in the letter, it remains an important undercurrent, but consolation resurfaces more in Phil 3:15–  

20, where Paul turns to the Philippians and the grievous opponents are more fully described.  

In Phil 3:2, opposition comes sharply but briefly into focus: ‘Beware of (Βλέπετε) the  

dogs, beware of the evil workers, beware of the mutilation’.¹⁰⁹ Having defined the enemies’  

mutilation of the flesh (κατατομή) negatively, he exemplifies appropriate ethnic Jewish  

circumcision (περιτομή) – such as his own and Timothy’s – positively, although on account of  

pneuma rather than flesh: ‘we who worship with the pneuma of God (πνεύματι θεοῦ), boast in  

Christ Jesus, since they have not received assurance in the flesh (οὐκ ἐν σαρκὶ πεποιθότες)’  

(3:3). These enemies are not ethnically Jewish like the apostle: Paul has more reason than them  

for assurance in the flesh based on his Jewish heritage (3:5) and his past total obedience to  

Torah, such that he was blameless (3:6).  

In other words, if anyone could claim assurance and comfort from their ethnic status, it  

was Paul; yet he does not. Instead, Paul reckons these so-called gains (κέρδη) as loss (ζημίαν)  

because of Christ (3:7). Although financial hardship was an appropriate reason for consolation  

in antiquity,¹¹⁰ the apostle seeks no sympathy for any loss of property, credentials, or status.  

Instead, in apprehending the surpassing nature (τὸ ὑπερέχον) that comes through knowledge of  

Christ (3:8), Paul receives divine hyper-consolation¹¹¹ for anything which could be termed a  

loss.¹¹² Paul rationalises how knowledge of Christ has become his all-encompassing  

consideration in an appropriation of the Stoic notion of the summum bonum (‘the utmost  

good’).¹¹³  

¹⁰⁸ For a defence of χαίρετε as ‘rejoice’ rather than ‘farewell’, see Paul A. Holloway, ‘Verum gaudium res severa  

est! Reflections on the Hermeneutics of Literarkritik in Philippians’, in Becker, Die Exegese des 2 Kor und Phil,  

233–246.  

109  

See Ryan D. Collman, ‘“Beware the Dogs!” The Phallic Epithet in Phil 3.2’, NTS 67.1 (2021), 105-20, for a  

convincing proposal that the opponents in Phil 3 are Judaizing gentiles, who deem circumcision necessary for  

themselves and other gentiles when it is not.  

¹¹⁰ See Cicero, Tusc. 3.34.81: paupertas, servitus, debilitas are all mentioned.  

111  

Bockmuehl, Philippians, 194: ‘For Paul, Christ is not a consolation prize or a crutch for one who could not  

hold his own in his former way of life’. My language of divine hyper-consolation derives from ὑπερέχω.  

112  

Some commentators have argued for a loss or abandonment of Paul’s Jewish ethnicity. While there is, to be  

sure, a re-evaluation based on knowing Christ, this is not an indictment of halakhic practice. See, e.g., Matthew  

V. Novenson, ‘Did Paul Abandon either Judaism or Monotheism?’, in The New Cambridge Companion to Saint  

Paul, ed. Bruce W. Longenecker (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2020), 239–259; William S.  

Campbell, ‘“I Rate All Things as Loss”: Paul’s Puzzling Accounting System: Judaism as Loss or the Re-  

evaluation of All Things in Christ?’, in idem, Unity and Diversity in Christ: Interpreting Paul in Context:  

Collected Essays (Eugene: Cascade Books, 2013), 203–223.  

¹¹³ Engberg-Pedersen, ‘On Comparison: The Stoic Theory of Value’, 297.  

168  

Having grasped this, the apostle then describes how he seeks to make progress towards  

that end (3:10–14). Here, Paul explicitly mentions ‘participation in sufferings (κοινωνίαν  

παθημάτων)’ of Christ (3:10). This, however, is part of his own apostolic trajectory, ahead of  

the resurrection of the dead¹¹⁴ that he exemplifies for the Philippians, rather than consolation.  

To reach the end goal, viz. resurrection from the dead, the apostle supposes that he should  

continue and persevere in a race towards Christ. Christ has grasped Paul; but Paul has not  

perfectly grasped Christ – further progress is still required, which includes participation in  

suffering. Paul realises that his knowledge of Christ is imperfect: ‘Not that … I have already  

attained perfection (τετελείωμαι)’ (3:12). This emboldens him to continue in his pursuit. So,  

while containing some consolatory elements,¹¹⁵ Phil 3:1–14 is more concerned with the moral  

progress necessary before receiving the ultimate consolation: the prize of the upward call of  

God in Christ Jesus (3:14). At this point in Phil 3, Engberg-Pedersen is right to say that the  

apostle is developing ‘a logic of the call’.¹¹⁶ This section is focused on Paul, and he functions  

as an exemplum for imitation as he strives to make progress in preparation for this call.¹¹⁷  

Phil 3:15-21: Our Progress, Our Belonging, Our Consolation  

The shift from 3:14, where Paul concludes a section predominantly in the first-person singular  

in testament style, to 3:15, where Paul motions again towards the Philippians – ‘therefore, all  

of us who seek to be perfect, let us consider this (ὅσοι οὖν τέλειοι, τοῦτο φρονῶμεν)’ – is  

marked. He includes the Philippians in his own hortatory drive towards perfection, realising  

that neither he nor they have arrived at this goal. Paul and the Philippians are friends, but the  

apostle is sufficiently advanced in the race that he can inform the Philippians that God ‘will  

reveal (ἀποκαλύψει)’ if their thinking strays into heterodoxy (εἴ τι ἑτέρως φρονεῖτε) on specific  

issues. At this point, Paul stresses how he and other apostles – notably Timothy and  

Epaphroditus – are positive human exempla for imitation (3:17). Paul exhorts the Philippians  

¹¹⁴ Note the similarity between Phil 3:11, ‘if somehow (εἴ πως)’ and 1 Cor 9:27, ‘lest somehow (μή πως)’ regarding  

the mystical aspect of attaining resurrection status and the shared language of the ‘prize’ (Phil 3:14; 1 Cor 9:24).  

115  

Holloway sees one overall consolatory argument in Phil 3:1-4:1: that of suffering leading to ‘knowledge of  

Christ’ (Philippians, 145); cf. Fredrick W. Danker, ‘Consolation in 2 Cor. 5.1-10’, Concordia Theological  

Monthly 39 (1968), 555, on Phil 3: ‘The condition is that the apostle accepts the share of suffering that falls to his  

lot. This is a consolation both to the apostle and to the Philippians, who are not to be distressed by Paul’s suffering’.  

These sufferings, however, are part of the greater project of moral progress in these verses.  

¹¹⁶ Engberg-Pedersen, Paul and the Stoics, 94. Emphasis original.  

117  

Notably, in reflecting on resurrection from the dead, Paul does not desert his Pharisaic roots but reflects  

thinking in keeping with apocalyptic Judaism. See Holloway, Philippians, 157n9. On the goal of moral progress,  

Philo, Migr. 133-134 offers a particularly illuminating parallel, exemplified by Abraham: ‘Or are these not the  

crowns and prizes (ἆθλα): not to fail in the goal of our labours, but to attain the limits of wisdom which are hard  

to attain (μὴ ἀτυχῆσαι τοῦ τέλους τῶν πονηθέντων, ἀλλ᾿ ἐφικέσθαι τῶν δυσεφίκτων φρονήσεως περάτων)?’  

169  

to be his co-imitators (συμμιμηταί): to focus on (σκοπεῖτε) people like himself, Timothy and  

Epaphroditus, and others who walk in step with the pneuma as exempla in imitation of Christ.  

By contrast, however, in Phil 3:18, Paul turns to some negative exempla: certain  

‘enemies of the cross of Christ’. An outpouring of emotion follows as the threat posed by these  

enemies is intensified. Facing renewed opposition, Paul weeps (κλαίων)¹¹⁸ and his prose  

becomes more halted which is symptomatic of his distress. Syntactically, we might expect  

something in closer proximity to qualify the phrase ‘for many walk around (πολλοὶ ...  

περιπατοῦσιν)’ (3:18); but this is delayed until these enemies are parenthetically described.  

Paul goes on to describe the destination and attitude of these enemies: ‘their (ὧν) end  

is destruction, their (ὧν) god is the stomach’ (3:19).¹¹⁹ This construction mirrors the beginning  

of Rom 9, where Paul expresses ‘great grief (λύπη)’ and ‘unceasing anguish (ὀδύνη)’ (9:2)  

concerning Israel’s rejection or, at least, stumbling over Christ. For Paul, this is particularly  

distressing given the privileges belonging to ethnic Israel: ‘theirs (ὧν) the adoption … theirs  

(ὧν) the forefathers’ (9:4–5). The situations are not identical: Paul is concerned with ethnic  

Israel in Romans in contrast to Judaizing opponents in Philippians; but there is a similar context  

of grief.  

Earlier in the letter, Paul had used civic language in exhorting the Philippians (1:27–  

28). Philippi was a Roman colony which meant that Roman citizenship was accordingly  

conferred. Yet as predominantly lower and middle class in status, little protection would have  

been afforded the Philippians, who as new Christ-believers, conceivably distanced themselves  

from the imperial cult.¹²⁰ This accounts for some of the Philippians’ adversity for which they,  

too, needed consolation.  

Having rationalised suffering as concomitant with knowing Christ (Phil 3:10), in Phil  

3:15–19, Paul both recognises and defies present sources of adversity. Paul weeps on account  

of those who thwart the eschatological message of the cross of Christ for Paul’s mission to the  

118  

On Paul’s tears, see Eve-Marie Becker, Der Philipperbrief des Paulus: Vorarbeiten zu einem Kommentar,  

NET 29 (Tübingen: Narr Francke Attempto Verlag, 2020), 283–297.  

¹¹⁹ Note, however, Collman, ‘Beware the Dogs!’, 119: ‘There is a strong possibility that Paul is using κοιλία and  

αἰσχύνη euphemistically to refer to his opponents’ circumcised genitals’.  

120  

See Eva Ebel, ‘“Unser πολίτευμα aber ist in den Himmeln” (Phil 3.20): Ein attraktives Angebot für viele  

Bewohnerinnen und Bewhoner der römischen Kolonie Philippi’, in Frey and Schliesser, Der Philipperbrief, 167.  

Ebel argues that Paul inveighs against the pride (Stolz) of deriving too much comfort from this status. Taking  

Paul’s Roman citizenship at face value, she believes that Paul, like Christ, renounces his status in favour of  

citizenship in heaven – an attitude which the Philippians should imitate. While aspects of this reading have merit,  

see below for a consolatory reading of Phil 3:20 that does not depend on Paul’s Roman citizenship.  

170  

nations.¹²¹ The aggrieved apostle considers the teleology of the enemies: instead of progressing  

to know Christ, ‘their end is destruction (ἀπώλεια)’ (3:19). Paul had delivered a similar  

judgement concerning those who had opposed the Philippians: ‘this is proof of their destruction  

(ἀπωλείας)’ (1:28).¹²² In both judgements, Paul employs apocalyptic discourse. As he weeps  

in Phil 3:19, Paul is like the weeping seer in 1 Enoch 95 who pronounces woes upon the  

unrighteous who afflict the faithful¹²³ that reflects the apocalyptic distinction between insider  

and outsider.  

At the end of 3:19, we encounter the delayed phrase in apposition to πολλοὶ ...  

περιπατοῦσιν: ‘many walk around … who consider earthly things (οἱ τὰ ἐπίγεια φρονοῦντες)’.  

Paul finds that these enemies are located merely on an earthly, horizontal plane. Paul’s  

indictment is a way of emphasising to himself and the Philippians amid their affliction that  

they are on a virtuous path. Again, by asserting that without revelation and repentance, those  

serving the body will be destroyed, Paul draws upon Jewish apocalyptic tradition. For example,  

the angel reveals to Ezra that for those who did not follow Moses or the prophets: ‘there shall  

not be grief at their destruction, so much as joy over those to whom salvation is assured’ (4  

Ezra 7:131, NRSV).¹²⁴ Accordingly, those who aggrieve Paul and threaten the lives of the  

Christ followers in Philippi are defied and judged. This revelation forms part of Paul’s defiant  

consolatory strategy for himself and Christ-believers in Philippi, paving the way for the climax  

to his consolatory narrative in Phil 3:20-21 based on heavenly ‘citizenship’ (πολίτευμα).¹²⁵  

Paul, himself an ethnic Jew, presents this narrative about heavenly πολίτευμα to the  

gentile Philippians and expresses it as shared consolation in language that resonates to them.  

121  

Holloway judiciously describes the enemies as those who do not ‘embrace his [Paul’s] apocalyptic theory of  

suffering’ (Philippians, 178); cf. Petra von Gemünden on Phil 3 as Fremdinstruktion zur Freude angesichts des  

Leids (‘unfamiliar teaching on joy in the face of suffering’) in opposition to the opponents (‘Affekt’, 251).  

122  

I agree with Kathy Ehrensperger that ἀπώλεια is used by Paul ‘only for non-Jews outside of the Christ-  

movement’ (eadem, ‘The Politeuma in the Heavens and the Construction of Collective Identity in Philippians’,  

JJMJS 6 [2019] 25); but I maintain that the instances in Phil 1:28 and 3:19 refer to two distinct, pagan groups:  

imperial opposition and Judaizing gentiles, respectively.  

¹²³ See further Angela Standhartinger, ‘Apocalyptic Thought in Philippians’, in The Jewish Apocalyptic Tradition  

and the Shaping of New Testament Thought, eds. Benjamin E. Reynolds and Loren T. Stuckenbruck (Minneapolis:  

Fortress Press, 2017), 237. Here, also, Standhartinger overlooks the consolatory aspect of apocalyptic prophecy  

for those who are within the believing community.  

124  

Although not an apocalyptic text, note the execution of Flaccus – who had been chiefly responsible for the  

pogrom against Jews in Alexandria – in Philo, Flacc. 191: ‘That Flaccus suffered such things was undeniable  

proof (πίστις) that the race of Judeans had not been deprived (μὴ ἀπεστερῆσθαι) of the aid of God’.  

¹²⁵ For discussion of the meaning of πολίτευμα, see Peter Oakes, ‘The Christians and their Politeuma in Heaven:  

Philippians 3:20 and the Herakleopolis Papyri,’ in In the Crucible of Empire: The Impact of Roman Citizenship  

upon Greeks, Jews and Christians, eds. Katell Berthelot and Jonathan Price, Interdisciplinary Studies in Ancient  

Culture and Religion 21 (Leuven: Peeters, 2019), 161, who opts for ‘governing institution’; and Ehrensperger,  

‘The Politeuma in the Heavens’, 44, who opts for a meaning connoting ‘a familiar Jewish affirmation of belonging  

under imperial domination’. See also Standhartinger, ‘Apocalyptic Thought in Philippians’, 239nn38-39, for  

extensive bibliography on the meaning of πολίτευμα.  

171  

Philo, at De opificio mundi 143, refers to ‘those inscribed in the greatest and most perfect  

πολίτευμα (τῷ μεγίστῳ καὶ τελειοτάτῳ πολιτεύματι ἐγγραφέντες)’. Philo has been describing  

the founder of humanity (ἀρχηγέτης) as a cosmopolitan; but, here, he refers to the citizens who  

were ‘before man (πρὸ ἀνθρώπου)’. He describes them materially (Opif. 144, LCL):  

Who should these be but spiritual and divine natures (φύσεις), some incorporeal and  

visible to mind only, some not without bodies, such as are the stars?  

Philo, then, refers to the founder of humanity living within a Stoic cosmological framework.  

We can and should also approach Phil 3:20 from this perspective.¹²⁶ In his ground-breaking  

The Stoic Idea of the City, Malcolm Schofield cites the first century BCE Epicurean  

philosopher, Philodemus, who summarises the third century BCE Stoic philosopher  

Chrysippus’ position about access to the cosmos thus (On Piety, col. vii 12–viii 4):  

[T]he universe of the wise (φρονίμ[ω]ν) is one, citizenship of it being held by gods and  

men together (συνπολειτευ[ό]μενον θεοῖς καὶ ἀνθρώποις).¹²⁷  

In contrast to the enemies whose mindset is earthly, Paul and the Philippians can possess  

heavenly πολίτευμα. This represents a source of present consolation and future hope. Writing  

about Dio Chrysostom’s 36^th Oration to the defeated Borystheneans, Schofield comments that  

‘the dispossessed prefer the prospect of heaven to political thought’.¹²⁸ A similar dynamic is at  

work in Phil 3:20. Although the Pauline hapaxes of ‘saviour’ (σωτήρ) and πολίτευμα highlight  

earthly and civic concerns, what matters presently is the heavenly location of both saviour and  

citizenship. George van Kooten, therefore, rightly sees Schofield’s findings about the Stoics as  

transferrable to Paul here: ‘Paul, like the Stoics, speaks about a present differentiation between  

an earthly and a heavenly city’.¹²⁹  

126  

Here I depart from Ehrensperger, who argues that ‘Greek and Roman philosophical discourses of belonging  

… are secondary analogies and echoes’ (‘The Politeuma in the Heavens’, 45). Instead, they conceivably form part  

of Paul’s Jewish and Hellenistic matrix.  

¹²⁷ Malcolm Schofield, The Stoic Idea of the City (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1991), 73. Note also  

Clement of Alexandria’s comments on the Stoic city, Strom. IV 26: ‘The Stoics say that the universe (οὐρανός)  

is in the proper sense a city’ (trans. Schofield, ibid., 61).  

¹²⁸ Schofield, Stoic Idea, 63.  

¹²⁹ George H. van Kooten, ‘Philosophical Criticism of Genealogical Claims and Stoic Depoliticization of Politics:  

Greco-Roman Strategies in Paul’s Allegorical Interpretation of Hagar and Sarah (Gal 4:21–31)’, in Abraham, the  

Nations, and the Hagarites: Jewish, Christian, and Islamic Perspectives on Kinship with Abraham, eds. Martin  

Goodman et al., TBN 13 (Leiden: Brill, 2010), 381. This dynamic applies to ‘the Jerusalem above  

(ἡ … ἄνω Ἰερουσαλὴμ)’ at Gal 4:26 as well as Phil 3:20.  

172  

Despite the similar cosmic perspective, eager expectation of a heavenly vice-regent,  

Christ, represents a departure from Stoic notions. The apostle narrates a vision of a final and  

climactic consolatory event: the transformation which comes through Christ¹³⁰ (Phil 3:21):  

ὃς μετασχηματίσει τὸ σῶμα τῆς ταπεινώσεως ἡμῶν σύμμορφον τῷ σώματι τῆς δόξης  

αὐτοῦ κατὰ τὴν ἐνέργειαν τοῦ δύνασθαι αὐτὸν καὶ ὑποτάξαι αὑτῷ τὰ πάντα.  

[Christ], who will transform the body of our destitution, making it conformable to the  

body of his glory, on account of his agency by which he is able to subject all things to  

himself.  

This represents the eschatological completion of the inaugurated transformation of ‘shining as  

stars in the universe’ (Phil 2:15) amid earthly opposition. As in the Christ-encomium in Phil  

2:8, where Christ underwent voluntary destitution (ἐταπείνωσεν ἑαυτόν), destitution  

(ταπείνωσις) was a condition for which consolation was appropriate. A transformed body of  

glory and defeat of earthly and cosmic powers are the ultimate symbols of heavenly citizenship.  

Paul consoles himself and the Philippians in the face of present earthly opposition with these  

visions. Therefore, Phil 3 concludes with consolation in the form of heavenly πολίτευμα from  

which Christ will come to transform wise believers so that they may access it.  

Phil 4:4-9: Present Joy and Peace – Valedictory Consolation  

As in Phil 1, where consolation (1:12–26) led to exhortation towards unity (1:27), in Phil 4:1–  

3, Paul offers similar exhortation¹³¹ to his beloved Philippians (4:1) following the mutual  

consolation at the end of Phil 3. Subsequently, Phil 4:1–3 is a transition to Phil 4:4–9 which,  

in recalling themes of exemplarity, consolation, and moral progress, is defensibly part of a  

unified letter. In this section, I highlight its concluding and valedictory consolatory  

components.  

Paul’s exhortation to the Philippians, ‘rejoice in the Lord always’ (4:4), fosters an  

enduring state of mind based on the consolation of Christ, as exhorted and exemplified  

throughout the letter. The double χαίρετε – ‘again, I shall say, rejoice’ – has an air of finality.¹³²  

This joy is not only internalised; but is visibly external: ‘may your gentleness be recognised by  

130  

In the case of the gentile Philippians, not wrought through circumcision or other means; cf. 2 Cor 11:13-15  

regarding the pseudo-transformation of pseudo-apostles: μετασχηματίζω occurs in all three verses.  

¹³¹ See Richard G. Fellows and Alistair C. Stewart, ‘Euodia, Syntyche, and the Role of Syzygos: Phil 4:2–3’, ZNW  

109.2 (2018): 222–234, on the connection between Phil 1:27–30 and Phil 4:2–3 which results in a creative  

proposal that Syzygos represents many individuals in the Philippian assemblies.  

¹³² Holloway’s remark about Phil 4:4 as a ‘general maxim’ is similarly apt: ‘like the Stoic sage though for different  

reasons, the Christ-believer was to maintain a joyful disposition “at all times”’ (Philippians, 183).  

173  

all people (τὸ ἐπιεικὲς ὑμῶν γνωσθήτω πᾶσιν ἀνθρώποις)’ (4:5). Elsewhere, Paul appeals based  

on the gentleness (ἐπιείκεια) of Christ (2 Cor 10:1) and it follows that Paul announces: ‘the  

Lord is near’ (ὁ κύριος ἐγγύς). There is a deliberate double-meaning here: the Lord is near  

spatially and near temporally. He is locally present, which matters for Paul; since both the  

eschaton and his own end are conceivably near.¹³³  

The Philippians’ anxiety is discernible. Here, Paul consoles them inwardly by narrating  

how the Lord is close to them in their affliction. Christ’s consoling παρουσία – in both local  

and temporal senses – is the basis for Paul’s exhortation: ‘Do not be anxious about anything’  

(μηδὲν μεριμνᾶτε) (4:6). Instead, the Philippians are called to redirect themselves to God: ‘but  

in every situation, by prayer and by petition, with thanksgiving, let your requests be made  

known (γνωριζέσθω) before God’. Paul conveys an intimate partnership between the human  

and the divine.  

Then, in 4:7, Paul narrates the resulting consolation that comes through dialogue and  

partnership with the proximate Lord: ‘the peace of God which surpasses all understanding’ (ἡ  

εἰρήνη τοῦ θεοῦ ἡ ὑπερέχουσα πάντα νοῦν). Paul draws not only upon ideas from Jewish  

tradition,¹³⁴ but also the moral philosophers,¹³⁵ and contemporary quotidian understandings of  

peace.¹³⁶ Like Paul’s ‘knowledge of Christ’ which was τὸ ὑπερέχον (3:8), this peace also has  

surpassing (ὑπερέχουσα) value. Paul further describes the consolatory effect of this peace: ‘it  

will protect (φρουρήσει) your hearts and minds in Christ Jesus’. While there may be imperial  

allusions here, the Philippians’ belonging is now related to the Jewish messiah from whom  

they derive consolation in present struggles.  

From this, Paul directs the Philippians to meditate (λογίζεσθε) upon numerous virtues  

(4:8). The apostle enumerates a conventional catalogue of virtues¹³⁷ but with an important  

modification: Christ exemplifies them all. Instead of focusing on their sufferings, the  

Philippians are redirected towards these virtues, which are summed up in the exemplary figure  

of Christ. By reading Phil 4:8 as a redirection towards the virtues of the exemplary Christ, this  

¹³³ Holloway sees κύριος ἐγγύς as signalling ‘apocalyptic consolation’ (Philippians, 183n14).  

¹³⁴ Bockmuehl, Philippians, 247: ‘This peace of God here stands not merely for an absence of conflict but in the  

Hebraic biblical sense for a healthy relationship enjoyed to the fullest’.  

¹³⁵ Seneca and Plutarch both wrote treatises on divine tranquillity.  

¹³⁶ See Michael Dormandy, ‘How to Understand What Passes All Understanding: Using the Documentary Papyri  

to Understand Εἰρήνη in Paul’, NTS 67.2 (2021): 220–240.  

¹³⁷ Holloway compares Paul’s technique to Cicero’s adapted form of the Epicurean avocatio-revocatio: ‘he invites  

his readers to turn their minds not to the false goods of pleasure but the real goods of virtue’ (idem, ‘Bona Cogitare:  

An Epicurean Consolation in Phil 4:8-9’, HTR 91.1 [1998], 94-95); cf. Cicero Tusc. 5.23.67: ‘all things that are  

beautiful, honourable, admirable (omnia quae pulcra, honesta, praeclara)’. This is the only place where Paul uses  

the conventional Greek language of virtue (ἀρετή).  

174  

mitigates against accusations of apostolic arrogance. Paul imitates Christ and, therefore, the  

Philippians should imitate him: ‘whatever you learned,¹³⁸ received, heard, and saw in me,  

practice these things’ (4:9). While Philippians lacks an ‘extended formal section of …  

paraenesis’,¹³⁹ as in 1 Thess 5:16–22 or 2 Cor 13:11–14, paraenesis is scattered throughout the  

letter following moments of consolation. Instead, via his example in imitation of Christ, Paul  

consoles the Philippians in their difficulties and promises the peace of God.  

These words have a distinctly valedictory aspect; Paul entertains the possibility that he  

may never see the Philippians again. Betz reads Phil 4:8-9 as Paul’s legacy in line with ancient  

writers’ desire to leave ‘a last word’ (ultimum verbum) – or like Seneca in Tacitus’ account, an  

imago vitae.¹⁴⁰ Phil 4:9 has a gnomic character in which Paul gives a valedictory impression  

of his life.¹⁴¹ Yet its purpose is to leave both an example to be imitated and a consolation. It  

completes an inclusio from 4:7 with ‘the peace of God’. Phil 4:9 typifies exemplary consolation  

more than paraenesis: Paul’s chief aim is to console the anxious Philippians through the peace  

of God and his own apostolic example.¹⁴² From this divine consolation conveyed through Paul  

the consoler and other exemplary figures, the Philippians will be able to continue to make  

effective pneumatic progress.  

Phil 4:10-23: The Gift Network Underpinning Consolation  

Contra partition theories, Phil 4:10-20 represents a logical letter conclusion. It is a lengthy and  

formal post-script that portrays the deep friendship and partnership between Paul and the  

Philippians which underpins the consolation and resultant paraenesis in the letter. It also  

testifies to the involvement of God in this partnership and in the consolatory network.  

Paul expresses great joy in the Lord that the Philippians have taken the opportunity to  

assist him financially (4:10). This is something that they have consistently offered: ‘as you  

habitually considered [me]’ (ἐφ᾽ ᾧ καὶ ἐφρονεῖτε). For reasons linked to Paul’s imprisonment,  

this support ceased for a time; but the Philippians are not rebuked.¹⁴³ Instead, the emphasis is  

on the recent blossoming of their friendship.¹⁴⁴ Paul praises the Philippians for their ongoing  

¹³⁸ This translation takes the aorist tenses at face value, unlike many translators, who render them as perfect tenses.  

¹³⁹ Bockmuehl, Philippians, 249.  

¹⁴⁰ Betz, Studies, 89.  

¹⁴¹ Paul refers to the future or ongoing presence and action of the God of peace elsewhere (Rom 15:33, 16:20; 2  

Cor 13:11) but never with such emphasis on his own example, as in Phil 4:9.  

142  

Pace Engberg-Pedersen, Paul and the Stoics, 108-9, who sees 4:9 as part of Paul’s paracletic programme  

focused on bending down to exhort the Philippians.  

¹⁴³ Contra Holloway, Philippians, 186: ‘The Philippians’ grief had even caused them to neglect Paul!’  

¹⁴⁴ Rightly: Abraham J. Malherbe, ‘Paul’s Self-Sufficiency (Philippians 4:11)’, in Fitzgerald, Friendship, Flattery,  

and Frankness of Speech, 131.  

175  

consideration of him (τὸ ὑπὲρ ἐμοῦ φρονεῖν). There is no suggestion that their friendship has  

ever been severed – only that financial support has recently become possible again.¹⁴⁵  

Paul recognises that his remarks could suggest his joy is related to material  

circumstances, so swiftly disavows such notions. Many interpreters have problematised his  

muted thanks as an embarrassment towards riches. My preferred interpretation is that Paul  

draws attention to an abundance from human and divine sources.¹⁴⁶ Paul declares: ‘I have  

learned to be self-sufficient (αὐτάρκης)’ (4:11). In the context of Philippians, however, human  

friendship is more discernible, and moreover, was not forbidden to the sage, as Seneca showed  

(Ep. 9.5). Paul values the beneficence of friends like the Philippians, but their gift is directed  

towards the gospel of Christ,¹⁴⁷ who is the source of Paul’s strength and sufficiency. This is  

conveyed in Phil 4:13: ‘I am strong (ἰσχύω) in everything in the one who empowers  

(ἐνδυναμοῦντι) me’.  

In 4:11–13, Paul discusses divine comfort through strengthening and empowering,  

rather than divine consolation: Paul does not focus on his want (ὑστέρησις), but the provision  

of divine strength. In Phil 4:14, however, Paul mentions his affliction again and the part that  

the Philippians have had in alleviating it: ‘Nevertheless, you did well to participate in my  

affliction’ (πλὴν καλῶς ἐποιήσατε συγκοινωνήσαντές μου τῇ θλίψει). There is an element of  

gratitude here,¹⁴⁸ but the Philippians’ preparedness to share in Paul’s affliction is the main  

concern. Their principal mode of partnership is the financial gift; although they suffer from  

opposition and more could come their way, they do not encounter θλῖψις in entirely the same  

way as Paul (Phil 1:17). Phil 4:10-14 shows that the Philippians’ partnership is a source of  

consolation for Paul, but that only divine comfort fully alleviates his affliction.  

The main premise of these final verses is the friendship and partnership between Paul  

and the Philippians with God at its source. This is not consolation per se, but it is a necessary  

precondition for consolation, and accounts for the letter’s pervasive consolatory aspects:  

exempla and narratives of transformation. Since the beginning of Paul’s ministry among the  

nations, the Philippians have had a unique relationship with Paul: ‘no church partnered with  

145  

ἤδη ποτὲ (4:10) could convey rebuke if rendered ‘at last’, but in this context ‘recently’ is more appropriate.  

The principal consideration is that the Philippians’ support has become possible; cf. Rom 1:10 in relation to Paul’s  

desired travel plans: he hopes the way to them will finally be possible.  

¹⁴⁶ Briones, ‘Intentional “Thankless Thanks”’, 60: the notion of a ‘two-tier paradox’ is especially insightful.  

147  

See Betz, Studies, 125: ‘As a sacrificial contribution it was money owned by God to be used for financially  

supporting a religious mission and its servants’.  

¹⁴⁸ For the idiom καλῶς ποιέω, cf. Acts 10:33.  

176  

me (οὐδεμία μοι ἐκκλησία ἐκοινώνησεν) with regard to giving and receiving except you alone’.  

This remark validates the Philippians’ loyalty and friendship.¹⁴⁹  

Yet there is also divine involvement in this gift and corresponding consolatory network.  

In 4:18, Paul formally and gratefully receives the Philippians’ gift but its value lies in its  

sacrificial aspect as ‘a pleasing aroma, an acceptable sacrifice, pleasing to God’ (ὀσμὴν  

εὐωδίας, θυσίαν δεκτήν, εὐάρεστον τῷ θεῷ). This recalls Paul’s earlier description of the  

‘sacrifice (θυσίᾳ) and service of the Philippians’ faith’ (2:17). The Philippians remain Paul’s  

friends: loyal to him and faithful to God. Having received their gift, Paul is able to say: ‘I have  

become full (πεπλήρωμαι)’. Although Paul cannot reciprocate through an equal gift of financial  

support, in partnership with God, he promises that: ‘my God will fulfil (πληρώσει) your every  

need’ (4:19). God will give the Philippians as much as they have given Paul, if not more: they  

will be accredited with ‘fruit that abounds (τὸν καρπὸν τὸν πλεονάζοντα) … according to his  

richness (πλοῦτος) in glory in Christ Jesus’ (4:17-19). Philippians concludes happily, since all  

are filled, which contributes to the valedictory nature of the consolation in Phil 4 at or towards  

the end of Paul’s consolatory career.  

Conclusion  

Although Paul does not set out to write Philippians as an ancient letter of consolation, a  

discourse of consolation pervades the letter. Building on and nuancing some of Holloway’s  

proposals, an illuminating range of consolatory topoi and arguments feature in Philippians. I  

have also shown that consolation in Philippians is best understood with references to exempla,  

and as in 1 Thessalonians and 2 Corinthians, can be conceptualised within a network involving  

divine and human agents. This has implications for understanding Phil 1:27-2:16. On my  

reading, this section is not merely a ‘hortatory digression’;¹⁵⁰ God emerges as the source of  

divine consolation and Christ as its paradigm. Consequently, in 2:17-30, considerable space is  

given to Timothy and Epaphroditus because of their exemplarity: they imitate Christ, represent  

Paul, and are harbingers of consolation both to Paul and the Philippians.  

These three exempla provide a central narrative around which Paul portrays his own  

exemplum. In 1:12-26, Paul’s joy remains despite his chains: the progress of the gospel  

consoles and motivates the apostle. This narrative, in turn, is a comfort for the Philippians in  

their own trials (1:27-30). Then, in 3:4-14, Paul describes his reoriented life based on knowing  

¹⁴⁹ Cf. Cicero, Amic. 26.58 on the ‘account of things received and given’ (ratio acceptorum et datorum).  

¹⁵⁰ See Holloway, Philippians, 104.  

177  

Christ. This knowledge changes everything and provides hyper-consolation for any perceived  

losses, yet it also propels him to seek further progress in the race towards Christ. Philippians is  

also a letter concerned with moral progress and paraenesis, but this flows from divine  

consolation and is oriented towards transformation, which is inaugurated in the present and  

realised in full at the eschaton. In Phil 3:15-21, Paul’s narrative culminates in consoling  

heavenly πολίτευμα. This narrative begins with a comparison between exempla including Paul,  

Timothy and Epaphroditus (3:17) and the Judaizing opponents. These apocalyptic outsiders  

cause Paul grief and endanger the philophronetic Christ-community in Philippi.  

While a degree of exhortation and appeal for unity proceeds from this consolation (Phil  

4:1-3), Paul’s closing consolation about the ‘peace of God’ alleviates the Philippians’ anxieties.  

By directing the Philippians towards the example of Christ, then his own, Paul issues  

valedictory consolation from prison. Consolation, therefore, continues in Phil 3–4 and the  

sustained focus on exempla challenges seeing any partitions in the text. My reading of  

Philippians as an end of career consolation naturally invites comparison with Seneca’s Epistles  

and we are now well placed to carry out such a comparison, having followed the contours of  

Paul’s consolatory practice, discourse, and resulting narratives.  

178  

Chapter 8: Comparing Paul’s and Seneca’s Consolatory Narratives  

‘Difference can be consoling: I am not like Demosthenes because my natural ingenium differs  

from his’.¹  

Introduction  

The preceding chapters have tracked and traced the consolatory careers of Seneca the Younger  

and the apostle Paul. Treating each thinker separately on his own terms has been necessary to  

avoid imposing extraneous concepts onto either thinker.² Having juxtaposed their careers, this  

final chapter conducts a comparison between their discourses and resulting narratives of  

consolation. Taking this approach implies that such a comparison is possible.  

The second chapter discussed how some New Testament scholars have questioned an  

intersection between early Christianity³ and varieties of ancient philosophy. In recent years,  

Rowe has mounted and defended⁴ a forcible case for the incommensurability of ancient  

Stoicism and early Christianity. His chief argument, however, is ultimately more existential  

than historical, as the following remark reveals:  

The stories that make Stoic/Christian commitments intelligible as Stoic/Christian  

commitments do not overlap or run parallel in the way that would be required for the  

existence of commensurable commitments or shared agreements.⁵  

Rowe’s discourse of ‘commitment’ implies a presentist perspective; according to him, it is not  

possible to be influenced by both narratives of Stoicism and Christianity, since ‘[t]he narratives  

are those of traditions in conflict’.⁶ Yet would our chief actors, Paul and Seneca, or the  

communities to which they wrote have agreed that the narratives were in such conflict?  

¹ Colin Burrow, Imitating Authors: Plato to Futurity (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2019), 99.  

² Troels Engberg-Pedersen usefully dubs this the lex Malherbe: ‘each worldview must be investigated on its own  

premises, without any bias of interest in one or the other of the comparanda’ (‘The Past is a Foreign Country: On  

the Shape and Purposes of Comparison in New Testament Scholarship’, in Barclay and White, The New Testament  

in Comparison, 56).  

3

As discussed, this descriptor assumes a parting of the ways between Judaism and Christianity which risks  

anachronism in the time and case of Paul.  

⁴ See his chapters in Barclay and White, The New Testament in Comparison, 23–40, 125–142.  

⁵ Rowe, One True Life, 224.  

⁶ Ibid., 224. Emphasis mine.  

179  

 

Having followed each of Seneca’s and Paul’s consolatory careers and listened to their  

individual narratives, I shall now host this dialogue.⁷ This dialogue will consider degrees of  

similarity and difference between Seneca and Paul on consolation; but it will move from  

similarity to difference, rather than vice versa.⁸ We recall that Runar Thorsteinsson took this  

approach in his study comparing Roman Stoicism and Roman Christianity in terms of ancient  

morality. He found the two traditions to be similar in five aspects but also finds a fundamental  

difference: the Roman Stoics were committed to universal humanity, whereas Roman  

Christians were not.⁹ In this chapter, like Thorsteinsson, I bring together some of the principal  

concepts from Seneca’s and Paul’s consolatory narratives and argue that there are significant  

structural similarities. I believe that these concepts can be usefully categorised under the Stoic  

tripartite scheme of physics, logic, and ethics. In Seneca’s case, since Stoicism was the  

philosophical group (αἵρεσις) with which he most identified, this is reasonable. Situating Paul  

within such a framework is a more controversial move, but I contend that in Paul’s consolatory  

discourse, physical, logical, and ethical aspects can be identified.¹⁰  

That said, when individual themes are brought together for comparison, it emerges that  

there are significant divergences between Seneca and Paul. The different contexts in which  

Seneca and Paul found themselves must be borne in mind, since they contribute to these  

different narratives. Seneca was an elite Roman male who wrote for an elite readership,  

whereas Paul was a diaspora Jew who wrote predominantly to gentiles from diverse socio-  

economic backgrounds about a Jewish messiah, whom Paul believed was soon to return. The  

chief difference that Thorsteinsson finds between the Roman Stoics and the so-called Roman  

Christians vis-à-vis universal humanity can be accounted for through the latter’s rootedness in  

Jewish apocalyptic thought.  

⁷ As Jonathan A. Linebaugh recognises especially well, the individual concerns of the scholar guide and affect the  

comparison: ‘Comparison is a dynamic relationship between the comparanda and with the comparator’  

(‘Relational Hermeneutics and Comparison as Conversation’, in Barclay and White, New Testament in  

Comparison, 150). I recognise that I am bringing Paul and Seneca together on a tertium quid of my own choosing  

and setting out with the hypothesis that they can be compared.  

⁸ My approach, therefore, differs from that of Justin Reid Allison, Saving One Another: Philodemus and Paul on  

Moral Formation in Community, APhR 3 (Leiden: Brill, 2020), 16: ‘The goal is to compare Paul and Philodemus  

again, this time [contra Malherbe and Glad] allowing differences to shape the understanding of similarities’.  

Allison ultimately finds that ‘Paul and Philodemus have qualitatively different understandings of moral formation  

as a whole, primarily because of their differing theologies’ (195). Although Allison’s study is most informative  

his approach works less well for comparing Paul and Seneca on consolation, since it is a more crystallised practice  

and tradition. Nowhere does Allison consider the distinctly Jewish component of Paul’s ‘theology’, as I do here.  

⁹ Thorsteinsson, Roman Christianity and Roman Stoicism, 206: ‘The moral teaching of Roman Christianity does  

not teach unconditional universal humanity. It is conditioned by adherence to a particular religion’.  

10  

Dru Johnson, despite contending with N. T. Wright against Troels Engberg-Pedersen that Paul and the Stoics  

can be compared, reasons: ‘Paul can then agree with pagan philosophers and Hellenistic Jewish literature insofar  

as these tap into a larger network of wisdom about ethics, logic, and physics’ (Biblical Philosophy, 206).  

180  

In our analysis of consolation in Paul, we have begun to see how important both broadly  

Graeco-Roman philosophical discourses and Jewish notions from a variety of Second Temple  

traditions were for his consolatory strategy for these early Christ-believers and himself. After  

analysing some intersecting consolatory themes, I shall show how Paul’s understanding of  

consolation as coming from being ἐν Χριστῷ (‘in Christ’ or ‘in messiah’)¹¹ constitutes the key  

difference between his and Seneca’s narratives of consolation. Across 1 Thessalonians, 2  

Corinthians and Philippians, there are instances where being ἐν Χριστῷ can be tied to a  

narrative of consolation. This move enables us to take seriously the christological components  

of Paul’s consolatory discourse, which account for Paul’s distinctive contribution to the ancient  

consolation tradition. Although it would be a category error to call this a wholly novel or unique  

contribution in view of Paul’s continuity with messianic tradition, Paul writes his letters in  

response to a revelation of Jesus as resurrected messiah. This Christ-event, located in history,  

makes for a distinctive contribution in terms of consolation,¹² but it does not mean that dialogue  

is unachievable or that Seneca’s and Paul’s consolatory schemes are incommensurable.  

Physics  

Physics is prima facie an unusual starting point for an investigation into consolation given its  

practical and ethical goals. Yet physical notions form part of Paul’s ‘cultural repertoire’¹³ – as  

well as Seneca’s – and undergird their entire consolatory practice. According to Diogenes  

Laertius (Lives, 7.132), the Stoics divided physics into five key areas: bodies, principles,  

elements, gods, limits both of place and void.¹⁴ While some of these are more prominent in  

Paul and Seneca than others, we might lightly adjust these categories to create three more  

recognisable and interconnected areas on which the pair can be compared: the body, cosmos,  

and gods.¹⁵  

¹¹ For initial soundings in the translation of this idiom, see J. Thomas Hewitt, Messiah and Scripture: Paul’s ‘in  

Christ’ Idiom in Its Ancient Jewish Context, WUNT II/522 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2020), 1–6.  

¹² Applied to ‘in Christ’ discourse and a consolatory narrative in the letters of Paul, I agree with Rowe’s assertion  

that ‘to know the story is to know the thing itself’ (One True Life, 199): i.e., knowing that one is in Christ results  

in knowing consolation through Christ.  

13  

For this notion, see Johan C. Thom, ‘Paul and Popular Philosophy’, in Paul’s Graeco-Roman Context, ed.  

Cilliers Breytenbach, BETL 277 (Leuven: Peeters, 2015), 47.  

14  

Τὸν δὲ φυσικὸν λόγον διαιροῦσιν εἴς τε τὸν περὶ σωμάτων τόπον καὶ περὶ ἀρχῶν καὶ στοιχείων καὶ θεῶν καὶ  

περάτων καὶ τόπου καὶ κενοῦ.  

¹⁵ Note Philip Sidney Horky, ‘Cosmic Spiritualism among the Pythagoreans, Stoics, Jews and Early Christians’,  

in Cosmos in the Ancient World, ed. idem (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2019), 271: ‘the pneumatic  

theology that is found in the New Testament … shows remarkable inheritances also from the secularising,  

scientific tradition of the Greek philosophical cosmology’.  

181  

Body  

Both Seneca and Paul talk about the body specifically in relation to consolation. In Seneca’s  

case, this comes to the fore in his Epistles, where he puts an unusual emphasis on his own  

physical and bodily pains. In Ep. 78, Seneca articulates how he convinced himself to continue  

to live amid bodily pains (78.3):  

I shall talk about the things which were of comfort (solacio) to me … I have grown  

accustomed to these things having the power of medicine; honourable consolations  

(solacia) yield remedies, and whatever lifted the soul (animum erexit) also benefits the  

body (corpori prodest).  

Seneca chiefly applies philosophical reasoning to the mind, but a significant by-product is that  

it aids him in his bodily affliction. Seneca distinguishes between the body and the soul on the  

grounds that the body is time-bounded, whereas the rational soul is not. Later in the Epistles,  

Seneca reminds Lucilius: ‘We cannot yet endure heaven but only from a distance (nisi ex  

intervallo); accordingly, look ahead intrepidly to that decreed hour: it is not the last for the soul  

(animo), but for the body (corpori)’ (102.24).¹⁶  

In Ep. 78, Seneca’s present bodily pains become the vehicle through which he can  

contemplate the virtuous life, as Catharine Edwards shows: ‘The suffering body is now made  

to become an aid to self-knowledge, a route to philosophical progress’.¹⁷ Seneca illustrates this  

through the figure of the athlete whose training is torture to the body. Differently from the  

athlete, however, Seneca invites Lucilius and other Stoic proficientes to imitate him in  

competing for virtue (78.16):  

Let us also conquer (evincamus) all things: their reward is neither the crown nor the  

palm nor the trumpeter calling for silence for declaring our name, but virtue and  

firmness of soul (virtus et firmitas animi) and peace acquired in everything else.  

The body, therefore, recedes in importance relative to the soul. The soul is more apt to be  

trained and transformed in the present than the body. On Seneca’s scheme, the sage realises as  

much: ‘the great and prudent person divides his mind from the body and is more occupied with  

the better and divine part (cum meliore ac divina parte)’ (78.10). Seneca’s focus when  

consoling for bodily affliction is on present transformation of the soul, which is divine and  

rational, as opposed to the body which cannot be transformed.  

¹⁶ Cf. Ep. 92.33: ‘no-one who serves the body is free’  

¹⁷ Edwards, ‘The Suffering Body’, 253. See Ep. 106 for how Seneca sees both virtue and soul as corporeal.  

182  

Paul is also preoccupied with the body.¹⁸ This is patent in the Corinthian  

correspondence, where he talks about bodies in at least three different consolatory contexts.  

Firstly, he uses the metaphor of the body (σῶμα) in his construction of an effective body of  

believers in Corinth, who engage in consolation, both suffering and rejoicing together (1 Cor  

12:26). The assembly becomes an earthly representation of the συμπαθεία which, in Stoic  

theory, holds the cosmos in place. Secondly, Paul describes the transformation from earthly  

and physical bodies to heavenly and pneumatic ones (1 Cor 15:40, 44) in conformity with what  

happens to Jesus, the firstfruits of the resurrection. This forms the essence of his partially  

consolatory narrative¹⁹ about the collective transformation of believers who are all reclothed at  

the parousia (1 Cor 15:51–56).  

Thirdly, Paul also talks about the resurrection with relation to the body in 2 Cor 4–5.  

Here, however, the circumstances are different since Paul defends and consoles himself amid  

sophistic opposition to his ministry in Corinth. In his first reference to the body in 2  

Corinthians, the apostle sees his suffering as participation not only in the death but also the  

resurrection of Jesus: ‘always carrying around the mortification (νέκρωσιν) of Jesus in the body  

(ἐν τῷ σώματι), so that the life (ζωή) of Jesus might be revealed in our body (ἐν τῷ σώματι  

ἡμῶν)’ (2 Cor 4:10). For Paul, participation in the life of Jesus provides consolation for the  

suffering concomitant with the apostolic life that he currently embodies.  

In 2 Cor 5:1–4, the apostle moves beyond the present life to consider the heavenly.  

Here, Paul continues to talk about the body, but briefly switches terms from σῶμα to σκῆνος²⁰  

to illustrate a shift from the earthly to the heavenly: ‘We know that if our earthly home, that is  

the body (οἰκία τοῦ σκήνους), should be destroyed, we have a building from God: an eternal  

home, not crafted by hand, in the heavens (ἐν τοῖς οὐρανοῖς)’ (5:1). Despite some present  

discomfort – ‘being in the body, we groan (ὄντες ἐν τῷ σκήνει στενάζομεν)’ (5:4) – while  

awaiting full clothing from heaven (5:2), the heavenly focus provides consolation for present  

embodied suffering.  

On both occasions where Paul speaks of the body in Philippians, it represents a key  

aspect of a consolatory narrative. In Phil 1:20, meditating from prison on whether he should  

live or die, Paul portrays himself as fully convinced of the fact that ‘now Christ will be  

magnified in my body, whether through life or through death (νῦν μεγαλυνθήσεται Χριστὸς ἐν  

18  

See Engberg-Pedersen, Cosmology, 3, for the attribution to Wayne Meeks of the bon mot: ‘I cannot think of  

anybody in antiquity who spoke so much about the body as Paul did’.  

¹⁹ If Paul were not correcting some misunderstandings in Corinth, this would be a wholly consolatory narrative.  

²⁰ See 2 Cor 5:8-9 for Paul’s conviction to please the Lord from this consoling vision even if he would prefer to  

be outside the body (ἐκδημῆσαι ἐκ τοῦ σώματος).  

183  

τῷ σώματί μου, εἴτε διὰ ζωῆς εἴτε διὰ θανάτου)’.²¹ In Phil 3:21, the consolatory narrative from  

the Corinthian correspondence is developed, since Paul describes how Christ ‘will transform  

the body of our destitution, making it conformable to the body of his glory (μετασχηματίσει τὸ  

σῶμα τῆς ταπεινώσεως ἡμῶν σύμμορφον τῷ σώματι τῆς δόξης αὐτοῦ)’ at the parousia.  

The apostle describes in highly physical terms the future transformation of the body  

such that it will bear the same form as Christ’s. Like Seneca, Paul puts considerable emphasis  

on the body, but he believes in future bodily transformation through the pneuma of the cosmic  

Christ. While there are important differences, it is significant that the body provides a locus of  

consolation for both Paul and Seneca.  

Cosmos  

Leaving the body behind, we now consider the broader cosmological systems at work in both  

Seneca’s and Paul’s consolations. Throughout Seneca’s consolatory discourse, he  

contemplates the cosmos. In the Ad Helviam, one of his arguments against exile being an evil  

was the accompaniment of virtue throughout the world (Helv. 8.2–3). This leads Seneca to  

conclude from exile that ‘no exile can be found inside the world (intra mundum); for there is  

nothing foreign to man’ (8.5). The cosmos, therefore, provides a structure of consolation for  

the exile.  

Cosmology is also central to the Natural Questions – particularly Book 6, where  

Seneca tackles the cause of earthquakes in response to a recent one in Campania. This leads  

him to drift into consolatory mode. A great consolation for death, caused by earthquakes or  

otherwise, is the mortal nature of the earth (Nat. 6.2.9). Seneca’s chosen physical cause of  

earthquakes is air (spiritus), which he considers unpredictable. It is particularly striking that it  

delights in movement (agitatione gaudens; 6.16.4) and is ‘an unconquerable matter (invicta  

res)’ (6.17.4). This scientific theorising eventually allows Seneca to advance to rhetorical and  

ethical modes of consoling, but they are rooted in the physical cause of earthquakes, based on  

spiritus: the substance which largely holds the cosmos together, albeit unpredictably to mortals.  

The concluding chapters of the Ad Marciam show that, despite his eclecticism, Seneca  

remains committed to central Stoic cosmological tenets. Seneca directs Marcia away from the  

tomb of her deceased son, Metilius, to consider how he now ‘runs among the happy souls’  

(Marc. 25.1). While this is more in keeping with the Platonic notion of the ascent of the soul,  

Metilius joins a sacred gathering of Stoics: a heavenly kosmopolis (25.2). The account  

²¹ Cf. 2 Cor 5:9: ‘whether at home or away from the body (εἴτε ἐνδημοῦντες εἴτε ἐκδημοῦντες)’.  

184  

continues in Stoic vein when Seneca states that the souls of Marcia’s father and son have now  

been ‘transformed for the better (mutatos in melius)’ by assuming an astral form. Their  

movement is unrestricted since ‘they have been intermingled with stars (intermixtique  

sideribus)’ (25.3). The climax depicts the world-conflagration which results in everyone and  

everything being turned into their former elements (nos … in antiqua elementa vertemur; 26.7),  

before the cosmos is renewed and repeated once more. Seneca upholds this Stoic doctrine  

against Platonic notions from the Timaeus that the universe is indestructible as part of his  

consolatory narrative and strategy.²²  

In the Epistles, the sage apprehends many of these cosmological notions. At Ep. 9.16,  

Seneca considers how the life of the sage would be impacted if he were to face varieties of  

suffering: imprisoned without friends, left destitute in a foreign land, or facing travelling  

difficulties:  

Such as Jupiter, after the world has been dissolved (resoluto mundo) and the gods  

lumped into one, while nature pauses for a short time, he rests within himself, delivered  

over to his thoughts.  

Within the context of hardship, Seneca sees the conflagration as something positive: an  

opportunity for reflection and acquisition of virtue for the sage following divine example. The  

conflagration is one of many cosmological notions that form the basis of Seneca’s consolatory  

discourse.  

There are some important cosmological resonances in Paul. In Phil 2:12–16, Paul  

exhorts the Philippians towards transformed lives in the present. This comes primarily through  

the agency of God (2:13), but the Philippians also need to choose to co-operate. Consequently,  

they benefit from exhortation.²³ Paul issues ethical advice that is framed cosmologically for his  

gentile addressees: ‘Do everything without grumbling and disputing, so that you might be  

blameless and pure, unblemished children of God amid a crooked and perverted generation,  

among whom you shine like luminaries in the cosmos (ἐν οἷς φαίνεσθε ὡς φωστῆρες ἐν  

κόσμῳ)’ (2:14–15). Here, the emphasis is primarily on present transformation amid external  

opposition to the gospel and internal disagreements.  

Even if Paul’s ideas also draw from Jewish scriptural tradition, Seneca would have  

approved of present transformation expressed in cosmological terms. Later, however, in Phil  

²² On the difference, see Pieter W. van der Horst, ‘The Elements Will Be Dissolved With Fire’, in idem, Hellenism-  

Judaism-Christianity: Essays on Their Interaction (Kampen: Kok Pharos, 1994), 229.  

²³ See Eastman, Paul and the Person, 128.  

185  

3:15–21 when Paul turns to revelation of future transformation, Seneca would have dissented.  

The contrast between the enemies of the cross of Christ who consider earthly things (οἱ τὰ  

ἐπίγεια φρονοῦντες; 3:19) and the consoled insiders, including Paul, for whom ‘our πολίτευμα  

belongs in heaven’ (3:20) marks a departure from Seneca’s Stoic tradition. As Stanley Stowers  

has remarked more than once: ‘A heavenly life is not a goal of the Stoic ethical system’.²⁴ We  

can say, therefore, that while Paul’s consolatory discourse is rooted in cosmological concepts  

in Philippians, its heavenly aspect represents a divergence from Seneca’s focus on the present.  

For Paul, all of body, soul, and cosmos are pneumatically transformed at the parousia of Christ  

and in the age to come.²⁵ There is no notion of a world-conflagration in the letters of Paul  

because of his roots in apocalyptic Judaism.²⁶  

Nevertheless, the concepts of pneuma and cosmos are central to Paul’s consolatory  

narrative, even if there are modifications. In 2 Cor 4:16, Paul describes how ‘if our outer self  

is being decomposed (διαφθείρεται) … our inner self is being daily renewed (ἀνακαινοῦται)’.  

This is made possible through the ‘deposit of the pneuma’ (2 Cor 5:5) which materially acts  

upon Paul’s body in the present and is the substance of future transformation expressed in 2  

Cor 5:1–4. Seneca’s conception of spiritus and Paul’s of pneuma in their consolatory  

discourses is particularly enlightening, hence we can affirm with Stowers that the ‘idea of  

Christ as … the pneuma-bearer made Paul’s teaching distinctive and adaptable to audiences of  

Greeks and Romans’,²⁷ with consolation providing a case in point.  

Gods: Becoming like God/Christ  

Understanding theology in terms of physics, rather than importing systematic concepts derived  

from ancient (religious) texts by later Christian theologians, we can use the concept of  

becoming like g/God, which was prevalent in this period,²⁸ to analyse Paul and Seneca  

theologically. Although the trope goes back to the exhortation in Plato, Theaetetus 176b of  

‘becoming like god, as far as possible (ὁμοίωσις θεῷ κατὰ τὸ δυνατόν)’, it did not remain the  

²⁴ Stanley K. Stowers, ‘The Dilemma of Paul’s Physics: Features Stoic-Platonist or Platonist-Stoic?’, in Engberg-  

Pedersen, From Stoicism to Platonism, 253.  

²⁵ As Ware puts it, although starkly: ‘For Seneca, the cup of water will be eternally emptied and refilled; for Paul,  

the water will be made into wine’ (‘The Salvation of Creation’, 305).  

26  

A closer comparandum, therefore, would be the revelation given to Enoch by Michael (1 Enoch 71.3). Apart  

from a passing reference to ‘embers of fire’ (Rom 12:20), Paul only mentions fire at 1 Cor 3:13, 3:15 in a context  

of rebuke and judgement rather than consolation. Van der Horst (‘The Elements Will Be Dissolved’, 244–245)  

sees 2 Peter 3 as the closest reference to a conflagration in the New Testament.  

²⁷ Stowers, ‘Dilemma of Paul’s Physics’, 232.  

²⁸ Van Kooten, Paul’s Anthropology in Context, 92.  

186  

sole preserve of Platonism; other philosophical traditions, notably the Stoics and Epicureans,²⁹  

also added flavours. To my knowledge, consolation has rarely been applied to this trope, so I  

shall bring out a few examples from each of Seneca’s and Paul’s writings where consolatory  

elements are discernible, with passing references to other ancient philosophers who employed  

it.  

Seneca’s Ep. 93 contains many consolatory elements, since Seneca reflects on the  

proper length of life, following the premature death of Metronax. Seneca answers his own  

question – ‘How long are we to live?’ – in terms of cognition and knowledge of the cosmos:  

‘We have enjoyed cognition (cognitione fruiti sumus) of all matters. We know (scimus) from  

what elements nature raises itself … we know that the stars move on their own course … we  

know how the moon goes beyond the sun’ (93.9). At this point, Seneca reintroduces the figure  

of the sage and imagines what he might say in terms of his relation to the gods (93.10):  

I do not depart any more bravely in this hope, for I reckon the journey to my gods (ad deos  

meos) lies open to me. Indeed, I have deserved to be admitted (merui … admitti): I was  

both already among them and I sent my mind to them and they sent theirs to me.  

For Seneca, the sage goes to death boldly knowing that he has already become like god(s).  

Such confidence is the τέλος for the Stoic proficiens. In the previous letter, an interlocutor  

asserts that virtue can only be fully attained by the gods (accedimus ad illa, non pervenimus;  

Ep. 92.27–28); but Seneca counters this claim, by arguing that reason can be achieved by  

humans: ‘Indeed reason is common to gods and men; in them it has been consummated  

(consummata est), in us it can be consummated (consummabilis)’ (92.28). This is validated in  

Ep. 93. Seneca, like other Stoics,³⁰ therefore employs an adapted form of the trope of becoming  

like god, as Reydams-Schils puts it: ‘the issue for them is not becoming like god, but rather  

allowing the fact that humans are like god (…) to come to its full fruition’.³¹ Interestingly in  

Ep. 93, this adapted trope appears in the context of consolatio mortis.  

Whereas the final flourish of the Ad Marciam comprised a version of the world-  

conflagration, at Helv. 20, he concludes with a comforting description of the present state of  

his animus for his mother’s benefit. Paradoxically, despite his exile, his mind is freer to roam  

the cosmos and he portrays it making a gradual ascent through the skies towards heaven.  

²⁹ See Allison, Saving One Another, 69–81, for analysis of this trope with reference to Philodemus and Epicurus.  

³⁰ See Epictetus, Diss. 2.14.11–13: ‘the man who is going to please and obey them must endeavour as best as he  

can to become assimilated to them (κατὰ δύναμιν ἐξομοιοῦσθαι ἐκείνοις)’; Musonius Rufus fr. 17 for man as  

‘imitation of God (μίμημα θεοῦ)’.  

³¹ Reydams-Schils, ‘Becoming Like God’, 158.  

187  

Having reached this point, Seneca describes its perspective: ‘Then, when the lower places have  

been traversed, it bursts into the upper ones, enjoying the most beautiful spectacle of divine  

matters (pulcherrimo divinorum spectaculo fruitur)’ (20.2). There are clear parallels between  

this passage and the sage’s enjoyable vantage-point in Ep. 93.10. Although, here, by employing  

the trope of becoming like god as a means of transcending exile, Seneca is arguably closer to  

Platonic ideas concerning the cosmic ascent of the soul.  

George van Kooten hypothesises that for Paul, ‘the homoiōsis theoi develops into a  

homoiōsis Christōi’.³² Here, I believe we can connect becoming like Christ and consolation.  

Although Paul never uses the term ὁμοίωσις,³³ he talks about Christ’s agency in assuming the  

likeness (ὁμοίωμα) of humanity. Describing Christ’s voluntary desolation in Phil 2:7, Paul  

states: ‘he emptied himself, assuming the form of a slave, becoming in the likeness of humans  

(ἐν ὁμοιώματι ἀνθρώπων γενόμενος)’. While consolation comes from the divine in Paul and  

Seneca, Paul narrates a prior movement, even descent, of a divine figure which Seneca does  

not: Christ becomes like humanity before humanity can become like God through Christ.³⁴  

Susan Eastman recognises this movement and the cosmic drama enacted in Phil 2:6–11 through  

the mode of ‘im-personation’:  

That ‘im-personation’ itself is the source of paraenetic power, because in it Christ  

assimilates to the stance of desperate human beings, joined with them in their situation  

and thereby empowering and transforming them.³⁵  

This assimilation is inherently consolatory: Christ imitates human beings in their desperate  

state, mired in sin and suffering, then just as he is raised and transformed, so too are those in  

Christ. Subsequently, Paul exemplifies conformity to Christ’s movement from death to  

resurrection (Phil 3:10–11). This assimilative and phronetic practice is central to the start of  

the fully consolatory section, Phil 3:15–21: ‘As many of us are initiated, let us have this mindset  

(φρονῶμεν); but if you have a different mindset (ἑτέρως φρονεῖτε), then God will reveal this  

to you’ (Phil 3:15). Like the sage in Ep. 93, Paul develops a eupathic mindset which  

³² Van Kooten, Paul’s Anthropology, 93.  

³³ ὁμοίωσις appears only in the NT at James 3:9 regarding the use of tongue towards ‘humans who have become  

according to the likeness of God (καθ᾽ ὁμοίωσιν θεοῦ)’.  

³⁴ This movement is memorably summarised by Morna D. Hooker, ‘Pistis Christou’, NTS 35.3 (1989), 338: ‘Christ  

became what we are in order that we might become what he is’.  

³⁵ Eastman, Paul and the Person, 130.  

188  

contemplates the divine agency of Christ,³⁶ towards which he directs the oppressed Philippians,  

as his fellow-imitators of Christ (Phil 3:17).  

Becoming like Christ also features in consolatory contexts in 2 Corinthians. In 2 Cor 1:3–  

7, Paul depicts a network where consolation is distributed from the divine, then mediated  

through human relations. This is summarised in 2 Cor 1:7, where Paul writes to the Corinthians:  

‘knowing that just as you are participants in sufferings (παθημάτων), so too you are in  

consolation (παρακλήσεως)’. Paul deliberately leaves the sufferings and consolations  

unqualified so that divine and human referents can both be understood. The sufferings refer to  

those of Christ (1:5) as well as the sufferings of Paul and his apostolic team and the Corinthians  

(1:6). From this, all suffering parties are recipients of divine consolation (1:3–4). By  

participating in suffering, the Corinthians not only enter the afflictions of Paul, but also those  

of Christ, becoming like him.  

Paul expands on this transformative process in 2 Cor 3:18: ‘we all … are being transfigured  

(μεταμορφούμεθα) from glory to glory, just as from the Lord comes the pneuma’.³⁷ The  

pneuma plays a double role: it provides Paul with present consolation amid affliction by,  

simultaneously, making Paul and other faithful Christ-believers more like the Lord insofar as  

they are being transfigured into the self-same image (τὴν αὐτὴν εἰκόνα; 3:18).³⁸ There is,  

however, a difference between transfiguration into the image of God and fully becoming (like)  

God. Paul makes the leap between the two conditions with his startling claim in 2 Cor 5:21:  

‘(God…) made the one who did not know sin, sin for us, so that we might become the  

righteousness of God (γενώμεθα δικαιοσύνη θεοῦ) in him [Christ]’. Through the divine action  

of God reconciling the world to himself in Christ (2 Cor 5:19), consolation takes place: the  

believer moves from sin to the unadulterated righteousness of God. This consolation is the  

ballast for Paul’s paraenesis to the Corinthians to accept reconciliation.  

Although Paul makes a distinctive move about the role of Christ in believers’ becoming the  

righteousness of God, Cleanthes’ Hymn to Zeus which was also highly influential within the  

Stoic tradition, contains a striking parallel: ‘for taking it from you (Zeus), we become a likeness  

36  

Cf. Reydams-Schils who usefully appeals to Phaedrus 247d (‘divine intelligence … seeing what is true is  

nourished and rejoices [θεοῦ διάνοια … θεωροῦσα τἀληθῆ τρέφεται καὶ εὐπαθεῖ]’) for a similar notion: ‘A soul  

that contemplates the divine and the thoughts of the divine is said to be in a happy state … and this state equals  

phronesis and godlikeness’ (‘Becoming Like God’, 152).  

37  

Van Kooten argues that this transformation results ‘directly in a gradual and progressive renewal of the inner  

anthropos’ which is fully articulated in 2 Cor 4 (Paul’s Anthropology, 338–339).  

38  

See further on 2 Cor 3:18, M. David Litwa, We Are Being Transformed: Deification in Paul’s Soteriology,  

BZNW 187 (Berlin: De Gruyter, 2012).  

189  

of God (ἐκ σοῦ γὰρ γενόμεσθα θεοῦ μίμημα λαχόντες)’ (l.4).³⁹ Whether Paul is conscious of  

Cleanthes’ Hymn to Zeus or not, or perhaps subverting it and other philosophical traditions  

with his notion of becoming the righteousness of God, his consolatory discourse is suffused  

with the notion of becoming like God through imitation of Christ. This can be meaningfully  

compared to Seneca (and other Stoics) who consoled themselves through proximity to divinity:  

seeking to become like gods in life and at the point of death.  

Logic  

For most Stoics, logic provided the outer framework or structure of their entire philosophical  

system. In the preceding chapters, we saw that Seneca and Paul were intentionally practical  

rather than technical or theoretical in their approaches. Seneca practically disavows syllogistic  

reasoning (Ep. 82), and Paul speaks unfavourably of Hellenistic wisdom and various sophistic  

practices in the Corinthian correspondence (1 Cor 1:17; 2 Cor 10:10). This, a priori, makes it  

difficult to accommodate them within a schema of Stoic logic. As with physics, however, we  

can concentrate on the most salient logical features pertaining to Paul and Seneca. According  

to Diogenes Laertius’ definition (Lives 7.41), many Stoics saw logic as divided into rhetoric  

and dialectic. Rhetoric is defined as ‘the science of speaking well in regard to continuous  

discourses’, while dialectic is defined as ‘the science of correct discussion in regard to  

discourses conducted by question and answer’.  

For our purposes, a focus on the rhetorical component of logic will yield a richer  

comparison. Here, we can consider the important place of exemplarity within the duo’s  

consolations alongside how they represent their perspectives with rhetorical effectiveness.  

Dialectical elements are somewhat less useful for our purposes, but we shall begin by  

considering how Paul and Seneca employ propositional language within their discourse as part  

of their consolatory strategies. In all our texts, whether denoted as Dialogi or not, Seneca and  

Paul seek to lead their audience or readership along by offering consolation through certain  

modes of dialectical reasoning.  

Dialectic  

Seneca’s Ep. 94 offers the most programmatic discussion of how consolation proceeds  

logically. Consolation – alongside warning, exhortation, rebuke, and praise – is considered a  

39  

See Reydams-Schils, ‘Becoming Like God’, 157; this is Long and Sedley’s reconstruction of the text (LS  

1.326); Johan C. Thom, Cleanthes’ Hymn to Zeus: Text, Translation, and Commentary (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck,  

2005), 54–64, opts for a different reading although accepts a ‘kinship between God and human beings’ (62).  

190  

largely effective philosophical precept (praeceptum) that enables the Stoic proficiens to arrive  

at a perfect state of mind (Ep. 94.39). Paul occasionally uses precept discourse; the equivalent  

Greek term, παραγγελία, appears at 1 Thess 4:2: ‘for you know what precepts (παραγγελίας)  

we gave to you through the Lord Jesus’.⁴⁰ Although 1 Thess 4–5 is broadly paraenetic in  

character, Paul frequently drifts into consolatory mode. This occurs in the parousia narrative in  

1 Thess 4:13–18, as well as the construction of a resilient habitus of Christ-followers in the  

face of persecution and hardship (1 Thess 5:14). Like Seneca, Paul situates consolation  

alongside exhortation and the framework of the entire enterprise has a logical underpinning.  

On the one hand, Paul and Seneca are alike in writing in this fashion to instil virtue in their  

readers; but, on the other hand, they differ because Paul’s logic proceeds from Christ’s  

resurrection and parousia.⁴¹  

Paul and Seneca both use logical arguments to advance their consolatory strategies.⁴²  

One area of overlap lies in their use of propositions and alternatives concerning death. Seneca  

leads Polybius through the Socratic alternative concerning his brother’s intermediate state: if  

there is no feeling after death (si nullus … sensus) then his brother has escaped life’s  

disadvantages; whereas, if there is some feeling (si … aliquis … sensus), his brother’s soul is  

released from earthly imprisonment (Polyb. 9.1–3). We can usefully compare Philippians 1:20–  

22 where Paul conducts his own logical examination of life and death, also considering both to  

have advantages:  

Now Christ will be magnified in my body, whether through or death (εἴτε διὰ ζωῆς εἴτε  

διὰ θανάτου). For to me, living is Christ and dying is gain. If (εἰ) it is to be living in the  

flesh, this is fruitful labour for me: but what I am to choose, I do not know.  

The apostle’s choice ultimately depends on the needs of the Philippians and his ambition for  

gospel mission. Although the contexts are different, in both cases, Paul and Seneca use logical  

and conditional statements to offer consolation to others and, in Paul’s case, to himself. There  

will be more to say about this topos of ‘indifferents’ (adiaphora) which both employ, but here  

we see the logical foundations for the resulting ethical dimension.  

⁴⁰ The noun form appears only here in the undisputed letters, for the verb form (παραγγέλλω), see 1 Thess 4:11,  

2 Thess 3:4, 3:6, 3:10, 3:12; the only other cases are 1 Cor 7:10 and 1 Cor 11:17.  

⁴¹ Cf. Barclay, ‘Stoic Physics and the Christ-event’, 413: ‘I regard Paul’s theology as fundamentally incompatible  

with Stoicism (…) because his theology is configured around a narrative that is shaped, in both thought and life,  

around a distinctive event with its own resulting logic.’ I endorse the latter claim, but the former claim is more  

debatable given my foregoing section on theology. Their eschatological frameworks, however, are certainly less  

compatible.  

42  

See Jedan, ‘Rapprochement’, 159, for ‘consoling by means of persuasive speech acts’. On Paul’s use of  

enthymemes, see Marc J. Debanné, Enthymemes in the Letters of Paul, LNTS 303 (London: T&T Clark, 2006).  

191  

Ancient rhetors would often use maxims or arresting phrases to introduce, develop or  

conclude their logical arguments. In Paul’s case, the conclusion to his consolatory parousia  

narrative, ‘thus we shall always be with the Lord’ (1 Thess 4:17), followed by the repeated  

dictum, ‘console one another (παρακαλεῖτε ἀλλήλους)’ (1 Thess 4:18; 5:11), provide excellent  

examples.⁴³ Engberg-Pedersen shows how Paul’s statement, ‘each of you, not looking to his  

own affairs (τὰ ἑαυτῶν ἕκαστοι) but each of you to the affairs of others (τὰ ἑτέρων ἕκαστοι)’  

(Phil 2:4), functions as a maxim in line with Stoic notions of friendship and οἰκείωσις.⁴⁴ This  

maxim, however, is sandwiched between the consolation which is derived from being in Christ  

(Εἴ τις οὖν παράκλησις ἐν Χριστῷ; Phil 2:1), and Christ’s consolatory example (Phil 2:6–11).  

Paul employs logical propositions and maxims, like Seneca, as he seeks to console.  

In fine, an inherent logic guides both of Seneca’s and Paul’s consolatory discourses. A  

final example from each highlights the importance of logic for both, as well as the different  

narratives. At the beginning of Nat. 6, Seneca distinguishes between reason (ratio) and religio:  

religio can provide inspiration but it does not produce an absence of fear (Nat. 6.3.3–4),  

whereas ratio is wholly effective: ‘it removes terror from the astute’ (6.2.1). Accordingly,  

Seneca proceeds from ratio in his account of earthquakes but combines it with physical and  

ethical elements. There is a similar logical basis in Paul’s parousia narrative in 1 Thess 4:14–  

15.⁴⁵ Paul presupposes a belief (εἰ γὰρ πιστεύομεν) that Jesus died and was raised which results  

in the deceased being taken up with God (1 Thess 4:14). This leads to Paul’s uttering a  

communal ‘word of the Lord’ (ἐν λόγῳ κυρίου; 1 Thess 4:15), which is logical but also includes  

ethical and physical components. Differently from Seneca, however, Paul’s λόγος is derived  

from the oracles and prophecies found in Second Temple Judaism with its emphasis on  

apocalyptic consolation from a messiah figure.  

Exemplarity  

A major finding in each of Seneca’s and Paul’s consolatory narratives was the centrality of  

exemplarity as a means of persuasion. Analogies or examples (παραδείγματα, exempla) were  

part of a rhetorico-philosophical tradition going back to Plato and Aristotle.⁴⁶ Aristotle largely  

43  

For further examples of sententiae in the ancient rhetorical handbooks, both Senecas, and Paul, see Paul A.  

Holloway, ‘Paul’s Pointed Prose: The Sententia in Roman Rhetoric and Paul’, NovT 40.1 (1998): 32–53.  

⁴⁴ See Engberg-Pedersen, ‘Life After Death’, 282, for Phil 2:4 as a formula officii: a variation on a term referred  

to by Seneca in Ep. 95.51-52, concerning the search for a ‘formula of human business’ (formulam humani officii)  

that unites all individual praecepta.  

⁴⁵ Cf. 1 Cor 15:54 concerning the oracular word which has been written (ὁ λόγος ὁ γεγραμμένος) about the defeat  

of death which has been partially realised through the coming of the messiah and awaits its full realisation at the  

parousia.  

⁴⁶ For a helpful overview of the development of analogies and exempla in antiquity, see Smit, Paradigms, 16–30.  

192  

understood a παράδειγμα to be part of a logical proof and thus rational,⁴⁷ but by Seneca’s era,⁴⁸  

they had a more illustrative function. Nevertheless, an exemplum had to be appropriate to its  

context: it ‘should neither have too much pathos for the occasion, nor carry too little auctoritas  

to persuade the audience’.⁴⁹  

Writing within a more overtly philosophical tradition than Paul, Seneca is compelled to  

defend his focus on exempla before syllogisms (Ep. 82.20–23) and praecepta (Marc. 2.1) as  

part of his consolatory strategy. Exempla proliferate in both writers as they highlight both  

virtuous and vice-ridden behaviour to persuade and console their audience or addressees. These  

exempla often take the form of rhetorical comparisons (similitudines; συγκρίσεις). These  

comparisons were a feature of every major text we analysed in Seneca, although the precise  

exempla varied according to the addressee. In his consolations to women, Marcia and Helvia,  

Seneca provided exempla of virtuous Roman matronae (Marc. 3.2; Helv. 16.6–7) who  

conducted themselves virtuously faced with grief.  

In the Ad Polybium, there are fewer exempla, but in the apostrophised speech given to  

Claudius, Polybius is directed towards previous emperors and consuls who have dealt with loss  

virtuously (Polyb. 14.2–16.3). The exception is the emperor Gaius whose reaction to grief is  

portrayed dishonourably (Polyb. 17.5). Ep. 24 provides an interesting case study in the  

accumulation of exempla as a means of moving Lucilius away from his fear about the outcome  

of a legal case. Here the exempla are largely positive, but there are figures who are a foil whose  

actions are not to be imitated: for instance, Pacuvius (Ep. 12.9) and Alexander the Great (Ep.  

113.29).  

Exempla fulfil a similar function in the letters of Paul. This is most evident in  

Philippians, where some are held up as exempla in contrast to those who oppose the apostolic  

mission. Timothy and Epaphroditus function as exemplary figures who mediate consolation  

(Phil 2:19–22; 2:25–30), whereas the enemies of the cross of Christ are turned into exempla of  

those who will face desolation and destruction (Phil 3:18–19). This focus on apocalyptic  

judgement represents a significant difference between Paul and Seneca: Seneca’s exempla  

bring mainly, if not exclusively, consolation for the present; whereas Paul’s exempla bring  

some degree of consolation in the present, but there is a future aspect based on the parousia of  

Christ that is not a concern for Seneca.  

⁴⁷ Aristotle, Prior Analytics 24.  

⁴⁸ Rhet. Her. 4.45.59.  

⁴⁹ Smit, Paradigms, 26.  

193  

While exemplarity is important to both, there are some differences in how consolation  

operates within the two writers’ communities. Paul portrays the divine Christ as an exemplum  

in consolatory contexts. While in Seneca’s consolations, divine nature provides structure and  

living according to it wards off grief (Helv. 5.1), nature herself is not an animate exemplum for  

imitation. On two distinct occasions, however, Paul writes about Christ’s exemplary voluntary  

desolation. Having already noted Phil 2:6–8, we shall focus on 2 Cor 8:9. As part of his appeal  

to the Corinthian community – whom he has been seeking to console and, thereby, effect  

reconciliation – for the collection for Jerusalem, Paul references Christ’s self-gift: ‘you know  

the gift of our Lord Jesus Christ: for your sake, since he was rich, he became poor  

(ἐπτώχευσεν), so that you might be enriched through that man’s poverty (τῇ ἐκείνου πτωχείᾳ  

πλουτήσητε)’. This deliberately compact exemplum serves to move the relatively rich  

Corinthians to imitate Christ and the Macedonian assemblies in giving (2 Cor 8:1–2; cf. 1 Thess  

1:7).  

Nowhere does Seneca present a whole community as an exemplum in his consolatory  

writings. On the one hand, this is unsurprising since Seneca was not seeking to construct inter-  

ecclesial networks like Paul. On the other hand, however, throughout his consolatory career,  

particularly in the Consolationes, Seneca tries to influence a wider audience than the encoded  

readers. In the Ad Marciam and Ad Helviam, the female exempla⁵⁰ issue a challenge to male  

readers of these texts to exhibit just as much virtus, if not more.  

There is greater common ground, however, concerning Seneca’s and Paul’s portrayals  

of themselves as exempla.⁵¹ Both write about themselves to console others as well as  

themselves. This is clearest at the end of their careers in the Epistles and Philippians.⁵² The  

epistolary communication between Seneca and the interlocutor, Lucilius – real or otherwise –  

has an exemplary aspect, which is ripe for imitation. In Ep. 98, Seneca reflects with Lucilius  

on how the individual’s soul can conquer fortune; joy is ‘firm and steadfast when it has sprung  

from itself (ex se ortum)’ (Ep. 98.1). Briefly adducing some conventional exemplary figures  

⁵⁰ This gender aspect, too, is a departure from Paul who, in the undisputed letters, never appears to offer different  

consolatory strategies based on gender. On lack of gender distinctions in Paul, see Lone Fatum, ‘Brotherhood in  

Christ: A Gender Hermeneutical Reading of 1 Thessalonians’, in Constructing Early Christian Families, ed.  

Halvor Moxnes (London: Routledge, 1997), 183–197.  

51  

Restricted circumstances mean that Seneca and Paul often write to defend themselves, which results in  

periautologia: see Smit, Paradigms, 28-29, with the support of Plutarch, De laude ipsius (Mor. 539A-547F).  

⁵² See Maren R. Niehoff, ‘A Roman Portrait of Abraham in Paul’s and Philo’s Later Exegesis’, NovT 63.4 (2021):  

452–476, for an argument that Paul develops a greater interest in exemplarity in his later epistolary career. Niehoff  

does not consider Philippians – she only argues for different treatments of Abraham in Galatians and Romans –  

but if, as I believe, Philippians was written from Rome, her analysis lends support to my argument about the  

centrality of exemplarity in Philippians.  

194  

and the trials they have overcome, Seneca also exhorts Lucilius: ‘May we ourselves also do  

something courageously; may we be among the examples (simus inter exempla)’ (Ep. 98.14).  

Amanda Wilcox interprets Ep. 63 as a consolatory letter written to allow Seneca ‘to  

meditate on the lesson of his own death’.⁵³ This is clearest when Seneca tells Lucilius: ‘let us  

unremittingly consider our own mortality rather than those whom we love’ (Ep. 63.15).  

Consequently, the letter consoles Lucilius for the death of his friend Flaccus, future readers of  

the correspondence, and Seneca himself through an individual praemeditatio mortis. This  

squares with other readings of the Epistles as a summary of Seneca’s oeuvre, and therefore, an  

image of life (imago vitae).⁵⁴  

Similarly, in Philippians, Paul’s own example is carefully interwoven among other  

exemplary figures. Initially, he foregrounds his own example of accepting the progress of the  

gospel that comes from his chains (Phil 1:12–14), rejoicing in the face of death (1:18) and his  

altruistic attitude in choosing to remain in the flesh (1:24). From his unconventional  

autobiography (3:2–14), Paul emerges as an example (τύπος) alongside other members of his  

apostolic team (3:17). Finally, Phil 4:4–9 amounts to valedictory consolation or a final  

testament. Directing the Philippians’ hearts and minds towards Christ Jesus and enumerating  

his virtues (Phil 4:7–8), Paul interposes his own example – ‘what … you saw in me (ἃ … εἴδετε  

ἐν ἐμοί)’ – and exhorts them to practise these same things (Phil 4:9).  

Paul and Seneca, therefore, both represent themselves as exempla with a certain degree  

of auctoritas. Neither, however, presents himself as perfect; both admit to moments of  

weakness. Seneca confesses how he wept so immoderately when his friend Serenus died. As a  

result, he unwillingly became ‘among the examples of those whom grief conquered (inter  

exempla … eorum, quos dolor vicit)’ (Ep. 63.14). Earlier in the collection, Seneca tells Lucilius:  

‘I do not understand myself to be to be free from error (emendari), but only being transformed  

(transfigurari)’ (Ep. 6.1). The precise rhetorical motives here are open to question,⁵⁵ yet it is  

apparent in the Epistles that Seneca does not consider himself to be perfect, and contrary to  

many caricatures of Stoic philosophers, susceptible to emotions and vulnerability.  

In Phil 3:3–6, Paul underlines the auctoritas that he could derive from his ethnic  

credentials, but then relativises them compared to the all-surpassing nature of knowledge of  

Christ Jesus (Phil 3:8). Paul’s exemplary action instead lies in making progress towards the  

⁵³ Wilcox, The Gift of Correspondence, 174  

⁵⁴ Braund, ‘Seneca Multiplex’, 15, 18.  

55  

Schafer, ‘Dramatized Education’, 40n29: ‘comments like Letter 6.1 (…) are best understood not as evidence  

for Seneca’s ongoing process but as a calculated part of his didaxis’.  

195  

goal of becoming like Christ in his death in preparation for the resurrection from the dead (Phil  

3:10–11). He acknowledges, however, that his apprehension of Christ is imperfect: ‘Not that  

… I have already attained perfection (τετελείωμαι)’ (Phil 3:12). There is a significant parallel  

between Seneca and Paul in terms of their goal of moral progress, but realisation that they are  

still being transformed, and thus, imperfect.  

Admittedly, Paul goes further than Seneca in portraying his weaknesses as part of his  

consolatory strategy. This is visible throughout 2 Corinthians and comes to a climax in 2 Cor  

12:1–10, where Paul narrates something of the mystical experience of his incomplete, even  

scarring, heavenly ascent. The experience was not, however, without revelation and  

consolation from the Lord, which he conveys to the Corinthians (2 Cor 12:9). Paul, therefore,  

embodies and exemplifies both virtue and vulnerability. This is conceivably comforting to the  

faithful believers in Corinth experiencing their own afflictions, as well as an act of defiance  

against Paul’s sophistic opponents who re-emerge most sharply in 2 Cor 10–13.⁵⁶  

Rhetorical exempla, therefore, are fundamental to both of Seneca’s and Paul’s  

consolatory narratives. They are employed in an array of circumstances to console a diversity  

of consolands. Both Paul and Seneca offer themselves as exempla both confidently and  

vulnerably, with Paul’s taking his example from imitatio Christi accounting for the key  

differences between them.⁵⁷  

Representation and Pathos  

As we transition towards the ethical strands in Paul and Seneca’s consolatory narratives, we  

can usefully consider the place of pathos, since it bridges the rhetorical and ethical components.  

Aristotle saw pathos as a means of persuasion: a proof (πίστις).⁵⁸ Paul and Seneca can be  

usefully compared in terms of how they represent their consolatory narratives, often with  

recourse to theatrical and dramatic elements.  

Seneca frequently employs pathos in the Consolationes. In the Ad Marciam, through  

the rhetorical device of prosopopoeia, Marcia’s father, Cordus, movingly explains his heroic  

political actions to Marcia, which ultimately led him to choose to starve himself to a noble  

death (Marc. 22.5–6). In both consolations from exile, Seneca generates pathos concerning his  

current circumstances. He begins the Ad Helviam with a rhetorical captatio benevolentiae  

56  

For an analysis of 2 Cor 10–13 as periautologia, see Marcin Kowalski, Transforming Boasting of Self into  

Boasting in the Lord: The Development of the Pauline Periautologia in 2 Cor 10–13, Studies in Judaism (Lanham:  

University Press of America, 2013).  

⁵⁷ Thus, Meeks, First Urban Christians, 124: ‘the apostolic career becomes a mimesis of Christ’.  

⁵⁸ Rhet. 1.2.3.  

196  

concerning the challenges of his supposedly unique situation of needing to console, while being  

lamented by others (Helv. 1.2). This is theatrically developed when he depicts himself lifting  

his head from the funeral pyre to console these same people (1.3). The Ad Polybium concludes  

by imitating Ovid: Seneca’s capacity to console has perished through lengthy inactivity (Polyb.  

18.9) like Ovid’s poetic ingenium. Therefore, Seneca apologises to Polybius for not being able  

to match his literary ingenium and heal his grief on account of his own from exile. Pathos,  

therefore, in Seneca, can be used both to console but also has rhetorical motivations: in  

Seneca’s case, gaining recall from exile. Seneca later testifies to the theatrical mode of living  

that is required in Nero’s Rome in the Epistles: ‘no one acts a single role apart from the sage,  

the rest of us play multiple roles (multiformes)’ (Ep. 120.22). Consolation emerges as a  

complicated social enterprise; a certain degree of hypocrisy is sometimes necessary.  

There are a few instances of theatrical improvisation as part of Paul’s pathetic and  

consolatory appeal. Having reminded the Thessalonians of the suffering that he and his team  

had endured in Philippi (1 Thess 2:2), Paul defends the integrity of his consolation  

(παράκλησις) to the Thessalonians (2:3) by characterising himself as a nurse who cares for her  

children (2:7), rather than as a flatterer (2:5). As two stock characters in ancient drama, it is  

fitting that he uses them to generate pathos as he seeks to console, comfort, and exhort the  

gentile Christ-believers so that they might be ethically prepared for the coming call of the  

kingdom of God (2:12).  

As part of his praemeditatio mortis, while he cogitates on whether he should live or die  

(Phil 1:22), Paul introduces a modified form of the dubitatio in which tragic characters  

engaged. In Paul’s case, however, the outcome of this dramatized process is an increasing  

conviction that seeking to remain for the sake of the Philippians is the right choice, despite his  

greater desire to depart and be with Christ. This decision is designed to have a double effect on  

his own audience: his continued presence in the flesh consoles them, and suitably moved, they  

make progress in faith ahead of the parousia of Christ, which is implicit at Phil 1:26 and then  

explicit at Phil 2:16. In between, Paul relates the cosmic drama of Christ’s voluntary desolation  

and then the consolation that he receives in the form of exaltation by God and the bestowal of  

a divine name.  

Both Seneca and Paul need to overcome distance as they seek to console. These  

examples show that they achieve this through dramatic rhetoric with vivid imagery. We saw  

that the ancient rhetorical device of ‘vividness’ (enargeia) has received renewed discussion in  

Pauline studies. Concerning 1 Thess 1–3, Jane Heath writes that: ‘Paul’s purpose is understood  

197  

to be a making present of the absent apostles with cognitive and emotional intent’.⁵⁹ Such  

presence in absence is a consolatory trope from which the predominantly hortatory elements in  

1 Thess 4–5 logically issue. Similarly in Philippians, through his self-representation in the letter  

taken by Epaphroditus, Paul is more present among the Philippians, which enables him to  

exhort them to ethically transformed lives in the present, whether he lives or dies (Phil 2:12–  

18). Seneca, too, is no stranger to employing modes of enargeia as part of his pathetic appeal  

while consoling to render himself more present. While in the Consolationes his own uncertain  

life circumstances complicate his consolatory strategy, in the Epistles, like Paul in Philippians,  

his death is more certain which results in a greater emphasis on ethical exhortation to Lucilius.  

With the physical and logical framework of Paul’s and Seneca’s consolatory narratives in  

place, we can now proceed to this central ethical aspect.  

Ethics  

In analysing both Paul and Seneca on consolation, we have found that consolation is a practical  

undertaking that incorporates an eclectic range of rhetorical and philosophical strategies  

dependent on the consoland’s situation. The primary goal is the amelioration of the mindset of  

an individual or community following an event or circumstances that induce grief. Thus, to  

borrow Stephen Barton’s language, by aiming at a ‘conversion of the emotions’,⁶⁰ consolation  

is a profoundly ethical task. The emotions or passions (πάθη) were, however, only one category  

within Stoic ethics. According to Diogenes Laertius’ definition, other categories included: ‘the  

topic of impulse, that of good and bad things, that of passions, of virtue, of the end, of primary  

value and actions, of proper functions, and encouragements and discouragements’ (Lives 7.84).  

In his theorising of ancient consolation, Christoph Jedan usefully combines some of these  

categories. He argues:  

Ancient consolations – including Christian consolations – revolve around the virtue-ethical  

core of the Socratic alternative (…): consolation is sought in the completeness of the life  

of the deceased, and this completeness is envisaged as the acquisition and possession of  

virtue.⁶¹  

In what follows, we shall expand on some of these Stoic definitions and categories of ethics,  

comparing the ways in which Paul and Seneca incorporate them. Although neither Seneca nor  

59  

Heath, ‘Absent Presences’, 29. Heath adduces an excellent range of classical texts but does not consider the  

theatrical elements within 1 Thess 1–3 which use enargeia to console.  

⁶⁰ Barton, ‘Eschatology and the Emotions in Early Christianity’, 588, 591.  

⁶¹ Jedan, ‘Rapprochement’, 170.  

198  

Paul claims to be a Stoic sage, their outlooks occasionally lead to affinities with the figure.  

Both, in various ways, use consolatory discourses and narratives to foster virtue in the lives of  

the individuals and communities whom they address. Based on Diogenes Laertius’ categories,  

we shall start by comparing the place of the emotions, or passions, within their consolatory  

narratives, before considering their conceptions of virtue and paraenesis in relation to  

consolation. We shall then broaden the categories by considering the social aspects that feature  

in the pair’s consolatory discourses, and, finally, how meditating upon death and time as goods  

and goals differently impacts their consolatory narratives.  

Emotions  

The goal of ancient consolation was to (re)instil the consoland with eupathic joy (χαρά;  

gaudium). Both of Seneca’s and Paul’s consolatory narratives consider how joy can be  

developed amid grief. The introduction showed that consolation could take various, even  

eclectic, forms dependent on the circumstances. The consolatory discourses of Seneca and Paul  

provide a diversity of approaches and strategies based on the emotions for comparison.⁶²  

When dealing with human grief, Seneca realises that the ideal of Stoic apatheia, in most  

cases, is both practically unhelpful and unachievable.⁶³ For his consolands and Lucilius, pre-  

emotions (propatheiai) such as grief cannot be avoided; the emphasis lies instead on ensuring  

that they are quickly rationalised. Seneca distinguishes between emotions or passions  

(adfectus) which result from initial impressions, and diseases (morbi) that result if these  

impressions are not handled rationally (Ep. 75.12). Seneca mainly censures inveterate grief:  

so, he tells Marcia: ‘I am no longer able to approach so hardened a grief (tam durum dolorem)  

considerately or softly (molliter), it must be crushed’ (Marc. 1.8); then in the opening to Ep.  

99 to Marullus: ‘You are bearing the death of a son softly (molliter); what would you do, if you  

had lost a friend?’ (Ep. 99.2). These represent more extreme cases where grief had lasted too  

long and exceeded acceptable gender norms.  

The Ad Helviam cleaves closest to conventional Stoic philosophy, including the ideal  

of apatheia. Helvia’s grief is not inveterate like Marcia’s, so his approach is less vehement, but  

nevertheless one which seeks to confront grief as a passion: ‘I have decided to conquer  

(vincere) your grief, not to curb (circumscribere) it’ (Helv. 4.1). Although Seneca goes to  

62  

See Riis and Woodhead, A Sociology of Religious Emotion, 48: ‘Encompassing regimes … balance a whole  

range of emotional notes, from grief to joy, setting them together in sustainable tensions and harmonies’, cited by  

Barton, ‘Eschatology and Emotions’, 577.  

⁶³ See, e.g., Polyb. 18.5 and Graver, Stoicism and Emotion, 196.  

199  

significant lengths in his consolations to conquer grief, elsewhere he allows for its existence:  

for instance, at the start of Ep. 63: ‘I regret that your friend, Flaccus, has died; however, I do  

not want you to grieve more than is right. I shall hardly dare to demand that you not grieve (ut  

non doleas); but I know a better course’ (63.1). This better course involves active handling of  

grief, which he explains to Lucilius: ‘I prefer that you abandon (relinquas) grief than be  

abandoned (relinquaris) by it’ (63.12).  

Seneca, therefore, establishes a range of ‘feeling rules’⁶⁴ which often bear resemblances  

to Stoic apatheia, but accommodate grief’s ‘first attack’ (Ep. 99.1). A possible Stoic influence  

upon Paul has been detected in his words to the Thessalonians at the start of his consolatory  

parousia narrative. They are usually rendered: ‘We do not want you to be unaware, brothers,  

concerning the deceased, so that you may not grieve (ἵνα μὴ λυπῆσθε) like the rest who have  

no hope’ (1 Thess 4:13). Many interpreters, both patristic and modern, have argued that Paul  

draws upon Stoic traditions of extirpating grief as a passion. I have contended, however, that  

while Paul leads the Christ-believers in Thessalonica away from λύπη, this does not amount to  

a wholesale ban on grieving. Our survey of Seneca’s consolatory discourses shows that he  

never demands the cessation of grief unless it has become inveterate. Although we do not know  

the precise circumstances in Thessalonica, given Paul’s favourable and philophronetic  

disposition towards the believers, it is improbable that Paul disallows grief in toto. Instead, like  

Jewish apocalypticists, Paul’s rhetoric serves to distinguish the status of those in the messiah  

from those outside this community. For instance, at 4 Ezra 7.60–61, the angel says: I shall  

delight over the few who will be saved … I shall not be aggrieved over the multitude of those  

who have perished (iucundabor enim super paucis qui salvabuntur … non contristabor super  

multitudinem eorum qui perierunt)’. The in-group is consoled so that they may not have to  

grieve now in view of the eschaton.  

By engaging at greater length in consolation than Paul, Seneca inevitably showcases a  

wider range of psychagogical strategies. Some overlap can nevertheless be found with Paul’s  

consolatory discourses. A recurring theme in Seneca’s consolations is the preparation of the  

mind for suffering and misfortune. From exile in Corsica, Seneca is reminded from his  

immersive studies about the need to face up to fortune by ‘anticipating (prospicere) all the  

attempts and all the attacks of Fortune long before they invade’ (Helv. 5.3; cf. Ep. 99.32).  

Although this practice of praemeditatio became more popular among Stoics in Rome, this  

consolatory technique was attributed most to the Cyrenians. Paul employs an adapted version  

⁶⁴ Barton, ‘Eschatology and Emotions’, 587.  

200  

of this trope in 1 Thess 3:4 when he comforts the Thessalonians by reminding them of a  

previous visit where he had forewarned them of affliction – ‘we would often tell you in advance  

that we shall be afflicted (προελέγομεν ὑμῖν ὅτι μέλλομεν θλίβεσθαι)’.  

Although Seneca distances himself from the Epicurean approach to consolation based  

on pleasure and turning from evils to goods, he sometimes directs consolands and interlocutors  

to reflect upon surviving family members (Helv. 18.3–19.3; Polyb. 5.5) and the virtues  

concomitant with philosophical studies (Helv. 17.3; Polyb. 8.1; Ep. 78.3). Some relevant  

contact points can be found in Paul’s letters, especially Philippians: Timothy effectively  

assumes the role of Paul’s son by virtue of sharing Paul’s soul (Phil 2:20–22); and the  

Philippians are directed away from their suffering towards all the virtues embodied by Paul  

(Phil 4:8). Yet for other consolatory commonplaces which Seneca uses, notably the deceased  

being sent on ahead (Marc. 19.1; Polyb. 9.9; Ep. 63.16, 99.7), it is harder to identify crossover  

with Paul’s consolatory discourses.  

We can, however, conduct a meaningful comparison between Paul and Seneca vis-à-  

vis tears. Seneca can take a dim view of tears: in Marcia’s case, they are equated with vices  

(Marc. 16.5); and with great frankness, Seneca tells Polybius that no-one delights in his tears  

(Polyb. 5.2) – because of his prominent role, he must dry his own (Polyb. 6.5). In the Ad  

Polybium, Seneca is closer to Peripatetic metriopatheia than Stoic apatheia: he realises that  

tears are a part of nature which cannot be wholly stopped but are to be reserved (Polyb. 4.2-3);  

and he is prepared to allow tears along with lamentation provided that Polybius manages to  

rule his mind and find a ‘mean’ (modum) (Polyb. 18.6-7). Crucially, it emerges in Ep. 99 that  

the sage weeps but when he does so, it is part of a ‘eupathic response’.⁶⁵ There is an initial  

emotion (adfectus) which causes weeping, but it can be controlled as part of a joyful process  

of memory (Ep. 99.16–19). In addition to his own presentation of his emotional failures by the  

standard of Stoic apatheia, this overall picture challenges the idea that Seneca advocated such  

emotional thrift when it came to consoling.  

Admittedly, Paul foregrounds his own tears and emotions to a greater extent than  

Seneca. This is true throughout 2 Corinthians where Paul is at pains to show how he participates  

in the passions of Christ (τὰ παθήματα τοῦ Χριστοῦ; 2 Cor 1:5). This includes a devastating  

narration of his past sufferings (2 Cor 1:8–9) which, even if short-lived or exaggerated, is  

entirely at odds with what would be expected of an ancient moral philosopher. Any serious  

difference, however, is explained by the ruptured relationship between Paul and the Corinthian  

⁶⁵ Graver, ‘Weeping Wise’, 244-245.  

201  

assembly. In 2 Cor 2:2–11, Paul relates how there was grief on all sides in relation to the events  

surrounding the wrongdoer. This led to Paul composing his ‘letter of tears’ as a means of  

consoling and reconciling the Corinthians. Paul writes from a position of affliction with a  

restricted heart which is manifest in the tears, but the purpose of the letter is consolatory and  

restorative: ‘not so that you might be aggrieved (οὐχ ἵνα λυπηθῆτε), but so that you might know  

the love which I have abundantly for you’ (2:4). Tears, therefore, enter Paul’s consolatory  

narrative as a way of showing genuine grief.⁶⁶  

A final point of difference can be found in the distinction that Paul makes between  

divine grief (ἡ … κατὰ θεὸν λύπη) and worldly grief (ἡ … τοῦ κόσμου λύπη) in 2 Cor 7:10.  

While, like Seneca, Paul recognises the ethically debilitating and mortifying effect of grief as  

a passion, his positive understanding of grief according to God represents a modified discourse.  

Paul highlights, perhaps overexcitedly and unrealistically, how divine grief has engendered  

such a transformation of the Corinthians’ emotions (7:11). His affirmation of fear (φόβος), one  

of the Stoic passions, would have baffled someone like Seneca. Nevertheless, at this point, Paul  

portrays himself as totally consoled (7:13) and confident in the Corinthians’ affections towards  

him (7:16) in the hope that the Corinthians might reciprocate and show their affection through  

financial giving (2 Cor 8). The consolatory system in 2 Corinthians is complicated – it is more  

straightforward in Philippians and 1 Thessalonians – but we see how Paul participates in a  

tradition of moving from grief to joy alongside Seneca, albeit with some deviations because of  

distinct apocalyptic and soteriological concerns.  

Progress in Virtue and Exhortation  

We have seen throughout how consolation is necessary for ethical and moral transformation.  

If an individual or community is aggrieved, exhortation towards progress in the moral virtues  

is impossible. We therefore need to compare the relationship between consolation and  

exhortation in Seneca and Paul. What role does consolation play in directing their addressees  

towards virtue and goods, and away from vice and evils?  

In the section on exemplarity, we saw that neither Paul nor Seneca claims to be a sage  

on account of their vulnerability. Both, however, have progressed further along the path of  

virtue in becoming like god or Christ than their addressees. Seneca attempts to rationalise all  

things, including exile, as sources of indifference. He condescends to his mother Helvia’s level  

66  

By stating that the wrongdoer has not aggrieved him, Paul evidences some mastery over his emotions (2 Cor  

2:5) that manifests itself in forgiveness (2:10). Additionally, he puts the conflict down to the apocalyptic power  

of Satan (2:11), which also differentiates him from Seneca.  

202  

of pietas and relates what she would like to hear: namely that nothing is a source of evil to him  

(Helv. 4.2). The things which Seneca rationalises for himself represent consolation for his  

mother; consoler and consoland are on different levels.  

Paul displays similar tendencies in his letters. In Philippians, he understates any  

suffering derived from his incarceration and highlights instead the good which has come from  

it. Thus, ‘the things against him (τὰ κατ᾽ ἐμὲ)’ are adiaphora compared to the progress of the  

gospel (Phil 1:12), and his chains for being in Christ have instead enabled others to express the  

gospel more freely (1:13–14). Paul consoles the Philippians by rationalising his situation: even  

the fact that some are preaching Christ with dubious motives does not perplex him but causes  

him to rejoice: ‘whether in pretence or truth (εἴτε προφάσει εἴτε ἀληθείᾳ), Christ is proclaimed;  

and in this I rejoice (χαίρω)’ (Phil 1:18). A similar principle applies to his ethnic credentials  

later in Phil 3:4–8; they become adiaphora compared to his pursuit of making progress in  

knowing Christ towards which he directs the Philippians, as someone more advanced than  

them.⁶⁷  

In 2 Corinthians, Paul shows that through his sufferings and weakness, he is more  

advanced in conforming to Christ than his addressees and opponents. Again, the adiaphora  

topos resurfaces. Paul rationalises his current bodily state and resolves to please the Lord  

‘whether at home in the body or away from it’ (2 Cor 5:9). By consoling and seeking  

reconciliation with the Corinthians, the apostle exhorts them towards renewed partnership in  

the gospel ministry as soon as possible. As part of this, he highlights how he has emerged from  

his hardships virtuously and managed to maintain a joyful disposition despite continuously  

grievous circumstances (6:9). This combination of vulnerability and self-mastery provides the  

platform for his renewed appeal to the Corinthians to widen their hearts (6:11–13). Paul  

demonstrates that he has preceded them in disclosing his emotions and exhorts them to  

reciprocate as if they were family.  

This brings us to the issue of how consolation and paraenesis are related for Paul and  

Seneca. In Seneca’s theorising, consolation functions as a praeceptum alongside exhortation  

as a means of aiming towards – and possibly attaining – moral perfection (Ep. 94.39). How is  

this reflected in more concrete and applied circumstances? Being both theoretical but in  

response to a particular event – the earthquake in Campania – Nat. 6 demonstrates how  

consolation and exhortation can be combined. Seneca moves from offering a commentary on  

⁶⁷ On the levels of moral progress possible within Paul’s teaching in Philippians, see Laura Dingeldein, ‘Gaining  

Virtue, Gaining Christ: Moral Development in the Letters of Paul’ (PhD Diss., Brown University, 2014), 218-  

234.  

203  

death, which is more consolatory (Nat. 6.1.8-9), to exhorting Lucilius to a courageous  

disposition in the face of death’s inevitability (6.1.10). Some degree of consolation is offered  

in the intervening sections which consider the science behind the causation of earthquakes, but  

the primary ethical objective of the piece emerges in the final section when Lucilius reappears.  

In the Ad Helviam, Seneca deals with his mother’s grief. Although Seneca expresses  

sympathy that Fortune prevented her from seeing Seneca before he was sent into exile (Helv.  

15.2–3), he places greater emphasis on exhorting her towards the disposition required to  

eliminate her grief. Seneca writes: ‘the harder these things are, the greater the virtue which you  

must summon (tibi virtus advocanda est); as with a well-known and often already conquered  

enemy, you must contend more fiercely’ (Helv. 15.4). Helvia, like Marcia, is portrayed by  

Seneca as a Stoic proficiens, whom he directs to enhanced virtue in the face of hardship.  

Addressing Polybius, Seneca is even more careful to articulate that he is a fellow proficiens.  

The final section of the Ad Polybium begins on a paraenetic note when Seneca tells Polybius:  

‘you do not have to change at all from your custom (ex consuetudine)’ (Polyb. 18.1). Seneca  

treats Polybius as a reasonably advanced Stoic proficiens on account of his literary ability.  

Polybius’ ability to influence through writing will not only bring him consolation for his  

brother’s death but could also bring relief for Seneca. Accordingly, Polybius is exhorted to  

continued study as a means of providing consolation for his own emotions; there is little that  

he needs to change.  

The relationship between consolatory and paraenetic elements in 1 Thess 4–5 can be  

understood through comparison with Seneca’s practice. When Paul writes ‘we ask and exhort  

(παρακαλοῦμεν) you in the Lord Jesus, just as you received from us’ (1 Thess 4:1), this  

introduces a broadly paraenetic section, 1 Thess 4:1–12, where he directs the Thessalonians  

towards virtuous ethical lives via reminders and clarifications of what they have previously  

heard. The parousia narrative at 1 Thess 4:13–18, however, is distinctly consolatory because it  

pertains to a context of grief and provides kerygma which has not been fully apprehended by  

the Christ-believers. Therefore, it is fitting to render παρακαλεῖτε ἀλλήλους ἐν τοῖς λόγοις  

τούτοις (1 Thess 4:18) as ‘console one another with these words’.  

Following this, however, Paul reverts to exhortation in 1 Thess 5:1–8, since he reminds  

the believers of the expected ethical behaviour in view of the day of the Lord. The section  

concludes by combining consolation and exhortation. Paul reminds the Thessalonians that  

instead of being destined for the desolation of wrath, through the death of Jesus for them,  

whether keeping watch or sleeping, i.e., alive or deceased, they might live with Jesus (1 Thess  

5:9–10). This signals a return to consolation within a section that seeks to edify towards virtue  

204  

via paraenetic exhortation: ‘Therefore, console one another (παρακαλεῖτε ἀλλήλους) and edify  

(οἰκοδομεῖτε) each other individually, just as you are doing’ (5:11). Like Seneca in Nat. 6 and  

some of his earlier Consolationes, Paul can combine consolation within exhortation. Paul,  

however, has a more consistent narrative centred on Christ’s parousia.  

This brief survey shows that Paul and Seneca both use exhortation and paraenesis as  

they seek to console their addressees. The result is that as well as providing consolation, they  

develop virtue and a keener apprehension of what is ethically good in the lives and situations  

of their addressees. Through their mutual use of the adiaphora topos, albeit with different  

emphases, Paul and Seneca are individuals who, perhaps with the partial exception of Polybius,  

are more advanced in virtue than their consolands. Yet consolations were also social  

undertakings, so we now consider to what extent Paul’s and Seneca’s consolatory narratives  

were affected by the communities and networks in which they found and situated themselves.  

Consolation and Community  

We can treat the socio-political aspects concomitant with consolation as part of the Stoic ethical  

system.⁶⁸ This is appropriate in Seneca’s case given his prominent role in the imperial regime,  

particularly while tutor to Nero. Although his period as Nero’s praeceptor produced no literary  

consolatory content per se, it no doubt influenced his later writing, where a discernible shift in  

his consolatory narrative can be detected. While the Stoics were committed to the acquisition  

of individual virtue, there was a philosophical community among proficientes that often  

receives less attention. Seneca’s consolatory oeuvre, particularly the Epistles, brings it into  

focus. Conversely, Paul writes letters to more defined communities and assemblies than Seneca  

which results in a more developed consolatory network of divine and human sources. In this  

section, however, I also argue that consolation was a communal practice for Seneca and his  

consolands: the related theme of friendship is a valuable comparative index between the pair.  

In Seneca’s two Consolationes addressed to women, the network clearly extends  

beyond consoler and consoland. In both cases, following the loss of loved ones, Marcia and  

Helvia are directed to surviving family members (Marc. 16.7; Helv. 18.2–8) and to consider  

the deceased as happy and enjoying the afterlife. This is best illustrated by Marcia’s deceased  

father, Cordus, to whom Seneca gives a voice from beyond the dead (Marc. 26.2–7).⁶⁹ These  

⁶⁸ See LS 1.434: Zeno and Chrysippus both wrote a Republic; Stobaeus 2.109,10–110,4 (SVF 3.686, part) endorses  

the wise man’s partaking in politics.  

69  

Dodson, ‘Elements of Apocalyptic Eschatology’, 46, instructively sees an apocalyptic element here since  

‘Seneca presents Cordus as a heavenly messenger’.  

205  

earlier Consolationes are politically motivated which widens the network. At the start of the  

Ad Helviam, Seneca asserts that he is undertaking an unprecedented task in consoling ‘his own’  

when they were lamenting him (Helv. 1.2–3). It seems that these people are not restricted to  

his family, but those favourable to him in Rome whom he is trying to influence to bring about  

his recall from exile, even if it is not an evil for Seneca.  

While these examples show how the network is widened, they do not describe a  

philosophical community. Such a community appears in the Ad Polybium because he writes,  

in part, to console Polybius for the loss of his biological brother, and by extension, the rupture  

of a brotherly philosophical community. Seneca inveighs against Fortune for cruelly ‘making  

an attack among brothers and weakening a most united (concordissimam) group with such a  

bloody snatching (rapina)’ (Polyb. 3.4). Seneca, therefore, sees his task as consoling Polybius  

like a surrogate brother within this community. Thus, Seneca inscribes himself in a  

philosophical network alongside Polybius which is orchestrated by divine reason. The Ad  

Polybium, therefore, involves a mixture of consoling but also enabling Seneca’s social  

reintegration into a philosophical community of brothers.  

The community of the wise comes into sharper focus in the Epistles when Seneca  

undergoes his second period of exile. Betrayed by the political order, his network of friends  

becomes a source of consolation. Two examples from the second half of the collection highlight  

the consolation conveyed by friends. Firstly, Seneca’s community of wise friends feature in  

Ep. 78. They play an influential role in convincing him to continue living when he was afflicted  

in body. Their contribution is noted immediately following Seneca’s reflections on the curing  

effects of philosophy: ‘My studies were a source of healing (saluti) to me; I credit this to the  

account (acceptum fero) of philosophy: that I got up, and that I recovered (convalui)’ (Ep.  

78.3). Seneca’s friends then embodied this learning through their physical presence and  

provided further refreshment. So, he informs Lucilius: ‘Nothing … restores and helps as much  

as the affections of friends (amicorum adfectus)’ (Ep. 78.4). As well as present comfort,  

Seneca’s community of friends gave him the future consolation that even if he were to die, they  

would continue to mediate his presence; he would continue to live through them: ‘I kept  

concluding (iudicabam) that I would not die, since I left them as survivors (superstites  

relinquerem)’.  

Secondly, consolation and friendship coalesce in Ep. 63, where Seneca simultaneously  

deals with the loss of Lucilius’ friend, Flaccus, and prepares his readers for his own impending  

departure. Seneca directs Lucilius: ‘He whom you loved, you have buried; search for someone  

you may love. It is preferable to acquire a friend again (amicum reparare) rather than weep’  

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(Ep. 63.12). Although Flaccus has died, he is replaceable by someone from within the  

philosophical community. As in Ep. 78, this community provides consolation when a member  

dies through a continuous supply of friendship.  

Consolatory networks and friendship also exist in Paul’s letters. In 1 Thess 4, there is  

some overlap between the community of brothers portrayed in the Ad Polybium. Although in a  

paraenetic rather than a consolatory context, at 1 Thess 4:9, Paul directs the believers towards  

‘brotherly love’ (φιλαδελφία) so that they might become a tighter-knit and more self-contained  

community. This becomes relevant in the consolatory parousia narrative where Paul uses  

concepts from ancient associations to unite the bereaved Thessalonians with their deceased.  

This can be applied to Paul’s narrative with the modification that Jesus acts as the patron deity  

who assures the connection between the living and the dead. Consequently, Paul informs the  

Thessalonians: ‘Then we, the living, who are left around, shall be snatched (ἁρπαγησόμεθα)  

together with them [the dead in Christ] in the clouds to meet the Lord in the air’ (1 Thess 4:17).  

Whereas Fortune intervened brutally in the case of Polybius’ brother to snatch him away  

bloodily, at the eschaton, Christ-believers are snatched together to be reunited. Although the  

apocalyptic elements constitute a major difference between Paul’s and Seneca’s narratives,  

pagan notions of community beyond the grave are also identifiable.  

Despite his apostolic status and authority, Paul never acts independently: he  

collaborates with divine and human agents in a network of consolation. Earlier in the letter,  

when he was concerned about how the Thessalonians were faring in their loyalty (πίστις) on  

account of the affliction that they were experiencing, Paul narrates the collective decision that  

brought consolation and strengthening to all parties: ‘Therefore, since we were no longer able  

to endure (στέγοντες), we resolved to stay behind (καταλειφθῆναι) alone in Athens, but we sent  

Timothy … to strengthen (στηρίξαι) and comfort (παρακαλέσαι) you for the sake of your faith’  

(1 Thess 3:1–2). Timothy acted as a mediator between Paul and the Thessalonians. Happily, he  

brought back a eupathic report from Thessalonica (3:6) becoming, in the process, an agent of  

consolation: ‘because of this, we were consoled (διὰ τοῦτο παρεκλήθημεν)’ (3:7).  

There is a similar scene of consolation delivered through divine and human sources in  

the Corinthian correspondence when Titus and Paul reconvene in Macedonia. Differently from  

the scene in 1 Thess 3, however, Paul immediately states that Titus’ presence is divinely  

orchestrated: ‘the one who consoles the downcast (ὁ παρακαλῶν τοὺς ταπεινοὺς), God,  

consoled us with the presence of Titus’ (2 Cor 7:6). Confident of consolation and reconciliation  

on account of divine and human intervention (2 Cor 7:16), Paul expands the network by  

exhorting the Corinthians to contribute to a collection for the saints in Jerusalem, as the  

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Macedonians have done in exemplary fashion (8:1–5). Most important here is Paul’s ideal of  

an inter-ecclesial network that is financially and emotionally balanced (8:13–14).  

There is undeniably a more developed network of consolation from divine and human  

sources in Paul’s letters than for Seneca. There is, however, one final Pauline text which evokes  

consolation and where greater connections to Seneca’s consolatory discourse are discernible:  

the end of Phil 4 with its portrayal of friendship and networks. The Philippians habitually  

exhibited phronesis towards Paul (Phil 4:10) and regularly contributed money when he was  

hard-pressed and faced imprisonment (4:15–16). Notions of consolation and friendship  

combine at Phil 4:14, when Paul comments: ‘Nevertheless you did well to participate in my  

affliction (συγκοινωνήσαντές μου τῇ θλίψει)’. The Philippians are like Seneca’s friends in Ep.  

78 who are present through their gifts in his hour of need; they form a network. Yet differently  

in Paul’s case, the gift which the Philippians convey to Paul through Epaphroditus is not only  

for him but for God (Phil 4:18). Viewing himself as apostolic mediator between God and the  

Philippians, Paul tells the Philippians: ‘My God will fill up your every need according to his  

richness in glory in Christ Jesus’ (4:19).  

Friendship is a prerequisite for consolation for both Paul and Seneca. For Seneca,  

however, consolation is mediated through a philosophical community of proficientes, while for  

Paul, his deity is ultimately the source of consolation.⁷⁰ If Paul is nearing death at the end as  

he writes Phil 4:19, his promise of God’s meeting the Philippians’ every need takes on a more  

consolatory character. With this possibility in mind, we move to some final observations  

concerning how death and time are treated in Paul’s and Seneca’s consolatory narratives.  

Death, Memory, and Time  

Within the Stoic ethical system, neither death nor time is an evil. Conversely, neither death nor  

time is a good; both fall into the category of ‘indifferents’ (adiaphora). In his consolatory  

discourses, Seneca largely adheres to Stoic tradition: he reflects on death (meditatio mortis)  

and, particularly in the Epistles, handling of present time. Paul, too, when in consoling mode,  

reflects on death and notions of time. This makes for one final comparative dialogue in three  

parts: firstly, how the pair meditate on death including their own; secondly, the role of memory;  

and thirdly, notions of time itself in dealing with the consoland’s present distress.  

⁷⁰ Note how at Ep. 78.3 credits his recovery to philosophy’s account (acceptum), but Paul desires fruit to abound  

within the Philippians’ account (λόγον; Phil 4:17), having been disbursed by God (Phil 4:19).  

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The practice of meditatio mortis becomes more prevalent in the second part of Seneca’s  

consolatory career, but there are occasional instances in the first part. In the Ad Polybium,  

Seneca tackles the interlocutor’s objection that the deceased was seized unexpectedly  

(inopinanti ereptus est; Polyb. 11.1). Seneca criticises the ingrained attitude of delaying  

reflection on one’s mortality despite daily reminders of deaths. He, therefore, praises an  

unnamed individual who had long acknowledged his son’s mortality: ‘When I produced him,  

I knew then that he would die (moriturum scivi)’ (Polyb. 11.2).  

In both Nat. 6 and Epistles, meditatio mortis is prominent. In the former, the  

culmination of his theoretical reflections on the different physical causes of earthquakes is an  

ethical appeal to Lucilius to engage in meditatio mortis. Seneca concludes with some comments  

about the inevitability of death and preparation to go out to meet her: ‘After you have let go of  

everything, meditate, Lucilius, on this one thing (omnibus omissis, hoc unum, Lucili, meditare):  

that you might not fear again the name of death’ (Nat. 6.32.12). Secondly, in Ep. 63, Seneca  

confesses how proper meditatio mortis had eluded him when the death of Serenus caught him  

ill prepared. Instead of reflecting on the ‘one thing’ (unum) of meditatio mortis, his mind had  

been distracted: ‘This one thing (hoc unum) kept occurring to me: that he was younger and  

younger by far, as if the fates should keep an order!’ (Ep. 63.14). Nevertheless, Seneca corrects  

himself and exhorts all his readers to engage in meditatio mortis once more: ‘Therefore, let us  

continually consider (cogitemus) our own mortality (de nostra … mortalitate) as much as the  

mortality of those whom we love’ (63.15).  

There are three comparable moments where Paul considers death. Firstly, in Phil 1:21–  

23, Paul has a very positive estimation of death: it is gain and he desires it because it signals a  

positive departure to be with Christ. Following his dubitatio which results in a consoling  

conviction to seek to continue to live, Paul moves onto exhorting the Philippians, directing  

them towards ‘one thing’ (μόνον): ‘One thing: live worthily as citizens (πολιτεύεσθε) of the  

gospel of Christ’ (Phil 1:27). For Paul and the Philippians, life and death are both future  

oriented. Secondly, later in Philippians 3:7–14, Paul meditates not so much on death – although  

death necessarily comes into the equation (Phil 3:10–11) – as much as upon resurrection. Once  

more, like Seneca, he uses the language of ‘one thing’ (ἕν) as part of his meditatio: ‘But one  

thing: forgetting things behind and stretching forward for things ahead, according to a goal, I  

pursue the prize of the upward call of God in Christ Jesus’ (Phil 3:13–14). Thirdly, in 2 Cor  

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5:1, Paul considers what happens should the body decay⁷¹ at death in consolatory terms: ‘we  

have a building from God: an eternal home, not crafted by hand, in the heavens’. While death  

is neither a malum nor the end in Seneca’s consolatory discourses, he speaks in terms of  

renewal through a universal conflagration, rather than an eternal heavenly home like Paul,  

where the resurrected messiah is located (Phil 1:23; 2 Cor 5:9).  

Related to meditatio, throughout his consolatory career, Seneca directs his consolands  

to remember the deceased fittingly. Seneca holds up Livia as an exemplum to Marcia because  

she remembered her son, Drusus, so well: ‘in short, she celebrated the name of her Drusus …  

she lived with his memory (cum memoria illius vixit)’ (Marc. 3.2). Seneca also consoles  

Polybius by directing him towards the lasting nature of memory: ‘longer and more reliable is  

memory of pleasurable things than the presence of them (longior fideliorque est memoria  

voluptatum quam praesentia)’ (Polyb. 10.4). The surety of past memory is then applied to the  

passing of his brother: remembering him is to be a source of joy: ‘Rejoice, therefore that you  

had (gaude … habuisse) so good a brother’ (10.6).  

Memory is an important topos in all the principal consolatory epistles. Lucilius’  

deceased friend Metronax still lives since he exists among the cosmic bodies; ‘he has given  

himself into memory (memoriam)’ (Ep. 93.5).⁷² Tears are natural and defensible for the wise  

man precisely because of memory: memoria causes the eyes to become loosened in joy (99.19).  

Finally, in Ep. 63.3–4, far from forgetting a deceased friend, Seneca instead shows Lucilius  

how he might move from ‘short-term memory’ (brevem … memoriam) to a lasting ‘pleasant  

recollection’ (iucunda … recordatio) of him. In short, one of the chief goals of Seneca’s  

consolatory discourses and narratives is to show how memory and meditatio on the past lives  

of the deceased enable them to remain present.  

In the letters of Paul,⁷³ memory occasionally unites Paul and other members of his  

apostolic team to the assemblies in present consolatory contexts. In 1 Thessalonians and  

Philippians, Paul begins by thanking God for the believers and states how he remembers them  

in prayer (1 Thess 1:2; Phil 1:3). In Philippians, the consolatory aspect of memory leading to  

joy is especially pronounced: ‘I thank my God for every remembrance of you (ἐπὶ πάσῃ τῇ  

μνείᾳ ὑμῶν) … praying with joy (μετὰ χαρᾶς)’ (Phil 1:3–4). Although memory and joy are not  

directly juxtaposed in the beginning of 1 Thessalonians, the two concepts are related. Not only  

⁷¹ The verbs καταλύω (2 Cor 5:1) and ἀναλύω (Phil 1:23) indicate that Paul is treating similar notions of bodily  

or fleshly dissolution within the contexts of meditatio and – I would argue – consolatio mortis.  

⁷² Cf. Helv. 20.2 regarding the ascent of the soul such that it recalls its eternity (aeternitatis suae memor).  

⁷³ This is also a phenomenon outside of our three letters: Rom 1:9, Eph 1:16, 2 Tim 1:3, Phlm 4.  

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do Paul and his team remember (μνείαν ποιούμενοι) the Thessalonians in prayer, but they also  

remember (μνημονεύοντες) their virtues (1 Thess 1:3). These virtues unite them to Paul and  

his apostolic team: this is highlighted at 1 Thess 1:6, where Paul commends their becoming  

imitators of himself and the Lord in receiving the word in much affliction with joy (ἐν θλίψει  

πολλῇ μετὰ χαρᾶς) from the holy pneuma’. Therefore, in both the Philippians’ and the  

Thessalonians’ cases, Paul’s memory of them establishes a consolatory context of joy amid  

suffering that is appropriate for these philophronetic letters.  

Paul’s apostolic team also mediate consolation, and memory often forms part of this  

process. Concerning the Thessalonians, Paul is informed by Timothy: ‘you have a good  

memory (μνείαν) of us, and always long (ἐπιποθοῦντες) to see us, just as we long to see you’  

(1 Thess 3:6). In Philippians, memory, emotive longing, and consolation become connected  

when Paul states: ‘How I long for (ἐπιποθῶ) you all with the inner emotions (σπλάγχνοις) of  

Christ Jesus’ (Phil 1:8). Like Timothy, Titus reports that the Corinthians still possess a longing  

(ἐπιπόθησις) for Paul (2 Cor 7:7; 7:11). Titus, the agent of consolation, displays an emotional  

response – like Paul – when he remembers the Corinthians: ‘his emotions (σπλάγχνα) are  

abundantly for you, since he remembers (ἀναμιμνῃσκομένου) the obedience of you all’ (7:15).  

Memory, therefore, has past and present dimensions for Paul and Seneca, which lead  

to future action in warding off grief and making progress in virtue.⁷⁴ How, though, do larger  

temporal frameworks function in Seneca’s and Paul’s consolatory discourses? Seneca displays  

disparate attitudes towards time dependent on the rhetorical situation. At Marc. 8.1, he adopts  

the commonplace argument of time as healer: ‘Then what is natural does not abate through a  

delay; a long day consumes grief (dolorem dies longa consumit) … time, the most effective  

thing for lessening what is fierce, weakens it’. Seneca, however, usually advocates for actively  

handling grief rather than allowing it to dull over time. In the conclusions to the Ad Marciam  

and the Ad Helviam, time assumes a cosmic dimension. In the former, Seneca describes the  

Stoic conflagration as part of a sequence of events: ‘when the time comes (cum tempus  

advenerit)’ (Marc. 26.6). In the latter, Seneca imagines how the soul transcends space and time:  

‘it goes into everything which has been, will be, and is in all ages’ (quod fuit futurumque est  

vadit omnibus saeculis; Helv. 20.2).  

In his later writings, however, Seneca expresses a more consistent attitude towards time.  

It should be considered an adiaphoron, as he tells Lucilius towards the end of Nat. 6: ‘you will  

bear all things uniformly (feres constanter) if you consider there to be no difference (nihil  

⁷⁴ See, e.g., Marc. 5.3; Ep. 63.8, Ep. 99.32; Phil 1:9–11; 1 Thess 3:10–13; 2 Cor 7:11–16.  

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interesse) between a scarce and a long time’ (Nat. 6.32.9). An important development towards  

the end of Seneca’s consolatory career is his fixation on time and the individual day. The  

essence of the Epistles are the masteries of self and time (Ep. 1.1). In an environment where  

Nero’s men could come for Seneca at any moment, time is of the essence. It follows that proper  

management (scientia utendi; Ep. 78.28) of time matters, however long it may last.  

Appropriately, for Seneca, as a philosopher who composed tragedies, the day allows for  

theatrical metaphors. Seneca prepares Lucilius and his other readers for his own departure  

(exitus)⁷⁵ from Nero’s Rome where individuals are forced to play different roles on different  

days.  

While it may be possible to speak of a Senecan eschatology relative to the cosmos and  

his own end, eschatology assumes a different character when applied to Paul: the apostle’s  

consolatory narrative is utterly dependent on the parousia of Christ. Eschatology, presence, and  

consolation are collocated when Paul issues a valedictory word to the Philippians: ‘the Lord is  

near; worry about nothing (ὁ κύριος ἐγγύς μηδὲν μεριμνᾶτε)’ (Phil 4:5–6). The Lord is  

proximate in location and time, which gives Paul the agency to console the Philippians by  

exhorting them not to worry.  

This eschatological relationship between consolation and exhortation is attested  

elsewhere in Paul’s letters where Paul explicitly mentions the parousia (1 Thess 2:19, 3:13,  

4:15, 5:23), day of the Lord (2 Cor 1:14; 1 Thess 5:2), day of Christ (Phil 1:6, 1:10, 2:16), or  

day of salvation (2 Cor 6:2). The parousia is the apex of Paul’s consolatory narrative. Having  

consoled the various assemblies in their affliction with kerygma about the return of the Lord,  

Paul prepares them for the final day of the Lord so that they may be presented as blameless and  

filled with the pneuma of Christ. This is Paul’s primary apostolic task that undergirds his ethical  

system.⁷⁶ Success in this task, however, depends on the believers’ being and remaining ἐν  

Χριστῷ.  

While there are meaningful resonances between Paul and Seneca in how they  

philosophise about death, memory, and time, the different eschatological frameworks are  

evident. This is best demonstrated by their understanding of the ‘day’. For Seneca, particularly  

in the Epistles, each day before death is an opportunity for progress in virtue in the present  

within a philosophical community, while for Paul, the main day in question is the day of the  

⁷⁵ See Ep. 24.5, 63.8, 99.19.  

⁷⁶ Paul believes he will derive joy at the eschaton from the faithfulness of the believers: see Phil 2:16–18, 1 Thess  

2:19–20. Although Paul has ‘firm hope’ in the Corinthians at 2 Cor 1:7 about their sharing in sufferings and  

consolation, his eschatological hope about mutual boasting on the day of the Lord is more tentative at 2 Cor 1:14.  

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Lord, when there will be bodily resurrection and pneumatic transformation for those who are  

ἐν Χριστῷ,⁷⁷ which constitutes a fundamental difference between Seneca’s and Paul’s  

consolatory narratives.  

Paul’s and Seneca’s Consolatory Narratives  

Paul’s ἐν Χριστῷ discourse lies at the centre of his consolatory narrative. It leads to a distinctive  

contribution to the ancient tradition of consolation insofar as Paul is the first to combine  

messianic notions from ancient Judaism with wider Graeco-Roman philosophical and cultural  

notions following the death, resurrection, and ascension of Jesus Christ. I shall consider an  

example from each letter we have surveyed in order,⁷⁸ before seeking to identify a  

corresponding narrative in Seneca.  

We start with Paul’s eschatological and consolatory prophecy at 1 Thess 4:16: ‘the dead  

in Christ (οἱ νεκροὶ ἐν Χριστῷ) will rise first’. The surrounding elements of the prophecy – the  

voice of the archangel, the trumpeting, and the movement to the clouds – firmly situate Paul’s  

kerygma within Jewish apocalyptic tradition that anticipated the coming of the messiah. Paul  

adapts and innovates within this tradition, however, as befits the context in Thessalonica.  

Translating ἐν Χριστῷ is a vexed issue but Teresa Morgan’s proposal that ἐν has an  

encheiristic⁷⁹ sense is convincing here in view of the consolatory context. She explains: ‘Paul  

assures the Thessalonians that, even after death, the faithful are still in the hands of Christ: in  

his power and under his protection’.⁸⁰ Paul offers consolation to new gentile believers that goes  

beyond what their cults and associations offered.⁸¹ The Thessalonians are adopted into a Jewish  

narrative where consolation at the eschaton comes from their being in (the hands of) the  

messiah.⁸² The consolation is only effective, however, if the dead and, by implication, the  

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Cf. Eastman, Paul and the Person, 102: ‘Divine continuity and human discontinuity mean that death and  

resurrection, not development or maturation, are the watchwords of Christian existence’. I would, however, allow  

for some degree of maturation for Paul’s addressees ahead of the eschaton.  

⁷⁸ The following examples (1 Thess 4:16; 2 Cor 5:17; Phil 2:1) focus on the consolation for the Christ-believer(s)  

rather than Paul himself, but there are passages where Paul himself derives consolation from being ἐν Χριστῷ (2  

Cor 2:14, 12:2; Phil 1:13, 3:14) which highlight how Paul consistently consoles himself as well as his addressees  

through his letters, especially in 2 Corinthians.  

⁷⁹ For her explanation of this term, meaning essentially ‘in the hands of’, see Morgan, Being in Christ, 14.  

⁸⁰ Ibid., 44.  

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Thus, ibid., 44: ‘To gentile listeners, this must have been an astonishing, even life-changing vision: one with  

the power, in itself, to attract new enquirers to the gospel, and to raise the hopes of community members beyond  

anything most cults could offer’.  

⁸² This resonates with other Jewish literature from the Second Temple period (and beyond). See notably 1 Enoch  

49.3 (‘in the Son of Man dwells the spirit of wisdom, insight, and of those who have fallen asleep in  

righteousness’). I thank Clay Mock for a stimulating paper comparing this passage with 1 Thess 4:16 at BNTS  

2021 and private correspondence afterwards where he directed me to a further article: Loren T. Stuckenbruck,  

‘Coping with Alienating Experience: Four Strategies from the Second Temple Period’, in Rejection: God’s  

Refugees in Biblical and Contemporary Perspective, ed. Stanley E. Porter (Oregon: Pickwick, 2015), 57–83.  

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living, belong to this insider group defined by Israel’s messiah. This represents a significant  

departure from Seneca’s perspective: while his consolatory narrative is best apprehended by  

those within a philosophical community, his outlook is universal rather than distinguished by  

ethnicity, like Paul’s.⁸³ The apostle is primarily concerned with incorporating gentiles into a  

historically Jewish messianic tradition.  

Secondly, just before Paul introduces the theme of reconciliation in its divine and  

human forms (2 Cor 5:18–20), Paul considers the state of anyone who comes to be in Christ.  

In doing so, he combines cosmological concepts consonant with ancient philosophy together  

with messianism: ‘if anyone is in Christ (εἴ τις ἐν Χριστῷ), there is new creation; the old things  

have passed away; see, new things have come to be’ (5:17). The apostle is defining a new mode  

of existence no longer based on knowing this messiah ‘according to the flesh’ (κατὰ σάρκα,  

5:16) but according to pneumatic cosmology. Such consolation was promised by the prophet  

Isaiah when Israel was in exile (Isa 43:18–19) and is fulfilled afresh through the Christ-event.  

Paul combines these philosophical and historical flavours in his consolatory narrative which  

enables him to move on to seeking reconciliation with the Corinthians and exhorting them  

towards the ‘day of salvation’ through concepts reappropriated from Isaiah (2 Cor 6:2; Isa  

49:8). Thus, like Seneca, Paul’s consolatory narrative has a cosmological element but, unlike  

in Seneca, this is coupled with Jewish salvation history that comes through the messiah.  

Finally, there is the passage which links consolation and ἐν Χριστῷ most patently: Phil  

2:1-2, 5.⁸⁴ This passage provides the basis for a paradigmatic summary of many of the  

observations about Paul’s consolatory narrative in this chapter:  

If, therefore, there is any consolation in Christ (παράκλησις ἐν Χριστῷ), if any comfort  

(παραμύθιον) from his love, if any partnership (κοινωνία) from pneuma, if any inner  

emotion and compassion (σπλάγχνα καὶ οἰκτιρμοί), fill up my joy (πληρώσατέ μου τὴν  

χαρὰν) so that you might have the same mindset (φρονῆτε) … have this mindset  

(φρονεῖτε) among you which is also in Christ Jesus (ἐν Χριστῷ Ἰησοῦ).  

As I have argued throughout, in the case of Paul, consolation is divine in source; God in Christ  

through the pneuma forms the basis of Paul’s consolatory system in physical, logical, and  

ethical terms. Present consolation is often necessary because of grievous opposition from  

⁸³ I would not go as far as arguing that Paul is sectarian. For a view that ventures in this direction, see Christopher  

D. Stanley, ‘Paul the Cosmopolitan?’, NTS 66.1 (2020): 144–163.  

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Philippians contains one other reference to being in Christ within a consolatory context: ‘the peace of God  

which surpasses every mind will protect your hearts and your dispositions in Christ Jesus (ἐν Χριστῷ Ἰησοῦ)’  

(Phil 4:7). Within the life and virtues of Paul’s Jewish messiah, there is peace and consolation in destabilising  

circumstances for the Philippians.  

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earthly and cosmic powers, as is the case in Philippi, and in different forms elsewhere in  

Thessalonica and Corinth. Without divine consolation from God, the consolatory network  

ceases to function. Yet once the network begins to operate and grief begins to be replaced with  

joy, present consolation is no longer the τέλος: Paul transitions to preparing the believers for  

the day of the Lord by directing them towards ethical and pneumatic transformation ahead of  

the eschaton. Consequently, paraenesis and exhortation emanate from consolation.  

It is precisely this pattern we see at the start of Phil 2: from all these characteristics  

which are rooted in divine consolation (παράκλησις), Paul issues his exhortation to the  

community in Philippi. By grasping divine consolation, the community will become more fully  

in the hands of Christ which will lead to closer divine and human partnerships, as Eastman  

explains:⁸⁵  

There is a sense in which ‘in Christ’, human beings belong to one another and constitute  

one another’s well-being at a foundational level, a level that also is coconstituted  

through the Spirit of God dwelling in the midst of the community of faith.⁸⁶  

The first part of Eastman’s explanation about human community is well said and applies  

directly here: by making a conscious decision, moved by the consoling and comforting love of  

God, to foster collective φρόνησις, the Philippians will contribute to what we might call Paul’s  

‘well-being’. I would, however, also want to allow for a possible material understanding⁸⁷ of  

pneuma that Eastman’s language of ‘the Spirit of God’ in the second part conceals. For Paul,  

this divine pneuma of Christ establishes the partnership between himself and the community  

of believers, which forms the basis of their mutual consolation. Engberg-Pedersen is right to  

see a final phase of accommodation (oikeiosis) in his comparative model between Paul and the  

Stoics (including Seneca). This only comes, however, after the pneuma or spiritus has taken  

over and resides in the subject and is paraenetic in character. Before this point is reached, there  

is a prior form of παράκλησις: namely, the consolation that comes from being in Christ.⁸⁸  

Phil 2:1–5, therefore, represents Paul’s consolatory narrative in nuce: consolation is  

divine in origin, but when apprehended by the community of believers, through the partnership  

of the pneuma of God in Christ, they are firstly consoled and then through paraenesis, exhorted  

⁸⁵ Primarily with reference to Rom 8:9, but which can be extended to Phil 2.  

⁸⁶ Eastman, Paul and the Person, 81.  

⁸⁷ See Engberg-Pedersen, Cosmology, 41–43; Thiessen, Gentile Problem, 149.  

⁸⁸ Pace, Engberg-Pedersen, Cosmology, 43, that Phil 2:1 represents exclusively Paul’s exhortation (paraenesis).  

215  

towards communal phronesis, based on the consolatory example of Christ himself (Phil 2:5–  

11).  

For Paul, consolation comes from God in Christ. We have seen throughout that  

Seneca’s narrative of consolation is principally derived from becoming like god through  

contemplation of the cosmos and ethical living according to divine nature. He almost never  

ascribes consolation to a divine figure as Paul does with Christ. The only possible exception is  

the persona of ‘Caesar’ in the Ad Polybium since this quasi-divine figure distributes  

consolation. Seneca exhorts Polybius not to grieve on account of his proximity to Caesar:  

‘while Caesar occupies the universe, you cannot partake of pleasure or pain (Caesare orbem  

terrarum possidente impertire te nec voluptati nec dolori)’ (Polyb. 7.3). Similarly, later he  

writes: ‘while that man [Caesar] presides (praesidente) over human affairs, there is no danger  

that you may feel that you have lost anything; in this one man (in hoc uno), there is sufficient  

protection and consolation (solaci) for you’ (12.3).  

As Liz Gloyn showed, Caesar ought not to be primarily identified with the emperor  

Claudius; Caesar functions as a synecdoche for Stoic reason, ordering the cosmos. In ‘Caesar’,  

there is consolation. The Stoic tradition allows Seneca to be both philosopher and politician.  

There is, of course, a personal edge to this consolation in which Seneca seeks to be recalled.  

By being recalled, Seneca’s wish is to ‘be able to be free for consoling others (alienae vacare  

consolationi)’ (18.9), by directing them towards divine reason. Although the messianic element  

is lacking, consolation is a divinely rational, guiding principle throughout his discourse that he  

tries to mediate to his consolands through physical, logical, and ethical arguments. While he  

uses many human exempla – including the Caesars – in his system to exhort his consolands to  

reintegrate themselves into a virtuous society, these exempla are rarely the source of  

consolation. Conversely, Jesus Christ – in whom the faithful dead in Thessalonica, Paul and  

his apostolic team, the reconciled Corinthians, and Paul’s struggling friends in Philippi are all  

securely located – is both source and paradigm of consolation which is a fundamental  

difference and marks a distinctive Pauline contribution to the ancient consolation tradition. I  

have endeavoured to show that this is seen most fully via extended comparison with Seneca’s  

consolatory narrative.  

Conclusion  

The quotation at the head of this chapter imagines how the Roman rhetorical theorist Quintilian  

might have consoled himself for any failure in reproducing the literary talent (ingenium) of the  

great Greek rhetor Demosthenes: by recognising that his own ingenium was simply different.  

216  

Even if Quintilian could not imitate – let alone emulate – Demosthenes, Burrow recognises  

that by virtue of possessing a different ingenium, Quintilian or indeed any artist ‘establishes an  

independent body’ that ‘being posterior, coming afterwards in the race, has difference as its  

rich consolation prize’.⁸⁹  

The relationship between Paul and Seneca was admittedly not like that between  

Quintilian and Demosthenes; there was no imitative element since they almost certainly wrote  

independently of one another as near contemporaries. Nevertheless, both Paul and Seneca had  

different outlooks and different ingenia as ancient writers who, by engaging in the practice of  

consolation, found themselves in a shared ancient philosophical and rhetorical tradition that  

arguably predated Demosthenes. In this chapter, I have hosted a dialogue between the pair by  

comparing their consolatory narratives under the Stoic tripartite system of physics, logic, and  

ethics, with an eye to establishing degrees of similarity and difference.  

In terms of physics, there were several areas of overlap: the suffering or decaying body  

as a site of present consolation; cosmological similarities based on divine spiritus or pneuma,  

including stars; becoming like the divine as present earthly circumstances are transcended.⁹⁰  

Both appeal to ratio or λόγος as they seek to move their consolands, but being a practical  

undertaking, they place greater emphasis on narrating the stories of exemplary figures to  

console and exhort different individuals and communities. This often involved an ethical appeal  

to emotions. Both inculcate movements from grief to joy; although neither wholly disallows or  

disavows initial feelings of grief: tears can be eupathically justified. In contexts where suffering  

becomes an adiaphoron, they each seek to lead their consolands away from vices and passions  

and towards virtue: while both are proficientes rather than sages as their moments of  

vulnerability show, they are more advanced in virtue or conformity to Jesus than their  

addressees. Although the Stoics were preoccupied with the self, my comparison has highlighted  

the necessary social aspect of consolation within communities; neither Seneca nor Paul  

believed in a freestanding self when it came to consoling.⁹¹  

⁸⁹ Burrow, Imitating Authors, 97.  

⁹⁰ While Seneca also borrows from other philosophical traditions, including Platonism and the Peripatetics, Paul  

more liberally joins Stoic and Platonic notions, as Stowers explains: ‘He likely adopted teachings about Stoic  

pneuma and Platonic assimilation to God because he thought they were true and helpful explanations of what his  

project was about’ (‘Dilemma of Paul’s Physics’, 252).  

91  

Eastman, Paul and the Person, 61, is insightful on the first-person aspect of Epictetus; in his monist system,  

‘there is no genuine “other” in a cosmos in which everything is a part of the whole’; see also Jew, Paul’s Emotional  

Regime, 131–133, for a contrast between Paul and Epictetus in terms of self-sufficiency in consoling. One of the  

chief findings of this chapter, however, is that Paul and Seneca cannot be distinguished as easily on the self –  

although this could be attributed to Seneca’s idiosyncratic form of Stoicism, particularly when pertaining to  

consolation.  

217  

There are, then, some meaningful areas of similarity which go deeper than surface level  

resonances. Yet there are some contrasting elements within these narratives. The final section  

on ethics which compared Paul and Seneca on death, memory, and time confirmed many of  

these differences which had been adumbrated in earlier sections. In the sections on the body  

and cosmology, Seneca’s consolation depended on a universal conflagration leading to the  

renewal of the cosmos whereas Paul, in keeping with his Jewish apocalyptic outlook, described  

eschatological future transformation at the parousia of the messiah. While notions of the day  

suffuse Seneca’s later consolatory discourse, Paul’s is undergirded throughout by a focus on  

the day of the Lord. The future transformation of the believer in body and soul is an integral  

part of Paul’s consolatory strategy which forms the basis of exhortation. Like Seneca, Paul  

reflects on death, but he believes in life and resurrection. Although there is a partial consolatory  

network in Seneca, Paul’s is more developed through the agency of his deity. The possibility  

of grief in accordance with God (2 Cor 7:10–11) and the place of God as the primary agent of  

the network of emotional currency between Paul and the assemblies (e.g., 2 Cor 1:3–7; Phil  

4:13, 17–19) amount to significant differences.  

For Paul and Seneca, consolation is both a divine and human matter, but their different  

conceptions of the world and ingenia lead to different systems. Paul’s underlying consolatory  

narrative of being ἐν Χριστῷ illustrates this difference. Paul consoles himself and the  

predominantly gentile communities whom he addresses with the guiding principle that  

consolation comes from being in the hands of Israel’s messiah. Paul consistently consoles  

gentiles with visions of how, by suffering, they participate in a new and different association  

defined by the life of the messiah, who is the source and paradigm of consolation. For Paul’s  

addressees, in line with previous generations of Jews who awaited the messiah, difference can  

be consoling.  

Nevertheless, around this narrative, Paul employs consolatory tropes from wider  

ancient philosophical discourses in which Seneca also participated. Although it was a highly  

distinctive contribution to the ancient consolation tradition, Paul’s narrative was not  

incommensurable with narratives propounded by its other contributors, including Seneca. Even  

if Seneca did not find consolation in Christ, he sought it in nature, cosmology, and even  

‘Caesar’ – all of which he held, in some way, to be divine.  

218  

Conclusion: Paul and Seneca within the Ancient Consolation Tradition  

‘Voilà, mes frères, l’immense consolation que je voulais vous apporter pour que ce ne soient  

pas seulement des paroles qui châtient que vous emportiez d’ici, mais aussi un verbe qui  

apaise’.¹  

‘So there, my brothers and sisters, is the great consolation that I wanted to bring to you: that  

you may not only have to take away punishing words from here, but also a soothing discourse’.  

In Albert Camus’ novel La Peste, as the plague takes its hold on the Algerian town of Oran,  

people become increasingly desperate and turn to religion. One day, in front of an unusually  

packed congregation, local Jesuit priest Father Paneloux delivers a sermon whose central  

message is that the plague represents God’s judgement for the people’s failure to acknowledge  

him. The narrator’s disapproval for Paneloux’s address is conveyed through derogatory  

remarks about the priest’s appearance and the inclement weather conditions. After his extended  

opening salvo, however, Paneloux’s sermon takes a gentler turn: ‘I want to bring you to the  

truth and teach you to rejoice (vous apprendre à vous réjouir), despite all I have said’. Paneloux  

gives the example of some Christians in Abyssinia who were so eager to attain salvation faced  

with a plague that they wrapped themselves in contaminated bedsheets to hasten their deaths.  

Although Paneloux criticises their actions, he commends their apprehension of ‘that exquisite  

light of eternity that lies beneath all suffering (cette lueur exquise d’éternité qui gît au fond de  

toute souffrance)’, which Paneloux sees as evidence of the divine benevolence that transforms  

evil into good. Paneloux concludes this portion of the sermon with a word of consolation, as  

quoted at the head of the chapter. As Paneloux moves from punishing words (des paroles qui  

châtient) to a soothing discourse (un verbe qui apaise), the rain stops, and the sermon is largely  

complete.  

Although separated from Camus’ conception of Paneloux by nearly two millennia, Paul  

and Seneca were antecedents for figures like Paneloux. Throughout this thesis, I have  

contended that they were popular philosophers to whom people turned for consolation in times  

of difficulty. By doing so, they contributed to an ancient tradition of consolation that was  

common currency across the Mediterranean but also dispensed differently according to a  

variety of factors. While we cannot be sure how their consolatory discourses were received at  

¹ Albert Camus, La Peste (Paris: Gallimard, 1947), 81.  

219  

 

the time, the pair have enjoyed significant afterlives that influence Christian, Stoic, and other  

communities today. Having listened to their narratives and compared them, I now summarise  

the main findings of the thesis and articulate its key contributions.  

Chapter-by-chapter Summary  

Chapter 1 offered an initial conceptualisation of consolation in antiquity. While consolation  

today might be usefully equated with sympathy, it has not preserved the polyvalency it had in  

antiquity; for instance, our idiom, ‘consolation prize’, refers to little more than partial  

compensation for a loss. Through some definitions from ancient rhetorical and epistolary  

handbooks, however, we saw that consolation combined notions of sympathy and  

strengthening, or comforting, through exhortation. This allowed us to widen the semantic field  

of consolation beyond modern sympathy to ancient active management of adversity.  

We then considered some of the key actors in this ancient consolation tradition, focusing  

predominantly on literary sources from members of the elite, but also with an awareness that  

no social class was spared hardship, as countless inscriptions and papyri show. With the  

contexts of Seneca and Paul in mind, we surveyed consolatory material from Graeco-Roman  

writers of epic, tragedy, philosophy, and history, as well as ancient Jewish writers who  

employed consolatory tropes in the Hebrew Bible and more broadly in the Second Temple  

period. From this survey, I argued that consolation is too variegated to be constrained by  

notions of genre. Instead, I defended the usefulness of conceiving of an ancient consolation  

tradition deployed in various modes.  

In chapter 2, we introduced and justified the comparative aspect of this study. We  

hypothesised that to understand Paul’s consolatory discourse, it would be expedient to compare  

him to someone who also participated in the ancient consolation tradition, and that the Roman  

philosopher, Seneca the Younger, was the best candidate. We reflected on the issues  

concomitant with the comparative endeavour, but nevertheless reasoned that by comparing  

Seneca, then Paul, on a defined tertium quid, consolation, and acknowledging degrees of  

similarity and difference, a mutually penetrating comparison would result. The comparison was  

configured to cover as much ground as possible across Seneca’s and Paul’s careers as consolers  

through exegetical analysis of their writings which focused on consolation. By following the  

trajectory of each major text, we would grasp the pair’s respective consolatory discourses, and  

from them, wider narratives that could be meaningfully compared.  

220  

In chapters 3 and 4, we explored Seneca’s career of consolation amid his varied fortunes.  

In chapter 3, we looked at Seneca’s three earlier designated pieces on consolation to Marcia,  

Helvia, and Polybius. These three pieces showed the adaptability of consolation in antiquity,  

yet nevertheless displayed a coherent Stoic core. The Ad Marciam was particularly remarkable  

for its female exempla and vision of the conflagration, while the Ad Helviam and Ad Polybium  

were interesting case studies of persuasion and handling emotions from exile. In chapter 4, we  

considered Seneca’s later career writings when he had been ejected from Nero’s imperial court  

that treated consolation: particularly Natural Questions book 6 and the Epistles. While there  

was a continued connection with the Stoic tripartite system of physics, logic, and ethics, which  

unified Seneca’s discourse and narrative, there was a discernible shift away from political  

circumstances to daily meditatio mortis, as his own death (exitus) approached.  

Furnished with a clearer idea of how consolation was such a significant guiding principle  

for Seneca, we moved on to consider Paul’s roughly contemporaneous consolatory career. In  

Chapter 5, we looked at 1 Thessalonians, where Paul most obviously engages in consolation in  

view of the deaths of certain Christ-believers in the assembly. This key section, 1 Thess 4:13–  

18, was shown to form a consolatory parousia narrative which combined Jewish apocalyptic  

motifs with wider Graeco-Roman understandings of association and consolation. Consolation  

appears in other modes throughout the letter: his defensive παράκλησις to the Thessalonians in  

1 Thess 2:1–12; Timothy’s report from Thessalonica to a dislocated Paul in Athens (1 Thess  

3:1–13); and in the communal directives designed to tackle the group’s disparate emotional  

states (1 Thess 5:14). While much of the letter – especially 1 Thess 4–5 – is paraenetic,  

consolation for grief is a necessary precursor to exhortation ahead of the eschaton.  

Chapter 6 examined the trickier circumstances of Paul’s conflict with the assemblies in  

Corinth, particularly in 2 Corinthians, where there was grief on both sides. While many scholars  

focus on reconciliation in 2 Corinthians, this is preceded by consolation, particularly in his  

ekphrasis (2 Cor 2:14–7:4), which I argued was an integral part of an unpartitioned 2 Cor 1–7.  

2 Corinthians illustrates how consolation is a divine and human activity: while Paul’s deity is  

the source of consolation, consolation is mediated through human agents, notably Titus (2 Cor  

7:6–16). As in 1 Thessalonians, consolation is a prerequisite for exhortation: the Corinthians  

are only exhorted to contribute financially once they have been consoled and reconciled to Paul  

(2 Cor 8 and 9). 2 Cor 10–13 also functions as two-way consolation in the face of sophistic  

opponents. Paul’s heavenly ascent narrative has marked consolatory aspects and is  

paradigmatic for the faithful Corinthians in affliction.  

221  

Chapter 7 explored the letter to the Philippians: a probable later, if not final, stage of the  

apostle’s consolatory career. While consolation is a vital component of the letter, there are also  

important aspects of exemplarity and moral progress, which prevent us from classifying  

Philippians wholly as a letter of consolation. Nevertheless, Paul writes to console the  

Philippians. As with 1 Thessalonians, the letter is philophronetic; while there are still aspects  

of the Philippians’ unity and their emotional disposition which can be developed, they are not  

censured, but consoled in the face of opposition in Philippi. Paul also faces grievous earthly  

and cosmic opposition; here, those disastrously advocating for gentile circumcision cause him  

most grief. Therefore, in Philippians, there is shared grief which the collective consolation of  

heavenly πολίτευμα alleviates in the present, ahead of bodily transformation through the  

pneuma of Christ. Around this narrative, Paul provides consolatory exempla for imitation –  

Timothy, Epaphroditus, his own, and most emphatically, Christ’s – towards which he directs  

the Philippians in his valedictory consolation.  

Finally, in chapter 8, after considering the consolatory careers of Seneca and Paul  

separately, I brought together their discourses and narratives in a summative comparison. We  

justified the enterprise of using the Stoic tripartite scheme of physics, ethics, and logic to  

categorise aspects of both Seneca’s and Paul’s consolatory practices. On the one hand, we  

found similarities between Paul and Seneca that went deeper than surface-level resonances:  

particularly concerning their cosmology; their use of exempla; and their overall strategy of  

developing eupathic joy in the face of their addressees’ grief. On the other hand, we found  

significant differences on account of their understandings of death and time. This was well  

illustrated by Seneca’s understanding of the day to be lived now, as opposed to Paul’s  

apocalyptic outlook of a day of the Lord: the parousia of Christ. To understand this difference,  

we appealed to Paul’s idiom of ἐν Χριστῷ and showed how it could be connected to  

consolation: for Paul’s predominantly gentile addressees, consolation derives from being in  

Israel’s messiah, although around this profoundly Jewish narrative, he employs broader  

Graeco-Roman cultural and philosophical notions.  

Chief Contributions of the Study  

Through this detailed comparative study on consolation in Paul and Seneca, I hope to have  

contributed some fresh insights to the fields of New Testament and Classics. Here, I note what  

I consider to be four of its principal contributions.  

Firstly, comparing Paul and Seneca’s conceptions of consolation has highlighted the  

adaptability of this ancient practice. Given the diversity of approaches possible depending on  

222  

the consoler and consoland’s circumstances, approaching consolation in terms of genre is too  

narrow, even if there were certain expectations. It is preferable to think about consolation as a  

tradition and mode in which ancient thinkers could participate with different emphases. While  

Seneca has more readily been viewed within this ancient tradition on account of his designated  

consolations, Paul has seldom been viewed as a consoler in the same way. This thesis has  

shown that both Seneca and Paul made significant contributions to a tradition of consolation in  

antiquity. Seneca provides a fascinating case study of how a predominantly Stoic consolatory  

narrative could be adapted and applied to life in imperial Rome. In Paul’s case, as a diaspora  

Jew writing to gentiles, he shows how consolatory notions from both Jewish and pagan sources  

can also be adapted and applied following the death and resurrection of Christ, while awaiting  

his parousia, thus cutting across the artificial Judaism/Hellenism divide.  

Secondly, our comparison has highlighted that for Paul and, to some extent, Seneca,  

consolation is bestowed by the divine but mediated through human networks. For Seneca,  

nature and the universe are constituted by divine matter which provides its structure, according  

to which he directs his consolands to live in Stoic fashion. This cosmic structure is generally  

good and coherent; but when there are fissures which cause events like the earthquake in  

Campania, exiles, ill-health, and death, the overall order is still held together sympathetically  

by divine spiritus. Nevertheless, among true Stoic proficientes, there is a philosophical  

community that can offer and mediate consolation. For Paul, God is manifestly the source of  

consolation amid grief and suffering and forms the head of the consolatory network. On a  

cosmic scale, God through Christ – both divine and human – reconciles the cosmos to himself.  

In Paul’s epistolary career, he highlights God’s ability to console the destitute and this takes  

place through orchestrating the presence of individuals, like Timothy, Titus, and Epaphroditus.  

An elaborate consolatory network is formed involving divine and human agents, with the  

exemplary Christ at its centre.  

Thirdly, while consolation is a communal activity, both Paul and Seneca shed light on how  

consolations can be directed towards the ‘self’; some key sections of their writings function as  

auto-consolations. Apart from Cicero’s lost Consolatio ad se, this is virtually unprecedented in  

the ancient consolatory tradition; Seneca and Paul both innovate here. A corollary of this  

increased self-reflexivity is that both disclose their grief and other emotions more than their  

literary antecedents – and indeed many successors – as part of the consoling process. As Seneca  

quips from his metaphorical deathbed in Corsica, a consoler cannot console without being  

consoled. Distanced from his assemblies in each letter we have studied, Paul would agree.  

Although they derive their own consolation from different divine and human sources, the  

223  

consolatory narratives of Paul and Seneca are frequently directed not only to their consolands,  

but also to themselves. Their writings are, in part, therapeutic exercises.  

Fourthly, my comparison has produced a more nuanced understanding of how consolation  

can be understood in relation to exhortation. Seneca programmatically states that consolation  

and exhortation are precepts that can be used in tandem; his consolatory narratives reflect this:  

he happily toggles between the two modes. The character of so-called Pauline paraenesis is a  

more fraught issue. Significantly, Paul never uses the term, but he frequently speaks in terms  

of παράκλησις: whether an appeal, exhortation, or consolation. By focusing on the consolatory  

element of παράκλησις, we have approached the debate from a different angle. While Paul can  

combine modes of consolation and exhortation, we have seen that more often, consolation  

precedes exhortation. He cannot exhort the assemblies while there is still underlying grief in  

Thessalonica, Corinth, or Philippi. Accordingly, consolation and other emotional concerns are  

key components of his gospel about Jesus Christ.  

Coda  

This thesis has travelled far and wide across Paul’s letters and Seneca’s writings and has found  

that consolation was an important facet of their careers that has been insufficiently recognised  

in scholarship. In closing, however, I find myself consoled by Seneca’s conclusion to his  

trickiest literary consolation to Polybius with the following apology: ‘I have written these  

things, as best I could’ (Haec, utcumque potui … composui)’ (Polyb. 18.9).  

I have tried my best to conduct a meaningful comparison between Paul and Seneca, but  

I realise that there are hazards in the enterprise. Listening to and befriending Seneca’s Stoic  

narrative, as someone who does not identify as a Stoic, has come less naturally than reading  

Paul’s narrative, with which I more readily identify as a Christian.² I do not consider myself,  

however, to have apprehended either in full. I am aware that others will reach different  

judgements based on their perceptions of Paul and Seneca. In comparative projects, one’s own  

narrative and experiences – including one’s own experiences of suffering or exile, however  

literal or figurative – shape one’s hermeneutics.³ There is room for perspectives from modern  

philosophical, theological, feminist, and other angles on consolation in Paul and Seneca that I  

invite others to bring in the light of their own interests and experiences.  

² Here, I share Rowe’s perspective on studying Seneca’s Stoicism being like learning a second first language (One  

True Life, 201), although I have endeavoured not to ‘reason Christianly’ (204) about Seneca, but to understand  

him within his own tradition.  

³ As most famously recognised by Hans-Georg Gadamer with his notion of ‘historically effected consciousness’.  

224  

My comparative analysis of Paul and Seneca is a full effort, but it is admittedly a  

provisional one.⁴ Yet this is the joy of comparison: different angles on account of different  

ingenia never cease to be informative and consoling. While we inhabit this cosmos, consolation  

remains a necessary practice; Paul and Seneca knew that just as well as us. Even if Seneca may  

not have been consoled by Paul’s narrative of ‘conversation in heaven’ (Phil 3:20, KJV)  

ushered in by a vice-regent, Jesus Christ, I believe that, had they met, they would have enjoyed  

an even fuller conversation than the one imagined three centuries later in the apocryphal  

correspondence. I see no reason why we should not continue to host comparative conversations  

between Paul, Seneca, and other thinkers – ancient and modern – who engage in this practice  

and tradition of consolation, through different modes, discourses, and ultimately, narratives.  

4

See John M. G. Barclay, ‘“O wad some Pow’r the giftie gie us, To see oursels as others see us!”: Method and  

Purpose in Comparing the New Testament’, in idem and White, New Testament in Comparison, 22: ‘Like the  

historian, the comparativist submits to a lifelong sentence of provisionality, knowing that today’s fresh angles of  

vision will tomorrow be revised, and possibly ridiculed’.  

225  

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