Paul and First-Century Letter Writing

My grandmother called it snooping when you read someone else’s mail. Yet, that is what we are doing, peering over the shoulders of the Philippians, reading Paul’s letter to them. But aside from reading his letters themselves, what can we learn about Paul’s first-century letters by learning about first-century letter writing more generally?

Basics of first-century letter writing

Paul grew up in a first-century Mediterranean world that loved sending and receiving letters: a sailor wrote his mom (P.Mich. 8.490), a woman invites another to a birthday party (T.Vindol. 291), travelers wrote home (P.Mich. 8.477) or someone at home asks for updates from a traveler (P.Oxy. 123). In every part of the empire where ancient documents could survive, archaeologists have found thousands of letters from everyday people. These everyday letters, uncovered in the last hundred years or so, supplement what we already knew from the letter collections of the great Roman rhetoricians: Cicero, Seneca, Quintilian and Pliny.

In every part of the empire where ancient documents could survive, archaeologists have found thousands of letters from everyday people

Letters had become quite formulaic, even more than today’s “Dear So-and So” and “Sincerely, …” Both Greeks and Romans, small and great, shared patterns in the way they wrote letters. From England to Egypt, we find the same format, diction, and rhetoric. We should not be surprised to find Paul’s letters fit the mold.

The standard format for an ancient letter was an opening, a body, and a closing. Naturally, the skilled Roman rhetoricians brought more variety and complexity to their letters, but there was still amazing conformity. “Antimenes to Zenon, greetings” (P.Zen. 10) followed the standard format. Paul creatively plays on “greetings” (chairein) and the traditional Jewish greeting: “Peace to you” (John 20:19), producing his characteristic opening: “Grace (charis) and peace to you.” It was common to add some elaboration about the recipient and/or the sender: “Apollonarius to Taesis, his mother and lady, many greetings” (P.Mich. 8.491). Similarly, “Paul, a servant of Jesus Christ, called to be an apostle …to all God’s beloved in Rome … Grace to you and peace” (Rom. 1:1, 7).

Naming the sender

The traditional three-part (tripartite) Roman name (tria nomina) comprised a given name (praenomen), a clan or ancestral name (nomen), and, finally, a family name (cognomen). Often only the family (third) name was used in letters (see T.Vindol. 291). In fact, the first name was so standardized and common, it was often just written as an initial. Thus, the famous orator, M. (Marcus) Tullius Cicero, referred to himself as simply Cicero in his letters.

Newly minted citizens proudly showcased their chosen Roman name (but usually only the second and third name): “Apion called Antonius Maximus” (BGU 2.632). So, Luke’s description of the proconsul on Cyprus in Acts 13:7 leaves us only somewhat certain that it was L. (Lucius) Sergius Paulus, brother of Q. (Quintus) Sergius Paulus. Likewise, “Lydia” in Philippi was her family name (Acts 16:14), likely from an ancestor who chose their province of origin as the name. (Thyatira is a city in the province Lydia.) She could be one of the women mentioned by Paul (Phil. 4:2).

Paul’s tripartite Roman name was likely [Some common name] Saul[us] Paul[us]. Whichever ancestor first chose the Roman name picked for the ancestral name the most famous member of their tribe of Benjamin, King Saul. For a family name, it appears Paul is a member of the famous Paulus clan of Anatolia (Acts 13:7), albeit likely on the outer fringes of the family tree. As was letter-writing custom, Paul uses only his “last name” in his letter address.

The letter opening

The letter opening was commonly followed by wishes or prayers for health, “Daily I myself offer prayers for your well-being in the presence of the local gods” (P.Mich. 8.499). Paul occasionally prays for his recipients (Eph. 1:17 and Col. 1:3), but he preferred the far less common custom of giving thanks. In fact, no other known ancient letter-writer had such long thanksgivings. Most ancient letters had a small amount of business to discuss, more like a postcard today and far less than modern letters.

Paul fell into a very small group, mostly of philosophers, who beefed up their letters to propagate ideas and to encourage behavior. As we will see below, Paul’s letters were quite long for his time. Following closing greetings, ancient letters often had another brief health-wish, such as “Farewell.”

Writing the letter

Ancient rhetoricians considered appearance important. When an ancient wished his letter to be well-received, he used a good pen and nice paper (Cic. QFr. 2.15b.1) or even a secretary with beautiful handwriting (Cic. Att. 13.14–25). We see no hints Paul trivialized his letters; we shouldn’t assume Paul sent some rag to Philippi.

Once a polished draft was checked and ready for dispatch, the sender usually added a summary comment, any last-minute updates, and/or greeting in his own hand; thus, a correction is added in a postscript: “Know that I have been assigned to Misenum, for I learned it later” (P.Mich. 8.490), after the final draft was prepared but before it was sealed.

In business letters, the postscript often summarized the transaction (which had been spelled out more fully in the letter), in a sense to underscore the author verified the deal. So, “[2nd hand] I, Ammonius, son of Ammonius, have sold the loom, and have received the price of 20 drachmae of silver and will guarantee the sale as aforesaid” (P.Oxy. 264). Paul playfully does the same to his friend: “I, Paul, am writing this with my own hand. I will pay it back—not to mention that you owe me your very self” (Phlm. 19).

Signing the letter

The sender’s handwriting authenticated the letter, the ancient equivalent of our signature. We see these changes in handwriting in two ways. First, in the original letter, pulled from the sands, we can see the change in handwriting, indicated by modern editors with “[2nd hand].” A minority of writers expected copies to also circulate. Since copies no longer show the handwriting change, they explicitly noted it: “Greetings to Pilia and Atticus . . . The rest I write to you in my own hand” (Cic. Att. 12.32.1).

Paul expected his letters to be copied (Col. 4:16), so he often made similar comments: “I, Paul, write this greeting with my own hand” (1 Cor. 16:21; see also Gal. 6:11; Col. 4:18; 2 Thess. 3:17; Phlm. 19). Paul desired the Thessalonians to learn his handwriting: “I, Paul, write this greeting with my own hand. This is the mark in every letter of mine; it is the way I write.” He follows with his version of closing health-wish: “The grace of our Lord Jesus Christ be with all of you” (2 Thess. 3:17–18).

Preparing the letter

After checking the letter and adding any closing remarks, the sender folded the letter (accordion-style like a paper fan), bent it double and tied a string around (and sometimes pressed clay/wax over the knot). We seal envelopes today to keep out prying eyes: “There are very few who can carry a letter of weight without lightening it by a perusal” (Cic. Att. 1.13). Except Philemon, Paul’s letters were much too long to fold in the normal fashion. They were scrolled (like a book!) and tied.

Sending the letter

Paul, like everyone else, had two ways to dispatch a letter: someone traveling that way or sending someone. The common method was someone traveling to that direction: “Having had the luck to find someone going up to you, I felt obliged to [send a letter]” (P.Oxy. 123).

Because such methods were dependent upon another, letters often mentioned other letters to verify if they arrived. “I rejoiced greatly on receiving your letter which was given to me by the cutler, though I have not yet received the one which you say you have sent me by Platon the dancer’s son” (P.Oxy. 1676)—apparently, one carrier was more reliable than the other. Paul likely used such happenstance carriers to deliver his early letters too. The cities of southern Galatia, Thessalonica and Corinth were stops along main roads, providing lots of options for carriers. Initially, Paul probably saw no reason to pay costs to send his own carrier.

Paul seems to have eventually learned the advantages of a dedicated carrier, who could improve chances of the letter’s safe arrival (for a lost letter, see Cic. Fam. 7.25.1) and authenticate his letters against forgeries (2 Thess. 2:2; 3:17). It appears some misunderstood Paul’s earlier letters, e.g., 1 Corinthians 5:9–13 and a trusted carrier/associate could interpret Paul’s intent.

Reading the letter

For ancients, the performance of a reading (intonation, cadence, gestures, etc.) was a part of rhetoric. Then as now, a reader (lector) who knew Paul’s intent better would read aloud the letter. Once, Paul explicitly validates that he wants the carrier/lector to elaborate: “Tychicus will tell you all the news about me. … I have sent him to you for this very purpose so that you may know how we are” (Col. 4:7–8).

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Paying for and collecting Paul’s letters

Today, the cost of writing, even multiple drafts, is insignificant. A denarius is commonly described as a day’s wage, but the only basis for that assertion is Jesus’ parable (Matt. 20:1–15), where he is describing a generous master. Jesus never says it was a standard amount. Actually, a half-denarius was standard pay for a day laborer. We cannot know the exact cost, but we can estimate (very conservatively) the cost in today’s dollars to prepare Paul’s letters, for example:

Pauline Letter	Estimated Cost (USD)
Romans	$2,275
1 Corinthians	$2,108
Philippians	$515
2 Thessalonians	$255
Philemon	$101

Ancient letter writers kept copies of their letters, often in “notebooks” (membranae, parchments, 2 Tim. 4:13). Cicero happened to mention making a copy of a letter while at dinner (Cic. Fam. 9.26.1). Another letter became waterlogged and thus was “lost,” but Cicero sent another copy (Cic. QFr. 2.12.4), indicating he had kept one. Our copies of Paul’s letters likely arose from copying Paul’s set, not by going around and collecting the dispatched copies. This was how the letter collections of the other writers were published (see Sue. Vit. Jul. 56.6).

Our copies of Paul’s letters likely arose from copying Paul’s set, not by going around and collecting the dispatched copies.

Paul’s letters were surprisingly expensive to us, but actually the reason is that his letters were uncommonly long. Even Paul’s letter to Philemon was longer than a typical letter. Paul’s letters were even longer than the famed Roman letter writers: Cicero and Seneca. When we compare average length (word count) of Paul’s letters to the everyday letter and those of Cicero and Seneca, we find this:

Letter writer	Avg. Words per letter
Typical  Letter	87
Cicero	295
Seneca	995
Paul	2,495

The longest letter by Cicero (2,530 words) or Seneca (4,134) is dwarfed by Paul’s letter to the Romans (7,114). Paul’s opponents said his letters were “weighty” (2 Cor. 10:10), they were not just ridiculing the content of his letters, but their size.

Conclusion

While clearly within the bounds of the Greco-Roman letter tradition, Paul was one of the great letter writers of his age. Furthermore, he stood on the leading edge with a few others (Cicero, Seneca, Pliny) who were beginning to use “private” letters as a means for propagating philosophies. Paul saw his letters as part of his mission. Today, looking back, we can be glad he did.