A. Dubitatio in Ancient Epic and Drama

Dubitatio appears already in Homer, who on a number of occasions presents a hero confronted with a life-and-death dilemma the terms of which he debates in a deliberative monologue.Footnote ¹² Characteristically, these monologues follow a set form: 1) an acknowledgment of the dilemma—a cry of despair (ὤ μοι ἐγώ, “Ah me!”) sometimes amplified by a rhetorical question (τί πάθω; “what will happen to me?”), 2) the anguished rehearsal of alternatives (“if I do this . . . if I do that”), and finally 3) the decision reached. Here is Odysseus as he deliberates whether to stand his ground alone at Il. 11.403–10:

1. 1) Ah me! What will happen to me?

2. 2) Great evil if I flee seized with fear of the mass of men; but a worse thing if I am taken all alone, for the rest of the Danaans has the son of Cronos scattered in flight.

3. 3) But why does my heart debate these things with me? . . .Footnote ¹³

Here is Menelaus as he deliberates whether to fight for the body and armor of Patroclus at Il. 17.90–105:

1. 1) Ah me!

2. 2) If I leave the fair armour behind, along with Patroclus, who lies low here having attempted to get recompense for me, I fear that many a Danaan may find fault with me. . . . But if from a sense of shame I do battle alone with Hector and the Trojans, I fear that perhaps they may surround me, many against one. . . .

3. 3) But why does my heart debate these things with me? . . .

And here is the Trojan hero Agenor as he decides to stand against Achilles at Il. 21.553–70:

1. 1) Ah me!

2. 2) If I join the rest who are fleeing in rout before the mighty Achilles, even so he will overtake me and butcher me in my cowardice. But if I abandon these men to be driven before Achilles, and with my feet flee elsewhere, . . . .

3. 3) But why does my heart debate these things within me? . . .

These monologues dramatize the hero's decision-making in order to reveal his character when it finally manifests itself in his choice.Footnote ¹⁴ In all but one case, it is the hero's martial ἀρετή, his preference of an honorable death to a dishonorable life, that is revealed. The exception is Hector, who, following his pathos-laden monologue (Il. 22.98–130), breaks and runs before Achilles.Footnote ¹⁵ Fowler has called these monologues “decision-scenes.”Footnote ¹⁶

Dubitatio next appears in Athenian tragedy where it becomes one of the genre's most distinguishing features. As in earlier epic, dubitatio continues to dramatize a speaker's decision-making in order to reveal his or her character, though now a greater emphasis is placed on the agency of the speaker, who no longer simply asks, “What is to become of me?” but, “What am I to do?” or, “Where am I to turn?” There is also a wider range of options: whether to follow duty or desire, love or revenge, passion or reason, and, of course, whether to commit suicide.Footnote ¹⁷ In some cases the three-part form—an anguished acknowledgment of the dilemma, the deliberation of one's options, and a decision on how to act—continues unchanged. Andromache's dubitatio at Euripides, Andr. 384–420 is a good example. Andromache, who has sought sanctuary in the temple of Thetis, is given the choice to leave the temple and be slain by Menelaus or to stay and watch him kill her son. She imagines herself drawing lots:

1. 1) Woe is me! Such a bitter lot, such a bitter choice you have given me!

2. 2) If I draw the loosing lot I am dead. If I draw the winning lot I am made most wretched. . . .

3. 3) No! If my wretched life can save him . . . it would be a shameful thing for me not to die in place of my child. Here, I am leaving the temple.

Just as often the form is altered to make this or that point or to take into account some aspect of the dialogue's narrative context. Ajax's dubitatio at Sophocles, Ajax 430–80 is an example. Ajax begins with a cry of despair that puns his name, “Ay me” (αἰα), followed by the familiar question, “What now am I to do (νν τί χρὴ δρν)?”Footnote ¹⁸ He then rehearses his options but without a firm decision, presumably indicating the acuteness of the hero's dilemma. A more famous example is Medea's dubitatio at Euripides, Med. 465–519. Instead of a cry of despair, Medea reviews for Jason the terrible situation he has put her in, after which she asks her desperate question: “Where am I now to turn (νν πο τράπωμαι)?” She then rehearses her options: “To my father's house, my land which I betrayed to flee with you? Or to Pelias's wretched daughters? Kindly would they welcome their father's killer!” Again, no plan of action is indicated, though this time for the obvious reason that Jason, whose children Medea intends to murder, is present.Footnote ¹⁹

As a prominent element in tragedy, dubitatio quickly became the object of parody in comedy. We find it already in Aristophanes in the parody of Sophocles's Helen at Eq. 71–83, and most ridiculously in the scatological deliberations of the constipated Blepyrus at Eccles. 375–77. But it is in Plautus—and presumably in his Hellenistic sources—that the figure receives its fullest treatment. Here is Euclio at Aul. 713–26, when he learns that his pot of gold has been stolen:

1. 1) I am ruined! Done for! Murdered!

2. 2) Whither shall I run? Whither not run? Stop him—stop him! Whom? Who? I don't know. I see nothing! . . . Whither I am going, or where I am, or who I am, I can't in my mind ascertain.

3. 3) [To the audience. . .] I beseech you, give me your aid . . . point me out the person who has taken it. What's the matter? Why do you laugh? I know all of you; I know that there are many thieves here! . . . You I'm resolved to believe, . . . .

Here is Charinus at Mer. 468–473 after his father tells him of his plan to sell Charinus's beloved Pasicompsa.

1. 1) I'm ruined! I'm dead! The story goes that bacchantes ripped Pentheus to pieces: I think that was nothing compared to how I am being torn apart in different directions.

2. 2) Why do I live? Why don't I die? What good is there in life for me?

3. 3) I am resolved. I'll go to the doctor and kill myself with poison there, since the reason why I desire to live is being taken away from me.

Charinus's dubitatio is especially noteworthy for our purposes, not only because Charinus like Paul is contemplating suicide, but also because in portraying Charinus's despair Plautus adds a new element, a dramatic self-description: “The story goes that the bacchantes ripped Pentheus to pieces . . . I am being torn apart in different directions.” Going forward, this kind of self-description will become a frequent feature of dubitatio. Here is Ovid's Medea describing her state of mind: “I am carried here and there” (frag. 2 Ribbeck = Seneca Rhetor, Suas. 3.7). Here is Seneca's Medea: “Anger pulls me in this direction, love in that” (Med. 938–39). And here is Seneca's Clytemnestra: “I am driven by conflicting waves” (Agam. 138).Footnote ²⁰ Paul will introduce his deliberations at Phil 1:23a with a similar, though perhaps slightly less dramatic, self-description: “I am hard pressed (συνέχομαι) between two options.”

Mention should be made at this point of the evidence that Croy has adduced regarding the use of dubitatio in the rhetorical tradition. At the same time that comic playwrights were beginning to parody dubitatio on the stage, orators were starting to exploit the figure to present themselves as those struggling with what to say or how best to say it. According to Quintilian, this transparency lent “a certain guarantee of truth” (aliqua fides veritatis) to their words.Footnote ²¹ It no doubt also generated sympathy and good will toward them as those courageously grappling with their assigned task.Footnote ²² For obvious reasons orators omitted the figure's melodramatic cry of despair, but they continued to use its traditional clichés such as “what to do” and “where to turn.”Footnote ²³ They also as often as not maintained the figure's traditional three-part structure. Here is a slightly longer excerpt from Isocrates's De pace (38–39):

1. 1) I am at a loss what I should do.

2. 2) Whether I should speak the truth as on other occasions or be silent.

3. 3) But I should be ashamed if I cared more for what people thought of me than for the safety of the state.

Here is Cicero, Cluen. 1.4:

1. 1) As for myself, I know not where to turn.

2. 2) Shall I deny that there was a scandalous rumor that the jury had been bribed? That it was never discussed on the street corners? Bandied about in the law courts? Commented on in the Senate? Am I to expunge from public opinion such firm impressions?

3. 3) That is beyond my power.

In a few instances orators retained the figure's traditional reference to actions and not words.Footnote ²⁴ Here is Gaius Gracchus (frag. 61 Malcovati 1967):Footnote ²⁵

1. 1) Where can I take my wretched self? Where can I turn?

2. 2) To the Capitol? That which is steeped in my brother's blood. To my home? To see my poor mother weeping and prostrate?

Here is Cicero's emotional peroration at Mur. 88–89:

1. 1) If—and may Jupiter avert the omen—you condemn this man by your decision, where is the unhappy man to turn?

2. 2) Home? What, that he may see that image of that most illustrious man his father? . . . Or to his mother, who, wretched woman, having lately embraced her son as consul, is now in all the torments of anxiety? . . . Shall the wretched man then go into banishment? Whither shall he go? Shall he go to the east, where he was for many years lieutenant, where he commanded armies, and performed many great exploits? . . . Shall he hide himself in the opposite regions of the earth, so as to let Transalpine Gaul see the same man grieving and mourning, whom it lately saw with the greatest joy, exercising the highest authority? . . .

Dubitatio continued to play a strategic role in Roman epic and tragedy. Here is Virgil's Dido (Aen. 4.534–52):

1. 1) What now am I to do!

2. 2) Shall I once again make trial of my old suitors? Shall I humbly sue for marriage with the Numidians whom I so often scorned? . . . Shall I on my own accompany the exultant sailors in their flight? Or shall I pursue surrounded by all my Tyrian band?

3. 3) No! Die as you deserve, and with the sword end your sorrow!

And Ennius's Medea (Med. frag. 104 Jocelyn):Footnote ²⁶

1. 1) Where am I now to turn? What path am I to take?

2. 2) To my father's house? To Pelias's daughters?

But the dubitatio also begins to appear in other literary genres, too. Here is Ariadne at Catullus 64.171–210:Footnote ²⁷

1. 1) Where shall I return? On what hope do I lean?

2. 2) Shall I seek the mountains of Sidon? How broad the flood, how savage the tract of sea which separates them from me! Shall I hope for the aid of my father? Whom I deserted of my own will, to follow a lover dabbled with my brother's blood! Or shall I console myself with the faithful love of my spouse, who is flying from me? . . .

3. 3) Yet my eyes shall not grow faint in death . . . before I demand from the gods just vengeance for my betrayal.

Here is the spurned Megaran princess Scylla at Ovid, Metam. 8.113–42:

1. 1) Deserted, where shall I now go?

2. 2) To my country? It lies overthrown. To my father? Him I betrayed to you.

3. 3) I shall follow you against your will, . . . .

A sign of the figure's decadence was its eventual application to inanimate objects: the Meander river trying to decide which way to flow; a house deciding which way to fall in an earthquake; blood deciding which wound to exit.Footnote ²⁸ Here is the figure as a rhetorical conceit in a private letter of Cicero's (Att. 8.7.2): Habeo quem fugiam; quem sequar non habeo, “I have someone to flee; what I do not have is someone to follow.”Footnote ²⁹ Quintilian will complain that by his day orators were using the figure multiple times in the same speech.Footnote ³⁰

B. Dubitatio in Paul

The figure dubitatio appears twice in Paul's authentic letters: first at 1 Cor 11:22b and then again at Phil 1:22–26. We are interested in the second of these (Phil 1:22–26), but I will comment briefly on 1 Cor 11:22b since it shows Paul's familiarity with the figure, especially as it was described in the handbook tradition. The topic in 1 Cor 11:22b is explicitly what to “say” (εἰπεν), and it is reasonable to think that Paul's perplexity is largely rhetorical. Despite Paul's characteristic brevity, the figure's three-part pattern can still be discerned:

1. 1) What shall I say to you?

2. 2) Shall I praise you?

3. 3) I praise you not!

Paul's use of dubitatio here allows him to introduce a new topic, a technique recommended by Quintilian.Footnote ³¹ It also allows him to change his tone from praise in 11:2–16 (“I praise you that . . .”) to censure in 11:17–34 (“I praise you not!”).

Phil 1:22–26 is a difficult paragraph by any standard, both in terms of how it fits into its larger context and in terms of its own internal logic. It comes as the third in a list of consolatory arguments regarding Paul's imprisonment on capital charges.Footnote ³² The arguments are: 1) that Paul's imprisonment has resulted in the “progress of the gospel” (1:12–18a), 2) that one way or another his ordeal will result in his “salvation” (1:18b–21), and 3) that when all is said and done the Philippians can look forward to Paul's “presence” with them again (1:22–26, esp. vv. 25–26).Footnote ³³ But there are complicating factors. To begin with, Paul prefaces his third consolatory argument—his assurance that the Philippians will see him again—with a pointed deliberation between life and death in which, as we shall see, he makes a robust argument for death (1:22–24). Second, when Paul does eventually reassure the Philippians that they will see him again (1:25–26), it is only to introduce a long hortatory digression admonishing them on how to behave in his “absence” (1:27–2:16).Footnote ³⁴ And third, no sooner does Paul finish this digression than he effectively reneges on his earlier assurance, offering instead a tentative consolatio mortis: “But even if I am poured out on the sacrifice and service of your faith, I rejoice . . . and you likewise should rejoice” (2:17–18).Footnote ³⁵ I will comment briefly on 1:12–2:18 and then in more detail on 1:22–26.

The overall rhetoric of Phil 1:12–2:18 is subtle but not, I think, inscrutable.Footnote ³⁶ Paul's first two consolatory arguments (1:12–18a; 1:18b–21) are relatively straightforward, the only possible point of confusion being that while Paul speaks of his own consolation—“in this I rejoice (χαίρω); and I will rejoice (χαρήσομαι)”Footnote ³⁷—his real aim is to console the Philippians. Thus writes Chrysostom: “[Paul] says all these things, of course, for the consolation of the Philippians (πρὸς παραμυθίαν τν Φιλιππησίων)”;Footnote ³⁸ and Jerome: “[Paul] consoles them (eos) regarding his own (sua) suffering since they heard that he was being held in custody in Rome.”Footnote ³⁹ The exiled Seneca takes a remarkably similar approach in a letter of consolation to his mother Helvia: “There is nothing in what has happened to me that could cause anyone to call me wretched, still less cause my friends and family to be wretched because of me,” adding that even in exile he is full of “joy” (gaudium).Footnote ⁴⁰ Commenting on Seneca's consolatory strategy Karlhans Abel writes: “He is not only her consoler but her consolation.”Footnote ⁴¹

Paul's third consolatory argument (1:22–26) is less transparent. He now speaks directly to the Philippians’ own consolation—“for your . . . joy (εἰς τὴν ὑμν . . . χαράν)”—but since this hinges on his acquittal and return (1:25–26), something that may well not happen (2:17–18), he must find a way to console them while at the same time withholding the very thing on which their consolation ostensibly depends. To make matters worse, Paul is convinced that if the Philippians do not begin to “act in a manner worthy of the gospel,” their final “salvation” could be in jeopardy (1:27–2:16).Footnote ⁴² I imagine Paul in a situation similar to that of, say, a critically ill father seeking to comfort his anxious children while at the same time preparing them for his likely demise. Such a father might begin by verbally assuring his children that everything will be all right. He may then—somewhat contradictorily—urge them to be strong whatever the outcome. Finally, as far as possible, he may attempt to plant the seeds of a franker kind of consolation that will be helpful if things do in fact turn out badly. It seems to me that Paul follows much the same tack in 1:22–2:18. He offers initial assurance in 1:22–26: “And being confident of this I am sure that I shall remain. . . .” He then exhorts the Philippians to be strong in 1:27–2:16: “I only ask that you act in a manner worthy of the gospel, in order that whether I come and see you or else remain absent, . . . .” Finally, he gestures towards a more realistic consolation in 2:17–18: “But even if I am poured out on the sacrifice and service of your faith, I rejoice . . . and you likewise should rejoice.”

Let me turn now to a close reading of 1:22–26, which in the larger scheme of 1:22–2:18 conveys Paul's initial reassurance. Paul follows closely the three-part form of the dubitatio:

1. 1) And yet what I shall choose I cannot say. I am hard pressed by the two (1:22b–23a).

2. 2) My desire is to depart and be together with Christ—for this is much better by far! But to stay on in the flesh is the greater necessity for your sake (1:23b–24).

3. 3) And being confident of this, I am sure that I shall stay on and be restored to you all for your progress and joy in the faith, in order that you might have even more reason to boast in Christ because of me by my presence again with you (1:25–26).

I will consider each of these parts in order.

First, then, Paul's acknowledgment of a dilemma: “And yet what I shall choose I cannot say. I am hard pressed by the two.” The traditional form found in Homer and repeated frequently thereafter began with a cry of despair (“Ah me!”) followed on occasion by a desperate question such as “What is to become of me?” In tragedy, the cry of despair became optional, while the desperate question, which then became standard, was modified to call attention to the agency of the protagonist: “What am I to do?” “Where am I to turn?” In comedic parody, a dramatic self-description was added, such as “I am being torn apart” or “I am being tossed about by competing waves.” These developments make excellent sense of Paul's words in Phil 1:22b–23a: he omits the now largely passé cry of despair, while retaining mutatis mutandis the figure's desperate question, which he rewrites as a not-so-desperate statement of fact (“what I shall choose I cannot say”); he also retains the figure's dramatic self-presentation, which he reformulates in slightly less dramatic terms (“I am hard pressed by the two”). In beginning his dubitatio in this way, Paul follows form but projects—perhaps subconsciously—a reasoned and calm equanimity consistent with the philosophical stance he takes in the letter (e.g., 1:10; 4:11).Footnote ⁴³ The Philippians are “frightened” (1:28) and “anxious” (4:6). Paul is not.Footnote ⁴⁴

This brings us to the second part of Paul's dubitatio, his deliberations in 1:23b–24: “My desire is to depart and be together with Christ—for this is much better by far! But to remain in the flesh is the greater necessity for your sake.” The reason Paul can face his dilemma with such equanimity is that his reasoned perspective allows him to see it as a choice not between two bad alternatives—this is the way the dilemma would traditionally have been framed—but between two good ones.Footnote ⁴⁵ If he chooses life, he will continue to bear fruit for the gospel: “this will mean more fruit for my labors.” If he chooses death, he will be transported immediately into the presence of Christ: “to depart and be together with Christ.” Both options are attractive, but Paul inclines strongly towards the latter, which is “much better by far (πολλ . . . μλλον κρεσσον).”

Earlier in 1:21, Paul used the cliché “to die is gain,” a popular expression according to which death is assessed as “gain” when it allows one to escape from intolerable circumstances. This would have been a reasonable thing for a prisoner in a Roman jail to say,Footnote ⁴⁶ and Paul's words have been interpreted in this traditional sense.Footnote ⁴⁷ But after 1:23b it is clear that Paul considers death, which promises to bring him directly into the presence of Christ, to be a “gain” in and of itself. Death is the better alternative simpliciter. In other words, even in a life full of meaning (“this will mean more fruit for my labors”) Paul finds death more desirable—just the opposite of what the Philippians will have wanted to hear! Fortunately, there is a further consideration: “but to stay on in the flesh is the greater necessity for your sake (ἀναγκαιότερον δι᾽ ὑμς).” There are then two reasons for Paul to choose life: the continued preaching of the gospel and the needs of the Philippians. The emphasis clearly falls on the second of these, for it is only by means of it that Paul's libido mortis is restrained. What promises to tip the scales for Paul is his altruistic concern for the Philippians.

To forgo death out of an altruistic concern for others was a moral topos in Paul's day. In a well-known letter to his brother Quintus (QFr. 1.3), Cicero explains why he, a convicted criminal now in exile, has not chosen to commit suicide even though he would like to do so: “Nevertheless, I shall go on living as long as you need me.”Footnote ⁴⁸ Adding in a second letter (QFr. 1.4): “The tears of my family and friends forbade me to go to my death.” Pliny relates a similar incident at Ep. 1.22. He is in Rome at the bedside of his close friend Titius Aristo. After praising Aristo for his knowledge of the law, he relates a conversation between himself and Aristo. Pliny was to ask the physician caring for Aristo whether Aristo's painful illness was terminal. If it was, then Aristo would proceed to take his own life. If not, then he would struggle on out of respect for the “entreaties of his wife, the tears of his daughter, and the affection of us his friends.” Pliny concludes: “To weigh calmly and deliberately the motives for life or death, and to be determined in our choice as reason counsels, is the mark of an uncommon and great mind.”

A third example of the topos can be found in Seneca, Ep. 104.Footnote ⁴⁹ Seneca is trying to justify a trip to the country for the sake of his wavering health, a trip that his wife Paulina did not want him to make. He insists, however, that in leaving Rome he was actually thinking of Paulina, whose situation would be at considerable risk should his condition worsen. He takes the opportunity to wax moralistic:Footnote ⁵⁰

One of the principal functions of dubitatio was to dramatize a protagonist's choice in order to reveal his or her character. In 1:22b–23a, Paul showed himself to be an example of calm and reasoned deliberation. Now, in 1:23b–24, he presents himself as a model of altruism. This too was a quality he wished to see in the Philippians: “Do nothing out of selfish ambition or empty conceit, but in humility consider others more important than yourself. Each of you is to look out not for your own interests but for the interests of others” (2:3–4).

At the same time, it is hard not to detect an element of complaint in Paul's words. It is not just that Paul's “desire” is to be with Christ, though that is certainly the case, but to depart and be with Christ is objectively better: “for this is much better by far!” (πολλ γὰρ μλλον κρεσσον). The three-fold πολλ μλλον κρεσσον is virtually unprecedented, as commentators since at least Lightfoot have been quick to point out. Paul may decide to yield to the “greater necessity” thrust upon him by the Philippians. But the Philippians should know that it is an unwelcome necessity.

This brings us to the third and final part of Paul's dubitatio, his decision in 1:25–26. Paul resolves to resist the temptation to take his own life: “And being confident of this, I am sure that I shall stay on and be restored to you all for your progress and joy in the faith, in order that you might have even more reason to boast in Christ Jesus because of me by my presence again with you.” Two items call for comment. The first is Paul's expression of confidence: “And being confident of this (καὶ τοτο πεποιθώς).” Paul used an almost identical expression of confidence earlier at 1:6: “and being confident of this very thing (πεποιθὼς αὐτὸ τοτο).” He uses a similar expression at 2:24: “I am confident in the Lord (πέποιθα δὲ ἐν κυρίῳ).” In both of these instances the object of Paul's confidence is God (1:6) or God's agent (2:24). One might expect Paul to adduce a similar object of confidence in 1:25. But this is not the case. The antecedent of “this” (τοτο) is the “greater necessity” that has been placed on Paul by the Philippians. Paul's confidence here lies not in the beneficence of God but in the neediness of the Philippians. The complaint hinted at in 1:24 is elaborated in 1:25–26.Footnote ⁵¹

The second item calling for comment is the expression “for your progress (προκοπήν) and joy (χαράν) in the faith.” The “greater necessity” that the Philippians have placed on Paul consists not merely in their lack of “joy”—i.e., their grief or distress at his imprisonment and possible execution—but more importantly in their current lack of “progress” in the faith that this has presumably produced, which Paul cannot allow. The linkage of “joy” and “progress” is significant. Like most of his contemporaries, Paul believed that grief was a destructive passion, which if left unaddressed would eventually cause one to neglect one's moral obligations and duties.Footnote ⁵² To reverse this, contemporary consolers commonly added to their words of comfort pointed exhortations to renewed moral and social engagement.Footnote ⁵³ A person's ability to rejoice in the face of hardship could even be read as a measure of his or her moral progress. “To the degree that you lack joy (gaudio),” writes Seneca, “to that degree you lack wisdom.”Footnote ⁵⁴ And again: “He has made it to the top (ad summa pervenit) who knows how he should rejoice (gaudeat).”Footnote ⁵⁵ At Ep. 66.5, Seneca goes so far as to equate joy with moral perfection, calling it the primum bonum, a sentiment with which Philo would have agreed (Her. 315).Footnote ⁵⁶ I assume that a similar logic—that grief hinders moral progress while an unflinching joy is the sure sign of it—lies behind Phil 1:25–26.Footnote ⁵⁷

But there is a further consideration. For by this point in the letter the terms “progress” and “joy” have acquired a particular salience.Footnote ⁵⁸ According to 1:12, the gospel is making progress: “my circumstances have resulted in the progress of the gospel (προκοπὴν το εὐαγγελίου).” According to 1:18, Paul is rejoicing: “and in this I rejoice (καὶ ἐν τούτῳ χαίρω).” But if we take Paul's language in 1:25 at face value, the Philippians are doing neither—neither rejoicing nor progressing! And they will not do so until they see Paul again: “I will remain and continue with you all for (εἰς) your progress and joy in the faith, in order that (ἵνα) you might have even more reason to boast in Christ . . . by my presence again with you.” Not to put too fine a point on it, 1:25–26 reads like a rhetorical trap that Paul has been setting since 1:12. The Philippians have allowed their grief to disrupt their “progress” in the faith, and it is precisely this disruption that is now forcing Paul's hand. I take it that this then is the ultimate purpose of Paul's dubitatio: to draw the Philippians into his deliberations in order to force them to confront the harmful effects of their grief, effects made all the more palpable by Paul's own equanimity (1:22–23a) and willingness to sacrifice for others (1:23b–24).Footnote ⁵⁹

Before concluding, let me anticipate a possible objection to my reading of 1:25–26. Many modern readers will resist the claim that Paul ends the consolation of 1:12–26 with a rebuke, even an indirect one.Footnote ⁶⁰ This is not unreasonable, given our sensibilities. But ancient consolers did not hesitate to admonish those whose grief they judged to be inordinate and destructive. These admonitions could be surprisingly sharp: “You are expecting words of comfort? Take a scolding instead! You are taking your son's death like a sissy (molliter)!”Footnote ⁶¹ More commonly, admonitions to the grieving were measured though still straightforward, as when Seneca admonishes Polybius that his grief over his brother's death had become excessive and “unworthy” (indignus) of a man of his station. In especially delicate cases, consolers might choose to blunt the force of their rebukes by some kind of rhetorical indirection. Seneca follows this approach at Ad Marc. 4–5. He is convinced that Marcia has become self-indulgent in her grief over the death of her son Metilius, but instead of confronting her directly he relates the story of how the philosopher Areus admonished Julia Augusta for a similar self-indulgence. At Ep. ad Olymp. 8.3.11–13 (Malingrey) Chrysostom goes so far as to construct an imaginative scenario in which he might at some point in the future need to rebuke Olympias for her intractable grief: “And if you say, ‘I can't take it!’ then I'll say, ‘Excuse and pretense!’”Footnote ⁶² Paul appears to combine both the indirect and direct approaches in Philippians. First, he obliquely points out that, while the gospel is still making “progress,” the Philippians are not (1:25–26). Then, he admonishes them more directly about their duty to act always “in a manner worthy (ἀξίως) of the gospel” (1:27-2:16). At any rate, that at Phil 1:25–26 Paul mixes rebuke and consolation is fully in keeping with contemporary theory and practice.