A Question of Death: Paul’s Community Building Language in 1 Thessalonians 4:13-18 (2004)

This article was published in JBL 123/3 (2004) 509–530, copyright © 2004 by the Society of Biblical Literature. Topurchase copies of this issue or to subscribe to JBL, please contact SBL Customer Service by phone at 877-725-3334[toll-free in North America] or 802-864-6185, by fax at 802-864-7626, or visit the online SBL Store at www.sbl-site.org.

JBL 123/3 (2004) 509–530

A QUESTION OF DEATH:PAUL’S COMMUNITY-BUILDING LANGUAGE

IN 1 THESSALONIANS 4:13–18

RICHARD S. [email protected]

Queen’s University, Kingston, ON K7L 3N6 Canada

In ancient voluntary associations, death, burial, and memorial figuredprominently in the collective lives of their members.1 In light of this promi-nence, it is interesting to note, with Jonathan Z. Smith, that questions concern-ing the status of dead members of the community trigger Paul’s most extensiveand earliest discussions of the resurrection of the dead (1 Thessalonians and1 Corinthians).2 In an attempt to explore further in this article the nature of theChristian community at Thessalonica, I examine here the social context ofPaul’s eschatological description in 1 Thess 4:13–18. Paul’s comments to thiscommunity and the social practices that are lurking behind his words arebrought into contact with the larger database of group discourses and practicespertaining to the dead as found among voluntary associations. In particular, Iwill develop Burton Mack’s suggestion that the Thessalonians’ question to Paulconcerning dead members was a question not about personal salvation butabout belonging.3

An earlier version of this paper was presented at the Ancient Myths and Modern Theories ofChristian Origins Seminar at the annual meeting of the Society of Biblical Literature, Denver,Colorado, November 19, 2001. I am grateful to the members of the seminar for the stimulating andhelpful discussion around this paper. Part of the research for this paper was supported by fundsfrom Queen’s University and from the Social Sciences and Humanities Research Council ofCanada.

1 Ancient voluntary associations were not formed solely for the purpose of burial of theirmembers; see John S. Kloppenborg, “Collegia and Thiasoi: Issues in Function, Taxonomy andMembership,” in Voluntary Associations in the Graeco-Roman World (ed. John S. Kloppenborgand Stephen G. Wilson; London/New York: Routledge, 1996), 20–23.

2 Jonathan Z. Smith, Drudgery Divine: On the Comparison of Early Christianities and theReligions of Late Antiquity (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1990), 131 n. 33.

3 Burton L. Mack, Who Wrote the New Testament? The Making of the Christian Myth (SanFrancisco: Harper, 1995), 110.

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Voluntary associations are well attested in Macedonia, and the city ofThessalonica provides the richest evidence of them, with at least twenty-sixGreek inscriptions dating from the first to the third century C.E. showing adiversity of associations and deities worshiped. The best-attested groups arethat of Dionysos and a number of professional associations, although there isalso evidence for other types of associations.4 Epigraphic and papyrological evi-dence suggests that within associations death was not simply a matter of “notliving,” nor was the primary concern about death the personal salvation of theindividual. Death was inevitable but provided the opportunity for communitydefinition. One did not cease to be a member of an association at death; rather,death was the point at which the association celebrated a person’s membership.From among the many members, the deceased individual would be isolatedand celebrated as a member of the community. We will explore the nature ofthe issue that Paul responds to in 1 Thess 4:13–18 in light of the pervasivenessof death in the community-building discourse of the living members of associa-tions.5

I. Burial in Associations

In antiquity many people were members of one or more voluntary associa-tions. Ramsay MacMullen estimates that one-third of the inhabitants of Romein the second century C.E. were members of associations.6 This figure is likelyreflected across the empire at that time, perhaps only slightly less at an earliertime. Modern scholarship usually identifies three broad categories of associa-tions: religious associations, professional associations, and funerary associa-tions.7 The funerary associations (or collegia tenuiorum/funeraticia) wereorganized to ensure the proper burial of their deceased members. Memberspaid entrance fees or regular dues, or both, that were used for the burial of

Journal of Biblical Literature510


4 See Richard S. Ascough, “Voluntary Associations and Community Formation: Paul’s Mace-donian Christian Communities in Context” (Ph.D. diss., University of St. Michael’s College,Toronto School of Theology, 1997), 297–307. Appendix I of the dissertation includes the texts andtranslations of seventy-five Macedonian inscriptions that are associated with voluntary associations.

5 I have argued elsewhere that the Thessalonian community was construed as a professionalvoluntary association; see Richard S. Ascough, “The Thessalonian Christian Community as a Pro-fessional Voluntary Association,” JBL 119 (2000): 311–28; also idem, Paul’s Macedonian Associa-tions: The Social Context of Philippians and 1 Thessalonians (WUNT 2/161; Tübingen: Mohr-Siebeck, 2003), 162–90.

6 Ramsay MacMullen, Enemies of the Roman Order: Treason, Unrest, and Alienation in theEmpire (New York/London: Routledge, 1966), 174.

7 Richard S. Ascough, “Associations, Voluntary,” Eerdmans’ Dictionary of the Bible (ed.David Noel Freedman; Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2000), 117–18.

members. However, associations formed solely for the burial of members didnot exist until the second century C.E. (from the time of Hadrian and beyond).8Even at that time they were a “legal fiction,” a way of gaining legal recognitionto meet as a group while another purpose (usually social) was the primary inter-est of the group.

The frequent mention of associations in burial contexts indicates that asso-ciations formed for professional or religious reasons also handled the burial oftheir own members. In some cases, nonmembers commissioned an associationto carry out certain rites at their tomb, although this was not the principalraison d’être of the association. Nevertheless, the extent to which many associa-tions were involved in activities around death is striking:

About one-third of the total epigraphic production of Roman associations inthe eastern provinces records funerary activities of some sort, some inscrip-tions commemorating the burial of a collegium member by the association,while others mention collegia in recording the funerary arrangements of(wealthy) outsiders. It has been estimated that about one fifth of all knownItalian associations were directly involved in the funerals of their members.9

The activities of associations involved in the burial of their members oftenincluded setting up inscriptions in memory of their deceased.10 In this regard,Macedonia is similar to places elsewhere in the empire: for example, the pro-fessional association of donkey-drivers from Beroea set up a memorial to one ofits members,11 as did the associates of Poseidonios (set up in conjunction withthe deceased’s wife and son).12 Purple-dyers in Thessalonica commemorated

Ascough: A Question of Death 511


8 Kloppenborg, “Collegia and Thiasoi,” 20–22. Cf. Erich G. L. Ziebarth (Das griechischeVereinswesen [Stuttgart: S. Hirzel, 1896; repr., Wiesbaden: Martin Sändig, 1969], 17) and FranzPoland (Geschichte des griechischen Vereinswesens [Leipzig: Teubner, 1909; repr., Leipzig:Zentral-Antiquariat der DDR, 1967], 56, 503–4), both of whom point out the lack of evidence forthe existence of associations devoted exclusively to the burial of members Also see Peter M. Fraser,Rhodian Funerary Monuments (Oxford: Clarendon, 1977), 58-70; and Kloppenborg, “Collegia andThiasoi,” 22, 29 nn. 41, 42.

9 Onno M. van Nijf, The Civic World of Professional Associations in the Roman East (DutchMonographs on Ancient History and Archaeology 17; Amsterdam: Gieben, 1997), 31.

10 Kloppenborg, “Collegia and Thiasoi,” 21; Stephen G. Wilson, “Voluntary Associations,” inVoluntary Associations in the Graeco-Roman World, ed. Kloppenborg and Wilson, 13. For regula-tions pertaining to the actual rites associated with burial, see Lois sacrées de cités grecques (ed.Franciszek Sokolowski; EFA, Travaux et mémoires 18; Paris: De Boccard, 1955), 77 (Delphi, 4thcent. B.C.E.) and IG XII/5 593 (Ceos, 5th cent. B.C.E.).

11 A. M. Woodward, “Inscriptions from Macedonia,” Annual of the British School at Athens18 (1911–12): 155 no. 22 (n.d.).

12 G. H. R. Horsley, New Documents Illustrating Early Christianity: A Review of the GreekInscriptions and Papyri Published in 1979 (NewDocs 4; North Ryde, Australia: Ancient HistoryDocumentary Research Centre, Macquarie University, 1987) 215 no. 19 (dated to the imperialperiod).

their deceased in a similar manner (IG X/2 291; 2nd cent. C.E.), as did the wor-shipers of Dionysos (IG X/2 503; 132 C.E.), Herakles (IG X/2 288 and 289; both155 C.E.), the Asiani (IG X/2 309 and 480; both 2nd–3rd cent. C.E.),13 and aHero cult (IG X/2 821; 2nd–3rd cent. C.E.). A more elaborate funerary practiceis described in the epigram of a tomb from Amphipolis, where the dances of theBacchants are described in detail.14 Some associations may have been involvedin the actual burial of these members, as was the case with SEG XXXVII 559(Kassandreia, n.d.) and CIG 2000f (Hagios Mamas, 2nd cent. C.E.). The exten-sive evidence for the connections between associations and the deceased inPhilippi (and Macedonia more generally) led Francis W. Beare to concludethat, “[w]hen Paul came to Philippi, he would find ready hearers for a gospel ofresurrection from the dead, and life eternal.”15

Finances were closely connected to the provision of burials and memori-als. Dues collected could be designated for burial.16 In the case of some associ-ations, members could be fined or banished, or both, from the rituals for a settime if they failed to attend the funeral of a member or if they failed to followthe etiquette of the funeral procedures.17

The commitment of an association to the burial of its deceased memberswent beyond informal agreement. In a number of cases inscriptions show thatthe arrangement was formalized and binding, and grievances were subject tothe proceedings of a court of law. For example, an inscription from Lanuviumshows that when the burial of a member took place in a different town, the doc-uments pertaining to the reimbursement of funeral arrangements required theseals of seven Roman citizens (CIL XIV 2112; 136 C.E.). In the case of suicide,the Lanuvium inscription stipulates that the right to burial has been forfeited.

A papyrus from Egypt preserves the following letter from a womanappealing to King Ptolemaios on behalf of her dead brother:



13 Also Emmanuel Voutiras, “Berufs- und Kultverein: Ein DOUMOS in Thessalonike,” ZPE90 (1992): 87–96.

14 W. R. Paton, The Greek Anthology (LCL; Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press;London: Heinemann, 1916–18), 2:264–65.

15 Francis W. Beare, A Commentary on the Epistle to the Philippians (BNTC; London: A. &C. Black, 1959), 9. Beare calls these associations “burial-clubs,” as does Paul Perdrizet, who notesthe large number of funerary associations at Philippi, the first European city in which Christianitytook root (“Inscriptions de Philippes: Les Rosalies,” BCH 24 [1900]: 318). Both cases indicate thatthe associations at Philippi are similar to the Roman collegia funeriticia.

16 See IG II2 1278 (Athens, 277/76 B.C.E.); CIL XIV 2112 (Lanuvium, 136 C.E.); Tituli AsiaeMinoris Supplements III 201(Rough Cilicia, mid-1st cent. C.E.); Livy 2.33.11; Pliny NH 21.10;33.138; Val. Max. 4.4.2; 5.2.3; 5.6.8; Nicholas K. Rauh, The Sacred Bonds of Commerce: Religion,Economy, and Trade Society at Hellenistic Roman Delos (Amsterdam: Gieben, 1993), 273 and n.66.

17 See IG XII/1 155 (Rhodes, 2nd cent. B.C.E.); IG II2 1368 (Athens, 2nd cent. C.E.); IG II2

1275 (Pireus, 3rd–2nd cent. B.C.E.); P.Cairo.Dem. 30605 (Tebtunis, 157/56 B.C.E.), 30606 (Tebtu-nis, 158/57 B.C.E.); P.Mich.Tebt. 243 (Tebtunis, early 1st cent. C.E.), 244 (Tebtunis, 43 C.E.).

I, Krateia, from Alexandrou Nesos, have been wronged by Philip and Diony-sius in the following way. My brother Apolodotos was a fellow member of theassociation with them. . . . When my brother died, not only did they not pro-vide a funeral for him or accompany him to the burial site, in violation of theassociation’s rule, but they did not reimburse me for the expenses for hisfuneral. (P.Enteuxeis 20; 221 B.C.E.)

Written on the papyrus in a different handwriting is this response: “After exam-ining the association’s rule, compel them to make good and if they contest, sendthem to me.” In another instance, a man files a similar complaint on behalf ofhis sister, whose family was not reimbursed for the funeral expenses, eventhough she was a member and a priestess of the association (P.Enteuxeis 21; 218B.C.E.). In each case, despite the deceased’s being a member of an association,the association did not pay for the funeral, which in the eyes of the com-plainant, was a breach of contract.

Another significant connection between associations and funerary prac-tices is evidenced in a number of associations that patrons founded or endowedfor the purpose of commemorating the anniversary of his or her death at thefamily tomb. Often association membership included not only the guarantee ofa decent burial but also the possibility of the annual commemoration of one’sdeath.18 A significant number of association inscriptions indicate funerary prac-tices of some sort, particularly memorials for the deceased. Often an alreadyexisting association was endowed with a bequest of money or property (forexample, vineyards or land), the income of which was to be used for a memorialat the tomb of the deceased. The remainder of the income went to the associa-tion for its own use, probably for social gatherings such as banquets (see IG X/2259; Thessalonica, 1st cent. C.E.). Occasionally an association was formed inorder to keep an annual memorial for the deceased, as was the case with CILIII 656 (Selian, n.d.).

Many of the Macedonian association inscriptions with funerary contextsindicate that the association was involved in a festival known as the rosalia:19

from Philippi and its surrounding area we have CIL III 703, 704, 707 (all n.d.);



18 See Ernest Renan, The Apostles (New York: Carleton, 1866), 285–86.19 On the rosalia, see Paul Perdrizet, “Inscriptions de Philippes,” 299–333; Poland,

Geschichte des griechischen Vereinswesens, 511–13; Paul Collart, Philippes, ville de Macédonia,depuis ses origines jusqu’à la fin de la l’époque romaine (Thèse, Université de Genève 85; Paris:Boccard, 1937), 474–85; A. S. Hoey, “Rosaliae Signorum,” HTR 30 (1937): 22–30; Charles Picardand Charles Avezou, “Le testament de la prêtresse Thessalonicienne,” BCH 38 (1914): 53–62. Thefestival was popular throughout the Roman empire (C. Robert Phillips, “Rosalia or Rosaria,” OCD,3rd ed., 1335). Poland notes that the evidence for associations involved with the rosalia comes pri-marily from Bithynia in Asia Minor and around Thessalonica and Philippi “in Thrace” [sic] (seeGeschichte des griechischen Vereinswesens, 511).

IMakedD 920 (n.d.); Pilhofer 133 (2nd–3rd cent. C.E.), 029/1 (n.d.).20 Manyviciani (associations formed of members of a particular village) participated inthe celebration of the rosalia or parentalia at the tomb of the deceased.21 Therosalia is mentioned in a Thessalonian inscription, IG X/2 260 (3rd cent. C.E.),where a priestess of a qivaso" bequeaths two plethra of grapevines to ensurethat festivities involving rose crowns are conducted.22

Rosalia, or “day of roses,” was also the name of the Italian feast of thedead, in which the rose played a significant role in the funeral cult.23 The rosa-lia had two aspects: the commemoration of the deceased and the joyous cele-bration of the return of spring and summer with an emphasis on banquetingand fun.24 Since there is little evidence that the connection between roses andfunerary practices was indigenous to Macedonia or Thrace before the comingof the Romans, it is probable that when the Italian colonists came to Macedoniathey brought many of their own practices and beliefs with them, including therosalia. Since Macedonia was famous for its roses,25 it is no surprise that Italiansettlers imported the rosalia.26 It seems that “self-commemorators who intro-duced rosalia into their funerary arrangements were thus making a deliberatestatement of (assumed) Roman cultural identity.”27



20 The abbreviation “Pilhofer” refers to Peter Pilhofer, Philippi, Band II, Katalog derInschriften von Philippi (Tübingen: Mohr-Siebeck, 2001).

21 The parentalia occurred for nine days in February (13–21). Temples were closed and mar-riages did not take place. The days were taken up with private celebrations for the family dead. Thefinal day was a public ceremony called the Feralia, in which a household made offerings at thegraves of its deceased members (see further Herbert J. Rose, “Feralia,” OCD, 2nd ed., 434; idem,“Parentalia,” OCD, 2nd ed., 781; Jon Davies, Death, Burial, and Rebirth in the Religions of Antiq-uity [Religion in the First Christian Centuries; London/New York: Routledge, 1999], 145–46). Forbenefaction to ensure that guild members hold a banquet at a tomb of a deceased member on theday of the parentalia, see CIL XI 5047 (Ocriculum, n.d.). An example of the parentalia in Macedo-nia is found in CIL III 656 from Selian (n.d.); see also Collart, Philippes, 474–75 n. 3 no. 7 and pp.479–80.

22 Perdrizet points to a large sarcophagus from Thessalonica (now in the Louvre) on the lid ofwhich a man and wife are shown in repose (“Inscriptions de Philippes,” 323). The wife holds in herhand a crown of roses. See further bibliography in ibid., 323 nn. 1 and 2.

23 The roses symbolized the return of la belle saison, when the earth seems to burst into life.24 Hoey, “Rosaliae Signorum,” 22.25 Charles Edson, “Cults of Thessalonica (Macedonica III),” HTR 41 (1948): 169; Picard and

Avezou, “Testament de la prêtresse,” 53–54. On the making of rose crowns in Macedonia, seeTheophrastus, De Causis Plant. 1.13.11 (Dion); Hist. Plant. 6.6.4 (the region around Philippi); andHerodotus 8.138.1 (below the eastern slopes of the Bermion range).

26 It is interesting to note that, although the Italian rosalia is celebrated, the Thracian Horse-man often decorates the tombstones in Macedonian villages (Perdrizet, “Inscriptions de Philippes,”320), obviously suggesting synchronistic funerary practices; see Pilhofer 029/1 (Philippi, n.d.),IMakedD 920 (Podgora, n.d.), and CIL III 704 (Reussilova, n.d.).

27 Van Nijf, Civic World of Professional Associations, 64.

Foundations set up through the benefaction of an association broughthonor not only to the person memorialized but also to the association: “Collegiaentrusted with tasks which might ideally have gone to such organizations as theboule or the gerousia had to be regarded as trustworthy and respectable organi-zations.”28 This trust represented a claim on the part of the association ofbelonging to the polis and functioned as a means of establishing status in thehierarchical order of the polis, regardless of whether those outside the associa-tion noticed.29 In other words, it was a method of showing where they belongedin the larger social order.

Thus, we see a wide range of practices concerning the dead within associa-tions, from carrying out the funeral of a member or paying the expenses for afamily funeral to setting up epitaphs and maintaining tombs, burial grounds,and columbaria (collective tombs made up of niches for individual urns). Inmany associations a major part of the commitment of the association to itsmembership would include the provision of burial or memorial, or at least acontribution toward the expenses of burial. Members of some associationswere expected to bequeath property to the association.30

II. The Social Implications of Burial within Associations

At this point we need to examine why the burial function of associationswas so pervasive in the Greco-Roman period, particularly from the first centuryC.E. Without doubt, the burial activities of associations were linked to the largersocial context of the time. A number of studies have investigated why associa-tions assumed the tasks of burial and memorial. For the most part, the explana-tion asserts the need of the destitute for an assurance of burial.31 Scholars thenlink the needs of the destitute to the high mortality rates and the populationdistribution in the empire, concluding that many persons died without a surviv-ing family member to perform the requisite burial rites. Thus, they had to relyon an association to perform traditional funerary rites.32



28 Ibid., 66.29 Ibid.30 Rauh, Sacred Bonds, 255, citing CIL 14.2112 and Jean-Pierre Waltzing, Étude historique

sur les corporations professionnelles chez les Romains depuis les origines jusqu’à la chute de l’em-pire d’Occident (Mémoires couronne’s et autres mémoires publiée par l’Académie Royale des Sci-ences, des Lettres et des Beaux-Arts de Belgique 50; Brussels: F. Hayez, 1895–1900), 4:440–44.

31 E.g., Keith Hopkins, Death and Renewal (Sociological Studies in Roman History 2; NewYork/Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1983), 214.

32 For descriptions of these positions, see van Nijf, Civic World of Professional Associations,33. Hopkins describes the problems surrounding the disposal of a large number of bodies everyyear and cites a first-century B.C.E. boundary stone that stipulates “No burning of corpses beyond

While this analysis has some merit, it does not present the full picture.Burial by an association was a “relatively expensive privilege,”33 and theexpense of association dues would have kept the really destitute from joining.The breakdown of family connections is not a satisfactory explanation, becauseassociations in small, relatively stable villages were just as likely to bury mem-bers as those in the city. Thus, Onno M. van Nijf points out, “being buried by acollegium was less a necessity than a conscious choice.”34 There must be otherreasons for the choice to be buried by an association and the emphasis given tothe deceased’s membership in an association.

Van Nijf’s investigation of the social context of association burial practicesis instructive.35 Monuments to the dead were the first things a visitor to Romewould see.36 The presence of burial places around the outskirts of a city, andthe intermingling of these with roads, garden plots, sanctuaries, workshops,and homes, reveals a mixing of the living and the dead. “The city of the deadwas in many ways an extension of the city of the living, and the ‘publicity’ pro-vided by a tomb and its inscription was intended for a wider purpose thanmerely mortuary use; that is, it was intended to have an effect upon the widercommunity of citizens.”37 For this reason, the display of inscriptions, tombs,and monuments became an extension of the “zeal for honor” seen among theliving in the Greco-Roman world. Burial places were the locus for continuedaffirmation of one’s wealth, social status, and identity. Indeed, given the procliv-ity to elaboration, one’s identity, and that of one’s compatriots, might even besomewhat enhanced with one’s death.38 As van Nijf so nicely summarizes,“Elites can use conspicuous consumption in death as a source of symbolic capi-tal,” although the potential for social status “was also recognized by individualslower down the social scale.”39



this marker in the direction of the city. No dumping of ordure or of corpses.” Underneath is writtenin red letters “Take shit further on, if you want to avoid trouble” (CIL VI 31615 [Rome, n.d.]; Deathand Renewal, 210).

33 Van Nijf, Civic World of Professional Associations, 33.34 Ibid.35 The following is summarized from van Nijf, Civic World of Professional Associations,

34–38.36 Hopkins, Death and Renewal, 205. In some Greek cities some heroes and important indi-

viduals were buried in front of public buildings; see Robert Garland, The Greek Way of Death(London: Duckworth, 1985), 88.

37 Van Nijf, Professional Associations, 35; cf. Sandra R. Joshel, Work, Identity, and Legal Sta-tus at Rome: A Study of the Occupational Inscriptions (Norman/London: University of OklahomaPress, 1992), 7–8. Epitaphs also allow the dead to speak to the living from beyond the grave;Davies, Death, Burial, and Rebirth, 153–54.

38 See van Nijf, Civic World of Professional Associations, 35–36; Elizabeth A. Meyer,“Explaining the Epigraphic Habit in the Roman Empire: The Evidence of Epitaphs,” JRS 80(1990): 74–96.

39 Van Nijf, Civic World of Professional Associations, 36–37.

Funerary monuments, including inscriptions, “seem to speak the languageof belonging.”40 Funerary practices reveal a “strategy of social differentiation”insofar as the type and extravagance of one’s memorial reflect one’s status. Theyare also a means of “cultural integration,” since they function as symbols ofone’s place within the larger social context. Mausolea, tombs, and gravestonesare examples of “conspicuous consumption in death,” something “the poorattempted, in relative terms, to imitate through membership of a collegiumfuneraticium.”41 During the imperial period a marked increase in funerary epi-taphs that identified the occupation of the deceased, suggests that

some change in the sense of community which made it more socially accept-able to construct one’s identity primarily in terms of occupation. Indicationsof collegium membership suggest that this was not just a matter for the indi-vidual: it helped to locate the deceased within a wider community of menwho, like him, defined themselves in terms of shared occupation.42

The evidence takes us beyond the individual, allowing us to see that associa-tions could use monuments “to assert a group identity in the face of others.”43

As an illustration of the social sense of belonging that arises through funer-ary practices, van Nijf points to an association inscription from Thessalonica,IG X/2 824 (3rd cent. C.E.), in which there seems to be competition over whoseremains would occupy a particular niche in the association’s columbarium. Theepitaph reads, in part,

For Tyche. I have made this niche in commemoration of my own partner out ofjoint efforts. If one of my brothers dares to open this niche, he shall pay. . . .44

This epitaph suggests a practice in which desirable places within the columbar-ium might be opened in order to replace the remains of the one interred therewith the remains of another. This desire for an honorable place within the asso-ciation even in death suggests that burial practices continued to reinforce thenegotiation for a sense of place within an association, expressed in the honorificpractices and competitions of the living members. It is probable, then, that themore general prohibition among association inscriptions against disturbingtombs may be directed to other association members rather than to outsiders.45



40 Ibid., 38.41 Richard Gordon, Mary Beard, Joyce Reynolds, and Charlotte Roueché, “Roman Inscrip-

tions 1986-90,” JRS 83 (1993): 151.42 Van Nijf, Civic World of Professional Associations, 42.43 Ibid., 49.44 Translation in ibid., 46. I follow van Nijf here in taking ajdelfov" as a reference to a guild

member rather than an actual familial relationship (p. 46 n. 73).45 Ibid., 46. For the more general prohibition, see Tituli Asiae Minoris Supplements III 197

and 201 (both Rough Cilicia, mid-1st cent. C.E.). For the more general regulations around associa-tion responsibility for a tomb and fines for desecration going to an association, see IEphesus 2212

Other studies support the contention that burial and group belonging can-not be separated. In describing the associations, Nicholas Rauh notes that “byproviding opportunities for men with common interests or backgrounds to jointogether in festival and camaraderie, and to share with one another peakmoments of human experience (i.e., births, marriages, festivals, and funerals),they allowed for the development of commonly shared values, friendship, andfamilial bonds essential to the formation of ancient trade.”46 From his analysisof the burial and commemoration practices of voluntary associations onRhodes, Peter M. Fraser notes that the “commemorative reunions at the tombwere certainly not only calculated to keep alive the memory of the departed‘friend’ or ‘brother,’ but also in general to cement the bonds which linked themembers of the koinon to each other.”47

It seems that Philip A. Harland is correct in asserting that “the cultic,social and burial functions of associations were very much interconnected.”48

The role associations played in the burial and memorial of their members can-not be separated from their sense of group identity, nor from the sense of iden-tity that individuals would gain within the group. This connection can be seenin the honors given to a treasurer of an association in Piraeus for, among otherthings, paying for some members’ tombs from his own pocket “so that eventhough they have died they might remain noble” (IG II2 1327; 178/77 B.C.E.).Here a living member of the association is concerned that the deceased mem-bers be properly honored. Doing so, however, reflects not only on his ownhonor but also the honor of the deceased individuals and the overall honor ofthe group of living members (insofar as they take care of their own). Again, vanNijf nicely summarizes the point: “Craftsmen and traders, just like other groupsin society, used funerary epigraphy to make statements about their own identityand about their acquired or desired status in civic life.”49

The concern for group identity links well with numerous studies that havesuggested that the first century C.E. was a time of social disruption. The bur-geoning merchant class and the need of artisans across the empire caused many


518 Journal of Biblical Literature

(silversmiths; mid-1st cent. C.E.); IHierapJ 227 (purple-dyers; Hierapolis, 200–250 C.E.); Pennac-chietti 07 (water mill owners and operators; Hierapolis, n.d.); Pennacchietti 25 (gardeners; Hier-apolis, n.d.).

46 Rauh, Sacred Bonds, 40–41, citing Waltzing, Étude historique sur les corporations profes-sionnelles, 1:322.

47 Fraser, Rhodian Funerary Monuments, 63. This should not overlook the importanceplaced on the desire to have oneself remembered by others; see Davies, Death, Burial, andRenewal, 140.

48 Philip A. Harland, “Claiming a Place in Polis and Empire: The Significance of ImperialCults and Connections among Associations, Synagogues and Christian Groups in Roman Asia (c. 27B.C.E.–138 C.E.)” (Ph.D. diss., Centre for the Study of Religion, University of Toronto, 1999), 66.

49 Van Nijf, Civic World of Professional Associations, 68.

to migrate to new places in order to best employ their skills. It is, to useJonathan Z. Smith’s words, a time of “a new geography.”50 As a result, the usualexpressions and experiences of religion have been detached from their roots indomestic religion, since “the extended family, the home place, as well as theburial place of the honored dead are no longer coextensive topoi.” Smith goeson to suggest that to overcome this situation the domestic religion transmutes.An association becomes the “socially constructed replacement for the family,”which is overlaid with a new myth: a true home is imagined “above” andreplaces the longed-for home “down here.”51 Through such myth making, thereligion of the domestic sphere becomes the religion of any sphere, trans-portable to new locales precisely because a person’s true connection is “onhigh” (cf. Paul’s claim that the Philippians’ politeuma is “in heaven” [Phil 3:20]).Smith states: “Locale, having been dis-placed, is now re-placed.”52

Burial becomes an important aspect of this social construction. For exam-ple, in imperial Rome patrons would often “construct a large tomb complex tohouse the remains not only of their natural families but also of their householdslaves, ex-slaves and their families.”53 John R. Patterson attributes the centralplace of the collegia in the burial practices in imperial Rome to the association’s“humanizing” of the city by providing opportunities for social interaction as “aremedy against the anonymity of life in a city of a million people.”54 More inter-esting for our study is his analysis of the burial of individuals, in which coopera-tion is exhibited between an association and the deceased’s family members.This cooperation was worked out in both financial and social terms:

The clubs therefore provided a double form of insurance. If a member diedwithout leaving a family, he would be buried by the club and saved from theignominy and anonymity of a pauper’s burial. If on the other hand an heir didexist at the time of his death, the club would provide a sum of money for theheir to pay for the funeral (which would otherwise be the first charge on theestate) or perhaps in some cases a niche in the club’s columbarium. The clubsprovided an institution which could in normal circumstances be relied upon



50 Jonathan Z. Smith, “Here, There, and Anywhere,” unpublished keynote address to theconference entitled “Prayer, Magic, and the Stars in the Ancient and Late Antique World,” Univer-sity of Washington, Department of Near Eastern Languages and Civilization (March 3–5, 2000),14.

51 Smith, “Here, There, and Anywhere,” 14–15.52 Ibid., 15; cf. idem, Map Is Not Territory: Studies in the History of Religions (Chicago/Lon-

don: University of Chicago Press, 1978), xii–xv.53 John R. Patterson, “Patronage, Collegia, and Burial in Imperial Rome,” in Death in Towns:

Urban Responses to the Dying and the Dead 100–1600 (ed. S. Bassett; Leicester: Leicester Univer-sity Press, 1992), 18 (emphasis his).

54 Ibid., 22–23.

to provide a cash sum to pay for a funeral without (much) danger of misap-propriation or loss.55

Thus, the associations became an aspect of familial funerary duties within thesocial fabric of the time.56

Certainly voluntary associations are implicated in the social construction offictive kinship. Fictive kin language such as that of “brotherhood” can be foundin associations. For example, a monument from Sinope, Pontus, refers to oiJajdelfoi; eujxavmenoi,57 and another in Tanais refers to itself as ijsopoihtoi;ajdelfoi; sebovmenoi qeo;n u{yiston (“the adopted brothers worshiping god -Hypsistos”).58 Associations in Rome “tended to have a columbarium togetherwith a portico or garden where funeral feasts could be eaten.”59 Such associativepractices replace the more traditional custom of having a family meal. Outsideof Rome, associations often had a field or enclosure that they used as a burialground and a place for the communal meal. Such communal post-funerarymeals served “to reunite all the surviving members of the group with each other,and sometimes also with the deceased, in the same way that a chain which hasbeen broken by the disappearance of one of its links must be rejoined.”60

III. Social Issues behind 1 Thessalonians 4:13–18

We have examined how the burial of association members functioned as ameans of community formation and an affirmation of social belonging. We nowturn our attention to the issue of the dead in 1 Thess 4:13–18. When Paul writesto the Thessalonians, he is aware of at least two questions that are under discus-sion among them: a question of proper conduct for Christians (4:1–12) and aquestion about “those who had died” (4:13). Burton Mack suggests that “theexhortation to a life of holiness was Paul’s answer to the question about properconduct. The apocalyptic instruction was Paul’s answer to the question aboutthose who had died.”61 However, Paul’s answer is more than theological. Allfour units of this section of the body of 1 Thessalonians (4:1–8; 4:9–12; 4:13–18;



55 Ibid., 23.56 Cf. Davies, Death, Burial, and Rebirth, 142.57 G. Doublet, “Inscriptions de Paphlagonie,” BCH 13 (1889): 303–4, no. 7.58 IPontEux II 449–52, 456 (Bosphorus, 3rd cent. C.E.); Harland, “Claiming a Place,” 33. See

further Ascough, “Voluntary Associations and Community Formation,” 324–25; S. Scott Bartchy,“Undermining Ancient Patriarchy: The Apostle Paul’s Vision of a Society of Siblings,” BTB 29(1999): 68–71.

59 Patterson, “Patronage, Collegia, and Burial,” 21.60 A. van Gennep, The Rites of Passage (London: Routledge, 1960), 164, quoted in Garland,

Greek Way of Death, 39.61 Mack, Who Wrote the New Testament, 108.

5:1–11) not only provide the Thessalonians with indications for their life of faithbut serve as opportunities for Paul to prove what he states earlier, that theirfaithfulness in the life of belief will be the source of his honor at Jesus’ parousia(1 Thess 2:19–20). Thus, Paul links questions of faith and belief to his own sta-tus in the community, and he links the translation of that status to somethinggreater at a future, divine event. His concern is a matter not of his credibilitybut of his honor as founder and (spiritual) representative of the community. Atthe same time, Paul uses his eschatological thoughts as the basis for hope,which determines the nature of corporate life for those who worship Jesus. Theapocalyptic instruction is as much a part of community building as is the exhor-tation to a life of holiness.

Paul begins his comments by linking the death of individuals to thebroader community issue of grief. Paul is not simply addressing one or two indi-viduals who are grieving the loss of a loved one. Paul’s use of fictive kinship ter-minology (ajdelfoiv) to appeal to the Thessalonians emphasizes the corporatenature of the issue. Yet Paul is not reiterating preestablished teachings; thisissue is new territory for Paul, and “[w]e can almost see Paul working it out onthe spot, desperately trying to find a way to answer the question about thosewho have died.”62 Some scholars suggest that Paul failed to convey to the Thes-salonians that some of their members might die before the parousia of Jesusand that he must now face that issue in light of the death of some.63 However,“it is unlikely that Paul had failed to encountered [sic] Christians who had expe-rienced the death of fellow believers” during the course of his ministry.64 Thus,another concern must lie behind the question of grieving over dead mem-bers.65 We suggest that it is a concern over belonging in the community.

In his opening remark in 1 Thess 4:13–18 Paul seems to contrast Christianand pagan grief, expressing his hope that the Thessalonians “may not grieve asothers do who have no hope” (4:13). This “grief without hope” is expressed in



62 Ibid., 111.63 Other scholars suggest that “Gnostic interlopers” have infiltrated the community,

although, as Charles A. Wanamaker points out, such suggestions caricature Gnosticism and do notrecognize the absence of anti-Gnostic polemic in the letter (The Epistles to the Thessalonians: ACommentary on the Greek Text [NIGTC; Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1990], 165). At the same time,an alternative suggestion that some of the Thessalonians lost confidence in the parousia “runs upagainst the fact that Paul nowhere in the letter seeks to reassure, let alone prove, that the parousiawould take place” (ibid., 165.) Some scholars suggest that the Thessalonians did not fully under-stand Paul’s view of the parousia and believed it to be only for the living, not the dead.

64 Wanamaker, Thessalonians, 165.65 For a discussion of the various proposals that have been put forth by scholars, see Earl J.

Richard, First and Second Thessalonians (SP 11; Collegeville, MN: Liturgical Press, 1995), 232;Abraham J. Malherbe, The Letter to the Thessalonians: A New Translation with Introduction andCommentary (AB 32B; New York: Doubleday, 2000), 264; Wanamaker, Thessalonians, 164–66.

the many ancient tombstones from across the Roman empire that attest to thenotion that death was simply the cessation of life and that with death there waslittle hope for the future. For example, a Latin inscription from Beneventum,Italy, reads, “If you want to know who I am, the answer is ash and burntembers” (CIL IX 1837; n.d.).66 Another records this statement:

We are nothing.See, reader, how quicklywe mortals returnfrom nothing to nothing. (CIL VI 26003; Rome, n.d.)

There is the more perfunctory, “I didn’t exist, I existed, I don’t exist, I don’tcare” (CIL V 2283; Altinum, n.d.),67 while other inscriptions offer practicaladvice for living:

Friends, who read this, listen to my advice: mix wine, tie the garlands aroundyour head, drink deep. And do not deny pretty girls the sweets of love. Whendeath comes, earth and fire consume everything. (CIL VI 17985a; Rome,n.d.)

However, not all pagans had “no hope.”68 For example, a father expressesgrief for his nine-year-old daughter along with hope of reunion in the afterlife:

The cruel Fates have left me a sad old age. I shall always be searching for you,my darling Asiatica. Sadly shall I often imagine your face to comfort myself.My consolation will be that soon I shall see you, when my own life is done,and my shadow is joined with yours. (CIL XI 3711; Phrygia, time of Severus)

Survival after death is indicated in the many goods that were buried with anindividual, which were intended to make the person’s life after death morepleasant.69 In some cases, pipes were built into the tombs so that food anddrink could be delivered to the dead.70

We see, then, that it would be incorrect simply to assume that in 1 Thess4:13 Paul’s injunction against grieving like those who have no hope is contrast-ing Christians with all non-Christians. Some non-Christians did hold onto ahope for postmortem reunion with loved ones. Mack raises some importantconsiderations for determining the context of the Thessalonians’ questionsaround those who have died. He places these questions into the context of the



66 Translations of these Latin epitaphs are found in Hopkins, Death and Renewal, 227–30.67 Hopkins notes that this is so common that it is sometimes expressed simply by the initials

nf f ns nc (non fui, fui, non sum, non curo) (Death and Renewal, 230).68 For examples of epitaphs that reflect a belief in the future life, see Richmond Lattimore,

Themes in Greek and Latin Epitaphs (Urbana: University of Illinois Press, 1942), 45–74, 208–9.69 Hopkins, Death and Renewal, 229.70 Ibid., 234; Davies, Death, Burial, and Rebirth, 152.

Thessalonians’ joining a new “family,” suggesting that they are struggling withtheir responsibilities toward those who have died. They are wrestling withwhether the dead members of the family are incorporated into the larger familyof God and God’s kingdom. As Mack writes, “they were asking, do our dead stillbelong to us and we to them?”71

Similarly, Earl Richard states, “careful reading of 4:13–18 suggests that itis not the resurrection of the dead which is at issue, but the status of those whodie before the Lord’s return,” particularly “the status of the Christian dead andliving vis-à-vis the returning Lord.”72 Abraham Malherbe likewise locates theunderlying issue of the passage in terms of how living and dead Christianswould each participate in the events marking the end of this world and “howtheir experience would affect their relationship with each other.”73 Mack posessome other important questions including:

What if joining the Christ cult exacerbated the problem instead of solving it?What if joining the Christ cult had inadvertently threatened one’s sense ofbelonging to the ancestral traditions lodged in the local cult of the dead?Could that have been the occasion for the question in Thessalonica aboutthose who had died?

From our earlier investigation of burial practices within associations, otherquestions can be raised, such as, “What if adherence to the Christ-deliverer dis-rupted a pattern of burial practices without offering anything in its stead?” or“What impact did the death of members have on the social cohesion of theThessalonian Christian community?”74

When Paul first began speaking with those living and working in Thessa-lonica, he probably brought them a message that defined death as the “enemy”of the living. We know from 1 Cor 15:21–22 that Paul linked death to the resultof sin, brought into this world through Adam. It is death that will be overcomein the triumphal return of Jesus (1 Cor 15:54–55). Death is the last enemy to bedestroyed (1 Cor 15:26) in the conflagration that is the coming wrath (1 Thess1:10, cf. 4:6; Phil 3:20).75



71 Mack, Who Wrote the New Testament, 110.72 Richard, Thessalonians, 231–32.73 Malherbe, Thessalonians, 275.74 I have argued elsewhere that there is evidence that the Thessalonians’ turning to God from

idols (1 Thess 1:9) was a collective experience (Ascough, “Thessalonian Christian Community,”322–24). If this is the case, the prevailing issue for the Thessalonians is a matter of how an alreadyexisting group would redefine itself through its alliance with this new patron deity named JesusChrist.

75 See Judith L. Hill, “Establishing the Church in Thessalonica” (diss., Duke University,1990), 177: “While it is unlikely that Paul elaborated greatly on eschatology to unbelievers in Thes-salonica, his message to prospective converts did include mention of a coming judgment (1 Thess.1:10; 5:9), a distinct part of apocalyptic writings. The message of impending wrath had to be given

Having accepted Paul’s preaching about deliverance from the comingwrath,76 the Thessalonians may have felt some consternation, even betrayal,that some of their members died before that deliverance arrived. Normally, theliving members of an association would have ensured both a proper burial and apattern of commemoration for the deceased. However, such practices wouldneed no planning in light of the immanent appearance of the deity.77 The Thes-salonians’ question to Paul over the dead members may be linked to a practicethat they thought could be suspended, the practice of burial and memorial.

Paul’s words on this issue indicate that the Thessalonians are not engagingin unacceptable practices (as were the Galatians) or engaging in inner-groupdisputes (as were the Corinthians). Rather, Paul treats the issue as one of igno-rance on the part of the Thessalonians—ouj qevlomen de; uJma'" ajgnoei'n (1 Thess4:13). Their thinking has led to an attitude of grieving (lupevw). Paul links theirthinking to “those who have no hope.” As we have seen, however, the categoryof those without hope does not include all pagans. Many persons in antiquitydid hold out hope for an afterlife for the dead, a hope that was expressed intheir funerary practices.

The context of Paul’s comments in 1 Thess 4:13–18 is Paul’s response to anumber of issues raised by the Thessalonians, including brotherly love (4:9–11)and the timing of Jesus’ return (5:1–11).78 That they are concerned over theirdeceased members and that they may be aligned with the hopeless suggest that,in their former belief system, they did have hope for those who died. Theirthinking has changed as a result of their acceptance of Jesus as their patron deity.



by Paul in order to differentiate his God from others and to prepare the Thessalonians to make acommitment to the true and living God who provided a Deliverer (1 Thess. 1:9–10). Yet among theGentile population Paul did not highlight any aspects of apocalypticism that gave predominance tothe Jews or that might have had offensive overtones.”

76 Abraham J. Malherbe, Paul and the Thessalonians: The Philosophic Tradition of PastoralCare (Philadelphia: Fortress, 1987), 30; John M. G. Barclay, “Thessalonica and Corinth: SocialContrasts in Pauline Christianity,” JSNT 47 (1992): 50; idem, “Conflict in Thessalonica,” CBQ 55(1993): 516; Charles A. Wanamaker, “‘Like a Father Treats His Own Children’: Paul and the Con-version of the Thessalonians,” JTSA 92 (1995): 52.

77 Pushing the historical imagination further, it may be that they have also ceased their prac-tice of collecting regular dues that go into the common chest in order to pay for burial. Indeed, per-haps the funds were even diverted to Paul, since he acknowledges the financial support of theMacedonians (2 Cor 8:1–3), although I think he is specifying the Philippians. Perhaps the grum-bling over his hasty departure with these funds is behind his self-defense in 1 Thess 2:1–12.

78 Paul’s opening peri; dev constructions in 4:9 and 5:1 suggest that Paul is responding to ques-tions posed by the Thessalonians, either in writing or through Timothy, and thus the section inbetween these two verses, 4:13–18, is also a response to the Thessalonians’ questions; see AbrahamJ. Malherbe, “Did the Thessalonians Write to Paul?” in The Conversation Continues: Studies inPaul and John in Honor of J. Louis Martyn, ed. Robert T. Fortna and Beverly Roberts Gaventa(Nashville: Abingdon, 1990), 246–57.

Such a change in thinking would naturally result in a change of practice—in thiscase, a cessation of the usual commemorative rituals. Doing so, however, resultsin a greater feeling of loss for the Thessalonian community members.

Thus, underlying the Thessalonians’ question to Paul seems to be the issueof whether the dead members can still be considered part of the community—clearly an issue of belonging and identity. The Thessalonians’ cessation of theforum of funerary epigraphy and commemoration, resulting from Paul’spreaching, is perceived by them to indicate that any member who dies is nolonger part of the association. For the Thessalonians, the dead no longer havehope for the salvation found in Jesus’ return.

In his response to the Thessalonians’ concern, Paul makes an interestingchoice of words to describe the state of deceased Christians. For Paul, theseChristians have not died; rather, they have “fallen asleep” (koimavomai, 1 Thess4:13).79 Whereas his initial preaching about sin causing death might have ledthe Thessalonians to conclude that those who have died are no longer qualifiedto be with Jesus when he returns, Paul carefully refers to the dead Christians as“sleeping.” In such a state they are still very much a part of the community. ForPaul, their death does not indicate that they have “sinned.” Thus, there is noneed for the living Christians to dissociate themselves from the dead members.Rather, it is their state of sleeping that requires the Thessalonians to includethem in their definition of community. As Wayne Meeks puts it,

Paul is not offering any general theodicy, any general “solution” to the prob-lem of death. It is not the problem of death as a universal phenomenon that isaddressed here, but just the power of death to shatter the unique bonds ofintimate new community.80

The Thessalonian Christian community can continue to include their deadmembers who, according to Paul, not only are considered members of the asso-ciation but also will hold a privileged position at the parousia of Jesus—“wewho are alive, who are left until the coming of the Lord, will by no means pre-cede those who have died” (1 Thess 4:15).81



79 It is in contexts of speaking about Christians who have died that Paul uses the verb koimavo-mai (1 Cor 7:39; 11:30; 15:6, 18, 20, 51; 1 Thess 4:13, 14, 15). Paul uses qanatovw in contexts wheredeath is metaphorical (Rom 7:4; 8:13, 36; 2 Cor 6:9) and “the dead” (nekroiv) include Christians andnon-Christians. I am not suggesting that Paul coins the metaphor koimavomai for death, as the wordkoimavomai was used for death before Paul. However, we do want to note his interesting wordchoice.

80 Wayne A. Meeks, “Social Functions of Apocalyptic Language in Pauline Christianity,” inApocalypticism in the Mediterranean World and the Near East: Proceedings of the InternationalColloquium on Apocalypticism, Uppsala, August 12–17, 1979 (ed. David Hellholm; Tübingen:Mohr-Siebeck, 1983), 693.

81 For the Corinthians, the presenting situation—the membership of dead members—is thesame as for the Thessalonians; however, their response is different. Whereas the Thessalonians

Having assured the Thessalonians that those who have died are still mem-bers of Christ’s community, Paul turns his attention to how the dead will takepriority over the living at the return of Christ (1 Thess 4:16–17). Paul turns tothe language and imagery familiar to him through Jewish apocalyptic literature.Numerous studies have examined the background of Paul’s thinking in theseverses. For example, in his survey of views on the origins of the parousia, finaljudgment, and the Day of the Lord in Paul’s writings, Larry Kreitzer empha-sizes the Hebrew Bible and Jewish pseudepigrapha as the originating point forPaul’s ideas.82 There has been little attention paid, however, to how Paul’s audi-ences would have understood these images.

The Thessalonian Christians were predominantly Gentile83 and thus notlikely to be familiar with Jewish apocalypticism. Nor is it likely that they werethoroughly taught it by Paul while he lived and worked among them, since Paulseems to be introducing new concepts in 1 Thessalonians. Therefore, ratherthan explore the theology of Jewish apocalyptic literature, we are better served



grieved and worried about the status of dead members, for the Corinthians the dead memberswere not considered “lost” but were still to be included in the larger associative community. Thisbelief works itself out in the practice of the Corinthians being baptized on behalf of the dead (1 Cor15:29). Since at least some of the Corinthians were already moving toward a philosophy that wouldlater become “Gnosticism,” they were able to incorporate the recently departed into their largermythic framework. Paul’s response to the Corinthians, on the other hand, represents an alternativeprocess of myth making, one that builds on a process already employed in addressing a similar situ-ation at Thessalonica. He affirms a bodily resurrection of the dead Christians as a means of affirm-ing their continued inclusion in the association. In 1 Thessalonians and 1 Corinthians we see thereflection of two similar situations concerning the question of the status of dead members. It ismost likely that the questions arose from a similar sociocultural milieu. Although each communityhas a somewhat different response, Paul’s own response is consistent but develops as part of hisown myth making for each community.

82 Larry J. Kreitzer, Jesus and God in Paul’s Eschatology (JSNTSup 19; Sheffield: SheffieldAcademic Press, 1987), 93–129; see also M. C. de Boer, The Defeat of Death: Apocalyptic Eschatol-ogy in 1 Corinthians 15 and Romans 5 (JSNTSup 22; Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 1988),181–83. After a detailed study of “echoes” of LXX texts in the words of Paul, particularly the text ofPsalm 46 (LXX), Craig A. Evans asserts that “it is clear that Paul has pulled together a variety of tra-ditions in forming 1 Thess. 4.13–5.11” (“Ascending and Descending with a Shout: Psalm 47.6 and 1Thessalonians 4.16,” in Paul and the Scriptures of Israel (ed. Craig A. Evans and James A. Sanders;JSOTSup 83; Studies in Scripture in Early Judaism and Christianity 1; Sheffield: JSOT Press,1993], 251). He then suggests that the material had taken shape before Paul’s usage: “it is not nec-essary, therefore, to suppose that Paul was conscious of the precise biblical origin of each tradi-tion.” Evans concludes that Paul “may or may not have been conscious” of the inherited biblicalmaterial. This being so, one might then ask, what difference does it make to know the precise originof the texts (the “echoes”)? Is it not more informative to examine how the text functions in its con-text for the intended audience?

83 See Ascough, “Thessalonian Christian Community,” 311–13; idem, Paul’s MacedonianAssociations, 191–212.

to focus attention on how Paul employed apocalyptic images in support ofsocial practices at Thessalonica.84 We need to examine how the Thessaloniansmight have heard Paul’s apocalyptic language in light of their shared commu-nity practices. To do so, we turn again to the wider social context of the Greco-Roman world.85

Despite frequent claims to the contrary, eschatological and apocalypticideas were not limited to Jews in the first century C.E. As Hubert Cancik docu-ments, “eschatological ideas appear in various forms and genres,” not only inJudaism but also “in the fine literature of the Greeks—their epics, their wis-dom, and their natural philosophy.”86 Nevertheless, “discussions of Jewish andthen Christian cosmic, universal eschatology have mostly ignored contempo-rary pagan ideas, or mentioned them only in contrast.”87 This notion needs rec-tification through attention to the pagan ideas.

In some philosophical traditions, particularly those of the Epicureans andthe Stoics, there was a belief that this world would come to an end.88 Pliny theElder echoed an Epicurean view when he wrote, “You can almost see that thestature of the whole human race is decreasing daily, with few men taller than



84 Although Christianity and its myths have much in common with the Hebrew Bible andother Jewish writings, Jonathan Z. Smith, in his book Drudgery Divine, has adequately docu-mented the extent to which this reality is used to insulate Christianity from its pagan surroundings.Nevertheless, many scholars still maintain that all things Christian originate in things Jewish. Forexample, Martin Hengel argued recently that “early Christianity grew entirely out of Jewish soil”and that “whatever pagan influences have been suspected in the origins of Christianity were medi-ated without exception by Judaism” even in the Diaspora (“Early Christianity as a Jewish-Messianic, Universalistic Movement,” in Conflicts and Challenges in Early Christianity (ed.Donald A. Hagner; Harrisburg, PA: Trinity Press International, 1999], 1–3, 14).

85 John S. Kloppenborg has framed well the context when he writes, “much of the conceptualapparatus employed in the description of Pauline communities derives either from Acts, accordingto which Pauline groups are offshoots of synagogues, or from Paul’s own rhetoric, according towhich Paul ‘founded’ churches and claimed responsibility for their organization and orientation.This is to confuse rhetorical statement and its persuasive goals with a description of Pauline com-munities and assumes, implausibly, that peoples in the cities of the Empire, who had been organiz-ing themselves as thiasotai, eranistai, orgeones, collegia, and syssitoi for more than four centurieswere somehow at a loss when it came to organizing a cult group devoted to Christ” (“Critical Histo-ries and Theories of Religion: A Response to Ron Cameron and Burton Mack,” MTSR 8 [1996]:282–83).

86 Hubert Cancik, “The End of the World, of History, and of the Individual in Greek andRoman Antiquity,” in The Encyclopedia of Apocalypticism, vol. 1, The Origins of Apocalypticism inJudaism and Christianity (ed. John J. Collins; New York/London: Continuum, 2000), 84–85.

87 F. Gerald Downing, “Common Strands in Pagan, Jewish and Christian Eschatologies inthe First Christian Centuries,” in Making Sense in (and of) the First Christian Century (ed. F. Ger-ald Downing; JSNTSup 197; Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 2000), 170.

88 The following examples can be found in Downing, “Common Strands,” 174.

89 Ibid., 177. See further Lattimore, Greek and Latin Epitaphs, 44–48.90 Downing, “Common Strands,” 180, 185.91 Cancik, “End of the World,” 91.



their fathers, as the crucial conflagration which our age is approaching exhauststhe fertility of human semen” (Nat. 7.16.73). A similar idea is found in Lucre-tius: “Even now, indeed, the power of life is broken, and earth, exhausted,scarce produces tiny creatures, she who once produced all kinds, and gave birthto the huge bodies of wild beasts” (De rerum natura 2.1150–52). Such senti-ments reflect a belief not only in the decline of the natural world but also in theexpectation of a cataclysmic ending. Other writers of the time such as Pliny theYounger and Seneca had similar notions.89 F. Gerald Downing concludes, “Theway the end, the final destruction, is pictured, seems very similar in variouspagan, Jewish and Christian writings.” More to the point, “much of the samerange of views as were available to Jews in Palestine were readily available andcurrent and certainly comprehensible in the Greco-Roman world cultural con-text—where a fair number of them probably originated, anyway.”90

In the face of such an ending, the gods were not marginalized. Canciknotes:

[t]he proliferation of signs of misfortune gives rise to fear that “eternal night”will darken the world and the hope for a savior: “do not prevent this youngman from coming to the aid of the overthrown world” (Virgil, Georgica1.500f., 468ff., 493). In the schema of question and answer and with aninstruction discourse, Apollo answers the question whether the soul enduresafter death or is dissolved. The visionary women of Dodona, as the firstwomen, say: “Zeus was, Zeus is, Zeus will be, O great Zeus!” (Pausanias10.12.5).91

An inscription from Asia Minor records an oracle of the foundation of a cult ofPoseidon in Tralles: “Gentle Earth-shaker, enwreathed by a seawater altar, setus free from the wrath (mhvnima) of Father Zeus for one thousand years”(ITralleis 1; 2nd or 3rd cent. C.E.). It seems that there was an earthquake thatthe city escaped. Since Poseidon himself was given the epithet of “earth-shaker” (Seisichton), he was given thanks for protecting the city from the wrathof Zeus, which was manifested in the earthquake.

In pagan eschatology the world, or parts of it, comes under threat, eventhreat of annihilation, and it is the gods who can either provoke it or prevent it.Neither Jewish nor Christian apocalyptic thinking influenced the philosophersand epigraphers who discuss eschatology. This is not to say that Paul was notinfluenced by Jewish apocalypticism—it is likely that he was. The point is thatthe Thessalonians need not have been aware of Jewish apocalyptic thought forPaul’s words to make sense.

Paul’s first preaching at Thessalonica did not arise out of a communal feel-ing of isolation and oppression,92 as is often the case with apocalyptic. However,to convince the Thessalonians to “turn” from their gods, Paul needed a rhetori-cal device to convince them of their need. It is unlikely that Paul’s device wasthe sheer attraction of “monotheism” or the attraction of “Judaism sans circum-cision,” which are the usual suggestions, bolstered by the Acts account. Rather,Paul needed to convince his audience of the superiority of his God. How betterto instill superiority than to threaten destruction? When one announces a com-ing cataclysmic destruction and then promises “deliverance” only to those whoalign themselves with this God, and this God alone, it plays well in a communityalready used to such discussions. This does not make them “apocalyptic” or mil-lenarian, just scared of destruction. No matter where Paul derived the seeds ofthis fledgling myth (i.e., Jewish apocalyptic), it plays in a unique way for hisThessalonian audience.

The pagan context provides enough evidence that belief in an afterlife andfear of a divinely mandated cataclysm were widely known. However, the prob-lem is not that “the Greek Thessalonians found it difficult to bring the apoca-lyptic expectations of resurrection and Parousia together into a systematicwhole.”93 Rather, it is the death of some members before the expected wraththat causes them to raise social questions, not theological questions, about whois considered a member of the association.94

IV. Conclusion

For many people in the Greco-Roman world, associations provided oppor-tunities for seeking personal and corporate meaning for one’s life. Paul’s contri-bution to the formative stages of this social grouping includes both hisassurance of deliverance from the wrath of God and his words on the place thatthe dead members will have in the events unfolding around the return of Jesus.



92 Mack, Who Wrote the New Testament, 109; contra the thesis of Todd D. Still, Conflict atThessalonica: A Pauline Church and Its Neighbours (JSNTSup 183; Sheffield: Sheffield AcademicPress, 1999).

93 Malherbe, Thessalonians, 284. He suggests that although both concepts are Jewish apoca-lyptic ideas that were present in pre-Pauline Christianity, “they were brought together for the firsttime in 1 Thess 4:13-18.”

94 Meeks seems to link Paul’s use of “apocalyptic” to moral admonition for the overall healthof the community by pointing to the parenetic section of 5:13–22 (“Social Functions,” 694). How-ever, this latter section takes up a new issue within the letter and thus need not be linked. It is notclear how Meeks thinks “internal discipline” and “obedience of leaders” can be linked to questionsabout those who have died.

Paul reassures the Thessalonians that the dead members of the Christian asso-ciation still belong to the community and will have a part in the anticipatedreturn of their patron deity. There is no reason for them to give up hope, anymore than there is reason for them to give up burial practices. The burial prac-tices reaffirm, as they always did within associations, the continuing member-ship of the deceased in the community of the living. They, too, will participatein the return of Jesus. Thus, Paul can exhort the Thessalonians to “encourageone another with these words” (1 Thess 4:18).

