Inventing Tradition in Thessalonica: The Appropriation of the Past in 1 Thessalonians 2:14–16

1 Thessalonians 2:14–16: Interpolation or “Authentic” Paul?

To be perhaps overly blunt, whether or not this passage is an interpolation into Paul's “original” letter is not crucial for this analysis. Discussions of authenticity are notoriously challenging. Indeed, the scare quotes in this section's heading signal the problematic nature of the term “authenticity.” The search for authenticity is difficult for numerous reasons. For one, “authenticity” tends to be used as a cipher for the “truth” of the earliest, most “authentic” tradition, but there need be no reason to assume that the earliest tradition is automatically more authentic or true. Moreover, the focus on the earlier, more “authentic” layer of material, to which corrupted accretions have been added, has the effect of implying that the authentic traditions are somehow more important than the inauthentic ones. One need only consider a text such as 1 Timothy to realize that something that is “inauthentic” in terms of Pauline authorship has been highly influential in the development of the ecclesiastical hierarchy.

For the present analysis, however, it is important to outline the basic arguments, since it will be clear that how this passage is treated by scholars directly correlates to their arguments about its authenticity. If it is treated as “non-Pauline,” then it simply gets excised from the text, and few bother to explain how it was made to fit into the wider epistolary context. If it is treated as “authentic,” then scholars engage in various strategies to connect its theology to Paul's other letters. These strategies, on both sides, reveal some questionable ways of understanding authorship and group formation in antiquity. In particular, they assume that an author's ideas are always consistent and coherent and that authors simply impart information to their audience instead of exchanging and developing ideas with them to see what is most promising for group formation. Neither of these, as this essay later argues, is necessarily true.

One prevalent opinion among scholars is that 1 Thessalonians 2:14–16 is a later interpolation into Paul's original letter. This argument was made meticulously by Birger Pearson and has been supported by others in different ways since. Following F. C. Baur, who saw not only this passage but the entire letter as stemming from someone other than Paul (Baur: 78), Pearson maintained that while the main body of the letter was Pauline, this passage is a later addition reflecting a post-70 ce. context. He observes, for one, that the passage is “traditional and formulaic” (Pearson: 83) and so does not demonstrate the more original thinking and phrasing of Paul, who only occasionally takes over fixed formulae, as in Romans 1:2–4. In addition, he argues that the definitive pronouncement against the Jews—that the wrath of God has come upon them at last—must refer to the destruction of Jerusalem during the Jewish War with Rome (Pearson: 83), since it voices in the increasingly common interpretative framework that “the destruction of Jerusalem [w]as a punishment inflicted by God upon the Jews for killing Christ” (Pearson: 84). In fact, he claims that the theme of Jews killing the “Lord Jesus” alongside the prophets crops up only post-70.

Moreover, in Pearson's eyes, the way that this passage treats the Jews reflects some “basic incompatibilities” (Pearson: 85) with Paul's other ideas. For one, he notes that Paul attributes Jesus' death to the “rulers of this age” (i.e., the Romans) in 1 Corinthians, not to the Jews. For another, Paul is elsewhere “rather proud” of his former Jewish identity in descriptions of his pre-conversion life, and so Pearson finds it “virtually impossible” to think that Paul participated in the “Gentile anti-Judaism” seen here. And since other letters such as Romans leave open the possibility that Jews will participate in salvation, he maintains that it is hard to imagine Paul treating them with such absolute condemnation.

To extend Pearson's argument, one may note that the presumption that the “Christians” were persecuted by “Jews” in Jerusalem before the Jewish War with Rome (assumed to inform this passage) is historically unlikely, due to the closely intertwined identities at this early stage. It makes little sense to speak of “Jewish” persecution of “Christians,” since both were varieties of Judaism in this context. In this vein, Pearson locates the setting of the interpolation post-70 conflict between Jews and Christians. The purpose is:

As an analogue, he compares statements from Matthew, which criticize the scribes and Pharisees for killing and persecuting the prophets, to show how “‘traditional’ building blocks can be given a new form in a historical situation post-70” (Pearson: 92). Although Wardle does not explain why such a loaded statement that presupposes knowledge of a particular theological interpretation of Israel's history (Deuteronomistic theology) would be introduced into this letter, he observes that it extends the “thanksgiving” structure in the letter's opening (Wardle: 195 n. 108; cf. Boers: 151–52).

In terms of linguistic connections to the surrounding passages, Daryl Schmidt has found the passage to fit poorly and so also argues that it is an interpolation. In a complex grammatical analysis, Schmidt observes that many features of this passage are “overly-Pauline” (Schmidt: 274), as if someone had gone to great lengths to imitate Paul by combining a number of his characteristic expressions. This, in concert with other observations such as the use of the substantive “word of God” instead of Paul's more typical “word of the Lord,” in Schmidt's eyes, supports Pearson's original suggestion that the passage was not penned by Paul.

Against this position, there have been others who have argued just as enthusiastically that this seemingly anomalous passage is actually original to the letter and is not at odds with Paul's theology. For one, this passage fits with Paul's other statements that the Thessalonian community should care about its connections to other Christ groups; earlier in the letter (1 Thess 1:7–8), for instance, he reminds them of the great reputation that they enjoy in Macedonia and Achaia. Therefore, the reference to the experience of the Judean Christ groups is not especially out of place. For another, this passage fits with Paul's interest in his own and others' experiences of persecution, with which he is often preoccupied and clearly considered to be an integral part of his identity (Kelhoffer: 30–64). As 1 Thessalonians announces in the next chapter: “You yourselves know that this is to be our lot. For when we were with you, we told you beforehand that we were to suffer affliction; just as it has come to pass and as you know” (1 Thess 3:3–4).

Whereas some think it is obvious that the anti-Jewish language in the passage is “non-Pauline,” it does not strike all as such. W. D. Davies, for one, does not see this passage as polemic against “the Jews” so much as polemic against Paul's rival missionaries: it reflects “unsophisticated, perhaps the unreflecting (impetuous?) reaction of an early Paul, not to the Jewish people as a whole but to Jews who were violently opposing the preaching of the gospel to the Gentiles” (Davies: 9). Michael A. Rydelnik interprets the reference to be about Jewish leaders, not Jews as an entire group. Dale C. Allison connects the situation of conflict outlined here to the memories of Jesus' Judean opponents preserved in the Gospels of Mark (14:53–65; 15:1) and John (18:12–14, 19–24) (Allison: 399–404). The translation “Judean” here is key for Allison's interpretation. “Paul's remark,” he notes, “cannot be all encompassing, for members of the Judean churches, Jews themselves, do not belong to the polemical generalizations” (Allison: 401). Timothy Wardle sees this as akin to Paul's other “harsh” portrayals of Jews when they failed to believe in Christ. Carol J. Schlueter understands the punitive tone to be an instance of “polemical hyperbole,” a common rhetorical strategy in ancient literature described by Quintillian and others (Schlueter: 124–64). John C. Hurd hesitates to treat automatically any seemingly inconsistent dimensions of this passage as “non-Pauline” on the grounds that “we have so few letters from Paul and because each of them exhibits anomalous feature” (Hurd: 21–36).

Whereas the situation of persecution made little sense to Pearson in a pre-70 context, Hurd argues that the apocalyptic dimension of Paul's theology can help explain its presence; apocalypticism deals with all sorts of social difficulties and setbacks, not simply systematic persecution. This passage could, for instance, be dealing with some far more mundane social experience (rejection, hostility, ostracization, etc.) and be fitting it into an apocalyptic framework (Allison: 63). In this way, Hurd describes the logic Paul may be using (in unfortunately anachronistic language): “The churches in Judea are suffering; the Thessalonians are suffering” (Hurd: 34). The vivid language may result also from Paul's flair for the dramatic, explains Schlueter, since “Paul's polemic is based on real opposition he faced when writing the letter or very recent opposition; it is a polemic which required exaggeration to support and brace his church” (Schlueter: 53).

Regarding the finality of the judgment against the Jews which Pearson could understand only in a post-70 context, others have connected this statement to the Jews' expulsion from Rome under Claudius in 49 ce (Bammel). Some have proposed that it could also refer to the Passover riots in Jerusalem in the same year (Wanamaker: 30; Bockmuehl). And the finality that Pearson sees in the judgment against the Jews—seemingly non-Pauline—might not be as final as he thought; Wanamaker (108–19) understands there to still be an opportunity for salvation for the Jews in these verses. Allison interprets the finality of the destruction to be a reference to the inauguration and presence of the kingdom, à la Q 11:20 (Allison: 100). In fact, the Matthean verses that Pearson compared to the sentiments in this passage are taken from Q material, which also preserves the notion that Jesus was killed alongside other prophets who had been sent to Israel (Jacobson; Kloppenborg: 121–22; Horsley: 112) and is argued by most commentators to be a pre-70 composition. What all this suggests is that this sort of polemical language against the Jews does not necessarily require a post-70 context.

Finally, whereas Schmidt had argued on a linguistic basis that the passage was an interpolation, one can actually make the exact opposite argument in terms of linguistic evidence. This passage also links grammatically and conceptually with v 6 from the previous chapter: “and you became imitators of us and of the Lord, receiving the word with joy by the Holy Spirit in spite of persecution.” For this, the letter reminds the audience that Jesus will save them from “the wrath that is coming.” This phrasing has striking similarities with the passage under discussion here. First Thessalonians 2: 14–16 also notes that the recipients became imitators of those believers in Judea, whose opponents had been overtaken by God's wrath already. And although there is no precise linguistic connection between language regarding persecution, both passages presuppose situations of conflict.

This may be surprising, but this essay will not be pushing a particular conclusion about this passage's authenticity (though there are convincing arguments on both sides). It is more interested in two specific things: how arguments have been made for authenticity and inauthenticity and how the conversation shifts if we think differently about Paul (or any author) as a creative inventor of tradition instead of a fixed mouthpiece for a coherent theology. As should be clear, treatment of this passage has largely centered on philological and theological issues—whether the language is Pauline and the ideas are Pauline. Moreover, arguments have been preoccupied with Paul's attitude toward Judaism—whether he did or did not envision salvation for the Jews. On the basis of these arguments, scholars have thus made conclusions about the way the passage either works with the surrounding verses or disrupts them. What if we change the focus, though, from focusing on Paul to focusing on what this passage does in terms of identity formation for the Thessalonian constituency, especially given the most current suggestions about the socio-ethnic makeup of the group? This shift, this article will argue, requires us to think differently about authors and authenticity when it comes to social formation.

Recent Redescription of the Thessalonian Group

Reconstructing the groups to which Paul was writing has long been a preoccupation of New Testament scholars (as in Witherington; Nicholl; Asano; Toney; and Coutsoumpos): who made up his audiences? Were they Jews or non-Jews? Men or women? Wealthy or impoverished? Literate or illiterate? It is not always possible to settle all these questions for each group. When it comes to the Thessalonians, though, most commentators agree that the group is mostly made up of Gentiles. Save for the passage under question, Paul does not quote Jewish scriptures or engage in theological debates about the opportunities that Gentiles and Jews have for salvation. But the observation that the group had few or no Jews does not tell us much about the particular identity of the people in the group, their social status, their world of ideas, etc. Most scholars have just assumed that Paul “founded” the “church” in Thessalonica, because people there were persuaded by his captivating ideas about a new deity known as Christ; we can largely thank Acts of the Apostles for that narrative (Stowers). Richard Ascough has recently proposed a far more compelling social description of the Thessalonians as an association of artisans whose group was in the process of being reoriented by Paul away from Graeco-Roman deities toward Christ (Ascough 2003; Ascough 2011: 151–86). Paul did not “found” this group per se but capitalized on a trade association that already existed.

Ascough's argument that the Thessalonians were comprised of trade workers follows from several observations. For one, Paul does not seem to have been able to rely on the group for financial support; there were likely no wealthy members among them (Ascough 2003: 166). For another, much of the imagery that Paul uses in the letter concerns work and especially manual labor (Ascough 2003: 170–72). He reasons that Paul would have used this sort of language to appeal to a group within which it would have had the strongest resonance: a group of artisans. Indeed, Paul even reminds them of his time working among them (1 Thess 2:9). Especially because Paul does not voice the more common “generally negative attitude towards manual labor” in antiquity, Ascough is confident about using this linguistic evidence “to locate the Thessalonians on the social map of antiquity” (Ascough 2003: 173). Moreover, from inscriptions and documentary papyri, we know that many artisans were involved in voluntary associations with an official leadership structure, and 1 Thessalonians seems to reflect that structure as well, as in 1 Thessalonians 5:12 (Ascough 2003: 176–90). This proposal requires us to read the Thessalonians' activities much differently than others have and in a decidedly un-“church-like” way. For instance, many have assumed that the Thessalonians' well-known reputation (1 Thess 1:2–10) results from their successful missionizing activity in their region. By comparing analogous associations, however, Ascough maintains instead that their reputation stemmed from their self-promotion as an association with special and reputable founders, instead of from their dissemination of ideas about Christ (Ascough 2011). This compelling portrait of the Thessalonians, then, envisions them as a non-Jewish group, relying on typical urban trade networks to spread their reputation as an association founded by Paul and his companions. For this reason, we find almost no attempts in the letter to outline Paul's theological ideas about Christ with reference to Jewish scriptures. They would have fallen on deaf ears, as they would have had little currency among the non-Jewish Thessalonian artisans.

The original social ties among the Thessalonians thus seem to have been their common occupation; it does not follow that their political, social, ideological, or religious (if these facets can even be separated) perspectives would have been unified. 1 Thessalonians 2:14–16, then, becomes a problem, because it presupposes a rather widespread narrative found in numerous Jewish texts, namely the narrative of Deuteronomistic theology: the collection of ideas centered around Israel's on-going disobedience against God, which requires the sending of a series of prophets to enact periodic reform (Steck; Schoeps). Why would this be a persuasive rhetorical strategy if mainly Gentiles were in the audience? Who would they imagine as the “prophets” who had been killed in Judea? In the final part of this article, I suggest that we can still make sense of this odd passage and still imagine that it resonated with the Thessalonians, whether or not we take a position about its authenticity. I argue that the passage may refer to a basic situation in Judea (rejection of a Christ group) with which the Thessalonians would have likely been familiar, and that within the letter, it functions to create a coherent and legendary “past” for the group, since members were otherwise affiliated only through their occupation and association activity. This, then, is myth-making at its finest and certainly not out of the ordinary for other ancient associations.

1 Thessalonians 2:14–16 as an Invented Tradition

Conclusions about this passage are rather different if we rely on a theoretical framework to guide the assessment of this passage instead of simply philological and textual observations. In 1983, Eric Hobsbawm (with Terence Ranger) introduced the concept of “invented tradition,” which he described as “a set of practices, normally governed by overtly or tacitly accepted rules and of a ritual or symbolic nature, which seek to inculcate certain values and norms of behavior by repetition, which automatically implies continuity with the past” (Hobsbawm: 1). The continuity, however, is “largely factitious,” as these efforts are “responses to novel situations which take the form of reference to old situations” (Hobsbawm: 2). These novel situations tend to crop up in social contexts undergoing dramatic change. As Hobsbawm observes:

The imagined past, whether “real or invented … imposes fixed (normally formalized) practices, such as repetition” (Hobsbawm: 2) on present actors. And it is not uncommon to use “ancient material” (Hobsbawm: 6) to create these invented novelties. In plenty of political movements and ideologies, he notes, “historic continuity had to be invented … by creating an ancient past beyond effective historical continuity” (Hobsbawm: 7). Some of the primary social functions of invented traditions are “establishing or symbolizing social coherent groups or the membership of groups, real or artificial communities … all invented traditions … use history as a legitimator of action and cement of group cohesion” (Hobsbawm: 9, 11). Granted, Hobsbawm was clearly most interested in the ways that ritualized practices carry out these functions. One could also argue, however, that ideas (i.e., myths) count as invented traditions too, for they also establish and formalize patterns, make sense of the present in terms of the past, and try to create historical continuity where there is none. Accordingly, 1 Thessalonians 2:14–16 can be productively understood as an invented tradition that would have accomplished important identity work for the Thessalonians' group.

First, 1 Thessalonians 2:14–16 contributes an innovative, shared dimension to the Thessalonians' identity. If, as Ascough has persuasively argued, this was an association of Gentile artisans, their group identity largely hinged on their common occupation. They may have had diverse allegiances to different deities (something entirely common in Graeco-Roman antiquity), before Paul came along to insist that they devote all their loyalty to Christ. This passage reminds them that they have a more far-reaching identity on the basis of Christ, because, indeed, it is an identity that transcends their own group to engage a translocal network of Christ believers. The “problem” in Thessalonica thus concerns how to realign the identity of this association which had formerly understood itself as a trade group that likely honored multiple deities. Paul wants to convince them to be loyal to Christ alone, and the urgency of this obligation is ramped up by the reference to the persecution that they must expect from outsiders. Their old reference point for identity (i.e., their old “traditions,” probably based on their common occupation, perhaps some shared deities) did not suffice for Paul.

Second and related, the passage links the group's experiences to other Christ groups in Judea. But this is no mundane connection; it is, I would suggest, rather epic. Even if Paul had not relayed to them much of the history of the Jesus movement in Galilee and Judea (however much he may have known), it seems likely that at the very least they knew that its primary and legendary hub was in Jerusalem and that Jesus' followers had experienced some hostility there. The passage lends a profound and mythical framework to the movement, calling on past experiences of the Judeans and making them meaningful for the Thessalonians. This is precisely how the construction of heritage works, according to David Lowenthal:

So also, Paul Connerton: “Images of the past commonly legitimate a current social order” (Connorton: 3; see also Halwachs). Thus, the ostensibly problematic passage in 1 Thessalonians 2 works to extend the group's heritage beyond whatever common experiences they may have had together in Thessalonica. Their identity is given an antecedent, which is, in Lowenthal's words “the most crucial legacy” (Lowenthal: 35).

The letter contains clues to part of the reason for mobilizing this particular heritage from Judea and connecting it to the Thessalonian group. In addition to establishing a legendary “backstory” for the Thessalonians, it makes sense of their contemporary situation of “persecution,” whatever that might be. The passage assures them that their suffering is to be expected, for it happened not only to Jesus and his Judean followers, but also to the prophets of the past. Their distressing experience, in other words, is normal. Thus, 1 Thessalonians 2:14–16 gives the Thessalonian association a “pedigree” (Lowenthal: xvii) and an explanation for their troubles—an explanation that extends beyond their small group to epic proportion. So again, Lowenthal has identified this as vital to identity formation: “To share a legacy is to belong to a family, a community, a race, a nation … common commitments bind us to others within our group. Mutual identity demands mutual allegiance” (Lowenthal: 2). The interpretation of 1 Thessalonians 2:14–16 as an invented tradition is made more compelling if we envision the Thessalonians as going through some sort of distress and persecution—or at least perceiving themselves to be suffering. This is precisely the kind of legend that would function to console them in difficult times, especially if they knew that the Judean group was currently thriving. That knowledge would assure them that the Judean “heroes” withstood rejection in the past, and so also can they now. “The heroic dead,” are thus “essential to the collective heritage” (Lowenthal: 59).

Ascough argues similarly that 1 Thessalonians 1:6–10, which praises the Thessalonians for turning away from idols to monotheism, works in the same way to contribute to identity formation. This passage shows efforts to “narrate to themselves and to others the story of how they came to know this God … and why they chose to appropriate this God above all others” (Ascough 2011: 68). Of course, it also reflects subtle massaging from the “Paul party” in order “to help the Thessalonians shape their narrative into broader Jewish monotheistic framework” (Ascough 2011: 68). This is exactly the same kind of intellectual work that I have suggested characterizes 1 Thessalonians 2:14–16; it is an effort to form the identity of the nascent Thessalonian group, incorporating it into a wider mythic narrative—in this case, the narrative of Deuteronomistic theology that was widespread among other Jewish texts, including the Gospel of Mark and the Sayings Source Q.

1 Thessalonians 2:14–16 can thus be described as an invented tradition insofar as it reinforces an identity connected to Christ, creates continuity with a (somewhat) legendary past, and promotes group cohesion for the Thessalonians. Where this differs from Hobsbawm's original understanding of invented traditions is that it does not promote any particular ritualized action to create this tradition. Yet we should arguably not drive such an absolute wedge between thought and action: the penning of this passage is an intentional activity on the author's part to establish a connection between the Judean Christ group and the Thessalonians. And it is almost certainly imaginary: as a predominantly Gentile group of artisans, we can suppose that the group had very little knowledge of the predominantly Jewish Christian group in Jerusalem. The author is trying to convince them that their connection via experiences of persecution for the sake of Christ is the basis for their common identity.

Let me also propose something admittedly controversial: if Paul wrote this, he might not actually believe it. Or, put differently, he might not have had much invested in this narrative of “Jews” persecuting Christ groups. This might be difficult for some to imagine, especially if we continue to see Paul as comprehensively articulating his well thought-out theology every time he pens a letter. But what if he was trying out this idea out on the Thessalonians, because their identity needed something else to use as an identity marker besides their association as trade-workers and their previous shared cultic activity? What if this mythic framework represents an early Paul experimenting with ideas? Whether or not this statement is a central part of his “theology,” it accomplishes something for him in the context of the Thessalonian group. It assures the Thessalonians that not only do they have an identity as part of their group, but also that their identity, as connected to Christ, extends far beyond their imagined horizons—all the way to Judea! It is thus not a nebulous identity, but a creative, powerful, and persuasive one. As for the innovative nature of such a strategy, in 1966, Schippers had already observed that the presence of this passage evinced some “creative handling” to fit it into the surrounding material (Schippers: 224). Schippers and I are in the good company of Burton Mack, who similarly suggested recently that whenever Paul refers to “traditions” that he has received, he might simply be fabricating their legitimate origins to support his own authority (Mack: 35–74).

The typical treatment of this passage as “authentic” or “inauthentic” has often hinged on an assumption of authorial consistency, the suggestion that an author's ideas are the same across different texts, even those spanning quite a range of time. Hurd reflects on this typical assumption at length:

Indeed, 1 Thessalonians 2:14–16 may be the “unsophisticated,” “unreflecting,” and “impetuous” (see Davis's comments above) reaction of an early Paul trying to get the ideologically disorganized Thessalonians on the same page about their group identity and heritage. If so, there are several ways to understand his role as an author: he might not agree with everything he says; he just might not be consistent in his thinking (cf. Schuelter: 37–38); or he might be “making it up as he goes”—experimenting with whatever ideas he thinks might be compelling and grow roots in the Thessalonian group.

This kind of analysis gets us beyond what is and what is not “Pauline.” Paul may have been in the midst of producing his own Pauline-ness. It did not have a fixed essence from the beginning, nor did it remain the same throughout all his letters. Certainly many themes are common, but many others are unique in each letter. Furthermore, we would expect this kind of creative innovation to present as the exact opposite of “authentic,” if by authenticity, we mean a coherent portrait of an author. Innovation is, in fact, at odds with notions of authenticity. An invented tradition is, by its very definition, “new,” and therefore, to force it to match Paul's other ideas is bound to fail.

Invented Traditions in Other Associations

If Paul is responsible for this passage, this does not mean that his creative ingenuity is somehow unique in the ancient world. On the contrary, other ancient associations employed similar strategies of myth-making in order to define their identity beyond household or occupational affiliations. This last section will thus briefly demonstrate that other groups contemporary with Paul's ekklesiai attempt to give themselves legendary histories as well, even if they are established in only a few sentences akin to 1 Thessalonians 2:14–16. The conceptual payoff for such a brief comparison is that it further supports the present interpretation of this passage as a deliberate effort at identity formation. Regardless of who is responsible for the addition of the passage (Paul or a later interpolator), it resonates with other ancient tactics of creating identity by appropriating a past legacy.

Voluntary associations provide excellent opportunities to catch sight of deliberate strategies of identity construction, and they are starting to be taken seriously by scholars of Christian origins as important counterparts for imagining early Christian social formation. There are numerous features of voluntary associations that can be productively compared to Pauline groups, but here the focus will be on how associative groups develop their legitimacy by projecting their identity back in time and investing it with some prestige that has already been established. Examples abound. For instance, one inscription from Philadelphia (SIG³ 985, Philadelphia, late 2^nd–early 3^rd c. ce) narrates how a householder named Dionysios received instructions from a deity in a dream regarding how the people in his household should form their association. Hence, it creates an “origin story” to unite the group around a common myth. Similarly, another from Thessalonica (IG X/2.1 255, Thessalonica, 1^st–2^nd c. ce) relates the story of the association's founding, describing how Sarapis came in a dream to someone who was commissioned to take a letter to a certain Eurynomos, who subsequently “received Sarapis and Isis after having seen the contents.” In this case, the group is depicted as emerging under divine auspices and so amounts to a prestigious identity. Another inscription (IMagnMai 215, Magnesia on the Maeander, ca. 150 ce) explains how a group came to have certain distinctive practices, because they received them through an oracle of Dionysos. Like IG X/2.1 255, IMagnMai 215 links the current social practice and identity of the group to a mythic past connected to divine support. Still another (SIG² 663, Delos, ca. 200 bce) narrates how an Egyptian priest brought Sarapis with him from Egypt to Delos and how the temple was built, despite certain people “conspir[ing] against us and the god.” Here the “origin story” for the group is rather similar to 1 Thessalonians 2:14–16, in that it depicts the successful establishment of this Sarapis association against external threats.

While these are all very different cases, they are similar in that they create “backstories” in which the associations would have grounded their identities. I would argue that 1 Thessalonians 2:14–16 accomplishes the same thing; it provides a legendary backstory that the Thessalonians can use to explain some dimensions of their identity: that they are currently undergoing some distress and that this ties them not only to each other, but also to the Judean Christ groups. This suggests that the passage in 1 Thessalonians, whether Paul or someone else put it there, is consistent with the efforts at identity formation that we see elsewhere in the ancient world.

Conclusion

This analysis has highlighted, among other things, how studies of Paul's letters have been far too preoccupied with authenticity and the “real” Paul—who must be both coherent and consistent in his ideas—to the extent that it has prevented us from more creative interpretations that are more in line with ordinary social formation. Guided by theorists such as Hobsbawm and Lowenthal who study the appropriation of the past for identity formation, I have demonstrated how 1 Thessalonians 2:14–16 can be understood differently and in relation to its contributions to the Thessalonians' group identity. Whether it is an interpolation into an earlier letter or not, it accomplishes much for the social formation of the Thessalonians. If Paul, in fact, wrote this, this may have been just what he intended.