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4 Rejoice in the Lord always. I will say it again: Rejoice! 5 Let your gentleness be evident to all. The Lord is near. 6 Do not be anxious about anything, but in every situation, by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, present your requests to God. 7 And the peace of God, which transcends all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus.

8 Finally, brothers and sisters, whatever is true, whatever is noble, whatever is right, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is admirable—if anything is excellent or praiseworthy—think about such things. 9 Whatever you have learned or received or heard from me, or seen in me—put it into practice. And the God of peace will be with you.

Sometimes you’re rhetorical, and other times you’re rhetorical.

The first and most common meaning is the rhetorical question. If you looked outside last night and cried, “why is it getting dark so early?” then you were asking a rhetorical question. There’s a scientific answer—something to do with the earth’s axis—but that’s not the purpose of the question. The rhetorical question is meant to make a point, like the surprising pace of seasonal change.

The other rhetorical, the one that St. Paul loves, relates to persuasion and the use of language. There are numerous devices, or techniques, that are commonly used, and have been identified. And since rhetoric is an ancient discipline, it has long been the subject of study. And no one studied rhetoric as thoroughly as the Greeks, who claimed the right to name these devices. Some examples:

When Yoda said “Fear leads to anger. Anger leads to hate. Hate leads to suffering,” he wasn’t just making an excellent point, he was employing anadiplosis. The ‘last word becomes the first word’ pattern is anadiplosis.

When Ben Franklin said “we must all hang together or most assuredly we shall all hang separately,” he was using antanaclasis—two meanings for the word hang to emphasize his point. Lucky for him, they won their little rebellion.

If I said “tens of people attended worship this morning,” it would sound funny—perhaps even clever—and would be an example of antiphrasis. Antiphrasis takes a common phrase (“tens of” is usually followed by thousands”) and applies it to a given situation.

On the more serious side, if someone raises a topic while pretending not to raise the topic (“I don’t know anything about it, but people are talking about it…”) then they are engaged in apophasis. It’s a way for liars and cheats to deny they ever talked about something. Michael, tell is how you truly feel.

My final example is anaphora, the repetition of a word or phrase to underline your point. Lincoln did it at Gettysburg, and most famously Churchill did it on June 4, 1940:

“…we shall fight on the beaches, we shall fight on the landing grounds, we shall fight in the fields and in the streets, we shall fight in the hills; we shall never surrender.”

The use of “we” is meant to unite the nation, create common cause, and underline the resolve to never surrender. Interestingly, Churchill used only Old English words in this quote—words in use for over a thousand years—except one: surrender, from the French.

And finally to dear Paul, who wrote in Greek and used anaphora to create this remarkable passage:

Finally, brothers and sisters, whatever is true, whatever is noble, whatever is right, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is admirable—if anything is excellent or praiseworthy—think about such things. 9 Whatever you have learned or received or heard from me, or seen in me—put it into practice. And the God of peace will be with you.

It’s a powerful passage, made more powerful by the use of anaphora. Paul could have said “think about truth, nobility, purity, loveliness…” and it wouldn’t have nearly the same effect. Here Paul is almost pleading, and the repetitive use of “whatever” is an invitation to think of these virtues and whatever else comes to mind. And this, of course, leads to his conclusion—whatever you see in me—try to do this too.

This might be the moment to say more about the context of these words, both the church at Philippi, and people who lived in the city. Philippi was first a Greek city, mostly abandoned by the first century before the common era. After Rome’s civil war (42 BCE) the city was colonized by retired Roman soldiers, a reward for their service to the republic (soon to be empire). There were mines in the area, which meant prosperity, making Philippi a very attractive place to live.

All of these clues (proud, prosperous) may reveal why Paul wrote what he wrote. If you had to summarize the Letter to the Philippians with two words, the two words would be humility and unity. Maybe all that wealth explains the need for humility, or the humility you might need as a proud Roman surrounded by colonized Greeks. Maybe a mixed church of Romans and Greeks, colonizers and the colonized, explains the need for unity. Whatever the reason, Paul wants humility and unity, and he’s willing to use powerful rhetoric to get it.

Still, I think there is more here—more about the Roman world itself—and the ideas that defined the culture. I’m thinking specifically of Roman virtue (weir-tus), which meant something quite different from the virtue we know. We think of goodness when we hear the word virtue, but for Romans virtue was closer to manliness, valour, courage, character, or worth. The Roman god Virtus was the god of bravery in battle, the personification of the Roman virtue.

Later on, the meaning of virtue will begin to resemble what we call virtue, but at the time Paul is writing, virtus is about strength. Everything you did in the public sphere was about gaining and maintaining virtus. You could become famous in the process—there was no shame in glory—but the overall goal was the betterment of Rome. Virtus meant higher standing, higher standing meant more responsibility, and more responsibility meant more opportunities for conquest.

Hold that in your mind and listen to Paul’s plea once more: “…whatever is true, whatever is noble, whatever is right, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is admirable…think about such things.” These are his concluding words, which are really just a coda to his starting point back in verse four: “Let your gentleness be evident to all. The Lord is near.”

“Let your gentleness be evident to all.”

It would be easy, then, to suggest that our time period has returned to Roman virtus—manliness and conquest—and somehow left a gentler age behind. We could idealize the recent past and imagine that what we face today is unique or new. Yes, we seem to be sliding into a dangerous new age, but for many people and places (even here in Canada) the danger never went away. The view from relative wealth and privilege makes it harder for us to see that for many—too many—conquest never stopped.

And this just adds urgency to Paul’s message. The goal of seeking these things is as relevant today as the day Paul put pen to parchment. As the people of God, we stand up for “whatever is true, whatever is noble, whatever is right, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is admirable…” What other goals are there? The world needs reminding (and Christians everywhere need reminding) that the Kingdom of God is a kingdom of gentleness, and mercy, and justice. Paul gives us powerful rhetoric for powerful ideas— Godly ideas that may be our only hope. Amen.

https://www.bibleodyssey.org/en/places/main-articles/philippi