Valentinus’ Legacy and Polyphony of Voices 1000417735, 9781000417739

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Routledge Studies in the Early Christian World

VALENTINUS’ LEGACY AND POLYPHONY OF VOICES Piotr Ashwin-Siejkowski

VALENTINUS’ LEGACY AND POLYPHONY OF VOICES

This book challenges the popular use of the term ‘Valentinian’ to describe a Christian school of thought in the second century ce by analysing documents ascribed to ‘Valentinians’ by early Christian Apologists, and more recently by modern scholars after the discovery of codices near Nag Hammadi in Egypt. To this end, Ashwin-Siejkowski highlights the great diversity of views among Christian theologians associated with the label ‘Valentinian’, demonstrating their attachment to the Scriptures and Apostolic traditions as well as their dialogue with Graeco-Roman philosophies of their time. Among the various themes explored are ‘myth’ and its role in early Christian theology, the familiarity of the Gospel of Truth with Alexandrian exegetical tradition, Ptolemy’s didactic in his letter to Flora, the image of the Saviour in the Interpretation of Knowledge, reception of the Johannine motifs in Heracleon’s commentary and the Tripartite Tractate, salvation in the Excerpts from Theodotus, Christian identity in the Gospel of Philip, and reception of selected Johannine motifs in ‘Valentinian’ documents. Valentinus’ Legacy and Polyphony of Voices will be an invaluable and accessible resource to students, researchers, and scholars of Early Christian theologies, as well as trajectories of exegesis in New Testament sources and the emerging of different Christian identities based on various Christologies. Piotr Ashwin-Siejkowski is a Senior Research Fellow in the Department of Theology and Religious Studies at King’s College London, UK. His research is focused on Christian origins and the formation of Christian doctrine in the period from the first to the third century ce. Among his recent publications are ‘Clement of Alexandria’ in The Wiley Blackwell Companion to Patristics (2015) and ‘Creeds, Councils and Doctrinal Development’ in The Early Christian World (Routledge, 2017).

ROUTLEDGE STUDIES IN THE EARLY CHRISTIAN WORLD

CHROMATIUS OF AQUILEIA AND THE MAKING OF A CHRISTIAN CITY Robert McEachnie JEWISH GLASS AND CHRISTIAN STONE A Materialist Mapping of the “Parting of the Ways” Eric C. Smith RECONCEIVING RELIGIOUS CONFLICT New Views from the Formative Centuries of Christianity Edited by Wendy Mayer and Chris L. de Wet THE SLAVE METAPHOR AND GENDERED ENSLAVEMENT IN EARLY CHRISTIAN DISCOURSE Double Trouble Embodied Marianne Bjelland Kartzow BETWEEN JEWS AND HERETICS Refiguring Justin Martyr’s Dialogue with Trypho Matthijs den Dulk THE SILENCING OF SLAVES IN EARLY JEWISH AND CHRISTIAN TEXTS Ronald Charles A NEW PERSPECTIVE ON THE USE OF PAUL IN THE GOSPEL OF MARK Cameron Evan Ferguson VALENTINUS’ LEGACY AND POLYPHONY OF VOICES Piotr Ashwin-Siejkowski For more information about this series, please visit: www.routledge.com/ Routledge-Studies-in-the-Early-Christian-World/book-series/SECW

VALENTINUS’ LEGACY AND POLYPHONY OF VOICES Piotr Ashwin-Siejkowski

First published 2022 by Routledge 2 Park Square, Milton Park, Abingdon, Oxon OX14 4RN and by Routledge 605 Third Avenue, New York, NY 10158 Routledge is an imprint of the Taylor & Francis Group, an informa business © 2022 Piotr Ashwin-Siejkowski The right of Piotr Ashwin-Siejkowski to be identified as author of this work has been asserted by him in accordance with sections 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reprinted or reproduced or utilised in any form or by any electronic, mechanical, or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publishers. Trademark notice: Product or corporate names may be trademarks or registered trademarks, and are used only for identification and explanation without intent to infringe. British Library Cataloguing-in-Publication Data A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Names: Ashwin-Siejkowski, Piotr, 1964– author. Title: Valentinus’ legacy and polyphony of voices / Piotr Ashwin-Siejkowski. Description: Abingdon, Oxon ; New York, NY : Routledge, 2021. | Series: Routledge studies in the early Christian world | Includes bibliographical references and index. | Identifiers: LCCN 2021005639 (print) | LCCN 2021005640 (ebook) | ISBN 9781032019352 (hardback) | ISBN 9781032019413 (paperback) | ISBN 9781003181095 (ebook) Subjects: LCSH: Valentinians. | Theology—History—Early church, ca. 30–600. | Church history—Primitive and early church, ca. 30–600. Classification: LCC BT1475 .A84 2021 (print) | LCC BT1475 (ebook) | DDC 273/.1—dc23 LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2021005639 LC ebook record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2021005640 ISBN: 978-1-032-01935-2 (hbk) ISBN: 978-1-032-01941-3 (pbk) ISBN: 978-1-003-18109-5 (ebk) DOI: 10.4324/9781003181095 Typeset in Times New Roman by Apex CoVantage, LLC

Ϯ ⲧ ⲱ ⲃ ϩ̄ ⲙ̄ ⲙ ⲁ ⲕ ⲡ ⲉ ⲧ ϣ ⲟ [ ⲟ ⲡ ] ⲁ̣ⲩ ⲱ ⲡ ⲉ ⲧ ϣ ⲣ ⲡ̄ ϣ ⲟ ⲟ ⲡ ϩ ⲙ̄ ⲡ ⲣ ⲉ ⲛ [ ⲉ ⲧϫ ] ⲁ̣ ⲥ ⲓ ⲁ ⲣ ⲉ ⲛ ⲛ ⲓ ⲙ ϩ ⲓ̈ ⲧ ⲛ ⲓ ⲏ ( ⲥ ⲟ ⲩ ) ⲥ ⲡ ⲉ ⲭ ( ⲣ ⲓ ⲥ ⲧ ⲟ ) ⲥ [ ⲡ ϫ ⲁ ⲉ ⲓ ] ⲥ ‧ ⲛ̄ ⲛ ⲓ ϫ ⲁ ⲉ ⲓ ⲥ̣ ⲡ ⲣ̄ ⲣ ⲟ ⲛ̄ ⲛ ⲁ ⲓ ⲱ ⲛ̣ I am calling you, who is and was before, in the name [which is] elevated above every name,1 through Jesus Christ, [Lord] of Lords, the King of the ages. The Prayer of the Apostle Paul, i, 1, a, 12–14 (trans. P. a.-s.)

To all my previous and current students ...

1 Phil 2:9; eph 1:21.

9

Taylor & Francis Taylor & Francis Group http://taylorandfra ncis.com

CONTENTS

Acknowledgements Abbreviations

ix xi

Introduction

1

1

A ‘Valentinian’ as a tag? Rethinking classification in the light of polemic and documents

8

2

Myth and its role in education of the Christian mind and imagination: A Valentinian Exposition, NHC, XI, 2

37

3

The Gospel of Truth, NHC, I, 3 and its possible Alexandrian affiliation

61

4

Ptolemy and the education of Flora

80

5

The Teacher of Immortality: The Saviour and soteriology in the Interpretation of Knowledge, NHC, XI, 1

101

6

Reception of the Johannine motifs in Heracleon’s Commentary on the Gospel of John and the Tripartite Tractate, NHC, I, 5

117

7

The Excerpts from Theodotus: In search of theology of salvation

141

8

Construction of the Christian identity in the Gospel of Philip, NHC, II, 3

161

vii

CONTENTS

9

The relationship between selected documents from the Nag Hammadi collection and the New Testament

181

Conclusion: When did the ‘Valentinians’ cease to be Christians? The wrong question

205

Index of ancient authors Index of modern authors Index of subjects

207 209 211

viii

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

This book is an outcome of the past five years of research at King’s College London in the Department of Theology and Religious Studies and of the generosity of many of my academic friends. First, I wish to thank Prof. Joan Taylor for her invitation to join many of her seminars where we studied Philo of Alexandria and some early Christian documents. Prof. Taylor’s ongoing support has allowed me to explore the area of Early Christianity between the traditional subjects of the New Testament, such as the Gospel of John and early Christian literature, including the apocryphal Gospels. Two other colleagues from King’s College London must be mentioned: Prof. Paul Joyce, who as the former Head of the Department welcomed my academic activity in the Department and then encouraged me to take up some teaching, and the current Head, Dr. Marat Shterin, who supported my request to continue my academic affiliation with the Department. In addition, my gratitude goes to Dr. Carol Downer (RIP), whose Coptic seminar provided me with the opportunity to read and discuss some documents from Nag Hammadi. Sadly, Carol died in February; I am not able to express my indebtedness to her. My thank you goes to Dr. Sarah Parkhouse who, as my academic friend, critically commented on some chapters in this book. Sarah’s insightful observation helped to sharpen my argument. As this book also contains some papers which I read at various universities, I wish to thank Prof. Francis Watson for his invitation to give a paper at the New Testament seminar at Durham University. I would like to add Prof. Ismo Dunderberg (University of Helsinki), Prof. Hugo Lundhaug (University of Oslo) and Prof. Mark Edwards (University of Oxford) for our initial discussions of some aspects of this book. I wish to thank my friends Fiona Morgan and Rebecca Wallis for their help with the preparation of the English manuscript. I wish to thank Tom Bedford, the copyeditor of my manuscript, whose efficiency and professionalism helped me to finish the book on time. I also would like to thank my former parishioners from St Mary’s Church in Twickenham for stimulating questions, discussions, and seminars during the past seven years, recently via Zoom, and my new colleagues

ix

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

from Brunel University London, where I continue my pastoral ministry. Finally, I would like to thank Amy Davis-Poynter at Routledge for including the book in the series Routledge Studies in the Early Christian World. Piotr Ashwin-Siejkowski April 2021

x

A B B R E V I AT I O N S

Ancient sources Abr. Adv. Jud. Adv. Val. AH. AJ. Alc I An. 1 Apol. 2 Apol. Carn. Cel. 1 Clem Com. In Ioh. Conf. Decal Dem. Det. Dial. Didask. Diff. Puls. Diogn. Ebr. Ecl. Proph. Enn. Ep. Ep.Barn Ep.Fl. Eph. Ex.Th. Fug.

Philo of Alexandria, De Abrahamo Tertullian, Against the Jews Tertullian, Against the Valentinians Irenaeus of Lyons, Against Heresies Josephus, Jewish Antiquities Plato, Alcibiades I Tertullian, On the Soul Justin Martyr, 1 Apology Justin Martyr, 2 Apology Tertullian, On the Flesh of Christ Origen, Against Celsus 1 Clement Origen, Commentary on the Gospel of John Philo of Alexandria, De confusione linguarum Philo of Alexandria, De Decalogo Irenaeus of Lyons, the Demonstration of the Apostolic Preaching Philo of Alexandria, Quod deterius potiori insidiari soleat Justin Martyr, Dialogue with Trypho Alcinous, Didaskalikos Galen, De Differentiis Pulsuum the Epistle to Diognetus Philo of Alexandria, De ebrietate Clement of Alexandria, Eclogae Propheticae Plotinus, Enneads Pliny the Younger, Epistles The Epistle of Barnabas Ptolemy, the Epistle to Flora Ignatius of Antioch, the Epistle to Ephesians Clement of Alexandria, Excerpts from Theodotus Philo of Alexandria, De fuga et inventione xi

A B B R E V I AT I O N S

Gig. Gos. Philip Gos. Thomas Gos. Truth Grg. Haer. HE. Her. Herm. Hom.Gen. Hom. In Luc. Hom.Jer Idol. In Alc. Inc. Interp. Know. Leg. Legatio Let. Aris. Life Magn. Man. Marc. Migr Moralia Mut. Myst. Opif. Or. Orat. P. Oxy Paed. Pan. P.e. Phd. Phdr. Philoc. Phld. Praem Prescr. Princ. Protrep. Rom. QE

Philo of Alexandria, De gigantibus The Gospel of Philip, NHC, II, 3 The Gospel of Thomas, NHC, II, 2 The Gospel of Truth, NHC, I, 3 Plato, Gorgias Theodoret of Cyrus, Compendium of Heretical Accounts Eusebius, Ecclesiastical History Philo of Alexandria, Quis rerum divinarum heres sit Lucian of Samosata, Hermotimus Origen, Homilies on Genesis Origen, Homilies on the Gospel of Luke Origen, Homilies on Jeremiah Tertullian, On Idolatry Proclus, Commentary on Alcibiades Athanasius, On the Incarnation of the Logos The Interpretation of Knowledge, NHC, XI, 1 Philo of Alexandria, Legum allegoriae Athenagoras of Athens, A Plea for Christians Letter of Aristeas Porphyry, Life of Plotinus Ignatius of Antioch, the Epistle to Magnesians Hermas, Mandates Tertullian, Against Marcion Philo of Alexandria, De migratione Abrahami Plutarch, Moralia Philo of Alexandria, De mutatione nominum Iamblichus, On the Mysteries Philo of Alexandria, De opificio mundi Tatian, Oratio Tertullian, On Prayer Papyrus Oxyrhynchus Clement of Alexandria, Paedagogus Epiphanius, Panarion Eusebius, Preparation for the Gospel Plato, Phaedo Plato, Phaedrus Origen, The Philocalia Ignatius of Antioch, the Epistle to the Philadelphians Philo of Alexandria, De praemiis et poenis Tertullian, On the Prescription of Heretics Origen, On First Principles Clement of Alexandria, Exhortation to the Greeks Ignatius of Antioch, the Epistle to Romans Philo of Alexandria, Quaestiones et solutiones in Exodum xii

A B B R E V I AT I O N S

QG R. Refutatio Sacr Scorp. Sim Smyrn. Somn. Soph. Spec. Strom. Testim. Truth Tht. Tim. Trall. Treat. Res. Tri. Trac. VA. Val. Exp. Virg Virt VM VP.

Philo of Alexandria, Quaestiones et solutiones in Genesim Plato, Republica Refutation of All Heresies Philo of Alexandria, De sacrificiis Abelis et Caini Tertullian, Antidote to the Scorpion’s Sting Hermas, Similitudes Ignatius of Antioch, the Epistle to Smyrnaeans Philo of Alexandria, De somniis Plato, Sophist Philo of Alexandria, De specialibus legibus Clement of Alexandria, Stromateis The Testimony of Truth, NHC, IX, 3 Plato, Theaetetus Plato, Timaeus Ignatius of Antioch, the Epistle to Trallians The Treatise on the Resurrection, NHC, I, 4 The Tripartite Tractate, NHC, I, 5 Philostratus, Life of Apollonius of Tyana A Valentinian Exposition, NHC, XI, 2 Tertullian, On the Veiling of Virgins Philo of Alexandria, De virtutibus Philo of Alexandria, De Vita Moysis Diogenes Laertius, Life of Philosophers

Modern sources ABG ANRW APh Aug B BCNH BZNW CBQ CGL ChH CQ EC EPRO romain GCS GCS N.F. HTR JAF

Arbeiten zur Bibel und ihrer Geschichte Aufstieg und Niedergang der römischen Welt Annals of Philosophy Augustinianum Biblica Bibliothèque Copte de Nag Hammadi Beihefte zur Zeitschrift für die neutestamentliche Wissenschaft Catholic Biblical Quarterly Coptic Gnostic Library Church History Classical Quarterly Early Christianity Études préliminaires aux religions orientales dans l’Empire Die Griechischen Christlichen Schriftsteller Die Griechischen Christlichen Schriftsteller Neue Folge Harvard Theological Review Journal of American Folklore xiii

A B B R E V I AT I O N S

JBL JECS JEH JGRChJ JGS JHC JHP JSNT JTS JTSB MTh N NHC NHL NHMS NHS NHTB NRS NT NTS Nu Ph PQ S SACh SC SHR SO SP SPh SR STAC SVCh TLZ TUGAL VCh WUNT

Journal of Biblical Literature Journal of Early Christian Studies Journal of Ecclesiastical History Journal of Graeco-Roman Christianity and Judaism Gnosis: Journal of Gnostic Studies Journal of Higher Criticism Journal of the History of Philosophy Journal for the Study of the New Testament Journal of Theological Studies Journal for the Theory of Social Behaviour Modern Theology Neotestamentica Nag Hammadi Codices Nag Hammadi Library Nag Hammadi Manichean Studies Nag Hammadi Studies Nag Hammadi Texts and The Bible New Revised Standard Version Novum Testamentum New Testament Studies Numen Philosophy Philosophical Quarterly Semeia Studia Antiquitatis Christianae Sources Chrétiennes Studies in the History of Religions Symbolae Osloenses Studia Patristica Studia Philonica Studia Religiologica. Zeszyty Naukowe Uniwersytetu Jagiellońskiego Studien und Texte zu Antike und Christentum/Studies and Texts in Antiquity and Christianity Supplements to Vigilae Christianae Die Theologische Literaturzeitung Texte und Untersuchungen zur Geschichte der altchristlichen Literatur Vigiliae Christianae Wissenschaftliche Untersuchungen zum Neuen Testament

xiv

INTRODUCTION

1. Status quaestionis None are willing to father the name and shame of being beer or whisky men. Pennsylvania newspaper The Warren Ledger (October 1884)

The history of the use of the rhetorical tool of ‘naming and shaming’ had not started in October 1884. We still lived in the light and the shadows of the Apologists of the early Church. They combined their zeal for correctness of belief, their personal piety and their ardent rhetoric with intellectual skills in tagging and defaming their Christian opponents. The Apologists echoed the earlier GraecoRoman desire to distinguish those who truly preserved Socrates’ intellectual legacy and to let go of those who diverged from it. They aimed to establish, with clarity beyond any doubt, the line between the authentic, original Christian truth and the various later forms of its deformation. The Ancient Greek philosophers used the word hairesis to mean ‘a choice’ and in the new Christian theological perspective that word became a synonym of ‘erroneous’, often ‘malicious divergence’: heresy.1 The battle in the early Church to distinguish between Christian truth and falsehood had many fields and many casualties. It was not just about the ‘correct’ exegesis and understanding of the Old and emerging New Testaments. It was also about the correct understanding of salvation, an approved Christology, proper moral conduct and the precise way to baptise. The diversity of voices about Jesus’ incarnation, the value of circumcision and the correct formula for baptism had already been heard in the Gospels and in Paul’s letters. Nevertheless, during the second and later centuries, Christian teachers claimed that their opinions and practices represented the Apostolic tradition. Nobody aspired to be seen as an innovator, originator, or the source of new theology. This book is about certain early Christian theologians and exegetes that flourished during the second and third centuries and part of the fourth century of the Common Era. At the centre of that ‘school’ stood the theologian and poet Valentinus. Was he the father-figure for his ‘school’? Did his ‘followers’, Christian men 1 DOI: 10.4324/9781003181095-1

Introduction

and women, celebrate him as their founder? I propose and argue in the following chapters that neither of these was the case. Valentinus is still seen as one of the most important intellectuals of his time. He was thought controversial by contemporaneous Christians and his importance was highlighted by the many polemics written about him and his ‘followers’ in different parts of the Roman Empire: Irenaeus in Lyons, Justin Martyr in Rome, Clement in Alexandria and Tertullian in Carthage. Although we know very little about Valentinus’ own writings,2 it is an opinion commonly held by modern scholars that his ‘followers’ produced many theological, and more or less speculative, exegetical and liturgical works. Some of those works were preserved by their ancient commentators, such as Clement of Alexandria (Excerpts from Theodotus), and some by their fierce critics, such as Epiphanius of Salamis (Ptolemy’s Epistle to Flora). Other works, found near Nag Hammadi in Upper Egypt in 1945, had probably been translated from Greek into Coptic. Although academics still debate the exact list of documents that can be classified as ‘Valentinian’,3 there is an agreement that it is possible to distinguish these ‘Valentinian’ writings from other Christian literary sources representing different theologies and traditions, such as the ‘Sethians’. With the discovery of the 13 Nag Hammadi papyrus codices,4 the obvious question was about the writers’ religious and philosophical affiliations. Historians were familiar with the works of the Apologists and hoped that now some of the texts would give them direct access to those ancient authors who were condemned by the defenders of the Great Church. During the resulting academic excitement in the late 1960s, the umbrella term ‘Gnosticism’ was revitalised.5 Other tags have followed, among them the collective noun ‘Valentinian’. In the following decades, the label ‘Valentinian’ and other terms were commonly used, with the conviction that they reflected a similar underlying mythology and theology. The documents were understood to be linked on the basis of, for instance, their common myth about the origin of the visible world, their shared understanding of cosmic catastrophe or their similar scenarios of the redemption. Another difficulty that surfaced with the discovery near Nag Hammadi concerned the Church Fathers’ teachings about ‘heretics’, including ‘Valentinians’, compared with what could now be detected in the newly discovered documents ascribed to this broad group. Michel Desjardins, in his short but insightful paper, proposed an imaginative analogy with New Testament studies: how to reconcile what we know about Paul from Acts of the Apostles (akin to the Patristic sources) with Paul’s own letters (the equivalent in this example of the Nag Hammadi documents).6 Three decades ago, Michael Allen Williams challenged the category of ‘Gnosticism’.7 My study of selected Greek and Coptic documents in this monograph now leads me similarly to question the notion of ‘Valentinianism’ as an academic tag. This is quite a recent conclusion. For many years I was satisfied with the label ‘Valentinian’, knowing that it described a diverse group. However, I now conclude that the diversity of the sources should make us think more critically about traditional scholarly terms that may obstruct the ancient approaches to Scriptures and obscure their theological insights. I do not propose abolishing 2

Introduction

the term ‘Valentinian’ for good or replacing it with, for instance, ‘Platonic’ or ‘Sophia-Myth-Christianity’. Instead, I argue that we should be more aware of Christian-ites8 (a polyphony or, sometimes, cacophony of voices) during the first four centuries. Rather than trying to pinpoint a precise school, I argue that the diversity of material needs to be better acknowledged and explored.

2. Method The past 75 years of studying the codices from Nag Hammadi have put them in context with other treatises, letters and exhortations as multiple reflections of the same ‘school of thought’. Various categories have been accepted as a result of this study and have found their way into academic language, including the term ‘Valentinian’. Similarly, individual works have been ascribed to ‘Valentinian’ theology in contrast to the testimonies of the Apologists. Again, it has become an accepted paradigm that we are dealing with literary products of the same milieu. That intellectual legacy should be respected, of course, because the approach that was taken in the study of the codices offered many insightful comments and raised key questions about the causes of discrepancies between the texts. However, I would like to start not with a ‘school’ in mind, but with a careful reading of selected narratives as more autonomous Christian reflections. This approach has already been initiated by some renowned scholars in the field, such as Mark Edwards,9 Christoph Markschies,10 Hugo Lundhaug11 and Einar Thomassen.12 I propose to go further and explore selected documents to highlight the inner richness of their theological motifs. They include some Scriptural themes, ideas from Philo of Alexandria, Roman Stoicism and Middle and Neoplatonism, as well as the topics found in polemics with other contemporaneous Christian sources. I will analyse how each document responds to the key issues, such as the origin of imperfection in this world and what distracts the world from salvation. But I will not emphasise, for instance, that a shared cosmological myth lies behind those documents. My study of them as individual creative theological narratives will allow them to shine in a different light. In this book I pay special attention to the uniqueness of each chosen document rather than treating each as a fragment of a greater ‘Valentinian’ landscape. So far, scholars have analysed these documents as the products of one intellectual community with a clear identity that is different from other communities. My reading shows that, although the documents reflect some common theological motifs, they avoid describing themselves as coming from a separate Christian ‘school of thought’ with a clear intellectual or religious identity. In consequence, I propose to use the content of each document as the ultimate source to reconstruct the underlying innovative Christian theology.

3. Order of presentation After this Introduction, Chapter 1 searches for the answer to the question: ‘what makes a “Valentinian” text “Valentinian”?’ It examines the notion of a 3

Introduction

‘philosophical school’ during the second, third and fourth centuries and therefore refers to various Middle Platonic, Stoic and Neoplatonic milieus and the way that they represent and understand themselves. It highlights that neither Justin in Rome nor, later, Plotinus and Porphyry ever saw themselves as ‘heads’ of a school or originators of a new movement. In the second part of Chapter 1, I discuss all the so-called ‘Valentinian’ documents and revisit the arguments for categorising these Greek and Coptic documents as examples of the ‘Valentinian’ tradition. Chapter 2 focuses on the role of ‘myth’ in a specific document, Valentinian Exposition, NHC XI, 2. To a modern mind, it may initially sound suspicious that Christian philosophical and religious thinkers would use a ‘myth’ as a valuable type of discourse. Recently, Christoph Markschies has reminded us about the meaning of ‘theology’ in this period.13 Markschies points out that the notion of ‘theology’ (θεολογία) in Graeco-Roman sources included teaching about gods in hymns as well as didactic that used myths. I welcome his interpretation and reexamine the role of ‘myth’ in this Coptic document. Equally, I welcome other modern scholars, such as Malinowski, Lévi-Strauss, Jung, Eliade and Ricoeur, to mention but a few, who have re-established the value and function of ‘myth’ in ancient culture. Chapter 3 turns to the Gospel of Truth, NHC I, 3. I propose to read this document close to the Alexandrian, exegetical tradition which started with Philo. Because the title was suggested by modern scholars, I re-examine the term ‘gospel’ as used in the first, second and third centuries. Anne Kreps recently published an insightful proposal that the Gospel of Truth should be read as an example of second-century Scriptural practice.14 In her view, one of its central images is that of the crucified Jesus encapsulated by the narrative as a ‘book/scroll’. The intellectual or spiritual process of meditation on Jesus’ death led readers to a new understanding of themselves as ‘living texts’ that can publicly display what is hidden in their inner life. I follow on Kreps’ observations. However, the central part of my analysis focuses on a special feature of the Gospel of Truth, which is the role of etymology in its theology. I explore this characteristic of the document in relation to both Philo’s and then Clement of Alexandria’s use of etymologies. The Gospel of Truth demonstrates familiarity with both authors. Chapter 4 takes into consideration the well-known correspondence between Ptolemy and Flora. The Epistle to Flora focuses on Ptolemy’s views on the value of the Law in the Hebrew Scriptures and I present Ptolemy as one of many early Christian exegetes who wished to reassess the value of the Commandments. The short Epistle is not easy because it contains a number of triple-divisions of the themes as well as multiple characters. Nevertheless, it shows Ptolemy’s style of exegesis and teaching as well as his assumptions about Flora’s ability to follow his instruction and theology. I reconstruct the male–male relationship in Ptolemy’s milieu as reflected in the Epistle. I also discuss the fullness of Christian life as proposed by Ptolemy. All these aspects of the Epistle are interrelated as I will illustrate. 4

Introduction

Chapter 5 considers a Coptic treatise, the Interpretation of Knowledge, NHC, XI, 1 which is found in the first document in Codex XI. Recently Philip L. Tite has reminded us that almost all commentators (with the exception of Uwe-Karsten Plisch) have ascribed the Interpretation of Knowledge to the Valentinian school.15 As the work is not quoted or referred to by ancient Apologists, the text remains open to a variety of interpretations. My examination of the document highlights its original exegesis of the Scriptures and its application to mainstream Christian theology. I have selected the notion of ‘the Teacher of Immortality’ as the entry point to the richness of theology in the document. Chapter 6 examines the relationship between three documents: the Gospel of John, Heracleon’s Commentary on the Gospel of John and the Tripartite Tractate NHC, I, 5. The theological and exegetical parallels between the Coptic Tripartite Tractate and the fragments of Heracleon’s Commentary on the Gospel of John prompted some scholars, such as Puech, Quispel and Colpe, to identify Heracleon as the author of the original Greek treatise that was later translated into Coptic. I analyse references to the Johannine characters, ideas and terminology in both sources and affirm the familiarity of the author of the Tripartite Tractate with the work of Heracleon. However, this does not necessarily mean that the authors of the Tripartite Tractate and the Commentary on the Gospel of John are the same person. I argue that the Coptic document shows a further development of Heracleon’s theology in a new direction, taking on new theological and philosophical questions. I propose that we can better understand the theology of the Tripartite Tractate if we place it closer to the time of Origen and Plotinus and their investigation of the origin and the end of the current world. Chapter 7 addresses another well-known document, the Excerpts from Theodotus preserved by Clement of Alexandria. Like Ptolemy, Theodotus is commonly acclaimed in academia as being ‘Valentinian’, but he is seen as representing the Eastern branch of the school. The Excerpts is a very complex and challenging document, not only because it offers speculative exegesis and theology using Scriptural notions, but also because it elaborates using mythological and philosophical embellishment. Another reason why it is difficult is that Clement does not make a clear demarcation between the quotations from Theodotus, those from other authors and his own comments. My scrutiny of the Excerpts is divided into three sections. In the first section, I reconstruct the theory of salvation reflected in this document, asking the question: ‘what is it that people are saved from?’ Next, I reconstruct the ways in which Theodotus and the ‘Valentinians’ saw redemption. Finally, I contribute some thoughts on Theodotus in the light of my examination of Clement’s source. Chapter 8 discusses the notion of the Christian identity in the Gospel of Philip, NHC, II, 3. This anthology is very intricate and presents a variety of Christian exegetical and theological ideas. I explore the inner richness of the Coptic document, examining the symbolism of the Gospel and its proposal for the Christian identity. I place the narrative alongside earlier sources that defined Christian identity differently: the Letter of Barnabas, Ignatius’ epistles and the Letter to Diognetus. 5

Introduction

Against that background, I explore the Gospel of Philip with three questions in mind: ‘what makes a Christian?’, ‘what is the life of a Christian like?’ and ‘what is Christian mysticism?’ This approach demonstrates that a deep-rooted Christian theology underpins our documents such that they do not need to be affiliated with the ‘Valentinian’ school. Chapter 9 reconsiders the value of some of the apocryphal documents from the Nag Hammadi collection, labelled as ‘Valentinian’, and explores their assimilation of selected Johannine motifs. Raymond Brown’s observation about four themes from the Gospel of John (a/ ecclesiology, b/ sacramentalism, c/ eschatology and d/ wisdom motifs)16 serve as focal points to examine the process of borrowing of material by John from the earlier Jewish Scriptures (Old Testament) and their further elaboration in the Coptic documents from the Nag Hammadi collection. My argument is that the academic fields of the New Testament and early Christian literature, including apocrypha, can engage in a fruitful dialogue.

Notes 1 See more in the important study: Alain Le Boulluec, La Notion d’hérésie dans la littérature grecque IIe-IIIe siècles, tom I–II, vol. I (Paris: Études Augustiniennes, 1985), 39–70. More recently, further comments in Geoffrey S. Smith, Guilt by Association: Heresy Catalogues in Early Christianity (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2014), Winrich Löhr, ‘Modelling Second-Century Christian Theology’, in Christianity in the Second Century: Themes and Developments, James Carleton Paget and Judith Lieu (eds) (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2017), 151–68. 2 See more in Ismo Dunderberg, ‘The School of Valentinus’, in A Companion to SecondCentury Christian ‘Heretics’, Antti Marjanen and Petri Luomanen (eds), SVCh, vol. 76 (Leiden: E.J. Brill, 2005), 64–99, esp. 72–6. 3 See Einar Thomassen, ‘Note pour la délimitation d’un Corpus Valentinien à Nag Hammadi’, in Les Textes de Nag Hammadi et le problème de leur classification: Actes du Colloque Tenu à Québec du 15 au 19 Septembre 1993, Louis Painchaud and Anne Pasquier (eds) (Québec: Les Presses de l’Université Laval/Louvain Éditions Peeters, 1995), 243–59. 4 There is still an ongoing debate about the details of that discovery; see, for instance, Mark Goodacre, ‘How Reliable is the Story of the Nag Hammadi Discovery?’, JSNT, vol. 35, no. 4 (2013), 303–22, and response by Bart Ehrman to Goodacre in Ehrman’s blog (2015): https://ehrmanblog.org/my-response-to-mark-goodacre-on-the-discoveryof-the-nag-hammadi-library/ 5 Ugo Bianchi (ed.), Le Origini dello Gnosticismo: Colloquio di Messina, 13–18 April 1966, ‘Studies in the History of Religion’ (Supplements to Numen), 12 (Leiden: E.J. Brill, 1970), and important further discussion in Christoph Markschies, ‘Die Krise einer philosophischen Bibeltheologie in der Alten Kirche oder: Valentin und die valentinianische Gnosis zwischen philosophischer Bibelinterpretation und mythologischer Häresie’, in Gnosis und Manichäismus. Forschungen und Studien zu Texten von Valentin und Mani sowie zu den Bibliotheken von Nag Hammadi und Medinet Madi, Alexander Böhlig and Christoph Markschies (eds), BZNW, 72 (Berlin: de Gruyter, 1994), 1–37, and Karen King, What is Gnosticism? (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 2005), 169–70. 6 Michel Desjardins, ‘The Sources for Valentinian Gnosticism: A Question of Methodology’, VCh, vol. 40 (1986), 342–7, esp. 345.

6

Introduction

7 Michael Allen Williams, Rethinking ‘Gnosticism’: An Argument for Dismantling a Dubious Category (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1996). Since then, many scholars enhanced this critique, among them Ismo Dunderberg, Beyond Gnosticism, Myth, Lifestyle, and Society in the School of Valentinus (New York: Columbia University Press, 2008), 14–20; Nicola Denzey Lewis, Cosmology and Fate in Gnosticism and Graeco-Roman Antiquity: Under Pitiless Sky, NHMS, vol. 81 (Leiden: E.J. Brill, 2013); Mark Edwards, ‘The Gnostic Myth’, in Christianity in the Second Century, J. Carleton Paget and J. Lieu (eds), 137–50. 8 See J. Carleton-Paget and J. Lieu (eds), ‘Introduction’, in Christianity in the Second Century, 1–21. 9 Mark Edwards, ‘Gnostics and Valentinians in the Church Fathers’, JTS, NS, vol. 40 (1989), 26–47. 10 Christoph Markschies, ‘Valentinian Gnosticism: Toward the Anatomy of a School’, in The Nag Hammadi Library After Fifty Years: Proceedings of the 1995 Society of Biblical Literature Commemoration, J.D. Turner and A. McGuire (eds) (Leiden: E.J. Brill, 1997), 401–38. 11 Hugo Lundhaug, Images of Rebirth. Cognitive Poetics and Transformational Soteriology in the Gospel of Philip and the Exegesis on the Soul, NHMS, vol. 81 (Leiden: E.J. Brill, 2011), 153–399, esp. 349–56. 12 Einar Thomassen, ‘Were There Valentinian Schools?’ in Christian Teachers in SecondCentury Rome: Schools and Students in the Ancient City, Gregory H. Snyder (ed.), SVCh, vol. 159 (Leiden: E.J. Brill, 2020), 32–44. 13 Christoph Markschies, Christian Theology and Its Institutions in the Early Roman Empire: Prolegomena to a History of Early Christian Theology, Wayne Coppins (trans.) (Waco: Baylor University Press, 2015), 59–91. 14 Anne Kreps, ‘The Passion of the Book: The Gospel of Truth as Valentinian Scriptural Practice’, JECS, vol. 24, no. 3 (2016), 311–35. 15 Philip L. Tite, ‘Social and Ethical Concern in the Interpretation of Knowledge (NHC, XI, 1): A Rhetorical Analysis of Interp. Know., 20.36–38’, JBL, vol. 134, no. 3 (2015), 651–73. 16 Raymond Brown, The Gospel According to John: A New Translation with Introduction and Commentary (New Haven, London: Yale University Press, 1966), CV–CXXVIII.

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1 A ‘VA L E N T I N I A N’ A S A TA G? Rethinking classification in the light of polemic and documents

1. Introduction The adjective ‘Valentinian’ is commonly used by modern scholars to refer to a Christian community and exegetical tradition that was active during and after the second century.1 It describes the ‘followers’2 of Valentinus and aims to distinguish between their theology and that of other Christian groups. In the past, these Christians were seen as mere Gnostics: that is, their views expressed a particular form of mythology derived from their dualistic and eclectic background. In that view, the ‘followers’ of Valentinus would amalgamate some Scriptural motifs, such as the role of the Redeemer, with a larger Platonic metaphysical outlook (eternal versus temporary and changeable, immaterial/intelligible versus material, mind versus flesh). This traditional understanding of ‘Gnostic heresy’, which originated with the Apologists and Church Fathers, was dominant for many centuries. The aim of this chapter is to find out what makes a ‘Valentinian’ identity as a text/narrative and then as a theologian. Did the ‘followers’ of Valentinus believe that they were ‘Valentinians’?3 Or maybe they saw themselves as the next generation of followers of the Apostles? Is this label still helpful in scholarship and, if not, what description can we suggest that would improve on it? My investigation proposes some alternatives. Judith Lieu has reminded us recently that: If to name is ‘to other’, so perhaps also, to accept naming is to reproduce this process.4 This valuable observation is particularly important for the second and the third centuries, where different Christian leaders showed great concern about clear boundaries which would distinguish their theological positions and communities from the ‘others’. I shall begin with some observations about the nature of a philosophical school in Late Antiquity (second to third century ce) as this model is very helpful in assessing Valentinus’ teaching and his milieu.5

8 DOI: 10.4324/9781003181095-2

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2. The notion of a ‘philosophical school’ in Antiquity: External and internal designations The second-century Christian Apologist6 Justin Martyr, who was a contemporary of Valentinus, gives a vivid account of his own conversion.7 According to Justin’s alluring testimony, he encountered four types of tutor during his pursuit of wisdom. First, he studied under a Stoic instructor (Dial., 2.3: Στωϊκῷ τινι), then a Peripatetic one (Dial., 2.3: Περιπατητικὸν καλούμενον), next a ‘famous’ Pythagorean (Dial., 2.4: εὐδοκιμοῦντι μάλιστα Πυθαγορείῳ), and finally unnamed Platonists (Dial., 2.6: ἔδοξέ μοι καὶ τοῖς Πλατωνικοῖς ἐντυχεῖν). Justin clearly identified four philosophical traditions, and these anonymous teachers would also align themselves with the established schools as adherents.8 In reality, as representatives of their intellectual traditions, teachers argued with one another in public places,9 wrote works in defence of their doctrines and against their philosophical adversaries10 and searched for new disciples.11 These general observations need a closer look, however, and I would like to endorse Mark Edwards’ remark: While it is true that recognised philosophers in the Roman world were generally adherents of a named hairesis or sect (a school in our second sense), it is also a maxim of controversy – at least of Platonic controversy – that soundness of doctrine is measured by soundness of reasoning, not by faithfulness to a master, a series of masters or even the founder of the school.12 Edwards reminds us that, for instance, Platonists of the second century would start their teaching with a passage from Plato, or his specific dialogue, but would then explore the original narrative in a way that reflected their cultural, local and often cosmopolitan background and the inquisitiveness of the audience.13 Justin’s testimony says that the Stoic tutor did not teach him about God, the Peripatetic one was concerned with his salary and the Pythagorean put the emphasis on Justin’s good acquaintance with music, astronomy and geometry before introducing him to philosophy. The Platonist lifted up Justin’s mind towards the divine. However, it was an encounter with a mysterious sage on the shore that converted Justin. He made an important choice: from a range of philosophical schools under the direct influence of his new intellectual tutor, he selected one that taught him about the Christian understanding of God.14 All Graeco-Roman schools offered a ‘way of life’,15 not mere speculative knowledge and erudition. The ethos of a school also called for the allegiance of its disciples and offered them the feeling of belonging to a community.16 It was possible to recognise that kind of fellowship in a public place by the school’s dress code, such as the philosopher’s ‘mantle’ or the use of very simple cloth as in the case of the Cynics.17 After his conversion, Justin kept his ‘mantle’ (here: τὸ σχῆμα/pallium)18 and later in life he taught in one of the

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Christian schools in Rome.19 Here, a certain Tatian attended Justin’s lectures20 and was very impressed with his teacher’s abilities.21 However, in his testimonies, Tatian does not refer to Justin with an adjective such as ‘Justin-ian’. For Tatian, Justin was the principal exegete and teacher of the Christian truth.22 No doubt Tatian was just one of many disciples in Justin’s school, yet we do not hear about his disciples as a uniformed group with a recognisable label (such as the ‘Justinian school of thought’). The second group of observations concerns the ‘anatomy’ of a philosophical school, about which we can find more details in the Life of Plotinus written by Porphyry.23 Although the school flourished in Rome a century after Valentinus,24 it continued the pattern of philosophical education from the previous generations of teachers.25 The school was open to the public interested in exploration of certain texts and questions (Life, 1.14–15). Porphyry states that the group of men and women (Life, 7 and 9.1–7) was divided into two: listeners (ἀκροαταί, Life, 1.1–15), who came to hear exegesis and discussion; and more committed ‘followers’ (ζηλωταί, Life, 7.29–47). The teaching was based on Plotinus’ reading aloud of other Platonists’ commentaries (τὰ ὑπομνήματα – Life, 14.12) and his own interpretation (ὁμιλοῦντα ἐοικέναι) of the passages (Life, 14.10–18). It is interesting that Porphyry does not mention Plotinus reading Platonic sources and only one of Plato’s dialogues is listed in the Life of Plotinus (Symposium in Life, 23.10), while another has a reference in a commentary.26 It is evident from Porphyry’s testimony that Plotinus produced some ‘writings to which he himself supplied no titles’ (τὰ γεγραμμένα ταῦτα ἅ διὰ τὸ μὴ αὐτὸν ἐπιγράφειν ἄλλος – Life, 4.17), but none of his letters was mentioned. In the light of Porphyry’s memoires, Plotinus’ school was more than just an academic milieu. It celebrated Socrates and Plato’s birthdays with speeches, banquets and sacrifices (Life, 2.41–4; 15.1–5), for example. Although Porphyry’s account aims to portray himself as the ‘beloved’ disciple, we see that there was a strong sense of belonging to the school (again ζηλωταί, Life, 7.29–47). At the same time, Plotinus’ teaching was recognised by other scholars either with approval (for example, Eubulus, Life, 15.18–20 and Longinus, Life, 19.1–42) or criticism (for example Life, 17.1–45).27 Finally, there is evidence of an exchange of copies of Plotinus’ treatises within the circle of philosophers (Life, 20.87–105). Can the examples of Justin’s activity as a Christian teacher and Plotinus’ school in Rome shed some light on Valentinus’ didactic role and the structure of his community? I am convinced that there are some parallels. First, all three teachers shared a cultural and intellectual context in that they were active (taught) in Rome. As in other intellectual centres such as Alexandria, Athens and Antioch, various groups assimilated similar models of life and teaching.28 Philosophical schools were in competition and did not function in isolation. For instance, Plotinus’ way of reading commentaries and then their explanation mirrors the practice in a Christian catechetical school.29 If we read Justin’s Dialogue with Trypho, it quotes and explains various Scriptural passages on numerous occasions. These quotes are clearly recognised in his narrative. For Justin, and later for Plotinus, 10

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philosophical education had at its core a written text that called for interpretation. Once again, I should like to mention Edwards’ observation that ‘soundness of doctrine is measured by soundness of reasoning’.30 The teachers needed to adapt the original doctrine to the current situation of their audience. They often needed to clarify the original meaning or modify previous interpretations. Justin, Plotinus and, I believe, Valentinus followed that hermeneutic path. Secondly, neither Justin nor Plotinus would see himself as the ‘founder’ of a school or branch of Platonism or Christianity. On the contrary, they both believed they were continuing the established tradition, and we have no evidence that Valentinus considered himself an originator either. Neither their supporters nor their opponents called the followers of Justin or Plotinus ‘Justin-ians’ or ‘Plotini-ans’ (for example, Longinus, Life, 21.10). Likewise, there is no reason to believe that Valentinus would see his disciples as ‘Valentinians’, and it is even less likely that his milieu would describe themselves as ‘Valentinian’ Christians of Rome. Thirdly, Plotinus’ school shows not only an intellectual fellowship but also a shared celebration of the school’s heroes (Socrates and Plato). In the Christian context, worship of Jesus,31 hymns and rituals performed a similar function in the community, enhancing its identity and an attachment to the originator of their ‘school’.32 It is hard to think of any early Christian community, including Justin’s and Valentinus’ circles, as an exclusively academic milieu. On the contrary, it is correct to assume that these fellowships included worship, rituals, poetry, and hymns. There is no reason to think that Valentinus’ ‘followers’ would be different and did not compose prayers or hymns dedicated to the Saviour. Fourthly, the Life of Plotinus provides us with a marginal but important note that Plotinus produced some ‘writings’ (τὰ γεγραμμένα) that did not have titles. Porphyry testifies to the exchange of written commentaries among scholars and to further elaboration of their content. This philosophical tradition of disseminating written commentaries, not just letters, is important in relation to the academic activity of Christian teachers and leaders. As with Plotinus, some of these documents may not have had titles or, in the case of his disciple and editor, Porphyry, the titles may have been added later. It should not be surprising if it emerged that Valentinus’ ‘followers’ distributed any commentaries he may have written without titles. In summary, looking at the life of the philosophical schools in this period helps us to a better understanding of the patterns of education in Christian circles, even if the overall interpretation of the meaning of life was very different.

3. The patristic (external) sources on the ‘Valentinians’ Let us begin with another important comment. Geoffrey S. Smith has recently noted a certain particularity in early Christian discourses: It is a curious fact that despite the clear Jewish and Graeco-Roman underpinning of much of early Christian belief and practice, the technology of heresy catalogue is without precise parallel in the ancient world.33 11

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Indeed, the ‘technology of heresy catalogue’ was started very early among Christians and developed with both great success and wide-ranging consequences. Chronologically, the first note on the ‘Valentinians’ comes from Justin Martyr. In his Dialogue with Trypho, he mentioned the ‘Valentinians’ (οἱ Οὐαλεντινιανοί) alongside other groups such as the Marcionates, Basilidians and Saturnilians.34 It is clear from Justin’s short statement that he knew of various groups calling themselves ‘Christians’ (Χριστιανοὺς ἑαυτοὺς λέγουσιν), but did not believe them to be authentic. He wished to separate them by grouping and naming them as different from what he believed to be the authentic Christian Church. They were followers of their founders and ‘they were called’ (καλούμενοι) the name of their leaders – by their adversaries – rather than ‘they called themselves’. Justin’s short note does not allow us to assess whether he was aware of any diversity of opinion within that group. Similarly, he does not mention any documents written or used by his opponents. Certainly, Justin accused ‘heretics’ of performing impious and ungodly rites. Still, the importance of Justin’s note lies in the fact that he is the first critic we know of to use the general term ‘Valentinians’ to denote and reject the ‘followers’ of Valentinus. We find more information from Irenaeus of Lyons in his Against the Heresies, composed around the end of the second century. The Preface to Book 1 introduces one of Irenaeus’ main adversaries: the disciples of Valentinus.35 From that introduction we can see that Irenaeus’ focus was on Ptolemy and his followers (οἱ περὶ Πτολεμαῖον) in particular.36 Although Irenaeus might have encountered some of them earlier in Rome, his attention reflected the current confrontations within this group in Lyons. Irenaeus wrote: Let us now consider their changeable doctrines, there are two or three of them. How they are unable to say the same as each other on any topic and how they contradict each other in thought and word.37 Irenaeus wished to emphasise the variety of opinions among Valentinus’ and Ptolemy’s followers. Although he did not use the generic term ‘Valentinians’, he wrote about his opponents as representatives of the same tradition and the same factual teachers. Irenaeus names Valentinus (1.11.1), Secundus (1.11.2), ‘another one’ (῎Αλλος δέ τις in 1.11.3) and ‘others’ (῎Αλλοι in 1.11.5). Although he acknowledged the variety of teachers, he associated them all with Valentinus. He states: ‘those around Ptolemy acquainted with greater experience ...’38 This time, however, Irenaeus did not provide us with names. Thomassen offers an important interpretation of Irenaeus’ ‘looseness’39 when presenting ‘the school’ (διδασκαλεῖον):40 Irenaeus’ contradictory presentation of the Valentinians as having both a common (false) doctrine and as constantly disagreeing among themselves is not due to the nature of Irenaeus’s evidence, but to his polemical construction of his enemies.41 12

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Irenaeus’ polemical attitude explored and emphasised both unity and multiplicity among Valentinus’ ‘followers’. The expression of ‘quarrels among heretics’ who share the same false beliefs was a useful and appealing rhetorical argument, which could then be contrasted with the ‘harmony of voices in the true Church’. However, it is also possible that Valentinus’ milieu welcomed pluralism of theological opinion and that his influence as the originator of the school was not dominant. It is also possible that Valentinus did not impose unanimity in his milieu to pursue Christian theology in the same manner. Irenaeus argued that the original error was personified by one character (that is, Valentinus) and to interpret the diversity of theological opinion as proof of inner chaos and vain quarrels. In relation to Ptolemy’s followers, who were described as more advanced in knowledge (ἐμπειρότεροι) than those of Valentinus, it is interesting that Irenaeus used Ptolemy’s name, not a generic term. In my view, Irenaeus’ expression reflected the self-understanding of Ptolemy’s followers. They studied, wrote and debated under Ptolemy’s guidance as Christians. As in the case of Valentinus, however, it is hard to say how coherent that community was and whether Ptolemy continued what he experienced earlier in Valentinus’ school. After Justin Martyr and Irenaeus of Lyons, the third testimony comes from Tertullian of Carthage. Tertullian’s concerns about Valentinus and his disciples were serious enough for him to write a substantial volume Against Valentinians.42 Tertullian opens his polemic with the statement: The Valentinians (Valentiniani), as everyone knows, are the most commonly encountered sect of heretics – most common because they are mostly apostates from the true religion (quia plurimum ex apostatis veritatis).43 Tertullian used the general term Valentiniani and suggested that the group ‘commonly encountered’ were renegades from the original truth. For him this designation clearly identified a type of heresy and people: those who ‘derived from Valentinus’.44 Further on, he stated that Valentinus’ doctrine produced two schools of interpretation (duae scholae ... duae cathedrae),45 without further explanation of the differences between these two traditions. Tertullian was keen to portray his religious adversaries as forming yet another philosophical school. That classification must be seen in relation to his famous declaration that ‘Athens’ (that is, philosophy) has nothing in common with ‘Jerusalem’ (faith) and only produced heresies.46 Like Irenaeus, Tertullian depicted Valentinus’ disciples as forming one of the leading philosophical schools (which is therefore negative for Tertullian). However, unlike the Bishop of Lyons, the Latin Apologist contrasted that speculative school with an authentic one, that is ‘Christ’s school’ (schola Christi).47 In Tertullian’s polemic, the ‘Valentinians’ continued and plunged even deeper into the abyss of error initiated by Valentinus. Next, we should briefly acknowledge some important comments found in Clement of Alexandria’s notes on Valentinus. In his Stromateis, Clement mentions Valentinus and provides us with some unique information about him and his 13

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teaching.48 Clement noted Valentinus’ ‘followers’ and classified them as a ‘school’ (σχολή).49 However, this term has a different meaning from the one used by Tertullian and indicates philosophical, theological and exegetical interests within the group. It is also worth saying that in Clement’s vocabulary the term σχολή together with διατριβή and αἵρεσις referred to groups that were not identical to his own ‘school’ (διδασκαλεῖον) or church.50 Clement also made a distinction between the teaching of Valentinus and his ‘followers’ and that of other Christian (‘heretical’) schools. Among modern scholars, the title of another of Clement’s works, Excerpts from Theodotus,51 prompted discussion about the nature of the Valentinian groups and the supposed divisions within their theological views.52 The full title of this work is ‘Excerpts from Theodotus and of the so-called eastern doctrine from the time of Valentinus’ (‘Εκ τῶν Θεοδότου καὶ τῆς ἀνατολικῆς καλουμένης διδασκαλίας κατὰ τοὺς Οὐαλεντίνου χρόνους ἐπιτομαί).53 This title suggests a distinctive (here: ‘eastern’/ἀνατολικῆς) theology among some ‘followers’ as opposed to those disciples mentioned by Irenaeus and labelled as ‘western’.54 Tertullian’s information above may also hint at this distinction, while Hippolytus of Rome, if he is the author of the Refutatio omnium haeresium, confirmed the distinction.55 In that patristic reconstruction, Valentinus and his disciples were divided or spread widely as a dangerous sect in different parts of the Roman Empire. Therefore, the role of the Apologists was to warn against their teachings and presence. If we look at these patristic testimonies within the context of a rhetorical, passionate and vehement debate, we should accept that the patristic authors needed to make a clean distinction between their own community (the genuine and Apostolic) and that of their opponents (the false, recent and invented). In this context, the notion of a ‘sect’ or ‘school’ was very useful as it brought a number of adversaries into one recognised category: a catchphrase. As soon as this tag is uttered the readers or listeners know that they were bad people, should be avoided and never listened to. Still, the possible ongoing diversity of theological opinion within that milieu was characterised by the Apologists as a ‘dispute’ within a group, as quarrelling among heretics and as a cacophony of voices. The opposite of that chaos would be unity and harmony in the Church as well as the commonly accepted rule of faith. In that construction, which served the polemic, on an ethical level, disagreements between heretics would lead to moral corruption and misbehaviour, while Catholic harmony reflected the life of virtue. Before we proceed with discussion of the documents that modern scholars attribute to the Valentinian circle, we should mention one additional source: the Testimony of Truth,56 IX, 3. As rightly noted by Thomassen57 and Markschies,58 this polemical work against the school of Valentinus gives us an additional insight into the nature of that community. In this important but seriously damaged passage, we find the following argument against the milieu: he completed the course [of] Valentinus. He himself speaks about the Ogdoad, and his disciples (ⲛⲉ̣[ϥⲙⲁ] [ⲑ]ⲏⲧⲏⲥ) resemble [the] disciples 14

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([ⲉⲙ̄ⲙⲁ]ⲑⲏⲧⲏⲥ) of Valentinus. They on their part, moreover, [ ... ] leave the good, [but they] have [worship of] the idols ... (± 6 lines missing) he has spoken [many words, and he has] written many [books/words] (± 11 lines missing). (Testim. Truth, 56.1–18)59 Markschies points out that this fragment, even with serious reconstruction, preserves an indication that the author wished to distance himself or herself from Valentinus’ disciples.60 The writer used the term ‘disciples’ (ⲙⲁⲑⲏⲧⲏⲥ), assuming the existence of a school where they were taught by Valentinus. If the last two lines continue the previous polemic against his ‘followers’, our author noticed both oral and written activity (ⲁϥϫⲉ ϩ[ⲁϩ ⲛ̄ϣⲁϫⲉ ⲁⲩⲱ ⲁϥ] ⲥⲉϩ ϩⲁϩ̣ [ⲛ̄ϫⲱⲱⲙⲉ ϣⲁϫⲉ]) by Valentinus. Yet the fragment does not mention ‘Valentinians’. I agree with Karen L. King that the ancient sources, including the Testimony of Truth and the passage quoted above, use the ‘power of naming’ (Judith Lieu) in their rhetorical polemic and our modern reading of the ancient texts must be fully aware of that strategy.61

4.  Classification of the ‘Valentinian’ documents  (internal evidence) In the multi-genre collection of the Nag Hammadi codices, modern commentators have identified eight works that seem to represent the theology and Scriptural exegesis of Valentinus and his disciples.62 This shared opinion is based on various assumptions. One of these is a reference to the Apologists’ testimonies about the cosmological myth that appeared in various versions in the Nag Hammadi collection. Another highlights certain similarities in the documents that come from the same tradition: the theological terms, the metaphysics with the priority of the original unity over current diversity, and the anthropological outlook (the division of all human beings into three categories). Within these parameters – which nota bene are still being discussed63 – these discourses stand for the ‘Valentinian’ tradition. Looking in turn at each of the eight documents, we shall start with the Prayer of the Apostle Paul, I, 1. Dieter Muller, the author of the introduction in Brill’s edition, expresses the ‘Valentinian’ association with some caution.64 Madeleine Scopello classifies this document as ‘Valentinian’ because of its presence in the codex that contains ‘several Valentinian texts’.65 Michael Kaler’s careful discussion of this work, including its vocabulary, demonstrates some parallels with other documents from the same codex (although, nota bene, not all of them are recognised as ‘Valentinian’) and reasonably clarifies the position of this document in the whole collection.66 Jenott and Pagels uphold Williams’ earlier view67 that this prayer might initiate a fourth-century Coptic reader into a more spiritual attitude, which would help with studying other works from the codex.68 Jenott and Pagels do not discuss the ‘Valentinian’ origin of this discourse. Instead, they demonstrate 15

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the similarity between documents from the first codex and St. Anthony’s correspondence. They also point out, and I endorse their observation, ‘affinities’ between the theology found in the first codex and Anthony’s letter, on the one hand, and the early second-century Alexandrian milieu on the other hand.69 The preserved Coptic text of the prayer does not provide us with a strong argument to view this discourse as a product of a school or even an individual who would consider himself or herself a follower of a teacher or authority other than Paul. Rather, we can see the devotional practice of a Christian who recalls Paul’s selfidentification with the Saviour and prepares himself or herself for further progress in faith and knowledge. The Gospel of Truth, I, 3 from the first codex is our next witness.70 Its title comes from the opening line preserved by the text and we also have the testimony of Irenaeus of Lyons who stated that the Valentinians wrote the ‘Gospel of Truth’.71 However, the identification of the document mentioned by Irenaeus and the Coptic treatise is the subject of ongoing debate.72 According to Attridge and MacRae, the Gospel of Truth shows a stronger association with the school of Valentinus.73 However, Attridge and MacRae also raise some serious concerns about dissimilarities between this document and other documents ascribed to Valentinus and his ‘followers’.74 Looking inside the document, there is no sign that the anonymous author or milieu that produced this discourse defined themselves as a separate Christian group or school. Its narrative speaks with authority, but the source of that authority is not mentioned. Anne Kreps offers some insightful comments on this document and its milieu.75 Kreps states: I argue that the Gospel of Truth advocates for an alternative scriptural practice and conforms to that practice [...] I argue that the text was considered gospel for the community that produced it.76 This argument opens a new and significant hermeneutical proposal. Our way of thinking about the relationship between sacred texts (for example, the four canonical Gospels) and Christian communities assumes that the authoritative narrative was read, commented on and preserved by Christians. However, the Gospel of Truth is seen as the emerging, written testimony to the spiritual and intellectual experience of faith of its milieu. Kreps identifies that milieu as ‘Valentinian’.77 I would suggest looking at the milieu primarily through the prism of its Christian spiritual and exegetical aspiration and experience. For those Christians, the personal but shared experience of salvation, illumination and a new self-understanding was pivotal and even led to use of the four Gospels in an innovative way that was rejected by Apologists. The community and congregation that wrote, meditated on, preserved and possibly disseminated their Gospel did not separate themselves from the wider Church, but rather understood the nature of the Gospel/Good News in a new way. Even if we accept that the Gospel of Truth is not identical to the one mentioned by Irenaeus, we can still use it as one of the theological products of Valentinus’ disciples who value their experience 16

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of faith and understanding of revelation; in both cases, they were authentic and Christian. Although there is no reason to reject the affiliation of this theological text with the school of Valentinus, it is important to stress that those anonymous men and women who produced the document did not choose to present themselves as a separate group of Christians. The third document, the Treatise on the Resurrection78 (also known as the Letter to Rheginos), I, 4 is introduced by Malcolm L. Peel as: ‘couched in a Valentinian conceptual framework’.79 Peel notices that: Virtually all commentators concur that the author of Treat. Res. is a Gnostic Christian. [...] Most scholars, however, hold that the Gnosticism reflected is clearly Valentinian.80 Peel provides the list of scholars who hold that view.81 Looking closely into this document, I cannot detect any signs that the author saw himself or herself 82 as a member of a distinctive group. In the opening section the author expresses a clear concern that there is a diversity of opinion about the Saviour’s message and that some Christians are too preoccupied with philosophical speculation: Some there are (ⲟⲩⲛ ϩⲁⲉⲓⲛⲉ), my son Rheginos, who want to learn many things (ⲁⲥⲃⲟ ⲁϩⲁϩ). They have this goal when they are occupied with questions (ⲛ̄ϩⲛ̄ⲍⲏⲧⲏⲙⲁ) whose answer is lacking. If they succeed with these, they usually think very highly of themselves. But I do not think that they have stood within83 the Word of Truth. (Treat. Res., 43.25–34)84 It is evident that the author makes a distinction between his/her teaching or even community and ‘them’ (here: ⲟⲩⲛ ϩⲁⲉⲓⲛⲉ) – that is, other Christians with a philosophical orientation.85 ‘They’ are interested in applying a type of philosophical investigation (‘questions and answers’; ⲛ̄ϩⲛ̄ⲍⲏⲧⲏⲙⲁ) to Christian teaching.86 That approach leads ‘them’, in the author’s view, to boasting. The author contrasts his/her teaching with the speculations of his/her opponents. Interestingly, the author does not defend his/her stance as ‘philosophical’ or more ‘advanced’ or ‘spiritual’, but as Christian. This argument resonates with the Pauline critique of his adversaries.87 The vital contrast is drawn between the ‘wisdom of this world’ (rational/philosophical enquiry), affiliated with Paul’s opponents, and the ‘true wisdom’ (spiritual, divinely inspired wisdom) he claimed to proclaim. We should also notice that self-representation as a genuine Christian ‘philosophical school’ is missing.88 Instantly, in the next sentence, this opposition is explained with a new image: They seek rather their own rest, which we have received through our Savior, our Lord Christ.89 (Treat. Res., 43.35–7)90 17

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This short declaration not only contrasts the image of ‘pursuing’ with the image of ‘receiving/having’, but directly names the sources of wisdom/rest: ‘our Saviour, our Lord and Christ’ (ⲡⲛ̄ⲥⲱⲧⲏⲣ ⲡⲛ̄ϫⲁⲉⲓⲥ ⲡⲉⲭⲣⲏⲥⲧⲟⲥ). The author establishes his/ her direct connection with the teachings of Jesus Christ, or the incarnated Saviour.91 There is no other source of doctrine, no other Christian teacher, except Christ. This belief is confirmed in the closing sentences of the epistle.92 If Valentinus were the author of this epistle, he might mention Theodas who, according to Clement of Alexandria, was Paul’s disciple and Valentinus’ teacher.93 If a follower of Valentinus were the author, then s/he might mention Valentinus as he was the reverend ‘head’ of the Christian community. Neither of these names is suggested in the document. One reason for this intriguing silentio might be that the writer of the epistle did not see his/her own position and community as being other than that of a follower of Christ, the ultimate teacher and revealer.94 Looking further into the argument presented by this document, we see that the Scriptural authority of Paul and the Gospel is openly reaffirmed95 and prioritised. The fourth document, which scholars call the Tripartite Tractate, I, 5, is identified as ‘Valentinian’96 because the themes it discusses resonate with comments by the Apologists about the theologies of Valentinus’ ‘followers’.97 On several occasions Harold W. Attridge and Elaine H. Pagels note the proximity of the theology expressed in this document with what they term ‘orthodox Christianity’.98 It is evident that this document is written by a well-educated author as it presents a systematic discussion and interpretation of many theological, philosophical and ethical themes. The main subjects discussed in this treatise are: (part one) the original nature of the divine being called ‘Father’, the existence of the Son and the structure of the invisible realm; (part two) the origin of humanity; and (part three) the theory of salvation and the final restoration of perfection (eschatology).99 This treatise can be classified as a product of a theological school with strong philosophical interests. The work allows us to discover some features of the author and the milieu that produced this sophisticated reflection. As we have clear references to the emerging Christian doctrine of the three trinitarian names,100 it is certain that the document was written by a Christian theologian and dedicated to a Christian audience: As for the baptism which exists in the fullest sense, into which the Totalities will descend and in which they will be, there is no other baptism apart from this one alone, which is the redemption into God, Father, Son and Holy Spirit,101 when confession is made through faith in those names, which are a single name of the gospel, when they have come to believe what has been said to them, namely that they exist. From this they have their salvation, those who have believed that they exist. This is attaining in an invisible way to the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit in an undoubting faith. (Tri. Trac. 127.25–128.9).102

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However, the treatise does not spell out that the confessed faith comes from a specific community, which follows a Christian founder/authority. The crucial discourse that says more about self-understanding of the milieu is in section 108.14–114.30. The construction of identity103 for this document is made by the distinction between three types of human relationship with the truth, or three types of responses to the truth which then formulate specific categories of people. The first race (ⲡⲅⲉⲛⲟⲥ) comprises ‘the Greeks and barbarians’ (Tri. Trac. 109.25: ⲛ̄ϩⲉⲗⲗⲏⲛ ⲙⲛ̄ ⲛⲓⲃⲁⲣⲃⲁⲣⲟⲥ) and this race stands for a material kind of people who are depicted as having some knowledge but only of visible reality (Tri. Trac. 109.24– 110.22).104 They are misled by imagination and vain thoughts (109.27). Second, ‘the Hebrews’ (Tri. Trac. 110.24: ϩⲛ̄ϩⲉⲃⲃⲣⲉⲟⲥ) achieve greater understanding of the truth than the Greeks and barbarians because of divine inspiration. Some among them, that is, the Hebrew prophets, have a spiritual seed in them (111.33–5). The author grants the Hebrew race some insight into the truth and, in the case of the prophets, grants that the divine Logos illuminates them. Nevertheless, they lack the fullness of perception. The third race of the spiritual (Tri. Trac. 116.7: ⲛ̄ⲧⲁⲥ‧ ⲣⲱ ⲧ‧ⲉ {ⲧⲉ} ϯⲡⲛⲉⲩⲙⲁⲧⲓⲕⲏ) substance/seed105 is identified as the most perfect, or mature Christians. This identification echoes Paul’s vital distinction between his followers who are either ‘natural’ (ψυχικὸς) or ‘spiritual’ (ὁ δὲ πνευματικὸς).106 The Coptic treatise does not identify the ‘spiritual’ type of people as ‘Valentinians’, or even ‘Christians’. All these labels are missing and the context of the narrative does not suggest that this is accidental. Rather, for the author and his or her audience, naming the perfect ones is irrelevant. As they are spiritual, they cannot be defined by terminology and notions borrowed from this transient world. What is vital is their relationship with the divine Saviour/Logos: The spiritual race (ϫⲉ ⲡⲓⲅⲉⲛⲟⲥ ⲙⲉⲛ ⲙ̄ⲡⲛⲉⲩⲙⲁⲧⲓⲕⲟⲥ), being like light from light and like spirit from spirit, when its head appeared, it ran toward him immediately (ⲁϥⲡⲱⲧ ⲁϩⲟⲩⲛ ⲁⲣⲁϥ ⲥⲉϩⲏⲧϥ). It immediately became a body of its head.107 It suddenly received knowledge (ⲁϥϫⲓ ⲙ̄ⲡⲁⲥⲩⲛⲉ) in the revelation (ⲙ̄ⲡϭⲱⲗⲡ̄ ⲁⲃⲁⲗ). (Tri.Trac. 118.29–36)108 The didactic aspect of the treatise clearly encourages the disposition towards revelation shown by ‘the spiritual race’. Again, the fact that in the document the third race is not identified as ‘Valentinian’ fits with the notion that it may include men and women of all Christian traditions except for ‘the Greeks and barbarians’ who cannot comprehend the higher truth because their minds are bound to material reality. I should like to point out that this most philosophical treatise stands out as the product of a theological, coherent investigation into the origin of humanity, its present status and future destiny. The treatise emanates from a Christian milieu that is well acquainted with philosophical investigation and where existential questions were asked and convincing answers were given.

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The Gospel of Philip109 II, 3, our fifth document, gives us a number of valuable images and insights into the self-understanding of its author(s) and audience. In his introduction, Wesley W. Isenberg states that this anthology is ‘generally Valentinian in theology’;110 more developed arguments for affiliation with the school of Valentinus are given by other commentators.111 This complex anthology clearly uses, although not consistently, the title ‘Christian’ (ⲭⲣⲓⲏⲥⲧⲓⲁⲛⲟⲥ and ⲭⲣⲓⲥⲧⲓⲁⲛⲟⲥ) as a synonym for its readers and their community.112 Among many statements, the following are significant for our initial discussion:113 If you say, ‘I am a Jew’, no one will be moved. If you say, ‘I am a Roman’, no one will be troubled. If you say, ‘I am a Greek’, ‘a barbarian’, ‘a slave’, [‘a free’,] no one will be shaken. [If] you [say], ‘I am a Christian’, the [...] will tremble. . If only [... of] this sort, this one [who ...] will not be able to endure [hearing] his name. (Gos. Philip, 62.26–32)114 The chrism is superior to baptism, for from the chrism we were called Christian, not because of baptism, and it was because of the chrism that Christ was named (such). For the Father anointed the Son, and the Son anointed the apostles, and the apostles anointed us. (Gos. Philip, 74.14–23)115 These two declarations express the self-understanding of the author(s) of the Gospel of Philip. Clearly, the readers or hearers are encouraged to see themselves as Christians on the basis of their baptism and as distinct from other religious groups. There is reference to ‘the Apostles’, and the direct link with their baptismal activity, however this expression serves rather a rhetorical purpose, and we should not assume that the author was anointed by a particular Apostle. We should also note that the direct link with ‘the Apostles’, even if rhetorical, does not mention any other teacher or religious leader who stood between the Apostles and the author, or his or her catechists. Equally, no other notion or specification, such as ‘followers of’, ‘school of’, ‘disciples of’ is added. As in the Tripartite Tractate, we can see that the discourse constructs the identity of the community in opposition to other groups, mainly: ‘Hebrews’, and ‘Romans/Greeks’.116 Even if these labels are used in the polemical context as general tags, still the author or authors are content to be recognised as ‘Christians’. It should also be noted that, although this milieu is aware of other Christian groups,117 it does not present itself as with a specific distinctiveness. We can ask whether the absence of selfdesignation is accidental or deliberate. I would argue for the latter. The community which produced the Gospel was content with the generic term ‘Christians’ as a self-definition. If they wished to be more specific, as they were on some occasions, there were other terms and idioms that represented their identity, such as the ‘true race’.118 As in the Tripartite Tractate, the essential self-understanding in the Gospel of Philip comes from the relationship with the Saviour and the 20

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Holy Spirit. That relationship is sealed by rituals such as baptism, anointment, the Eucharist as well as in reacting to the bridal chamber. These rituals provided the group with confirmation of their identity, but nothing suggests that they saw themselves outside of the Church. The (First) Apocalypse of James,119 V, 3 is included in the ‘Valentinian corpus’,120 but also reveals other possible associations with different Christian groups.121 In our review, it is the sixth document and calls for a short note.122 This document presents a dialogue between the Saviour Christ and James in two stages, before Christ’s death and after the resurrection. Schoedel points out the similarity of some notions in this Apocalypse with Valentinian vocabulary,123 while Thomassen explores the Valentinian understanding of the ritual of anointment of the dying and its soteriology.124 The literary genre of the document connects it with the Christian and Platonic milieu. However, it is only through references to the theological concepts and rituals described in other documents from the ‘Valentinian’ tradition that we can allocate this discourse to the general proximity of that school. Only these references enable us to assume that this discourse belongs to the larger corpus of that tradition.125 One particular feature of the Apocalypse should be highlighted: the importance of ‘questions and answers’ in the Saviour’s teaching (32.28–38.11). It is vital to the Christian disciple, as in the case of James, to answer a number of questions during his trial before martyrdom. Does this practice suggest some wider philosophical background or interest on the part of the milieu that produced this Apocalypse? As the whole discourse has a strong Scriptural orientation, and is preoccupied with suffering and eschatology that have mystical rather than philosophical connotations, I am inclined to see the Christian group as a strongly religious group, which experienced persecution, and not as a ‘philosophical’ school. Although it is poorly preserved, the Interpretation of Knowledge126 XI, 1 is important to our discussion and is our seventh document.127 This exhortation offers some insights into a Christian community that was in crisis.128 In her introduction, Pagels places this discourse within the ‘Valentinian sources’.129 More recently, the editors of the French translation have affirmed this association.130 The Interpretation of Knowledge shows a dramatic tension within its milieu motivated by envy (φθόνος/ⲫⲑⲟⲛⲟⲥ 15.26–38), which comes from ignorance (ⲛ̄ⲁⲧⲥⲁⲩⲛⲉ 17.25–8). Reconstruction of the readable fragments suggests that some members of the community caused a split in the Church (6.37–8) when they elevated themselves to a higher status and claimed greater spiritual gifts than their fellow believers (15.33–6). The author defends the unity of the Church and the discourse assimilates many Pauline images of ‘the body of Christ’ (for example, Rom 12:4–8; 1 Cor 12:12–31).131 In addition, the author depicts the self-understanding of the Christian community as a ‘school’ (ⲥⲭⲟⲗⲏ) with the Saviour as its teacher.132 The Interpretation of Knowledge claims that the milieu that produced this document saw themselves as Christians and pupils of the divine teacher identified with Christ. The important feature of that community was presented as ‘being a school’ (ⲥⲭⲟⲗⲏ) in which the Saviour is the principal 21

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teacher. His teaching resonates with some Scriptural, especially Matthean, sayings of Jesus.133 In a similar way to the Gospel of Philip (53.23–54.5), the passage warns about applying terminology from the current world to the divine reality.134 The central notion highlights the relationship of the disciples with the Saviour. The ongoing process of teaching/learning unveils that, for those Christians, the divine revelation continues during the time when this document was written. Although they have received the revelation, Christians may still be in ‘darkness’ and hate other members if they lack understanding. Some scholars such as Tite and Kippenberg135 argue that the audience for this exhortation comprised more spiritual (pneumatic) and psychic Christians. It is interesting that the existing Coptic text does not name them as ‘pneumatic and psychic disciples of Valentinus’, or as pneumatic (spiritual) members of the other churches. The author of the Interpretation of Knowledge argues for one school of the Saviour, identified here with his or her ‘church’ (ⲧⲉⲕⲕⲗⲏⲥⲓⲁ). This Christocentric discourse does not mention any other Apostolic authorities, ‘fathers in faith’ or leaders, but Christ. The vital relationship with the Saviour is not built upon the ‘chain’ (successio) of teachers but on the interpretation of Scriptures and must be embodied in a community (19.31–3). There is no sign of an individualist stance (Christ and me/I), but we see the emphasis on ‘we/church or school’.136 Were those Christians aware that they were Valentinians? The reading of the Interpretation of Knowledge suggests they were not: they saw themselves as disciples of the Saviour, the divine teacher and the only head of their school/church. The final work on our list, Valentinian Exposition, XI, 2,137 with its five supplements (On the Anointing (XI, 2a); On Baptism A (XI, 2b); On Baptism B (XI, 2c); On the Eucharist A (XI, 2d); On the Eucharist B (XI, 2e) had its title added by modern editors. Pagels in her introduction argues that this document ‘may be placed in the milieu of one of the western, Italic traditions of Valentinian theology’.138 This view is shared by Jacques É. Ménard, the French editor.139 Pagels’ main arguments for this classification come from the similarity of the philosophical and theological matrix found in the document to the testimonies of external patristic witnesses140 about the teaching of various disciples of Valentinus.141 The five additional didactic and liturgical short documents contain some ‘Valentinian’ idioms or refer to the rituals appreciated by this school. As Pagels argues, it is possible to place Valentinian Exposition alongside the Gospel of Philip142 and Irenaeus’ report on the theology of a certain Marcus ‘the Magician’,143 even with the variation in the philosophy and theology found in Valentinian Exposition. Recently, Hugo Lundhaug has questioned the ‘Valentinian’ association of these liturgical fragments.144 Chronologically, he also places these fragments in the third to fifth century.145 As on all previous occasions, we have to look into the text and try to detect the self-understanding of its milieu. The existing Coptic text, unfortunately poorly preserved, confirms that it originated in a Christian milieu. It has clear references to the relationship between the divine Father and the Son (for example, Val. Exp. 24.27) and the Spirit (Val. Exp. 28.24). However, we should not read this as an 22

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affirmation of a trinitarian doctrine. The soteriological focus of the discourse is on the role of the Son, who is named in the Johannine way as ‘Monogenes’ (Val. Exp. 24.32; 24.37; 25.21; 28.25; 37.24; 39.24). The treatise offers very limited references to the Scriptures (Val. Exp. 25:36 in Heb 9:8; Val. Exp. 32.34–5 in John 1:14; Val. Exp. 38.24–5 and Gen 4; 38.34–6 and Gen 6:1–7), although they are mentioned (Val. Exp. 28:32, possibly 29.21 but the reconstruction is uncertain [ⲁⲡⲃⲓⲃⲗⲓ]ⲇ̣ⲓ̣ⲟⲛ ⲛ̄ⲧⲅⲛ̣ⲱ̣ⲥⲓⲥ). Unlike the Gospel of Philip, this work is not a meditation on the Christian Scriptures, but rather unveils more Neopythagorean146 and metaphysical interests with only marginal references to the Hebrew and emerging Christian literature. The title ‘school’ is mentioned once (37.30), but in the context of gathering the (psychic) beings who need education. It is important to highlight that the Coptic work does not appeal to the Saviour’s teaching or depict any details about the audience for this instruction.147 However, the complex philosophical nature of this work (metaphysics, anthropology and theology) suggests that Valentinian Exposition was dedicated to a rather well-educated audience that was acquainted with some form of intellectual investigation (‘questions and answers’). The variation of the myth of Sophia, which we find in this commentary, shares some features with the school of Valentinus. However, advanced reflection leads us to a milieu where cosmology and salvation were perceived and expressed in highly speculative terms. Even if this work is the outcome of an individual and personal academic commentary, the author understood himself or herself to be primarily a Christian commentator. Turning to the five fragmentary liturgical supplements, I should like to highlight just one aspect: these supplements use first-person plural pronouns.148 Even if the five discourses are badly damaged, it is correct to read them as prayers and instructions given to the Christian community, with a strong focus on the importance of baptism and the Eucharist.149 Those men and women shared a common understanding of those rituals. They not only investigate, with a philosophical mindset, the nature of the invisible, divine reality, but also participate in Christian worship, say prayers, sing hymns and read Hebrew as well as Christian Scriptures.

5. Conclusions I opened this examination with the following two dilemmas: did Valentinus’ ‘followers’ believe themselves to be ‘Valentinians’ or did they see themselves as the next generation of followers of the Apostles and ultimately Christ? What makes a text ‘Valentinian’? In the light of the above discussion, the answer to the first question is that I do not believe they saw themselves as ‘Valentinians’. The label was used with a negative polemical intention by their contemporary critics to represent them as a heretical group (Justin Martyr), evil interpreters (Irenaeus of Lyons)150 or a ‘pro-Athenian’ philosophical school (Tertullian). As Judith M. Lieu reminds us, Apologists in this period used ‘naming others’ as an efficient rhetorical weapon in their polemical discourse.151 According to the logic of that polemic, 23

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Valentinus’ sect originated from the error of its founder (that is, Valentinus) and, ‘because of’ that error, further divisions and quarrels emerged within the group. The ‘history’ of Valentinus’ sect, as proposed by the Apologists, showed a gradual disintegration of the group from single originator (Valentinus) into multiple factions and concluded with the dissonance of their mythological speculations. This discourse on the identity of the group needed just one final rhetorical distinction: a clear separation of the ‘heretics’ or ‘outsiders’ from the stance of the Apologists who continued on the path of the Apostolic legacy. In brief, a label was needed. From now on, ‘they’ would not be part of ‘us’ and ‘we’ did not mingle with ‘them’. The answer to the second question is that a number of features in terminology, philosophy and view of salvation may distinguish one Christian trajectory from another, however with that trajectory there are also significant differences which need to be acknowledged.152 In considering ‘the collection’ of documents affiliated by scholars to Valentinus’ ‘followers’, a variety of self-descriptions have come to the surface. The Prayer of the Apostle Paul, if this document comes from Valentinus’ school, highlights the role of a deep personal relationship with the Saviour, following Paul’s example. The Gospel of Truth, as a meditation on the role of the Saviour in salvation, is a Christian elaboration of some Scriptural motifs combined with a wider cosmological myth. It echoes an experience of salvation that is particular to its milieu and cherishes ‘spiritual’ illumination and a self-understanding within a general Christian context. This discourse comes from a philosophically orientated Christian community, possibly an exegetical and theological school, but it was the Saviour who was its principal teacher and guide. The Treatise on the Resurrection renounces self-description as a ‘philosophical school’ and prefers to promote the identity of its readers as followers of Christian ‘true wisdom’, which is divinely inspired wisdom. In this exhortation, achieving resurrection depends on faith. Scriptural interests are clearer in this discourse than cosmological speculation. The Tripartite Tractate is a good candidate to be seen as a philosophical, methodical discourse. Like the Gospel of Truth, it combines Christian theological outlook with elements of cosmological myth. The intellectual community that composed and preserved this work had some aspirations to comprehend and interpret salvation with its cosmic and anthropological consequences. That community presented self-understanding as ‘the spiritual (ϯⲡⲛⲉⲩⲙⲁⲧⲓⲕⲏ) substance/seed’. This did not exclude them from being Christians, but only emphasised a ‘type’ of Christianity that they cherished. The Gospel of Philip, like the Tripartite Tractate, makes some distinctions within humanity and argues for a distinctiveness for its own milieu, yet it is the designation (‘the name’) ‘Christian’ that is promoted. This anthology interprets several Scriptural passages and its exegetical interest is quite evident. A Christian exegetical school with teachers and commentators would match the literary profile of the work. The (First) Apocalypse of James explores the secret teaching given to a chosen disciple by the Rabbi/Saviour before and after his crucifixion and resurrection.

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As the discourse concentrates on suffering, death and the afterlife, we may assume that the community faced some form of persecution and developed interests in eschatology. The Interpretation of Knowledge acknowledges self-understanding as a school, but also as a church made of more advanced members. Again, the Saviour is their only teacher and leader and there is no mention of any Apostolic successio. Valentinian Exposition, with its five supplements, shows two aspects of the community, or rather communities. First, there is its intricate philosophical nature, which leads to suggestions that its audience was well-educated and had an interest in intellectual enquiry. Second, the liturgical fragments testify to the importance of two types of ritual and catechesis in its original Christian fellowship. It was a community where worship went along with and enhanced other forms of community life and education, perhaps including exegesis, teaching and theological investigation.

Notes 1 Ismo Dunderberg, ‘The School of Valentinus’, in A Companion to Second-Century Christian ‘Heretics’, Antti Marjanen and Petri Luomanen (eds), SVCh, vol. 76 (Leiden: E.J. Brill, 2005), 64–99. On the difficulty of reconstructing the social reality that underlies a text, see Jörg Frey, ‘From Text to Community: Methodological Problems of Reconstructing Communities behind Texts’, in Jewish and Christian Communal Identities in the Roman World, Yair Furstenberg (ed.) (Leiden: E.J. Brill, 2016), 167–85. Further comments on the adjective ‘Christian’ during the second century are offered by John Granger Cook, ‘Chrestiani, Christiani, Χριστιανοί: A Second Century Anachronism?’, VCh, vol. 74, no. 3 (2020), 237–64. 2 More in Dunderberg, ‘The School’, 72–6. 3 See also Christoph Markschies, ‘Valentinian Gnosticism: Toward the Anatomy of a School’, in The Nag Hammadi Library after Fifty Years: Proceedings of the 1995 Society of Biblical Literature Commemoration, J. D. Turner and A. McGuire (eds) (Leiden: E.J. Brill, 1997), 401–38, quote on 438, and Ismo Dunderberg, Beyond Gnosticism. Myth, Lifestyle, and Society in the School of Valentinus (New York: Columbia University Press, 2008), 35–45. 4 Judith M. Lieu, ‘The Christian Race’, in her Christian Identity in the Jewish and GraecoRoman World (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2004), 268. 5 I am aware of Barbara Aland’s view, which depicts this Christian tradition as ‘religion of revelation and redemption’ rather than as a philosophical school. See her comments quoted by Markschies, ‘Valentinian Gnosticism’, 402 with references to the source in footnote 8. 6 I use this title as we know from Eusebius (HE., 4.18.1–6) that Justin wrote several apologetic treatises to Roman emperors. His Dialogue with Trypho also defends the Christian faith but this time against a Jewish (fictional or not) interlocutor. More on the Dialogue in the recent discussion by Matthijs DenDulk, Refiguring Justin Martyr’s Dialogue with Trypho (Abingdon: Routledge, 2018). 7 Dial., 2. While reading this account we should understand it within a certain literary topos. At this time it was fashionable to convince the reader that the author searched for the ‘true knowledge/wisdom’ and selected the ‘best’ school/teacher. See, for instance, Clement of Alexandria’s testimony of his own search for the tutor in Strom., 1.1.11.1–3. As we will discuss Plotinus, see also Porphyry’s comment on Plotinus’ quest in Life, 3.5–13.

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8 For example, Apollonius of Tyana declared that Pythagoras was his ‘spiritual ancestor’ (Πυθαγόρας σοφίας ἐμῆς πρόγονος). See Philostratus, VA., 4.16. 9 See more in Richard Lim, Public Disputation, Power, and Social Order in Late Antiquity (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1995), 30–46. 10 In our period Plutarch is a good example. He wrote against Stoics, e.g. Contradictions of the Stoics (Moralia, 1033A–1057C) and Epicureans, Not Even a Pleasant Life is Possible on Epicurean Principles (Moralia, 1086C–1107C). Lucian of Samosata in his Herm. (16) caricaturised various philosophical schools except the Stoics. 11 For further details, see Edward J. Watts, City and School in Late Antique Athens and Alexandria (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2006), 1–23. 12 Mark Edwards, Culture and Philosophy in the Age of Plotinus (London: Duckworth, 2006), 11. See also a highly important study for our context H. Greg Snyder, Teachers and Texts in the Ancient World Philosophers, Jews and Christians (London: Routledge, 2000), and the recent Christian Teachers in Second-Century Rome Schools and Students in the Ancient City, Gregory H. Snyder (ed.), SVCh, vol. 159 (Leiden: E.J. Brill, 2020), and on Justin in the same volume, Fernando Rivas Rebaque, ‘Justin Martyr as an Organic Christian Intellectual in Rome’, 134–57. 13 Again, Edwards provides us with more detailed discussion and examples, Culture, 7–13. 14 This autobiographical detail allies with Michael Trapp’s note: It was equally possible to enrol in the spiritual succession from Epicurus, Aristotle, Diogenes and Crates, Pyrrho of Elis, or Pythagoras, as an Epicurean, Peripatetic, Cynic, Sceptic or Pythagorean. To take up philosophia was therefore to make a double choice, in that the need was not just to opt for a philosophical as opposed to a non-philosophical outlook, but also (standardly if not inevitably) to select one from a range of competing alternatives, each with its own distinctive ideas, loyalties and traditions ... (Philosophy in the Roman Empire. Ethics, Politics and Society (Aldershot: Ashgate, 2007), 14)

15 16

17

18 19

However, we should remember that among some philosophers of this period there was also an attitude of eclecticism, which combined together some elements of two different schools. See Porphyry’s comment on Trypho in Life, 17.3. Pierre Hadot, Philosophy as a Way of Life, Arnold I. Davidson (ed.), Michael Chase (trans.) (Oxford: Blackwell Publishing, 2009). David Sedley, ‘Philosophical Allegiance in the Greco-Roman World’, in Philosophia Togata I, Miriam T. Griffin and Jonathan Barnes (eds) (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1989), 97–119, and again, Smith, Guilt by Association, with further discussion of the context. On the role of vestments, see Mary G. Houston, Ancient Greek, Roman and Byzantine Costume & Decoration (New York: Dover Publications, 2003), 68–70, and Paul Zanker, The Mask of Socrates: The Image of the Intellectual in Antiquity (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1995), 90–145. Dial., 1.2; 9.2. Was Justin’s school the dominant one in Rome? I am inclined to assume it was one of many. Apart from Justin, there was also Marcion of Synope, Valentinus, Carpocratians, Theodotians, Montanists, Quartodecimans and Jewish Christians active in the city. See more in Peter Lampe, Christians at Rome in the First Two Centuries: From Paul to Valentinus, M. Steinauser (trans.) (London: T&T Clark, 2003), 381–4.

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20 Tatian, Or., 18.2. 21 Or., 19.1. Irenaeus’ apologetic testimony assures his readers that as long as Tatian was with Justin in Rome (and under his supervision), Tatian was ‘orthodox’. After Justin’s martyrdom, Tatian lapsed into encratism. See AH., 1.28.1. 22 See more in Emily J. Hunt, Christianity in the Second Century: The Case of Tatian (London: Routledge, 2003), 52–73. 23 In my discussion, I will use Porphyry’s text following Mark Edwards’ translation and commentary in his Neoplatonic Saints: The Lives of Plotinus and Proclus by their Students (Liverpool: Liverpool University Press, 2000), 1–53. 24 Porphyry, Life, 3.24. Edwards identifies the year of Plotinus’ arrival in Rome as 244, Neoplatonic Saints, 6 and footnote 40. 25 One of those methods of philosophical education was the question-and-answer dialogue (ζήτημα καὶ λύσις). It was probably Aristotle who invented this and it was popularised by Theophrastus. Later, this model was accepted by some (e.g. Neoplatonic, Stoic) schools. See more in Lim, Public Disputation, 36–7, and Anthony C. Lloyd, The Anatomy of Neo-Platonism (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1990), 6–8. 26 Tim. 39 E in Enn., III.9. 27 Longinus uses an interesting phrase about Amelius, saying that ‘he walks in the footsteps of Plotinus’ (Life, 21.10: κατ’ ἴχνη μὲν τοῦ Πλωτίνου ἐβάδιζε). It suggests adhering to Plotinus’ philosophical legacy. 28 See the valuable comments in Christoph Markschies, Christian Theology and Its Institutions in the Early Roman Empire: Prolegomena to a History of Early Christian Theology, W. Coppins (trans.) (Waco: Baylor University Press, 2015), 61–91. 29 One of the best examples would be the Catechetical school in Alexandria where Clement taught. See more in Alain Le Boulluec, ‘Aux Origines, Encore, de l’École d’Alexandrie’, in Alexandrie Antique et Chrétienne. Clément et Origène (Paris: Institut d’Études Augustiniennes, 2012), 27–57. 30 See footnote 12. 31 See Pliny the Younger, Epistle, X.96. 32 Galen, Diff. Puls. 3.3 and 2.4. Galen’s note includes the important term διατριβή (diatribe), which in the context denoted a ‘school’, ‘a rational way of life’, including moral exhortation to a more noble life (e.g. self-control, the pursuit of virtues, the elimination of vice). ‘Christians in Rome’ appeared to Galen no longer as abominable cannibals or anarchists, but as students of a ‘philosophical school’. 33 Geoffrey S. Smith, Guilt by Association: Heresy Catalogues in Early Christianity (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2015), 1. 34 Dial., 35.6: These men call themselves Christians in much the same way as some Gentiles engrave the name of God upon their statues, and then indulge in every kind of wicked and atheistic rite. Some of these heretics are called Marcionites, some Valentinians, some Basilidians, and some Saturnilians, and others by still other names, each designated by the name of the founder of the system (ἀπὸ τοῦ ἀρχηγέτου τῆς γνώμης), just as each person who deems himself a philosopher, as I stated at the beginning of this discussion, claims that he must bear the name of the philosophy he favors from the founder of that particular school of philosophy. (St. Justin Martyr, Dialogue with Trypho: Revised and with a New Introduction by Thomas P. Halton, Michael Slusser (ed.), Thomas B. Falls (trans.) (Washington: The Catholic University of America Press, 2003))

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This translation suggests a specific gender of ‘heretics’ (here: men); however, the Greek text uses the verb in the third-person plural (λέγουσιν) and allows us to assume that the groups were not exclusively male. 35 1 Preface 2.35 and 45: ... I have regarded it necessary, having read the treatises (ὑπομνήμασι) of the disciples of Valentinus, as they call themselves (ὡς αὐτοὶ λέγουσιν Οὐαλεντίνου μαθητῶν) ... [...] I refer especially to the disciples of Ptolemy, whose school may be described as an offshoot from the school of Valentinus (ἀπάνθισμα oὖσαν τῆς Οὐαλεντίνου σχολῆς). (my translation) See also 1.12.1. More in Chapter 5. 36 Markschies argues that Irenaeus writes about some followers/students of Ptolemaeus and not about the teacher himself. See ‘Valentinian Gnosticism’, 419–20. More on Ptolemy in Chapter 4. 37 AH., 1.11.1: ῎Ιδωμεν νῦν καὶ τὴν τούτων ἄστατον γνώμην, δύο που καὶ τριῶν ὄντων πῶς περὶ τῶν αὐτῶν οὐ τὰ αὐτὰ λέγουσιν, ἀλλά τοῖς πράγμασιν καὶ τοῖς ὀνόμασιν ἐναντία ἀποφαίνονται. My translation. See also the opening quotation from Tertullian, Adv. Val., 4.3–4 in Chapter 2. 38 AH., 1.12.1: Οἱ δέ περὶ τὸν Πτολεμαῖον ἐμπειρότεροι. My translation. 39 See Einar Thomassen, The Spiritual Seed. The Church of the ‘Valentinians’ (Leiden: E.J. Brill, 2006), 15 and footnote 15. 40 AH., 1.11.1 and discussion in Markschies, ‘Valentinian Gnosticism’, 411–12. To be even more specific, Irenaeus’ view on Valentinus and his ‘followers’ uses the term ‘school’ in a polemical context as ‘a heretical school’ as opposed to what he believed to be the true, Apostolic Church. See more in Alan Le Boulluec, La notion d’hérésie dans la littérature grecque IIe – IIIe siècle. Tome I De Justin a Irénée (Paris: Études Augustiniennes, 1985), 113–88. 41 Thomassen, The Spiritual Seed, 16. 42 We ought to note that this work is not the only one that deals with Valentinus and the school. Markschies has listed 30 references to this label in Tertullian’s works, ‘Valentinian Gnosticism’, 415, footnote 58. See more on Tartullian’s rhetorical strategy in Sarah-Magdalena Kingreen, Tertullians Schrift, Adversus Valentinianos’ Die argumentative Widersetzung Tertullians gegen die Valentinianer als ein in rhetorischer Perspektive geschlossenes Werk, STAC, 120 (Tübinger: Mohr Siebeck, 2020). 43 Adv. Val., 1.1: ‘Valentiniani, frequentissimum plane collegium inter haereticos, ex apostatis veritatis’, M. T. Riley (trans.). 44 Adv. Val., 4.3: ‘Valentiniani qui per Valentinum’, M. T. Riley (trans.). 45 Adv. Val., 11.2, see Thomassen, The Spiritual Seed, 39–40. 46 Prescr., 7. 47 Scorp., 9.1 and 12.1 as noted by Markschies, ‘Valentinian Gnosticism’, 416, note 66. 48 Apart from many references to Valentinus’ teaching, in Strom., 7.17.106.4, we read that Valentinus was a pupil of a certain Theodas, who himself was a disciple of the Apostle Paul. It is possible, as Markschies argues, to see that connection, Paul– Theodas–Valentinus, as a succesio, which presents this academic and religious group as a school. See Markschies, ‘Valentinian Gnosticism’, 422. In addition, Clement preserves a passage from Valentinus’ letter to Agathopus (Strom., 3.7.59.3), Valentinus’ homily on the immortality of the souls (Strom., 4.13.89.1–4) and On Friends (Strom., 6.6.52.3).

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49 Clement hints at a Valentinian ‘milieu’ (οἱ μὲν οὖν ἀμφὶ τὸν Οὐαλεντῖνον in Strom., 3.1.1.1 and later 3.4.29.3), or ‘school’ (σχολή in Strom., 3.13.92.2). Again, he affirms that the name of a group is related to its founder in 7.108.1. The term σχολή, as noted by Markschies, does not apply exclusively to the great (i.e. Plato’s Academy, Aristotle’s Lyceum, Epicurus’ Kepos and Zeno’s Stoia). See Markschies, ‘Valentinian Gnosticism’, 405. 50 Annewies van den Hoek, ‘The ‘Catechetical’ School of Early Christian Alexandria and Its Philonic Heritage’, HTR, vol. 90, no. 1 (1997), 74. 51 I shall discuss this work in Chapter 7. At this point, I offer only a short introduction for the coherence of the discussion. 52 See Joel Kalvesmaki, ‘Italian versus Eastern Valentinianism?’ VCh, vol. 62 (2008), 79–89, esp. 82–4. 53 See the manuscript Laur. V. 3 and my discussion in Chapter 7. 54 The ‘western’ or Italian group would include, according to Irenaeus of Lyons, Secundus (AH., 1.11.2) and Ptolemy (AH., 1.12.1). Einar Thomassen has re-examined the theology of these two traditions with rather subtle, if not sophisticated Christology and the theory of incarnation, The Spiritual Seed, 40–5. 55 Haer., 6.35.5–7. In addition, see the valuable discussion of this document by Jaap Mansfeld, Heresiography in Context: Hippolytus’ Elenchos as a Source for Greek Philosophy, ‘Philosophia Antiqua’, vol. 56 (Leiden: E.J. Brill, 2012). In our context, especially interesting is that Mansfeld argued that – as he believes – Hippolytus collected material from his (‘Gnostic’) opponents motivated by his ‘heresiographical purpose’, that is to prove that the error of their doctrines came from a misunderstanding of the earlier philosophical doctrines. Heresiography, 325. 56 The title is given by modern scholars, see Birger A. Pearson, ‘Introduction’, The Coptic Gnostic Library. Edited with English Translation, Introduction and Notes, James M. Robinson (ed.), vol. XV (Leiden: E. J. Brill, 2000), 101. Hereafter CGL. 57 Thomassen, The Spiritual Seed, 501, note 39. 58 Markschies, ‘Valentinian Gnosticism’, 418–19. 59 ⲁ̣ϥϫⲱⲕ ⲉⲃ̣[ⲟ]ⲗ ⲙ̄ⲡⲡⲱⲧ [ⲙ̄ⲡⲟⲩⲁ] [ⲗ]ⲉⲛⲧⲓⲛⲟⲥ̣· ⲛ̄ⲧⲟϥ ϩⲱⲱϥ̣ [ⲙⲉⲛ] ⲉϥϣⲁϫⲉ ⲉⲑⲟⲅⲇⲟⲁⲥ· ⲛⲉ̣[ϥⲙⲁ] [ⲑ]ⲏⲧⲏⲥ ⲇⲉ ⲉⲩⲧⲛ̄ⲧⲱⲛ̣ [ⲉⲙ̄ⲙⲁ] ⲑⲏⲧⲏⲥ ⲙ̄ⲡⲟⲩⲁⲗⲉⲛⲧⲓⲛ[ⲟⲥ·] ⲛ̄ⲧⲟⲟⲩ ϩⲱⲟⲩ ⲟⲛ ⲥⲉ[ⲗ̣ⲟ ⲉⲡⲓⲁⲅⲁⲑⲟⲛ̣ [ⲁⲗ]ⲗ̣[ⲁ ⲟⲩⲛ̄] ⲧ̣ⲁⲩ ⲙ̄ⲙ[ⲁ]ⲩ ⲛ̄ⲟⲩ[ϣⲙ̄ϣⲉ ⲛ̄ⲧⲉ] [ⲛ]ⲓⲉ[ⲓ]ⲇⲱⲗ̣[ⲟⲛ [.].[(± 6 lines missing) ⲁϥϫⲉ ϩ[ⲁϩ ⲛ̄ϣⲁϫⲉ ⲁⲩⲱ ⲁϥ] ⲥⲉϩ ϩⲁϩ̣ [ⲛ̄ϫⲱⲱⲙⲉ ϣⲁϫⲉ] (± 11 lines missing). The Coptic text and the English translation follows Søren Giversen and Birger A. Pearson, CGL (1981), vol. XV, 172–3. 60 Markschies, ‘Valentinian Gnosticism’, 418. 61 Karen L. King, ‘Factions, Variety, Diversity, Multiplicity: Representing Early Christian Differences for the 21st Century’, Method and Theory in the Study of Religion, vol. 23 (2011), 216–37. King comments on Justin Martyr’s rhetorical method: Yet while it is clear that the dialogue’s main locutor ‘Justin’ intends his (fictional) interlocutor ‘Trypho’ to separate true from false Christians, it is much less clear to modern scholars whether the Christians Justin is excluding actually formed groups distinguishable sociologically from other (to Justin ‘true’) Christians or whether he is himself producing a separate nomenclature as a strategy to exclude them. As Judith Lieu points out, the ‘power of naming’ can be an extremely effective strategy, but its polemical success is not a sufficient indicator of reality

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on the ground (Lieu 2004: 267–268). [...] Indeed, when an ‘heretical’ text, such as Testimony of Truth 56.1–5; 58.2–4, does mention Christians such as disciples of Valentinus or Simonians, it is clearly employing the same polemical strategy of naming opponents as Justin ... (‘Factions ...’, 226) 62 These eight are: the Prayer of the Apostle Paul, I,1; the Gospel of Truth, I,3; the Tripartite Tractate, I,5; the Treatise on the Resurrection (Letter to Rheginos, I,4); the Gospel of Philip, II,3; the (First) Apocalypse of James, V,3; the Interpretation of Knowledge, XI,1 and Valentinian Exposition, XI,2. I am aware of an ongoing debate about the definition of the ‘Valentinian’ character of some works, their primary and secondary sources. However, in this paper I shall only suggest further reading in Desjardins, Sin in Valentinianism, 1–12. See also in this context, Michel R. Desjardins, ‘The Sources for Valentinian Gnosticism: A Question of Methodology’, VCh, vol. 40 (1986), 342–7 and Einar Thomassen, ‘Notes pour la délimitation d’un Corpus Valentinien a Nag Hammadi’, in Les Textes de Nag Hammadi et le Problème de Leur Classification: Actes du Colloque Tenu à Québec du 15 au 19 Septembre 1993, Louis Painchaud and Anne Pasquier (eds), BCNH (Québec: Les Presses de l’Université Laval, 1995), 243–59. I am most grateful to Lance Jenott for drawing these contributions to my attention. 63 For example: how rigid was the division of humanity into three classes? See Ismo Dunderberg, ‘Valentinian Theories on Classes of Humankind’, in Gnostic Morality Revisited, WUNT 347 (Tübinger: Mohr Siebeck, 2015), 137–48. 64 Mueller states: ‘it may be a work of the Valentinian school’, in his ‘Introduction’, CGL (1985), vol. XXII, 6. 65 The Nag Hammadi Scriptures. The Revised and Updated Translation of Sacred Gnostic Texts, M. Mayer (ed.) (New York: HarperOne, 2007), 16. 66 Michael Kaler, ‘The Prayer of the Apostle Paul in the Context of Nag Hammadi Codex I’, JECS, vol. 16, no. 3, Fall (2008), 319–39. 67 Williams, Rethinking ‘Gnosticism’, 253. 68 Lance Jenott and Elaine Pagels, ‘Antony’s Letters and Nag Hammadi Codex I: Sources of Religious Conflict in Fourth-Century Egypt’, JECS, vol. 18, no. 4, Winter (2010), 573. 69 Jenott, Pagels, ‘Antony’s Letters ...’, 570–1. 70 I shall discuss this document in Chapter 3 and later in Chapter 9.4.1. 71 AH., 3.11.9. 72 See Dunderberg, Gnostic Morality, 156, footnote 31 and ‘The Gospel of Truth: Introduction’, CGL (1985), vol. XXII, 79 and footnote 25. See also summary of the discussion in the doctoral thesis J. Magnusson, ‘Rethinking the Gospel of Truth: A Study of its Eastern Valentinian Setting’ (Uppsala: Uppsala University, 2006), 16–18. 73 [...] the underlying theological system of the text is certainly compatible with the tentative identification of the work as a Valentinian document made on the basis of the work’s probable title and its stylistic similarities with the remains of Valentinus’ own writings (Attridge and MacRae, ‘The Gospel of Truth: Introduction’, in CGL (1985), vol. XXII, 76) Both authors also refer to the publications of Grobel, van Unnik, Quispel, Nock, Jonas, Menard and Standaert to support the Valentinian link of the document. See footnote 21 on page 76. Later, footnote 23 refers to Schenke’s opposition to this affiliation.

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74 Among them are the notion of the Father, instead of divine dyad, the absence of the myth about Sophia and different anthropological categories. The impact of the Gospel of Truth on wider Christianity in forthcoming centuries is debated by using one specific case by Mark Edwards, ‘Pseudo-Priscillian and the Gospel of Truth’, VCh, vol. 70 (2016), 1–18. This paper does not give us any further insights into the original community that uses this narrative, but rather shows how the text influences other Christians. 75 Anne Kreps, ‘The Passion of the Book: The Gospel of Truth as Valentinian Scriptural Practice’, JECS, vol. 24, no. 3, Fall (2016), 311–35. 76 Kreps, ‘The Passion of the Book ...’, 313 77 E.g. Kreps, ‘The Passion of the Book ...’, 314. 78 The title is found in the last line of the Coptic text in a separate sentence. See Treat. Res., 50.17. I will further comment on this document in Chapter 9.4.3. 79 ‘Introduction’, in CGL (1985), vol. XXII, 128. See also his conclusion ‘Introduction’, CGL (1985), vol. XXII, 137, and further comments on authorship, 144–6. 80 ‘Introduction’ CGL (1985), vol. XXII, 133. 81 ‘Introduction’, CGL (1985), vol. XXII, 133, footnote 25. His introduction was written before the edition of the Coptic Gnostic Library in 1985, and since then the labels of ‘Gnostic’ and ‘Gnosticism’ have been seriously challenged. 82 There is nothing in the document to suggest that the author was male and I therefore wish to leave the gender open. 83 For Pauline references to this expression, see Rom 5:2: ἐν ᾗ ἑστήκαμεν 11:20: σὺ δὲ τῇ πίστει ἕστηκας, 1 Cor 15:1: ἐν ᾧ καὶ ἑστήκατε. 84 ⲟⲩⲛ ϩⲁⲉⲓⲛⲉ ⲡⲁϣⲏⲣⲉ ⲣⲏⲅⲓⲛⲟⲥ ⲉⲩⲱϣⲉ ⲁⲥⲃⲟ ⲁϩⲁϩ ⲟⲩⲛⲧⲉⲩ ⲙ̄ⲙⲉⲩ ⲙ̄ⲡⲓⲥⲕⲟⲡⲟⲥ ⲉⲩⲉⲙⲁϩⲧⲉ ⲛ̄ϩⲛ̄ⲍⲏⲧⲏⲙⲁ ⲉⲩϣⲁⲁⲧ ⲙ̄ⲡⲉⲩⲃⲱⲗ ⲁⲩⲱ ⲉⲩϣⲁⲛⲙⲉⲉⲧⲉ ⲁⲛⲉⲉⲓ ϣⲁⲩⲙⲉⲩⲉ ⲁϩⲛ̄ⲙⲛ̄ⲧⲛⲁϭ ⲛ̄ϩⲣⲏⲓ̈ ⲛ̄ϩⲏⲧⲟⲩ ⲛ̄ϯⲙⲉⲩⲉ ⲛ̄ⲇⲉ ⲉⲛ ϫⲉ ⲁⲩⲁϩⲉ ⲁⲣⲉⲧⲟⲩ ⲙ̄ⲫⲟⲩⲛ ⲙ̄ⲡⲗⲟⲅⲟⲥ ⲛ̄ⲧⲙⲏⲉ. The English translation follows in Malcolm L. Peel, CGL (1985), vol. XXII, 148–9. The recent rendition in Geoffrey Smith, Valentinian Christianity: Texts and Translations (Oakland: University of California Press, 2020), 157. 85 Further discussion of the anti-philosophical stance of this document is presented by Luther H. Martin, ‘The-Anti-Philosophical Polemic and Gnostic Soteriology in “The Treatise on the Resurrection” (CG I, 3), Nu, vol. 20, no. 1 (1973), 20–37. 86 See also Jacques É. Ménard, Le Traité sur la Résurrection, BCNH (Québec: Les Presses de l’Université Laval, 1983), 60. 87 More in Peel’s commentary, in CGL (1985), vol. XXIII, 137 with Scriptural references and modern discussion. 88 This distinction and rejection of ‘philosophy’ is affirmed further in another passage, Treat.Res., 46.4–14. See Peel’s commentary, in CGL (1985), vol. XXIIΙ, 168–70. Peel rightly, in my view, highlighted the opposition between ‘faith’ (πίστις) and ‘persuasion’ (τὸ πείθειν, ἡ πεισμονή). 89 See the discussion of ⲭⲣⲏⲥⲧⲟⲥ in Peel’s commentary, in CGL (1985), vol. XXII, 142. 90 ⲉⲩϣⲓⲛⲉ ⲛ̄ϩⲟⲩⲟ ⲁⲡⲉⲩⲙ̄ⲧⲁⲛ ⲡⲉⲉⲓ ⲛ̄ⲧⲁϩⲛ̄ϫⲓⲧϥ ϩⲓⲧⲙ̄ ⲙⲛ̄ⲥⲱⲧⲏⲣ ⲡⲛ̄ϫⲁⲉⲓⲥ ⲡⲉⲭⲣⲏⲥⲧⲟⲥ. Peel, in CGL (1985), vol. XXII, 148–9. 91 Treat. Res., 44.13–15. 92 Treat. Res., 49.35–50.5. See Peel’s comments in CGL (1985), vol. XXIIΙ, 211–13. 93 See footnote 48. 94 See also Hugo Lundhaug, ‘“These are the Symbols and Likeness of the Resurrection”: Conceptualization of Death and Transformation in the Treatise on the Resurrection (NHL I, 4)’, in Metamorphoses: Resurrection, Body and Transformative Practices in Early Christianity, T. K. Karlsen Seim and J. Økland (eds) (Berlin: Walter de Gruyter, 2009), 198–9, 202–3.

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95 For instance, one of the Pauline motifs clearly highlighted in the document is the image of the Saviour who ‘swallowed up death’ four times (45.14, 45.19; 46.1; 49.3–4) and see: 1 Cor 15:54; 2 Cor 5:4. In section 48.5–19 we have a direct reference to the scene of the Transfiguration in the Synoptic Gospels (Mark 9:2–8; Mt 17.1–8; Lk 9.28–36). See more on this motif in Lundhaug, ‘These are the Symbols ...’, 191–2. 96 I shall discuss some aspects of this treatise in Chapter 6. On the title, theology and provenance, see Harold W. Attridge and Elaine H. Pagels, ‘The Tripartite Tractate: Introduction’, in CGL (1985), vol. XXII, 178–90. See also Jean Daniel Dubois, ‘Le Traité Tripartite (Nag Hammadi codices I,5) et l’histoire de l’école valentinienne’, in La controverse religieuse et ses formes, A. Le Boulluec (ed.) (Paris: Cerf, 1995), 151–64. See also Louis Painchaud and Einar Thomassen, Le Traité Tripartite, BCNH (Québec: Les Presses de l’Université Laval, 1989), 42. 97 For the account of these parallels, see Attridge and Pagels, ‘Introduction’, in CGL (1985), vol. XXII, 177. Both commentators also highlight some parallels between the vocabulary of this document and that of other sources standing for the Valentinian tradition. See ‘Introduction’, in CGL (1985), vol. XXII, 179, footnote 32. 98 For instance, in the Summary, Attridge and Pagels note: ‘This brief review indicates that the Tri. Trac. offers important evidence for the development of at least one branch of Western Valentinian theology as it increasingly accommodated to orthodox Christianity’, in CGL (1985), vol. XXII, 189. See also their comments earlier (177): Yet the Tri. Trac. revises the major themes of Valentinian theology more radically than any other extant sources and approximates more closely than any other Valentinian thinker to the positions taken by more orthodox theologians of the third and fourth centuries. 99 Harold W. Attridge and Elaine H. Pagels, ‘The Tripartite Tractate: Introduction’, in CGL (1985), vol. XXII, 179. 100 I use the term ‘trinitarian names’, not ‘Trinity’, as I would like to highlight some differences between the theology of the divine beings in this document and the theology that was promoted by, for example, Greek authors such as Irenaeus of Lyons and Latin ones such as Tertullian. 101 Painchaud and Thomassen point out the close link of this reference to orthodoxy, Le Traité Tripartite, 442–3. 102 ϫⲉ ⲡⲓ̣ⲃⲁⲡⲧⲓⲥⲙⲁ ⲉⲧϣⲟⲟⲡ ϩⲛ̄ⲛ ⲟⲩⲙⲛ̄ⲧϫⲁⲉⲓⲥ ⲡⲉⲉⲓ ⲉⲧⲟⲩⲛⲁϣⲉ ⲁϩⲣⲏⲓ̈ ⲁⲣⲁϥ ⲛ̄ϭⲓ ⲛⲓⲡⲧⲏⲣϥ̄ ⲛ̄ⲥⲉϣⲱⲡⲉ ⲛ̄ϩⲏⲧϥ̄ ⲙⲛ ϭⲉⲃⲁ‧ⲡⲧⲓⲥⲙⲁ ⲥⲁ ⲡⲉⲧⲙ̄ⲙⲉⲩ ⲟⲩⲁⲉⲉⲧϥ̄ ⲉⲧⲉ ⲡⲉⲉⲓ ⲡⲉ· ⲡⲥⲱⲧⲉ· ⲁϩⲟⲩⲛ ⲉⲡⲛⲟⲩⲧⲉ· ⲡⲓⲱⲧ· ⲙⲛ̄ ⲡϣⲏⲣⲉ ⲙⲛ̄ ⲡⲛ(ⲉⲩⲙ)ⲁ ⲉⲧⲟⲩⲁⲁⲃ· ⲉⲁⲥϣⲱⲡⲉ ⲛ̄ϭⲓ ϯϩⲟⲙⲟⲗⲟⲅⲓⲁ ⲁⲃⲁⲗ ϩⲓ̈ⲧⲛ̄ⲛ ⲟⲩⲛⲁϩⲧⲉ̣ ⲁϩⲟⲩⲛ ⲁⲛⲓⲣⲉⲛ ⲉⲧⲙ̄ⲙⲉⲩ ⲛⲉⲉⲓ̣ [ⲉⲧⲉⲟ]ⲩⲣⲉⲛ ⲛ̄ⲟⲩⲱⲧ· ⲡⲉ ⲛ̄ⲇⲉ ⲡⲓϣⲙ̄ ⲛⲟⲩϥⲉ ⲉⲁⲩⲛ̄ϩⲟⲩⲧ ⲛ̄ⲛⲉⲧⲉⲁⲩϫⲟⲟⲩⲉ ⲛⲉⲩⲟⲩ· ϫⲉ ⲥⲉϣⲟⲟⲡ· ⲉⲁⲃⲁⲗ ⲙ̄ⲡⲁⲉⲓ ⲉⲩⲛ̄ⲧⲉⲩ ⲙ̄ⲙⲉⲩ ⲙ̄ⲡⲟⲩϫⲁⲉⲓ· ⲧⲉ ⲛ̄ϫⲓ ⲛⲁⲓ̈ ⲉⲧⲁⲛⲁϩⲧⲉ· ϫⲉ ⲥⲉϣⲟⲟⲡ· ⲉⲧⲉ ⲡⲉⲉⲓ ⲡⲉ ⲧⲡⲉϩⲟ ⲙⲉⲛ ϩⲛ̄ ⲟⲩⲙⲛⲧⲁⲧ·ⲛⲉⲩ ⲁⲣⲁⲥ ⲙ̄ⲡⲓⲱⲧ· ⲙⲛ̄ ⲡϣⲏⲣⲉ· ⲙⲛ̄ ⲡⲛ(ⲉⲩⲙ)ⲁ ⲉⲧⲟⲩⲁⲁⲃ ϩⲛ̄ⲛ ⲟⲩⲛⲁϩⲧⲉ {ⲇⲉ} ⲛ̄ⲁⲧⲣ̄ϩⲏⲧ·. See also 138.13–27. The English translation of the Tripartite Tractate follows Attridge and Pagels’ edition in CGL (1985), vol. XXII, here 320–1. See valuable comments in Thomassen, The Spiritual Seed, 171 and 353–5. 103 I shall further discuss the definition of Christian identity in Chapter 8. 104 Further discussion in Painchaud and Thomassen, Le Traité Tripartite, 412–13.

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105 The reconstruction of the Coptic text is here problematic. See discussion in Attridge and Pagels, CGL (1985), vol. XXIII, 440. 106 For instance, 1 Cor 2:14–15; 15:44–6. See more in E. M. Yamauchi, ‘Gnosis, Gnosticism’, in Dictionary of Paul and His Letters A Compendium of Contemporary Biblical Scholarship, Gerald F. Hawthorne, Ralph P. Martin and Daniel G. Reid (eds) (Leicester: Downers Grove, 1993), 350–4. References to ‘spiritual’ or even ‘Gnostic’ types of Christian cannot be seen as a feature of the ‘Valentinian’ school, as for instance during the second century Clement of Alexandria promoted a style of Christian life advanced in faith and knowledge as a characteristic of a ‘Gnostic Christian’, both men and women; I have discussed his argument in Clement of Alexandria: A Project of Christian Perfection (London, New York: T&T Clark, 2008), 147–87. 107 Possible Pauline motif from Eph 1:22–3; 4:15–16; 5:23; Col 1:18; 2:10 and 19. See Painchaud and Thomassen, Le Traité Tripartite, 442–3. 108 ϫⲉ ⲡⲓⲅⲉⲛⲟⲥ ⲙⲉⲛ ⲙ̄ⲡⲛⲉⲩⲙⲁⲧⲓⲕⲟⲥ ⲉϥⲟⲉⲓ ⲙ̄ⲡⲣⲏⲧⲏ· ⲛ̄ⲛⲟⲩⲟⲉⲓⲛ ⲁⲃⲁⲗ ϩⲛ̄ⲛ ⲟⲩⲟⲉⲓⲛ ⲁⲩⲱ ⲙ̄ⲡⲣⲏⲧⲉ ⲛ̄ⲛⲟⲩⲡⲛ(ⲉⲩⲙ)ⲁ ⲁⲃⲁⲗ ϩⲛ̄ⲛ ⲟⲩⲡⲛ(ⲉⲩⲙ)ⲁ· ⲛ̄ⲧⲁⲣⲉⲧⲉϥⲁ̄ⲡⲉ· ⲟⲩⲱⲛϩ̄ ⲁⲃⲁⲗ ⲁϥⲡⲱⲧ ⲁϩⲟⲩⲛ ⲁⲣⲁϥ ⲥⲉϩⲏⲧϥ· ⲁϥϣⲱⲡⲉ ⲛ̄ⲛⲟⲩⲥⲱⲙⲁ· ⲥⲉϩⲏⲧϥ̄ ⲛ̄ⲧⲉϥⲁⲡⲉ· ⲁϥϫⲓ ⲙ̄ⲡⲁⲥⲩⲛⲉ· ϩⲛ̄ ⲟⲩϭⲉⲡⲏ· ⲙ̄ⲡϭⲱⲗⲡ̄ ⲁⲃⲁⲗ. (Attridge and Pagels, CGL (1985), vol. XXII, 306–7) 109 This time the title is written at the end of this collection of excerpts. I will discuss the subject of Christian identity and its early Christian context in Chapter 8. Further, sacramental features of this Gospel will be explored in Chapter 9.4.2. Here, I offer only a sketch of the theme. 110 In CGL (1989), vol. XX, 131. The same opinion is confirmed more recently by the Polish editor and translator, Wincenty Myszor, Biblioteka z Nag Hammadi, Kodeksy I i II, SACh, Seria Nova 7 (Katowice: Universytet Śląski, 2017), 229. 111 See Hans-Martin Schenke, Das Evangelium nach Philippus: Ein Evangelium der Valentinianer aus dem Funde von Nag-Hamadi, TLZ, vol. 84 (1959), 1–26; Bentley Layton, The Gnostic Scriptures. A New Translation with Annotations and Introductions (London: SCM Press, 1987), 325–6; Martha Lee Turner, The Gospel According to Philip: The Sources and Coherence of an Early Christian Collection (New York: E. J. Brill, 1996), 206–34; Einar Thomassen, ‘How Valentinian is The Gospel of Philip?’, in The Nag Hammadi Library after Fifty Years (NHMS, 44), J. G. Turner and A. McGuire (eds) (Leiden: Brill, 1997), 251–9; Ismo Dunderberg, ‘The School of Valentinus’, in A Companion to Second-Century Christian ‘Heretics’, A. Marjanen and P. Loumanen (eds), SVCh, vol. 76 (Leiden: E. J. Brill, 2005), 88–90. 112 Further discussion, in Turner, The Gospel According to Philip, 146–51 on various spellings of the Christian’, see 147, footnote 1. 113 I will discuss in detail all relevant statements about the Christian identity in the Gospel of Philip in Chapter 8. In this place, as I only point out that this document affiliates itself with Apostolic legacy, without any aspiration to its distinctiveness. 114 ⲉⲕϣⲁϫⲟⲟⲥ ϫⲉ ⲁⲛⲟⲕ ⲟⲩⲓ̈ⲟⲩⲇⲁⲓ̈ ⲙⲛ̄ ⲗⲁⲁⲩ ⲛⲁⲕⲓⲙ ⲉⲕϣⲁϫⲟⲟⲥ ϫⲉ ⲁⲛⲟⲕ ⲟⲩϩⲣⲱⲙⲁⲓⲟⲥ ⲙⲛ̄ ⲗⲁⲁⲩ ⲛⲁⲣ̄ⲧⲁⲣⲁⲥⲥⲉ ⲉⲕϣⲁ ϫⲟⲟⲥ ϫⲉ ⲁⲛⲟ[ⲕ ⲟ]ⲩϩⲉ̣ⲗ̣ⲗⲏⲛ ⲟⲩⲃⲁⲣⲃⲁⲣ̣̣ⲟⲥ ⲟⲩϩⲙϩ̅ⲁ̅ⲗ̅ [ⲟⲩⲉⲗⲉⲩ]ⲑⲉⲣⲟⲥ ⲙⲛ̄ ⲗⲁⲁⲩ ⲛⲁϣⲧⲟⲣⲧⲣ̄ ⲉⲕ[ϣⲁϫⲟⲟⲥ] ϫⲉ ⲁⲛⲟⲕ ⲟⲩⲭⲣⲏⲥ̣ⲧⲓⲁⲛⲟⲥ ⲡ[.....] ⲛⲁⲛⲟⲉⲓⲛ ⲛ̄ⲅⲉⲛⲟⲓⲧ̣ⲟ ⲛ̄ⲧⲁϣ̣[... ⲛ̄ⲧ]ⲉⲉⲓⲙⲉⲓⲛⲉ ⲡⲁⲉⲓ ⲉ[ⲧ] ⲉ̣ .[.....] ⲛⲁϣϩⲩⲡⲟⲙⲉⲓⲛⲉ ⲁⲛ ⲉ[ⲥⲱⲧⲙ̄ ⲉⲡ] ⲉ̣ϥⲣⲁⲛ. The Coptic follows CGL (1989), vol. XX, 164–6. For the English translation see Hugo Lundhaug, Images of Rebirth: Cognitive Poetics and Transformational Soteriology in the Gospel of Philip and the Exegesis on the Soul, NHMS, vol. LXXIII (Leiden: E.J. Brill, 2011), 491.

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115 ⲡⲭⲣⲉⲓⲥⲙⲁ ϥⲟ ⲛ̄ϫⲟⲉⲓⲥ ⲉⲡⲃⲁⲡⲧⲓⲥⲙⲁ ⲉⲃⲟⲗ ⲅⲁⲣ ϩⲙ̄ ⲡⲭⲣⲓⲥⲙⲁ ⲁⲩⲙⲟⲩⲧⲉ ⲉⲣⲟⲛ ϫⲉ ⲭⲣⲓⲥⲧⲓⲁⲛⲟⲥ ⲉⲧⲃⲉ ⲡⲃⲁⲡⲧⲓⲥⲙⲁ ⲁⲛ ⲁⲩⲱ ⲛ̄ⲧⲁⲩⲙⲟⲩⲧⲉ ⲉⲡⲉⲭ̅̅ⲥ̅ ⲉⲧⲃⲉ ⲡⲭⲣⲓⲥⲙⲁ ⲁⲡⲉⲓⲱⲧ ⲅⲁⲣ ⲧⲱϩⲥ ⲙ̄ⲡϣⲏⲣⲉ ⲁⲡϣⲏⲣⲉ ⲇⲉ ⲧⲱϩⲥ ⲛ̄ⲁⲡⲟⲥⲧⲟⲗⲟⲥ ⲁⲛⲁⲡⲟⲥⲧⲟⲗⲟⲥ ⲇⲉ ⲧⲁϩⲥⲛ̄. The Coptic follows CGL (1989), vol. XX, 191, and Lundhaug, Images of Rebirth, 515. See my further comments in Chapter 8.3. 116 As we will see in Chapter 8, this distinction belongs to the mainstream Christian teachers and Apologists and is not unique in the Gospel of Philip and the Tripartite Tractate. 117 For instance, Gos. Philip, 64.24–6 and 55.23–5. 118 Gos. Philip, 76.6 and 78.27. 119 The title is written in the first line of the text. 120 For example, Thomassen, The Spiritual Seed, 406–14; Dunderberg, ‘The School of Valentinus’, in A Companion, 90–1; and William R. Schoedel, ‘The (First) Apocalypse of James: Introduction’, in CGL (1979), vol. XI, 65–7. 121 Schoedel, ‘The (First) Apocalypse of James: Introduction’, in CGL (1979), vol. XI, 66. 122 For a bibliography, see Wolf-Peter Funk, ‘The First Revelation of James’, in The Nag Hammadi Scriptures: The Revised and Updated Translation of Sacred Gnostic Texts, M. Meyer (ed.) (New York: HarperOne, 2008), 323. 123 In section 33.11–35.25, see his ‘The (First) Apocalypse of James: Introduction’, in CGL (1979), vol. XI, 66. 124 Thomassen, The Spiritual Seed, 406–14. 125 It is striking that the Apocalypse uses the title ‘Rabbi’ (ϩⲣⲁⲃⲃⲓ) nine times (25.10; 26.2; 26.14; 27.14; 28.5; 29.14; 31.4; 40.4; 41.20) and it is the crucial Christological title. Other documents identified as ‘Valentinian’ do not use this title even once. 126 The full title is written at the end of the work (21.35). 127 I will analyse this document in Chapter 5. 128 For an insightful discussion of some aspects of the conflict within the community, see Philip L. Tite, ‘Social and Ethical Concern in the Interpretation of Knowledge (NHC, XI, 1): A Rhetorical Analysis of Inter. Know. 20.36–38’, JBL, no. 3 (2015), 651–73. 129 See her ‘The Interpretation of Knowledge: Introduction’, in CGL (1990), vol. XXVIII, 24. Tite reminds us that the affiliation of the document with Valentinian tradition has been critically assessed by Uwe-Karsten Plisch, ‘Die Auslegung der Erkenntnis (NHC XI,1)’, in Nag Hammadi Deutsch: Eingeleitet und übersetzt von Mitgliedern des Berliner Arbeitskreises für Koptisch-Gnostische Schriften, 2, NHC V,2–XIII,1, BG 1 und 4, H.-M. Schenke, H.-G. Bethge and U. Kaiser (eds) (Berlin: Gruyter, 2003), 735–46. 130 L’Interprétation de la Gnose (NH XI, 1), Wolf-Peter Funk, Louis Painchaud and Einar Thomassen (eds), BCNH (Québec: Les Presses de l’Université Laval/Louvain Editions Peeters, 2010), 4 and 12. 131 Interp. Know., 13.20–21.35. Similar Pauline metaphors can also be found in other works standing for the works of Valentinus’ ‘followers’. Pagels’ introduction traces some references to other works that are classified as Valentinian. Further details are provided in Pagels and Turner’s commentary in CGL (1990), vol. XXVIII, 77–88. Similarly, Thomassen’s translation provides some references to a number of treatises of that school. See The Nag Hammadi Scriptures, 654–62. 132 The French edition adds a commentary on the opposition between ‘good’ and ‘evil’ teachers depicted in the Coptic document. See L’Interprétation de la Gnose, 126. 133 Interp. Know., 9.29 and Mt 6:9; Interp. Know., 9.30 and Mt 5:14; Interp. Know., 9.31–3 and Mt 12:48–50. 134 Interp. Know., 9.28–30 and 9.35–7.

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135 Tite, ‘The Interpretation of Knowledge ...’, 656, and H. G. Kippenberg, ‘Gnostiker zweiten Ranges: Zur Institutionalisierung gnostischer Ideen als Anthropolatrie’, vol. 30 (1983), 146–73, esp. 159. The latter publication is mentioned by Tite, ‘The Interpretation of Knowledge ...’, 656, footnote 8 together with unpublished work by Desjardins who shared their view. 136 Tite offers further interesting comments on the nature of grammar, ‘The Interpretation of Knowledge ...’, 656, footnote 9. 137 See forthcoming Chapter 2 with more detailed analysis of some features of the Interpretation of Knowledge. 138 Pagels, ‘Valentinian Exposition: Introduction’, in CGL (1990), vol. XXVIII, 105 but also earlier, 89–91. 139 Jacques É. Ménard, L’Exposé Valentinien: Les Fragments sur le baptême et sur l’Eucharistie, BCNH (Québec: Les Presses de l’Université Laval, 1985), 13–18. 140 Irenaeus of Lyons, Hippolytus, Epiphanius and Clement of Alexandria’s Excerpta ex Theodoto, Pagels, ‘Valentinian Exposition: Introduction’, in CGL (1990), vol. XXVIII, 89. 141 Ménard gives the examples of terminology found in this treatise and some parallels with other discourses from the Nag Hammadi collection as well as testimonies of the Church authors, Ménard, L’Exposé Valentinien, 13–18. 142 For further details, see Pagels and Turner ‘Notes’, in CGL (1990), vol. XXVIII, 153–72. 143 More on Marcus in Niclas Förster: Marcus Magus: Kult, Lehre und Gemeindeleben einer valentinianischen Gnostikergruppe. Sammlung der Quellen und Kommentar (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck 1999). 144 Hugo Lundhaug, ‘Evidence of “Valentinian” ritual practice?’ in Gnosticism, Platonism and the Late Ancient World. Essays in Honour of John D. Turner, Kevin Corrigan and Tuomas Rasimus et al. (eds) (Leiden: Brill, 2013), 225–43, see 226 and note 7, but also his further comments in his paper and the conclusion (239): [...] there seems to be very little reason to regard the five liturgical pieces following A Valentinian Exposition in Nag Hammadi Codex XI as ‘Valentinian’, other than the fact that they indeed follow A Valentinian Exposition, with which, however, they do not seem to have anything in common. 145 Lundhaug’s hypothesis on the later origin of some documents from the Nag Hammadi opens, in my view, fruitful debate on the development of Christian theology or theologies in that period. However, I would avoid generalisation and read some of the documents such as the Treatise on the Resurrection as a reflection of the secondcentury Alexandrian theologian. 146 By ‘Neopythagorean’, I understand a theology of metaphysics that uses the idea of generation of numbers from the original Monad. See more in Thomassen, The Spiritual Seed, 231 and 293–8. 147 The possible reconstruction of the opening lines (Val. Exp. 22.16) gives us only a hint of the intention of the author: [ϯⲛⲁ]ϫⲉ ⲡ̣ⲁⲙⲩⲥ̣ [ⲧⲏⲣⲓⲟⲛ ⲁⲛⲉⲉⲓ ⲉⲧ]ϣ̣ⲟⲟⲡ ⲛⲏⲉⲓ ⲙ̅ⲛ̣̅ [ⲛⲉⲧⲛⲁϣⲱⲡⲉ ⲛ]ⲏ̣ⲉⲓ. ‘... my [mystery ... those who] belong to me and [those who will be] mine. These, then, are the ones who have ... are’. The Coptic text is taken from CGL (1990), vol. XXVIII, 106. The English translation follows Einar Thomassen’s in The Nag Hammadi Scriptures: The Revised and Updated Translation of Sacred Gnostic Texts, Marvin Meyer (ed.) (New York: HarperOne, 2007), 667. 148 40.14; 40.19; 40.20; 40.32; 40.33; 40.36; 41.23; 41.29; 42.23; 42.28; 42.33; 42.38; 44.22; 44.30; 44.32.

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149 For further discussion of baptism in these fragments, see Antti Marjanen, ‘A Salvific Act of Transformation or a Symbol of Defilement? Baptism in Valentinian Liturgical Readings (NHC, XI, 2) and in the Testimony of Truth (NHC IX, 3)’, in Gnosticism, Platonism and the Late Ancient World: Essays in Honour of John D. Turner, Kevin Corrigan and Tuomas Rasimus et al. (eds) (Leiden: E.J. Brill, 2013), 245–59. 150 AH., praef. 1 and AH., 2 praef. 151 See footnote 1. 152 I will provide the reader with more detail in the forthcoming chapters.

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2 MYTH AND ITS ROLE IN E D U C AT I O N O F T H E C H R I S T I A N M I N D A N D I M A G I N AT I O N A Valentinian Exposition, NHC, XI, 2

The other heretics (‘Valentinians’ – P. A.-S.) allow themselves to change their teachings with the same frequency a prostitute changes her makeup (quantum lupae feminae formam cotidie supparare solemne est) – and why not? – since each of them discovers that well-known spiritual seed in themselves: if they invent anything new, they immediately call it a revelation; they call their audacity a spiritual gift. They do not claim their sect is united, but admit it is diverse; consequently whenever they abandon their usual equivocation, we see that most of them are at odds about the meaning of certain dogmas, some saying in good faith, ‘this is not so’; others, ‘I take this in a different sense’; others, ‘I don’t admit that’. As we see their list of rules has been painted over by their innovations and looks as if it had been scribbled on by an ignoramus. Tertullian, Adv. Val., 4.3–41

1. Introduction Was Tertullian accurate in his critique? Did the ‘followers’ of Valentinus known to him alter their teachings frequently, while adding new ‘revelations’? Certainly in Tertullian’s polemic two unreconciled poles are depicted: correct versus erroneous, true versus false, unity versus diversity, ancient (here ‘Apostolic’) versus new (heretical), and Tertullian was certain that he stood for the former. In this chapter, I would like to investigate the use of myth in a document that modernday scholars have given the title A Valentinian Exposition.2 Can the content of this Coptic document enhance Tertullian’s claim? By affiliation of A Valentinian Exposition with ‘Valentinianism’, modern scholars argue that this narrative contains a mythical scenario and terminology of this school and Tertullian’s adversaries. First, to a contemporary mind, it may initially sound suspicious that some ancient Christians would appeal to a ‘myth’ as a valuable genre of discourse. Is there any room for myths in second-century theology, which elaborated Jesus’ revelation 37 DOI: 10.4324/9781003181095-3

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and the Scriptural memories of his teachings? Recently, Christoph Markschies has reminded us about the meaning of ‘theology’ in this period, which includes Valentinus’ life and the activity of his immediate followers. Markschies points out that the notion of ‘theology’ (θεολογία) in Graeco-Roman sources included teaching about gods in hymns as well as didactic that used myths.3 In the secondcentury Christian context, as noted by Markschies, it was Clement of Alexandria who made a clear distinction between mythology (that is, the story-telling of some ancient poets) and the true theology of the divine Logos (e.g. Strom., 1.13.57.6). However, Clement’s distinction, which serves his polemic, should not be taken as the source of the modern scepticism about the value of myths in theology.4 The radical opposition: mythos-logos,5 which has dominated our culture since the Enlightenment,6 has more recently been challenged and verified. Malinowski,7 Lévi-Strauss,8 Jung,9 Eliade,10 Ricoeur11 – to mention a few among many anthropologists, ethnologists, psychologists and philosophers of religion – have re-established the value and function of myth in ancient culture. Before I examine some aspects of the myth found in A Valentinian Exposition, I would like to highlight some important elements of the function of myths in Graeco-Roman culture. This examination should help us to understand the presence, value and didactic role of a myth in A Valentinian Exposition.

2. Myths in Graeco-Roman education Henry Marrou reminds us about the role of myths in the general Greek education.12 In that context, myths and the ‘story-telling’ folklore tradition guided disciples towards acceptance of the traditional values, a set of ethical attitudes and wisdom. This form of instruction pre-dated the appearance of the oldest Greek forms of literature, including the works of Homer and Hesiod. In the case of Homer, mythos designated a particular type of speech that indicated authority and was performed at length, often in a public space.13 In Hesiod, mythos may or may not denote the truthfulness of the story.14 Shorter or longer myths offered stories about heroes and their actions. They explained the origin of the universe as well as issuing moral, didactic and practical instructions. Myths as popular stories had varied structures. Some had a more complex literary construction, including an introduction and a conclusion, whereas others contained only the moral exhortation. Aesopic animal tales dealt with some ethical issues and it is also possible to see that some of those fables consisted of teaching given by parents (mothers) or slave nurses to children. The original short narratives were composed and preserved as the expression of ancient wisdom and included didactic myths and practical instructions on how to practise goodness and avoid both evil and punishment.15 Early Greek philosophers such as Parmenides used myths as a valuable way of teaching.16 It was Greek mythology that offered Graeco-Roman didactic stories the first important set of heroes and villains. Its narratives denoted the origin of the world – often the beginning of a conflict in the realm of the divine – and then testified to the ultimate clash between what was seen as ‘good’ and ‘evil’.17 That cosmic 38

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confrontation served as a matrix to explain the current ‘earthly’ political conflicts and encourage listeners to stand with the positive characters. As noted by Walter Burkert, ritual and myth were interconnected in the Greek religious traditions.18 Burkert further comments: Myth, a complex of traditional tales, has more to say of these gods, but among the Greeks these tales are always taken with a pinch of salt: the truth of a myth is never guaranteed and does not have to be believed. But quite apart from the fact that mythology is at first the sole explicit form of intellectual activity and the sole mode of coming to terms with reality, the importance of the myths of the gods lies in their connection with the sacred rituals for which they frequently provide a reason, an aetiology, which is often playfully elaborated. The art of poetry then gave individual myths a fixed and memorable form, and the recitation of this poetry became in turn an essential part of every festival.19 The ancient function and value of myths in Greece was later spread throughout the Mediterranean world and beyond in the Hellenistic period; it also assimilated more oriental features from Iranian and other cultures. With the Romans, a new audience, myths were modified and now agreed with Roman rituals, festivals and theologies.20 That trajectory continued into the second century, when various Christian teachers faced the question about their usefulness for a new theology. As Burkert highlights, myths provided religious rituals with a specific meaning and that is relevant here to the Christian milieu of A Valentinian Exposition. Before we look more carefully at this Coptic document, it is important to sketch yet another, this time philosophical, trajectory where myths were treated with doubt.

3. A short note on the ambiguous value of myth in Plato The fundamental link between myth and ritual was not the only component of the cultural legacy that continued to grow on the fertile soil of various second-century Christian communities.21 Some teachers and Apologists22 who interpreted Jesus’ words, life and actions explained them through a Platonic philosophical outlook, which was one of the most dominant in their culture.23 Their audience, especially in an urban milieu such as Rome and Alexandria, was acquainted with philosophical questions and looking for sound, rational answers. In relation to Alexandria, Edwards notes: We are told that a man cannot escape the dominant thought of his epoch, and that in Alexandria ‘Middle Platonism’ was the oxygen of all cerebral processes, so that even an earnest Christian could not fail to imbibe it with his catechism.24 However, within that Platonic ‘oxygen’, there was ambiguity about the value of myths. Plato, in his magnum opus, Republic, reminded readers of the ancient 39

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quarrel between philosophy and poetry. Which of these leads the mind towards the eternal truth? The answer seems to be clear in Republic (X.607 B) and Phaedrus (274–8), at least: only discourse (logos) has the power to provide the disciple with knowledge about reality. In the latter dialogue, Socrates claims that a poet produces a type of story that a lover of wisdom would consider only as play – for fun and relaxation. The lover of wisdom dedicates his or her time to the quest for rational investigation, while mythical explanation is left to makers of myths and is used in sophistry. But the same Plato, and his hero, Socrates, also tells stories about the real world and the afterlife in myths. It is a paradox that, although Plato would exclude poets and myth-makers from his ideal state, he still needs myths to enlighten. In Symposium (203B–C), Socrates relates the origin of Love and, in Republic (X.614–21), we find the myth of Er, which tells a story about experience of the afterlife.25 It is correct to point out that in Plato’s dialogues the boundary between mythos (here: ‘story-telling’) and logos (rational discourse) is fluid. That fluidity is found in Timaeus where Timaeus’ great speech about the origin of the universe (claimed to be a rational, true discourse) is ‘a likely to be a story’ (εἰκός μῦθος).26 In brief, Plato often used myths in a variety of contexts. They enhanced his main anthropological, ethical and metaphysical investigations or, if we prefer, they illustrated his complex philosophical intuitions. They entertained imagination, appealed to emotions and added a dramatic aspect to the discourse. They opened the mind of the reader or listener up to further rational inquiry. As a powerful literary tool, they connected the audience with the dialogues and made Plato’s theories easier to remember.27 As Morgan observes: Mythologia must therefore take its place as an intimate and essential part of the Platonic philosophical project. It is no accident that Plato invented the word and gave it conceptual shape. It seems likely that he performed a similar role with other words that define his enterprise, both positively and negatively: rhetorike (rhetoric) and philosophia (philosophy). Mythology, rhetoric, philosophy: all formed in and through language’.28 This legacy was assimilated in varying degrees by second-century Christian teachers. Some appreciated the value of mythology alongside rhetoric, poetry and philosophy, which now had a specific theological agenda in the form of salvation.

4. Myths as stories in the Hebrew Scriptures In order to complete the background to the role of myths in A Valentinian Exposition, I must also mention the presence of myths in the Hebrew Bible and the New Testament.29 This is significant to our main subject because second-century Christian teachers, like some of the Jewish commentators before them,30 inherited a number of stories that called for ‘decoding’ and allegorical reinterpretation. One Biblical myth in particular stirred up various exegetical strategies. It tells the story of the ‘sons of God’ who descend from the heavenly realm and procreate with the 40

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daughters of men (Gen 6:1–4). This myth addresses one of the universal questions for all human beings, formulated by Tertullian: ‘from where comes evil?’ (unde malum?)31 Stroumsa has pointed out the whole spectrum of interpretations of this story in a variety of ancient literary sources.32 His discussion includes Apocryphal literature;33 Rabbinic documents;34 the Second Letter of Peter (2:4); Philo of Alexandria;35 Christian authors such as Athenagoras,36 Justin Martyr,37 Irenaeus of Lyons,38 Tertullian,39 Origen,40 Hegemonius,41 Eusebius,42 and what Stroumsa calls ‘Gnostic’ literature.43 This long list shows not only the popularity of this myth in Antiquity, but also the continuous effort to comment on it and explain it to its varied audiences. I would like to add another interpretation, this time found in Clement of Alexandria, who unveils an exegetical difficulty while dealing with this myth.44 As a Biblical exegete, Clement read Gen 6:1–6 and was not embarrassed by the sexual encounter between angels and women.45 As a philosopher, he would not question the possibility of a physical encounter between spiritual and material beings. In his Paedagogus, however, he does not read the myth as ‘the true event’ (ἡ ἱστορια) but as ‘an example’ (δεῖγμα).46 Clement uses the myth as a valuable didactic narrative that presents readers with an influential, frightening image of the consequences of a ‘bad choice’. In Clement’s view, the spiritual beings’ lack of control over their passions – lust, in particular – leads them to fall and transform into demons. Clement of Alexandria was not the first to highlight the moral encouragement of self-control. Before and during the second century, various philosophical Graeco-Roman schools dealt with the importance of controlling the passions,47 which included sexual desire. This theme of control over the passions returns in the myth in A Valentinian Exposition, as we shall see later in this chapter. I fully endorse Dunderberg’s approach to the role of myth among the ‘followers’ of Valentinus, as he points out succinctly: Thus the myth of Wisdom was told not only in order to account for the physical structure of the present world but also in order to show how it is possible for human beings to get rid of noxious emotions.48 Among those early Christian teachers and commentators who assimilated allegorical interpretation, the first ‘literal’ layer of the holy narrative was only a ‘signpost’ towards deeper, ‘true’ (as they believed) meaning. If discovered and properly explained, that hidden meaning unveiled its rich didactic wisdom and provided the reader/student with some models for a moral life. In relation to the Scriptural myth about the fall of angels, Clement’s disciples were encouraged to read the story as an ‘example’, but also to practise control over their emotions so that they could achieve moral progress and return to the spiritual realm. Clement’s pedagogy was developed alongside other moral proposals and this was also the case in the school of Valentinus.

5. ‘Dealing with’ myths in Late Antiquity Dawson’s valuable study of allegorical exegesis in the Alexandrian milieu, both in pre-Christian and Christian times, highlights early Stoic strategies of engagement 41

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with myths.49 His analysis and examples are important to the current discussion and I would therefore like to mention two leading approaches to myths by Stoic authors. I will then add some comments on the Neopythagorean approach to myth (Numenius, mid- to late second century ce) so as to provide an extra dimension to our view on A Valentinian Exposition. Dawson selects two Stoic commentators – Lucius Annaeus Cornutus (first century ce) and his contemporary, Heraclitus – as representatives of two different hermeneutics (here: theories of interpretation) of myths. Dawson contrasts their approach with that of other Stoics (Cicero, Seneca) and the Middle Platonist Plutarch, who in the author’s view rejected etymology and allegory.50 Since the focus of our discussion is A Valentinian Exposition, I am mostly interested in the first two authors. Cornutus’ assumption was that the ancient literary works contained myths that still offered a great deal of philosophical and cosmological truth and were therefore still valuable. Myths can be explored, and a proper interpretation can enrich understanding of the world and humans’ place in it.51 At the centre of Cornutus’ interpretation was a technique of etymological analysis where the names of ancient heroes and heroines found in myths hinted at hidden but still significant philosophical knowledge. For instance, as quoted by Dawson, the name ‘Prometheus’ (Προμηθεύς) stands for ‘foresight’ (προμήθεια) of the universal soul: that is, Providence.52 This technique permitted scholars and commentators to use the ancient myths as philosophically respected sources of knowledge. It protected the authority of the ancient authors and created a community of interpretation that included the original poets and Cornutus’ contemporary grammarians. This model of hermeneutics brought together, in a very fruitful way, linguistics (theory of language) and epistemology (theory of knowledge). The names are the clues to the hidden events and activities which still have an impact on an ethical way of life and lead to wisdom. Dawson contrasts this with the second grammarian, Heraclitus.53 The ancient authors such as Homer were primarily responsible for all the content of Heraclitus’ stories (here: myths). Heraclitus proposed a strategy for dealing with myths that meant searching their content to find their knowledge but without taking them literally. Heraclitus’ importance to our discussion lies in his conviction that ancient myths were still significant and contributed to a worldview if they were read allegorically. In brief, a myth is an imperfect way of communicating. But for the original author with a philosophical or theological inclination, they enable the transfer of universal truths. Moving on to Numenius of Apamea, we are offered yet another way of interpreting the ancient myths. Although his works are lost, Clement of Alexandria, Eusebius (the main source) and, later, John Lydus (sixth century ce) preserved some of his fragments.54 In his hermeneutics, his technique amalgamated various sources without acknowledging the original authors (such as Homer). It moved freely through various levels of meaning as directed by the didactic needs of the commentary. As shown by Lamberton, Numenius’ treatise On the Good paraphrases Plato seven times, yet without identifiable quotations. He dealt similarly 42

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with Pythagoras, Moses and even Jesus.55 Numenius feels free to bring together the wisdom of Greek philosophers, Jewish prophets, Brahmans, Magi and the Egyptians. His understanding of wisdom justifies that syncretism of philosophical traditions and his conviction that everyone can find true wisdom if they search for it with the correct attitude. Rather than working through a commentary on a specific passage, Numenius explores a theme through references to a variety of sources. For instance, his interpretation of an episode from the Platonic myth of Atlantis (Timaeus, 20D–25D) is detached from Plato’s direct context and receives a new interpretation of the conflict between Athens and Atlantis as the war between a superior group of souls and less noble ones.56 Cornutus, Heraclitus, and Numenius show three different ways of approaching the ancient established narratives and authors. Each demonstrates a technique for bridging the divide between the original story and the present-day experiences and cultural interests of their circle. In an intellectual effort to comprehend, explain and apply the meaning of the original stories, they and others used a variety of techniques to bring to the surface what they believed was the hidden meaning. It was not only the philosophical schools of Late Antiquity that shared these techniques and the use of the ancient stories for didactic and philosophical purposes. They were also assimilated by Christian teachers and commentators, so we should not be surprised to find a diversity of sources in Valentinian Exposition and the clear intention of telling the story so as to illuminate, if not explain, the meaning of existence of the present-day audience.

6. The role of myth in A Valentinian Exposition Having explored some relevant backgrounds of myth in pre-Christian times, we now move on to explore its meaning and function in A Valentinian Exposition. Although a significant part of the document has been damaged,57 it is possible to reconstruct some parts of the myth, which is depicted in the text. The story is a literary triptych, and I will first sketch the main aspects of each part. The myth tells of the original phase of perfection with the divine ‘Monad’ (22.21: ⲙⲟⲛⲁⲥ) characterised earlier as the ‘Father’ (22.19: ⲡⲓⲱⲧ). Although the Father is presented as an individual divine being, the text suggests that he has a partner: ‘Silence’ (22.27: ⲧⲥⲓⲅⲏ).58 I shall return to this ambiguity later in this section. It is the Father/Monad who begets the ‘Son/Mind’ depicted as the ‘Mind of the All’ (22.31–9: ⲡⲛⲟⲩⲥ ⲙ̄ⲡⲧⲏ[ⲣ̄]ϥ̣). It is a hint to the idea of the Platonic notion of the intelligible universe, or the world of ideas, now in the Christian context personified by the character of the ‘Son’. The ‘Son’, the next divine being, appears, whose emergence expands the divine realm (23.19–31).59 That expansion is caused by multiplication of the divine beings, named ‘Aeons’.60 The next generation is a duplication of the previous. Thomassen suggests a certain analogy of the myth in Irenaeus’ account (AH., I.11:1), but also warns of discrepancy between the myth and Irenaeus’ report.61 With reference to another report, A Valentinian Exposition depicts the Aeons in the divine realm, while according 43

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to Tertullian, one of the leading ‘Valentinians’, Ptolemy placed them outside of the divine realm. Discussion of ‘inside’ and ‘outside’ hints at another discrepancy within the ‘Valentinian’ milieu. The second phase of the myth begins with the appearance of an important factor, yet another cosmic character named the ‘Limit’ (25.22–24 and 26.30: ⲡϩⲟⲣⲟⲥ). It is a non-Scriptural figure, who makes boundaries and separates different realities. This concept was important in Neopythagorean philosophy,62 where ‘limit’ (ὅρος) would stand between the realm of arithmetical numbers and geometry, then geometry and the material world.63 This notion is well known, mentioned in various sources. Irenaeus states that Valentinus proposed two ‘Limits’, the first as a separation between the Absolute and the rest of the divine world (Pleroma), and the second as a separation of divine Mother from the rest of Pleroma.64 ‘Limit’ divides what is spiritual and superior from what is material and inferior. A Valentinian Exposition provides ‘Limit’ with four powers to fulfil his role as a partition of the spiritual from the lower realm.65 With those newly attributed powers the ‘Limit’ sets the boundary for ‘the All’ (Val. Exp. 25.22–3: ⲙ̅ⲡⲧⲏⲣ̅ ϥ̅) – that is, all Aeons. It encompasses the divine realm, but also his presence suggests that there will be another realm, less perfect, ‘on the other side’. This important part in the second phase of the myth is played by Sophia (Wisdom). Indeed, one of the Aeons, here Sophia/Wisdom, falls into that lower world. A Valentinian Exposition, with many lacunae, does not provide us with the reason why Sophia/Wisdom is found outside of the divine realm.66 There is, however, a short note that she separated herself off from her partner/consort (Val. Exp. 34.38: ⲁⲥϣⲁⲁⲧ̅ ⲥ̅ ⲁ̣ⲃⲁⲗ [ϩ̅ ⲙ̅ ⲡ]ⲉ̣ⲥⲥⲩⲍⲩ [ⲅⲟⲥ]). Was that separation the cause of her fall according to A Valentinian Exposition? Again, various sources labelled as ‘Valentinian’ show a diversity of scenarios. In Irenaeus’ account her fall comes as an outcome of her desire to approach some higher realm (the Father?),67 further on she ‘splits’ into ‘higher’ and ‘lower’ characters.68 Refutatio claims that Sophia tried to imitate Father’s creative power of generation;69 further she also is divided into two.70 Similarly, the Excerpts from Theodotus seems to suggest two.71 However another important document ascribed to ‘Valentinians’, the Tripartite Tractate,72 mentions only one Sophia, who is transformed into masculine Logos.73 In a similar way A Valentinian Exposition depicts only one Sophia.74 The third part of the myth introduces the figure of ‘Christ’ (Val. Exp. 26.22). He is also a celestial being, but his special role is to save Sophia/Wisdom. He descends to her (Val. Exp. 26.31–4; 33.28–38). We read about Sophia’s ‘correction’ (Val. Exp. 33.28 ⲇⲓⲟⲣⲑⲱⲥⲓⲥ) or ‘healing’, we can assume, through that redemptive act of ‘Christ’. If remaining in partnership is important to the myth, we expect that ‘Christ’ would restore Sophia to her previous state. Indeed, later in the myth (Val. Exp. 39.14), we find out that ‘Jesus’ is named as her (temporary) partner. But our myth, with the central character of Sophia/Wisdom and her drama, does not end with a reaffirmation of that partnership. It also turns towards an explanation, although in a very complex way, of the origin of the current world. The text is unreadable and lost at this point, yet still the remaining 44

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part of the myth shows the creation of the world, made of Sophia’s passions and, here, the ‘seeds’ (Val. Exp. 35.11–36.19). The grand finale of the myth is about the coming together of the ‘angels of the male’ ([ⲛ̄ⲁⲅⲅⲉⲗ̣]ⲟⲥ ⲛ̄ⲛ̄ϩⲁⲩⲧ) and the ‘seeds of the female’ ([ⲥⲡⲉⲣⲙⲁ]ⲧ̣ⲓⲕⲟⲛ ⲛ̄ⲛ̄ⲥϩⲓ̣[ⲙⲉ]).75 This conjunction fulfils the will of the divine Father (Val. Exp. 36.28–34). Sophia joins her anonymous partner (39.29), while her offspring (female seeds) are joined with the angels (male). This is the climax of the ‘return’ (Val. Exp. 39.35: ⲟⲩⲁⲡⲟⲕⲁⲧⲁⲥⲧⲁⲥⲓⲥ) to perfection. Several interpretative and theological issues arise, and I should like to explore five particular aspects of the myth. These five aspects highlight the diversity of the views reported by Apologists, which are not marginal, but rather substantial and juxtaposed. The first aspect is related to modern scholars’ conclusion that this myth which we find in our document differs from other myths identified as ‘Valentinian’. These differences are pointed out by Pagels,76 Ménard,77 and Thomassen.78 Among those discrepancies, as noted by Pagels, is the concept of a divine Absolute, here according to Pagels not Dyad but Monad.79 Our Coptic document seems to be at the crossroads. It clearly mentions the Monad, but as I have pointed out, he is in the company of a partner: ‘Silence’. This quite a remarkable ambiguity. Thomassen argues that the understanding of the Monad in the document is influenced by a Neopythagorean notion and is not referring to Scriptural or Jewish monotheism.80 No doubt the Christian milieu with a philosophical eclectic background or inclination (Middle Platonic, Stoic, Neopythagorean) that produced this myth assimilated some speculations about the nature of the Absolute/the Monad into its theology.81 I see that monadic tendency pronounced with doubt by the Coptic document. A Valentinian Exposition shows an emphasis on the partnership in the divine realm. Therefore, the Monad is depicted as the One, but at the same time in the company of another being. Irenaeus wants us to believe that Valentinus’ ‘followers’ taught about the original Dyad.82 However, Irenaeus does not provide us with any further information about the meaning of ‘dyad’. In Greek philosophy, the order of existence placed dyad (two) after the monad (one), and while the monad was passive, the dyad was active as a source of further multiplication of beings. Which one of these terms was used by Irenaeus’ Valentinians? In our document the Monad is presented as ‘the Father’, that is male; are we then correct to understand that the divine Dyad would be female? Which view was used by Valentinians known to Irenaeus, or did they use different notions? If a diversity of views was the early stage of theology, does A Valentinian Exposition represent a later deviation under Neopythagorean influence? Or from the beginning did different theologians propose two parallel models with the Monad and the Dyad, and Irenaeus was aware of only the latter? These and other variations show that this narrative was preserved as an alternative speculation to what we know from ‘Valentinian’ teaching in Irenaeus and other documents classified under this tag. I see this originality of A Valentinian Exposition as a reflection of the theological autonomy of the writer(s) and his or her school. The author(s) created their own adaptation of the myth, perhaps fully aware of its originality and theology or 45

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perhaps simply without any attempt to mirror other earlier or contemporary versions among the ‘followers’ of Valentinus. As Thomassen notes,83 the current myth does not hint at three types of humanity, which was a motif central to other documents (such as the Tripartite Tractate) that show a similar theological matrix. It is possible that this motif was not important to the scope of the myth or to the audience as their theory of salvation was based on a different model. The second aspect emphasises the crucial role and value of the partnership/ syzygy. The previous comments pointed out the discrepancy at the beginning of the myth with the unclear relationship between the divine Monad and Dyad. But the end of the myth also leaves us with a considerable problem. It is evident from the preserved fragments of the myth that a special value is attributed to partnership throughout the text. It is the partnership between male and female characters. Even if we argue with Pagels that the divine Father has no partner, the rest of the divine realm does have one. That symmetric relationship is very important for the myth as Sophia’s error leaves her on her own: She repented and prayed to the Father of Truth, [saying], ‘Granted that I have [abandoned] my partner. Because of [that, I] am outside the region of stability as well’. (Val. Exp. 34.23–7)84 Sophia is aware of her status outside the realm of stability/strength (ⲡⲃⲁⲗ ⲛ̅ⲡⲕⲉⲧⲁϫⲣ̣ⲟ) and asks ‘the Father of the truth’ to be restored to her original status (Val. Exp. 34.24). She is suffering, but does this situation affect her partner, now lonely, as well? As we see later in the myth, that act of mercy includes a return to her anonymous partner. Further, in the culmination of the myth, Sophia is depicted with ‘Jesus’ (Val. Exp. 39.14 ⲧⲥⲟⲫⲓⲁ ⲙ̅ ⲛ̅ ⲓ̅ ⲏ̅ⲥ) while her offspring, ‘the seeds’ (ⲛ̅ⲥⲡⲉⲣⲙⲁ), are joined with ‘the angels’ ([ⲛ̅ⲁⲅⲅⲉ]ⲗⲟ[ⲥ]). The myth emphasises the role of the correct partnership (syzygy) and hints at the famous story of the fallen angels and their lust for women (Val. Exp. 38.34–6 and Gen 6:1–8). This Scriptural episode is used as an example of the illicit, unchaste union between angelic and carnal beings. Within the frame of the myth, the bridal relationship between Sophia and her anonymous85 partner is clearly visible and provides the ‘female seeds’ and ‘male angels’ with a model for their partnership.86 But who was her partner? In the light of the proposed salvation of Sophia/Wisdom, ‘Jesus’ would be only her temporary partner, while in the eschatological context, she would return to her original one, not named in the current poorly preserved document. The surprising conclusion of the myth, as pointed out by Thomassen,87 states that ‘Christ’ becomes ‘Jesus’’ partner. This scenario points to an alternative Christology where the divine Saviour/Son and the human being/Jesus can be seen as another model of unification between the divine and the human elements.88 But against the matrix of the ‘Valentinian’ myth as reported by Irenaeus and Refutatio, where the pairs were made of male (angelic) and female (human beings) pairs, we don’t know in the case of ‘Christ’ and ‘Jesus’ who is male and who is female. Did 46

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our Coptic document suggest that they were both male? That would be unheard of in the ‘Valentinian’ milieu. The third aspect concerns the central character of the myth, Sophia/Wisdom. As Collins notes,89 the Jewish Wisdom literature had already personified the divine attribute ‘Wisdom’ as a female character. Here, the Christian author uses a similar literary strategy. In the centre of his or her story is Wisdom/a female being. This character (as in various other forms of the core myth) is responsible for error and the origin of the fall, which also brings ultimate salvation. Why is Sophia, the female Aeon, portrayed by the myth as responsible for the fall?90 Looking more carefully at Sophia’s role, we can see that she has some of the characteristics of Eve from Genesis (2:23–3:6). Like Eve, Sophia appears with a partner. Like Eve, she initiates the process of the fall and is bold enough to break the established rules. Like Eve, she faces severe consequences (Gen 3:16): among them, by proximity to Adam, exclusion from Paradise (Gen 3:24) and separation from the divine Absolute. Her actions have an impact on everyone. Despite these analogies, there are also clear differences between the myth of Sophia and that of Eve. Although the myth is similar to the story from Genesis, it uses a different name for the principal female character. She is not created as a human but as an Aeon: an eternal being that belongs to the spiritual realm. Through the redeeming act of the Saviour, Sophia is restored to her original status and realm. From a philosophical (metaphysical) or, more specifically, Platonic stance, the myth shows a number of changes in the eternal realm: the fall, imperfection, the presence of emotions, and restoration.91 Nothing suggests that the myth is cyclic – that at some stage it will be repeated.92 Rather, the story is linear, although its chronology of events ends at the same point as it began. Briefly, I would like to point out Philo’s ambiguity about the role of the Logos and Wisdom in his exegesis of the creation of the world. In Philo’s theology, God (the Existing-One) is totally transcendent, he is involved in the creation neither of the original, intelligible world, nor the material world. In consequence, we need a mediator between the two realms, or an architect. This is the Philonic Logos.93 The Logos is the ‘bridge’ between the eternal, immaterial world and the one here, temporal and material. However, Philo also introduced and speculated about another principle of this world: Sophia/Wisdom. Even if sometimes Philo seems to talk about Sophia as an aspect of the Logos, she is not another attribute of the Logos, but has a separate power and function.94 She is portrayed as God’s consort95 and ‘mother of creation’.96 It is thus the first occasion when the notion of male Father, female Mother and Logos, her son, appeared.97 Sophia/Wisdom is also identified as the Dyad,98 the source of existence of this world, the world-soul. In the gender stereotype that female Dyad is instable, restless and shows some disunity.99 Philo describes Sophia/Wisdom as female, the one who brings her offspring into the world of ‘becoming’100 – that is in Philo’s mind, into imperfection. Finally, Philo also entertains the notions of plural ‘powers’ in the realm of God.101 These could be understood as angels or incorporeal beings who serve God. They fulfil his ordinances and dwell close to him. These different ideas did not need 47

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to be assimilated into a Christian narrative as ‘Philonic’, with full awareness of their origin, but they could circulate as already pronounced Alexandrian, allegorical interpretations of the story from Genesis. Their attractiveness as imaginative, intellectual options combined the story from the Scriptures with a more Middle Platonic mindset. This could be ‘the oxygen’, which stimulated the way of thinking echoed by A Valentinian Exposition. All these observations lead us to conclude that the myth in our document is an innovative, literary invention, which brings together elements from various cultures (Graeco-Roman), philosophies (Middle Platonism, Stoicism) and religions (Judaism with Wisdom literature, Philo of Alexandria, and Christian revelation). The fourth aspect is about two of the main contexts for interpreting the myth in A Valentinian Exposition: a cosmological102 and an anthropological context. I believe the myth should be placed alongside the late antiquity theme of seeking the true self 103 or taking care of the inner self,104 and within the Christian context (for example, Rom 7:22; 2 Cor 4:16; Eph 3:16).105 While the dominant cosmological interpretation shows the stages of rescuing Sophia from her isolation outside the realm of perfection, there is an alternative line (anthropological) of interpretation. The following section clearly indicates the connection between the myth and anthropology: They consist of [spiritual] beings as well as of carnal ones – such as are in heaven and such as upon the earth. He fashioned for them this kind of location, and this kind of school, that would provide them with instruction and with form. (Val. Exp. 37.25–31)106 The subject of this sentence is the Demiurge107 who created two types of beings, heavenly (or pneumatic) and earthly (fleshly/material). However, these two types of creation do not stand for ‘angels’ and ‘humans’ because the next section describes the act of creating the first humans. Instead, they should be read, as I would like to propose, as describing the emergence of two inner potentials: one that will direct human beings towards the spiritual sphere and the second towards earthly existence.108 The next section adds further details about the creation: This demiurge now began to fashion a human being, after his own image on the one hand, and on the other after likeness of the preexistent ones (ⲛ̅ⲛⲉⲧϣⲟⲟⲡ ϫⲓⲛ ⲛ̅ϣⲁⲣ̅ⲡ̅). It was this kind of dwelling place that [Sophia – Thomassen] made use of for the seeds. (Val. Exp. 37.32–8)109 The myth shows a complexity in human nature: on one side, it is created in the image of the Demiurge, on the other as the likeness of the ‘one who existed as the first’ (ⲛ̅ⲛⲉⲧϣⲟⲟⲡ ϫⲓⲛ ⲛ̅ϣⲁⲣ̅ⲡ̅ – that is, the divine). However, it also prioritises the spiritual aspect of the human being. It is about the Christian way of 48

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life, which combines awareness of people’s origin as well as the call to positive response to salvation. The last aspect is about rituals that give access to redemption. As I mentioned earlier in the chapter, the ancient Graeco-Roman myths coexisted with rituals that allowed participation or re-creation of the mythical story. In the Christian context, rituals such as baptism not only permitted the repetition of Christ’s own act of baptism, but also introduced the believer to a personal relationship with the Saviour, initiating a new stage of life and making a first step towards salvation.110 That close and direct relationship seems to be reflected in Codex XI since the next page after the end of A Valentinian Exposition contains five, more or less fragmentary, documents that deal with three ritual practices (40.1–44.37). The first text is about anointing (40.1–29), the next two (A and B) about baptism (40.30–41.38 and 42.1–43.19) and the final two (A and B) about the Eucharist (43.20–38 and 44.1–37).111 Unfortunately, they are not well preserved, and we cannot trace any direct references to the myth that features in A Valentinian Exposition. Still, we may offer some observations on the nature of the relationship between the myth and ritual if the assumption about their common ground is correct. Thomassen’s comments raise the question of whether the first text about anointment suggests a pre- or post-baptism ritual.112 Leaving this question open, I should like to point out that the narrative highlights the role of Jesus Christ who is sent to the Christian community to anoint them.113 Is this descent a parallel to the descent of the Saviour with his angels to Sophia and her offspring, which we recognise from the myth (36.22–4; 39.28–35)? Again, the lacunae in both texts make a confident conclusion impossible, but I am inclined to see the descent – both the myth and its echo in the ritual of anointment, which is closely connected with either pre- or postbaptismal ritual – as a parallel. Then, the rituals of anointment with baptism would remind the community about the archetype of the Saviour’s descent, which brings salvation to Sophia and her children. It makes theological and liturgical sense to commemorate and practise (actualise) that original salvific act of the Saviour. The liturgical fragment Baptism A continues the interpretation of the descent, providing Christians with the true knowledge of their Father and explaining the meaning of the ‘first baptism’ (40.30–41.27).114 As Marjanen notes,115 the issue of forgiveness given in baptism (received only once by a penitent or repeatedly), was debated in the second century in various Christian communities. Our narrative reflects that discussion, but also explores some new aspects of baptism. This time, the descent is associated with the reinterpretation of the baptism performed by John (41.31–8). In this allegorical catechesis, both John and the river Jordan receive new meaning.116 John stands for the Aeon who performs the baptism, while Jordan represents the world and the double act of descent–ascent, encouraged by catechesis. The myth preserved in A Valentinian Exposition does not contain any references to the Saviour’s baptism.117 However, the reference to the Scriptural episode of Jesus’ baptism in our liturgical fragment (On Baptism A) may fill the gap. It is about the turning point in the Saviour’s mission and may be even more highly valued by the author than other Scriptural episodes of Jesus’ 49

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life, including his death and resurrection. The second liturgical fragment (Baptism B) firstly describes a form of spiritual transition ‘from – to’ through the ritual of baptism, which is identified at the end (42.39). It reflects a change from ‘worse’ to ‘better’ conditions, or a reunion known to us from A Valentinian Exposition because it mentions spiritual (ⲡⲡⲛⲉⲩ̣[ⲙⲁⲧⲓⲕⲟⲛ), physical (ⲫⲩ[ⲥⲓ]ⲕⲟⲛ) and angelic (ⲁⲅⲅⲉⲗ̣ⲟ̣[ⲥ]) elements as either the starting point of transformation or the aim of the process (42.14–16).118 It also depicts Christ as the initiator of salvation (42.32–7). Together with the two previous fragments, this catechesis applies some aspects of the myth to the new existential situation of the initiated Christian.119 Scholars identify the final two fragments as being related to the theology of the Eucharist. Indeed, the Eucharist (Eucharist A) is mentioned in the first one (43.23) with plausible reconstruction ([ⲉⲩⲭⲁⲣⲓ]ⲥⲧ̣ⲉⲓ), while the second has a clear Eucharistic context when ‘food’ (ⲧⲣⲟⲫⲏ) is mentioned in relation to giving life (44.19–22). The extensive damage to the text does not permit us to make any further assumptions about the role and meaning of this ritual.

7. Conclusions I would like to return to the quotation from Tertullian’s polemic which opened this chapter. Are we dealing with yet another innovation of a ‘Valentinian’ myth? Did the author of this speculation come from Jerusalem and head to Athens, or indeed was he or she120 a citizen of Athens who freely amalgamated some literary motifs which belonged to Jerusalem? In my view it is possible to read and understand A Valentinian Exposition as a narrative less attached to a ‘Valentinian’ myth, if indeed there was one cosmological and theological matrix. It belongs to the world between Athens and Jerusalem. A Valentinian Exposition is more an autonomous Christian creative reinterpretation of the fall of Sophia/Wisdom, now in the cosmological and soteriological context. The author does not try to reflect an ‘authoritative’ scenario inherited from the ‘Apostolic’ tradition, or from his or her influential source (a teacher). I propose greater affiliation of the myth in our document with Alexandrian (post-Philonic) eclectic legacy, where some speculations on the origin of the current world were open to various intellectual influences. Indeed, as we have seen in our document, that methodological approach (allegory) freely absorbs other sources. There are heterogeneous borrowings from various backgrounds: the issue of the fall/separation is resoundingly Biblical, the motif of redemption is Christian, the nature of the divine Father sounds Neopythagorean, the power of passions goes well with Stoic interests of the time, while the role of Demiurge comes with a Middle Platonic outlook. All that is merged in the Christian narrative, which does not show any introduction of various characters and terms to its audience. It is helpful to place the Coptic document alongside other philosophical works of the time which appealed to a myth as a positive, didactic tool. The author was a Christian who explored a scenario of salvation in a totally different way than, for instance, the Pauline letters and the canonical Gospels. He or she went beyond already existing Christian traditions of the 50

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interpretation of Adam and Eve’s fall (Rom 5:14; 2 Cor 11:3; 1 Tim 2:14), as well as varied descriptions of redemption (Acts 2:29–36; 4:12; 17:29–31; Heb 5:9). The author claimed validity of that personal, intellectual reflection. The poor condition of the text leaves many questions unanswered. Did the original document have an overview with a statement about the source of this narrative and myth? If the author came from Valentinus’ milieu, would the narrative call for Valentinus’ authority to introduce, for instance, the realm of Aeons and the story about Sophia’s fall? However, Valentinus himself, as we know from Clement of Alexandria (Strom., 7.17.106.4) claimed to be a disciple of a certain Theodas, in turn, Paul’s disciple. The Coptic document does not show any Pauline legacy; on the contrary, its originality goes far beyond Paul’s speculation and against Paul’s interpretation of the drama in Paradise. Somewhere along that path somebody took a vital decision to introduce new motifs and scenarios. As in the case of other documents from the Nag Hammadi, unfortunately, we do not have support from a religious/intellectual tradition of interpretation, unlike the canonical Scripture, so we can only carefully reconstruct the most plausible theology behind the Coptic document. The fragmentary nature of the narrative does not permit us to propose that for the Christian author, Sophia/Wisdom stood for a new version of Eve. We cannot either see Sophia/Wisdom as a metaphor for the human soul, which now, while under the influence of the passions, falls away from her relationship with the mind. If that hermeneutical trajectory of the microcosm really motivated the author, so the human soul needed her Saviour. As previously Sophia/Wisdom, now the human soul called for redemption and a new partnership with, for instance, mind or true self from the divine realm. Many scholars have assumed that A Valentinian Exposition stands within the spectrum of the ‘Valentinian’ school and have illuminated their content by further analogies to the Nag Hammadi sources and the Patristic authors and their testimonies about ‘Valentinian’ speculative reflection. My aim in this discussion has been to shed light on the didactic role of the myth in a specific theological text, to highlight its complexity and ambiguities with some contradictions found in this document. These discrepancies within one document are difficult to understand if this treatise aspired to represent the views of an established school of Christian thought such as the ‘Valentinians’. The quirkiness of the narrative must have been better understood by the Coptic translators. They were in a much better position to assess the value of the myth for their education. Unfortunately, we possess only one colourful piece of glass, not the whole kaleidoscope.

Notes 1 alioquin tantum se huic haeresi suadere permissum est quantum lupae feminae formam cotidie supparare solemne est. quidni, cum spiri tale illud semen suum sic in unoquoque recenseant? si aliquid novi adstruxerint revelationem statim appellant praesumptionem et charisma ingenium, nec unitatem sed diversi-tatem. ideoque prospicimus, seposita alla solemni dissi mulatione

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sua, plerosque dividi quibusdam articulis. Etiam bona fide dicturos ‘hoc ita non est’ et ‘hoc aliter accipio’et ‘hoc non agnosco’. varietate enim innovatur regularum facies; habet etiam colores ignorantiarum. (T. Riley (trans.), www.tertullian.org/articles/ riley_adv_val/riley_02_text.htm) 2 More on this document in Elaine H. Pagels, ‘Valentinian Exposition: Introduction’, in CGL (1990), vol. XXVIII, 92–4, and a different reconstruction in Einar Thomassen’s ‘Introduction’, in The Nag Hammadi Scriptures: The Revised and Updated Translation of Sacred Gnostic Texts, Marvin Meyer (ed.) (New York: HarperOne, 2007), 663–6, and his analytical comments in The Spiritual Seed: The Church of the ‘Valentinians’ (Leiden: E.J. Brill, 2006), 231–41. Although I am aware of Geoffrey Smith’s recent translation in his Valentinian Christianity: Texts and Translations (Oakland: University of California Press, 2020), 297–307. In my analysis I will follow Thomassen’s translation from The Nag Hammadi Scriptures, 668–75. 3 Christoph Markschies, Christian Theology and its Institutions in the Early Roman Empire, W. Coppins (trans.) (Waco: Baylor University Press, 2015), 1–29, especially 9. For the important background to our discussion, see Peter Van Nuffelen, ‘Sources of Religious Knowledge’, in The Routledge Handbook of Early Christian Philosophy, Mark Edwards (ed.) (New York, Abingdon: Routledge, 2020), 15–26. 4 See a short note on the scholars’ assessment of that relationship between ‘myth’ and theology (with bibliography) in Mike Higton, Christian Doctrine: SCM Core Text (London: SCM Press, 2008), 132–3. 5 And all its additional antagonisms: faith versus reason, uncritical versus critical, invented versus factual, etc. For this and other opposition, as well as for re-evaluation of the myth in Antiquity, see Karen L. King, What Is Gnosticism? (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 2005), 78–9 with more references to the sources. 6 Among many sources, Alister E. McGrath, Christian Theology: An Introduction (Chichester: Wiley-Blackwell, 2011), 295–315. 7 Bronisław Malinowski, Myth in Primitive Psychology (London: Norton, 1926). See recent discussion relevant to Malinowski, Eliade and others in Jon Mills, ‘Toward a Theory of Myth’, JTSB, vol. 50, no. 4 (2020), 410–24. 8 Claude Lévi-Strauss, ‘The Structural Study of Myth’, JAF, vol. 68, no. 270 (1955), 428–44. See valuable comparison in Lucien Scubla, ‘Lévi-Strauss and Girard on Mythology and Ritual’, in The Palgrave Handbook of Mimetic Theory and Religion, James Alison and Wolfgang Palaver (eds) (New York: Palgrave Macmillan, 2017), 85–93. 9 Carol Gustav Jung, Memoirs, Dreams, Reflections (New York: Panthenon, 1963) and current, short but insightful evaluation of Jung’s approach in Ilona Błocian, ‘Philosophical and Psychological Aspects in Jung’s Conception of Myth: The Schellingian Influence’, SR, tom. 48, no. 3 (2015), 217–27. 10 Mircea Eliade, Myths, Dreams and Mysteries: The Encounter between Contemporary Faiths and Archaic Realities, P. Mairet (trans.) (London: Harvill Press, 1959); also his Myth and Reality, W. R. Trask (trans.) (New York: Harper & Row, 1963). See more recent debate in Mircea Eliade: Myth, Religion, and History, Nicolae Babuts (ed.) (New York, Abingdon: Routledge, 2014). This collection of essays provides readers with varied examination of the myth in Eliade’s views on religion. 11 Paul Ricoeur, The Symbolism of Evil, E. Buchanan (trans.) (New York: Harper & Row, 1967), and more recent discussion by Colby Dickinson ‘Metaphor as Dynamic Myth in Ricoeur’, in A Companion to Ricoeur’s the Symbolism of Evil: Studies in the Thought of Paul Ricoeur, Scott Davidson (ed.) (New York, London: Lexington Books, 2020), 123–36, though the whole volume is recommended in the context of our discussion. 12 Henry I. Marrou, A History of Education in Antiquity, G. Lamb (trans.) (Madison: The University of Wisconsin Press, 1956), 281. See more recent discussion in Arbeit

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13 14

15 16

17

18 19

20

21

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am Mythos Leistung und Grenze des Mythos in Antike und Gegenwart, Annette Zgoll Reinhard and Gregor Kratz (eds) (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2013). See Richard P. Martin, The Language of Heroes: Speech and Performance in the Iliad (Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 1989), 12–16 and 30. See more in Gregory Nagy, ‘Review of M. Detienne’s, L’invention de la mythologie (1981)’, Annales, vol. 37 (1982), 778–80. For the wider context, see the important study, Jan N. Bremmer, The World of Greek Religion and Mythology Collected Essays II, WUNT 433 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2019), 419–532. See Claude Calame, Myth and History in Ancient Greece: The Symbolic Creation of a Colony, D. W. Berman (trans.) (Princeton: University of Princeton Press, 2003). On Parmenides and other early Greek philosophers who used myths, see Kathryn A. Morgan, Myth and Philosophy from the Presocratics to Plato (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2000), 46–131, and more recently, valuable discussion of the context for our chapter in Michael Herren, The Anatomy of Myth: The Art of Interpretation from the Presocratics to the Church Fathers (New York, Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2017). See more in James B. Rives, Religion in the Roman Empire (Oxford Blackwell Publishing, 2007), 153–4. Rives also adds the important motif of mortal children born of gods, who through their good deeds achieved immortality. This is a classical topos of a hero, who will also be important to the Early Christian ideal of a martyr/saint where the notion of ‘good deeds’ will be replaced by martyrdom. See Judith Perkins, The Suffering Self: Pain and Narrative Representation in the Early Christian Era (London, New York: Routledge, 1995), 104–23. Walter Burkert, Greek Religion: Archaic and Classical, J. Raffan (trans.) (Oxford: Basil Blackwell, 1990), 8. Burkert, Greek Religion, 8–9. See also Russell T. McCutcheon, ‘Myth’, in Guide to the Study of Religion, Willi Braun and Russell T. McCutcheon (eds) (London: Cassell, 2000), 190–208. McCutcheon points out the value of myths in affirmation of social self-understanding (identity). The complexity of this process is noted by various authors in the volume A Companion to Roman Religion: Blackwell Companions to the Ancient World, Jörg Rüpke (ed.) (Chichester: Wiley-Blackwell, 2011), among them Eric Orlin, ‘Urban Religion in the Middle and Later Republic’, 58–70, and William Van Andringa, ‘Religions and the Integration of Cities in the Empire in the Second Century AD: the Creation of a Common Religious Language’, 83–95. See the recent study with various contributions assessing pluralism of Christian groups in this period, Christianity in the Second Century: Themes and Developments, James Carleton Paget and Judith Lieu (eds) (Cambridge, Cambridge University Press, 2017), especially James Carleton Paget, ‘The Second Century from the Perspective of the New Testament’, 91–105. Some, but not all. Tertullian of Carthage was suspicious of any close alliance between the Scriptures and a philosophical mindset. Others, such as Marcion, according to the existing testimonies, were focused on exegesis not metaphysics. On Marcion’s exegetical interests, among many publications, see Marcion und seine kirchengeschichtliche Wirkung, G. May, K. Greschat and M. Meiser (eds), TUGAL, vol. 150 (Berlin Walter de Gruyter, 2002), 131–46; Sebastian Moll, The Arch-Heretic Marcion, WUNT 250 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2010), 77–106; Jason BeDuhn, The First New Testament: Marcion’s Scriptural Canon (Salem: Polebridge Press, 2013); Ulrike Röhl, Der Paulusschu¨ler Markion (Marburg: Tectum Verlag, 2014); Matthias Klinghardt, Das Älteste Evangelium (Göttingen, Francke Verlag, 2015); Judith M. Lieu, Marcion and the Making of a Heretic: God and Scripture in the Second Century (New York, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2015); Dieter T. Roth, ‘Prophets, Priests, and Kings: Old Testament Figures in Marcion’s Gospel and Luke’, in Connecting Gospels: Beyond the Canonical/

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23

24 25

26

27

28 29

30

Non-Canonical Divide, Francis Watson and Sarah Parkhouse (eds) (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2020), 41, footnote 1. For context see Heikki Räisänen, ‘Marcion’, in A Companion to Second-Century Christian ‘Heretics’, Antii Marjanen and Petri Luomanen (eds), SVCh, vol. 76 (Leiden: E.J. Brill, 2005), 100–24. This ‘Platonic outlook’ was labelled by modern scholars as ‘Middle Platonism’. It should be noted that this notion included various degrees of philosophical eclecticism, where some Platonic ideas were combined with Pythagorean, Stoic, Aristotelian and others, such as some oriental philosophies. See more in Mark Edwards, Culture and Philosophy in the Age of Plotinus (London: Duckworth, 2006), 7–22 and in the later footnote 87. Recently Mark Edwards also made a case for the importance of Aristotelian legacy, however the focus of our discussion is on the Middle Platonic element; more in Mark Edwards, Aristotle and Early Christian Thought (Abingdon, New York: Routledge, 2019), especially Chapter 2. Mark Edwards, Origen against Plato (Aldershot: Ashgate), 47. Other eschatological myths can be found in Grg. 523–4, Phd., 107–15 and Phdr., 248–57. In addition, Plato gives us a beautiful myth in Phdr., 245–6 about the human soul compared to a chariot pulled by two horses and controlled by the driver. R. III.414–15 offers a myth with some political and social sounding. Timaeus, 29c. For more, see Gábor Betegh, ‘What Makes a Myth Eikôs? Remarks inspired by Myles Burnyeat’s Eikôs Mythos’, in One Book, The Whole Universe: Plato’s Timaeus Today, R. Mohr, K. Sanders and B. Sattler (eds) (Las Vegas: Parmenides Publishing, 2009), 213–26. See more in Luc Brisson, Plato the Myth Maker, with an introduction by G. Naddaf (ed., trans.) (Chicago: The University of Chicago Press, 2000), Platon als Mythologe. Neue Interpretationen zu den Mythen in Platons Dialogen, M. Janka and C. Schäfer (eds) (Darmstadt: Wissenschaftliche Buchgesellschaft, 2002). On the function of myths in ‘Gnostic’ sources, see Mark Edwards, ‘The Gnostic Myth’, in Christianity, 137–50. Morgan, Myth and Philosophy, 289. Recent discussion of this subject can be found in various contributions in the volume, Myth and Scripture: Contemporary Perspectives on Religion, Language and Imagination, Dexter E. Callender Jr. (ed.) (Atlanta: SBL Press, 2014) with bibliography. In their introduction, Callender and Green refer to a helpful observation made by Douglas Knight and Amy-Jill Levine about the nature of myths in the Bible. Knight and Levine place the truth of myths in parallel to parables, see ‘Introduction’, 3. Douglas Knight and Amy-Jill Levine, The Meaning of the Bible: What the Jewish Scriptures and Christian Old Testament Can Teach Us (New York: HarperCollins, 2011), 66–7. As noted by Adam Kamesar, Philo of Alexandria in Opif., 1–2, Josephus, AJ., I.15.22–3 and Aritobulus, fr. 2:10.1–2; Let. Aris. 168: ‘refrain from the use of ‘myth’ (mythos) in the Pentateuch’. See his ‘Biblical Interpretation in Philo’, in The Cambridge Companion to Philo, Adam Kamesar (ed) (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2009), 75 and note 33. However, as Kamesar points out, the refusal to use this term comes from their [...] sophisticated literary critical theory. They believed that Moses employed genres that were similar to those of ancient Greek didactic literature. At least from the standpoint of an overall classification, the Pentateuch was non-mythical and non-fiction, even if it included the occasional mythical components, (‘Biblical Interpretation ...’, 76) We can detect in this hermeneutical approach a degree of the apologetic as the Jewish exegetes tried to distinguish and protect the truth, even that expressed in ‘myth-like’ episodes in the Pentateuch, from the false stories used by the Gentile commentators.

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31 Tertullian, Prescr., 7.5. 32 gedaliahu A. g. Stroumsa, Another Seed: Studies in Gnostic Mythology, nhS, vol. 24 (leiden: e.J. Brill, 1984), 17–34. 33 The 1 Book of Enoch, 6–10; Jubilees, 4.15; the Testament of Reuben, 5.6–7; the Testament of Naphtali, 3.5; the Slavonic Secrets of Enoch, 18.3–4; the Apocalypse of Adam, 13; the Syriac Apocalypse of Baruch, 56.5. All these sources retell the story, albeit with variations. on reception of the 1 Enoch in A Valentinian Exposition, see Francesco Berno, ‘The nag hammadi reception of 1 enoch: Some Preliminary remarks and a Case Study: A Valentinian exposition (nhC, XI, 2; CPg 1216; CC 0669)’, Aug, vol. 59, no. 1 (2019), 7–23. 34 The Targum Yerušalmi on gen 6; the Pirqe Rabbi Eliezer, 22 and later the Aggadat Berešit. 35 Gig., 6 and QG 92. 36 Legatio, 24.5. 37 2 Apol., 4 (5). 38 AH., IV.16.2. 39 Idol., 9 and Orat. 22.5. 40 Cel., 5.55 and Com. In Ioh., VI.42.217–18. 41 Acta Archelai, 36.6. 42 P.e., 5.4. 43 Rejecting this label, I should like to name, following Stroumsa, these documents: Valentinian Exposition, 38.22–37; the Apocalypse of Adam 83.14–17. 44 I have discussed this topic in detail in Clement of Alexandria on Trial: The Evidence of ‘Heresy’ from Photius’ Bibliotheca, SVCh, vol. 101 (Leiden: E.J. Brill, 2010), 145–58. However, here I would like to highlight only one aspect of Clement’s hermeneutics that is important to our current discussion. See also valuable observations on Clement’s assimilation of myth in relation to certain female mythical characters in Chiara Meccariello, ‘A Catalogue of Virtuous Women: Myth and Mythography in Clement of Alexandria, Stromateis 4.19.118–123’, VCh, vol. 74, no. 4 (2020), 411–32. 45 See Strom., 3.7.59.2; 5.1.10.2; Paed., 3.14.2. 46 Paed., 3.14.2: Δεῖγμά σοι τούτων οἱ ἄγγελοι τοῦ θεοῦ τὸ κάλλος καταλελοιπότες διὰ κάλλος μαραινόμενον καὶ τοσοῦτον ἐξ οὐρανῶν ἀποπεσόντες χαμαί. 47 Among many studies, see Martha C. Nussbaum, The Therapy of Desire: Theory and Practice in Hellenistic Ethics (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1996); Passions and Moral Progress in Greco-Roman Thought, John T. Fitzgerald (ed.) (Abingdon: Routledge, 2010), which includes an insightful paper on Clement’s theory of passions by L. Michael White, ‘Moral Pathology: Passions, Progress, and Protreptic in Clement of Alexandria’, 284–321. 48 Dunderberg, Beyond Gnosticism: Myth, Lifestyle, and Society in the School of Valentinus (New York: Columbia University Press, 2008), 117 and the context, 95–118. 49 David Dawson, Allegorical Readers and Cultural Revision in Ancient Alexandria (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1992), especially 23–72. See also a presentation of the important context by Emilie Kutash, ‘Myth, Allegory and Inspired Symbolism in Early and Late Antique Platonism’, vol. 14, no. 2 (2020), 128–52 and more in valuable discussion by Illaria L. E. Ramelli, ‘Stoic Homeric Allegoresis’, in Companion to the Reception of Homer from the Hellenistic Age to Late Antiquity, ChristinaPanagiota Manolea (ed.) (Leiden: E.J. Brill, 2021) (forthcoming). 50 Dawson, Allegorical Readers, 52–72. As noted by Dawson, Plutarch’s position is more complex as on various occasions he amends his views on the myths. 51 For all references to sources, see Dawson, Allegorical Readers, 24–38. 52 Dawson, Allegorical Readers, 26. 53 Dawson, Allegorical Readers, 38–52.

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54 For more details, see Robert Lamberton, Homer the Theologian: Neoplatonist Allegorical Reading and the Growth of the Epic Tradition (Berkeley: University of Berkeley Press, 1986), 54–77. 55 Lamberton, Homer the Theologian, 59–60. 56 Lamberton, Homer the Theologian, 65. 57 We see in the preserved Coptic text a number of significant lacunae and proposed reconstructions of the text. 58 Val. Exp. 22.27: ⲡⲉϥ [ⲥ]ⲁ̣ⲉⲓϣ ⲛ̄ⲇⲉ ⲡⲉ ⲧⲥⲓⲅⲉ. The Coptic text is taken from CGL (1990), XXVIII, 106–41, and the English translation from Thomassen, The Nag Hammadi Scriptures, here: 667. This passage clearly identifies ‘Silence’ as his partner/pair (ⲥⲁⲉⲓϣ). 59 See Thomassen’s reconstruction of the protology in The Spiritual Seed, 232. 60 This term (αἰών) appears first in Homer, Iliad, 16.453 with the meaning ‘lifetime’, and Odyssey, 5.150. In Plato’s Tim. (37 D), it is an eternal (unchangeable) archetype of Chronos (changeable). In the New Testament, this term (αἰών) stands for a space of time clearly defined and marked out, an epoch or age: Mat 13:22, Rom 12:2; 1 Tim 6:17, 2 Tim 4:10. A Valentinian Exposition may refer to both traditions (Platonic and Scriptural) in its cosmology. See recent discussion of this notion by Illaria L. E. Ramelli, ‘Time and Eternity’, in The Routledge Companion to Early Christian Philosophy, Mark Edwards (ed.) (New York, Abingon: Routledge, 2021), 41–54. 61 Thomassen, The Spiritual Seed, 233. 62 Thomassen suggests this connection in The Spiritual Seed, 273–4. I am keen on that interpretation in terms of the Pythagorean theory of extension from the world of numbers to geometry and then to material reality. Secondly, in Irenaeus’ report AH., I.2.2–4, the myth portrayed Sophia’s expansion beyond her original place and needing a new boundary, that is the ‘Limit’. 63 See for example, Nicomachus of Gerasa, in John Dillon, The Middle Platonists 80 B.C. to A.D. 220 (London: Duckworth, 1996), 354. 64 See AH., I.11.1. 65 Val. Exp. 26.30–8 and Thomassen, The Spiritual Seed, 239–40. 66 Pagels refers to Irenaeus’ account and suggests that Sophia has fallen from her partner, ‘Desire’, see AH., I.2.2, in ‘Introduction’, 93. Pagels’ proposal clearly links the report of our document with Valentinus’ milieu. 67 AH., I.2.2. 68 AH., I.4.1. 69 Refutatio, 6.25. 70 Refutatio, 6.31. 71 Ex.Th., 45.2 and Thomassen, The Spiritual Seed, 258. 72 I shall discuss some theological aspects of this treatise in Chapter 6. 73 Tri. Trac. 76.2–7. The context of that transformation is about the origin of the imperfect reality outside of the realm of Perfection (Pleroma). This speculation tried to answer the question about the origin of the visible world. In Tri. Trac. Sophia, now Logos, acts without ‘permission’ and exceeds his potential, either produces offspring on his own, or attempts to comprehend the nature of the divine Father. In the context of the ambiguity of the Tri. Trac. both interpretations are possible. 74 Val. Exp. 33.28–37. 75 Val. Exp. 39.24–35. 76 Pagels, ‘A Valentinian Exposition: Introduction’, in CGL (1990), vol. XXVIII, 101–5. 77 See Exposé du mythe Valentinien: Les fragments sur le Baptême et sur l’Eucharistie, Jacques Ménard (ed.), BCNH, Textes, 14 (Québec: Les Presses de l’Université Laval, 1985). 78 Thomassen’s in The Nag Hammadi Scriptures, 663.

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79 Pagels, ‘A Valentinian Exposition: Introduction’, in CGL (1990), vol. XXVIII, 98. Contra Irenaeus, AH., I.11.3. Recently, Joel Kalvesmaki argued against Pagels, for Dyad as the principle in our Coptic document, see his The Theology of Arithmetic: Number Symbolism in Platonism and Early Christianity (Hellenic Studies Series 59) (Washington: Centre for Hellenic Studies, 2013), https://chs.harvard.edu/CHS/article/ display/6313.excursus-c-the-dyadic-character-of-a-valentinian-exposition. The original discrepancy may be seen as an example of variation of the myth found in various teachings. In general, speculation about the numbers involved in the creation of the universe originated with the Pythagorean tradition. See Dillon, The Middle Platonists, 343–4. Before Christians, Philo also assimilated that speculation into his exegesis of the creation of the world. See Opif., 47–52; 89–128. 80 Thomassen, The Spiritual Seed, 270. 81 What is the origin of the invisible reality? A single Absolute (Monad) and divine, eternal Dyad? A Valentinian Exposition seems to ponder on some compromise between these two options. It is possible that the metaphysics underpinning the myth reflects the Neopythagorean model of gradual development of the whole reality from the original unique principle. The single beginning, now in the Christian context, the divine Absolute/Father, is the root of forthcoming divisions into smaller units (Aeons). 82 AH., I.1.3. 83 Thomassen, ‘Introduction’, in The Nag Hammadi Scriptures, 665. 84 [ⲁⲩ]ⲱ ⲁⲥⲣ̅ⲙⲉⲧ[ⲁ]ⲛ̣ⲟ[ⲉⲓ ⲁⲩⲱ ⲁⲥ] [ⲣ̅]ⲁ̣ⲓⲧⲉⲓ ⲙ̅ⲡⲓⲱⲧ ⲛ̅ⲧⲙ[ⲏⲉ ⲉⲥϫⲟⲩ] ⲙ̅ⲙ̣[ⲁ]ⲥ ⲉⲥⲧⲱ ⲁϩⲓⲕ̣[ⲱⲉ ⲛ̅ⲥⲱⲉⲓ] ⲙ̅ⲡ̣ⲁ̣ⲥⲩⲍⲩⲅⲟⲥ ⲉⲧ̣ⲃ̣ⲉ̣ [ⲡⲉⲉⲓ ϯ]ⲙ̣̅ ⲡⲃⲁⲗ ⲛ̅ⲡⲕⲉⲧⲁϫⲣ̣̣ⲟ. See CGL (1990), vol. XXVIII, 130 and Thomassen, The Nag Hammadi Scriptures, 671. The Coptic noun ⲡⲕⲉⲧⲁϫⲣ̣̣ⲟ contains the verb ⲧⲁϫⲣ̣̣ⲟ which among many meanings can be translated as ‘strengthen’, ‘confirm’, ‘establish’, therefore the term stands for ‘firmness’, ‘strength’, ‘stability’. In this sentence it refers to the realm of ‘stability’, that is the realm of Pleroma. 85 The lacunae in the text does not identify either Sophia’s original partner or her eschatological one. 86 I therefore wish only to point out the importance of partnership in two Scriptural (NT) accounts. First, this model is enhanced by Paul in his letter to Romans (16.3–16) with the examples of Prisca and Aquila, Junia and Andronicus, and Nereas and his ‘sister’. Secondly, two synoptic Gospels preserved Jesus’ order to send his disciples ‘two by two’ (Mt 10:1; Mk 6:7 and Lk 10:1). Did that early Christian topos influence the myth? I remain open to that possibility. 87 Thomassen’s ‘Introduction’, in The Nag Hammadi Scriptures, 665. 88 The physical stage of the narrative creates some problems when we wish to reconstruct a ‘systematic’ Christology. It is possible, as some scholars do, to ‘fill’ the gaps in this myth with the material we find in other documents representing a similar theology. However, this approach may miss the original theological trajectory of the myth. 89 John J. Collins, Jewish Wisdom in the Hellenistic Age (Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1998), 199–200. 90 Searching for a philosophical (metaphysical) prototype of the evil act committed by the World Soul, we may look at Plato’s Laws, book X (896D–898B). Dillon reminds us that in this passage Plato suggested the existence of a capacity that was opposite to the beneficent World Soul. That negative power was the source of all irrational acts in the universe: that is, the sublunary world. Plato’s notion of the ‘irrational soul’ was then assimilated into Plutarch’s view on the origin of evil in the present world. See Dillon, The Middle Platonists, 202–3. Plato’s speculation clearly distinguished two paths of action: rational and irrational, under the guidance of the mind or against it. This topos is also discussed in the Republic, but this time in the context of the ideal city and the soul (VIII. 544A–576A). On this occasion, Plato points out four types of injustice, which lead to degeneration of the city/soul and produce evil people. Again, the source of that

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corruption is disobedience to the rational part of the soul, which leads to injustice. See Nicolas Pappas, Routledge Philosophy Guidebook to Plato and the Republic (New York, Abingdon: Routledge, 2007), 164–77. Was the compilator of the myth familiar with these philosophical speculations? In a parallel way to Plutarch, the author was able to assimilate in a general outlook the ideas that were discussed in the philosophical circles of their time.  91 Jean-Marc Narbonne, ‘The Neopythagorean Backdrop to the Fall (σφάλμα/νεῦσις) of the Soul in Gnosticism and its Echo in the Plotinian Treatises 33 and 34’, in Gnosticism, Platonism and the Late Ancient World: Essays in Honour of John D. Turner, K. Corrigan and T. Rasimus (eds), in collaboration with L. Jenott and Z. Mazur (Leiden: E.J. Brill, 2013), 411–26.   92 This aspect of myths is discussed by Eliade, The Myth of the Eternal Return, 17–21.   93 See, for instance, Opif., 16; Her., 156. See more in Dillon, The Middle Platonists, 163–6.   94 Contra Robert M. Berchman, From Philo to Origen: Middle Platonism in Transition (Brown Judaic Studies, 69) (Chico: California Press, 1984), 31. I agree with Dillon and more recently with Cristina Termini, ‘Philo’s Thought with the Context of Middle Platonism’, in The Companion to Philo, Adam Kamesar (ed) (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2009), 99–100.  95 Det. 115–16 and Ebr. 30. Dillon, The Middle Platonists, 164.  96 Ebr. 30 and Fug. 109.  97 See Somn. II.242, Dillon, The Middle Platonists, 164–5  98 Dillon, The Middle Platonists, 163–6.  99 See Somn. II.70; Leg., I.3; Spec. III.180. 100 Det. 54. 101 See, for instance Spec. I.329. 102 Again, Thomassen’s The Spiritual Seed provides us with an excellent analysis of the cosmological dimension of various myths from, as he would call it, ‘Valentinian’ traditions. 103 For cultural, philosophical background, see Pierre Hadot, Philosophy as a Way of Life, A. Davidson (ed.), M. Chase (trans.) (Cambridge: Basil Blackwell, 1995); David Shulman and Guy Stroumsa, Self and Self-Transformation in the History of Religion (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2002), Religion and the Self in Antiquity, David Brakke, Michael L. Satlow and Steven Weitzman (eds) (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 2005). 104 Giovanni Filoramo, ‘The Transformation of the Inner Self in Gnostic and Hermetic Texts’, in Transformations of the Inner Self in Ancient Religions, Jan Assmann and Guy G. Stroumsa (eds), SHR, vol. LXXXIII (Leiden: E.J. Brill, 1999), 137–49. 105 See more in J. Albert Harrill, ‘Paul and the Slave Self’, in Religion and the Self in Antiquity, 51–69. 106 ⲙ̣̄ⲙⲉⲛ ϩ̅ⲙ̅[ⲡⲛⲉⲩ][ⲙⲁ]ⲧ̣ⲓ̣ⲕ̣ⲟⲛ ⲛⲉ ⲁⲩⲱ ⲛ̄ⲥ[ⲁⲣ]ⲕ̣ⲓ̣ⲕⲟⲛ̣ ⲛ̄ⲛⲉ̣ⲑ̣̅ⲛ̅ ⲧⲡⲉ ⲙ̅ⲛ̣̅ ⲛ̣ⲉⲧ ϩⲓϫ̅ⲙ̅ ⲡⲕⲁϩ ⲁϥⲧⲁⲙⲓⲟ ⲛ̣ⲉⲩ ⲛ̄ⲟⲩⲧⲟⲡⲟⲥ‧ ⲛ̄ϯⲙⲓⲛⲉ [ⲁ]ⲩⲱ ⲟⲩⲥⲭⲟⲗⲏ ⲛ̄ϯⲙⲓⲛⲉ ⲁϩ[ⲟ]ⲩⲛ ⲁⲩⲥⲃⲱ ⲁⲩⲱ ⲁⲟⲩⲛ ⲁⲩⲙⲟⲣⲫⲏ. See CGL (1990), vol. XXVIII, 136, and Thomassen, The Nag Hammadi Scriptures, 672. As we can see, the Coptic text is seriously damaged and then reconstructed, but the meaning is clear. See also Christoph Markschies, ‘Das ‘Selbst’, in der valentinianischen Gnosis’, in Religious Dimensions of the Self in the Second Century, Joerg Rüpke and Greg Woolf (eds), STAC, 76 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2013), 90–103. 107 The Demiurge is not an evil character, as Thomassen has pointed out. See The Nag Hammadi Scriptures, 672, footnote 50. On the negative character of the Demiurge see the short but valuable paper by M. David Litwa, ‘The Curse of the Creator: Galatians 3.13 and Negative Demiurgy’, in Connecting Gospels ..., Francis Watson and Sarah

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108 109

110

111

112 113

114

115 116 117

118

Parkhouse (eds), 13–29 with recent bibliography. I will return to the character of the Demiurge in Chapters 5.3 and 7.2. I agree with this reading, see Pagels and Turner, ‘Notes to the text and translation’, 168. ⲁϥ̅ⲣ̅ⲁⲣⲭⲉⲥⲑⲁⲓ ϭⲉ ⲛ̄ϭⲓ ⲡⲉⲉⲓ ⲇⲏⲙⲓⲟⲣⲅⲟⲥ ⲁⲧⲁⲙⲓⲟ ⲛ̄ⲟⲩⲣⲱⲙⲉ ⲕⲁⲧⲁ ⲧ̅ϥ̅ϩⲓⲕⲱⲛ ⲙⲉⲛ ⲕⲁⲧⲁ ⲡⲓⲛⲉ ⲛ̄ⲇⲉ ⲛ̄ⲛⲉⲧϣⲟⲟⲡ ϫⲓⲛ ⲛ̄ϣⲁⲣ̅ⲡ̅ ⲟⲩⲙⲁ ⲛϣⲱⲡⲉ ⲛ̄ϯⲙⲓⲛⲉ ⲡⲉⲛⲧⲁⲥ̅ⲣ̅ⲭⲣⲱ ⲙ̄ⲙⲁϥ̄ ⲛ̄ⲛ̄ⲥⲡⲉⲣⲙⲁ ⲛ̄ϭⲓ. See CGL (1990), vol. XXVIII, 136 and Thomassen, The Nag Hammadi Scriptures, 672. ⲛ̅ⲛⲉⲧϣⲟⲟⲡ ϫⲓⲛ ⲛ̅ϣⲁⲣ̅ⲡ̅ can be also translated ‘who has existed from the first’. The Coptic text does not mention Sophia; however, it uses the feminine personal prefix (ⲥ-) which Thomassen identifies as Sophia, which is also suggested by Refutatio, VI.34.6 and Irenaeus, AH., I.21.4. For one example of that understanding of baptism during the second century, see Clement of Alexandria, Paed., 1.26.1. See further discussion in Everett Ferguson, Baptism in the Early Church: History, Theology, and Liturgy in the First Five Centuries (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2009). The later study provides us with the whole spectrum of theologies of baptism, including the ‘Valentinian’ tradition, 278–90. It is rather a surprising order, as noted by Thomassen. We would put these rituals and comments in the following sequence: baptism, anointment, and the Eucharist as the climax of initiation. See Thomassen, The Nag Hammadi Scriptures, 666. For additional comments, see Exposé du mythe valentinien et Textes liturgiques (NH XI, 2 + 2A-C), W.-P. Funk and J.-P. Mahé (eds), BCNH, Textes, 36 (Québec: Les Presses de l’Université Laval, 2016). Thomassen, The Spiritual Seed, 356–7. On Anointing, 40.13–14. In the context of our discussion the tag ‘Valentinian’, see Hugo Lundhaug’s critical assessment of these liturgical texts as affiliated with ‘Valentinian’ tradition, in ‘Evidence of “Valentinian” Ritual Practice? The Liturgical Fragments of Nag Hammadi Codex XI (NHC XI,2a–e)’, in Gnosticism, Platonism and the Late Ancient World Essays in Honour of John D. Turner, Kevin Corrigan and Tuomas Rasimus (eds), NHMS, vol. 82 (Leiden: E.J. Brill, 2013), 225–43, especially 238. First baptism is mentioned three times: 40.39, 41.21 and 42.39. Although its meaning is ambiguous, some scholars see it as a preparatory ritual (‘forgiveness of sins’) as Pagels and Turner suggest, ‘Notes to the text and translation’, 170. The second baptism would lead to ‘regeneration’ and a more profound relationship with the Saviour, Pagels and Turner ‘Notes to the text and translation’, 171. See the careful note in Thomassen, The Spiritual Seed, 358–9. Marjanen offers a correction of Pagels and Turner’s proposals in Antti Marjanen, ‘A Salvific Act of Transformation or a Symbol of Defilement? Baptism in Valentinian Liturgical Readings (NHC, XI, 2) and in the Testimony of Truth (NHC IX, 3)’, in Gnosticism, Platonism ..., 249–50. Marjanen proposes that the first baptism is not ‘inferior’ (less spiritual) to the second one, but rather expresses different aspects of the baptism (Baptism B: movement from ‘left’ to ‘right’). I am keen to uphold Pagels and Turner’s proposition. Marjanen, ‘A Salvific Act ...’, 246–7. For possible background, see Thomassen, The Spiritual Seed, 359, note 51. The restoration, or salvation, starts to be narrated on page 39, where the first seven lines are missing. Did they describe the episode of Jesus’ baptism? In the context of the rest of the mythical story from the same page, it is hard to believe that the first seven lines mention this very episode. However, it would be wrong to conclude that this absence means the author and his or her community were unaware of this Scriptural pericope. As rightly noted by Thomassen and Marjanen, both A Valentinian Exposition and the liturgical fragment On Baptism A do not have any ‘middle’ ground or people (i.e. psychic). They categorise humanity either as hylic or pneumatic. This division is upheld

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in the liturgical fragment, so transformation is from one lower stage to the higher existence without a middle stage. Thomassen, The Spiritual Seed, 359 and note 52, and Marjanen, ‘A Salvific Act ...’, 250. 119 See more on that in Marjanen, ‘A Salvific Act ...’, 251–2. 120 I am using an inclusive language, as in the case of authorship as well as readership of the Nag Hammadi collection, we shouldn’t assume only male engagement with the documents. I welcome arguments presented by Sarit Kattan Gribetz, ‘Women as Readers of the Nag Hammadi Codices’, JECS, vol. 26, no 3, Fall (2018), 463–94.

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3 T h e Gospel of TruTh, N h C, I, 3 a N d I T s p o s s I b l e a l e x a N d r I a N a f f I l I aT I o N

You should know that not only four Gospels, but very many, were composed. The Gospels we have were chosen from among these gospels and passed on to the churches. We can know this from luke’s own prologue, which begins this way: ‘because many have tried to compose an account’. The words ‘have tried’ imply an accusation against those who rushed into writing gospels without the grace of the holy spirit. Matthew, Mark, John, and luke did not ‘try’ to write; they wrote their Gospels when they were filled with the holy spirit.1 Origen, Hom. In Luc. 1.1

1. Introduction2 The Gospel of Truth continues to be a fascinating subject of research. It was found as the third document in the first Codex3 and many scholars affiliate it with Valentinus’ milieu.4 Although the existing Coptic text does not have a title, modern scholars suggest taking the opening line of the text (16.31: ⲡⲉⲩⲁⲅⲅⲉⲗⲓⲟⲛ ⲛ̄ⲧⲙⲏⲉ) as a hint as to its lost heading.5 In addition, scholars continue to discuss whether the text was known in its original Greek to Irenaeus of Lyons, who mentioned that the ‘followers’ of Valentinus used ‘the Gospel of Truth’.6 Is our Coptic version the translation of that document? The question remains open. Controversy even continues with the very notion of ‘gospel’ mentioned in the assumed title. Recently, Anne Kreps published an insightful proposal that this text should be read as an example of second-century Scriptural practice.7 In her view, one of the central images in the Gospel of Truth is that of the crucified Jesus encapsulated by the narrative as a ‘book/scroll’ (20.25: ϫⲱⲙⲉ) that is now the source of instruction for his ‘followers’ (21.5–10). The intellectual and spiritual8 process of meditation on Jesus’ death led readers to a new self-understanding as ‘living texts’ that can publicly display what was hidden in their inner life (19.35). I shall refer to Kreps’ observation in this chapter, including her valuable point about the use of the notion of ‘gospel’ (ⲡⲉⲩⲁⲅⲅⲉⲗⲓⲟⲛ) in relation to our document, which

61 DOI: 10.4324/9781003181095-4

The Gospel of Truth

will be an important part of my examination. However, the central part of my analysis will focus on a special feature of the Gospel of Truth, which is the role of etymology in its theology. I intend to explore this characteristic of the document in relation to both Philo and then Clement of Alexandria’s use of etymologies. The Gospel of Truth demonstrates significant similarity to both Alexandrian authors. The strong allegorical overtones of the document prompt me to consider, as a hypothesis, the possibility of allocating the origin of the Gospel of Truth to the Alexandrian exegetical and theological milieu. In brief, in this chapter I shall explore the following question: can we identify our document as yet another strand of Christian theological teaching that originated in an Alexandrian intellectual setting? I hope to provide readers with a series of arguments in support of that hypothesis.

2. Gospel as a genre: A review of the category In his concise but significant article on gospels, Richard A. Burridge recently restated his previous proposal that ‘gospels’ were in a ‘generic relationship’ with Graeco-Roman lives (bioi) of the famous men.9 The Christian gospels were interested in retelling Jesus’ public life, words and actions in an apologetic, polemic and didactic way. Burridge’s proposal therefore excludes another Coptic document, the Gospel of Thomas, from that literary frame. The Gospel of Thomas does not provide any account of Jesus’ life and deeds, but focuses on the Saviour’s teaching; more specifically, it preserves 114 Sayings. Burridge proposes to link the Gospel of Thomas with logia and memorabilia10 and his suggestion has influenced the reception of this notion by many contemporary scholars.11 Anne Kreps points out that Origen proposed a very definite understanding of a gospel – not as a biography of Jesus, but rather as a narrative that aims to ‘strengthen belief in the mission of Jesus’.12 In Heine’s edition of Origen’s commentary, the crucial question of ‘what is gospel?’ receives the following definition: The gospel, therefore, is a discourse containing a report of things which, with good reason, make the hearer glad whenever he accepts what is reported, because they are beneficial.13 Origen’s emphasis – which focuses on the priorities for Origen’s Christian audience – misses the aspect of the genre of gospels which became important to the modern scholarly definition (seeing them as biography). Consequently, Origen claimed that the writings of the Apostles Paul and Peter were ‘gospels’ in the same way as those narratives that testified to Jesus’ death and resurrection.14 Kreps is right to point out that although the gospels were recognisable features of Christianity, there was no consensus among Christian Apologists and teachers during the second century, or even in the third century, about ‘what exactly, constituted a gospel’.15 In short, the second- and third-century understanding of the gospel was 62

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still very open and allowed a number of narratives to emerge that claimed this literary label for themselves. A further observation concerns Clement, another Alexandrian exegete a generation earlier than Origen. In Clement’s writings, we find a clear awareness of the leading authority of the four gospels16 in comparison with other early Christian narratives that were also known by this name (εὐαγγέλιον).17 Clement uses many references to various passages from the four gospels in his didactic. He knows these very well and it seems clear from the number of references to it that the Gospel of Matthew is his favourite.18 However, when talking about the gospels, he very often uses the singular form of the noun rather than the plural.19 This fact shows that Clement’s exegesis treats the gospels as a unanimous and harmonious text. Still, Clement’s theological agenda does not elaborate on vital episodes from Jesus’ life such as his birth in Bethlehem,20 the beginning of his teaching or the context of his suffering, death and resurrection. Like Origen after him, Clement of Alexandria focuses his teaching on the positive transformative power of the gospel. That influence can change the life of the believer and has the potential to lead him or her to a higher (Gnostic, as Clement calls it) perfection.21 The gospel also helps contemporary readers recognise the proper Christian way of life, including moral behaviour,22 marriage,23 the quest for knowledge (γνῶσις),24 and, if necessary, martyrdom.25 In the context of emerging Alexandrian exegesis and understanding of gospels, Clement and Origen share an understanding of the influence and authority of gospels as the source of Christian identity. The gospel was received in church and Clement clearly identifies it with his ecclesiastical community.26 It serves to educate men and women who wish to ascend to a closer relationship with God under the guidance of the divine Logos.27 It is more highly valued than the previous Jewish prophesies and Law, but also provides context for some philosophical traditions whose full meaning becomes clear in the light of the gospel, as do the Jewish Law and prophesies. The positive appreciation of the Jewish and Graeco-Roman intellectual legacy helps Clement and later Origen to place the gospel (which again includes both Paul and Peter’s teaching) as the ultimate source of revelation. How relevant is the attitude shared by Clement and Origen to our revision of gospel as a genre? It certainly brings us closer to the early Christian understanding of what makes the story about Jesus’ life, death and resurrection ‘a gospel’ (or ‘good news’). In that original vision, priorities lie with the spiritual strength of the narrative to influence and transform the life of the readers and audience. At this early stage, these highly educated Christians did not aim to reconstruct the full chronology of Jesus’ life or even to discuss the interdependence of the four accounts. Rather, they focused on the impact of Jesus’ words on the life of the Christian community and, in varied degrees, on his baptism, death and resurrection. In the case of Clement of Alexandria, gospel helped to reinterpret the meaning of the Jewish Law28 alongside reassessment of the Graeco-Roman philosophical legacy where some traditions needed to be rejected,29 others partially accepted,30 and others endorsed.31 In my view, this understanding of gospel and practice inspired by the message was shared 63

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by the author of the Gospel of Truth. It will be helpful to sketch this background, with Clement and Origen as representatives of a certain line of theological development, since later in the chapter we explore further parallels with the Coptic narrative. Before that, however, some additional observations call for our attention.

3. Gospel as an experience of salvation (the Apostle Paul) The first author to use the term ‘gospel’ or ‘good news’ (εὐαγγέλιον) was the Apostle Paul. Did Paul invent the term to denote his experience of Jesus? Graham Stanton points out that the term was used before Paul in a political context as a description of Augustus’ mighty achievements.32 ‘Good news’ publicly proclaimed the acts of the Emperor that brought new peace and stability to the nations by the Saviour Augustus (here: Divi Filius).33 That possible assimilation of a political term into Paul’s proclamation is also explored by James D. G. Dunn.34 Following Dunn’s insightful observations, I would like to point out some of the Pauline features of the ‘gospel’ that are echoed by the Gospel of Truth. By this contextualisation, I hope to reconstruct the development of a theological path that will allow us to better understand the content of the Coptic document. Dunn’s article elaborates seven themes that contribute to Paul’s denotation of the gospel. They are: Jesus’ death and resurrection; the meaning of the ‘good news’; justification by faith; participation in Christ; becoming like Christ; the gift of the Spirit as the defining mark; and the Spirit and the outworking of the Gospel. I should like to offer a synopsis of these themes to support the research that lies ahead into the Coptic narrative. Jesus’ death and resurrection are at the centre of Paul’s proclamation (e.g. 1 Cor 1:23 and 15:1–5; Gal 3:1; Rom 1:3–4).35 In Paul’s interpretation, this dramatic event was the climax of Jesus’ mission and reconciled humanity with God.36 In order to explain the value of Jesus’ death and resurrection, Paul adds that Jesus died ‘for our sins’.37 In Paul’s gospel, ‘knowledge of Jesus’38 provides his followers with greater awareness of their identity as Christians. In addition to Dunn’s observation, I should like to note that Paul’s gospel not only provides the community with certain ‘knowledge’, but also enhances the experience of the living Lord (Rom 14:8–9).39 Secondly, we should mention the meaning of the ‘good news’ in Paul’s proclamation. Here, Dunn proposes the theme of ‘sacrifice of atonement’ (Rom 3:25). The ‘good news’ is that Jesus, through his passion and suffering, brought forgiveness of sins and re-instituted Christians to a new, possibly lost, status of righteousness (2 Cor 5:21). Dunn proposes three aspects of the atonement: ‘redemption’, ‘liberation’ or ‘freedom’ and ‘reconciliation’.40 Thirdly, Paul’s concept of the gospel includes ‘justification by faith’ (Rom 3:20, 24–6; Gal 2:16, Phil 3:8–9).41 As Dunn explains, this juridical term means that God wishes to accept the people who were sinners as righteous.42 According to Dunn’s commentary, this notion highlights God’s initiative and grace. The fourth feature of the Pauline gospel is ‘participation in Christ’. As the new idioms ‘in Christ’ and ‘in the Lord’ are vital to Paul’s theology,43 Paul links the existence of Christians with the postresurrection life of the Saviour. The true Christian spiritual and ongoing dwelling 64

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place is beyond any space or division, but is ‘in Christ’ or ‘within the circle of Christ’, which encompasses Christ’s teaching and lordship.44 It concerns the most profound union with the Saviour and, in Dunn’s view, the metaphor of marriage is contained in Paul’s imagery.45 The fifth characteristic of gospel expands on the fourth: ‘becoming like Christ’. This image emphasises continuous transformation within the disciple: ‘an inward renewal that makes possible a life pleasing to God (Rom 12:2; 2 Cor 4:16)’.46 It strengthens the inner union with Christ since the disciple renews the image of God that he or she received in the act of creation, which is now ‘conformed to the image of his Son (Rom 8:29)’.47 Dunn rightly underlines the central role of Christ in the whole process,48 which will be concluded with his second coming. The sixth feature of ‘gospel’ is expressed by ‘the gift of the Spirit’. The vital role of the Holy Spirit who sanctifies the believer (Rom 8:9), makes him or her God’s child. It is the Spirit who renews people in baptism, liberates them from the power of the Law and illuminates their daily life. The final feature of gospel is the spiritual, charismatic existence of Christians enriched by manifold gifts of the Spirit. Christians, as Dunn points out, are led by the Spirit or ‘walk in accord with the Spirit (Rom 8:12–14; Gal 5:16–18 and 25)’.49 Dunn’s short but insightful discussion of the co-elements of the gospel ‘according to’ Paul brings together different levels of theological reflection. At its centre are God’s initiative and grace, the role of the Saviour and the response of the believer. That gospel has the power to transform the life of people and provide them with new self-understanding. It enriches their existence and equips them with the gifts they need in daily life. This reconstruction is very helpful as we approach the Gospel of Truth.

4. The Gospel of Truth as a proclamation of salvation Each time the theological term ‘salvation’ appears, we should ask the question: from what does the author say his or her readers are saved? Paul’s gospel, or indeed ‘good news’, plainly points to ‘sin’ (cf. Rom 1:16–17; 8:7; 1 Cor 8:12) as the stumbling block in human progress towards God.50 Consequently, Jesus’ death and resurrection saved people from ‘the law of sin’,51 or life dominated by the power of sin and its multiple consequences. A similar, clear and strong conviction is given in the Gospel of Truth: Jesus has saved humanity from ‘ignorance of the Father, [which] brought about anguish and terror’ (17.10–11).52 Ignorance led to error; error in turn brought forgetfulness (17.36). This was the universal, cosmic state of affairs that applied also to the first group of spiritual beings: the Aeons or the Eternals.53 The Gospel clearly identifies the remedy, which is knowledge of ‘the Father of truth’ (Gos. Truth, 16.32–3: ⲙ̄ⲡⲓⲱⲧ ⲛ̄ⲧⲉ ⲧⲙⲏⲙⲉ). However, as the distance (perhaps metaphysical)54 between the Father and the rest of the universe cannot be closed by anyone who exists outside the realm of the Father, it is his Son who comes to the world of darkness and ignorance to bring light and show the way (18.15–19). At this point, as Thomassen notes, we move from myth and protology to history.55 In the context of Jesus’ descent (incarnation)56 and 65

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illumination (teaching), the text plainly proposes the meaning of the ‘gospel’ on four occasions:57 1/ The gospel of truth is joy for those who have received grace from the Father of truth, the grace of knowing him through the power of the Word. (16.31–4)58 2/ While the name of the gospel is the proclamation of hope, being discovery for those who search for him. (17.2–4)59 3/ Through this, the gospel of the one who is searched for, which revealed to those who are perfect, through the mercies of the Father. (18.12–14)60 4/ This the word of the gospel (here: ⲙ̄ⲡⲓϣⲙⲛⲟⲩϥⲉ) of the discovery of the pleroma, for those who await the salvation (ⲙ̄ⲡⲓⲟⲩϫⲉⲉⲓ) which is coming from on high. (34.35–35.2)61 In two cases (1 and 3), the person of the Father is at the centre of proclamation and the gospel. The ‘good news’ is about the new possibility of knowing the Father through his initiative or grace (16.31). As in Paul, the Gospel emphasises the role of God’s initiative and grace.62 Although the meaning of ‘gospel’ does not include any hints at further details about Jesus’ early life and deeds, in a parallel way to Paul, Jesus’ death and resurrection play the vital role in the message about salvation.63 Jesus is also portrayed as ‘a guide’ (Gos. Truth, 19.19: ⲛ̄ϫⲁⲩⲙⲁⲓ̈ⲧ) and ‘a teacher’ (Gos. Truth, 19.21: ⲟⲩⲥⲁϩ).64 The latter title was highly important in Clement of Alexandria’s theology of the Logos.65 As with Clement’s theology, the Gospel of Truth depicts the Christian milieu as the school of the Saviour or Logos. However, in the case of the Coptic document, that didactic feature is further developed through one of the crucial images in the text: the notion of ‘the book’ (e.g. Gos. Truth, 19.35: ⲡⲓϫⲱⲙⲉ).66 The ‘book’ plays the important role of one of the passages from the Gospel. In the section 19.34–21.25,67 which echoes the hymn quoted by Paul about Christ’s self-abasement (cf. Phil 2:5–11), we find significant insights into the relationship between the Saviour and his Christian followers. This section calls for our special attention. It reveals not only the nature of salvation, but also Christian self-understanding in the light of salvation: For this reason Jesus appeared; he put on that book; he was nailed to a tree; he published the edict of the Father on the cross. O such great teaching! 66

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He draws himself down to death, though life eternal clothes him. Having stripped himself of the perishable rags, he put on imperishability, which no one can possibly take away from him. (Gos. Truth, 20.23–34)68 The general theological frame/scenario of this passage is reminiscent of the famous hymn quoted by Paul in his Letter to the Philippians (2:5–11). However, the Gospel introduces the motif of ‘the edict’ (ⲡⲇⲓⲁⲧⲁⲅⲙⲁ)69 announced on the cross. This is also ‘the book’ (ⲡⲓϫⲱⲙⲉ).70 This symbol is filled with a very original meaning. First, it contains the Father’s public announcement (20.27: ⲙ̄ⲡⲇⲓⲁⲧⲁⲅⲙⲁ ⲁⲃⲁⲗ ⲛ̄ⲧⲉ ⲡⲓⲱⲧ) and is a divine declaration that can be heard, seen and understood by people. It offers instruction from the Father. Secondly, the teaching leads to the discovery of another ‘book of the living’ (19.35: ⲡⲓϫⲱⲱⲙⲉ ⲉⲧⲁⲛϩ̄ ⲛ̄ⲧⲉ ⲛⲉⲧⲁⲛϩ̄), which has been hidden in the disciples’ hearts. There is a visible connection between the book published on the cross and ‘put on’ by Jesus and the ‘book of the living’ in human hearts. This important connection represents a model that has some analogies with Pauline motifs of ‘becoming Christ’, as highlighted by Dunn.71 The Gospel explores a similar unity. The Christian is not only a disciple or pupil, but through the central event of Christ’s death and resurrection, which is described in quite Pauline language from his Epistle to the Philippians, he or she shares his or her life with Christ. Thomassen rightly observes that the revelation of Jesus unifies the disciple with his or her true self (that is, his or her ‘name’).72 He also raises an issue about the nature of that reunion of the ‘ideal’ (true self) and the empirical or historical individual,73 which is one of the central themes of the Gospel. This theological theory of unification, in my opinion, reflects earlier exegetical interests found in Philo of Alexandria. The Jewish exegete proposed a theory of the double creation of the first human being. Philo commented on two accounts of creation in Gen 1:27 and 2:7, trying to harmonise them with his Platonic outlook. In his view, presented in De opificio mundi (134–5), first the ‘heavenly’ person is created, who is the archetype existing in the intelligible world (κόσμος νοητος). Then (Gen 2:7) the second, earthly, person comes into being as a man or woman belonging to the physical world (κόσμος αἰσθητός). The first creation is neither female nor male (Opif., 76; Leg., 2.13; Her., 163), the ideal of a human being, while the second is male or female. The first exists in the realm of perfection, the second in the current, changeable world. The first has the image of God, or ‘is stamped with the image of God’ (Leg., 1.31), and that ‘image’ is the Logos. The second is a reflection of the heavenly man. What is the relationship between these two types of being? Philo states that the ideal man aspires to be united with the image of God – that is, the Logos (Leg., 2.4) – while earthly men and women should live their lives under the guidance of their minds. According to some modern commentators,74 the heavenly person represents an ‘ideal’. Through virtue, men and women could ascend to the real world, their true home (cf. Abr., 67

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258 and Somn. 1.181; QG 3.11, Her., 184 and 280; Mut., 186). The Gospel of Truth builds its narrative about the reunion of two entities: ‘the real name’ (the true self) and the historical self that lives in the present world, with evident parallels to that Philonic speculation. However, as a Christian document, it highlights the role of the Saviour. The theological didactic preserved by the Gospel places Jesus’ mission at the centre of salvation. It is only through his descent, humiliation, suffering and death that human beings are enlightened and gain the knowledge of the true Father. Jesus’ unique relationship with the Father is pronounced on various occasions. The Son, the Word (Logos) reveals the Father’s name (38.6–41.3). The Gospel shows Jesus’ irreplaceable role in mediation between the Father and all humanity. The author is aware of the Christian interest in the role of the Holy Spirit, but the Gospel presents the role of the Holy Spirit in a different way from Pauline tradition. The greatest spiritual gifts come from Jesus and enable the disciples to recognise their identity through instruction and/or listening to or reading the Gospel. Charismatic gifts are not mentioned; the empowering of the whole community with a variety of gifts is absent. Finally, we should consider in this section what the Gospel of Truth tells us about how it is possible to achieve salvation. The Gospel proposes an original model of imitatio Christi. It starts with a positive response to Jesus’ teaching in the ability to read and understand the edict of the Father, publicised on the cross. It then seeks the inner life with the discovery of the book of the living in his or her heart. This postulate is further developed in the Gospel as encouragement to a new way of Christian life (33.1–32). These sapiential instructions are summarised in just one precept: ‘do the Father’s will’, echoing the Scriptural commandment. Salvation is also depicted as ‘rest’, as Christians achieve perfection (42.26) and live in truth (42.25). Salvation is not, however, about the individual who has reached perfection, but the community or family of brothers and sisters who return to the Father’s realm. They receive the Father’s love (43.22). The Gospel of Truth spells out a coherent, inspiring and theologically developed idea of salvation. Salvation is a synonym of ‘gospel’ and can be proclaimed and received by the Christian audience, who are familiar with other more detailed accounts of Jesus’ life, death and resurrection. It shows the original interpretation of Christian revelation in Jesus, but also adds or explores some additional aspects of that process. Jesus’ teaching, which passes on knowledge about the Father and salvation, remains at the centre of the ‘good news’. That ‘good news’ calls for a response from the disciples and the ethical life.

5. The Gospel of Truth’s use of etymology: Philo and Clement – Alexandrian precedents Etymology, in the sense of paying special attention to the meaning of names and their interpretation, was an important feature of ancient exegesis influenced by Plato75 and the Stoics,76 and flourished in Alexandria.77 It is also echoed in the Gospel of Truth. The Gospel highlights the value of names that are synonyms of 68

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true disciples (21.25–23.17). They are uttered by God and, if the person is able to hear his or her name, she or he is filled with knowledge while also doing the will of the Father. Equally, our document explores the sublime notion of the divinity by elaborating on the Father’s name (38.6–41.2). The close relationship between the divine Father and his Son is introduced as: ‘the name of the Father is the Son’ (Gos. Truth, 38.7: ⲡⲣⲉⲛ ⲇⲉ ⲙ̄ⲡⲓⲱⲧ·ⲡⲉ ⲡϣⲏⲣⲉ). At this point, I would like to shed some light on that significant interest in names found in the Gospel of Truth and introduce the role of etymology in Philo and Clement of Alexandria. My hypothesis is that similar exegetical and theological interests influenced our document and that this similarity came from a shared intellectual background. For Philo, Clement and our document the sound of names holds also a key to their hidden dimension, meaning and significance. The Gospel of Truth aimed to provide its readers or listeners with ‘good news’ that brought joy (16.31): the new self-understanding (that is, hearing the name uttered by the Father) and access to God’s mystery as revealed by the Son. Exploring the hidden meaning of names played an important role in Philo of Alexandria’s allegorical exegesis.78 Philo showed a real passion, if not an overwhelming zeal, for exegetical investigation of names.79 He dedicated the whole treatise On the Change of Names (De mutatione nominum) to an extended discussion of the patriarchs’ names. In other works, Philo’s spectrum of interests included various Biblical characters (cf. ‘Samuel’ in Deus 5), geographical places (cf. ‘Sinai’ in QE II.45), roles in the Biblical stories (cf. ‘merchant’ in QG II.65), the mystical meaning of nouns (cf. ‘the Paschal lamb’ in Heres 192) and many more.80 On some occasions, his speculations prove to be wrong (QG III.36), but still serve his exegesis. Some scholars propose that Philo used ancient dictionaries that were available to him in Alexandria.81 Philo’s allegorical reading of the Scriptures assimilated his rather freelance interpretations of different Hebrew names and provided him with additional arguments to explore the hidden meaning, as he believed, of the sacred books. The names, in his exegesis, offered him the additional information he was searching for and he freely amended the meaning of the names to match his didactic purpose and theological and hermeneutical agenda. From the rich stock of examples, I would like to explore just one case that I believe is important to the Gospel of Truth. Philo’s theology of God combined Jewish monotheism with a Middle Platonic philosophical (or metaphysical) stance on God’s total transcendence. In his commentary On Dreams (De somniis), he claims that the name of God is ‘unnameable’ (ἀκατονόματος), ‘unutterable’ (ἄρρητος) and ‘without any likely comprehension (καὶ πάσας ἰδέας ἀκαταλήπτου θεοῦ)’.82 For Philo, human language is not able to utter God’s ‘name’, which on another level of theological interpretation means God’s ‘nature’ and ‘existence’.83 This radical type of metaphysics called for a mediator (the first being after the apophatic God) through which people could state that God exists. In Philo’s theory it was the Logos who brought knowledge about God.84 In discussing the Logos’ status,85 Philo’s etymology explored Scriptural titles such as ‘Sons of God’ (Deut 24:1).86 His exegesis provided the list of 69

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names applicable to the Logos, among them ‘the Name of God’ (ὄνομα θεοῦ).87 This name resonates with the name found in the Gospel of Truth.88 Both sources place the name or character close to God and ascribe this being a unique role as the mediator. Through the knowledge of that name, human beings have access to the divine. Philo and the author of the Gospel of Truth were fully aware of the direct and significant connection between knowledge of the name and wider knowledge of somebody’s nature, function and mission. The following passage from the Gospel about the Son or Saviour illustrates that link very well: He became a way for those who were gone astray, and knowledge for those who were ignorant, a discovery for those who were searching, and a support for those who were wavering, immaculateness for those who were defiled. (Gos. Truth, 31.29–35)89 This hymn identifies the Saviour with ‘a way’, ‘knowledge’, ‘a discovery’, ‘a support’ and ‘immaculateness’ or rather ‘being-without-defilement’ (ⲙⲛ̄ⲧⲁⲧϫⲱϩⲙ̄).90 These names have a direct connection with the human condition, each time revealing a particular way of helping those who search for salvation. Those names reflect Jesus’ mission in the present world. In another passage (Gos. Truth, 23.19–34), further names are added as Jesus appears as ‘wisdom’, ‘teaching’, ‘knowledge’, ‘patience’, ‘joy’, ‘glory’, ‘harmony’, ‘character’, ‘rest’, ‘love’ and ‘faith’, and each of these names reveals a specific power or ability of the Son. The similar link between names and actions (that is, doing the Father’s will) is declared in relation to the disciples (21.25–23.17). The Father has uttered the disciple’s name (21.30), so that through Jesus’ revelation he or she is aware of it and responds to the Father’s will (22.10).91 The elaboration of this etymology has a strong theological focus as it promotes the way of life that leads to salvation. Discovery of the true name and hearing it uttered by the Father mean that the disciple is able to recognise his or her true identity, his or her profound relationship with God, and reassess his or her attitude to the current world. Etymology is the key to salvation; etymology and soteriology are strongly connected. In my view, the Christian author of the Gospel of Truth did not invent that hermeneutical approach but assimilated an already known model of exploration and interest in the power of names. The Platonic landscape was close to the milieu that produced the Gospel and would have suggested that the current world only reflects in a limited way the true, real realm. Likewise, the Platonic conviction that oral teaching (uttering the letters and phrases) is of a higher order than written text (reading)92 would have been familiar. Theologically, an even closer association can be found between the Gospel of Truth and the intellectual world of Clement of Alexandria. He himself shared Philo’s fascination with etymology,93 but also amended it for his Christian agenda 70

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and didactic. Clement and the Gospel share the Christian belief that the logos, now incarnated,94 became the teacher (ὁ διδάσκαλος) in his school. As in the case of philo, Clement’s etymology also ascribes Jesus’ many names and functions. however, similarly to the Gospel, it is through the saviour that Christians recognise their true identities. Two passages from Paedagogus exemplify Clement’s didactic: The Church is the school and [her – P. A.-S.] Bridegroom is the only Teacher, the good Will of the good father, the real Wisdom and the sanctuary of knowledge. ‘and he is the propitiation for our sins’, as John says95 – Jesus, the physician who heals our soul and our body, the whole human being. [...] O

Clement’s exegesis combines the names of the Saviour (νυμφίος; ὁ μόνος διδάσκαλος; ἀγαθοῦ πατρὸς ἀγαθὸν βούλημα; σοφία γνήσιος; ἁγίασμα γνώσεως) with the identity of Christians (ὢ τῆς μακαρίου θρέμματα παιδαγωγίας) in his Alexandrian community. Through that approach, looking at (listening to, being obedient to, following) the divine teacher provides Christians with the proper selfunderstanding. The logos is the instructor, ‘appropriation for the sins’, a ‘physician’ of human nature. he is active in all possible ways to educate little children and help them to encounter the Father. Clement’s approach is very close to the one we find in the Gospel of Truth. It is about gaining identity in relation to the irreplaceable role of the son. only through his mediation, as in Clement’s theology, can the true knowledge about God be attained. In the Gospel, the Saviour ‘enlightens’ (ⲁϥⲣ̄ ⲟⲩⲁⲉⲓⲛ) the disciples and shows them the way to the Father (Gos. Truth, 18.19–20). The second example of the possible affiliation of the Gospel with the Alexandrian milieu comes from its interest in the nature of ‘rest’. The Coptic noun ‘rest’ (ⲙ̄ⲧⲁⲛ) appears in the Gospel of Truth eight times,97 and we also find this notion expressed by two different verbs (ϯⲙ̄ⲧⲁⲛ98 and ϫⲓ ⲙ̄ⲧⲁⲛ99). Its frequency and significance in the text show the importance of this image, which has some parallels to the Alexandrian exegetes. When Philo comments on a Scriptural passage (Lev 25:6), ‘rest’ and ‘Sabbath’ mean the inner peace, ‘rest’ in God.100 philo ‘interiorises’ the meaning of sabbath as the state of the soul that reposes in God.101 Clement was also keen on speculation about the meaning of ‘rest’ (ἀνάπαυσις) and its connection with the term ‘sabbath’. as before, Clement followed philo’s earlier exegesis. On one occasion, when a Christian scholar commented on the 71

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Decalogue (Ex 20:1–17), he gave an extended explanation of the true meaning of Sabbath/rest.102 Within that complex discussion, Clement added the following note on God’s rest: God did not stop creating, as some understand God’s rest while talking about his repose, but as being good, if he stops doing good, he will also stop being God. Now, this should not be said at any point.103 This interpretation of the Sabbath finds its further interpretation as the continuous act of salvation performed by the Father: [...] It is the Father. Even on the Sabbath, he labored for the sheep which he found fallen into the pit. He gave life to the sheep, having brought it up from the pit, in order that you might know interiorly – you, the sons of interior knowledge – what is the Sabbath, on which it is not fitting for salvation to be idle, in order that you may speak from the day from above, which has no night, and from the light which does not sink, because it is perfect. Say, then, from the heart, that you are the perfect day, and in you dwells the light that does not fail. (Gos. Truth, 32.19–35)104 The Gospel refers to the Scriptural parable about the lost sheep.105 However, rather surprisingly, it suggests that it is the Father who rescues the lost sheep. This innovative interpretation of the Scriptural story unveils the unique union between the Father and the Son and their focus on salvation. It also emphasises the meaning of the Sabbath, departing from the traditional sense of rest, pause, abstention from work, and now expressing the ongoing actions of the Father, who rescues his children. The new Sabbath is the endless day dedicated to saving people. This interpretation from the Gospel of Truth resonates with a similar notion found in Clement of Alexandria: the Father is working even ‘on the Sabbath day’ to save his children. In the Gospel of Truth, ‘the Sabbath’ received a new meaning that was opposite to the original one, but close to the meaning found in Clement’s theology. In my view, these similarities are not coincidental. Although a closer link cannot be proven between the Gospel and Clement’s theological activity in Alexandria, we can cautiously propose that the Gospel shared some theological and exegetical interests that were debated in Alexandria by a variety of scholars during the second century. That debate also absorbed some earlier Philonic exegetical features, even though his name was omitted, while Clement’s was acknowledged on just a few occasions.

6. Conclusions I suggest that placing the Gospel of Truth within the Christian Alexandrian milieu – with Philo and then Clement – gives us valuable insights into its symbolism and 72

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theology. The Gospel of Truth, as I have pointed out, is a product of a similar set of minds with allegorical attention given to, for instance, names and metaphors. The document does not hide from Gospels’ legacy but explores it with new agendas. The Gospel elaborates those Scriptural sources and their metaphors to a new generation of Christians who were interested in an intellectual understanding of the nature of God and the relationship between the Father and the Son. It also strongly advocates Christian life in the current world in the light of the Saviour’s teaching and mission. The central theme of the ‘good news’ is pronounced with a distinctive Alexandrian style: it is about an experience of salvation. The narrative contains a number of highly poetic verses and images. It addresses the literary, sophisticated taste of its readers and audience. As a document the Gospel of Truth avoids speculation on the origin of the current world and does not show any interests in mythological drama with Sophia/Wisdom in its centre. The beauty of the narrative, personal attachment to the Saviour, and sense of community as God’s children (Gos. Truth, 43.20) guarantee this document a place among the most poetic Christian reflection of its time. Its assimilation of various exegetical elements corresponds with its faithfulness to the core Christian message. In short, the Gospel of Truth is a gospel that brings joy and inspiration to its readers and resonates with the intellectual life of Alexandria, the city that initiated a distinctive Christian exegesis and theology.

Notes 1 Origen: Homilies on Luke, Fragments on Luke, Joseph T. Lienhard (trans.) (Washington: The Catholic University of America Press, 1996), 5. 2 I am most grateful to Prof. Francis Watson for his comments on the earlier version of this chapter. 3 Some small fragments written in another Coptic dialect (Sahidic) are found in the Codex XII, see CGL (1990), vol. XXVIII, 332–43. In my discussion I will focus on the version that comes from the Codex I. 4 Einar Thomassen states that it is ‘an indubitably Valentinian text’, in his ‘Introduction’, in The Nag Hammadi Scriptures: The Revised and Updated Translation of Sacred Gnostic Texts, Marvin Meyer (ed.) (New York: HarperOne, 2007), 33. However, Thomassen also points out some dissimilarities as the document does not mention the myth of Sophia’s fall and has different anthropology and cosmology. It is nevertheless accepted by the author as Valentinian, Thomassen, ‘Introduction ...’, 34. Earlier, Bentley Layton claimed that this was ‘a sermon’ and argued that this work came directly from Valentinus, Layton, The Gnostic Scriptures: A New Translation with Annotations and Introductions (London: SCM Press, 1987), 251. Attridge and MacRae endorsed the Valentinian provenance in ‘Introduction’, CGL, vol. XXII (Leiden: E.J. Brill, 1985), 81. See also an insightful discussion of other texts found in the same codex I and their relationship with codices VII and XI in Louis Painchaud and Michael Kaler, ‘From the “Prayer of the Apostle Paul” to the “Three Steles of Seth”: Codices I, XI and VII from Nag Hammadi Viewed as a collection’, VCh, vol. 61, no. 4 (2007), 445–69. 5 Attridge and MacRae, ‘Introduction’, 65–6 and footnote 8. The Coptic and the English translation are taken from Harold W. Attridge and George W. MacRae, in CGL (1985), vol. XXII, 82–117. I will provide additional comments when it is necessary.

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6 AH., 3.11.9 and Attridge and MacRae, ‘Introduction’, 65. For the discussion of the identity of the Coptic text compared with the one known to Irenaeus, see their ‘Introduction’, 66, note 7. See Einar Thomassen, The Spiritual Seed: The Church of the ‘Valentinians’, NHMS, vol. 60 (Leiden: E.J. Brill, 2006), 146–8 and Simon Gathercole, ‘Preparatio Evangelica in Early Christian Gospels’, in Connecting Gospels: Beyond the Canonical/Non-Canonical Divide, Francis Watson and Sarah Parkhouse (eds) (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2020), 15–40, especially 17–20. 7 Anne Kreps, ‘The Passion of the Book: The Gospel of Truth as Valentinian Scriptural Practice’, JECS, vol. 24, no. 3, Fall (2016), 311–35. 8 In my view, the Gospel of Truth unites both categories since intellectual meditation on Jesus’ acts leads the reader or audience to a deeper spiritual relationship with his Father. 9 Richard A. Burridge, ‘Gospels’, in The Oxford Handbook of Biblical Studies, J. W. Rogerson and Judith M. Lieu (eds) (Oxford, Oxford University Press, 2010), 436, and his previous study What are the Gospels? A Comparison with Graeco-Roman Bibliography (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1992). 10 Burridge, ‘Gospels’, 438. See more in Modern and Ancient Literary Criticism of the Gospels: Continuing the Debate on Gospel Genre(s), Robert Matthew Calhoun, David P. Moessner and Tobias Nicklas, WUNT 451 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2020). This volume, among many chapters relevant to our discussion, also includes further discussion of Burridge’s proposal by Elizabeth E. Shively, ‘A Critique of Richard Burridge’s Genre Theory: From a One-Dimensional to a Multi-Dimensional Approach to Gospel Genre’, 97–112. I would like to point out a very insightful discussion of this genre by Helen K. Bond, The First Biography of Jesus: Genre and Meaning in Mark’s Gospel (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2020), 15–77. 11 E.g., James D. G. Dunn, Jesus Remembered: Christianity in The Making, vol. 1 (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2003), 184–6; Loveday Alexander, ‘What is a Gospel?’ in The Cambridge Companion to the Gospels, Stephen C. Barton (ed.) (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2006), 26. 12 Kreps, ‘The Passion of the Book ...’, 311. 13 Origen, Com. In Ioh., 1.27: ῍Η εὐαγγέλιόν ἐστι λόγος περιέχων ἀγαθοῦ τῷ πιστεύοντι παρουσίαν ἢ λόγος ἐπαγγελλόμενος παρεῖναι ἀγαθὸν τὸ προσδοκώμενον. Translation by Ronald E. Heine, Origen: Commentary on the Gospel According to John, Books 1–10 (Washington: The Catholic University of America Press, 1989), 39. See helpful discussion by Carl Johan Berglund, ‘Understanding Origen: The Genre(s) of the Gospels in Light of Ancient Greek Philology and Modern Genre Theory’, Scrinium, vol. 12, no. 1 (2016), 181–214. 14 Origen, Com. In Ioh., 1.25. 15 Kreps, ‘The Passion of the Book ...’, 312. 16 Strom., 3.13.93.1: ‘First, this has not been said in four traditional Gospels given to us, but in the Gospel according to the Egyptians’. Πρῶτον μὲν οὖν ἐν τοῖς παραδεδομένοις ἡμῖν τέττρασιν εὐαγγελίοις οὐκ ἔχομεν τὸ ῥητόν, ἀλλ’ ἐν τῷ κατ’Αἰγυπτίους. My translation. 17 Clement introduces other (‘non-canonical’) early Christian Gospels providing his audience with the full title of the quoted document. For example, on ten occasions Clement quotes the Kerygma Petri and he mentions the title eight times: Strom., 1.29.182.3 (ἐν δὲ τῶ Πέτρου Κηουγματι ... (sic!)); Strom., 2.15.68.2 (ὁ Πέτρος ἐν τῷ Κηρύγματι); Strom., 6.5.39.2–40.2 (Πέτρος ἐν τῷ Κηρύγματι λέγει); Strom., 6.5.43.3 (φησιν ὁ Πέτρος); Strom., 6.6.48.1 (ἐν τῷ Πέτρου Κηρύγματι); Strom., 6.6.48.6 (untitled); Strom., 6.7.58.1 (ὁ Πέτρος γράφει); Strom., 6.15.128.1–2 (Πέτρος ἐν τῷ Κηρύγματι); Strom., 6.15.128.3 (untitled) and Ecl. Proph., 58 (ὡς Πέτρος ἐν Κηρύγματι). 18 Stählin’s index indicates that Clement referred to Matthew 742 times, John 335 times, Mark 180 times and Luke 407 times. O. Stählin, Clement Alexandrinus, vol. 4, Register, U. Treu (ed.), GCS, 39 (Berlin: Akademie Verlag, 1980). However, as Cosaert rightly points out, Clement’s way of referring to a passage is sometimes direct and at other

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19

20 21

22 23 24 25 26 27 28 29 30 31 32 33

34 35 36 37 38 39 40 41 42 43 44

times by allusion see Carl P. Cosaert, The Text of the Gospels in Clement of Alexandria (Atlanta: Society of Biblical Literature, 2008), 29 and footnote 34. Among numerous examples of use of the single noun for all four gospels in Clement’s oeuvres, see Protrep., 116.2: εὐαγγέλιον; Strom., 4.13.91.1: εὐαγγελίου; 4.21.130.4: ἐν εὐαγγελίῳ. In his Paedagogus, Clement uses the noun ‘gospel’ to denote one of the four gospels, e.g. Paed., I.71.2 with reference to J 17:24–6, but also as a general term for all four: Paed., I.13.2. Clement emphasises the Logos’ incarnation, but without any references to its details presented by Matthew and Luke. See, for instance: Strom., 7.1.8.1. E.g. Strom., 7.3.14.2 with Mt 16:25; 7.7.41.4–8 with Mt 21:22 and J 17:4, 17:20 and 23; 7.7.49.6 with Mt 6:9–13. These are just a few examples from the Stromata dedicated to Christian perfection. It should be added that Clement’s exegesis freely combines the passages from the Gospels with fragments from Pauline epistles and other Apostolic letters. See more in Francis Watson, Gospel Writing: A Canonical Perspective (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2013), 453–509. E.g. Paed., II.1.8 on use of food in relation to Mt 15:11. E.g. Strom., 7.11.64.7 with reference to the general notion of the gospel as the ideal for perfect marriage. E.g. Strom., 7.16.104.3–6 with Clement’s apology of the quest for true knowledge (γνῶσις) with references to Mt 7:21; Lk 6:46 and further J 4:14. E.g. Strom., 4.9.70.1 with the eulogy of martyrdom as the application of Lk 12:8–9. Strom., 7.17.107.3–6 and further discussion in my Clement of Alexandria: A Project of Christian Perfection (London: T&T Clark, 2008), 193–210. Paed., III.98.1–2 and more in Clement of Alexandria, 211–25. E.g. Strom., 7.18.109.1–5. For Clement’s rejection of Epicurean philosophy, see Strom., 1.11.50.6 and 2.4.16.2. He rejects it as ‘atheistic’ or denying divine providence. See his discussion of the Stoic idea of pantheism in Strom., 1.11.51.1; 2.4.14.3. For Clement’s endorsement of the Stoic ‘common mind/reason’ (κοινὸς νοῦς), see Strom., 1.19.94.2. For examples of Clement’s endorsement of Pythagoras, Plato and Aristotle’s doctrine (here, the origin of the human mind), see Strom., 5.13.88.1–2; Clement’s admiration of Pythagoras, Strom., 5.5.29.3–4; Clement’s praise of Plato, Protrep., 68. Graham N. Stanton, Jesus and the Gospels (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2004), 25–35. The following are very helpful to my discussion paper: Craig. A. Evans, ‘Mark’s Incipit and the Priene Calendar Inscription: From Jewish Gospel to Greco-Roman Gospel’, JGRChJ, 1 (2000), 67–81 and the context of Divi Filius in Karl Galinsky, ‘Continuity and Change: Religion in the Augustinian Semi-Century’, in A Companion to Roman Religion: Blackwell Companions to the Ancient World, Jörg Rüpke (ed.) (Chichester: Wiley-Blackwell, 2011), 80–2. James D. G. Dunn, ‘The Gospel According to St. Paul’, in The Blackwell Companion to Paul, Stephen Westerholm (ed.) (Chichester: Wiley-Blackwell, 2014), 139–53. Dunn provides these references, ‘The Gospel ...’, 149. This is my comment. This point is highlighted by Dunn, ‘The Gospel ...’, 140. Dunn, ‘The Gospel ...’, 141. More in Simon J. Gathercole, ‘Paul’s Christology’, in The Blackwell Companion to Paul, 172–87. Dunn, ‘The Gospel ...’, 142. Again, Dunn lists these references. Dunn, ‘The Gospel ...’, 142. Dunn, ‘The Gospel ...’, 144. Dunn, ‘The Gospel ...’, 145.

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45 ‘Paul does not hesitate to use the analogy of marriage’. Dunn, ‘The Gospel ...’, 145. 46 Dunn, ‘The Gospel ...’, 146. 47 Dunn, ‘The Gospel ...’, 146. 48 Dunn, ‘The Gospel ...’, 147. 49 Dunn, ‘The Gospel ...’, 151. 50 In Paul’s Letter to the Romans, the noun ‘sin’ appears 48 times, ‘trespass’ nine times and the verb ‘to sin’ seven times. 51 More in Leon Morris, ‘Sin, Guilt’, in Dictionary of Paul and His Letters: A Compendium of Contemporary Biblical Scholarship, G. F. Hawthorne, R. P. Martin and D. G. Reid (eds) (Illinois, Leicester: InterVarsity Press, 1993), 877–81. 52 ⲉϯⲙⲛ̄ⲧⲁⲧⲥ {ⲛ̄}ⲟⲩⲱⲛ ⲡⲓⲱⲧ· ⲁⲥⲣ̄ ⲟⲩⲛⲟⲩϣⲡ̄ ⲙⲛ̄ ⲟⲩϩⲣ̄ⲧⲉ See Attridge and MacRae, in CGL (1985), vol. XXII, 82–3. For alternative English translations see Ellen Muehlberger, ‘The Gospel of Truth’, in The Cambridge Edition of Early Christian Writings, vol. 1, Andrew Radde-Gallwitz (ed.) (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2017), 3–10, and Geoffrey S. Smith, Valentinian Christianity: Text and Translations (Oakland: University of California Press, 2020), 130–53. 53 I am grateful to Prof. Watson for highlighting the ambiguity of the term ‘aeons’ (ⲁⲓⲱⲛ) in our document (23.1 but also in another section: 41.14–29). For further discussion, see Thomassen, The Spiritual Seed, 161–3. I am inclined to understand them as beings similar to the eternal, pre-existent souls in Origen’s speculation. 54 I see the influence of the negative (apophatic) theology on the Gospel. That theology assumed a metaphysical gulf between the Absolute and other beings. Some Middle Platonists (e.g. Alcinous, Didask., X.164.8) assimilated this kind of theology, as did Philo and Clement of Alexandria in the Alexandrian milieu, see Henny Fiskå Hägg, Clement of Alexandria and the Beginning of Christian Apophaticism (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2006), esp. 153–79. 55 Thomassen, The Spiritual Seed, 149. 56 Does the Gospel of Truth present docetic Christology? One fragment about Jesus’ incarnation mentions ‘fleshly form’ (31.4–9: ⲛ̄ⲟⲩⲥⲁⲣⲝ ⲛ̄ⲥⲙⲁⲧ). However, as the Saviour comes to this world to teach and instruct his disciples and suffer death on the cross, I am inclined to accept that the document assumes the full incarnation, not just Jesus’ appearance in a form similar to the human body. As pointed out to me by Prof. Watson, ‘the likeness in the flesh’ appears also in Rom 8:3. I am reading the Gospel of Truth 31.4–9 with the Pauline statement from Rom 8:3. 57 The term appears four times, in addition to the two instances mentioned above, also in 16.31 and 34.34. 58 ⲡⲉⲩⲁⲅⲅⲉⲗⲓⲟⲛ ⲛ̄ⲧⲙⲏⲉ‧ ⲟⲩⲧⲉⲗⲏⲗ ⲡⲉ ⲛ̄ⲛⲉⲉⲓ ⲛ̄ⲧⲁϩϫⲓ ⲡⲓϩⲙⲁⲧ‧ ⲁⲃⲁⲗ ϩⲓ̈ⲧⲟⲟϥ̄ ⲙ̄ⲡⲓⲱⲧ ⲛ̄ⲧⲉ ⲧⲙⲏⲉ‧ ⲁⲧⲣⲟⲩⲥⲟⲩⲱⲛϥ̄ ϩⲛ̄ ⲧϭⲁⲙ ⲙ̄ⲡⲓϣⲉϫⲉ. Attridge and MacRae, in CGL (1985), vol. XXII, 82–3. I wish to point out the author’s open proclaimation that the experience or knowledge of the Father comes from ‘grace’ (ⲡⲓϩⲙⲁⲧ). It is not an outcome of an intellectual investigation, esoteric initiation or illumination. 59 ⲉⲡⲓⲣⲉⲛ ̣ ⲇⲉ̣ ̣ [ⲙ]ⲡⲉⲩⲁⲅⲅⲉⲗⲓⲟⲛ ⲡⲉ ⲡⲟⲩⲱⲛϩ̄ ⲁⲃⲁⲗ ⲛ̄ⲧⲉ ϯϩⲉⲗⲡⲓⲥ ⲉⲡϭⲓⲛⲉ ⲡⲉ ⲛ̄ⲛⲉⲉⲓ· ⲉⲧⲕⲱⲧⲉ ⲛ̄ⲥⲱϥ. Attridge and MacRae, in CGL (1985), vol. XXII, 82–3. The author stresses the need for human will and freedom, engagement in action. 60 ⲡⲉⲉⲓ ⲡⲉⲩⲁⲅ·ⲅⲉⲗⲓⲟⲛ ⲙ̄ⲡⲉⲧⲟⲩⲕⲱⲧⲉ ⲛ̄ⲥⲱϥ ⲛ̄ⲧⲁϥⲟⲩⲁⲛϩϥ̄ ⲛ̄ⲛⲉⲧϫⲏⲕ ⲁⲃⲁⲗ· ϩⲓ̈ⲧⲛ̄ ⲛⲓⲙⲛ̄ⲧϣⲁⲛϩⲧⲏϥ ⲛ̄ⲧⲉ ⲡⲓⲱⲧ. Attridge and MacRae, in CGL (1985), vol. XXII, 84–5. Father’s mercies (ⲛⲓⲙⲛ̄ⲧϣⲁⲛϩⲧⲏϥ) highlight again divine-human cooperation. The father is involved in the process of salvation. 61 ⲡⲉ ⲉⲓ ⲡⲗⲟⲅⲟⲥ ⲙ̄ⲡⲓϣⲙⲛⲟⲩϥⲉ ⲛ̄ⲧϭⲓⲛⲉ‧ ⲛ̄ⲧⲉ ⲡⲓⲡⲗⲏⲣⲱⲙⲁ ⲛ̄ⲛⲉⲉⲓ ⲉⲧⲥⲁⲙⲧ‧ ⲁⲃⲁⲗ ϩⲁϫⲱϥ ⲙ̄ⲡⲓⲟⲩϫⲉⲉⲓ‧ ⲧⲉ{ⲉⲓ} ⲉⲧⲛⲛⲏⲩ ⲁⲃⲁⲗ ⲙ̄ⲡⲥⲁ ⲛϩⲣⲉ. Attridge and MacRae, in CGL (1985), vol. XXII, 106–7. Traditionally the term ⲡⲗⲏⲣⲱⲙⲁ has been translated as ‘pleroma’ and affiliated with ‘Gnostic’ vocabulary, however, it also means ‘fullnness’, and can refer to the pentitude of life, or even real life in eternity as opposed to the current existence.

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62 The role of grace is highlighted in other parts of the document, 34.2; 36.3–9; 37.12. 63 Jesus’ death is clearly stated in 20.14 and 30; Jesus’ suffering in 20.10; resurrection is hinted at in 20.34. 64 The Gospel of Truth uses the images of ‘schools’ (19.19); ‘instruction/teaching’ (ⲛ̄ⲥⲃⲱ in 20.30; 21.4–5); and ‘receive teaching’ (21.4). In my view, it is not coincidental that this relatively short document values and points out this didactic feature of salvation. 65 See more in my Clement of Alexandria, 211–25. 66 See the helpful discussion in Thomassen, ‘Revelation as Book and Book as Revelation: Reflections on the Gospel of Truth’, in The Nag Hammadi Texts in the History of Religions: Proceedings of the International Conference at the Royal Academy of Science and Letters in Copenhagen, September 19–24, 1995, On the Occasion of the 50th Anniversary of the Nag Hammadi Discovery, S. Giversen, T. Petersen and J. Podemann Sørensen (eds) (Copenhagen: C.A. Reitzel, 2002), 34–45. I shall return to this motif in Chapter 9.4.4. 67 I use the word ‘section’ with hesitation as the document does not have inner divisions into sections. Its organisation is based on themes, but the narrative goes back and forth very freely. 68 My English transcription highlights the poetic (hymnal) function of the text: ⲉⲧⲃⲉ ⲡⲉⲉⲓ ⲁϥⲟⲩⲁⲛϩ̄ ⲁⲃⲁⲗ ⲛ̄ϭⲓ ⲓⲏ(ⲥⲟⲩ)ⲥ· ⲁϥϭⲁⲗⲉϥ ⲙ̄ⲡⲓϫⲱⲙⲉ· ⲉⲧⲙ̄ⲙⲉⲩ ⲁⲩⲁϥⲧϥ̄ ⲁⲩϣⲉ· ⲁϥⲧⲱϭⲉ ⲙ̄ⲡⲇⲓⲁⲧⲁⲅⲙⲁ ⲁⲃⲁⲗ ⲛ̄ⲧⲉ ⲡⲓⲱⲧ· ϩⲓ̈ ⲡⲉⲥⲧ(ⲁⲩ)ⲣⲟⲥ ⲱ̂ ⲙⲛ̄ϯⲛⲁϭ ⲛ̄ⲥⲃⲱ ⲛ̄ⲧⲉⲉⲓϭⲁⲧ· ⲉϥⲥⲱⲕ ⲙ̄ⲙⲁϥ ⲁⲡⲓⲧⲛ̄ ⲁⲡⲙⲟⲩ ⲉⲣⲉⲡⲓⲱⲛϩ̄ ⲛ̄ⲁⲛⲏϩⲉ ⲧⲟ ϩⲓ̈ⲱⲱϥ ⲉⲁϥⲃⲱϣ ⲙ̄ⲙⲁϥ ⲛ̄ⲛⲓⲡⲗ̄ϭⲉ ⲉⲧⲧⲉⲕⲁⲓ̈ⲧ· ⲁϥϯ ϩⲓ̈ⲱⲱϥ ⲛ̄ⲧⲙⲛ̄ⲧⲁⲧ· ⲧⲉⲕⲟ ⲡⲉⲉⲓ· ⲉⲧⲉ ⲙⲛ̄ ϣϭⲁⲙ ⲛ̄ⲗⲁⲩⲉ· ⲁϣ ϥⲓⲧϥ̄ ⲛ̄ⲧⲟⲟⲧϥ̄ (Attridge and MacRae, in CGL (1985), vol. XXII, 86–9) Their comments in CGL (1985), vol. XXIII, 59–60. The Coptic here is well preserved and allows rather smooth reading. 69 Nota bene, the original Greek noun τό διάταγμα refers to the public edict. It is not a secret message, private letter or esoteric teaching. 70 Scholars translate this term as ‘book’, but it could also be understood as ‘scroll’, ‘roll of papyrus’ or ‘written document’, see Walter E. Crum, A Coptic Dictionary (Eugene: Wipf and Sock Publishers, 2005), 770b–771a. The original Greek term might have had βιβλίον. I will discuss the motif of the book in Chapter 9.4.4. 71 See footnote 46. 72 Thomassen, The Spiritual Seed, 152. 73 Thomassen, The Spiritual Seed, 152: How can the ideal and abstract reality which the name represents [...] be revealed to the empirical person as an empirical event in history without itself being turned into an empirical ‘thing’, while, in order to retain its salvific significance, it nevertheless needs at the same time to remain transcendently ideal? 74 E.g., Walther Völker, Fortschritt und Vollendung bei Philo von Alexandrien: eine Studie zur Geschichte der Frömmigkeit, TUGAL, vol. 49, no. 1 (Leipzig: J. C. Hinrich, 1938), 346–7; B. Belletti, ‘La dottrina dell’assimilazione a Dio in Filone di Alexandria’, Revista di filosofia neo-scolastica, 74 (1982), 433–4; David T. Runia, Philo and the Timaeus of Plato (Leiden: E.J. Brill, 1986), 337. 75 Cf. Plato’s Cratylus is dedicated to discussion of ‘correctness of names’, see more in Gail Fine, ‘Plato on Naming’, PQ, vol. 27, no. 109 (1977), 290–301, and Rachel Barney, Names and Nature in Plato’s Cratylus (New York, London: Routledge, 2001).

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76 David Dawson, Allegorical Readers and Cultural Revision in Ancient Alexandria (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1992), 52–3 with discussion of Cicero’s account of a certain debate between Velleius and Cotta. 77 See Dawson, Allegorical Readers, 95–6 and 201. For the relevance of divine names in Jewish Christianity, see Jean Daniélou, ‘The Theology of Jewish Christianity’, John A. Baker (trans.), A History of Early Christian Doctrine Before the Council of Nicaea, vol. I (London, Philadelphia: Darton, Longman & Todd, 1964), 147–63. For Daniélou’s references to the Gospel of Truth, see 157–60 where he concludes that (160): the Gospel of Truth presents peculiar features of its own, which spring from Judaism and Jewish esoteric speculations of the second century, it rests on an already elaborated Jewish Christian theology, echoes of which have been noted in Hermas and 1 Clement.

78 79 80 81 82 83 84 85 86 87 88 89

90 91 92

93 94

I should like to identify Philo of Alexandria as one of the sources for the Gospel of Truth and parallels with Clement of Alexandria. This subject is well discussed in Dawson, Allegorical Readers, 73–126. See more discussion and many examples in Anthony Hanson, ‘Philo’s Etymologies’, JTS, vol. 18, no. 1 (1967), 128–39. See more in Jacques Cezeaux, ‘Philon d’Alexandrie, exégète’, ANRW, 21.1 (1984), 165–6. J. G. Kahn, ‘Did Philo Know Hebrew? The Testimony of Etymologies’, Tarbiz, vol. XXXIV, no. 4 (1965), as noted by Hanson, ‘Philo ...’, 131. Somn. I.67. See Roberto Radice, ‘Philo’s Theology and Theory of Creation’, in The Cambridge Companion to Philo, Adam Kamaesar (ed.) (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2009), 127. For a good discussion of the relationship between God and the Logos in Philo’s theology, see Robert M. Berchman, From Philo to Origen: Middle Platonism in Transition (Chico: Scholars Press, 1984), 27–35. Conf., 145–6. Conf., 145. Conf., 146. Gos. Truth, 38.7. The Christian author of the Gospel was aware of various names ascribed to Jesus by the earliest Christian documents, including Synoptic and Johannine material: e.g. ‘shepherd’ in 32.1 and Mt 18:12–14; Lk 15:4–7; and John 10:11. ⲁϥϣⲱⲡⲉ ⲉϥⲟⲉⲓ ⲛ̄ⲟⲩⲙⲁⲉⲓⲧ· ⲛ̄ⲛⲉⲉⲓ ⲉⲛⲉⲩⲥⲁⲣⲙ̄ ⲁⲩⲱ ⲟⲩⲥⲁⲩⲛⲉ· ⲛ̄ⲛⲉⲉⲓ ⲉⲧⲟⲓ̈ ⲛ̄ⲁⲧⲥⲁⲩⲛⲉ· ⲟⲩϭⲓⲛⲉ ⲛ̄ⲛⲉⲉⲓ ⲉⲛⲉⲩϣⲓⲛⲉ· ⲟⲩⲁϩⲛ· ⲟⲩⲧⲁϫⲣⲟ ⲛ̄ⲛⲉⲉⲓ ⲉⲧⲉⲛⲉⲩⲛⲁⲉⲓⲛ ⲁⲣⲁⲩ ⲟⲩⲙⲛ̄ⲧⲁⲧϫⲱϩⲙ̄ ⲛ̄ⲛⲉⲉⲓ ⲉⲧⲉ ⲛⲉⲩϫⲁϩⲙ̄. Attridge and MacRae, in CGL (1985), vol. XXII, 102–3. Here as well my transcription underlines the poetic feature of the original narrative. For ϫⲱϩⲙ see Walter E. Crum, A Coptic Dictionary (Eugene: Wipf and Stock Publishers, 2005), 797b–798a. And more in Gos. Truth, 33.1–32. More in Giovanni Reale, Storia Della Filosofia Antica: II Platone E Aristotele (Milan: Vita e Pensiero, Pubblicazioni della Università Cattolica, 1988), 7–35, and more recently very helpful discussion by Mary Margaret McCabe, ‘Plato’s Way of Writing’, in the Oxford Handbook of Plato, Gail Fine (ed.) (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2011), 88–113. For an abundance of examples, see Annewies van den Hoek, Clement of Alexandria and His Use of Philo in the Stromateis: An Early Christian Reshaping of a Jewish Model, Supplements to the Vigiliae Christianae, vol. III (Leiden: E.J. Brill, 1988). For Clement’s declaration of the Logos’ incarnation, see, for instance, Protrep., 1.8.4; Strom., 5.34.1; Paed., 3.2.1. However, he gives greater attention to the Logos’

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divinity, see Norman Russell, The Doctrine of Deification in the Greek Patristic Tradition (Oxford Early Christian Studies) (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2004), 137.   95 1 J 2:2.   96 Paed., III.98.1–2 (my translation): διδασκαλεῖον δὲ ἡ ἐκκλησία ἥδε καὶ ὁ νυμφίος ὁ μόνος διδάσκαλος, ἀγαθοῦ πατρὸς ἀγαθὸν βούλημα, σοφία γνήσιος, ἁγίασμα γνώσεως· ‘καὶ αὐτὸς ἱλασμός ἐστι περὶ τῶν ἁμαρτιῶν ἡμῶν’, ὥς φησιν ὁ Ἰωάννης, ὁ ἰώμενος ἡμῶν καὶ σῶμα καὶ ψυχήν, τὸν ὅλον ἄνθρωπον. (99.1–2 (my translation)) Ω ̀ τῆς μακαρίου θρέμματα παιδαγωγίας· τὸ καλὸν τῆς ἐκκλησίας πληρώσωμεν πρόσωπον καὶ πρὸς τὴν ἀγαθὴν προσδράμωμεν οἱ νήπιοι μητέρα, κἂν ἀκροαταὶ τοῦ λόγου γενώμεθα, τὴν μακαρίαν δοξάζωμεν οἰκονομίαν, δι᾿ ἣν παιδαγωγεῖται μὲν ὁ ἄνθρωπος, ἁγιάζεται δὲ ὡς θεοῦ παιδίον, καὶ πολιτεύεται μὲν ἐν οὐρανοῖς ἐπὶ γῆς παιδαγωγούμενος, πατέρα δὲ ἐκεῖ λαμβάνει, ὃν ἐπὶ γῆς μανθάνει. πάντα ὁ λόγος καὶ ποιεῖ καὶ διδάσκει καὶ παιδαγωγεῖ.   97 Gos. Truth, 23.29; 24.20; 36.39; 40.33; 41.13 and 41.29; 43.1 and 43.35.   98 Gos. Truth, 33.5; 42.32.   99 Gos. Truth, 22.12. See NHS, vol. XII (1985), 352. 100 Philo also associated the Sabbath with the number seven (i.e. as the seventh day), which stands for perfection; see Fug. 173–4. On the connection between Sabbath and the number seven, which in Philo’s interpretation means ‘peace’; see Abr., 28. 101 Opif., 103 and 107. 102 See Strom., 6.16.137.2–148.6. Except for the third commandment about the day of rest, each commandment receives a rather limited explanation contained within a couple of lines. However, Clement’s elaboration of the third commandment starts with 6.16.137.4 and goes to 6.16145.7. Clement’s interpretation includes his extended discussion of the nature of the number seven and references to a variety of ancient understandings of this number as being very special. 103 Strom., 6.141.7: Οὐ τοίνυν ὥσπερ τινὲς ὑπολαμβάνουσι τὴν ἀνάπαυσιν τοῦ θεοῦ, πέπαυται ποιῶν ὁ θεός. ‘Αγαθὸς γὰρ ὤ, εἰ παύσεται ποτε ἀγαθοεργῶν, καὶ τοῦ θεοῦ εἶναι παύσεται, ὅπερ οὐδὲ εἰπεῖν θέμις. My translation. 104  ⲡⲉ ⲡⲓⲱⲧ ⲡⲉ ⲡⲉⲉⲓ‧ ⲕⲁⲛ ϩⲛ̄ ⲯⲁⲃⲁⲧⲧⲟⲛ ⲉⲡⲉⲥⲁⲩ ⲛⲧⲁϥϭⲓⲛⲧϥ̄ ⲉⲁϥϩⲁⲉⲓⲉ· ⲁⲡⲓϩⲓⲉⲓⲧ· ⲁϥⲣ̄ ϩⲱⲃ ⲁⲣⲁϥ ⲁϥⲧⲛ̄ϩⲟ ⲙ̄ⲡⲓⲉⲥⲁⲩ ⲉⲁϥⲛⲧϥ̄ ⲁϩⲣⲏⲓ̈ ϩⲛ̄ ⲡⲓϩⲓ̈ⲉⲓⲧ ϫⲉⲕⲁⲥⲉ ⲉⲣⲉⲧⲛⲁⲙ̄ⲙⲉ ⲛ̄ϩⲏⲧ ⲛ̄ⲧⲱⲧⲛ̄ ⲛⲉ ⲛⲓϣⲏⲣⲉ ⲛ̄ⲧⲉ ⲡⲙ̄ⲙⲉ ⲛ̄ϩⲏⲧ ϫⲉ ⲉⲩ ⲡⲉ ⲡⲥⲁⲃⲃⲁⲧⲟⲛ ⲡⲉⲉⲓ ⲉⲧⲉⲙⲉϣϣⲉ ⲛ̄ⲧⲉⲡⲟⲩϫⲉⲉⲓ ⲟⲩⲱⲥϥ̄ ⲛ̄ϩⲏⲧϥ ϫⲉⲕⲁⲥⲉ ⲉⲣⲉⲧⲛ̄ϣⲉϫⲉ ⲁⲃⲁⲗ ϩⲛ̄ ⲡⲓϩⲱⲟⲩ ⲉⲧⲛ̄ϩⲣⲏⲉⲓ ⲡⲉⲉⲓ ⲉⲧⲉ ⲙⲛ̄ⲧⲉϥ ⲟⲩϣⲏ ⲙ̄ⲙⲉⲩ ⲟⲩⲁϩⲛ̄ ⲁⲃⲁⲗ ϩⲙ̄ ⲡⲟⲩⲁⲉⲓⲛ·· ⲉⲧⲉⲙⲁϥϩⲱⲧⲡ̄· ϫⲉ ϥϫⲏⲕ ⲁⲃⲁⲗ ϣⲉϫⲉ ϭⲉ ⲁⲃⲁⲗ ϩⲙ̄ ⲫⲏⲧ ϫⲉ ⲛ̄ⲧⲱⲧⲛ̄ⲛⲉ ⲡⲉ ⲡⲓϩⲱⲟⲩ ⲉⲧϫⲏⲕ ⲁⲃⲁⲗ ⲁⲩⲱ ⲉϥⲟⲩⲏϩ· ϩⲛ̄ ⲧⲏⲛⲉ ⲛ̄ϭⲓ ⲡⲟⲩⲁⲉⲓⲛ· ⲉⲧⲉⲙⲁϥⲱϫⲛ̄. (Attridge and MacRae, in CGL (1985), vol. XXII, 102–3) I will return to the notion of the Sabbath and this passage in a more detailed discussion in Chapters 4.2 and 5.4. 105 Mt 18:12–14 and Lk 15:4–7 in Gos. Truth, 31.35. See more on the ‘Gnostic’ interpretation of the parable about the lost sheep in D. Tum, ‘Egzegeza przypowieści o zagubionej owcy (Lk 15.4–7; Mt 18.12–14) u Ireneusza i gnostyków [= The exegesis of the Parable about the Lost Sheep in Irenaeus’ and Gnostics’ Works]’, SACh, 7 (1986), 173–201.

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4 P TO L E M Y A N D T H E E D U C AT I O N O F F L O R A For the images and the symbols standing in for other things were good before the truth had come; but now that the truth has arrived it is necessary to do things of the truth, not things of the image. Ptolemy (Ep.Fl., 6.5)1

1. Introduction In this chapter I shall explore the Letter to Flora written by Ptolemy, named by his adversaries as a representative of the (Italian/Western)2 Valentinian school.3 In the centre of my research is Flora’s education. I would like to analyse this topic in relation to the following issues as the background for Ptolemy’s didactic. First, I will introduce the content of the Letter and the hermeneutics of the Mosaic Law. The Letter has been studied by many scholars; however, it is important that the reader who has not read current discussion on this document is introduced to the content of Ptolemy’s correspondence. The short Letter is not an uncomplicated communication; on the contrary, it contains a number of triple-divisions of the themes and multiple philosophical/theological characters, such as the creator of the world (e.g. the Demiurge). Still, it shows Ptolemy’s style of exegesis and teaching, as well as – assumed by him – Flora’s ability to follow his instruction and theology. Secondly, I will reconstruct the male–female relationship as reflected in the Letter. I would like to propose a more egalitarian model assumed by Ptolemy in comparison with other Christian instructions of the same time. And, finally, I will discuss the fullness of Christian life as proposed by Ptolemy. All these three aspects of the Letter are interrelated, and in my discussion I will illustrate their interdependence. The Letter to Flora is preserved exclusively by Epiphanius of Salamis (c.315–403 ce).4 It offers a female disciple a genuine introduction to the complexity of Ptolemy’s exegesis and theology. The Letter focuses on the value of the commandments (the Decalogue) in the Old Testament, and argues for a proper assessment of their importance in the Christian context, as understood by Ptolemy. However, the significance of the Letter is greater than if it were simply an interpretation of the biblical commandments or a tutorial in an academic exegesis. The Letter, as we shall see, teaches Flora about the creator of this world

80 DOI: 10.4324/9781003181095-5

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and the many authors of the Laws, and comments on the Saviour’s revelation of his Father, and delivers her from ignorance. As Ptolemy was an intelligent teacher, he combines three levels in his didactic: exegetical, metaphysical, and theological. Ptolemy’s Letter introduces Flora to a new insight into her Christian existence without fear of evil powers (such as daemons, or fate), without shame, or dread of her own female nature, and without any emphasis on ‘sin’.5 It also responds to her intellectual quest and spiritual aspiration as a Christian woman. According to Ptolemy’s promise, in the next stage of her education Flora will learn more about the nature of the visible world and the Absolute. As we shall see, Ptolemy welcomes her to his theological and religious milieu on an equal footing with other students. At the beginning it is important to introduce the author: Ptolemy. Justin Martyr refers to a certain ‘Ptolemy’s as a Christian teacher who was martyred in Rome when Urbicus was the prefect of the city (144–60 ce).6 According to Justin Martyr, that Ptolemy was the tutor of a Roman woman who, when she became a Christian, wished to divorce her husband. The subject of divorce appears also in the Letter to Flora.7 Some modern scholars identify Justin Martyr’s Ptolemy as the author of the Letter to Flora (Lüdemann, Lampe, Moll, Dunderberg, Rasimus),8 while others remain sceptical (Markschies, Thomassen).9 I am aware of Rasimus’ collection of seven arguments for the identification of Ptolemy, the author of the Letter, with the Christian martyr named by Justin Martyr. In my forthcoming discussion, I am keen on identifying this Ptolemy as the author of the Letter. I think that the content of the Letter, the clear reference to divorce with possibly Mt 19:3–9 in mind,10 responds to the dramatic circumstances of Flora’s marriage, as hinted by Justin Martyr’s report. Also, the place of Ptolemy’s activity (Rome) and the timespan of Ptolemy’s life close to Justin’s activity in the same city make it very likely that we are dealing with the same Christian teacher and the same family conflict. The second source of information about Ptolemy is Irenaeus of Lyons, who wrote later than Justin, around 180 ce of the second century. The Preface to the first book of his treatise against heresies (Adversus Haereses) identifies ‘Valentinians’ with the followers of a certain Ptolemy.11 He is portrayed by Irenaeus as the main opponent of Irenaeus’ teaching, and as the important disciple of Valentinus. Yet, Irenaeus’ report of the details of the myth taught by Ptolemy shows discrepancies. As rightly noted by Thomassen,12 the version in the early report contradicts what Irenaeus is saying in another place.13 For our discussion, the vital question is: can we assume that Ptolemy from Irenaeus’ testimony is the same person who wrote the Letter to Flora? Modern scholars identify these two characters. Still, we need to be aware that Irenaeus’ information focuses on cosmological speculations ascribed to Ptolemy, and does not mention any of his didactic letters. As we shall see, the Letter to Flora, on the other hand, gives full attention to exegesis of the certain passages from the Scriptures and does not hint at any myths or speculative cosmology which underpinned that exegesis. As I am focusing on the Letter, I will leave the discussion on that relationship between

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the identity of the author of the Letter and Irenaeus’ Ptolemy outside of my argument. Now we turn to the document itself. The Letter to Flora is written as an instruction and exhortation, but it demonstrates the literary skills and elaborate composition of its author.14 The Letter does not explain who Moses was, what the Decalogue is or how to understand the Christian Saviour. These, and other basic elements of catechesis, must have been known to Flora. Therefore, in my view, the Letter stands for the middle stage of Ptolemy’s teaching: it is based on a general familiarity with Christianity, and also leads towards more advanced theology. At the end, Ptolemy promises Flora further teaching and deeper knowledge. The copy of the Letter preserved by Epiphanius seems to be a genuine document, but it is more than friendly correspondence to an absent addressee. The Letter is a philosophical communication written as a rhetorical exhortation to a Christian way of life. It addresses an individual female student. We know a number of similar moral letters written by Seneca to Lucillus,15 or Epicurus to his mother.16 A century later, Porphyry of Tyre, Plotinus’ disciple, would write a comparable Letter to Marcella, his wife. This exhortation reflected a different Neoplatonic worldview.17 Our document belongs to a spectrum of sapiential communication which addresses specific questions raised by, in our case, a female student. Ptolemy uses gender-related symbols (such as ‘fertile soil’) in which he hopes to plant the correct type of ‘seed’ (teaching).18 There is no evidence to suggest that Ptolemy wanted his correspondence with Flora to reach more disciples; neither can it be concluded that Flora was his favourite follower. Ptolemy may have written similar letters to other male and female students, guiding them on the way to fullness of life. In the context of this study, the Letter is a valuable textbook, which presents an important approach to the tutoring of women, even if it addresses a singular reader and disciple. Flora’s name is mentioned only twice in the Letter, first in the opening sentence (Ep.Fl., 3.1), then in its conclusion (Ep.Fl., 7.10). In the opening section, Ptolemy calls her ‘my noble sister Flora’ (Ep.Fl., 3.1: ἀδελφή μου καλὴ Φλώρα). I am convinced that Flora was a real Christian woman, not a fictional character or a metaphor of the Church. She was educated, it being assumed that she would not only read the Letter but also comprehend its complexity. She also had some knowledge of the Scriptures and Mosaic Law. Possibly, she was familiar with some Platonic notions, which we will discuss later in the chapter. As we have noted, the Letter mentions the issue of divorce (Ep.Fl., 4.4).19 Roman law allowed wives (or her paterfamilias) to decide whether to end their marriages (affection maritalis).20 Ptolemy’s intention was to initiate Flora into his interpretation of the Scriptures and thence into his broader outlook (theology), where her existential dilemma might receive a new theological insight. He shared his philosophical outlook on the status of reality (visible and invisible), as well as teaching Flora about a very pragmatic approach to the moral and cultic rules offered by the Jewish and Christian traditions. Ptolemy seemed to believe that theory (theology) and practice (ethics) had to be integrated into the life of Flora, here his student. The hermeneutical link or intellectual bridge between these two dimensions 82

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(theory and practice) seems to be based on the correct exegesis of the Scriptures. If that orthopraxis leads to the realisation of Flora’s moral, intellectual and spiritual potential, it is right to qualify this document as yet another example of guidance given to a follower. Although the Letter is dedicated mainly to an exegetical concern, its content does not reveal any specific anthropological assumptions, such as the nature of women or the origin of their existence. Still it discloses an original insight into the understanding of Christian life. Will our examination of Ptolemy’s teaching place him, and possibly even Flora, outside of mainstream theological and exegetical reflections that we find in other contemporary Christian commentators dealing with the value of Jewish Law for a new ethical outlook? Nicola Denzey Lewis emphasises a very important characteristic of the religious background on which I would like to place Ptolemy’s teaching: It is yet too early to speak of ‘Christianity’ in the second century of the Roman Empire. What we see instead is a diverse, fissiparous religious landscape of Christians – surprisingly difficult to identify as cohesive groups or communities, but easier to see as independent, itinerant individuals with followings, patrons, and sometimes confrontational or unsuccessful relationships with more settled ‘communities’ of Christian believers, perhaps organized into relatively loose study circles or ‘schools’ rather than churches or assemblies.21 Indeed, Ptolemy’s voice and didactic sounds within that polyphony of Christian voices, which is not strictly affiliated with one specific ‘Valentinian’ tradition.

2. The content of the Letter and sapiential hermeneutics of the Law Ptolemy’s Letter provides not an easy, but an intricate teaching about the value of the certain commandments from the Decalogue to a Christian life. It is a complex introduction to a specific understanding of the authorship and importance of some of the laws. Ptolemy’s interpretation does not come up as a unique or unparalleled subject of instruction by a Christian teacher. As various Christian groups removed themselves from the earlier Jewish intellectual settings and exegesis, they needed to address the issue of a new Christian identity and propose a different comprehension of the Jewish legacy from the Old Testament. The question of a correct approach to the commandments, in particular, or generally the value of the Mosaic Laws, was important to various second-century Christian commentators. We know, for instance, that Marcion of Synope, active in Rome, had highly negative views on the Mosaic Law,22 while Clement of Alexandria reinterpreted it in his Gnostic, allegorical exegesis.23 The value of the Law appears as a subject of debate between Justin Martyr and a Jewish teacher Trypho.24 The meaning of the Law is reinterpreted in the Letter of Barnabas.25 The true meaning of the Sabbath comes as a subject of a short commentary in the Gospel of Thomas.26 83

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In the case of the Letter, it is possible that Ptolemy tried to answer a query, or even number of questions from Flora about the authorship of the Decalogue and value of the commandments for her Christian life. The quotations and references to the Christian Scriptures,27 as we see in the Letter, assume Flora’s familiarity with Christian revelation. She must have been a Christian for some time, and was now receiving further education. In this case Ptolemy shows his stance as a Christian teacher and interpreter on Mosaic Law. Unlike some Jewish commentators, including Philo of Alexandria,28 Ptolemy did not accept that only through symbolic (allegorical) interpretation of Jewish Law could its significance be reaffirmed in the Christian context.29 He also admitted that the Creator/Demiurge (ὁ δημιυργός)30 was the author of the Law but, unlike other Christians (here Marcion),31 Ptolemy believed that the Demiurge was not evil. I would like to point out briefly at this point that the role of the Demiurge in Ptolemy’s Letter is quite similar to that found in Excerpts from Theodotus.32 In both sources, the Demiurge is not divine, like the Saviour and his Father, but he plays the role of an architect and builder, he brings the current world into existence. As such he is a positive character, a helper and carer of the current world. This view is not originally Christian. Numenius of Apamea, a Neopythagorean philosopher of the same period, entertained exactly the same idea of the good Demiurge, the creator of the world and the Lawgiver (ὁ νομοθέτης).33 The role of the Demiurge as proposed by Numenius is parallel to that found in Excerpts and Letter. It shows that they acknowledge the positive value of the current world, which is made with good intention by a good creator. Still, this creator is not, for all three authors, the ultimate Absolute. At this point we may ask the further question: why did Ptolemy and other Christians expand the role of the Demiurge into Christian theology, when the character is hardly known from the Scriptures?34 This question can be answered on two levels. First, the creation of the current world was still open to many interpretations – Marcion, for instance, proposed his negative interpretation. Secondly, the theology of salvation and the role of Saviour was equally open to various scenarios. In the case of asking why this world is not perfect if it was created by a perfect Absolute, the role of the Demiurge provides a logical answer: it is the best possible place as created by a good-natured power, but not perfect because the Demiurge was not divine. His main role was to create the visible material world; as such his role is different from the Saviour, who is the Redeemer.35 For Ptolemy, the Demiurge – as earlier in Timaeus – made the current world with the best of intentions given his capacity. Ptolemy uses the character of the Demiurge to explain to Flora three sources of the Law. This is one of Ptolemy’s very important statements: For if this law was not established by the Perfect God himself, as we have taught, or by the devil, a notion that is not permitted by God to speak, the one who established the law is someone other than these two.

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[7.4] Thus he is creator and maker (οὗτος δὲ δημιουργὸς καὶ ποιητὴς) of the whole universe and everything within it, and since he is different than these two in essence, occupying a place between them, he ought fittingly also to be called ‘the intermediate’. (Ep.Fl., 7.3–4)36 With that important distinction, Ptolemy comments on which parts of the Law belong to each of three authors. This vital tripartition aimed to avoid error and ignorance, even idolatry, while providing Flora with guidance as to the meaning of the commandments. It avoided two, in Ptolemy’s view, extremes: one to condemn and reject all commandments as the product of a malicious Jewish God (Marcion), and the second, to treat them all as the outcome of the same God, the Father of the Saviour. Ptolemy was aware of those two popular interpretations of the Law among contemporary Christians in Rome, and each one of them led, in his view, to false conclusions and moral errors. Let’s look closer at these two proposals. One interpretation of the Law assumed that its author was the same God as revealed by Jesus – the Saviour. This stance was represented by the theologians as Justin Martyr.37 If so, Christians must be obliged to keep those commandments. But Ptolemy already knew that the Apostle Paul would oppose that view, as Paul, for instance, challenged the value of circumcision of the Gentiles.38 The second view, equally wrong according to Ptolemy, was that the author of the Law was the evil one, who also created the visible universe.39 This opinion seems to point to another group of Christians, sometimes identified by scholars as the circle close to Marcion of Sinope. Having simplified for Flora’s sake two contrasting beliefs, Ptolemy offered a third option: his solution. In his view the Law of Moses did not have two sources, but three.40 Distinguishing between the three sources would therefore lead to a proper understanding, to moral conduct and ultimately to wisdom. There is thus 1/ the part of the Law spoken by the just Demiurge/Creator, but equally 2/ there is a part pronounced by Moses, and 3/ there are commandments ordered by the Jewish leaders.41 This original tripartition leads Ptolemy to observe that Jewish Law consisted of the original divine guidance/commandments and two later modifications, one by Moses and the second by the Jewish elders.42 To illustrate his point, Ptolemy recalls Jesus’ teaching on divorce43 when Jesus rejects Moses’ modification (Deut 24:1). It is clear that Moses’ approval of divorce in certain conditions was against the original divine intention (Gen 2:24). However, Ptolemy does not undermine Moses’ authority overall, but rather notes the complexity of his position as he opposed the Jewish elders and chose the ‘lesser evil’ (ἧττον κακὸν).44 Any disciple such as Flora, who wishes to discover the most important and genuine divine commandments, therefore has to bear in mind these three sources of commandments. In order that Flora may be aware of the differences between the sources, Ptolemy points to three parts of the Law. The first part, the Decalogue, refers to

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legislation45 and is the collection of the noblest commandments. Secondly, the Laws, which produce injustice as they spring from revenge, and were abolished by the Saviour.46 Finally, the Laws related to the cult,47 which became transformed into spiritual observances such as sacrifices, circumcision and the obligation to celebrate the Sabbath.48 The third kind of Law has a very important significance to Ptolemy as it tells Christians the correct way to live. In brief, it leads to wisdom. Ptolemy’s pedagogy tries to persuade Flora that this third type of Jewish Law, or the symbolic approach to the meaning of Law, provides her with the model for living that will lead her to immortality. For instance, instead of the slaughter of animals, a Christian should offer ‘spiritual sacrifice’ to the invisible Perfect God. That perfect sacrifice includes spiritual praise and glorification, but also influences relationships with other people by acts of ‘fellowship and benefaction’ to their neighbours.49 As to circumcision, Ptolemy proposes circumcision of the heart,50 while the celebration of the Sabbath should lead to the rejection of any evil acts.51 Fasting, another practice prescribed by Law, is now understood in a spiritual way and is connected with the true nature of the Sabbath: abstinence from evil acts.52 With these instructions Flora is ready for the next stage of her education, which I will discuss in the fourth part of this chapter. Before that, however, I would like to look more carefully at the relationship between Ptolemy the teacher and Flora the female student.

3. The relationship: Male teacher – female student Ptolemy, at the beginning of his Letter, addresses Flora as his ‘noble/good sister’ (ἀδελφή μου καλὴ Φλώρα in 3.1). The same familiar, personal and warm designation closes Ptolemy’s the Letter (7.10). The terminology relates to the relationship between siblings, highlighting their spiritual proximity and that they share the same ‘parents’ or family origin. Ptolemy did not use the ‘father–child’ model as a symbol for the connection between the teacher and his student, unlike, for example, the Jewish authors of the Wisdom literature or deutero-Pauline teaching.53 He therefore replaces a hierarchical model (the father–offspring relationship) with a more egalitarian relationship (brother–sister). This may have been a deliberately formulated ideal to highlight the ethos of Ptolemy’s own Christian milieu. Another important aspect of the Letter comes from the fact that it is written to a female reader who wishes to know more about exegesis and theology. In the context of anti-heretical polemic,54 this sort of correspondence and relationship might have been used to discredit both Ptolemy and Flora. However, there seems to be no reason to imagine that Flora was the only female disciple among Ptolemy’s followers. Sociological observations about the active roles of women in early Christian communities,55 as well as evidence from Plotinus’ later mixed-gender society in Rome,56 lead us to the conclusion that there were other women interested in philosophical and theological doctrines and that Ptolemy was only one of many teachers active in Rome. The female members of Ptolemy’s school, if there was 86

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‘a philosophical school’,57 were introduced to Christian life through rituals such as baptism, the Eucharist and anointment, and then progressed in knowledge and wisdom in parallel to their male counterparts.58 Although our document is written by a male author to a female disciple, I do not believe that only male teachers were leaders (active), or that female students were taught (passive), silent, and subordinate members of the audience in the Roman milieu. Existing literary evidence from, for instance, Paul’s Letter to Romans suggests the opposite. There is already substantial proof that women were active, either with their husbands or in their own right as leaders, in the first phase of the Christian mission in Rome.59 Their role did not disappear with the next generation of the Christian community there, although it was not welcomed by representatives of the emerging Catholic community.60 Still, women continued to be involved in teaching and missionary work in the second century too. We can clearly see in the Letter that Ptolemy treats Flora like an intellectual partner. Ptolemy’s teaching does not suggest that, as a woman, Flora has an inferior status as long as she continues to live according to her female nature and for instance begets children.61 Neither, like Tertullian, does he propose that she must be obedient to her father or any male partner and behave in a traditional submissive way.62 If this approach really reflects Ptolemy’s egalitarian inclination, that policy certainly caught the attention of his theological opponents and brought criticism. The polemists such as Irenaeus of Lyons, Clement of Alexandria and, later, Epiphanius of Salamis, tried to convince their readers that, among ‘heretics’, the relationship between men and women was in disorder either as a result of sexual excess or extreme asceticism.63 The polemists even established that a connection between theological error/heresy and moral/sexual anarchy seemed to be a corpus delicti in polemic. At the centre of that interconnected theological and moral anarchy were, as the critics pointed out, female characters and their treacherous sexuality.64 If Ptolemy was aware of that polemical tendency and rhetorical construction, still he wished to write to the new female disciple even if his opponents could use it as ‘a proof’ of relationship between heretic teachers and a naïve female disciple. In order to better understand Ptolemy’s approach to teaching Flora, it is important to recall Tertullian’s critique of certain practices among his fellow Christians tagged by him as ‘heretics’. Tertullian, with highly decisive disapproval, noted ‘egalitarianism’ as a symptom of heresy: To begin with, it is unclear who [among them – P. A.-S.] is a catechumen, and who has been baptised. They come together, they listen together, and they pray together. That practice even includes pagans, if any of them come to the meeting. Holy things they throw to the dogs, while pearls to the swine, not that they have them [i.e. holy things – here the sacraments – P.A.-S.]. Simplicity [among them] consists of rejection of discipline and righteousness; while our respect for it, they call affectation. They share peace with everyone and everywhere; they are not concerned about 87

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differences in their views as long as they may conspire together to attack the truth. They are all swollen with pride, all would offer you knowledge. Their catechumens are perfect even before they are instructed. As for their women – how shameless they are! They have the impudence to teach, to dispute, to perform exorcisms, to cure, even to baptise. Their ordinations are carelessly administered, irresponsible and changeable. Sometimes they appoint a novice; other times those who are attached to secular office; yet on another occasion persons who have apostatised from us to bind them by ambition as they cannot be connected by the truth. Nowhere can you be more quickly promoted than in the camp of the rebels, where your mere presence among them is already a merit. Today one man is bishop, another man will be tomorrow. Today one is a deacon, while tomorrow he will be a reader. Today one is a presbyter and tomorrow he will be a layman. Even laypeople perform the ministry of presbyters.65 Using this powerful, rhetorical weaponry against his opponents, Tertullian does not accuse the adversaries in this passage of any moral or sexual wrongdoing, such as illicit sexual behaviour. This silentio shows that, among ‘heretics’, there were also some communities where the relationship between men and women appeared, at least in this case of Tertullian, ‘accepted’. Ptolemy’s milieu may have been one of those who had an ‘accepted’ ethos of co-existence between male teachers and female disciples. Further, education in various Christian schools included interpretation of the Old and emerging New Testament, with possible use of the allegorical method, as we can clearly see from the Letter to Flora. Radical critics of Ptolemy, such as Irenaeus of Lyons and Tertullian of Carthage, presented him as a teacher working within ‘a school of thought’ (διδάσκαλεῖον).66 As we know from non-Christian but Stoic and Neoplatonic models of a school, in the centre of education was the relationship between the teachers, often spiritual guides, and the disciples.67 The close disciples of a teacher mingled with those who were new or as yet undecided. Among those committed disciples we could distinguish some who were more and less advanced.68 That model, in my view, offers a proper context for the emergence of Ptolemy’s Letter. I accept that Ptolemy’s followers used ordinary, private houses for their activities. In these premises, which formed an intellectual and spiritual base, men and women alike received the necessary teaching, which included textual interpretation and various elements of philosophy and Christian theology as well as ethics. They would celebrate the Eucharist, in many liturgical versions, as well as practice other Christian rituals. The structure of these communities of learning assimilated the already established pattern of the Graeco-Roman household (οἶκος)69 adopted by earlier generations of Christians in Rome.70 To sum up this section, I would like to emphasise that although Ptolemy’s Letter does not discuss at any length the issue of gender relations in his community, the tone of his instruction clearly shows respect for Flora as a woman, and reveals 88

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some degree of partnership between the teacher and his female disciple. I do not find any evidence that this attitude is unique to Ptolemy and it could be a feature of, for instance, non-Christian philosophical and religious groups in Rome.71 However, Ptolemy’s warm, positive approach gives attentiveness to the individual female disciple and her concerns, and stands out as an expression of great attention and care given to a pupil at least by this one teacher. Flora is not patronised by Ptolemy’s message, nor is there any sign of domination or ideological (or selective) use of the Scriptures to retrain Flora’s life. As Ptolemy’s disciple, she is encouraged to see herself as an adept woman who is able to gain wisdom. On a larger scale, as we have looked at some polemic with ‘heretical’ practices, Ptolemy’s address shows a glimpse of an attitude that might lead to providing women with greater independence from control and supervision by male teachers. If she was able to understand Ptolemy’s initial instruction, she could make up her mind which commandments are the most important and helpful in reaching for a fullness of her Christian life.

4. Fullness of Christian life without ignorance and confusion In the first part of the chapter, I carefully explained the nuances of Ptolemy’s views of the Decalogue and then their practical religious outcome. Ptolemy offers Flora a new self-understanding as a Christian woman. Unlike in the case of other contemporaneous Christians, her life can now be free from ignorance (ἄγνοια),72 fear, and confusion. She can understand better the role of the good Creator/ Demiurge and Lawgiver. She can also recognize the role of the Saviour. At this point she is ready for the next significant stage in education: proper and fuller knowledge about the Perfect God, the Father (ὁ τέλειος θεός καὶ πατήρ).73 As stressed by Ptolemy, the Perfect God, the Saviour’s Father, is not the creator of the current world.74 We see in Quispel’s index75 that there are a number of occasions when Ptolemy uses the term ‘God’ (θέος); however, careful reading of all occurrences show that Ptolemy made a distinction between ‘God the Father’ (ὑπὸ τοῦ θεοῦ καὶ πατρὸς)76 or ‘Perfect God and Father’ (ὑπὸ τοῦ τελείου θεοῦ καὶ πατρὸς)77 and ‘God of justice’ (τὸν τῆς δικαιοσύνης θεόν).78 The former is revealed by the Saviour,79 the latter can be recognised in this the world and as the author of some commandments. This is the climax of the education in the Letter, which introduces Flora to Ptolemy’s theology. But proper understanding of that teaching has a significant impact on way of life, removing ignorance and freeing the reader from the wrong worship of the creator. Let’s explore these consequences further. In the epilogue, Ptolemy expresses his hopes, and hints at the next stage of education: For, God80 willing, you shall later learn about their origin and generation, once you have been deemed worthy of the apostolic tradition, which we 89

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also have received by succession, and we too are able to guarantee the authority of all our words by the teaching of our Savior. [7.10] By offering you these brief teachings, my sister Flora, I have not become fatigued; and I have at once written about this matter concisely, and I have disclosed a sufficient amount, which also in the future will contribute to you greatly, if, like a beautiful and good soil receiving fertile seeds, you bring forth their fruit (ἐάν γε ὡς καλὴ γῆ καὶ ἀγαθὴ γονίμων σπερμάτων τυχοῦσα τὸν δι̉ αὐτῶν καρπὸν ἀναδείξῃς). (Ep.Fl., 7.9–10)81 This very personal and even poetic conclusion shows the nature of learning (μάθησις) offered by Ptolemy’s (here, ‘our’) teaching (ἡμῶν διδασκαλίᾳ) and guidance. The core of learning is about a proper understanding of who is divine (theology) as well as moral conduct (ethics) and religious life (worship). These in turn lead gradually to the next phase of education and a righteous life. The metaphor of ‘the beautiful and good soil’ (καλὴ γῆ καὶ ἀγαθὴ), which is also noted in Clement of Alexandria’s pedagogy,82 symbolises the potential of the disciple, here Flora. She is ready to receive further instruction. Denise Kimber Buell, although in relation to Clement of Alexandria’s didactic, rightly points out the role of ‘procreation’ – that is, passing on the knowledge to the pupil by his or her teacher – also as ‘sowing seeds’.83 I am inclined to accept that a similar didactic underpins Ptolemy’s language and intention. According to Ptolemy’s rhetoric, the ‘seed’ of teaching is carefully planted in Flora’s ‘soil’: that is, in her mind and soul. Then, only if proper care is given, the seed grows and flourishes within the woman’s inner life, which must affect her outer actions. The desired integrity of life assumes that all moral actions reflect an inner, correct disposition and way of thinking. This spiritual and intellectual epitome proposed by Ptolemy does not seem to be his own invention. Ptolemy emphasises that Flora’s ethical and intellectual advancement is not an isolated and accidental phenomenon of a new awareness, but belongs to the same linear tradition in which Ptolemy participates and which originates in ‘the Apostolic tradition’ (ἀποστολικὴ παράδοσις). Clearly Ptolemy does not see himself as an originator of a new Christian teaching, or even as a close follower of Valentinus. He points to ‘the Apostolic tradition’, which must refer to the revelation originating in the Saviour’s teaching and commemoration of that in the Christian Scriptures. Flora is thus welcome to join that ancient tradition and, just as she now receives the seed, one day she will pass the fruits to others.84 Ptolemy’s project to guide and lead women is deeply rooted in the idea of transformation of the mind from a previous lack of knowledge to a new and better self-understanding. It begins with a correct exegesis, then turns to the correct perception and comprehension of all elements of Christian life, such as worship and the relationship with this world and other people. Ultimately, it ends with the correct theology of the Perfect God, who is above any other spiritual beings and who is synonymous with goodness. The recommended style of 90

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life liberates Christians from ignorance and error. Ptolemy highlights that his programme comes directly from the Saviour’s teaching via the apostles, and that it is not his invention. The Letter clearly shows at least two stages of education in Ptolemy’s school. The first, to which Flora has been introduced, responded to a question or issues (divorce? moral dilemma?) she posed, but used the queries as a reason to explain the general outlook of the theology. The second stage would be more advanced teaching, which included the issue of the origin of all reality, avoiding confusion about the true God and a good Creator. Ptolemy saw Flora as a worthy disciple who could be instructed in the full, accessible knowledge of reality. She was accepted into an inclusive tradition to which her teacher belonged. The Letter is not a purely rhetorical and intellectual exercise to stimulate Flora’s intellect. The Letter suggests some practical ways of dealing with the Jewish and Christian approach to the complexity of regulations and observations that influence an individual’s life, such as fasting, and marriage, separation, or even divorce. Finally, it encourages an ethical effort to live in harmony with others, first here on earth, but also lifting up the mind towards the greater cosmological richness of spiritual beings. Ptolemy’s epistolary initiation gives Flora a new self-understanding, which includes the essential ethical and intellectual transformation. Ethical life included guidance on emotions, while the intellectual outlook promoted a view of this world without ignorance. This recommended ethos would liberate Flora from unnecessary attachments, illusions, grief, and anxiety. The Letter encourages Flora to believe she should be aware of the origin of this world. Ptolemy’s pedagogy leads the female disciple to the confidence that the Creator-Demiurge, the one who rules the current world, is not an evil tyrant, but is also not the Perfect God or the Saviour. He is a righteous guardian. The Letter does not promote any form of pessimism about the current reality, nor does it encourage abandonment or escapism. Thus, Ptolemy’s school is not linked to the dualism endorsed by other Christian schools, such as for instance Marcion and his followers. On the contrary, the Letter offers Flora a great degree of balance in its assessment of two realities: the visible, material one and the invisible, spiritual one. This theological outline, which requires critical thinking, a proper religiosity and moral maturity, enables Flora to hold on to the distinction between different aspects of visible and invisible realities and their rulers. If Flora was a Roman matron as in Justin’s account,85 who decided to join Ptolemy’s school against her husband’s will, the Letter gave her strong support to do so. The letter provided Flora with an introduction to a new outlook on the nature of Biblical Laws and customs known to her from the Old Testament and possibly general familiarity with (Middle) Platonism. But the correspondence hinted at something much more important than teaching Flora new exegetical skills or even supporting her in her desire to divorce her husband. Ptolemy’s correspondence persuades Flora to continue her quest for greater knowledge about ‘the Perfect God’. This appeal opens a new perspective for Flora. Ptolemy’s 91

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initial instruction appears to have minimal interest in Christology. Neither does it express any particular concerns about women’s weaker nature, the greater attachment to sense-perception (Philo), Eve’s role in the fall (Paul) or the ‘danger’ of feminine sexuality (Tertullian). As a woman, Flora is encouraged to be active, to take her life in her hands and to care for her religious (theological) knowledge and growth in wisdom. She is empowered by Ptolemy’s rhetorical message to be fully engaged in her journey to God, but that journey does not require any specific means such as sacraments, worship or ascetic practices. Flora may see herself not as a passive, silent recipient of a revelation, but as an active, creative co-worker with God’s grace. She may pass on her knowledge and experience to others. Ptolemy’s appeal does not suggest that Flora should act in a masculine way (for example, change her appearance, cut her hair);86 her femininity will not suffer from participation in Ptolemy’s school. We may be suspicious that Ptolemy’s tone and rhetoric were intended to replace Flora’s submission to her (former) husband with a new form of submission, this time to a Christian teacher. Without further evidence about Ptolemy’s character and Flora’s life, we are unable to address this suspicion, but the Letter leaves Flora with the power to make her own decision. It is likely that the differences between genders were less important to Ptolemy; his focus was on the quality of the soul and mind (both male and female), which could then be guided to reach immortality. The Letter conveys a remarkable, warm and personal tone. As with Paul, who particularly praises his female co-workers in his Letter to the Romans (16:1–27), Flora is greeted with a very personal gratitude and respect. Ptolemy’s school may have preserved in its ethos some Pauline elements of openness to women. But I am also convinced that this school was inspired by the Roman Stoic ethos in its attitude of friendship to other people, including women, as all human beings possess the rational faculty. The intellectual atmosphere of Rome was still strong during Ptolemy’s lifetime and reflected the philosophical and ethical legacy of Seneca, Musonius Rufus and Epictetus and their emphasis on friendship within the community of tutors and disciples. This influenced the tone clearly noted in the Letter to Flora, showing respect for the recipient, an inclusive attitude to women and the sharing of knowledge without reservation and for the common good. Ptolemy, the Christian tutor, added his original theological contribution about the Ultimate God. In the light of the Letter, Flora emerges as an intelligent female disciple, who wishes to know more about the genuine Christian way of life and asks some important questions. Flora was caught up in that inter-Christian conflict of hermeneutics and theologies. Could she be safe from error, gain wisdom and live her life free from fears raised by erroneous exegesis and theology? Ptolemy provided her with an affirmative answer. It is also important to note that, contrary to the beliefs of some fellow Christian critics of Ptolemy, the Letter does not suggest Flora should pursue any ‘esoteric knowledge’. Ptolemy does not tell her that she should keep his teaching private or secret. It is thus evident that, at least in the case of Ptolemy, determinism or 92

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pre-election (‘race saved by nature’) is not part of the teaching.87 However, the accusation of determinism can be understood in the context of rhetorical polemic and competition between various Christian schools. Another cultural assumption about women also needs to be corrected in the light of this document. Flora is not encouraged to be a ‘silent witness’ or an ‘intellectual recluse’ within her household. No particular sphere of life, public or private, is promoted as more appropriate for her. These characteristics of Ptolemy’s teaching lead me to believe that the style of communication he used in the Letter reflect particular features of his milieu.88 This type of Christianity is seen as appealing to women with particular intellectual abilities and aspirations in a similar way to the teachings of Stoic (Seneca, Epictetus, Musonius Rufus) and later Neoplatonic (Plotinus) teachers in Rome.89 Looking at the broader context of Ptolemy’s theology and exegesis of the Scriptures, we may note that the invisible reality has priority over the visible (literal) narrative or socio-historical context. Ptolemy’s theology emphasises the axiom of one God who is not, however, the policy-maker of current regulations and legal norms. That Perfect God left room for the Demiurge to make the arrangements for this current world, including legal obligations. The theology of the Letter may also include the crucial distinction between the private and public spheres of life recommended to men or women. Ptolemy’s theology of the Perfect God, as opposed to the theology of the Demiurge, may have helped disciples like Flora to understand the proper role and limits of the biblical commandments such as those on marriage and divorce, and the role and limits of rituals and ascetic practices. Christian maturity, in Ptolemy’s exposition, was not about slavish, fearful obedience, but rather about awareness of the origin and function of the commandments. Women, like Flora, were not restricted by that knowledge. The lesson from the Letter enabled Flora to guard against idolatry (worship of the wrong spiritual being, here the Demiurge) and errors in interpretation of the Scriptures.

5. Conclusion Ptolemy’s Letter and instruction provided Flora with greater knowledge about the origin of the visible world, the role of the Saviour and the initial step towards, as Ptolemy saw it, ‘correct’ interpretations of the Scriptures. This education was given through careful explanation of the different and complex authorships of the Law and their significance for Christian life. Its tone and style left Flora ample space for a personal assimilation of the Christian outlook and provided her ethical life with space to express her faith. Ptolemy treated Flora as a younger partner or sister, not as a believer of a lower intellectual potential and spiritual rank. No limits were imposed on Flora: no determinism by fate or astrology, no predestination or confines placed on her because of her female nature, can be seen in this document. Flora’s intellectual potential was clearly acknowledged, and her sexuality and feminine nature were left unchallenged by her theological tutor. She 93

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was guided towards the next stage of Christian education and in time towards the fullness of life, where she might be a fertile soil and in turn produce spiritual fruits to enrich others.

Notes 1 Αἱ γὰρ εἰκόνες καὶ τὰ σύμβολα παραστατικὰ ὄντα ἑτέρων πραγμάτων καλῶς ἐγίνοντο μέχρι μὴ παρῆν ἡ ἀλήθεια· παρούσης δὲ τῆς ἀληθείας τὰ τῆς ἀληθείας δεῖ ποιεῖν, οὐ τὰ τῆς εἰκόνος. The Greek text and its English translation follow Geoffrey S. Smith, Valentinian Christianity: Text and Translations (Oakland: University of California Press, 2020), 18–29, here 26–7. I am aware of Bradley K. Storin’s recent translation, ‘Ptolemy, Letter to Flora’, in The Cambridge Edition of Early Christian Writings, vol. 1, Andrew RaddeGallwitz (ed.) (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2017), 3–10. On many occasions I have consulted Gilles Quispel, Ptolémée Lettre a Flora, SC 24 (Paris: Les Éditions du Cerf, 1966). 2 Refutatio, VI.35.6. 3 Irenaeus, AH., I Pref. 2; Tertullian, Adv. Val., 4.2–4. 4 Pan. 33.3.1–7.10. There is a recently updated edition of Epiphanius’ work by ChristianFriedrich Collatz and Marc Bergermann, Epiphanius I: Ancoratus und Panarion haer. 1–33 (GCS N.F. 10/1–2) (Berlin: de Gruyter, 2013), more in Joseph Verheyden, ‘Attempting the Impossible? Ptolemy’s Letter to Flora as Counter-Narrative’, in Telling the Christian Story Differently: Counter-Narratives from Nag Hammadi and Beyond, Francis Watson and Sarah Parkhouse (eds) (London: T&T Clark, 2020), 95–120, especially 98–9. 5 This is a very important notion, so vital to Pauline theology of redemption (e.g. Rom 5:12–21; 1 Cor 15:22), also significant to the Hermas, Man., 4.3.1–7; the Ep.Barn, 5.1; 12.5; Justin Martyr Dial., 95.1; 1 Apol., 61.10); Irenaeus of Lyon (Dem. 16, AH., 3.18.1; 4.23.1; 5.21.3), Tertullian of Carthage (Carn. 16; An., 40). 6 2 Apol., 2. See discussion of Justin’s story by Robert Grant, ‘A Woman of Rome: The Matron in Justin, 2 Apology 2.1–9’ ChH, 54.4 (1985), 461–72; Kate Cooper, The Virgin and the Bride: Idealized Womanhood in Late Antiquity (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1996), 62; Carolyn Osiek and Margaret Y. MacDonald, A Woman’s Place: House Churches in Earliest Christianity (Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 2005), 42–5. 7 Ep.Fl., 4.4. Ross Shepard Kraemer questions the reliability of Justin’s report, in her Unreliable Witnesses: Religion, Gender and History in the Greco-Roman Mediterranean (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2011), 49, and the context, 46–55. Kraemer’s valuable point is that Justin’s story should not be taken as either a pure fabrication or an accurate report about a family crisis. It rather testifies to a conflict of ideologies on various levels: a morally excellent teacher versus a corrupt pagan husband; spiritual new life versus old civic mores. 8 Adolf von Harnack was the first scholar in recent history (1905) who suggested that both characters are the same person. Among modern scholars this thesis is still accepted by, for instance, Gerd Lüdemann, ‘The History of Earliest Christianity in Rome’, JHC, vol. 2 (1995), 112–41, esp. 127–9 and Peter Lampe, Christians at Rome, 240. More recently Ismo Dunderberg, Beyond Gnosticism, Myth, Lifestyle, and Society in the School of Valentinus (New York: Columbia University Press, 2008), 90–2; Sebastian Moll, The Arch – Heretic Marcion, WUNT 250 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2010), 14–17, and Tuomas Rasimus, ‘Ptolemy and the Valentinian Exegesis of John’s Prologue’, in The Legacy of John: Second-Century Reception of the Fourth Gospel, SNT, vol. 132 (Leiden: E.J. Brill, 2010), 145–71, esp. 155–6. 9 See Markschies, New Research, 249 and footnote 97; Thomassen, The Spiritual Seed, 494. Denis Minns and Paul Parvis succinctly summarised the discussion about the identification of two characters: ‘this seems to us possible, but far from compelling’, in their

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16 17 18 19 20

21 22 23 24 25 26

Justin, Philosopher and Martyr: Apologies, ‘Oxford Early Christian Texts’ (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2009), 43. Ep.Fl., 4.4. AH., Pref. I.1.2. ‘I speak of these from Ptolemy’s circle, whose school may be described as a branch from that of Valentinus’, Dico autem eorum qui sunt circa Ptolomaeum, quae est uelut flosculum Valentini scolae. My translation. See valuable observation as to ‘affiliation’ of Ptolemy to one (‘Valentinian’) trajectory by James Carleton Paget, ‘The Second Century from the Perspective of the New Testament’, in Christianity in the Second Century: Themes and Developments, James Carleton Paget and Judith Lieu (eds) (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2017), 98–9. Einar Thomassen, The Spiritual Seed: The Church of the ‘Valentinians’ (Leiden: E.J. Brill, 2006), 17–18. AH., I.12.1. See Dunderberg, Beyond Gnosticism: Myth, Lifestyle, and Society in the School of Valentinus (New York: Columbia University Press, 2008), 80 with Table 5.1. See Stanley K. Stowers, Letter Writing in Graeco-Roman Antiquity, Wayne A. Meeks (ed.) (Philadelphia: The Westminster Press, 1986), 99–113. Not only men wrote letters, see the important study on women’s letters in Roger S. Bagnall and Raffaella Cribiore, Women’s Letters from Ancient Egypt, 300 BC–AD 80 (Ann Arbor: University of Michigan Press, 2015). Another important study for the context of Ptolemy’s Letter is Outi Lehtipuu and Ismo Dunderberg, ‘Women and Knowledge in Early Christianity: An Introduction’, in Women and Knowledge in Early Christianity, Ulla Tervahauta et al. (eds), SVCh, vol. 144 (Leiden: E.J. Brill, 2017), 1–18. See Cecil. W. Chilton, Diogenes of Oenoanda. Fragments (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1971), 19–20. See Helene Whittaker, ‘The Purpose of Porphyry’s Letter to Marcella’, SO, vol. 76, no. 1 (2001), 150–68. More in section 4 of this chapter. Peter Lampe suggested that Flora had split with her husband, in Christians at Rome in the First Two Centuries, From Paul to Valentinus, M. D. Johnson (ed.), M. Steinhauser (trans.) (London: T&T Clark International, 2003), 239–40. See the context in Susan Treggiari, Roman Marriage: Lusti Cortiuges from the Time of Cicero to the Time of Ulpian (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1991), and recently Eva Cantarella, ‘Women and Patriarchy in Roman Law’, in The Oxford Handbook of Roman Law and Society, Paul J. du Plessis, Clifford Ando and Kaius Tuori (eds) (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2016), 419–31, especially 425. Nicola Denzey Lewis, ‘Women and Knowledge in Early Christianity’, in Women and Knowledge in Early Christianity, Ulla Tervahauta et al. (eds), SVCh, vol. 144 (Leiden: E.J. Brill, 2017), 21–38, citation is on page 24. In this context see more in Sebastian Moll, The Arch-Heretic Marcion, 48–63. On Marcion see more in Chapter 2, footnote 22 with the references to the recent scholarship on Marcion. See Strom., 6.16.133.1–148.6 and recent discussion in Kathleen Gibbons, The Moral Psychology of Clement of Alexandria: Mosaic Philosophy (Abingdon, New York: Routledge, 2017), 93–129. Dial., 11.1–2. Ep.Barn, 2–3; 9; 15; as opposed to the New Law 2.6–9. Gos. Thomas, 27 and more in Antti Marjanen, ‘Thomas and Jewish religious practices’, in Thomas at the Crossroads: Essays on the Gospel of Thomas’, Risto Uro (ed.) (Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1998), 163–82, esp. 175–8. More recently discussion of the same Saying 27 is undertaken by Paul Linjamaa, ‘Savoring Life with an Unsympathetic World View: Sabbath as Rest and Contemplation in Gospel of Thomas’, Nu, vol. 64, nos 5–6 (2016), 461–82. See also Chapter 5 and footnote 99.

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27 On various occasions we find references to the Gospels, Matthew in particular, and Paul’s letters, as well as assumed knowledge of some passages from the Book of Genesis and the Prophet Isaiah. 28 Was Ptolemy acquainted with the Philonic exegesis of Mosaic Law? I believe that as Philo was a famous representative of Jewish intellectuals in Alexandria, it is possible that Valentinus was acquainted with Philonic exegesis. Ptolemy as an exponent of Valentinus’ exegesis of the Scriptures might have read, if not directly, some copies of Philo’s treatises, certainly the general use of allegory by the Jewish exegete. For more information, see Francis T. Fallon, ‘The Law in Philo and Ptolemy: A Note on the Letter to Flora’, VCh, vol. 30, no. 1 (1976), 45–51. 29 More detail in Peter Borgen, Philo of Alexandria: An Exegete for His Time, SNT, vol. LXXXVI (Leiden: E.J. Brill, 1997). 30 EpFl., 3.6: Ετι τε τὴν τοῦ κόσμου δημιουργίαν ἰδίαν λέγει εἶναι ‘τά τε πάντα δι’ αὐτοῦ γεγονέναι καὶ χωρὶς αὐτοῦ γεγονέναι οὐδὲν’ ὁ ἀπόστολος, προαποστερήσας τὴν τῶν ψευδηγορούντων ἀνυπόστατον σοφίαν, καὶ οὐ φθοροποιοῦ θεοῦ, ἀλλὰ δικαίου καὶ μισοπονήρου· ἀπρονοήτων δέ ἐστιν ἀνθρώπων, τῆς προνοίας τοῦ δημιουργοῦ μὴ αἰτίαν λαμβανομένων καὶ μὴ μόνον τὸ τῆς ψυχῆς ὄμμα, ἀλλὰ καὶ τὸ τοῦ σώματος πεπηρωμένων. Still the apostle says that the creation of the world is his own, ‘All things came to be through him, and apart from him nothing came to be’, preemptively taking away the foundationless wisdom of the false accusers, and (demonstrating that creation comes) not from a god that causes destruction, but from (a God who is) just and despises evil. But (this idea) comes from ignorant people, those who do not grasp the providence of the creator and have blinded not only the eye of the soul, but also that of the body. (Smith, Valentinian Christianity, 18–19) 31 I am proposing that it was Marcion and his followers, active in Rome, who attracted Ptolemy’s criticism. However, from other Christian sources, we know about so-called ‘Sethian’ Christians who believed in the evil Demiurge: Yaldabaoth/Sakla/Samael. The main reason why I identify Marcion not ‘Sethian’ Christians as those criticised by Ptolemy is that during Ptolemy’s life in Rome, Marcion was a well-known spokesman of that view. ‘Sethian’ Christians become more influential a century later and attracted criticism from Plotinus and Porphyry, see more in Ruth Majercik, ‘Porphyry and Gnosticism’, CQ, vol. 55, no. 1 (2005), 277–92. 32 I will also return to the features of the Demiurge in Chapters 6 and 7. 33 Frag. 13 des Places (22 Leemans) in Éduard des Places, Numénius: Fragments (Paris: Les Belles Lettres, 1973). Was Numenius influenced by Christian speculation in his view of the Demiurge, or was Ptolemy aware of a Neopythagorean adaptation of the Platinic character? I shall leave this issue open as we don’t have enough evidence to conclude either of the answers. 34 See in LXX, 2 Mac 4:1, Heb 11:10. 35 Markschies points to a puzzle about the meaning of the Σωτήρ in the Letter. It seems obvious that this title can be a synonym of Jesus as his Christological title and in addition, on nine occasions the title appeared alongside the λόγοι from the New Testament (3.5; 3.8; 4.1; 4.3; 4.11; 5.10; 7.5; 7.9) and even once the Σωτήρ is denoted as ὁ κύριος (4.4). However, as Markschies observes, the Σωτήρ is not named as Jesus, or Christ. However, Ptolemy in his paraphrase of the statements from the Prologue to John’s Gospel (3:6) identified, in Markschies’ view, the creator of the world/demiurge with the Σωτήρ. Cf. Markschies, ‘New Research on Ptolemy Gnosticus’, 240–1.This identification is nonetheless rejected by Thomassen on the grounds that, in Chapters 5

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36

and 6 of the Letter, Ptolemy explains that the Σωτήρ dwells in the realm ‘higher’ than the Demiurge (7.5). In the present context, the proper identification of the Saviour as not the Demiurge is important. The Demiurge is the Lawgiver, one of the authors, and cannot be confused with the Saviour. This knowledge is a part of Ptolemy’s message to Flora and yet another step in the right direction on the path to wisdom. Εἰ γὰρ μήτε ὑπ’ αὐτοῦ τοῦ τελείου θεοῦ τέθειται οὗτος, ὡς ἐδιδάξαμεν, μήτε μὴν ὑπὸ τοῦ διαβόλου, ὃ μηδὲ θεμιτόν ἐστιν εἰπεῖν, ἕτερός τίς ἐστι παρὰ τούτους οὗτος ὁ θέμενος τὸν νόμον. [7.4] Οὗτος δὲ δημιουργὸς καὶ ποιητὴς τοῦδε τοῦ παντός ἐστι κόσμου καὶ τῶν ἐν αὐτῷ· ἕτερος ὢν παρὰ τὰς τούτων οὐσίας μέσος τούτων καθεστώς, ἐνδίκως καὶ τὸ ‘τῆς μεσότητος’ ὄνομα ἀποφέροιτο ἄν. (Smith, Valentinian Christianity, 28–9)

37 Justin Martyr, for example in 1 Apol., 10; 13; 67. 38 See Gal. 2:3–5. Ptolemy, as we see in his letter, was familiar with Pauline theology, see Ep.Fl., 5.11 and Rom 2:29. 39 Ep.Fl., 3.2 40 Ep.Fl., 4.1. 41 Ep.Fl., 4.2; 4.11–14. 42 Ep.Fl., 4.2. 43 Ep.Fl., 4.4; see Mt 19:8. 44 Ep.Fl., 4.8. 45 Ep.Fl., 5.1; 5.3. 46 Ep.Fl., 5.1; 5.4–7. 47 Ep.Fl., 5.8–13. 48 I would like to thank Dr Sarah Parkhouse for raising in her correspondence with me the question of whether the Sabbath is understood by Ptolemy in its literal or symbolic way. I am inclined to propose that the Sabbath was interpreted in an allegorical way by Ptolemy, not as a strict observance of the seventh day of the week. 49 Ep.Fl., 5.10. Quispel notes that the four later canonical Gospels do not record Jesus’ recommendation about ‘spiritual praises’, therefore it is possible to qualify this advice as a part of the apostolic legacy received by Ptolemy from Valentinus and his teachers. Cf. Quispel, Ptolémée, 90. 50 Ep.Fl., 5.11. Quispel’s commentary states that this reinterpretation of circumcision is not an original invention of Ptolemy, but has its Hebrew precedence in the teaching of the prophet Jeremiah (4:4), and then becomes a part of anti-Jewish polemic, for instance in Tertullian, Adv. Jud., 3; see Quispel, Ptolémée, 92. 51 Ep.Fl., 5.12. Again, interpretation allegorically of the Sabbath by Ptolemy is a part of wider Christian interpretation and here also Ptolemy’s method characterises the similar approach in mainstream Christianity. See, for instance, Justin Martyr, Dial., 12.3; Irenaeus, AH., 4.8.2; Clement of Alexandria, Strom., 4.8.6; Quispel, Ptolémée, 92–3. 52 Ep.Fl., 5.13. Quispel points out that the Hebrew precedence in ‘spiritualisation’ of fasting comes from the prophet Isaiah (58:6) and becomes part of early Christian catechesis, see Hermas, Sim 5.1.4. Cf. Quispel, Ptolémée, 93. All these parallels show, especially in relation to Christian schools in Rome (Ptolemy, Justin Martyr, Hermas) that there was a common practice among Christians to rediscover and protect the value of the spiritual meaning of Biblical commandments against their exclusively literal understanding ascribed in rhetorical polemic to contemporary Jews. 53 See for instance the appeal to ‘the son’s attention’, in Prov. 2:1; 3:1; 3:21; 4:10; 4:20; 23:19; 27:11; Ecc (Ben Sira), 2:2; 3:17; 4:20; 6:18; ‘children’s attention’ in Ecc 3:1. See post-Pauline didactic communications to Timothy in 1 Tim 1:2 and 2 Tim 1:2; to Titus, Tit, 1:4 and 1 Pet 5:13. None of these sources addresses a daughter or sister. 54 See for instance invention of ‘Helena’ to discredit Simon Magus in Justin Martyr, 1 Apol., 26.3; Irenaeus, AH., I.23.2.

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55 See Rodney Stark, The Rise of Christianity: A Sociologist Reconsiders History (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1996), 95–128. 56 See Life, 9.1–10. Among Plotinus’ inner circle in Rome (245–270/1 ce) we know of Gemina, her daughter Gemina and Amphiclea. These women participated in his lectures. 57 It is plausible that it was an intellectually oriented community of men and women, who did not consider themselves as the followers of Ptolemy, but as Christians with additional interests, a ‘book club’ with some eclectic philosophical taste. 58 See more in Einar Thomassen, ‘Going to Church with the Valentinians’, in Practicing Gnosis: Ritual, Magic, Theurgy and Liturgy in Nag Hammadi, Manichaean and Other Ancient Literature: Essays in Honor of Birgen A. Pearson (Leiden: E.J. Brill, 2013), 183–97. 59 The Letter to Romans offers an analogy. This document informs the reader about the different roles taken by Christian women in the local communities. Phoebe was the deacon and as such was recommended to the church in Rome (Rom 16:1–2); Andronicus and his wife Julian were ‘outstanding among the apostles’ (Rom 16:7); others mentioned in the Letter to Romans include Mary (16:6), Tryphaena and Tryphosa (16:12), Rufus’ mother (16:13), ‘brothers and sisters’ (16:14), Philologus and Julia (16:15), Nereus and his sister (16:15). For further detail, see Lampe, Christians at Rome, 153–83. 60 Yet another Letter known as 1 Clement composed around the turn of the first century in Rome witnesses a total change in the attitude around women. The document written by a representative of the emerging Catholic church treats the issue of female activity (e.g. leadership) and role (household) with a highly biased rhetoric arguing for greater control over women. It provides the Christians in Corinth with the ‘correct’ model of co-existence between various factions, which is based on the experience and theology of the author from Rome. This document shows that some Christians had already elaborated a radical and hierarchical outlook on women in order to reject some alterative attitudes. See more in Barbara E. Bowe, ‘“Many women have been empowered through God’s grace ...” (1 Clem 55.3): Feminist Contradictions and Curiosities in Clement of Rome’, in Feminist Companion to Patristic Literature, Amy-Jill Levine and Maria Mayo (eds) (Feminist Companion to the New Testament and Early Christian Writings, 12) (London: T&T Clark, 2008), 15–25. 61 See the conversation between Jesus and Salome in the Gospel of the Egyptians, Clement of Alexandria, Strom., 3.6.45.3 and 3.9.63.2. We don’t know how popular the Encratic tendency was among Christians in Rome. More on the Gospel of the Egyptians and Encratic tendency in my forthcoming paper: ‘Clement of Alexandria and the riddle of the Gospel of the Egyptians’, in SP, Papers Presented at the Eighteenth International Conference on Patristic Studies Held in Oxford 2019. 62 Tertullian, Virg. 63 For the basic summary of Clement’s record, see Henry Chadwick, Alexandrian Christianity: Selected Translations of Clement and Origen with Introduction and Note (London: SCM Press Ltd, 1954), 22. For a more recent discussion, see James E. Goehring, ‘Libertine or Liberated: Women in the So-called Libertine Gnostic Communities’, in Images of the Feminine in Gnosticism, Karen L. King (ed.), 329–44, and Robert M. Grant, ‘Charges of “Immorality” against various religious groups in Antiquity’, in Quispel Gilles: Festschrift Studies in Gnosticism and Hellenistic Religions, Raymond van den Broek and Maarten J. Vermaseren (eds) (Leiden: E.J. Brill, 1981), 161–70; Jorunn J. Buckley, ‘Libertine or Not: Fruit, Bread, Semen and Other Body Fluids in Gnosticism’, JECS, vol. 2, no. 1 (1994), 15–31. 64 See Virginia Burrus, ‘The Heretical Woman as Symbol in Alexander, Athanasius, Epiphanius and Jerome’, HTR, vol. 84, no. 3 (1991), 229–48. 65 I modify Bindley’s translation: Prescr., 41.2–8:

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In primis quis catechumenus, quis fidelis incertum est, pariter adeunt, pariter audiunt, pariter orant; etiam ethnici si superuenerint, sanctum canibus et porcis margaritas, licet non ueras, iactabunt. Simplicitatem uolunt esse prostrationem disciplinae cuius penes nos curam lenocinium uocant. Pacem quoque passim cum omnibus miscent. Nihil enim interest illis, licet diuersa tractantibus, dum ad unius ueritatis expugnationem conspirent. Omnes tument, omnes scientiam pollicentur. Ante sunt perfecti catechumeni quam edocti. Ipsae mulieres haereticae, quam procaces! quae audeant docere, contendere, exorcismos agere, curationes repromittere, fortasse an et tingere. Ordinationes eorum temerariae, leues, inconstantes. Nunc neophytos conlocant, nunc saeculo obstrictos, nunc apostatas nostros ut gloria eos obligent quia ueritate non possunt. Nusquam facilius proficitur quam in castris rebellium ubi ipsum esse illic promereri est. Itaque alius hodie episcopus, cras alius; hodie diaconus qui cras lector; hodie presbyter qui cras laicus. Nam et laicis sacerdotalia munera iniungunt. 66 These Apologists use the term διδάσκαλεῖον/schola while denoting Valentinus’ and Ptolemy’s milieu. 67 See more in Richard Valantasis, Spiritual Guides of the Third Century: A Semiotic Study of the Guide-Disciple Relationship in Christianity, Neoplatonism, Hermetism and Gnosticism (Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 1991). 68 See Porphyry, Life, 7 with the distinction between ‘hearers’ and ‘followers’. 69 Lampe, Christians at Rome, 365–80. 70 Among many recent studies, see William L. Lane ‘Social Perspectives on Roman Christianity during the Formative Years from Nero to Nerva: Romans, Hebrew, 1 Clement’, in Judaism and Christianity in First-Century Rome, K.P. Donfried, P. Richardson (eds) (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans Publishing, 1998), 196–244. For the context, see Caroline Osiek, Margaret Y. MacDonald and Janet H. Tulloch, A Woman’s Place: House Churches in Earliest Christianity (Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 2006), 144–63. 71 On the contrary, I have already mentioned Plotinus’ milieu as an example of that inclusive model. See more in Panayiota Vassilopoulou, ‘From a Feminist Perspective: Plotinus on Teaching and Learning Philosophy’, Women: A Cultural Review, vol. 14, no. 2 (2003), 130–43. I should also note the positive attitude of Musonius Rufus to women as disciples in his Discourse, III (‘That Women Too Should Study Philosophy’) and IV (‘Should Daughters Receive the Same Education as Sons?’). See Emily A. Hemelrijk, ‘The Education of Women in Ancient Rome’, in A Companion to Ancient Education, W. Martin Bloomer (ed.) (Chichester: Wiley-Blackwell, 2015), 292–304. 72 Ep.Fl., 3.7. 73 Ep.Fl., 3.4. 74 Ep.Fl., 7.5: And if the Perfect God is good according to his nature, as indeed he is, for our Savior professed that there is only one good God, his Father, whom he made known ... καὶ εἰ ὁ τέλειος θεὸς ἀγαθός ἐστι κατὰ τὴν ἑαυτοῦ φύσιν, ὥσπερ καὶ ἔστιν ἕνα γὰρ μόνον εἶναι ἀγαθὸν θεὸν τὸν ἑαυτοῦ πατέρα ὁ σωτὴρ ἡμῶν ἀπεφήνατο ... 75 See Quispel, Ptolémée, 110 with ‘θέος’, in 3.2; 3.4 (bis); 3.6; 3.7; 4.2 (bis); 4.4; 4.5; 4.6; 4.7; 4.10 (bis); (4.11); (4.12); 4.12; 4.14; 5.1; 5.3; 5.7; (5.7); 6.1; 7.1; 7.2; 7.3; 7.5 (bis); 7.6 (bis); and 7.9. 76 Ep.Fl., 3.2. 77 Ep.Fl., 3.4. 78 Ep.Fl., 3.7. 79 Ep.Fl., 3.7.

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80 I suggest that Ptolemy refers in this place to the Perfect God and Father, not to the Creator. 81 Μαθήσῃ γάρ, θεοῦ διδόντος, ἑξῆς καὶ τὴν τούτων ἀρχήν τε καὶ γέννησιν, ἀξιουμένη τῆς ἀποστολικῆς παραδόσεως, ἣν ἐκ διαδοχῆς καὶ ἡμεῖς παρειλήφαμεν μετὰ καὶ τοῦ κανονίσαι πάντας τοὺς λόγους τῇ τοῦ σωτῆρος ἡμῶν διδασκαλίᾳ. [7.10] Ταῦτά σοι, ὦ ἀδελφή μου Φλώρα, δι’ ὀλίγων εἰρημένα οὐκ ἠτόνησα καὶ τὸ τῆς συντομίας προέγραψα ἅμα τε τὸ προκείμενον ἀποχρώντως ἐξέφηνα, ἃ καὶ εἰς τὰ ἑξῆς τὰ μέγιστά σοι συμβαλεῖται, ἐάν γε ὡς καλὴ γῆ καὶ ἀγαθὴ γονίμων σπερμάτων τυχοῦσα τὸν δι’ αὐτῶν καρπὸν ἀναδείξῃς. (Smith, Valentinian Christianity, 28–9) 82 This agricultural metaphor in both authors representing urban Christianity should not surprise as it comes from the Synoptic imagery of the parable of the sower, which refers to rural Palestine (Mt 13:3–8; 13:18–23; Mk 4:3–8; 4:13–20; Lk 8:5–8; 8:11–15). A similar motif also appears in Jewish apocalyptic (4 Ezra 8:41), 1 Clem 24:5; Justin Martyr, Dial., 125.1; Gos. Thomas, 9. This evidence shows the popularity of the image among various early Christian teachers, who used it in order to exemplify the role of the personal response of the audience to Christian instruction. Ptolemy applies the same meaning as he prompts Flora to receive further education in his school. 83 Denise Kimber Buell, Making Christians: Clement of Alexandria and the Rhetoric of Legitimacy (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1999), 32–49, and on Ptolemy 66–7. 84 Ep.Fl., 7.10. 85 See 2 Apol., 2.1–9. 86 This kind of transformation is highlighted by the Acts of (Paul) and Thecla, 40; see further discussion of this literary heroine in Kate Cooper, Band of Angels: The Forgotten World of Early Christian Women (New York: The Overlook Press, 2013), 77–104. Cooper concludes (103): Female readers and listeners were not always beautiful or rich, but that did not mean that they could not identify with heroines. Similarly, ordinary women might not face shipwreck and martyrdom, but they could still draw inspiration from the example of legendary women from the first Christian century like Thecla and Matthidia. This observation is also applicable, in my view, to the value of Ptolemy’s letter. His guidance provided inspiration to more women than Flora in his milieu. The fact that the whole letter is found relevant and quoted centuries later by Epiphanius shows that this document was still a significant source of teaching among his adversaries. 87 I will return to this notion in Chapter 7.2. 88 Joan Taylor offers a very helpful discussion of the positions of women in various philosophical schools of this period, especially in relation to Ptolemy’s teaching that the ethos of Stoicism is relevant with its emphasis on equality of both sexes. See more in her Jewish Women Philosophers of First-Century Alexandria: Philo’s ‘Therapeutae’ Reconsidered (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2003), 206–11. 89 See Life, 9.1–10.

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5 T h e Teacher of ImmorTalITy The Saviour and soteriology in the Interpretation of Knowledge, NhC, XI, 1

1. Introduction: The document The Interpretation of Knowledge, unlike many other documents from the Nag Hammadi collection, has the title written in two places: first, on the opposite page to the first page of the tractate, which is partially reconstructed ([ⲑ]ⲉ̣ⲣ[ⲙⲏⲛⲓⲁ] ⲛ̄ⲧⲅ̣[ⲛⲱⲥⲓⲥ), then well preserved at the end (ⲑⲉⲣⲙⲏⲛⲓⲁ ⲛ̄ⲧⲅⲛⲱⲥⲓⲥ).1 It is the first document in Codex XI and is followed by a Valentinian exposition (2a, 2b, 2c, 2d, 2e), allogenes (apocalypse/revelation discourse), hypsiphrone (an obscure short discourse) and some unreadable fragments of the Coptic phrases. A closer look at the preserved Coptic text immediately shows how badly damaged the text is and how many lacunae were restored by modern scholars. Recently Philip L. Tite2 has reminded us of the history of interpretation of the Interpretation of Knowledge, where almost all commentators (with the exception of Uwe-Karsten Plisch) have allocated this reflection to the ‘Valentinian school’. As the work is not quoted or referred to by the ancient Apologists, the text remains open to various interpretations. My examination of the exhortation3 will highlight the original exegesis of the Scriptures and its application into mainstream Christian theology. In brief, I argue that the document does not need to be classified as ‘Valentinian’ as it shares more features with the broad Christian interpretation during the first three centuries rather than reflecting a theory of salvation or cosmology affiliated, as a possibility, with one community.

2. Assimilation of the Scriptures in the Coptic document and the special role of 1 Corinthians 1–3 I have already noted the incompleteness of the document poses a serious problem in reconstruction as well as in commentary. Still, following the Thomassen’ edition I would like to divide the existing text into sections, each one with a specific Scriptural motif. •

1.41–2.24: The value of the Christian faith in relation to Christ’s humiliation and crucifixion (possibly 1 Cor 1:18–25).5

101 DOI: 10.4324/9781003181095-6

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2.25–38: God [knows] genuine Christians before they were born (possibly Eph 1.4).6 3.26–4.38: The Virgin who gives strength to believers (possibly Lk 7:35 combined with Wisdom 8:2–8; Ecclesiasticus 4:11–22). 5.14–18: The Parable of the Seeds (possibly Mt 13:4a, 5a, 7a, 8a; Mk 4:4a, 5a, 7a, 8a; Lk 8:5a, 6a, 7a, 8a).7 5.20–6: Unspecified teaching (badly damaged), which could be more a philosophical reflection than a Scriptural affiliation.8 5.28–38: The suffering of the Saviour and his redemptive death (possibly Rom 5.8).9 6.14–28: The Parable of the Good Samaritan (Lk 10:30) and interpretation. 6.30–7: The metaphor of the body (πανδοκεῖον) (the term: Lk 10:34: πανδοχεῖον). 6.37–8: The dramatic divisions in the Church (possibly 1 Cor 1:10–17; 3:1–23; 11:18–22). 7.8–36: An attempt to kill a virgin (a tension between the spirit/‘virgin’ and the body? possibly Gal 5:16–26). 7.37–8.38: ‘Mother’ (ⲧⲙⲉⲉⲩ), ‘young girl’ (ϫⲉⲣⲉ10 ϣⲏⲙ̣/ θυγάτηρ11), and conflicts (possibly Mt 10:34). 9.10–27: The Teacher of Immortality (possibly Mt 19:16; Mk 10:17; Lk 18:18) and his teaching. 9.28–10.26: The teaching of the Saviour about his Father (possibly Mt 23:9 and Mt 5:14),12 then Mt 12:48–50; 3:35 and Lk 8:21. 10.27–38: The self-humiliation of the Saviour (possibly Phil 2:6–11).13 11.15–31: A commentary on Eve’s garment (possibly Gen 3:1–20).14 11.31–8: The interpretation of the Sabbath (possibly J 5:16–18 and Mt 12:12). 12.14–29: The kenosis of the Son with an emphasis on his physical body (possibly 1 Tim 3:16 and 1 J 4:2).15 12.30–13.38: The incarnation of the Son and his redemption of the Church as its Head (possibly Eph 1:22; 4.15, 5.23, Col 1:18).16 14.10–27: The fulfilment (συντέλεια, possibly Mt 28:20)17 of redemption. 14.28–38: The meaning of redemption as the reversion of Adam’s sin (possibly Rom 5:14–21, 1 Cor 15:21–2).18 15.16–16.38: The diversity of spiritual gifts in the Christian community (possibly Rom 12:4–5; 1 Cor 12:4–11) as a ‘body’ (possibly Rom 12:4–8 and 1 Cor 12:12–27)19 with Christ as the ‘Head’ (possibly 1 Cor 12:4–11).20 17.14–18.38: The teaching about the interconnection of all members of the community (possibly reinterpretation of 1 Cor 12:14–25).21 19.1–37: As a community rooted in the Saviour (possibly J 15:5–7 and Mt 13:2122 with Mk 4:17 and Lk 8:1323), it is necessary to bring fruits. 20.2–38: Spiritual rulers (possibly Rom 8:38, 1 Cor 15:24; Eph 1:21; 6:12; Col. 1:16, 2:15)24 and their negative impact on Christians. 21.16–34: Encouragement to fight against sin and gain the crown of victory (possibly 1 Cor 9:25; 2 Tim 4:7–8; Jas 1:12; 1 Pet 5:4; Rev 2:10; Wis 5:15–16).25 102

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Having divided the existing narrative into these sections26 and proposing some Scriptural references, we should not conclude that we find complex material without any clear organisation. It is very interesting how the mind of the author selected and put together material which exemplified a certain Christian understanding of Salvation. I would like to look more carefully at these sections in relation to the Scriptures, especially to the Pauline legacy. There is no doubt that the author knew some episodes from the canonical Gospels27 and Paul’s letters, including the later epistles ascribed to the Apostle. These references do not allow us to conclude whether the author was using a written text of some New Testament books (a local ‘edition’) or whether s/he was quoting them from memory. Still, it is apparent that the audience/ readers of the document must have been familiar with the Scriptural passages and must have respected their authority. The ‘amalgamated’ exegesis, which we see in the document, is not coincidental but willingly presupposed as a style of teaching. In the light of that proposed division of the sections, what are the main themes or even anxieties faced by the author and his or her milieu? There are three main issues that come to the surface in the document. First is the proclamation of salvation (Interp. Know., 1.1–2.24; 9.10–27; 9.28–10.26; 12.30–13.38; 14.10–27; 14.28–38; 19.1–37; 20.2–38 and 21.16–34), with the emphasis on the humiliation of the Saviour (Inter. Know. 1.18; 5.36; 10.27–38; 12.14–29) and his death on the cross (Inter. Know. 1.21; 5.28–38; 13.36). Secondly, the document testifies to painful divisions in the Christian community (Inter. Know. 6.37–8; 7.8–36; 7.37–8.38).28 The destructive role of jealousy is highlighted (Inter. Know. 15.20–38;29 17.38; 18.31; 21.22).30 Thirdly, we see testimony to the diversity of spiritual gifts in the community (Inter. Know. 15.16–16.38; 17.14–18.38). All three issues are interconnected. The Christian community is directly dependent on its Head (15.16–16.38), experiences the power of salvation, or is self-aware (Inter. Know. 19.1–37), lives with the fullness of gifts (e.g. Inter. Know. 15.16–16.38), but also suffers from inner tensions. At this point I would like to address the visible parallels with the situation of the Christian community in Corinth as depicted by the 1 Letter to the Corinthians, especially in the first three chapters. Paul’s correspondence opens with an acknowledgement that his readers are enriched with many spiritual gifts (1 Cor 1:5–7; 2:12–13). Almost immediately, the Apostle addresses the painful divisions among Christians in the city (1 Cor 1:10–17; later 3:1–23). Paul reassures them that in the centre of his message is the cross (1 Cor 1:17–18; 23, 2:1–5). As a way of reminding his readers of their origin, Paul stresses that God has chosen ‘what is low and despised’31 (καὶ τὰ ἀγενῆ τοῦ κόσμου καὶ τὰ ἐξουθενημένα ἐξελέξατο ὁ θεός).32 He points out the ‘ignorance’ of the ‘rulers of this world’ (ἣν οὐδεὶς τῶν ἀρχόντων τοῦ αἰῶνος τούτου ἔγνωκεν in 2.8) who crucified the Saviour. Finally, Paul also confirms that those Christians who reject foolishness (μωρία) or the ‘wisdom of this world’ (1 Cor 3:19) are spiritual (πνευματικὸς) and are opposite to ‘natural’ or ‘psychic’ Christians (ψυχικὸς δὲ ἄνθρωπος in 1 Cor 2:14).33 How can we explain these similarities? It is obvious from our previous discussion of the different sections of the document that the 103

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author was very familiar with Pauline teaching, although he or she has chosen not to quote the exact titles of the letters. In the presentation of the painful conflict within the community, it is possible to assume that Paul’s effort to bring unity to the Church in Corinth was taken as a model to propose a similar reconciliation in the community of the Interpretation of Knowledge. Like Corinthians before, this Christian community was also enriched with various spiritual and possible intellectual gifts, and as such, competitions and ambitions hampered unity. Paul’s authority and the similarity with the tension in Corinth now serve to reaffirm the important Christian beliefs, including the Saviour’s suffering and crucifixion and self-understanding as Christians directly connected with (‘rooted’ in) the Saviour. We can’t speculate whether the opponents of the author of the Coptic document and his/her community were less concerned about the physical death of the Saviour, or less interested in exegesis and more oriented towards a particular philosophy, but the conflict was unwelcome and Paul was called on to help them understand that jealousy is a negative and powerful attitude that undermines a shared identity.

3. The central role of the Saviour as the Teacher of Immortality The existing fragments of the Interpretation of Knowledge use different Christological titles such as the ‘Saviour’ (ⲡⲥⲱⲧⲏⲣ), ‘Jesus’ (ⲓⲏ̅ⲥ̅), ‘Christ’ (ⲭⲣⲏⲥⲧⲟⲥ), the ‘Logos’ (ⲡⲗⲟⲅⲟⲥ) ‘Image’ (ⲉⲓⲛⲉ), the ‘Head’ (ⲁⲡⲉ), and ‘the Son’ (ⲡϣⲏⲣⲉ).34 These titles, which were commonly used by various early Christian authors, point out the different roles of the Saviour as distinct from his Father. However, one additional Christological title is also used in the document and has a very spe35 cial role: the Saviour is ‘the Teacher of Immortality’ (ⲛ̄ⲥⲁϩ̣ ⲛ̄ⲧ̄ⲙ̄ⲛ̄ [̣ ⲧⲁ]ⲧ ⲙ̣ⲟⲩ). ̣︥ 36 37 Thomassen, Pagels, and Turner point out that this function of the Saviour is also acknowledged by the Gospel of Truth (19.17–34).38 Contrary to Thomassen, Pagels, and Turner, I don’t see this title as a characteristic of ‘Valentinian’ Christology. The Coptic title expresses the earlier Scriptural references to Jesus as a teacher (διδάσκαλος); however, it highlights that the Saviour’s teaching brings life or liberates from death. The title goes back to many accounts in the Gospels when Jesus was teaching either crowds or individuals, such as Nicodemus.39 On many occasions, according to the Gospels, people, including the disciples, addressed Jesus as either ‘rabbi’ or ‘teacher’.40 In addition, early Christian authors such as Justin Martyr called Christ ‘teacher’ (διδάσκαλος),41 as did Clement of Alexandria,42 as we find in the non-Valentinian text the Teachings of Silvanus.43 As to the joint Coptic term ‘Teacher of Immortality’ (ⲛ̄ⲥⲁϩ̣ ⲛ̄ⲧ̄ⲙ̄ⲛ̄ ̣ [ⲧⲁ]ⲧ̣̄ⲙ̣ⲟⲩ), it commemorates the episode in the Synoptic Gospels (possibly Mt 19:16; Mk 10:17; Lk 18:18), when Jesus was addressed as ‘teacher’ and was asked about the way to attain eternal life (i.e. immortality). The author of the Interpretation of Knowledge is not the original inventor of this Christological title, but stands in the mainstream Christian tradition which depicted the Saviour as the Teacher and linked his teaching with the achievement of immortality. Still, the originality 104

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of the document lies in the suggestion of some sort of competition between the ‘Teacher of Immortality’ and another, enigmatic ‘arrogant teacher’.44 The Jesus of the canonical Gospels did not compete with any other ‘teacher’.45 Our document does not suggest any dualistic viewpoints, such as competition with an evil Demiurge. Therefore, I am inclined to see ‘the devil’ (ⲇⲓⲁⲃⲟⲗⲟⲥ)46 as the main opponent of the ‘Teacher of Immortality’. While Jesus’ teaching leads to immortality, the devil’s teaching leads to death.47 Now, I shall examine the notion of ‘immortality’ in our document.48 We are lucky because the text of the important passage is relatively well preserved. The introduction to the teaching (Interp. Know., 9.18–27) places the community of disciples in parallel with the teaching of ‘the other school’ (ⲛ̄ⲕⲉⲥⲭ[ⲟⲗⲏ), which ends in death. As noted by Pagels and Turner,49 the Greek intensive particles μήν and δέ highlight the vital opposition between the schools and their teachings, life versus death, the world of the true Teacher50 and the current ‘world’ (ⲡⲕⲟⲥⲙ̣[ⲟⲥ] Interp. Know., 9.25). The ‘arrogant’ (ⲧ̣[ⲟⲗⲙ]ⲏⲣⲟⲥ̣) teacher offers instructions with ‘dead’ letters, while the Teacher of Immortality provides his school with letters giving life. In consequence, his disciples learn how to withdraw from this world (Interp. Know., 9.24–5).51 It is thus the teaching about a new self-understanding, a new relationship with the current world and its ‘wisdom’, which now is illuminated by the authentic teaching. The Coptic text offers further and detailed explanations of that message (Interp. Know., 9.28–38), which employ Scriptural metaphors. First, as in the Gospel of Matthew (23:9), the Christian disciples are reminded about their true Father. They are warned not to call anyone in the current reality their father, but they must be aware that their true Father is ‘in heaven’ and is one (Interp. Know., 9.29). This teaching continues to distinguish between the two schools already mentioned in the previous passages.52 It warns against a comprehension of the present world as the ultimate dwelling place for the disciples. Immediately after that reminder comes the positive affirmation again quoting the same Gospel: You are the light of the world.

(Interp. Know., 9.30)53

It is interesting that this declaration, in comparison with the previous rather dualistic statements, affirms the positive role of Christian disciples in the current world. They are not called to hide or to escape but to shine with their lights. Thirdly, still using the Gospel of Matthew,54 although without any identification, they are called the Teacher’s ‘brothers and fellow-companions’ (Interp. Know., 9.31), as long as they act according to the will of the Father. Finally, again with reference to the same Gospel,55 the teaching emphasises the highest value of the soul in comparison with the values of this world. In brief, taking care of the inner life (the soul) should be the priority for Christian disciples.56 The teaching concludes with an observation from the author:57 ‘in the darkness’ (ⲡ̣ⲕⲉⲕⲉⲓ), that is without the teaching of the Saviour, people call many ‘fathers’ as they are ignorant of the true Father. In this way the central theme of knowledge of the true Father is 105

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reaffirmed towards the end of this section, again using Thomassen’s better translation that expresses the Coptic warning that this ignorance is the greatest of all sins (Interp. Know., 9.38–10.1). It is clear from the current section that the role of the Saviour, portrayed here as the teacher of immortality, is crucial. He is the one who reveals the true Father to his disciples. The Church, depicted as the genuine school, is the place of learning about the Father and also about the correct relationship with the world. Christian disciples are encouraged to see themselves as those who bring and carry the light to the world. Immortality is not depicted as a life after death, but rather as an existence that has already started in the present world and life. The original, theological contribution of the author is to highlight the teaching/message as one of the most important aspects of salvation. Teaching about the true Father, the refutation of ignorance, complements the process of redemption, which started with the incarnation and concluded with the crucifixion of the Saviour. Knowledge about the Father goes along with faith in the Saviour. There is no conflict between these two intellectual and spiritual perceptions. The document also suggests that the teaching is not ‘historically’ closed at the point of the Saviour’s departure. It continues in his school, that is the Church, in the current generation of Christians. If the Gospel of Matthew was the favourite Scriptural inspiration for the author, it adds yet another important feature. The question, where is the Teacher now, finds its direct answer in the parable where Jesus identified himself with people who suffer in the current world (Mt 25:31:46) and thanked those who acted with compassion. The Interpretation of Knowledge testifies to that presence and the heard voice of the Teacher.58 I do not see any features in that portrayal of Christ/Teacher of immortality which would go beyond the characteristics of the Saviour which were already established in early Christianity. The picture with the Interpretation of Knowledge is neither more Platonic nor more esoteric. The document does not hint at the idea of ‘hidden’ knowledge taught to only a few, more advanced disciples. There is nothing within the narrative that points to the exclusivity of that teaching. The document, like many other sources of the same period, including Clement of Alexandria,59 promotes the notion of the Church as a school, where spiritual growth is combined with theological education (e.g. exegesis) and creates a new Christian identity.

4. Theory of salvation: Orthodoxy versus unorthodoxy? So far, my discussion of the selected themes from the Interpretation of Knowledge has explored some Christian, more specifically (canonical) Scriptural affiliations of the document. In the light of this analysis, our Coptic treatise continues a theological trajectory which began with some Pauline and Matthean views on salvation and Christian identity. However, it must be acknowledged that the existing document has some allusions to other sources and expresses non-Scriptural ideas, which are 106

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hard to explain because of the poor condition of the text. I mentioned at the beginning that the vast majority of prominent scholars, while recognising some affinities with the Gospel of Truth and the Excerpts from Theodotus, allocate this work to the Valentinians,60 or their ‘Eastern’ branch.61 As further explained by Thomassen,62 other themes and idioms found in the Interpretation of Knowledge also show familiarity with similar notions in the Treatise on the Resurrection. More recently, Paul Linjamaa’s insightful article draws our attention to a number of female characters mentioned by our document and argues that their presence echoes the ‘Valentinian’ myth of the falling of Sophia, which underpins the narrative.63 I would now like to revisit some difficult passages which suggest ‘Valentinian’ provenance. I hope to offer some alternative interpretations. I will argue that the author was working in a theological setting that did not diverge from the mainstream Christian trajectories known to us from other sources, possibly during the second or third century. I begin with some difficult non-Scriptural notions and expressions found in the Interpretation of Knowledge, but I will also look at some idiomatic expressions which suggest ‘Valentinian’ language. One of the most difficult passages is found on page 12, which starts with line 29: Who [is] it, then, who saved the one who was scorned? It is the emanation of the name. For just as flesh needs to have a name,64 so [this] flesh is an aeon that Sophia brought forth. [He] received the Greatness that came down, that the aeon might enter the one who was scorned, so that we might shed the disgraceful skin we were wearing and be born once more in the flesh and blood. (Interp. Know., 12.29–38)65 As rightly pointed out by Thomassen,66 the passage illustrates the ‘soteriology of participation’, as the Saviour’s descent into the present world allows Christians to ascend with him into the divine one (Interp. Know., 12.23).67 However, as noted also by Thomassen on another occasion,68 the most difficult part of this section relates to the ‘flesh’ that is produced by Sophia (Interp. Know., 12.32–3). It suggests, according to the myth found in some writings affiliated with the ‘Valentinian’ tradition, that the divine Aeon Sophia/Wisdom provided the Saviour with ‘flesh’ in order to descend to the current, material world.69 Was the author of the Interpretation of Knowledge quoting and promoting this idea? For second-century Christians, Christ’s incarnation was still an important problem to explain in brief: how the divine became human – that is, entered the present world and had mortal flesh. Paul had only vaguely referenced in passing that Christ was born ‘of a woman’ (ἐκ γυναικός Gal 4:4). The Synoptic Gospel clearly testified that it happened through Mary, his human mother (Mt 1:16; Mk 6:3; Lk 1:27 with a particular emphasis on her virginity). The Gospel of John plays a special role, as the pre-existent, now incarnate Logos encounters his human mother; however, he never addressed her as such (John 2:3–4 and then 19:26–7). The Book of Revelation concludes with the most symbolic (mythological) image of ‘a woman clothed 107

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with the sun’ (Rev. 12:1), heavily pregnant with a male child, who after his birth was taken to God (Rev. 12:5). This accepted diversity of the commentaries on Christ’s incarnation at the very beginning of Christianity allows a further development of ideas and notions during the second century. The Interpretation of Knowledge may refer to yet another contemporary motif about the incarnation. It states clearly that, in order to enter into the material realm, the Saviour received human flesh from a female character, who is now called ‘Wisdom/Sophia’, but it does not suggest that this character played a role in a cosmic drama or waited for redemption. Does the short note on Wisdom/Sophia as the provider of Christ’s flesh make an argument for an exclusively ‘Valentinian’ affiliation of our document? I am not convinced. For instance, the Apocryphon of John (BG 19.6–77.7; NHC, II, 1.1–32.9; NHC, III, 1.1–40.11; NHC, IV, 1.1–49.28) by the scholars affiliated with a non-Valentinian theological milieu (the ‘Sethians’) also refers to the character of ‘Wisdom/Sophia’ as the Mother of the Saviour: ‘the Only-Begotten’.70 Another passage which contains a ‘Valentinian’ idea contains a reference to the human body as ‘an inn’ (ⲡⲁⲛⲇⲟⲕⲉⲓⲟⲛ/πανδοκεῖον) inhabited by demons (Inter. Know. 6.31). Thomassen points out that this metaphor is found in Valentinus (frag. 2).71 However, it is not only Valentinus who applied this metaphor to the human soul. As I have shown while analysing the Teachings of Silvanus,72 the image of the human soul as a dwelling place of evil spirits had a long philosophical lineage,73 as well as a shorter but important Scriptural Christian one.74 For instance, in that philosophical and ethical context, the warning against allowing the human soul to be inhabited by evil passions, which were exemplified by beasts, appeared in Philo of Alexandria, for whom those ‘wild animals’ represented the passions.75 In his ethics, evil acts degrade human beings and transform their souls into beasts.76 Apart from Philo, the image of the human soul inhabited by evil spirits was popular with several Christian second-century exegetes such as Basilides and his son Isidore,77 as well as Heracleon.78 Later, a similar metaphor appears in Origen.79 In a parallel way, the Roman Stoics highlighted the presence of the divine in human beings, when the human mind or soul becomes a dwelling place for God.80 It is evident that the motif was very popular and many authors applied the image of the ‘inner dwelling place’ as a symbol of the human soul and mind. This attractive idea was used in didactic and helped to argue for an ethical, often rational or philosophical, life. In the context of the Interpretation of Knowledge I would like to propose that, although the reference to Valentinus is accurate and valuable, it should not be seen as a unique affiliation or the only literary dependence of our document on Valentinus. It was affiliated to a larger Christian and non-Christian intellectual background, which promoted care of the ‘self’ and the ‘inner life’.81 Yet another problematic idiom found in our document is a ‘structure’ (Interp. Know., 2.31: ϯⲥⲩⲥⲧⲁⲥⲓⲥ/σύστασις). Commentators82 provide references to this notion and its function in ‘Valentinian’ sources.83 For instance, the term is used in the Excerpts from Theodotus (21.2), where it refers to the material world. We find the same reference to the present world in the Interpretation of Knowledge. The 108

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term has a very long and rich sematic history in various other contexts.84 As a verb (συνίστημι, συνιστάνω) it appears in the Gospel of Luke85 and mainly in Pauline letters;86 as a description of an individual (‘fellow-rioter’) it is found in the Gospel of Mark87 but never as the noun: σύστασις. Therefore, we may assume that the term arrived at its theological place from a philosophical framework as ‘a composition of elements’, ‘constitution’, ‘formation’, ‘bringing together’. However, if we look more closely at the direct literary context of our idiom, it appears in the following polemic: For [some] say that [he] is grasped [by means of his] trace. The structure is [ignorant of his] form, but God, [who knows] his limbs – he knew them] even before they were born ... (Interp. Know., 2.29–34)88 First, we need to be aware that the original text has many lacunae; therefore it is a serious reconstruction of the original message. The author clearly quotes other people’s views (‘For [some] say’ ⲥⲉϫⲟⲩ) which he or she does not share. The strong Greek conjunction (ἀλλά in the middle of verse 32) aims to correct their view. Does the author uphold the ‘Valentinian’ opinion about the present world as ‘structure’? In the Tripartite Tractate the present world, while being called ‘structure’, is portrayed as at least ‘neutral’,89 certainly not as the ‘place of humiliation’ (ϣⲱⲥ) that it is in the Interpretation of Knowledge.90 In brief, the current world is depicted by our author as a realm with negative connotations which desperately needs redemption (13.10–38). The final notion that I have chosen to discuss91 is the concept of the ‘Sabbath’ (ⲡⲥⲁⲃⲃⲁⲧⲟⲛ/σάββατον) as the name for the world, and a second new interpretation is added here as God’s continuous work with the Saviour.92 First, the term ‘Sabbath’ appears only on page 11 four times (11.18; 11.[21];93 11.31 and 11.33 here as ‘keeping Sabbath’ ⲣⲥⲁⲃⲃⲁⲧⲟⲛ). Looking closely at the Coptic text, this identification of the Sabbath with the current world is based on scholars’ restoration of the text where some words are missing: ‘the Sabbath is the world/cosmos’ (Interp. Know., 11.18–19).94 Now, if we look for a possible parallel in other sources ascribed as ‘Valentinian’, such as the Tripartite Tractate and the Gospel of Truth, only the latter mentions the ‘Sabbath’, and it does not identify it with the current world. The appearance of the term ‘Sabbath’ in the Gospel of Truth is related to the interpretation that the Father (through) the Saviour continues the work of salvation without pause (Gos. Truth, 31.35–32.37).95 The quote seems to emphasise the activity of the Father who, with the Son – now the shepherd – is active on the ‘Sabbath’. The same idea is also expressed in another place in the text: For the Father does not observe the Sabbath. Rather, he works in the Son, and through the Son. (Inter. Know. 11.32–8)96 109

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The meaning of the passage is obvious. Both the Son and the Father are continuously active and engaged in the salvation of their people in the current world. The Gospel of Truth, the Interpretation of Knowledge as Clement of Alexandria, and previously Philo of Alexandria argue for a theology of salvation, which is a continuous process in this historical time. These three Christian commentators magnified the Scriptural motif from the Gospel of John (5:17) and the Gospel of Matthew (12:11). The message is about God’s compassion, activity in the present world, and the role of Christians, who are witness to that process of salvation. I find the proposal of the general affiliation of the Gospel of Truth and the Interpretation of Knowledge as two parallel trajectories plausible. Nonetheless, I would like to point out that we have other early Christian sources, not dependent on the ‘Valentinian’ documents, which present the same idea. I have already mentioned Clement of Alexandria,97 but the correct understanding of the Sabbath, now in the new Christian perspective, was a subject of debate during the first, second and the third centuries. For instance, the proper understanding of Sabbath is debated in the Epistle of Barnabas.98 It is also noted in the Gospel of Thomas.99 It is explained by Hippolytus.100 These sources are part of the exegetical background. However, we must consider another important author, who also promoted the same idea of God the Father and the Son working together with no pausing at any stage of the process of salvation. As we can see from those sources, they all share an exegetical interest in the notion of Sabbath as related to the ongoing procedure of salvation. Therefore, it would be erroneous to argue that this concept of the Sabbath where God and the Saviour continue to save people was an exclusive feature that allows us to allocate the document within a ‘Valentinian’ spectrum. The Interpretation of Knowledge and the Gospel of Truth continue an exegetical trajectory which started with Philo of Alexandria’s theory of salvation. In brief, the notion of the Sabbath which we found in the Interpretation of Knowledge does not show any ‘Valentinian’ characteristics, but belongs to a wider Christian debate, not extreme or ‘heretical’, about the new meaning of that concept.

5. Conclusions The Interpretation of Knowledge is placed by the majority of modern scholars within the scope of what is tagged as a ‘Valentinian tradition’. My aim in this chapter has been to prove that the document can be read and understood within the boundaries of mainstream Christian reflections of the first three centuries. It contains a religious, passionate exhortation to its readers or listeners at a time of inner tensions and divisions (‘two schools’), yet it reminds its readers about the gift of immortality brought by Christ’s humiliation and passion. It openly glorifies the cross and encourages strong faith in the Saviour. It promotes the image of the community as ‘a school’ with Christ as its ‘Teacher of Immortality’. That teaching reminds Christians who their true and only Father is. It reaffirms their identity. It also warns, many times, particularly against ‘jealousy’, while care of 110

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the soul is highly valued. It is also an exegetical work which freely combines various passages, mainly from the Gospel of Matthew and the Pauline epistles. The document is in polemic with other Christian views which, for instance, denied the real incarnation or the value of crucifixion. The Church – that is, the community – is provided with the hope of salvation, taking them up or back from the current world. There is no hint of any ‘predestination’ to salvation for some groups such as ‘pneumatics’ and ‘psychics’. These categories of people ascribed to the Valentinians are absent in the present document. Faith in the Saviour is highlighted and never replaced by, for example, secret knowledge or individualistic experience of the divine. The myth of the fallen Sophia or Logos, although it might be suggested as an insightful hypothesis to identify the characters mentioned by the document, is not stated. It is hard to see any Platonic, Middle Platonic, Stoic or Neopythagorean inspirations in the document. It does not speculate about the origin and the nature of the invisible world. The fragmentary nature of the existing narrative does not allow us to reconstruct whether or not salvation will be a return to the original state (i.e. ‘Paradise’), so that the end will be like the beginning. The Interpretation of Knowledge does offer a rather negative view of the current world, however this does not mean that the document is ‘Gnostic’, or ‘Valentinian’: dualism – ‘light’ and ‘darkness’, ‘this world’ and ‘the world to come’, ‘the current Aeon/time’ and ‘the one to come’ – is a language which belonged to the mainstream of Christianity and Christian Scriptures. The world is ‘a pit’, it is a place of darkness, but it can still be illuminated by the light of Christians (Interp. Know., 9.30–1). The document also contains a number of ambiguous notions (e.g. ‘arrogant teacher’, ‘virgin’, ‘Aeons’, ‘consummation’) and it is difficult to explain these enigmatic terms without additional literary and religious background. One of those interpretative difficulties is related to the origin of the Saviour’s body. Two contradictory opinions are given in our Coptic narrative: that the Saviour was clothed by his Father (Interp. Know., 11.38) or received his body from ‘Sophia’ (Interp. Know., 12.32). I am certain that this document will continue to be studied and interpreted as a witness in the development of Christian theology, while the view on its ‘Valentinian’ background will become less important in the approach to its content.

Notes 1 In my discussion I shall follow the Coptic text from CGL (1990), vol. XXVIII, 34–75. If necessary, I will consult ‘Notes to Text and Translation’, from the same volume, 77–88. However, the English translation follows Einar Thomassen, the Interpretation of Knowledge in The Nag Hammadi Scriptures: The Revised and Updated Translation of Sacred Gnostic Texts, Marvin Mayer (ed.) (New York: HarperCollins, 2008), 654–62. I will also consult the French translation: L’Interprétation de la gnose, Wolf-Peter Funk, L. Painchaud and E. Thomassen (eds), Section ‘Textes’ 34, BCNH (Louvain, Paris: Peeters Publishers, 2010). The title does not suggest any esoteric teaching. The Greek term ἑρμηνία ‘interpretation’, is used by Paul (1 Cor 12:10; 14:26), while the term γνῶσις as ‘knowledge’ is well attested in the NT: e.g. Lk 11:52; Rom 15:14; 1 Cor 1:5; 2 Cor 6:6; Eph 3:19; Col 2:3.

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2 ‘Social and Ethical Concern in the Interpretation of Knowledge (NHC, XI, 1): A Rhetorical Analysis of Interp. Know., 20.36–38’, JBL, vol. 134, no. 3 (2015), 651–73, here: 652–5. 3 What is the literary genre of this document? See review of all proposals in Tite, 654–5. I am inclined to understand our document as a religious (clearly Christian) exhortation (letter?) written in order to promote the correct views on salvation and encourage unanimity within the local community. See more in Stephen Emmel, ‘Exploring the Pathway that Leads from Paul to Gnosticism: What is the Genre of The Interpretation of Knowledge (NHC XI, 1)?’, in Die Weisheit – Ursprünge und Rezeption. Festschrift für Karl Löning zum 65. Geburtstag, Martin Fassnacht, Andreas Leinhäupl-Wilke and Stefan Lücking (eds) (Neutestamentliche Abhandlungen, 44) (Münster: Aschendorff, 2003), 257–76. 4 The numbers refer to the Coptic edition of pages and verses. I am providing more detailed division of the sections in the Coptic document than Thomassen, see his Interpretation of Knowledge. See also W.P. Funk, L. Painchaud and E. Thomassen, L’Interprétation de la gnose, 31. 5 I would like to point out the study Nag Hammadi Texts and The Bible (hereafter NHTB), Craig A. Evans, Robert L. Webb and Richard A. Wiebe (eds) (New Testament Tools and Studies, XVIII) (Leiden: E.J. Brill,1993), 381–91, which offers a number of possible Scriptural references echoed by the Coptic document. I am aware of them; however, I would like to propose some new identification. As the Interpretation of the Knowledge in its existing format does not provide us any direct quotes of the titles of the New Testament sources, our effort to pinpoint the exact reference is often hypothetical. Still, for my general purpose of restored Scriptural landscape, I present my list of conceptual relationships with Pauline motifs and Gospel’s stories. 6 NHTB, 380 suggests Ps 139:13, 15–16 and Jer 1:5. 7 See NHTB, 382. Incompleteness of the Coptic text does not allow any further comments. 8 See Pagels and Turner’s ‘Notes to Text and Translation’, in CGL (1990), vol. XXVIII, 78. 9 Here my allocation of the reference differs radically from NHTB. I am not searching for specific references for Christ’s crucifixion and death, but rather I have selected the clear statement of his death for ‘the Church of mortals’: Interp. Know., 5.32–3 and this expression resonates with Paul’s statement in Rom 5:8 as the author of the Coptic document would identify himself or herself with that community. 10 ϫⲉⲣⲉ stands here for ϣⲏⲣⲉ. 11 See W.E. Crum, A Coptic Dictionary (Eugene: Wipf and Stock Publishers, 2005), 584b. 12 See NHTB, 382. 13 See NHTB, 383. 14 See NHTB, 384. 15 See NHTB, 384. 16 See Pagels and Turner’s ‘Notes to Text and Translation’, 83. 17 See Pagels and Turner’s ‘Notes to Text and Translation’, 84. 18 See NHTB, 386. 19 See Pagels and Turner’s ‘Notes to Text and Translation’, 86. 20 See Pagels and Turner’s ‘Notes to Text and Translation’, 86. 21 See Pagels and Turner’s proposal that, unlike Paul, the Coptic document emphasizes primary connection with the Head/Saviour in ‘Notes to Text and Translation’, 87. 22 See Pagels and Turner’s ‘Notes to Text and Translation’, 88. 23 See NHTB, 391. 24 See NHTB, 391. 25 See NHTB, 391. 26 This division can be disputed as 1/ we have so many lacunae in the text, and 2/ some of the themes overlap. Still, the proposed list of subjects suggests some theological interests

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27 28 29 30 31 32

33 34

35 36 37 38 39 40 41 42 43 44

45 46 47 48 49 50

and pastoral concerns of the author. It is clear the Interpretation of Knowledge is not a systematic theological treatise. It does not, for instance, discuss the pre-existence of human souls, the fall, or eschatology. This division can be disputed as 1/ we have so many lacunae in the text, and 2/ some of the themes overlap. Still, the proposed list of subjects suggests some theological interests and pastoral concerns of the author. I shall discuss this point further on in this chapter. I propose to read the section about the conflict between a ‘Mother’ and a ‘young girl/ daughter’ as yet another metaphor of inner conflict. This section highlights the danger of jealousy on four occasions and is once restored 15.19. This line is restored. The English follows NRSW. The motif of ‘small’ ⲕⲟⲩⲉⲓ is pointed out in the Interpretation of Knowledge. It is characteristic of the Church/community (Inter. Know. 2.27); it is also related to incarnation of the Saviour (Inter. Know. 10.27). It describes the community to whom the Saviour was sent (Inter. Know. 14.29). In all three cases the author was inspired by Paul’s address to the Corinthians. See also Pagels’ commentary on these passages in her The Gnostic Paul: Gnostic Exegesis of the Pauline Letters (London: Continuum, 1992), 53–60. ‘Saviour’: 3.26; 5.30; 21.23; ‘Jesus’: 5.38; ‘Christ’: restored in 1.20 and 1.23, 15.17; the ‘Logos’: restored in 3.28, 16.32; 16.36, 16.38, 17.35, 21.29; ‘Image’ restored in 3.28; the ‘Head’: 17.31, 18.28, 18.35, 21.33; and ‘the Son’: 11.32, 11.34, restored 12.22; 13.11, 14.22; 14.28. Interp. Know., 9.19. This title is use only once in the existing document, however there are more references to the Saviour’s teaching. Thomassen, Interpretation of Knowledge, 656, note 27. Pagels and Turner, ‘Notes to Text and Translation’, 79–80. Thomassen, Interpretation of Knowledge, 656, note 27. John 3:1–21. The list is very long, see the term διδάσκαλος in Abbott-Smith, A Manual Greek Lexicon of the New Testament (Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1991). See ‘Index of Names and Topics’, in Denis Minns and Paul Parvis, Justin, Philosopher and Martyr: Apologies (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2009), 341. For the full list, see Otto Stählin, Clemens Alexandrinus: Register (Berlin: Akademie Verlag, 1960), and the entry ‘διδάσκαλος’. See the Teachings of Silvanus, VII, 4, 90.33–91.1. More in my ‘The Teachings of Silvanus (NHC, VII, 4) and the Education of the Christian Mind’, JGS, vol. 3 (2018), 177–200. Interp. Know., 9.20. The Jesus of the canonical Gospels did not compete with any other teacher. The document does not suggest any dualistic viewpoints, there is no evil Demiurge. Therefore, I am inclined to see the devil, mentioned in Inter. Know. 20.18 as the main opponent of the ‘teacher of immortality’. I also do not consider it possible that our original, possibly early Greek, treatise might have been influenced by the notion of the conflict between a ‘good’ Teacher of Righteousness and an ‘evil’ one known from Qumran scrolls. Interp. Know., 20.18. Interp. Know., 20.21. The term itself appears only twice in the text: 9.19 and earlier in 4.31 as restored ‘water of [immortality]’. Pagels and Turner ‘Notes to the Text and Translation’, 79. The Coptic document speculates neither about the origin of the visible world nor about its end. The ‘heavens’ (ⲛ̅ⲙ︦ⲡⲏⲩⲉ), as we shall see, are mentioned only once (9.29) in a clear reference to Mt 23:9.

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51 Shall we see in this contrast yet another Pauline motif of the opposition between true wisdom and the wisdom of this age (1 Cor 2:6–7)? It is not impossible that the author of our document was influenced by that significant Pauline distinction. 52 The current world receives a rather negative description in preserved text. It is described as ‘the pit’ (ϩⲓⲉⲧ), 10.31 and 13.26; the ‘place of humiliation’ (ϣⲱⲥ ⲥⲱϣ) in 12.24. Do these terms suggest a Valentinian outlook of the document? I am not convinced of this possibility. 53  ⲛ̄ⲧ̣ⲱ̣ⲧ̄ⲛ̄ ⲡⲉ ⲡⲟⲩⲁⲉⲓⲛ ⲙ̄ ⲡⲕⲟⲥⲙⲟⲥ. CGL (1990), vol. XXVIII, 50 (Mt 5:14). Here the Coptic is identical with the Coptic text of the Gospel of Matthew. 54 Mt 12:48–50. Again, the Coptic is close to the Coptic text of the Gospel of Matthew. 55 Mt 16:26. See parallels with Mk 8.36 and Lk 9.25. As the Coptic of our document uses the present tense (Interp. Know., 9.33–4: ⲛ̄ⲅⲁⲣ ⲡⲉ ⲫⲏⲩ ⲉⲕϣⲁⲛ ϯ ϩⲏⲩ ⲙ̄ⲡⲕⲟⲥⲙⲟⲥ), it comes closer to Mk 8.36 with τί γὰρ ὠφελεῖ ἄνθρωπον κερδῆσαι τὸν κόσμον ὅλον. CGL (1990), vol. XXVIII, 50. 56 Further, the care of the soul is enhanced in the section 20.2–38. 57 While using the first person in plural, he or she identifies himself or herself with the number of people who in their previous, erroneous lifestyle were in darkness. 58 See more in Interp. Know., 10.27–38. 59 I have provided references to Clement’s notion of the church as a school in my Clement of Alexandria: A Project of Christian Perfection (London, New York: T&T Clark, 2008), 189–225. 60 See Elaine Pagels, ‘Introduction’, in CGL (1990), vol. XXVIII, 30. 61 Einar Thomassen, ‘Eastern Soteriologies: The Interpretation of Knowledge’, in The Spiritual Seed: The Church of the Valentinians, NHMS, vol. 60 (Leiden: E.J. Brill, 2006), 86. I shall return to the adjective ‘Eastern’ in this section. 62 In his introduction to the document, in The Nag Hammadi Scriptures: The Revised and Updated Translation of Sacred Gnostic Texts, 651–3. 63 See Paul Linjamaa, ‘The Female Figures and Fate in the Interpretation of Knowledge, NHC XI,1’, JECS, vol. 24, no. 1 (2016), 29–54. 64 Importance of ‘a Name’ (ⲟⲩ ⲣⲉⲛ) may be seen as a trace of ‘Valentinian’ speculation, but it already was a feature of Philo of Alexandria allegorical exegesis of the Biblical names, later assimilated by Christian exegetes in Alexandria. See Annewies van den Hoek, ‘Etymologizing in a Christian Context: The Techniques of Clement and Origen’, SPh, vol. 16 (2004), 122–68. In my view, the emphasis on ‘Name’ in our Coptic document only shows the author’s awareness of that Alexandrian tradition, and not a ‘Valentinian’ inclination. 65 ⲛⲓⲙ ⲛ̄ⲇⲉ ⲡ̣[ⲉ ⲡⲉ]ⲉ̣ⲓ ⲛ̄ⲧⲁϩⲥⲱⲧⲉ ⲙ̄ⲡⲉⲛⲧⲁⲩⲛϭⲛⲟⲩϭ[ϥ̄] ⲧ̣ⲁⲡⲟϩⲣⲟⲓⲁ ⲙ̄ⲡⲣⲉⲛ ⲡⲉ ⲛ̄ⲑⲉ ⲅⲁⲣ ⲉ̣[ⲧ]ⲉ ⲧⲥⲁⲣⲝ ⲣ̄ ⲭⲣⲉⲓ ⲁ ⲛ̄ⲟⲩⲣⲉⲛ ⲧⲉⲉⲓ ⲧⲉ ⲑⲉ [ⲧⲥ]ⲁⲣⲝ ⲟⲩⲁⲓⲱⲛ̣ ⲡⲉ ⲛ̄ⲧⲁϩⲁⲧⲥⲟⲫⲓⲁ ⲧⲉⲩ[ⲁ]ϥ̣̄ ⲁⲃⲁⲗ ⲁ̣ϥ̣ ϣⲱⲡ ⲁⲣⲁϥ ⲙ̄ⲡⲙⲉⲅⲉⲑ̣[ⲟⲥ] ⲉⲧ̅ⲛ̅ⲛⲏⲩ ⲁⲡⲓ ⲧ̅ⲛ̅ ϫⲉⲕⲁⲥⲉ ⲉⲣⲉⲡⲁⲓⲱⲛ̣ [ⲛ]ⲁⲃⲱⲕ ⲁϩⲟⲩⲛ ⲁⲡⲉⲛⲧⲁⲩⲛ̄ϭⲛⲟⲩϭ̄ϥ̄ [ⲁ] ⲧ̣ⲣ̄ⲛ̄ⲗ̄ⲃⲁⲗ ⲁ ⲡⲛⲁϭⲛ̄ϭ ⲙ̄ⲡϣⲉ̣ⲗ̣ ⲁ̣[ⲩ]ⲱ ⲛ̄ⲥⲉϫⲡⲁⲛ ⲛ̄ⲕⲉⲥⲁⲡ ϩ̄ⲛ̄ ⲧⲥⲁⲣ̣[ⲝ ⲁⲩⲱ ϩ̄ⲙ̄] ⲡⲥⲛⲁϥ ⲛ̄. (CGL (1990), vol. XXVIII, 56) 66 Thomassen, The Spiritual Seed, 87. 67 Thomassen points out that the ‘soteriology of participation’ is also mentioned in Ex.Th., 22.6–7 and Tri. Trac. 124.25–125.11. However, this idea is not ‘Valentinian’ as it goes back to Paul (Gal 2:20; 2 Cor 5:17), 2 Pet 1:4; and the Gospel of John (15:4–11), see its more developed soteriological version we find in Irenaeus, AH., 3.19.1; later reviewed with Athanasius of Alexandria, Inc., 54.3. 68 Thomassen, The Spiritual Seed, 88.

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69 See for instance Ex.Th., 59.1 and discussion in Thomassen, The Spiritual Seed, 62–4. 70 See more in Karen L. King, ‘Sophia and Christ’, in Images of the Feminine in Gnosticism, Karen L. King (ed.) (Harrisburg: Trinity Press International, 2000), 158–76. 71 Frag. 2 in Clement of Alexandria, 2.22.114.3–6. The term is used in verse 5: καί μοι δοκεῖ ὅμοιόν τι πάσχειν τῷ πανδοχείῳ ἡ καρδία· For this reference, see W.P. Funk, L. Painchaud and E. Thomassen, L’Interprétation de la gnose, 123. The term originates in Lk 10:34. 72 See my ‘The Teachings of Silvanus’, 183–4. 73 In the Platonic tradition, the famous image comes from the Republic (588b–589b) where the human soul is depicted as a trichotomous hybrid of different natural forces. 74 E.g. 2 Pet 2:12 and 20. Mt 12:43–5. The Greek text of Matthew does not use πανδοκεῖον, found in Luke, but the noun ὁ οἶκος. Still, as the Gospel of Matthew was used by the author of our document on many occasions, it is plausible that this metaphor originated in the reading of Matthew. 75 See e.g. Det. 25; Praem 88; Migr 210; Sacr 104–5; QE 1.19; 2.100; QG 4.165; 4.198. 76 See Decal 80: μεταβεβλκότας εἰς ἐκεῖνα τὰς ψυχάς and QE 1.22; Spec. 4.121; Abr., 8.33; VM I.43; Virt 2; QG 1.50. 77 In Clement of Alexandria’s view, Basilides and his son Isidore claimed that the human soul may be inhabited by ‘a hidden army of passions and evils spirits’, see Strom., 2.20.113.1–2 and earlier 2.20.112.1. 78 Heracleon’s exegesis (frag. 13). 79 See Hom.Gen. 9.3 and Princ., III.3.6. 80 For instance, Seneca, Ep. 83.1; 87.21 and Epictetus, Discourses, 2.8.14. 81 More on that context in Transformations of the Inner Self in Ancient Religions, Jan Assmann and Guy G. Stroumsa (eds), SHR, vol. LXXXIII (Leiden: E.J. Brill, 1999). 82 Pagels and Turner, ‘Notes to Text and Translation’, 77; W.P. Funk, L. Painchaud and E. Thomassen, L’Interprétation de la gnose, 117. 83 Tri. Trac. 59.29; 60.16–38; 61.1–8, 28–37; 71.7; 98.31, 102.30; Treat. Res., 4.44, 35; Ex.Th., 22.2l; Gos. Truth, 27.22–3. 84 See Liddell-Scott Lexicon and the entry. 85 Lk 9:32. 86 Rom 3:5, 5:8, 16:1; 2 Cor 3:1, 4:2, 5:12, 6:4, 7:11; 10:12; 10:18; 12:11; Gal 2:18; Col 1:17; 2 Pet 3:5. 87 Mk 15:7: ὁ συστασιαστής. 88  ⲕⲁⲓ ⲅⲁⲣ ⲥⲉϫⲟⲩ ⲙ̄[ⲙⲁϥ ⲉⲧ] [ⲃⲉ ⲟⲩⲉ]ⲓ̣ⲛⲉ ϫⲉ ⲥⲉⲉⲙⲁϩⲧⲉ ⲙ̣̄[ⲙⲁϥ ϩⲓⲧⲛ̄] [ⲡⲉϥⲓⲭ]ⲛⲟⲥ ϯⲥⲩⲥⲧⲁⲥⲓⲥ ⲉⲙ̣ⲁ̣[ϩⲧⲉ ϩⲓ] [ⲧ̄ ⲛ̄ ⲡⲓ]ⲉ̣ⲓⲛⲉ ⲁⲗⲗⲁ ⲡⲛⲟⲩⲧⲉ ⲉ̣[ⲙⲁϩⲧⲉ] [ϩⲓⲧ̄ⲛ̄ ⲛ] ⲉϥⲙⲉⲗⲟⲥ [[ⲙ̄ⲙⲓⲛ ⲙ̄ⲙ]] [ⲁϥⲙ̄ⲙⲉ ⲁ] [ⲣⲁⲩ ϩ̣]ⲁ̣ⲑⲏ ⲉⲙⲡⲁⲧⲟⲩϫⲡⲁ̣ⲩ̣. CGL (1990), vol. XXVIII, 36. French translation of the same passage: ‘[Certains] disent en effet 30 qu’on [le] saisit [grâce à sa tra]ce. Le système (du monde) [ne saisit pas sa] forme, mais Dieu, [... s]es membre[s] — [il les a connus] avant qu’ils ne fussent engendrés’. In W.P. Funk, L. Painchaud and E. Thomassen, L’Interprétation de la gnose. 89 See for instance, 104.4–108.12. 90 See footnote 52. 91 For instance, Thomassen’s list of possible borrowings from ‘Valentinian’ works and ideas is longer, see Thomassen, Interpretation of Knowledge, 651–2. 92 I have discussed this very notion in Chapter 3.5 with some references to Philo and Clement of Alexandria. In the previous Chapter 4, the same idiom came up in an example of a wider Christian debate, see footnote 51. My point was that the notion of Sabbath as an allegory of ongoing process of salvation was known to various exegetes, and did not represent an exclusively ‘Valentinian’ viewpoint. See also footnote 98 and the Epistle of Barnabas and footnote 99 with references to the Gospel of Thomas.

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93 In Interp. Know., 11.21, the term is restored. 94 ⲡⲥ[ⲁ]ⲃ̣ⲃ̣[ⲁ]ⲧⲟⲛ ⲉⲧⲉ ⲡⲉ̣[ⲉⲓ ⲡⲉ ⲡⲕⲟ]ⲥⲙⲟⲥ. CGL (1990), vol. XXVIII, 54. 95 See Chapter 3.5. Also, as we saw in Chapter 3.5, speculation about the meaning of the Sabbath in relation to the process of salvation appeared in the works of Philo and Clement of Alexandria and can’t be a witness to ‘Valentinian’ views. 96 ⲙⲁⲣⲉⲡⲓⲱⲧ ⲛ̄ⲅⲁⲣ ⲣ̣̄ⲥ̣ⲁ̣ⲃⲃⲁⲧⲟ[ⲛ] ⲁ̣ⲗⲗⲁ ⲉ ϥ̅ⲣ̅ϩⲱϥ̄ ⲁⲡϣⲏⲣⲉ ⲁⲩⲱ ϩⲓⲧ̄[ⲙ̄] ⲡϣⲏⲣⲉ. CGL (1990), vol. XXVIII, 54. The French translation reads: En effet, le Père n’observe pas le sabbat, mais il œuvre dans le Fils et par le Fils. Il 35 lui a confié les éons: le Père détient des parcelles de logos vivantes de sorte qu’il (sc. le Père) le (sc. le Fils) revêt des éons comme d’un vêtement. 97 See again Chapter 3.5 and footnote 102. 98 Ep.Barn, 15.1–9. 99 Gos. Thomas, 27, both the Coptic and the Greek versions (P. Oxy. 1.4–11). See more in T. Baarda, ‘“If you do not Sabbatize the Sabbath ...” The Sabbath as God or World in Gnostic Understanding (Ev. Thom., Log.27)’, in R. van den Broek, T. Baarda and J. Mansfeld (eds), Knowledge of God in the Graeco-Roman World (EPRO, 12) (Leiden: E.J. Brill, 1988), 178–201. Baarda proposed to see ‘the Sabbath’ as the synonym of this world. 100 Hippolytus, Commentary on Daniel, IV.23.

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6 RECEPTION OF THE JOHANNINE M O T I F S I N H E R A C L E O N’S COMMENTARY ON THE GOSPEL OF JOHN A N D T H E TRIPARTITE TRACTATE, N H C, I, 5 Theological and exegetical parallels between the Coptic Tripartite Tractate I,5 and the fragments of Heracleon’s Commentary on the Gospel of John prompted some scholars such as Puech, Quispel and Colpe to identify Heracleon as the author of the original Greek treatise, which later was translated into Coptic. This chapter re-examines selected references to the Johannine characters, ideas and terminology in both sources and affirms the familiarity of the author of the Tripartite Tractate with the work of Heracleon. However, my discussion does not identify Heracleon as its author or as the theologian behind the original treatise. In the Coptic treatise Tripartite Tractate, as I will argue, we find further development of Heracleon’s theology in a new direction. The Tripartite Tractate and the philosophical climate of the reflection are similar to the thoughts of the Christian Origen and Plotinus.

1. Introduction of the sources Thanks to Origen’s apologetic endeavour we have access to 48 quotes from an otherwise lost commentary1 on the Gospel of John by a certain second-century Christian exegete named as Heracleon. Origen introduces his source as: Heracleon, who is said to be Valentinus’ disciple.2

(Com.In Ioh., 2.100)3

One generation earlier, Clement of Alexandria was also called this, and we have no reason to doubt that Clement spoke of yet another Christian exegete of the same name: Heracleon, the most esteemed of Valentinus’ school.

(Strom., 4.9.71.1)4

117 DOI: 10.4324/9781003181095-7

Reception of the Johannine motifs

In addition, earlier in the same century, Irenaeus of Lyons briefly named Heracleon5 and Ptolemy6 while suggesting, in a sarcastic way, that, like Aeons which in Valentinus’ cosmology emanated from the Father, Heracleon and Ptolemy proceeded from Valentinus. Tertullian of Carthage also left a short note, this time suggesting that Heracleon was Ptolemy’s successor.7 The exact connection between Heracleon and Valentinus has been a subject of debate. Recently, Kaler and co-author Bussière have suggested that Origen’s affiliation of Heracleon to the ‘Valentinians’ should be critically reassessed.8 Kaler and Bussière proposed reading Origen’s statement as a report that some believed that Heracleon belonged to the ‘Valentinian’ school, while he himself did not.9 Their interpretation has been challenged by Einar Thomassen, who finds this proposal ‘unconvincing’.10 It should be added, as noted by Thomassen,11 that the majority of modern commentators place Heracleon within Valentinus’ milieu. However, there are also those, like Markschies12 and Edwards,13 who do not place Heracleon directly within the scope of ‘Valentinian’ influence. I shall argue for my position in the conclusion to this chapter. Heracleon’s commentary, as we know it from Origen,14 refers at various lengths to selected passages from Chapters 1–8 of the Gospel of John.15 Any readings of these fragments should include the possibility that Origen’s citations were selective, and the original text might have been longer. Still, we find in the eighth chapter of the Gospel of John: 1/ three references to the Prologue;16 2/ a number of comments on John the Baptist’s testimony; 3/ Jesus’ journey to Jerusalem and cleansing of the temple; 4/ the encounter with the Samaritan woman; 5/ the conversation and teaching of the disciples about true food; 6/ the miracle of the healing of the royal official’s son; and 7/ the confrontation with the Jews. Even this elementary review shows that Origen’s selection omits a number of important episodes from the Gospel of John in Heracleon’s commentary, such as for instance, the conversation with Nicodemus; therefore the preserved passages served Origen’s polemical purpose, rather than reflecting the original structure of Heracleon’s exegetical treatise.17 For the purposes of this chapter, I shall analyse only a few relevant passages from Heracleon’s work. The second source known under the title provided by modern scholars18 as the Tripartite Tractate I,5 was found with four other treatises at the end of Codex I. Attridge and Pagels’ introduction19 proposes that the literary genre of this document is similar to Origen’s De Principiis.20 As the ancient document is well preserved, its theology can be reconstructed with a good degree of certainty. Scholars agree that the theology and the history of salvation presented in this document reflect the ‘Valentinian’ theology. However, there is still room for debate about further details. Attridge and Pagels argued that the document was written by one author reflecting the western branch of the ‘Valentinian school’,21 while Thomassen concluded that the theology of this treatise stands for the eastern tradition.22 The exact date of the document can’t be established with certainty; however, there is agreement that the document can be placed within the scope of the first half of the third century to the early fourth century of the Common Era.23 As we are 118

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interested in Scriptural, or more specifically Johannine, features in the Tripartite Tractate, I would like first to offer general remarks about the theological style of the document. Unlike Heracleon’s commentary on the Gospel of John, the Coptic treatise does not refer to any longer fragments taken from the Gospel, and it does not mention any events or characters from the fourth Gospel. Still, some shorter Scriptural references to certain passages can be detected.24 The Biblical index of the Tripartite Tractate25 clearly shows the exegetical technique used by the author(s) of the Coptic document: strong blending various Scriptural and other references.26 Even if some of these allusions are arguable, I am keen on accepting as my premise that the Coptic treatise preserved some Johannine ideas and terminology. The fourth Gospel was accepted as an authority by the Christians who composed and translated the Coptic document.

2. The (apophatic) nature of God Now in more detail, I shall explore the nature of the Father in the Gospel of John and examine how Johannine characteristics were assimilated, first in Heracleon’s commentary, then in the Tripartite Tractate. Naturally, I would like to start with the Gospel of John. Philip’s famous challenge (John 14:8): ‘Lord, show us the Father, and we will be satisfied’27 highlights the intricacy of knowledge and personal experience, even of God, as indicated in the fourth Gospel.28 First, the Gospel in a coherent way proposes that Jesus, the Word, is the only mediator between God and humanity. God can be seen in Jesus (e.g. John 14:9) – more specifically through Jesus’ signs (miracles),29 and even more in Jesus’ death (‘glory’)30 and resurrection (John 20:28). Secondly, it is also correct to say that God remains transcendent. It is not a philosophical notion of transcendence, but rather a Jewish and Scriptural awareness of God’s, here the Father’s, otherness and holiness (‫)ׁשֹו֛דָק‬.31 The fourth Gospel echoes that Jewish intuition in another important statement from the end of the Prologue. There we find this significant acclamation: No one has ever seen God. It is God the only Son (μονογενὴς υἱός),32 who is close to the Father’s heart,33 who has made him known.34 This statement introduces the vital role of Jesus, the Word, who is the ultimate revealer of God. Previous holy men, such as Moses, although sent by God to Israel, cannot be compared with the status of Jesus. Both quoted statements (John 14:8 and 1:18) about the approach to the transcendent God through Jesus are interwoven in the theology and Christology of the fourth Gospel. The earthly Jesus, the incarnate Word, is the only ‘bridge’ between humanity and God. The theology of God is fully explained by the Christology of the Gospel. Jesus makes his Father known (e.g. John 16:25, 17:6 and 26) to his followers. Within its religious-literary genre, the Gospel does not refer to the philosophical, Middle Platonic concepts of an ‘apophatic’ or ‘unknowable’ God,35 but it assumes that before Jesus’ incarnation 119

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human knowledge of God was imperfect and limited. The main emphasis on the attainment of this knowledge or an intimate relationship with God is, as expressed in the idiomatic way, ‘being born again’ (John 3:3 and 7) or ‘of the Spirit’ (John 3:5). As noted by Thompson, Jesus talks about his Father rather than trying to describe his nature.36 In brief, spiritual people, through the mediator the ‘only begotten Son’, have access to the Father. This synopsis of Johannine theology and Christology is important in relation to Heracleon’s exegesis. We do not have Heracleon’s commentary on Philip’s challenge and Jesus’ subsequent answer.37 However, fragment 3 refers to John 1:18. Origen’s excerpt shows that Heracleon did not elaborate to any extent on the nature of God; however, Heracleon attributed the statement, in Origen’s view incorrectly, not to John the Baptist, but to the disciples.38 Still, the existing excerpts show that, in a quite parallel way to the Gospel of John, Heracleon avoided speculation about the nature of God and explored ways of reaching salvation. On one occasion, while referring to John 4:24, Heracleon stated: ‘God is spirit’, For his divine nature is undefiled, and pure, and invisible. (Com. In Ioh., 4:24, frag. 24)39 Heracleon’s pronouncement reveals an interesting semantics. Here, some Platonic terms (ἄχραντος40) are combined with Scriptural and Hebrew notions (ἡ θεία φύσις41 καθαρὰ)42 and resonate with a Johannine motif of God as invisible (ἀόρατος43). It is alongside the Gospel of John that Heracleon’s view of God highlighted that, although God is transcendent, it is possible to know his will. Knowledge of God, in Heracleon’s view, led to the proper worship of God (‘in truth’).44 This vital relationship was reaffirmed further by Heracleon in his comment on John 4:34: But the will of the Father is that humanity knows the Father and is saved, which was the work for which the Savior was sent into Samaria, that is, into the world. (Com. In Ioh., 4:34, frag. 31)45 Again, very close to the Johannine approach, Heracleon affirms that knowledge of the Father is possible only through the awareness of, or experience of, the works of the Saviour. I would like to suggest that, for Heracleon, the divine Father (or the Father of the Saviour) can be known to human beings who are able to receive revelation46 from the Saviour like the Samaritan woman in Heracleon’s interpretation. She represented spiritual people, she exemplified the transformation from ‘ignorance’47 to ‘knowledge’. The latter is expressed by worship in truth.48 In the light of Heracleon’s exegesis, it is convincing that he reveals himself mainly as a Christian commentator, who is able to point out and explore the more allegorical dimension of the Johannine text. He did not hint at noticeable philosophical speculation on the structure of the invisible world, nor did he suggest a metaphysical 120

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cosmology. His scenario of salvation was different from Origen’s own but did not develop a specific discourse on the apophatic nature of God. In this way, Heracleon continued on the Johannine theological path, although in an original direction, controversial to Origen. Now we shall move to the Tripartite Tractate. The character of the Father (ⲡⲓⲱⲧ) is discussed in a special section of the work (51.8–57.8) which introduces God49 and his direct, unique connection with the Son. Attridge and Pagels noted that this section contains ‘three major divisions’.50 The first one (Tri. Trac. 51.8–54.1) highlights the metaphysical status of the Father, mainly his transcendence and immutability. The second (Tri. Trac. 54.2–55.26) points out the activity of the Father as self-contemplation. I should add, from our point of view, this section also explores the apophatic nature of God. The final section (Tri. Trac. 55.27–57.8) highlights the role of the Son as the Revealer of the Father. Looking more carefully at the language and characteristics of the Father, we can detect an amalgam of philosophical and Scriptural motifs. The leading features of the Father are: ‘singleness’ (Tri. Trac. 51.8–9), ‘inimitable and immutable’ (Tri. Trac. 51.24), ‘unbegotten’ (Tri. Trac. 51.27; 52.9; 52.35; 53.9), ‘without beginning and without end’ (Tri. Trac. 52.6; 52.35–6), ‘immortal’ (Tri. Trac. 52.9; 52.37), ‘invariable in his eternal existence’ (Tri. Trac. 52.11), ‘great’ (Tri. Trac. 52.14), ‘unchanged’ (Tri. Trac. 52.21), ‘he cannot be grasped’ (Tri. Trac. 52.27; 52.41; 53.16), ‘unalterable, immutable one’ (Tri. Trac. 52.32), ‘inscrutable in his wisdom’ (Tri. Trac. 53.2), ‘incomprehensible in his power’ (Tri. Trac. 53.4), ‘unfathomable in his sweetness’ (Tri. Trac. 53.5), ‘the complete perfect one’ (Tri. Trac. 53.9). The next section, very important to our discussion, needs to be quoted in full. It contains an apophatic theology of God/the Father: Yet as for him, in his own existence, being and form, it is impossible for mind to conceive him (ⲙⲛ̄ ϭⲁⲙ ⲁⲧⲣⲉⲛⲟⲩⲥ ⲣ̄ ⲛⲟⲓ̈ 51 ⲙ̄ⲙⲁⲥ), nor can any speech convey him, nor can any eye see him, nor can any body grasp him, because of his inscrutable greatness (ⲙⲛ̄ⲧⲛⲟϭ ⲛ̄ⲧⲉϥ‧ ⲛ̄ⲛⲁⲧⲛ̄ ⲣⲉⲧⲥ̄), and his incomprehensible depth (ⲡⲓⲃⲁⲑⲟⲥ ⲛ̄ⲧⲉϥ ⲛ̄ⲁⲧ‧ⲧⲉϩⲁϥ), and his immeasurable height (ⲡⲓϫⲓⲥⲉ ⲛ̄ⲧⲉϥ ⲛ̄ⲁⲧ⳿ϣ⳿ⲓⲧϥ̄), and his illimitable will (ⲡⲓⲟⲩⲱϣⲉ ⲛ̄ⲧⲉϥ ⲛⲁⲧϣⲁⲡϥ̄). This is the nature of the unbegotten one (ⲧⲉⲉⲓ ⲧⲉ ⲧⲫⲩⲥⲓⲥ ⲙ̄ⲡⲓⲁⲧϫⲡⲁϥ), which does not touch anything else; nor is it joined (to anything) in the manner of something which is limited. Rather, he possesses this constitution, without having a face or a form (ⲛ̄ⲛⲟⲩϩⲟ ⲟⲩⲇⲉ ⲟⲩⲥⲭⲏⲙⲁ),52 things which are understood through perception, whence also comes (the epithet) ‘the incomprehensible’ (ⲡⲉ ⲡⲁⲧ‧ⲧⲉϩⲁϥ ⲁⲛ). If he is incomprehensible, then it follows that he is unknowable (ⲟⲩⲁⲧⲥⲟⲩⲱⲛϥ̄), that he is the one who is inconceivable by any thought, invisible (ⲛ̄ⲛⲁⲧ‧ⲛⲉⲩ) by any thing, ineffable (ⲛ̄ⲛⲁⲧ‧ϣⲉϫⲉ) by any word, untouchable (ⲛ̄ⲛⲁⲧϫⲱϩ) by any hand. He alone is the one53 who knows himself as he is, along with his form and his greatness and his magnitude. And since he has the ability to conceive of himself, to see 121

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himself, to name himself, to comprehend himself, he alone is the one who is his own mind, his own eye, his own mouth, his own form, and he is what he thinks, what he sees, what he speaks, what he grasps, himself, the one who is inconceivable (ⲡⲓⲁⲧⲣ̄ ⲛⲟⲉⲓ), ineffable (ⲛ̄ⲁⲧϣⲉϫⲉ), incomprehensible (ⲛ̄ⲁⲧϣⲁⲡϥ̄), immutable (ⲛ̄ⲁⲧⲡⲁⲛⲉϥ̄), while sustaining, joyous, true, delightful, and restful is that which he conceives, that which he sees, that about which he speaks, that which he has as thought. He transcends all wisdom (ϥⲛⲉϩⲥⲉ ⲁϩⲣⲁⲏⲓ̈ ⲛ̄ⲥⲟⲫⲓⲁ ⲛⲓⲙ), and is above all intellect (ϥⲛ̄ⲧⲡⲉ ⲛ̄ⲛⲟⲩⲥ ⲛⲓⲙ), and is above all glory (ϥⲛ̄ⲧⲡⲉ ⲛ̄ⲉⲁⲩ ⲛⲓⲙ), and is above all beauty (ϥⲛ̄ⲧⲡⲉ ⲛ̄ⲥⲁⲉⲓⲉ ⲛⲓⲙ), and all sweetness, and all greatness, and any depth and any height (ϩⲗ̄ϭⲉ ⲛⲓⲙ ⲁⲩⲱ ⲙⲛ̄ⲧⲛⲁϩⲁϭ ⲛⲓⲙ ⲁⲩⲱ ⲃⲁⲑⲟⲥ ⲛⲓⲙ ⲁⲩⲱ ϫⲓⲥⲉ ⲛⲓⲙ). (Tri. Trac. 54.12–55.25)54 It is evident that the author of the Tripartite Tractate expresses here the doctrine of God’s unknowable nature (Agnostos Theos).55 The passage points out the limits of human abilities to comprehend God and indirectly poses the question about the source of our knowledge of God, that is God’s revealer. The role of the Son will be discussed in the next section of the document. In relation to the Gospel of John and then Heracleon’s Commentary it is important to make the following observations. The Coptic document develops further negative theology of the divine Father. The quoted passage shows much more intellectual pronouncements than those found in excerpts of Heracleon, and they resonate with similar language in the negative theology of Plotinus56 and Origen.57 In their systematic and metaphysical discussions, although preserving significant differences between Neoplatonic Gentile and Christian premises, the One (Plotinus)58 and (God the Father)59 cannot be properly comprehended by the human mind. A certain ‘revelation’ or philosophical investigation is necessary. Plotinus and Origen, similarly to the author of the Tripartite Tractate, underline the apophatic nature of the Absolute. For example, for all three thinkers the ‘Oneness’ of that Being above all other beings is highly important.60 Attridge and Pagels, rightly in my view, point out that this characteristic was already important to Heracleon.61 For all our thinkers the ‘goodness’ of the Absolute is also equally significant.62 Later, in the times of Plotinus, Origen and the Tripartite Tractate, this divine attribute was emphasised as the important aspect of divine Perfection. In my view, the Coptic document offers speculation on the nature of the Father, which goes along similar lines attested in Plotinus and Origen. In the next part, I shall explore a significant theological overlap in the role of the Word/Logos in all our Christian documents.

3. The nature and role of the Word: ‘Mutual participation’ Einar Thomassen, in his careful study on the diversity of theologies in the ‘Valentinian’ school,63 has highlighted, among others, one significant characteristic of the theory of salvation in Heracleon, which later resonates in the Coptic Tripartite Tractate. It is a ‘mutual participation’.64 In this section I would like to look closely 122

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at this feature and I shall argue that this notion was already important in the Gospel of John, was then reinterpreted by Heracleon and further developed by the Tripartite Tractate and Origen. The last phase of development of this theory came about with greater intellectual interest among philosophers (here: Plotinus), theologians such as Origen and the author of the Tripartite Tractate. Their contribution did not suggest a separation between ‘the spiritual or intellectual’ and ‘human’ but rather the inner connection and partaking between the divine or rational element and the current existence in the body. Let’s start with Thomassen’s insightful observation. Having studied a number of documents such as Excerpts from Theodotus, the Tripartite Tractate, the Treatise on Resurrection, the Interpretation of Knowledge, and the Gospel of Philip, Thomassen has observed a certain common motif. In brief, the descent of the divine Saviour to this world and his assumption of a material body (incarnation)65 allowed him to experience very human conditions such as suffering (A), while the human beings, at least for those who are spiritual or more advanced, may by his ascension reunite with their counterparts from the realm of perfection (B). ‘Mutual participation’ permits the spiritual elements to encounter the material reality, while also redeeming those who dwell in the material world by joining them with their partners from the highest world. This is an important theory of salvation, with the Saviour in its centre. The Saviour sets a metaphysical ‘bridge’ between two realms: higher/divine and lower/material. Only through the Saviour’s incarnation can this metaphysical bridge be established and open to ‘traffic’. It should be noted that this speculative motif does not run in parallel to the famous statement of Irenaeus of Lyons that the divine Christ became human in order to allow men and women to become adopted children of God.66 Although Irenaeus was a contemporary of Heracleon and they shared theological interest in explaining the purpose of the incarnation, the differences between their theological assumptions and conclusions were clearly substantial. Moving to Heracleon, Thomassen summarises ‘mutual participation’ in the following way: In this way, Heracleon clearly implies that the passion suffered by the Saviour through his own material incarnation effects the liberation of those who have themselves suffered by being linked with the forces of matter – just as the Samaritan woman was abused by her six illegitimate husbands – as well as their unification, as in the marriage feast, with their true, spiritual, partners in the Pleroma. It can be concluded, then, that Heracleon advocates a form of the soteriology of mutual participation that was established for eastern Valentinians.67 No doubt in the centre of that unification between the humans (spirituals and psychics) and the pre-existent but perfect world is the Saviour. He is the only one through whom the spiritual ones can reach the perfect ones, while the perfect ones can unite with their spiritual counterparts. In him and through him this process of salvation is possible. In the case of Heracleon,68 the Johannine episode of the conversation between Jesus and the Samaritan woman (John 4:1–30) serves a specific 123

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purpose: to illustrate how she, now in the allegorical context the embodiment of what is spiritual, positively responded to the Saviour’s teaching and message. The Saviour, in Heracleon’s interpretation, explained to her that her true partner is in the Pleroma: ‘He says to her’. It is clear that this is what he saying ‘If you want to receive this water, go call your husband’. [...] ‘Truly I say that you don’t have a husband’ (This was said) because the Samaritan did not have a husband in the world, since her husband was in the eternity. (Com. In Ioh., 4:16–18, frag. 18)69 The last sentence is particularly important. Coming to the Saviour (γενομένη πρός τὸν Σωτῆρα) she might receive, among other qualities, union (ἕνωσιν) with her true husband/partner in the Pleroma (i.e. in the perfect, eternal realm). The Saviour brings them both together. Was that understanding of the vital role of the Saviour as a mediator an original contribution from Heracleon? In the next section I would like to argue that Heracleon found support in his exegesis in the Gospel of John, particularly in Chapters 14:1–15.11 with the visionary metaphor of the union with the Saviour and, through that union, access to his divine Father. We don’t have Heracleon’s commentary on the passages, but careful analysis of the most significant metaphors unveils a foundation for the vital theory of ‘mutual participation’. I would like to propose the reading of the Johannine narrative in ‘reverse order’,70 starting with a section from Chapter 15:1–8. In this famous discourse Jesus compares himself and his followers to the true vine (ἡ ἄμπελος ἡ ἀληθινή), while his Father, not being part of the vine, such as its root, is somebody ‘outside’, that is the farmer/ vine-grower (ὁ γεωργός).71 Jesus’ discourse clearly highlights the importance of a direct connection (relationship) between his followers and him. ‘Abide in me and I abide in you’72 (John 15:4: μείνατε ἐν ἐμοί, κἀγὼ ἐν ὑμῖν) pronounces the Johannine idea of ‘mutual participation’. With a very Johannine style and terminology, the discourse declares: As the Father has loved me, so I have loved you; abide in my love. If you keep my commandments, you will abide in my love, just as I have kept my Father’s commandments and abide in his love. (John 15:9–10) The vital term ‘to abide’ (μένω) is used ten times in section 15:4–10 alone. It is clear that this verb in its relative grammatical forms emphasises the crucial relationship between the Saviour and his disciples. It also, in verse 10, opens the further meaning of salvation as the union, through the Saviour, with his Father. At this point, we need to turn ‘back’. The last statement in John 15:10, introduces the crucial attitude in the Johannine didactic: ‘love’ (ἀγάπη). The importance 124

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of love as the condition to become the dwelling place, or person, is highlighted earlier in the Gospel of John: Those who love me will keep my word, and my Father will love them, and we will come to them and make our home with them (μονὴν παρ’ αὐτῷ ποιησόμεθα). (John 14:23) This time the Saviour and his divine Father will both dwell with (παρ’ αὐτῷ) him. The theological movement, if we compare this statement with the previous one where the Father is the vine-grower, suggests an even closer relationship between the disciple and the Saviour’s Father. The Father and the Saviour will make (one) home/dwelling place with the disciple. They will both participate in his/her life, if the condition of love and keeping the word of the Saviour is fulfilled. But can we go even further with the possible assumption of dwelling in the Father, or in the divine realm, while united with the Saviour? Again, going ‘backwards’, in the chapter we find the following statement: On that day you will know that I am in my Father, and you in me, and I in you. ἐν ἐκείνῃ τῇ ἡμέρᾳ γνώσεσθε ὑμεῖς ὅτι ἐγὼ ἐν τῷ πατρί μου καὶ ὑμεῖς ἐν ἐμοὶ κἀγὼ ἐν ὑμῖν. (John 14:20) Although not directly, this passage reassures the believer that, at a certain moment in the history of salvation, he or she will be aware of participation in the life of the Father, through the participation in the life of the Son. It is important to stress that, throughout the whole section, and indeed in the Gospel of John, the difference in identity of the Father and the Son is well preserved. However, their profound, intimate relationship is gradually revealed to the followers through different metaphors and discourses. It clear for Johannine theology that ‘seeing’ Jesus allows one to ‘see’ his Father. Philip’s well-known request (14:8) to see the Father finds a direct response from Jesus: you are looking at him right now (14:9: ‘whoever has seen me has seen the Father’ ὁ ἑωρακὼς ἐμὲ ἑώρακεν τὸν πατέρα). In conclusion, our ‘backward’ reading brings us to the open declaration that the Son participates in the life of the divine Father, while the divine Father, equally, participates in the life of the Son. The believer in the Gospel of John is invited or called to participate in the life of Jesus through love and that will allow him to gain access to the Father, while the Father and the Son will participate in his or her current, earthly existence. We do not know how Heracleon interpreted these ‘later’ chapters of the Gospel of John. However, his exegesis of the earlier fragments of the Gospel of John strongly suggest that he welcomed the idea of ‘a bridge’ between this visible, material world and the invisible and perfect one. He encouraged his readers to worship ‘the Father of Truth’.73 This encouragement implies that human beings 125

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can access some knowledge about ‘the Father of Truth’ through a mediator/ revealer. In Scriptural terms, as in the case of the Samaritan woman, only through conversation with the Saviour can people have access to the Father. We may carefully conclude that Heracleon as the exegete was aware that some passages from the Gospel of John encourage us to think of the relationship between the Saviour together with his Father and the believer as sharing some qualities – in the case of the Gospel, love. ‘Mutual participation’ assumed by the Gospel attracted the attention of the earlier commentators, including Heracleon. We do not know about further development of this notion in Heracleon’s commentary, but the Coptic document the Tripartite Tractate is familiar with Heracleon’s assimilation and at the same time adds a new significant understanding of it. In the case of the Gospel of John and Heracleon, the Saviour’s descent to this world is not accompanied by any other spiritual beings. The Tripartite Tractate, in a quite similar way to Origen’s speculation,74 develops the notion of the ‘preexistent Church’ which descended to the current world with the Saviour (e.g. Tri. Trac. 115.30). Let’s examine now the notion of ‘mutual participation’ in the Tripartite Tractate. Study of the document gives the strong impression that we are dealing with rather complex theology, cosmology, and the theory of salvation. It is speculative and highly developed in detail. It is a product of a Christian mind which was not only familiar with the original Scriptural message about the Saviour (e.g. Tri. Trac. 87.8; 87.33; 120.33) who came to this world, but also assimilated a number of non-Scriptural, philosophical (Platonic) notions (e.g. Tri. Trac. 53.28; 54.12–23; 91.19; 100.19; 106.19; 109.8; 118.30–1) and numerical speculations (e.g. Tri. Trac. 51.9–10). Our vital notion of ‘mutual participation’ appears in this document in two contexts. First, it denotes the relationship between the Saviour and his body – that is the spiritual Church pre-existing in the Pleroma (Tri. Trac. 57.8–59.38). Secondly, the same notion re-emerges in the crucial moment of salvation as the Saviour and the Church descend to the current world and reunite with those who are able to receive them (Tri. Trac. 122.12–138.27). Let’s look more closely into both contexts. ‘The Trinity’ depicted by our Coptic document (Tri. Trac. 58.20–35) names the Father, the Son, and the Church (ϯⲉⲕⲕⲗⲏⲥⲓⲁ). If our understanding of the passage is correct, the Church is an outcome of an affectionate (kisses/ϯⲡⲓ) relationship between the Father and the Son. She has a double nature: unity and diversity. Although she is an individual being, she still consists of the multitude of ‘men that existed before the aeons’ (ⲛ̄ⲣⲱⲙⲉ ⲧⲉⲧϣⲟⲟⲡ ϩⲁⲑⲏ ⲛ̄ⲛⲁⲓⲱⲛ ⲧⲉⲉⲓ).75 The next important statements, although we miss the beginning, are about that ‘mutual participation’ of the Father, the Son, and the Church with many members: [...] the Church exists in the dispositions and properties (ⲛⲓⲇⲓⲁⲑⲉⲥⲓⲥ ⲙⲛ̄ ⲛⲓⲁⲣ̣̣ⲉⲧⲏ) in which the Father and the Son exist. (Tri. Trac. 59.1–5)76

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It is correct, in my view, to interpret the co-existence of these three divine beings as eternal – that is none of them emerged at some point, or developed independently. The Church in her unity/diversity participates in the ‘properties’ of the Father (e.g. his goodness)77 and the Son (e.g. being without beginning)78. The only philosophical or even theological issue for this theory would be how the Father, who by nature is one,79 can participate in the nature of the Church that has its inner diversity (Tri. Trac. 58.30)? The second aspect of ‘mutual participation’ appears at the vital moment of the incarnation, which initiates the process of the restoration of the spiritual and psychic kinds of people into the Pleroma (Tri. Trac. 123.15–20). The Saviour descends to the current, historical world assisted by two types of bodies: one, the most original, is spiritual, made of the perfect members of the eternal Church who also existed in the Father as his thought (Tri. Trac. 59.30–61.20).80 The second type of body is the physical body, which allows him to experience suffering and death (ⲙⲟⲩ).81 In this way the Saviour is able to save those who will respond to his message in a positive way.82 In this case the ‘mutual participation’ reunites the spiritual ones (that is, the members of the Church in Pleroma) who are descending with the Saviour with those who are spiritual on earth. I would like to stress that the Tripartite Tractate does not suggest any theory of predestination, therefore the key aspect of salvation is based on acceptance of the Saviour’s message. As the Coptic document points out, not all people respond to the message in the same way. Some (i.e. psychics) are partially inclined to accept, while ‘material’ people reject it (Tri. Trac. 119.9). The vital moment of reconciliation between the descending Church and those on earth includes the redemption of the ‘similar by similar’: that is, the spiritual Christians are united with their eternal counterparts. Again, the central role belongs to the Saviour, through whom the spiritual Christians, now united with their eternal partners, are ‘consubstantial’ (ⲟⲩϣⲃⲏⲣ ⲛ̄ⲛⲟⲩⲥⲓⲁ) with the Saviour (Tri. Trac. 122.13–14). To finish this section, I would like to point out the important Plotinian notion of ‘participation’ (μετάληψις, μέθεξις)83 in the context of anthropology. Making reference to Plotinus’ notion in the current context highlights some parallels with the Tripartite Tractate, and the idea of ‘mutual participation’. For Plotinus, the present, historical individual (man or woman) has a ‘double’ nature of 1/ the immortal soul/intellect84 and 2/ the perishing physical body. That soul/intellect, although descended (or fallen)85 to the current historical realm, still remains connected with the noetic world.86 Therefore, the most important ethical and philosophical challenge for an individual is to discover the true ‘self’ (αὐτός), the synonym of that original soul/intellect, now embodied. This eternal principle is at the same time ‘immanent’ (‘within’) and ‘transcendent’ (‘above’). At some point in his reflection, Plotinus concluded that: every man is double, one of him is the sort of composite beings and one of him is the self (ὁ αὐτός).87

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In Plotinus’ view the current life is thus a co-existence of two principles, where priority – that is attention – should be given to the original self. It is important to point out that the higher principle (ὁ αὐτός) is not alienated from the experience of the lower one, but can affect, in a positive way, the experience of the second (the empirical) partner. The true self (αὐτός), which has originated in the noetic world, now wishes to return to its authentic, eternal realm of being. In a certain passage Plotinus says: And, if one ought to dare to express one’s own view more clearly, contradicting the opinion of others, even our soul does not altogether come down, but there is always something of it in the intelligible.88 Let’s explain with further details of the anthropological context. Like Origen and the Tripartite Tractate Plotinus also assumes the pre-existence of souls in the spiritual (noetic) realm. He also needs to solve the problem: if the souls pre-existed in the realm of ideas/perfection, why did they descend and are now embodied in the current world?89 However, the vital issue for Plotinus, and also for Origen and the Tripartite Tractate, is to propose a way/style of life that will allow for a return to the original nature. In the case of Plotinus, he would elaborate the ethical proposal helping in that return,90 that ethical life would be directed by the true self (ὁ αὐτός). There is no ‘Saviour’ or ‘Redeemer’ in the world of the Enneads, but if anyone can play that role, it is the true self. A return to that eternal principle allows an ascent to the original world and a renewal of the contemplative contact with the Absolute/One. The positive ‘redemptive’ message is that, even if souls are now embodied (submerged in matter), they are still able to participate in the contemplation of the noetic world, while the One shines in them. Plotinus’ intuition suggests two dimensions or potentials interwoven in the human being: 1/ the original ability of intellectual contemplation in the higher realm; and 2/ the current life, which waits for liberation from distractions of sensual perceptions and the needs of the body. The true self (αὐτός) and the empirical self can co-habit (συνοικίζω),91 or the empirical self can be aware of the higher, original self. I hope that this Plotinian digression allows us to recognise some shared concerns among Origen, the Tripartite Tractate, and Plotinus, which prove that all three authors and milieus tried to address them on the basis of their authoritative (mainly Plato and the Scriptures, amalgamated) sources. To sum up, the Johannine notion of the necessary personal union with the Saviour in order to achieve salvation is an essential part of the theology of salvation in Heracleon and later in the Tripartite Tractate. The latter offers a more complex theory of salvation, which develops the role of the church, possibly taken from later Deutero-Pauline letters, but now placed in the Neoplatonic, philosophical cosmology with the notion of ‘pre-existence’. I am inclined to accept that the author of the Coptic document not only combined Johannine and Pauline motifs, but was aware of Heracleon’s earlier exegetical work. He or she originally and bravely suggested some theological notions such as ‘mutual participation’ to 128

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reject any form of dualism or separation between the current moment of history and the world to come. Through the Saviour’s incarnation both what is eternal and invisible and what is historical and spiritual are interwoven.

4. The Tripartite Tractate and Origen’s Christology There are many occasions when the Coptic treatise speaks in a similar way to the language of Origen as we know from his writing. It also reflects some familiar features of Origen’s theological circular shape. The editors, often zealous defenders of Origen’s theology, smoothed over some of his controversial proposals.92 Nonetheless, it is possible to detect some surprising parallels between Origen’s ecclesiology93 or Christology and the concept of the Saviour depicted by the Tripartite Tractate. In the following section I would like to explore two issues: the first, Christological titles in Origen94 and in the Tripartite Tractate. The second, the role of the Saviour in the salvation of humankind. Origen uses the number of Christological titles which originate in his exegesis of the Septuagint95 and the New Testament.96 However, we may detect that these Scriptural images are intertwined with Origen’s metaphysical reflection about the unique relationship between God the Father and his Son. It is correct to state that Origen boldly postulates two, not one, co-existing metaphysical Principles, which he calls in Scriptural terms: ‘the Father’ and ‘the Son’. The existence of one source of all reality, for instance in Pythagorean and Neopythagorean sources, was a philosophical dogma. The co-existence of two good, not one good and the other evil, was Origen’s important statement as a way of assimilating Christian revelation into the metaphysical framework.97 The vital issue was to explain the inner relation between these two Principles, or to search for a comprehensible analogy. In his De Principiis, which we will use as our springboard, having discussed the existence of the Father (Princ., I.1), Origen moves to his interpretation of the Son. He begins with a clear declaration of Christ’s double nature: divine and human (Princ., I.2.1) as the ‘only-begotten’ (μονογενὴς/unigenitus) Son. With this title he aims to explain the unique origin of the Son, which does not have any parallel in the whole of creation. In brief, only the Son is begotten, that is he comes in a special way from his divine Source.98 I would like to suggest that Origen’s thought harmonises two important trajectories: the metaphysical and the Scriptural. For this Christian theologian, the Father and the Son are in a unique relationship revealed by the Revelation, especially in the Johannine tradition99 and that relationship, as it is not material (begetting does not happen in time, space or through the body), must remain inimitable. He observes that, although he starts his reflection with the titles ‘Christ’ and ‘only-begotten’, throughout the centuries various theologians100 had called Christ by different names which responded to the actions of the Son and their historical circumstances. The opening and significant name is ‘Wisdom’ (Princ., I.2.1).101 Origen chose Solomon to introduce this title, assuming that Solomon was the author of the Book of Proverbs.102 In the case of Origen’s interpretation, the Scriptural passages from the Book of Proverbs prove 129

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the existence of Christ before the creation of the world. It must be pointed out that the title ‘Wisdom’ returns in Origen’s discussions in this section of De Principiis many times.103 For Origen, ‘Wisdom’ stands not only as the pre-cosmic, perfect knowledge later personified in a human – Jesus Christ (Princ., I.2.2) – but also contains all ‘spaces and causes’ of all creation.104 It is like God’s mind, identified by Origen with the Son, where everything that later came into being pre-existed before time and space (Princ., I.2.3). The Mind of the Logos-Son contains everything which, in the pre-created or before the creation of the material universe, existed ‘potentially’ (‘inside’), while ‘later’, with the act of creation, begins to exist ‘actually’ and ‘outside’. The Son, like the Platonic demiurge, creates the ‘outside’ world according to the models of what was previously ‘inside’. The next title, which follows ‘Wisdom’, identified with Christ is the Pauline notion105 of ‘Firstborn’(πρωτότοκος/primogenitus),106 who he identifies with ‘Wisdom’. Section two of the current chapter in De Principiis advances the philosophical understanding of the unique relationship between the ‘Firstborn’/’Wisdom’ and the Father, mainly as the eternal co-existence of two divine beings. It also includes the important notion of the ‘Word/Logos’ from the Johannine Prologue (Princ., I.2.3) as testimony to the co-existence of the Son and the Father. The Gospel of John provides further evidence of the Christological titles, this time with ‘the truth’, ‘the life’, alongside ‘the Lord’, ‘the Saviour’, ‘the Son of God’, ‘the way’ and ‘the resurrection’ (Princ., I.2.4).107 As Origen states, these titles reflect the ‘works and powers’ of Christ (Princ., I.2.4). They express the way of engagement of the divine Son with the created world and humanity. It is clear from Origen’s statements that his main effort is to explain the relationship between the Father and the Son reaffirming their co-existence. For the purpose of our discussion, we shall note that Origen uses the metaphor of ‘brightness begotten from the light’ (Princ., I.2.4 and 5). And finally, the title applied to the Son in the Letter to the Hebrews (13): ‘the image of God’s substance’ (Princ., I.2.5–6).108 It is important to Origen, as we can see from his emphasis, to highlight that all these titles, although providing some analogy with the visible, material world, are related to the divine way of existence, not limited by the material element. It seems that Origen is fully aware of the limits of human language in application to the divine nature of the Father, but his Christological titles allow us to denote the nature of the Son, his activity and their eternal relationship. Both God the Father and the Son are two non-material, divine beings. Both share eternal existence. God the Father cannot be comprehended by the human mind, but he is known to the Son. God is Oneness/Monas or Henas (Princ., I.1.6). The Son is prefigured in the Scriptures, revealed through his incarnation. The Son has attributes. He is the metaphysical bridge between the spiritual, perfect world and the visible reality, and he created the latter. Now, I would like to turn to the Tripartite Tractate and, in the context of Origen’s terminology, present its list of titles applied to the Saviour. It is possible to detect a common platform on which Origen and the Coptic document present their theology of the Saviour. As in the case of Origen, but with less attention 130

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given to the Scriptures, the Tripartite Tractate confirms the two natures of the Saviour: divine and human.109 The special relationship between the Saviour, or the Son, and his Father is clearly pronounced.110 As in the case of Origen, the Coptic document also highlights the apophatic nature of the divine Father.111 As in De Principiis the Father is Monas/Henas, here ‘the single one’ (ⲡⲟⲩⲉ ⲛ̄ⲟⲩⲱⲧ 51.16). Now, looking more carefully at the titles, as in Origen’s commentary, one section, possibly an early Christian hymn,112 is important. This poetic and theological hymn lists a number of Christological titles: the form (ⲧⲙⲟⲣⲫⲏ)113 of the formless, the body (ⲡⲥⲱⲙⲁ) of the bodiless, the face (ⲡϩⲟ) of the invisible, the word (ⲡⲗⲟⲅⲟⲥ) of the unutterable, the mind (ⲡⲛⲟⲩⲥ) of the inconceivable, the fountain (ⲧⲡⲏⲅⲏ) which flowed from him, the root (ⲧⲛⲟⲩⲛⲉ) of those who are planted, and the god (ⲡⲛⲟⲩⲧⲉ) of those who exist, the light (ⲡⲟⲩⲟⲓ̈ⲛ)114 of those whom he illumines, the love (ⲡⲟⲩⲱϣⲉ) of those whom he loved, the providence (ⲧⲡⲣⲟⲛⲟⲓⲁ) of those for whom he providentially cares, the wisdom (ⲧⲙⲛ̄ⲧⲣⲙ̄ⲛ̄ϩⲏⲧ) of those whom he made wise, the power (ⲧϭⲟⲙ) of those to whom he gives power, the assembly (ⲡⲥⲱⲟⲩϩ) of those whom he assembles to him, the revelation (ⲡϭⲱⲗⲡ̄) of the things which are sought after, the eye (ⲡⲃⲉⲗ) of those who see, the breath (ⲡⲛ(ⲉⲩ)ⲙⲁ)115 of those who breathe, the life (ⲡⲱⲛϩ̄) of those who live, the unity (ⲧⲙⲛ̄ⲧⲟⲩⲉⲉⲓ) of those who are mixed with the Totalities (ⲛⲛⲉⲧⲙⲁϫϭ ⲛⲛⲓⲡⲧⲏⲣϥ).

(Tri. Trac. 66.13–29)116

Among the list of titles, we find here references to ‘Wisdom’ (ⲧⲙⲛ̄ⲧⲣⲙ̄ⲛ̄ϩⲏⲧ 66.23), the ‘the Word/Logos’ (ⲡⲗⲟⲅⲟⲥ 66.16) and ‘the life’ (ⲡⲱⲛϩ̄ 66.28). Other familiar names, noted earlier in De Principiis, are spread throughout the Coptic document. We find the ‘Firstborn’ (57.21), ‘the existence of the Son without beginning’ (58.7–8), ‘Lord’ (119.15), ‘Saviour’ (113.11). However, it should also be noted that many of the titles found in De Principiis are not used in the Coptic document117 and vice versa. The last title in the quoted hymn ‘the unity of these who are mixed with the Totalities’, although the translation is problematic,118 echoes Origen’s view on the Logos as the communion of plurality.119 In addition the Tripartite Tractate uses other titles such as ‘the Redeemer’, ‘the well-pleased One’, ‘the Beloved’, ‘the One to whom prayers have been offered’, ‘the Light of these appointed’ (87.6–10). It is evident that both Christian sources, Origen and the Coptic treatise, celebrate the polyphony of Christological titles which reflect 131

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different aspects or stages of salvation. That plurality confirms the richness of the human experience of redemption and the diversity of means by which redemption is achieved. However, I would like to highlight one important difference between these two theologies. The novelty or originality of the Tripartite Tractate lies in the concept that the Saviour shows ‘ignorance’ (ⲛ̄ϯⲙⲛ̄ⲧⲁⲧⲥⲁⲩⲛⲉ) imposed on him by the divine Father and the Saviour himself needs redemption.120 Having noted the diversity of Christological titles, in this section I would like to explore Origen and the Tripartite Tractate in the light of the theory of salvation. Both Christian sources acknowledge that, without the descent and incarnation of the Saviour, redemption is impossible. Origen openly claims that redemption embraces all people who accept the Saviour,121 while the Tripartite Tractate focuses on the spiritual people (‘race’), allowing some chance of salvation to ‘psychics’ or ‘Hebrews’ (Tri. Trac. 110.25). The ‘hylics’ (or ‘material kind’/the Greeks and Barbarians) or those who don’t respond to the Saviour’s call seem to be left outside the scope of redemption (Tri. Trac. 78.37–79.4; 79.1–4; 118.10–11, 119.8–16 and 137.9). Another important aspect of Origen’s theory of salvation is that the end should reflect the perfection of the beginning. A similar intuition is found in the Tripartite Tractate when the document postulates a return to the original unity. The pronouncement states: For the end will receive a unitary existence, just as the beginning is unitary (ⲧϩⲁⲏ ⲅⲁⲣ ⲛⲁϫⲓ ⲡϣⲱⲡⲉ ⲁⲛ ⲛ̄ⲟⲩⲉⲉⲓ ⲛ̄ⲟⲩⲱⲧ‧ ⲛ̄ⲑⲉ ⲁⲛ ⲉⲧⲉ ⲟⲩⲉⲉⲓ ⲛ̄ⲟⲩⲱⲧ‧ ⲧⲉ ⲧⲁⲣⲭⲉ), where there is no male nor female, nor slave and free, nor circumcision and uncircumcision, neither angel nor man, but Christ is all in all (ⲁⲗⲗ̣ⲁ ⲡⲧⲏⲣϥ̄ ϩⲛ̄ ⲡⲧⲣⲏϥ̄ ⲡⲉⲭ(ⲣⲓⲥⲧⲟ)ⲥ). (Tri. Trac. 132.20–8)122 The Coptic document does not mention the Scriptural source for this vision of the eschatological end, but it is not difficult to point out Col 3:11 and Gal 3:28 as the possible inspiration: Here there is no Gentile or Jew, circumcised or uncircumcised, barbarian, Scythian, slave or free, but Christ is all, and is in all (ἀλλὰ τὰ πάντα καὶ ἐν πᾶσιν Χριστός). This scenario is also a theological proposal in Origen’s De Principiis (I.6.2). The Alexandrian exegete postulates: For the end is always like the beginning; as therefore there is one end of all things, so we must understand that there is one beginning of all things, and as there is one end of many things, so from one beginning arise many differences and varieties, which in their turn are restored, through God’s goodness, through their subjection to Christ and their unity with the Holy Spirit, the one end, which is like a beginning. (trans. Butterworth) 132

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All three sources highlight the priority of unity over diversity, suggesting that the way to the achievement of that lost unity is through Christ. Origen and the Tripartite Tractate go further and speculate about the pre-historic unity of everything, while temporal, but visible, diversity comes later as an outcome of a cosmological crisis which, in turn, led to the current stage of existence. However, the present experience is reversible. The theology of salvation, as the ‘gathering’ of many into one, shows a great degree of similarity between Origen and the Coptic document. The (Middle) Platonic mindset123 of the Christian authors allows them to develop their theological intuitions which magnify the role of the Saviour as the one who brings created beings to their original place as they regain their original status. To sum up this section I would like to state that the theological understanding of the Saviour, his relationship with the divine Father and his role in salvation show a number of similarities between Origen’s thought and the intuition expressed by the Tripartite Tractate. That general theological outlook is based on the intuition of the pre-existence of the perfect world, a cosmic drama and return to the original state by the acts of the Saviour. However, there are also some discrepancies between the two sources, as Origen follows more closely the theological material from Christian Scriptures. Should we conclude that, for instance, the Tripartite Tractate knew, assimilated or polemically responded to Origin’s vision? Was Origen’s De Principiis a correction of what he knew as an alternative Christian theology? I would like to suggest that both sources developed some motifs and intuitions assimilated from previous Christian material (Johannine and Pauline) and then adapted these for two different Christian audiences. In many aspects, however, these audiences had much in common.

5. Conclusion This chapter aimed to analyse references to some of the Johannine ideas and terminology in Heracleon’s Commentary and the Tripartite Tractate. In order to understand better a certain trajectory of development, I have introduced some parallels to Origen’s work, mainly De Principiis and, with limitations, to Plotinus’ Enneads. This contextualisation on at least three levels: exegetical, theological, and metaphysical,124 showed that the Tripartite Tractate feels much more at home with Origen and Plotinus. No doubt the Coptic document is rooted in the Christian revelation, is close to Johannine and Pauline motifs, and also to various degrees shows an awareness of Heracleon’s exegesis of the fourth Gospel, but his audience and its intellectual formation belong to the academic, theological atmosphere known to us from Origen and Plotinus. I would not argue that the Tripartite Tractate is a polemic along with other philosophical proposals such as Origen and Plotinus; however, in its original proposals it addresses vital questions about the pre-existence of human beings, the reasons why they are in the current world, and the way of returning to the previous, lost existence. The motif of the end, which must reflect what was at the beginning, is also a significant part of that shared scenario. Finally, as it is a Christian reflection, the role of the Saviour and 133

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the polyphony of his redemptive acts are at the centre of that proclamation. It is not just a speculative treatise, but also didactic encouragement.

Notes 1 An additional two quotations (frags 49 and 50) are preserved in Clement of Alexandria, Ecl. Proph., 25 (Brooke 49) and Strom., 4.9.71.1–72.4 (Brooke 50), see Alan E. Brooke, The Fragments of Heracleon (Text and Studies, 1) (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press 1891), 101–3. On Origen’s collection of excerpts, see the most recent discussion in Carl Johan Berglund, Origen’s References to Heracleon: A QuotationAnalytical Study of the Earliest Known Commentary on the Gospel of John, WUNT 450 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2020). In this literary context, see also a helpful discussion of the genre of ‘commentary’ by Philippe Hoffmann, ‘What was Commentary in Late Antiquity? The Example of Neoplatonic Commentators’, in A Companion to Ancient Philosophy, Mary Louise Gill and Pierre Pellegrin (eds) (Blackwell Companions to Philosophy, 31) (Oxford: Blackwell, 2009), 597–622. 2 τὸν Οὐαλεντίνου λεγόμενον εἶναι γνώριμον ‘Ηρακλέωνα. My translation. In the case of all Fragments from Heracleon, the English translation and references to the Greek texts follow Geoffrey S. Smith, Valentinian Christianity: Text and Translations (Oakland: University of California Press, 2020), 32–55. I have also consulted Ronald Heine’s translation Origen: Commentary on the Gospel of John: Books (Washington: The Catholic University of America Press, vol I, 1989 and vol II, 1993) with references to book and section. 3 These numbers (first book then section) refer to Ronald Heine’s edition Origen: Commentary on the Gospel of John: Books (Washington: The Catholic University of America Press, vol I, 1989 and vol II, 1993). 4 ‘Ηρακλέων ὁ τῆς Οὐαλεντίνου σχολῆς δοκιμώτατος. The English translation from Clement’s is mine; the Greek follows the edition by Annewies van den Hoek, in SC 463 (Paris: Éditions du Cerf, 2001). Clement also preserves two additional fragments from Heracleon’s works in Strom., 4.9.71–3 and Ecl. Proph., 25.1. 5 AH., 2.4.1. 6 On Ptolemy see Chapter 4. 7 Adv. Val., 4.2. A further list of later references can be found in Brooke, The Fragments of Heracleon, 31–41. 8 Michael Kaler and Marie-Pierre Bussière, ‘Was Heracleon a Valentinian? A New Look at Old Sources’, HTR, vol. 99, no. 3 (2006), 275–89, see also Carl Johan Berglund, ‘Origen’s Vacillating Stances toward his “Valentinian” Colleague Heracleon’, VCh, vol. 71, no. 5 (2017), 541–69, for the context of Valentinus – Heracleon’s relation – see an interesting discussion in Carl Johan Berglund, ‘Literary Criticism in Early Christianity: How Heracleon and Valentinus Use One Passage to Interpret Another’, JECS, vol. 27, no. 1 (2019), 27–53, and by the same author ‘How “Valentinian” Was Heracleon’s Reading of the Healing of the Son of a Royal Official?’, in Healing and Exorcism in Second Temple Judaism and Early Christianity, Mikael Tellbe and Tommy Wasserman (eds), with the assistance of Ludvig Nyman, WUNT 511 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2019), 219–40. 9 ‘Was Heracleon a Valentinian?’ 281. 10 Einar Thomassen, ‘Heracleon’, in The Legacy of John: Second-Century Reception of the Fourth Gospel, Tuomas Rasimus (ed.) (Leiden: E.J. Brill, 2010), 173, footnote 7. 11 Thomassen, ‘Heracleon’, 174, footnote 7 continues. 12 Christoph Markschies, Valentinus Gnosticus? Untersuchungen zur valentinianischen Gnosis mit einem Kommentar zu den Fragmenten Valentins WUNT 65; (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1992), 393.

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13 Mark Edwards, Origen against Plato (Aldershot: Ashgate, 2002). Αlthough Edwards mentions Heracleon on a number of occasions, he is careful in proposing a direct connection of Heracleon with Valentinus. 14 We should remember that Origen’s commentary on the Gospel of John is incomplete as we have only nine of 32 books. For more discussion on Origen’s collection, see Carl Johan Berglund, ‘Discerning Quotations from Heracleon in Origen’s Commentary on the Gospel of John’, in Origeniana Duodecima, BETL 302, Brouria Bitton-Ashkelony et al. (eds) (Leuven: Peeters, 2019), 489–503. 15 For the exact list of references, see Thomassen, ‘Heracleon’, 176. 16 The fourth reference is found in Photius’ Ep. 134, see Brooke, The Fragments of Heracleon, 103. 17 Did Heracleon write a systematic and detailed commentary on the Gospel? Elaine H. Pagels argues that he commented on some passages from the Gospel which were important to his theology, see her The Johannine Gospel in Gnostic Exegesis: Heracleon’s Commentary on John (Atlanta: Scholars Press, 1989), 47. Bart D. Ehrman notices some statements from Origen, where he tells his reader that Heracleon did not comment on certain passages, see Com. In Ioh., 13.225 and 19.89 in his ‘Heracleon, Origen, and the Text of the Fourth Gospel’, VCh, vol. 47, no. 2 (1993), 114, footnote 8. Thomassen is uncertain whether or not Heracleon’s work comments on the whole Gospel, see his ‘Heracleon’, 176. 18 The provided title reflects three parts of the documents separated by decorative lines and generally matches a division of three subjects discussed in the document: the structure of the divine world (51.1–104.3), the origin of humankind (104.4–108.12) and the process of salvation (108.13–138.27). 19 Harrold W. Attridge and Elaine H. Pagels, ‘Introduction’ to the Tripartite Tractate, in Nag Hammadi Codex I (The Jung Codex): Introductions, Texts, Translations, Indices, Harold W. Attridge (ed.) (Leiden: E.J. Brill, 1985), 159–90. The English translation of the Tripartite Tractate follows Attridge and Pagels’ edition in CGL (1985), vol. XXII, 192–337. I also refer to Thomassen’s rendering in The Nag Hammadi Scriptures: The Revised and Updated Translation of Sacred Gnostic Texts, Marvin Meyer (ed.) (New York: HarperOne, 2007), 62–106. For alternative version, see Geoffrey S. Smith, Valentinian Christianity, 165–253. 20 ‘Introduction’, 177. Earlier this hypothesis was proposed by Henry Charles Puech and Gilles Quispel, ‘Le quatrième écrit gnostique du Codex Jung’, VCh, vol. 9, no. 2 (1955), 65–102. 21 ‘Introduction’, 178. 22 The ‘Easter tradition’ claimed the full participation of the Saviour in the human condition/incarnation. Einar Thomassen, Tripartite Tractate in The Nag Hammadi Scriptures: The Revised..., 58 and his ‘Introduction’ to Le Traité Tripartite (NH I, 5), BCNH (Québec: Les Presses de l’ Université Laval, 1989), 12. 23 ‘Introduction’, 178. 24 For instance, Tri. Trac. 113.37–8 and John 1:14; 114.7–10 and John 1:1 and 1:14; 119.8–16 and John 3:19–20; 136.16–18 and John 14:2–3 and 23. 25 Nag Hammadi Texts and the Bible: A Synopsis and Index, Craig A. Evans, Robert L. Webb and Richard A. Wiebe (eds), NTTS, vol. XVIII (Leiden: E.J. Brill, 1993), 49–64. 26 That kind of exegetical approach is not unusual among Christian commentators, see valuable comments on Clement of Alexandria’s similar combination in Annewies Van Den Hoek, ‘Techniques of Quotation in Clement of Alexandria: A View of Ancient Literary Working Methods’, VCh, vol. 50, no. 3 (1996), 223–43. 27 The English translation follows NRSV. More on Philip in Paul N. Anderson, ‘Philip: A Connective Figure in Polyvalent Perspective’, in Character Studies in the Fourth Gospel Narrative Approaches to Seventy Figures in John, Steven A. Hunt, D. Francois Tolmie and Ruben Zimmermann (eds), WUNT 314 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2013), 168–88.

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28 See more in D. Francois Tolmie, ‘The Characterisation of God in the Fourth Gospel’, JSNT, vol. 20, no. (1998), 57–75. 29 See Brown, The Gospel According to John, vol. 1 (London: Yale University Press, 2008), 523–32; Hans Förster, ‘Der Begriff σημεῖον im Johannesevangelium’, NT, vol. 58, fasc. 1 (2016), 47–70, and more recently Dorothy A. Lee, ‘Symbolism and “Signs”, in the Fourth Gospel’, in The Oxford Handbook of Johannine Studies, Judith M. Lieu and Martinus C. de Boer (eds) (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2018), 259–73 with bibliography. 30 Again, Brown, The Gospel According to John, vol. 1, 503–4. See an interesting observation about this motif in the Gospel of John and Jewish Wisdom Traditions in Jutta Leonhardt-Balzer, ‘Johannine Literature and Wisdom Literature’, in The Oxford Handbook of Johannine Studies, 156. I will discuss this relationship in Chapter 9.4.4. 31 See Isaiah 6:3 and still relevant commentary in Walther Eichrodt, Theology of the Old Testament, vol. 1 (London: SCM Press, 1961), 270–82. More in Frances Back, Gott als Vater der Jünger im Johannesevangelium, WUNT II.336 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2012). 32 Some ancient manuscripts (𝔓 66 and 𝔓 75) testify to another reading: ‘only begotten God’ (μονογενὴς θεός), while others, including Codex Alexandrinus, retain ‘only begotten son’ (μονογενὴς υἱός). See further discussion on the exegetical, Scriptural context in Raymond E. Brown, The Gospel According to John, vol. 1, 17 and on the doctrinal in Bart D. Ehrman, The Orthodox Corruption of the Scriptures: The Effect of Early Christological Controversies on the Text of the New Testament (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2011), 92–102. In relation to our current examination this discrepancy is not relevant, but should still be noted. 33 Or rather ‘bosom’ (κόλπος) as it expresses better the intimate relationship between the Father and the Son. See some further exegetical discussion and gender comments in Alicia D. Myers, ‘“In the Father’s Bosom”: Breastfeeding and Identity Formation in John’s Gospel’, CBQ, vol. 76, no. 3 (2014), 481–97. 34 John 1:18. 35 Such as the God in Philo’s theology, see his Somn. I.67 and context, John Dillon, The Middle Platonists 80 B.C. to A.D. 220 (London: Duckworth, 1996), 155–7, see also Mark J. Edwards, Origen against Plato (Aldershot: Ashgate, 2002), 17. More in Illaria L. E. Ramelli, ‘Philo’s Dialectics of Apophatic Theology, His Strategy of Differentiation, and His Impact on Patristic Exegesis and Theology’, Ph (2019), 3, 36–92. On apophatic theology and Middle Platonists see more in an article written in Polish by Damian Mrugalski, ‘Agnostos Theos: Relacja Między Nieskończonością a Niepoznawalnością Boga w Doktrynach Medioplatoników’, APh, vol. 67, no. 3 (2019), 25–52. 36 Marianne M. Thomson, ‘God’s Voice You Have Never Heard, God’s Form You Have Never Seen: The Characterization of God in the Gospel of John’, S, 63 (1993), 177–204. 37 The question about the original length of Heracleon’s commentary is raised in footnote 18. 38 Com. In Ioh., frag. 3: ‘Οὐδεὶς τὸν θεὸν ἑώρακεν πώποτε’ εἰρῆσθαι οὐκ ἀπὸ τοῦ βαπτιστοῦ ἀλλ’ ἀπὸ τοῦ μαθητοῦ. ‘No one has seen God at any time’. This was spoken not by the Baptizer, but by the disciple. 39 ‘Πνεῦμα ὁ θεός’ ἄχραντος γὰρ καὶ καθαρὰ καὶ ἀόρατος ἡ θεία φύσις αὐτοῦ. 40 Liddell and Scott: e.g. Plato, Alc. I., 113e; Iamblichus, Myst. 5.9, Proclus In Alc. 32C. 41 1 Pet 1:4. 42 In relation to God: Lev. 19:2 and Eichrodt, Theology, 278. 43 See also Heb 11:27, Col 1:15; 1 Tim 1:17. In relation to Plato, see Plato, Phd., 85e; Soph., 246a; Tht., 155e. 44 Com. In Ioh., 4:24 and frag. 24.

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45 Θέλημα δὲ πατρὸς ἔλεγεν εἶναι τὸ γνῶναι ἀνθρώπους τὸν πατέρα, καὶ σωθῆναι, ὅπερ ἦν ἔργον τοῦ σωτῆρος τοῦ ἕνεκα τούτου ἀπεσταλμένου εἰς Σαμάρειαν, τουτέστιν εἰς τὸν κόσμον. 46 Frag. 32 on John 4:34, see earlier, frag. 20 on John 4:21. 47 Frag. 19 on John 4:19, see also frag. 47 on John 8:44b. 48 Frag. 20 on John 4:21. 49 Identification of the Father with God is clearly stated very early in 51.25: ‘because of this he is single in the proper sense and is a god [ⲡⲉ ⲁⲩⲱ ⲟⲩⲛⲟⲩⲧⲉ ⲡⲉ], because no one is a god for him nor is anyone father to him’, see also 52.2. 50 ‘Introduction’, 218. 51 The Coptic verb ⲛⲟⲓ̈ stands here for ⲙⲉⲉⲩⲉ among many meanings ‘to think of’, see Walter E. Crum A Coptic Dictionary (Eugene: Wipf and Stock Publishers, 2005), 199a. 52 See forthcoming discussion of the Christological titles in section 6.4. 53 See my previous discussion in Chapter 2.6 on different theologies of the Absolute. 54 Although there are some minor variations in reading the Coptic original, the English translation provides a smooth reading of this narrative, see CGL (1985), vol. XXII, 196–9, see also Smith, Valentinian Christianity, 169–71. 55 See some context of this doctrine in the Hellenistic period in Harrold W. Attridge and Elaine H. Pagels’ ‘Introduction’, 230. 56 See, for instance, Enn., III.8.10.29–35 and V.3.13. Both examples are also highlighted by Lloyd P. Gerson, Plotinus (London: Routledge, 1994), 15–41. See also Deirdre Carbine, Negative Theology in Platonic Tradition: Plato to Erugena (Eugene: Wipf and Stock, 1995), 103–54. 57 See further discussion in Mark Edwards, Origen against Plato (Aldershot: Ashgate, 2002), 55–61. 58 See, for instance, Enn., V.3.14.1–8. More in Eyjólfur K. Emilsson, Plotinus (Abingdon, New York: Routledge, 2017), 335–72. 59 See, for instance, Princ., I.6. 60 For Plotinus, see Enn., VI.9.6; Tri. Trac. 51.8–9 and Origen’s Princ., I.1.6. 61 Harrold W. Attridge and Elaine H. Pagels, ‘Notes’ to the Tripartite Tractate, in Nag Hammadi Codex I (The Jung Codex): Introductions, Texts, Translations, Indices, Harold W. Attridge (ed.) (Leiden: E.J. Brill, 1985), 219. 62 For Trip. Trac., 53.6; For Plotinus, Enn., VI.2.11.26–7; 5.1.18–20, for Origen, Princ., II.5.1–2. 63 See Einar Thomassen, The Spiritual Seed: The Church of the ‘Valentinians’, NHMS, vol. 60 (Leiden: E.J. Brill, 2006). 64 See Thomassen, The Spiritual Seed, 112. This notion is very helpful as it highlights the crucial aspect of the theory of salvation in all our sources discussed in this chapter. 65 Various theologians from this milieu would discuss further characteristics of the Saviour’s body; was it ‘pneumatic’ or fully ‘material’? 66 Irenaeus, AH., 3.19.1. 67 Thomassen, The Spiritual Seed, 112. 68 Heracleon, frags 17–27 in Origen, Com. In Ioh. 69 Λέγει αὐτῇ’ δῆλον ὅτι τοιοῦτό τι λέγων, ‘εἰ θέλεις λαβεῖν τοῦτο τὸ ὕδορ, ὕπαγε φώνησον τὸν ἄνδρα σου’ [...] ‘‘Αληθὲς εἴρηκας ὅτι ἄνδρα οὐκ ἔχεις·’ ἐπεὶ ἐν τῷ κόσμῳ οὐκ εἶχεν ἄνδρα ἡ Σαμαρεῖτις‧ ἦν γὰρ αὐτῆς ὁ ἀνὴρ ἐν τῷ αἰῶνι. 70 We don’t know the exact order of the original text of the Gospel of John; however, the accepted version with later added chapters and then verses still poses some questions about its logical consequence. I use the term ‘reverse’ as my reading does not follow

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71 72 73 74 75 76

77 78 79 80

81 82 83 84 85 86

87 88 89

90 91 92

the sequence of the chapters, but develops the theory of ‘mutual participation’ by the direction of reading which clearly shows a coherence in Jesus’ didactic. See further discussion of the composition of the fourth Gospel in H. A. G. Houghton, ‘The Texts of the Gospel and Letters of John’, in The Oxford Handbook of Johannine Studies, 5–22, including bibliography. It is not my aim here to search for the origin of this metaphor. Some biblical commentaries provide readers with possible further explanations, see R. Brown, The Gospel According to John XII–XXI, vol. 2, 669–72. The English translation follows NRSV. Frag. 20 in Origen, Com. In Ioh., 4.21. See, for example, Princ., I.4.3–5. Tri. Trac. 58.30. Although the Coptic text refers to these pre-aeonic beings as male, the genre of the Coptic term for the kiss is feminine; therefore I understand the composition of the Church as both male and female, not just male. ϫ̣[ⲉ - - -] ϯⲉⲕⲕⲗⲏⲥⲓⲁ ⲥϣ[ⲟ]ⲟⲡ̣ [ⲛ]ϩ̣ⲣⲏⲓ̈ ϩⲛ ⲛⲓⲇⲓⲁⲑⲉⲥⲓⲥ ⲙⲛ̄ ⲛⲓⲁⲣ̣̣ⲉⲧⲏ‧ ⲛⲉⲉⲓ ⲉⲧⲉ‧ ⲡⲓⲱⲧ ⲙⲛ̄ ⲡϣⲏⲣⲉ‧ ϣⲟⲟⲡ‧ CGL (1985), vol. XXII, 204. Thomassen prefers: ‘properties and qualities’. The Polish commentary on the passage highlights the nature of the Church, which as a community of people participates in the nature of the Son, while he participates in the nature of the divine Father, see Wincenty Myszor, Biblioteka z Nag Hammadi, Kodeksy I I II, SACh, Seria Nova 7 (Katowice: Universytet Śląski, 2017), 138. Tri. Trac. 53.6. Tri. Trac. 58.15. Tri. Trac. 51.8–9. Does Paul’s idea of the Church as Christ’s body underpin this theory? It is quite possible that this initial Pauline idea (e.g. 1 Cor 12:12–27; Rom 12:4–5), later in deuteroPauline letters (e.g. Eph 1:23; 4:1–16; 5:23), received further development towards a more Neoplatonic direction. The feature of the pre-existence of the Church as Christ’s body may also have started with the theology of the Letter to the Philippians (2:6–7). Tri. Trac. 90.6; 113.34; 114.35; 115.4–5. Tri. Trac. 118.30. For general discussion of this notion in Plotinus, see Steven K. Strange, ‘Plotinus’ Account of Participation in Ennead VI.4–5’, JHP, vol. 30, no. 4 (1992), 479–96. Enn., IV.7.9.6–13. Here Plotinus reaffirms Plato’s proposal of the immortality of the soul from his Phaedo. Enn., V.1.1.1–18. Indeed, the human mind/soul still participates in the higher realms of the Second (the Mind), Third (the Soul) Hypostases and even the One. We can contemplate the One only if we reject the distraction of multiple sense-perceptions and focus on the Source of our being: Enn., VI.9.8.33–5, see More in R. T. Wallis, Neoplatonism (London: Gerald Duckworth, 1995), 88. Enn., II.3.9.30–1; more in I.1.2.2–3. Enn., IV.8.8.1–5, L.C.L. Armstrong (trans.). More valuable comments in Gerson, Plotinus, 61 and 251–2. Wallis rightly points out the Platonic dilemma related to the descent of the soul/mind to this world: is it as punishment for a primal sin in the previous life (Phaedrus), or a divinely ordered mission to help others (Timaeus)? That dilemma is also echoed in Origen’s explanation of why we came to this world; compare Princ., I.3.8 and I.4.1 with II.8.3–4. For a summary, see Gerson, Plotinus, 185–202. Enn., I.2.6.1–11. For a still helpful introduction to the complexity of researching ‘original’ ideas in Origen as his Apologists and adversaries influenced his writings, see Robert M. Berchman, From Philo to Origen: Middle Platonism in Transition (Chico: Scholars Press, 1984), 113–17.

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93 I will not discuss ecclesiology here, especially the concept of the pre-existence of the Church in Origen and the Tripartite Tractate. 94 I will focus here on Princ., I.2.1–6. However, I will also point out some other relevant Christological titles in other works. 95 As we will see, the leading roles belong to Wisdom literature. 96 It is evident that among the New Testament documents Paul’s letters and the Gospel of John were the main sources of Origen’s Christology in this section. However, Origen also included one apocryphal document: the Acts of Paul (Princ., I.2.3), which provided him with a useful idiom. On Origen as an exegete see more in Illaria L. E. Ramelli, ‘Origen’s Interpretation of the Bible against the Backdrop of Ancient Philosophy (Stoicism, Platonism) and Hellenistic and Rabbinic Judaism’, SP, vol. CIII: The Bible in the Patristic Period, Mariusz Szram and Marcin Wysocki (eds) (Leuven: Peeters, 2021), 13–58. 97 Origen’s commentary on the existence of the Holy Spirit is explored in Chapter 3 of the first book. However, our current focus is on the relationship between the Father and the Son. 98 Edwards, correctly in my view, raises the issue of whether for Origen, the Son was ‘consubstantial’ with the Father as for later Nicene theology, see his Origen against Plato, 68. 99 See references to the Gospel of John in this section of the De Principiis. 100 Origen has in mind both Jewish and Christian Scriptural theologians. 101 See also Princ., II.6.2; IV.4.1; Com. In Ioh., II.126. 102 Princ., I.2.1. and Prov. 8:22–5. 103 Princ., I.2. I.2.2–3, later I.2.10 (Latin). 104 In a similar way to Philo, Origen sees the Logos as the noetic world, Com. In Ioh., 19.146–7. 105 Col 1:15. I am not making any distinction between Pauline and deutero-Pauline letters as Origen believed that Paul wrote all these letters, plus that he was the author of the Letter to the Hebrews, see Princ., I.2.5. 106 See also, Princ., IV.4.1. Com. In Ioh., 1.28; 1.104; 1.188; 1.195; 2.17; 2.187; 6.35; 10.23; 10.264; 10.286; 19.10; 19.128; 19.147; 19.154; 20.303; 20.367; 28.159, in Heine’s edition. 107 See these and other titles in Com. In Ioh., 1.123–4. On the Christological title ‘the Resurrection’, see Cel., VII.16. 108 Again, this title will be very important in other places of Princ., I.2.7; 2.8; IV.4.1 and in his other works: e.g. Cel., VIII.12 and 14; Hom.Jer, 9.4. 109 For divinity of the Saviour, see Tri. Trac. 57.21; for his humanity/flesh see Tri. Trac. 113.38. 110 Tri. Trac. 57.18–19. 111 Tri. Trac. 53.1–5; 54.12–23; 54.38. 112 I see a similarity between this hymn and the ones preserved in the New Testament, Eph 4:8; 5:14; Phil. 2:5–11. 113 This opening title highlights the difference between the Son, who is ‘the form’ and God the Father, who is without form (ⲛ̄ⲛⲟⲩϩⲟ ⲟⲩⲇⲉ ⲟⲩⲥⲭⲏⲙⲁ), see above Tri. Trac. 54.29–32. 114 That is ⲟⲩⲟⲉⲓⲛ. 115 The Coptic term could also be translated as ‘the Spirit’. 116 The edition in CGL (1985), vol XXII, 216–17. 117 For instance, the Coptic commentary omits the title of ‘the truth’, ‘the way’, ‘the resurrection’ and the ‘image’ in relation to the Saviour. 118 See the commentary in Attridge and MacRae in CGL (1985), vol. XXIII, 270. 119 See Com. In Ioh., 1.119 in Heine, see also Cel., 5.39. 120 Tri. Trac. 124.9. 121 It is well known that Origen’s doctrine of salvation, including the salvation of all, was the source of a huge controversy in the ancient Church. It has also attracted a

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great deal of attention among modern scholars. For the Scriptural origin of Origen’s proposal, his various stages of discussion and context, see all details in a massive contribution by Illaria Ramielli, The Christian Doctrine of Apokatastasis: A Critical Assessment from the New Testament to Eriugena (Leiden: E.J. Brill, 2013), 1–660. 122 Thomassen translates: For the end will regain the form of existence of a single one, just as the beginning was a single one – the place where there is no male and female, nor slave and free man, nor circumcised and uncircumcised, nor angel and human, but all in all Christ. (Nag Hammadi Scriptures, 99) Thomassen offers a clear translation of the message which expresses the hope that the eschatological end will reflect the perfect, unified origin of reality. 123 I agree with Edwards, Origen against Plato, 47. 124 I have also mentioned anthropology on various occasions.

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7 T H E EXCERPTS FROM THEODOTUS In search of theology of salvation

Clement of Alexandria’s the Excerpts from Theodotus is a compilation of 86 quotations from Theodotus and other ‘Valentinian’ sources. It is a very complex document. It is challenging because it offers speculative exegesis and theology using some Scriptural notions within a mythological and philosophical elaboration. It is also difficult because Clement does not leave a clear demarcation between the quotations from Theodotus and other authors and his own comments. All this needs to be taken into account when we try to study this anthology. The title of the work suggests that Theodotus was a ‘Valentinian’ and represented the ‘Eastern/Oriental’ branch of the ‘Valentinians’. This title calls for a brief introduction. The following scrutiny of the Excerpts from Theodotus,1 after the introduction of the document (section 1), is divided into three parts. In the first part (section 2), I will reconstruct the theory of salvation reflected in this document asking the question: from what are some people saved? Next, I shall reconstruct the ways Theodotus and others saw redemption (section 3). Finally, I would like to contribute some thoughts on Theodotus in the light of my examination of Clement’s sources (section 4).

1. The title and its riddle We have only two manuscripts of the Excerpts. The older one is eleventhcentury (Biblioteca Laurenziana, Laur. V 3), and Otto Stählin used it in his edition of Clement’s work.2 The second manuscript is sixteenth-century (Bibliothèque nationale, Suppl. Grec 250) and is a later copy of the previous one. Only the Laur. V.3 provides the title at the beginning. The full Greek title introduces the collection: Excerpts from Theodotus and the so-called Eastern School at the time of Valentinus.3 The title seems to affiliate a certain Theodotus4 with the ‘Eastern’ or ‘Oriental’ school or branch of the ‘Valentinians’. Indeed, some ancient sources5 support the distinction between ‘the Italian (or Western) school’ (ἡ ἰταλιωτικὴ διδασκαλία) 141 DOI: 10.4324/9781003181095-8

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and ‘the Oriental (or Eastern) school’ (ἡ ἀνατολικὴ διδασκαλία): Ptolemy and Heracleon represented the former, while a certain Marcus and our Theodotus, the latter.6 This distinction does not appear in any of Clement’s other works, even when Clement mentions Valentinus’ school.7 While reading the Excerpts I find it rather surprising that Theodotus is not named in Clement’s other works such as Stromateis, although Theodotus’ teaching was important enough to Clement to include his thoughts in the Excerpts. One possible answer would be that the Excerpts were written after all of Clement’s other existing works, but it is also possible that Clement copied various teachings of Theodotus and other ‘followers’ of Valentinus throughout his scholarly life. For a long time, the existence of two branches was commonly accepted by scholars, yet recently Kalvesmaki proposed a critical revision of that notion.8 He supported the earlier suggestion by Thomassen that the title does not come from Clement of Alexandria but from a later editor.9 I agree with Thomassen and Kalvesmaki. First, in the existing writings of Clement there is no reference to the idea of two schools. Secondly, it was a rhetorical and polemical tool (Tertullian and Refutatio), to show that the ‘truth’ is one, while ‘errors’ as well as ‘heresies’ are is a stage of inner division, multiplication and disagreements.10 Third, Eusebius of Caesarea provides us with the list of Clement’s works and we do not have this title of the Excerpts from Theodotus.11 If the title was added by a copyist later – that is after Eusebius’ composition of his Church History – unlike Eusebius, he or she must have been familiar with that distinction among Valentinus’ ‘followers’ and believed that Theodotus either belonged to the ‘Eastern’ branch or did not; however, in this literary compilation of sources, he is attached to it by the Greek conjunction ‘and’ (‘καὶ’). Clement’s collection does not oppose Theodotus’ view to the rest of that Christian school, therefore on the basis of that observation we may conclude that, to Clement of Alexandria, Theodotus stood alongside the ‘Valentinian’ teaching, although we should refrain from the opinion that to Clement, Theodotus was part of the ‘Eastern school’, possibly active in Alexandria. How does the enigma of the title affect our forthcoming examination? It calls for a very careful approach to all quotations from sources preserved in Clement’s work. We need to identify the sources found in the document and distinguish them when we have the citation from Theodotus, from some anonymous ‘Valentinians’, and when possibly from other sources. If possible, we must find other attestations for the interpretations preserved by Clement. Only in this way can we reconstruct, although only partially, Theodotus’ and other Christian teachings. I would like to start with Sagnard’s initial observation, recently strengthened by Thomassen,12 that Clement’s notebook quotes and comments on Theodotus13 and other sources.14 According to Sagnard, Clement quotes Theodotus five times: 22.7; 26.1; 30.1; 32.2 and 35.1. However, on another six occasions, Clement uses the grammatical formula of the third person singular (φησί), not indicating who is saying the quoted words.15 On ten occasions Clement of Alexandria refers to the Christian group as οἱ ἀπὸ Οὐαλεντίνου 142

The Excerpts from Theodotus

and οἱ Οὐαλεντινιανοί.16 Clement also alludes to his sources using the third person plural as λέγουσιν17 and φασί.18 All these references are spread throughout the work, which suggests ongoing discussion with their exegesis and theology. Those ideas were seen by Clement as challenging, they called for a response and necessary correction. However, the existing anthology does not develop Clement’s polemic. Still, those speculative commentaries were used by Clement for his own theology and theory of salvation.19 Clement’s collection is not a systematic treatise. The work does not aspire to provide its ancient reader, if indeed it was destined to have readers, with a synopsis of either Theodotus’ theology or of other sources of such statements. It does not mention any existing, in Clement’s time, mythological matrix to decode those passages. It remains puzzling with or without the title.

2. Theodotus and ‘Valentinians’: Salvation from what? The notions of ‘salvation’ (σωτηρία) and ‘redemption’ (λύτρωσις) are two very important representations of the same concept voiced in the Excerpts. The first noun as well as the verb (σῴζω) appears 11 times in the document,20 while the second as a noun and a verb appears eight times.21 On one occasion Clement identifies directly Theodotus as the author of the pronouncement that Jesus needed redemption (Ex.Th., 22.7);22 on another two occasions Clement refers to Theodotus’ opinions indirectly (Ex.Th., 22.1; 67.1). Similarly, Clement speaks of ‘Valentinians’, although only indirectly, four times (Ex.Th., 22.4 and 22.5; 35.4 and 78.1). The sections 50–7 contain a very important discussion related to the theory of salvation. First, in the larger context assigned by Sagnard as ‘C’ (43–65)23 we find a commentary on the story of creation of the human being (Gen 2.7) elaborated within the earlier appearance of the Creator/Demiurge (ὁ δημιυργός) of this material world.24 It is a very innovative motif against the Christian background. It presupposes an apophatic notion of God, who is not involved in the creation of the material world; consequently a creator (or ‘skilled workman’) is needed. Christians who were familiar with the Platonic myth and contemporaneous Middle Platonic25 and Neopythagorean26 interpretations identified the Platonic character of Demiurge as the creator of this visible world. This creator is not divine – he does not belong to the higher realm of spiritual beings who accompany God. In that cosmological scenario the Logos/Word or Christ does not participate in the creation of this material world, but his main function is redemption. Identifying the Demiurge at the origin of this visible world explains better the goodness of it, but also its imperfections. Addressing these two qualities of the current world, the Excerpts state that the Demiurge/Creator had two substances (δύο οὐσιαί) to use in creation: ‘And the Spirit of God was superimposed upon the waters’,27 declaring that in the combination of the two substances (τῶν δύο οὐσιῶν), made 143

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for him, the simple (εἰλικρινές) was superimposed but the heavy and material substance (τὸ δὲ ἐμβριθὲς καὶ ὑλικὸν) is borne under, the thick and coarse. (Ex.Th., 47.3)28 The passage is a commentary on the opening line from Genesis with an allegorical reading of the ‘spirit’ and ‘water’ as two opposite substances.29 These two substances allowed the Creator/Demiurge to make the current world. The next section (Ex.Th., 48.1–5) continues the theme of creation, focusing on the material element, adding yet another significant feature: the material things (τὰ ὑλικά) are made of three emotions: ‘grief’ (λύπη), ‘fear’ (φόβος), and the third one, which combines two emotions: ‘stroke’30 and ‘perplexity’ (πλήξεως καί ἀπορίας).31 Sagnard suggests the Pauline ideas about ‘grief’32 as possible references. But these emotions, even if some of them are taken by the commentators from Pauline epistles, now function in a totally different philosophical worldview. We are approaching a very important bridging point. The previous Scriptural (‘Spirit’ and ‘water’) and Platonic (‘immaterial’ as opposite to ‘material’) notions enter into the Roman Stoic theory of emotions, which in the Excerpts underpins ethics and the postulate of life according to nature33 or reason.34 In the quoted Excerpts 47.3 the Creator/ Demiurge makes the two types of essence for human beings. First, he creates the one who is ‘material’, possessing body and the material soul. That soul is irrational:35 ‘Taking dust from the earth’36: not of the land but a portion of matter but of varied constitution and colour, he fashioned a soul, earthly and material, irrational and consubstantial with that of the beasts. This is the man ‘according to the image’.37 (Ex.Th., 50.1)38 The passage describes this type of people as ‘consubstantial with the beasts’ (καὶ τῇ τῶν θηρίων ὁμοούσιον). Their souls are ‘irrational’ (ἄλογον). Still, as created by the Demiurge they are not evil per se. We do not have any evidence from the Excerpts that this essence and category of people was intended from the beginning as the embodiment of evil. Rather their way of life reflects their nature. The idea of creating them of that first substance serves as an explanation for why some people’s life is animal-like – that is, according to this interpretation, irrational and uncontrolled. The second essence for human beings is more ‘noble’: But the man who is ‘according to the likeness’ of the Creator himself, is he whom he has ‘breathed into’ (‘ἐνεφύσησέν’) and inseminated into the former, placing in him by angels something consubstantial with himself. (Ex.Th., 50.2)39

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These are two categories of human being, one ‘material’, which is also called ‘chylic’ and the second ‘psychic’, who is more ‘aloof’. The second, as we read in the passage, reflects the Creator/Demiurge. Still, neither of them is perfect, as the Demiurge cannot create any perfect beings. I should add that according to the Excerpts, creation of these two is not an act of evil. The Demiurge is not evil, but rather ignorant (Ex.Th., 49.1–2) of the divine realm. The next section highlights their co-existence and states that the psychic one can also be joined (possibly ‘exists in’) the material one. Our document reports the origin of two types of essence which have the same Creator. The third type of essence is different. The story continues with new characters and new human beings, this time the perfect ones. This is where we read about the intervention of Wisdom/Sophia, now a spiritual being, who is mentioned on many occasions in the Excerpts;40 the greatest number of allusions is in the present section 53 (2–5). Sophia/Wisdom is known to Theodotus (Ex.Th., 22.7; 26.1; 32.2;) and the ‘Valentinians’ (Ex.Th., 2.2; 17.1; 21.1; 23.2) cited by Clement.41 Wisdom/Sophia is depicted as a positive character, first as the one who provided the Saviour with ‘the flesh’, a metaphor of the original spiritual community (Ex.Th., 1.1). These spiritual beings (angels)42 will descend with him at his incarnation.43 In this scenario, the Saviour is coming from the spiritual realm to this world accompanied by spiritual beings. They will come to assemble their counterparts on the earth.44 This is the moment when the Excerpts explain the origin of the ‘spiritual’ human beings, that is, the third type of essence. This essence does not come from the Demiurge, but is explained by introducing ‘Adam’, a thought of the Demiurge’s mind who then becomes a separate being at the end of creation. Again, good Wisdom/Sophia acts and this time provides ‘Adam’ with the spiritual seed, which became the third quality after ‘material’ and ‘psychic’: So Wisdom first put forth a spiritual seed (σπέρμα πνευματικὸν) which was in Adam that it might be ‘the bone’, the reasonable and heavenly soul which is not empty but full of spiritual marrow (Ex.Th., 53.5)45 Dunderberg, referring to Risto Auvinen, provides us with a very helpful comment to this translation.46 This ‘spiritual seed’ (σπέρμα πνευματικὸν) of the divine origin (not created by the Demiurge) still needs to be straightened by the spirit, here represented by the ‘spiritual marrow’. This origin of the three types of essence is further reaffirmed in this section: From Adam three natures were begotten. The first was the irrational (ἡ ἄλογος), which was Cain’s, the second the rational and just (ἡ λογικὴ καὶ ἡ δικαία), which was Abel’s, the third the spiritual (ἡ πνευματική), which was Seth’s. Now that which is earthly is ‘according to the image’, that which is psychical is according to the ‘likeness’ of God, and that

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which is spiritual is according to the real nature; and with reference to these three, without the other children of Adam, it was said, ‘This is the book of the generation of men’.47 And because Seth was spiritual he neither tends flocks nor tills the soil but produces a child, as spiritual things do. And him, who ‘hoped to call upon the name of the Lord’48 who looked upward and whose ‘citizenship is in heaven’49 – him the world does not contain. (Ex.Th., 54.1–3)50 The passage clearly distinguishes a hierarchy among created natures: material, psychic and spiritual. The spiritual is here associated, interestingly, with ‘Seth’. I assume that Clement refers, as he believed, to ‘Valentinians’ and their interpretation of Genesis (4:25). However, if those anonymous commentators saw themselves as heirs of Seth, they would identify themselves with a ‘Sethian legacy’, yet we don’t see that kind of affiliation in the Excerpts. Rather, as we see in the following statement, the self-understanding of the exegetes quoted by Clement of Alexandria relies upon ‘spiritual people’:51 Therefore our father Adam is ‘the first man of the earth, earthy’52 and if he had sown from psychic and spiritual as well as from material substance, all would have become equal and righteous and the Teaching would have been in all. Therefore, many are material, but not many are psychic, and few are spiritual (Διὰ τοῦτο πολλοὶ μὲν οἱ ὑλικοί, οὐ πολλοὶ δὲ οἱ ψυχικοί· σπάνιοι δὲ οἱ πνευματικοί). (Ex.Th., 56.1–2)53 The last sentence is problematic when we think of any missionary activity undertaken by ‘Valentinians’ as Clement saw them. If they wished to attract or convert other Christians and non-Christians inclined to more philosophical or speculative theology, how could they openly declare that only few are spiritual and will be saved? This elitist stance, if that were really the position of Theodotus and others, would make them a small and marginal religious sect. Irenaeus in Lyons (Gaul) wrote long polemics against those Christians,54 as did Tertullian in Carthage55 and Justin in Rome;56 Clement in Alexandria, in a different way, devoted his efforts to engaging with their teachings. This geographical diversity of polemic contradicts the idea of the ‘Valentinians’ being a marginal and irrelevant sect. Also, the next generations of Apologists would continue that critique of the ‘Valentinians’, showing that this group still posed some threat to the dominant Christianity.57 The only solution to solve the conundrum of that concluding sentence, and this is my proposal, is in the literary genre of the Excerpts. We do not clearly see the end of the quotation and the beginning of Clements’ comment. The sentence is more coherent when the last sentence is seen as Clement’s intervention as a mocking conclusion.58 Now, it is important to note that, according to this theory, the Saviour’s descent with the spiritual beings will unite them with that perfect seed sown by Wisdom/ 146

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Sophia, and two previously separated types (archetypes and the historical beings) will achieve salvation. Short comments pronounce an important feature of this scenario: Now the spiritual is saved by nature (πνευματικὸν φύσει σῳζόμενον), but the psychic has free-will, and has the capacity for both faith and incorruptibility, as well as for unbelief and corruption according to its own choice; but the material perishes by nature. (Ex.Th., 56.3)59 It is clear from the last statement that those who have the spiritual seed put in them by Wisdom/Sophia and are born of Adam will be saved. The second type, the psychics, seem to have a chance to receive salvation, while the material people must perish. However, how should we understand the assertion that the spiritual essence is ‘saved by nature’ (πνευματικὸν φύσει σῳζόμενον)? If we understand this statement literally, then we are dealing with a notion of predestination which undermines human freedom, ethical growth, need of education and active participation in salvation. In brief, this postulate means the spiritual men and women do not need the Saviour.60 In my view, the Excerpts do not reflect this scenario. Again, I am inclined to propose that this summary comes from Clement, who simplified the position, in this case, his opponents.61 The original question in this section was from what are some people saved? They are saved from the material element, which includes the power of their passions and the rules of this world. The next quotation offers the following vital existential and theological questions: Until baptism, they say, Fate is real, but after it the astrologists are no longer right. But it is not only the washing that is liberating, but the knowledge of who we were, and what we have become, where we were or where we were placed, whither we hasten, from what we are redeemed, what birth is and what rebirth. (Ex.Th., 78.1–2)62 The Excerpts show that theory of salvation goes further than liberation of certain people. It includes the angels,63 although they do not have material element in themselves. Still, they are connected with the spiritual humans. Ultimately, according to Theodotus, the Saviour also needs salvation.64 His own salvation is the climax, as although he is himself perfect, he descended with his spiritual body to the material world in order to allow those who recognised his advent to respond with their faith.65 Summing up this section I would like to point out the originality of the reconstructed reason for salvation. The collected fragments do not elaborate on, for instance, the Pauline model of salvation from sin,66 but rather echo certain Johannine motifs of pre-existence (John 1.1–18), achieving eternal life through knowledge of the Redeemer (John 17:3), union with Him (John 15.1–11), and awareness 147

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that Christians come from ‘above’ (John 3:3). That echo is, however, not direct.67 Priorities are given to the unique combination of Platonic and Stoic theories of the origin of the human being, where dangerous and powerful emotions are enclosed in the material and their redemption is questionable. On the other hand, the spiritual essence is clearly distinguished. The latter is awakened by the Saviour and positively responds to His arrival.

3. Theodotus and ‘Valentinians’: Their views on salvation Is salvation envisaged in the Excerpts a sudden, inner act or a process related to human history? Is it a swift illumination, or did Theodotus and ‘Valentinians’ understand it as a gradual evolution? There are some important fragments which give us an insight into how salvation was seen by Theodotus and other Christians from his milieu. First, we should start with the statement which refers to the metaphor of enlightening as a single act, rather than a process. While explaining the nature of the ‘superior seed’ (διαφέροντα σπέρματά), which is the spiritual essence, Theodotus, if Clement’s attribution is correct,68 says: Therefore the Saviour says, ‘Let your light shine’,69 referring to the light which appeared and gave form, of which the Apostle says ‘which lighteth every man that cometh into the world’,70 that is, every man of the superior seed. For when man was enlightened, then he came into the world, that is, he ordered himself and put off the passions which were darkening him and were mingled with him. (Ex.Th., 41.2–3)71 Three important features of this statement call for our attention. First, as on many other occasions in the Excerpts, the spiritual essence which is in some people is depicted as the ‘seed’ (σπέρμα).72 The very nature of the seed is to grow through a process and in the right conditions, not by a sudden dramatic change. If Theodotus and other Christians valued this metaphor, then we are correct to assume that achievement of salvation, although the potential is given to a human soul, needs steady advance. Secondly, the quoted passage talks about being enlightened (ἐφωτίσθη), while the single act of lighting up could be single and quick; the meaning of the message is to carry that light and shine it in various situations in life. The light, which was hidden in a person, now through the Saviour is kindled and provides the individual with new self-understanding. Again, I see this as part of a process of education, religious and spiritual activities, and moral choices, and not a separate, one-off occasion. Thirdly, the passage clearly indicates that as a result of this inner illumination, the Christian is able to ‘put off’ or ‘separate himself’ (χωρίσας73 αὑτοῦ) from passions. Would that be a single moral act, or rather a process of growing in controlling and eliminating their power? I am inclined to accept the latter.

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Our next important statement is in the section about the Saviour’s incarnation. It pronounces: That he was other than what he received is clear from what he professes, ‘I am the Life’,74 ‘I am the Truth’,75 ‘I and the Father are one’.76 But the spiritual nature, which he received, and the psychic he thus indicates, ‘And the child grew and advanced greatly’.77 For the spiritual nature needs wisdom (Σοφίας μὲν γὰρ τὸ πνευματικὸν δεῖται) but the psychic needs size (μεγέθους δὲ τὸ ψυχικόν). (Ex.Th., 61.1–2)78 The Saviour, it is evident from the compilation of the Gospel passages, went through the process of change and grew with his human nature. Thomassen notices that the passage is rather difficult (did the Saviour’s incarnation mature/ include the psychic essence?);79 still, it shows the necessary continuous development and growth of a Christian in spirituality. My conclusion is that, according to the authors quoted by Clement, if the Saviour needed time to mature, Christians need even more, which includes both those who are spiritual and those who are psychic.80 Salvation comes through the gradual process and with moral and intellectual progress. If my interpretation is correct, then salvation based on nature, which has been mentioned before in our discussion, cannot be seen as a form of predestination. The final passage, which I would like to use to illustrate that salvation is presented as an ongoing process, is found in the following citation: Therefore the Lord came down bringing the peace which is from heaven to those on earth, as the Apostle says, ‘Peace on the earth and glory in the heights’.81 Therefore a strange and new star arose doing away with the old astral decree, shining with a new unearthly light, which revolved on a new path of salvation, as the Lord himself, men’s guide (ὁδηγός), who came down to earth to transfer from Fate to his providence those who believed in Christ. (Ex.Th., 74.1–2)82 I would like to leave out the astrological aspect of this passage;83 however, it is important to emphasise the metaphor of ‘a new unearthly light’ (καινῷ φωτί, οὐ κοσμικῷ). The passage implies that readers may identify salvation as the light of a new start, which arose and now is shining. If so, they are on a ‘new path of salvation’ (ὁ καινὰς ὁδοὺς καὶ σωτηρίους), which indicates not a single step, but a journey. These three selected statements recommend understanding of salvation as a process initiated by the Saviour. As to the concept of sudden illumination, or rapid attainment of knowledge, I must conclude that these ideas are foreign to the

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Excerpts. With that evidence I argue that salvation was understood by Theodotus and his milieu as an ethical and intellectual progression. It requires preparation and instruction (μάθησις),84 and uses some liturgical rituals (baptism),85 but also it must involve the act of will86 as well as trust/faith.87 As such it corrects the criticism from the Apologists that some Christians claimed to be ‘saved by nature’, or destined for salvation whatever they did. Dunderberg summarised Irenaeus’ picture of ‘Valentinians’ in the following way: Irenaeus describes the Valentinian distinction between the two classes as predetermined and fixed: there was no danger of being downgraded for the spiritual ones, no matter what they did, and there was no prospect of promotion for other Christians. However, Irenaeus paints the fixed picture of Valentinian anthropology for a reason. The picture serves his attempt at preventing his audience from joining the Valentinians – there would obviously be little point in joining a group that does not grant newcomers full membership, nor even a prospect of it!88 To sum up, I am proposing to understand Theodotus and other exegetes’ views on salvation as more complex than was caricatured by their opponents. It is interesting that Clement of Alexandria, who was critical about the moral extreme asceticism of some Christians (Marcion and Tatian)89 and libertine practices of others (Carpocratians),90 never used this argument in relation to the ‘followers’ of Valentinus. Their notion of salvation, although it assimilated features other than Christian,91 remained centred on the incarnation, teaching, suffering, and death of the Saviour.92 That notion engaged with the Gospels and Pauline letters, using them as authoritative material for further reflection and didactic. It is overall a Christian, although diverse in its content, teaching about the way to salvation as initiated by the Saviour.

4. The Excerpts and the blurry image of Theodotus We have already seen some fragments of the intellectual and religious portrait of Theodotus and the ‘Valentinians’. However, in Clement of Alexandria’s collection these images are strongly blended. Still, it is possible to recognise some features. Philosophical schools of the Late Roman Empire were given new attention when intellectual investigation into the origin of the current world (metaphysics) and the purpose of life (ethics) received religious or spiritual attention (spirituality and mysticism). It was not just about the inquisitiveness of mind, but also about the care of the soul, the relationship with other people, and last but not least the divine. Middle Platonism, Stoicism, Neopythagoreanism, Cynics, together with Hermetics, ‘Chaldean Oracles’, and soon Neoplatonism, provided their followers, in uncertain historical circumstances,93 with teachings about a life worth living, philosophical existence and self-understanding in relation to the universe of other people and divine beings. Theodotus and others from the Excerpts belonged to that 150

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world. Existential, philosophical and religious concerns are well encapsulated by the already quoted questions: But it is not only the washing that is liberating, but the knowledge of who we were, and what we have become, where we were or where we were placed, whither we hasten, from what we are redeemed, what birth is and what rebirth. (Ex.Th., 78.2–3) Theodotus and others who share his religious stance answered these questions with a positive message. His proposal combined what already was seen as Christian revelation embodied in Scriptures (canonical and others)94 which can be helpfully interpreted with some ideas assimilated from the Stoic and Platonic philosophies. Now, I would like to look closer at Theodotus’ and ‘Valentinian’ approaches to these sources. First, it is evident that their hermeneutics expresses convictions that these different philosophical and religious sources can be harmonised. They do not contradict each other, but in a correct (allegorical) interpretation, they provide readers with guidance to moral life and salvation. They had access to the Gospels and some Pauline letters, which they quoted freely, either from manuscripts or memory. Their eclecticism was not original, as quite similar stances can be found for instance in Clement of Alexandria, but not in Irenaeus, Tertullian or Tatian. What differs between Clement’s approach and the one found among other Christians (‘Valentinians’) is that the latter were much more autonomous in both amalgamating Scriptures (‘Old’ and ‘New’ Testaments) and then assimilating varied philosophical ideas. Sophia/Wisdom, who is mentioned in the Jewish Sapiential traditions as God’s companion and who has many characteristics,95 becomes in the Excerpts closely linked with the incarnation of Jesus/Logos as the Saviour. The Demiurge, the semi-divine character of the Creator of this world borrowed from Platonic tradition, stands between the visible and invisible realms: he creates two types of less-perfect human beings. Yet, although he is good, he is also less powerful than the Saviour. The Angels, originally messengers, now are depicted like partners of some mature human souls. These new exegetical approaches and theological configurations do not give a reason to treat Theodotus and others’ interpretations as ‘erroneous’ or abusive of the Scriptures. It is important to remember that the readers or audience who heard these commentaries must have been familiar with and enjoyed references to philosophical ideas. If they were not aware of them, each notion such as ‘substance’, ‘Demiurge’, ‘passion’, ‘Aeon’, ‘emanation’, and many more would be incomprehensible. Secondly, there is no sign of being apologetic in the Excerpts for the eclectic and speculative reflection. Theodotus and others were very bold in adding to or changing the meaning of characters known from the Scriptures or terms assimilated from the varied schools of Graeco-Roman philosophy. The cosmological drama, both in relation to its origin and in the view of its final reunion with the 151

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divine, has many principal (e.g. the Father, the Saviour, the Holy Spirit, Wisdom/ Sophia, the Demiurge) and supportive (e.g. John the Baptist, the Angels, daemons and the devil, the Magi, the Jews) actors. Even the script itself is still under revision. In the light of the existing 86 Excerpts, we see that Theodotus and his fellow exegetes, in their reading of the Scriptures, were not interested in, for instance, listing Jesus’ miracles or reminding and elaborating on the details of his resurrection. They also left out the important Pauline notion of sin96 and highlighted other causes of present misery, mainly the power of passions and ignorance. But they did so with highly varied methods and degrees of attention. Their stance was not unanimous. The third feature of the Excerpts can be seen in the interpretation of the Saviour. It shares with other Christian theologians of the time the emphasis on the real incarnation, suffering, death and assumed resurrection, but it also adds some additional and confusing details. We have seen the debate about the Saviour’s body, which include two essences – spiritual and psychic – bringing redemption to those people who are made of these essences. However, we don’t have any parallels with similar proposals among various representatives of the Great Church.97 Also Theodotus proposes that the Saviour himself needed salvation. It is an original postulate which stresses his participation in what was human (at least spiritual and psychic) as well as the human potential to be redeemed as these two types of people. The role of the Saviour, however, shows its limits in relation to the third essence: the ‘material’. Neither Theodotus nor other referred theologians from the Excerpts speculated, like Origen,98 on universal redemption. The fourth feature of Theodotus’ and the ‘Valentinian’ theological proposal is that although it acknowledges some historical events, such as Jesus’ baptism, it could be understood totally in the context of the inner life of a Christian. Redemption is the process, as I have argued above, that addresses internal transformation of the believer from an existence ruled by passions, fate (astrology), or false comprehension, towards a new way of life. That new stage also includes control over passions, freedom from false perception and misunderstanding. This emphasis on the interiorisation of the gift of redemption helps us also to be better engaged in the current world as ‘the light of this world’. Theology, if we can use this generic term, is a spiritual exercise; it is about practice and progress in virtue (passions) and knowledge, which has a deep theological connotation. The previous observation leads to this final point. The Excerpts, although dedicating a lot of time to cosmology, psychology, and theology, serve a didactic purpose. They construct a new identity for the reader, yes with strong philosophical or intellectual orientation, but also teaching, advising, and encouraging a specific path of life. Ritual or liturgical aspects (baptism and the Eucharist) appear in the anthology, but from a distance, and are not given the same focus as in other documents affiliated with the ‘Valentinian’ tradition.99 Theodotus and other anonymous commentators from the Excerpts acknowledge the life of a Christian within a community, not as individual hermits, and the Excerpts say enough to reaffirm this observation. 152

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5. Conclusions What have we learned about Theodotus and the ‘Valentinian’ understanding of salvation? First, I do not see Theodotus and other theologians quoted by Clement of Alexandria as presenting a unanimous theory of salvation. Their explorations of various scenarios went in diverse directions. No doubt they were exegetes who were familiar with Christian Revelation, which they assimilated with strong and selective personal interests. Theodotus and others showed different approaches to the Hebrew (mainly Genesis) and Christian (e.g. Matthew, Luke, John, briefly Mark, and selected Pauline letters) Scriptures as well as varied engagement with Graeco-Roman philosophies. In that elaboration, the Excerpts link salvation neither with the disobedience of Adam and Eve in paradise, nor with the fall of Sophia/Wisdom. The world is not the creation of an evil power, dualism is not based on a separation of the Old order from the new Revelation. Human beings, although with different potentials, are encouraged to respond to the Saviour’s message. In the light of the Excerpts, Theodotus and others investigated the question of ‘why we are here’ and provided their audience with possible answers. No doubt, their understanding of for instance fate as well as providence, briefly mentioned in the Excerpts, would also depend on the preferences of the teacher and their audience. Theology of God and then emergence of the divine world varied in this milieu. Various events in Jesus’ life would find greater or lesser attention, depending on the situation and education of the audience. Jesus’ baptism, not the miraculous conception, or fulfilment of Jewish prophecies, was the beginning of historical redemption. The richness of the theological tapestry noted only briefly in this chapter calls for a very careful approach to these anonymous – excluding Theodotus – teachers and their message. The message still resounds with a polyphony of voices. As such it calls for our focused attention to detail.

Notes 1 More on the title and the literary genre of ἐκλογαί in Alain Le Boulluec, ‘Extraits d’œuvres de Clément d’Alexandrie la transmission et le sens de leur titres’, in Alain Le Boulluec, Alexandrie Antique er Chrétienne, Clément et Origène (Collection des Études Augustiniennes) (Paris: Institut d’Études Augustiniennes, 2012), 125–38, esp. 125–8, and Christoph Markschies, ‘Valentinian Gnosticism’, in The Nag Hammadi Library after Fifty Years: Proceedings of the 1995 Society of Biblical Literature Commemoration, John D. Turner and Anne McGuire (eds) (Leiden: E.J. Brill, 1997), 433–5. 2 O. Stählin (ed.), Clemens Alexandrinus (Leipzig: Hinrichs, 1909), 105. 3 ἐκ τῶν Θεοδότου καὶ τῆς ἀνατολικῆς καλουμένης διδασκαλίας κατὰ τοὺς Οὐαλεντίνου χρόνους ἐπιτομαί. The Greek follows Clemens Alexandrinus, vol. 3: Stromata Buch VII und VIII, Excerpts ex Theodoto, Eclogae propheticae, Quis dives salvetur, Fragmente, L. Früchtel and U. Treu (eds), GCS, 17 (Berlin: Akademie-Verlag, 1970). I also refer to F. Sagnard (ed.), Clément d’Alexandrie: Extraits de Théodote (Sources Chrétiennes, 23) (Paris: Cerf, 1948). I am taking the English translation from Robert Pierce Casey, The Excerpts ex Theodoto of Clement of Alexandria (Studies and Documents 1) (London: Christophers, 1934), 40–91; it is still valuable in discussion. For

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4

5 6 7

8 9 10 11 12 13 14

15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23

a recent English translation of Excerpts, see Geoffrey S. Smith, Valentinian Christianity: Texts and Translations (Oakland: University of California Press, 2020), 57–107. Nothing is known about this exegete. Together with Cossianus, Heracleon, Ptolemy and Marcus, Theodotus is mentioned by Theodoret of Cyrus, Haer., I.8: Καὶ ἄλλοι δὲ µυρίοι ἐντεῦθεν ἀνεφύησαν αἱρέσεως ἀρχηγοὶ, Κοσσιανὸς, Θεόδοτος, Ἡρακλέων, Πτολε µαῖος, Μάρκος, διάφορα προσεπινοήσαντες δόγµατα. This note does not make a distinction between two branches of the same school. See Refutatio, 6.35.4–7 and Tertullian’s Adv. Val., 2.2. On those and other Valentinian theologians, see Einar Thomassen, The Spiritual Seed: The Church of the ‘Valentinians’, NHMS, vol. 60 (Leiden: E.J. Brill: 2006), 491–503. See Strom., 2.3.10.2 (οἱ δὲ ἀπὸ Οὐαλεντίνου); 3.1.1.1 (Οἱ μὲν οὖν ἀμφὶ τὸν Οὐαλεντῖνον); 3.4.29.3 (οἱ ἀπὸ Οὐαλεντίνου); 3.13.92.1 (ὁ δ’ ἐκ τῆς Οὐαλεντίνου ἐξεφοίτησε σχολῆς), where Clement mentions a certain Cassian and this disciple comes from Valentinus’ school (7.17.108.1: τῶν δ’ αἱρέσεων αἳ μὲν ἀπὸ ὀνόματος προσαγορεύονται, ὡς ἡ ἀπὸ Οὐαλεντίνου καὶ Μαρκίωνος καὶ Βασιλείδου, κἂν τὴν Ματθίου αὐχῶσι προσάγεσθαι δόξαν), and suggests that the name of the school comes from the originator. It is rather surprising that one of these references mentions Theodotus, although his teaching was so important to Clement that he included his thoughts in the Excerpts. One possible answer would be that the Excerpts was written after all other existing works of Clement, but it is also possible that Clement copied various teachings of Theodotus and other ‘followers’ of Valentinus throughout his scholarly life. See his ‘Italian versus Eastern Valentinianism?’, VCh, vol. 62, no. 1 (2008), 79–89. See ‘Italian versus Eastern...’, 80, and Thomassen, The Spiritual Seed, 28, footnote 3. See Tertullian’s ongoing proclamation of the one, original truth guarded by his church and many heretical perversions in his Prescr. See also Refutatio, V.6. Eusebius, HE., 6.13.1–3. Thomassen, The Spiritual Seed, 29. See Sagnard, Clément d’Alexandrie, 30. See Thomassen, The Spiritual Seed, 29, footnote 6. See Thomassen, The Spiritual Seed, 29, footnotes 7 and 8. The issue of the unity of the anthology is also pointed out by Jean-Daniel Dubois in his short but important paper ‘Remarques sur la cohérence des Extraits de Théodote’, in Gnosticism, Platonism and the Late Ancient World. Essays in Honour of John D. Turner, Kevin Corrigan and Tuomas Rasimus (eds), NHMS, vol. 82 (Leiden: E.J. Brill, 2013), 209–23, and my ‘Excerpta ex Theodoto – a Search for the Theological Matrix: An Examination of the Document in the Light of some Coptic Treatises from the Nag Hammadi Library’, SP, vol. LXXIX (2017), vol. 5 (Peeters, Leuven: Parish, Bristol, CT), 55–70. Ex.Th., 1.1; 22.1; 25.1; 38.2; 41.1; 67.1. Ex.Th., 2.1; 6.1; 16; 17.1; 21.1; 23.1; 24; 25.1; 28; 37. As Clement does not name any other teachers and uses the generic term, did he treat their teachings as coherent? The grouping of all of them under one name suggests that he did. Ex.Th., 6.2; 7.5; 22.5; 30.1; 43.1. Ex.Th., 22.4; 29; 31.2; 32.1; 33.3; 33.4; 35.4; 36.1; 41.2; 75.1; 78.1; 79; 81.1. See some parallel with Photius in my Clement of Alexandria on Trial: The Evidence of ‘Heresy’ from Photius’ Bibliotheca, SVCh, vol. 101 (Leiden: E.J. Brill, 2010). Ex.Th., 2.2; 14.1; 56.3; 58.2; 61.3; 61.5; 61.8; 63.2; 67.2; 74.1; 84. Ex.Th., 12.3; 22.5 (twice); 22.6 (twice); 22.7; 35.2; 78.2. I will discuss this notion further in this paragraph. Thomassen sees similarity between Theodotus’ opinion and the statement found in the Tri. Trac. 124.25–125.11, see The Spiritual Seed, 87. Sagnard, Clément d’Alexandrie: Extraits de Théodote, 29. See also a highly valuable discussion of this section by Ismo Dunderberg, Gnostic Morality Revisited, WUNT 347 (Tübingen, Moh Siebeck, 2015), 161–7.

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24 See our discussion in Chapter 2 (see footnote 107), Chapter 4.2 and Chapter 5.3. The first time the Creator/Demiurge is mentioned in the Excerpts is in 7.5. He is introduced as the ‘Image’ of the ‘Only-Begotten’, that is the Son of God, the Saviour. In the Christian Scriptures the term Δημιυργός is found in 2 Mac 4:1 and in Hebr 11:10, when it refers to God. It is unlikely that ‘Valentinians’ would assimilate this Scriptural image. Rather, following the importance of Demiurge in Platonic tradition (Tim.) as the one who put in order the current, material world, they borrowed the term and idea from that tradition. 25 Again, we should be aware of many Middle Platonic stances on the role of the Demiurge. For instance, in Philo of Alexandria and with his strict monotheism, the Demiurge becomes one of two creative powers of the Logos, see QE II, 68. For Atticus, the Demiurge is the supreme God and Father (Fr. 9, 815nn), similar to Alcinous (Didask., X.3). For further discussion, see Dillon, The Middle Platonists, 46. It should be noted that for all these sources the Demiurge is good, never evil or malicious. 26 For Nicomachus of Gerasa, the Demiurge is divine, he is God; see Dillon, The Middle Platonists, 355. For Numenius of Apamea, the Demiurge is distinct from the Supreme God: Dillon, The Middle Platonists, 366–76. 27 Gen 1:2. This is an exact quote from the LXX. The verb ἐπιφέρω means also ‘put’, ‘place’ or ‘lay’ upon. 28 ‘καὶ πνεῦμα θεοῦ ἐπεφέρετο ἐπάνω τῶν ὑδάτων’, κατὰ τὴν συμπλοκὴν τῶν δύο οὐσιῶν τῶν αὐτῷ πεποιημένων, τὸ εἰλικρινὲς ‘ἐπιφέρεσθαι’ εἰπών, τὸ δὲ ἐμβριθὲς καὶ ὑλικὸν ὑποφέρεσθαι, τὸ θολερὸν καὶ παχυμερές. The quotation clearly mentions separation of two types of substances in the act of creation. Some commentors see here yet another example of ‘Valentinian’ cosmology, see Attridge and Pagels, CGL (1985), XXIII, 350. However, the interpretation proposed by this passage could be seen as a further development of the Philonic motif of double creation: Gen 1:26 in Opif., 69 and Gen 2:7 in Opif., 134. See more in David Runia, Philo of Alexandria: On the Creation of the Cosmos According to Moses: Introduction, Translation and Commentary by David T. Runia (Philo of Alexandria Commentary, 1) (Leiden: E.J. Brill, 2001), 321. Was Theodotus and ‘Valentinians’ familiar with Philo’s exegesis? I am inclined to accept that some documents affiliated to the ‘Valentinian’ school were familiar with Philo’s speculations. See some observations in Chapter 3. 29 Does this idea of two elements – ‘water’ and ‘spirit’ – echo contemporaneous Stoic views about four elements (fire, air, water, and earth) from which everything emerged? I am inclined to accept this as a possibility; see further discussion in Ismo Dunderberg, ‘Stoic Traditions in the School of Valentinus’, in Stoicism and Early Christianity, T. Rasimus, T. Engberg-Pedersen and I. Dunderberg (eds) (Grand Rapids: Baker Academic, 2010), 220–38. 30 The rare noun πλῆξις may express here another aspect of perplexity that something awful will happen to the individual, something that he or she will not be able to control. 31 Different philosophers of this time propose different lists of negative emotions. For instance, Philo of Alexandria named: ‘desire/pleasure’, ‘fear’. ‘distress’ and ‘anger’ in Prob. 159. For Stoics, in general four passions were the most dangerous: ‘desire’, ‘fear’, ‘pleasure’ and ‘grief’, see John Dillon, The Middle Platonists 80 B.C. to A.D. 220 (London: Duckworth, 1996), 77. For more detailed discussion of emotions, which includes other philosophical schools of the same period, see Michael Trapp, Philosophy in the Roman Empire: Ethics, Politics and Society (Aldershot: Ashgate, 2007), 63–97. 32 See Eph 4:30 and 6:12. 33 Theodotus and others would argue for the life according the ‘true nature’, that is, the nature that originates in the spiritual, pre-cosmic realm. See our earlier discussion on the philosophical (Plotinus’) proposal of ‘true nature’ in Chapter 6, footnote 86. 34 Ismo Dunderberg, ‘Stoic Traditions...’, 225–9.

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35 According to the Stoic classical view, (Zeno) emotion was defined as ‘irrational and contrary-to-nature motion of the soul’ (Diogenes Laertius, VP., 7.110). This view matches description of the first type of the human being as rather animal-like in this passage. 36 Gen 2:7a. This time it is not a direct citation from LXX. 37 Gen 1:27. It is evident that the author freely moves his or her exegesis between two accounts of the creation of the first human being, arguing for two types of creation rather than for aspects of the same process. Still, this type of exegetical investigation into the significance of the creation of the first human beings was a part of a wider debate which included catechesis (e.g. 1 Clem 33.4–5; Justin Martyr, Dial., 62.1; Clement, Paed., 3.19.1), polemic (Ep.Barn, 5.5; 6.12) and different speculations (e.g. Irenaeus, AH., I.5.4 and I.30.9, Gos. Thomas, 11 and 84; Val. Exp. 37.32–6). More in E. Pagel’s ‘Adam and Eve and the Serpent in Genesis 1–3’, in Images of the Feminine in Gnosticism, K.L. King (ed.) (Studies in Antiquity and Christianity) (Harrisburg, PA: Trinity Press International, 2000), 412–23. 38 λαβὼν χοῦν ἀπὸ τῆς γῆς’, οὐ τῆς ξηρᾶς, ἀλλὰ τῆς πολυμεροῦς καὶ ποικίλης ὕλης μέρος, ψυχὴν γεώδη καὶ ὑλικὴν ἐτεκτήνατο ἄλογον καὶ τῇ τῶν θηρίων ὁμοούσιον· οὗτος ‹ὁ› ‘κατ’ εἰκόνα’ ἄνθρωπος. The distinction made in the text between ‘rational’ and ‘irrational’ finds its parallel in Philo’s interpretation of ‘double’ creation, see Chapter 3.4 then in relation to the Gospel of Truth. The Jewish exegete distinguished between the first created human being, the object of thoughts (Gen 1:27 and Opif., 69) and the second human being, either man or woman (Gen 2:7 and Opif., 134), the object of sense perception. In addition, for Philo, Adam and Eve stood for rationality and sense-perception. See my discussion in Clement of Alexandria on Trial, 134–6 with bibliography. 39 ὁ δὲ ‘καθ’ ὁμοίωσιν’, τὴν αὐτοῦ τοῦ Δημιουργοῦ ἐκεῖνός ἐστιν ὃν εἰς τοῦτον ‘ἐνεφύσησέν’ τε καὶ ἐνέσπειρεν, ὁμοούσιόν τι αὐτῷ δι’ ἀγγέλων ἐνθείς. The Excerpts proposes that the second type of nature, ‘psychic’ or ‘soulish’, shares the substance with its creator, that is the good Creator/Demiurge. 40 Ex.Th., 1.1; 1.2; 2.2; 17.1; 21.1; 22.7; 23.2 (twice); 26.1; 32.2; 44.1; 45.3; 47; 53.2; 53.3; 53.4; 53.5; 61.2. 41 So far, we have seen the active role of the Demiurge in creating two substances or two types of human beings. The Platonic, Middle Platonic or Neopythagorean sources do not mention ‘Sophia/Wisdom’ as a cosmic power. Where could we find the origin or inspiration for this character and doctrine in Christian reflection? I propose that in the current case two traditions have emerged: philosophical with the Middle Platonic notion of the Soul of the World and Wisdom Literature with the active role of Sophia/ Wisdom as God’s partner in creation. Philo of Alexandria was the first who combined two notions, one from Plato’s Timaeus about creation of the Soul of the World by the Demiurge (34c–37c), which is a ‘metaphysical bridge’ between the eternal world of ideas (Forms) and changeable, material world (world of senses). The Soul fulfils a very important and positive role moving, governing, and directing the material world towards good. In Philo, we find assimilation of that idea and female character, this time as Wisdom/Sophia, through whom this material world came into being, Fug. 109. She, alongside of the Logos, is for Philo a positive, creative power. In brief, she is ‘the Mother to all creation’ (Ebr. 30). Christians such as Theodotus may have become familiar with that notion through Alexandrian exegetical tradition. See more in Dillon, The Middle Platonists, 163–4. 42 Ex.Th. 21.3; 35.1; 44.1–2. 43 See the similar motif in Mt 25:13: ‘When the Son of Man comes in his glory, and all the angels with him...’ In the case of Theodotus, this descent has been initiated at the Saviour’s incarnation. 44 The Gospel of Philip, 70.9–22; 78.25–79.13; 85.32–86.19 hints at some interesting parallels with Ex.Th. In my view both sources reinterpret the theme of Mt 25:13 in a new

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eschatological context of the union of the heavenly and earthly elements. 45 πρῶτον οὖν σπέρμα πνευματικὸν τὸ ἐν τῷ Ἀδὰμ προέβαλεν ἡ Σοφία, ἵνα ᾖ τὸ ὀστοῦν, ἡ λογικὴ καὶ οὐρανία ψυχή, μὴ κενή. ἀλλὰ μυελοῦ γέμουσα πνευματικοῦ. See Gen 2:23. See more in Thomassen, The Spiritual Seed, 434. 46 Dunderberg, Gnostic Morality Revisited, 147, footnote 51. 47 Gen 5:1 the excerpt preserves the direct quote from LXX. 48 The quotation only echoes Gen 4:26. 49 Possible Phil 3:20. 50 Aπὸ δὲ τοῦ Ἀδὰμ τρεῖς φύσεις γεννῶνται· πρώτη μὲν ἡ ἄλογος, ἧς ἦν Κάιν· δευτέρα δὲ ἡ λογικὴ καὶ ἡ δικαία, ἧς ἦν Ἄβελ· τρίτη δὲ ἡ πνευματική, ἧς ἦν Σήθ. Καὶ ὁ μὲν χοϊκός ἐστι ‘κατ’ εἰκόνα’· ὁ δὲ ψυχικὸς ‘καθ’ ὁμοίωσιν’ Θεοῦ· ὁ δὲ πνευματικὸς κατ’ ἰδίαν· ἐφ’ οἷς τρισίν, ἄνευ τῶν ἄλλων παίδων τοῦ Ἀδάμ, εἴρηται· ‘Αὕτη ἡ βίβλος γενέσεως ἀνθρώπων’. Ὅτι δὲ πνευματικὸς ὁ Σήθ, οὔτε ποιμαίνει, οὔτε γεωργεῖ, ἀλλὰ παῖδα καρποφορεῖ, ὡς τὰ πνευματικά. Καὶ τοῦτον, ὃς ‘ἤλπισεν ἐπικαλεῖσθαι τὸ ὄνομα κυρίου’, ἄνω βλέποντα, οὗ ‘τὸ πολίτευμα ἐν οὐρανῷ’, τοῦτον ὁ κόσμος οὐ χωρεῖ. Commentators, here Attridge and Pagels, CGL (1985), XXIII, 446, highlight the ‘Valentinian’ motif of the tripartition of humanity (e.g. Tri. Trac. 118.14–122.12). In our discussion of the Tripartite Tractate in Chapter 6 I have pointed out some similarities between this Coptic document and Origen’s thoughts. Indeed, ‘tripartition’, or the emphasis on three different potentials among people, was not an exclusively ‘Valentinian’ innovation. Origen used threefold division (simpliciores/progedientes and perfecti) in his didactic and exegesis; see his Philoc. I.11 and Princ., IV.2.4. Further discussion of this passage can be found in Thomassen, The Spiritual Seed, 478–9, footnote 119. 51 Modern scholars distinguish some documents in the Nag Hammadi collection using a ‘Sethian’ typology. 52 1 Cor 15:47 – the citation is accurate. 53 κατὰ τοῦτο, πατὴρ ἡμῶν ὁ Ἀδάμ, ‘ὁ πρῶτος [δ’] ἄνθρωπος ἐκ γῆς χοϊκός’. Εἰ δὲ καὶ ἐκ ψυχικοῦ ἔσπειρεν καὶ ἐκ πνευματικοῦ, καθάπερ ἐξ ὑλικοῦ, πάντες ἂν ἴσοι καὶ δίκαιοι ἐγεγόνεισαν, καὶ ἐν πᾶσιν ἂν ἡ διδαχὴ ἦν. Διὰ τοῦτο πολλοὶ μὲν οἱ ὑλικοί, οὐ πολλοὶ δὲ οἱ ψυχικοί σπάνιοι δὲ οἱ πνευματικοί. The statement ‘few are spiritual’ (σπάνιοι δὲ οἱ πνευματικοί) echoes Mt 22:14. Irenaeus, AH., I.1–7. See his treatise Against the Valentinians. See his polemic in the Dial., 35.6. For instance, Epiphanius of Salamis and his Panarion criticises various teachers, who he links with Valentinus. See Pan. Chapters 31–4. 58 Sagnard’s French edition identified many occasions in the text when Clement seems to provide comments of his own. The exact number of those interventions could be debated, but, nonetheless, I agree that Clement’s own thoughts are interwoven in various sections of the Excerpts. The discussed passage (56.2) is not identified by Sagnard as Clement’s glossa, however in my interpretation I propose to read it as such. 59 τὸ μὲν οὖν πνευματικὸν φύσει σῳζόμενον· τὸ δὲ ψυχικόν, αὐτεξούσιον ὄν, ἐπιτηδειότητα ἔχει πρός τε πίστιν καὶ ἀφθαρσίαν, καὶ πρὸς ἀπιστίαν καὶ φθοράν, κατὰ τὴν οἰκείαν αἵρεσιν· τὸ δὲ ὑλικὸν φύσει ἀπόλλυται. In relation to ‘being saved by nature’, Attridge and Pagels, CGL (1985), vol. XXIII, 446 propose ‘a misunderstanding (or caricature) on the part of Church Fathers of Valentinian theology’. 60 Thomassen, The Spiritual Seed, 68.

54 55 56 57

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61 See also Strom., 2.3.10.2. If we assume that ‘Valentinians’ hold this view, how can we explain that some of ‘them’ such as Ptolemy would make the effort to educate Flora? See Chapter 4. More in Ismo Dunderberg, Beyond Gnosticism: Myth, Lifestyle, and Society in the School of Valentinus (New York: Columbia University Press, 2008), 145. 62 Μέχρι τοῦ βαπτίσματος οὖν ἡ Εἱμαρμένη, φασίν, ἀληθής· μετὰ δὲ τοῦτο οὐκέτι ἀληθεύουσιν οἱ ἀστρολόγοι. Ἔστιν δὲ οὐ τὸ λουτρὸν μόνον τὸ ἐλευθεροῦν, ἀλλὰ καὶ ἡ γνῶσις, τίνες ἦμεν, τί γεγόναμεν· ποῦ ἦμεν, ἢ ποῦ ἐνεβλήθημεν· ποῦ σπεύδομεν, πόθεν λυτρούμεθα· τί γέννησις, τί ἀναγέννησις.

63 64

65 66

67 68 69 70 71

Clement distinguishes two stages of life: pre- and post-baptismal. This distinction is emphasised on many occasions in the New Testament and in the early Christian sources; see Chapter 9.4.3. Ex.Th., 22.1–5. See valuable commentary in Thomassen, The Spiritual Seed, 377–83. Ex.Th., 22.7: ‘And redemption was necessary even for Jesus, in order that, approaching through Wisdom, he might not be detained by the Notion of the Deficiency in which he was inserted, as Theodotus says’. Ἐδέησεν δὲ λυτρώσεως καὶ τῷ Ἰησοῦ, ἵνα μὴ κατασχεθῇ τῇ Ἐννοίᾳ ᾗ ἐνετέθη τοῦ ὑστερήματος, προ[ς]ερχόμενος διὰ τῆς Σοφίας, ὥς φησιν ὁ Θεόδοτος. Ex.Th., 9.1–3. See Rom. 5:12–21. Since Michel R. Desjardins’ valuable publication, we know that the notion of ‘sin’ appeared in various documents affiliated with ‘Valentinianism’; still, neither Theodotus nor the other exegetes quoted and discussed in the Excerpts mentioned this term. See his Sin in Valentinianism (SBL Dissertation Series, 108) (Atlanta: Scholars Press, 1990). See the list of the references to the Gospel of John in Sagnard, Clément d’Alexandrie, 252–3. Here, the Greek has φησί. Mt 5:16 the exact quotation. John 1:9 the citation follows the Scriptures. Ex.Th., 41.3–4: διὰ τοῦτο ὁ σωτὴρ λέγει· ‘λαμψάτω τὸ φῶς ὑμῶν’, μηνύων περὶ τοῦ φωτὸς τοῦ φανέντος καὶ μορφώσαντος, περὶ οὗ ὁ ἀπόστολος λέγει· ‘ὅ φωτίζει πάντα ἄνθρωπον ἐρχόμενον εἰς τὸν κόσμον’, τὸν τοῦ διαφόρου σπέρματος. ὅτε γὰρ ‘ἐφωτίσθη’ ὁ ἄνθρωπος, τότε ‘εἰς τὸν κόσμον ἦλθεν’, τουτέστιν ἑαυτὸν ἐκόσμησεν, χωρίσας αὑτοῦ τὰ ἐπισκοτοῦντα καὶ συναναμεμιγμένα αὐτῷ πάθη.

This quotation exemplifies the necessary effort of self-control by the spiritual Christians. Although they are illuminated (baptism) or lighted by the light of the Saviour, still those men and women must separate themselves from the passions. As in the case of Paul’s exhortation (Gal 5:16–25), here also a spiritual life is opposed to one of the ‘flesh’. 72 On the metaphor of the ‘seed’, see Chapter 4.4 and footnote 83. It was one of several rather commonly used images related to passing on teaching, which contain a new spiritual life. 73 Possibly χωρήσας as in the second manuscript (Bibliothèque nationale, Suppl. Grec 250).

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74 75 76 77 78

See John 14:6. John 14:6 – the exact reference to the Scriptural expression. John 10:30 – direct citation of the Scriptural text. Lk 2:40 and 2:52 – the Except shows a compilation of two Scriptural passages. ὅτι μὲν οὖν αὐτὸς ἕτερος ἦν ὧν ἀνείληφεν, δῆλον ἐξ ὧν ὁμολογεῖ· ‘ἐγὼ ἡ ζωή’, ‘ἐγὼ ἡ ἀλήθεια’, ’ἐγὼ καὶ ὁ πατὴρ ἕν ἐσμεν’. Τὸ δὲ πνευματικὸν ὃ ἀνείληφεν, καὶ τὸ ψυχικόν, οὕτως ἐμφαίνει· ‘τὸ δὲ παιδίον ηὔξανεν καὶ προέκοπτεν ‹ἐν› σοφίᾳ’. σοφίας μὲν γὰρ τὸ πνευματικὸν δεῖται· μεγέθους δὲ τὸ ψυχικόν.

Unlike other commentators (Puech and Quispel) in Attridge and Pagels, CGL (1985), vol. XXIII, 155, I don’t see identification of Christ with the Truth as a characteristic of some of the ‘Valentinians’. This is rather a Johannine motif used in the Gospel with different intentions, one of which is to point out the opposition between Truth/ Lie; see Jörg Frey, ‘Dualism and the World in the Gospel and Letters of John’, in The Oxford Handbook of Johannine Studies, Judith M. Lieu and Martinus C. de Boer (eds) (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2018), 283. 79 Thomassen, The Spiritual Seed, 64. 80 Salvation of the psychics is mentioned in Ex.Th., 61.8: ‘In this way, therefore, the psychic elements are raised and are saved’ (τὰ ψυχικὰ μὲν οὖν οὕτως ἀνίσταται καὶ ἀνασῴζεται). 81 Lk 2:14 – here we have a reference to Luke. 82 διὰ τοῦτο ὁ κύριος κατῆλθεν εἰρήνην ποιήσων, τὴν ἀπ’ οὐρανοῦ τοῖς ἐπὶ γῆς, ὥς φησιν ὁ ἀπόστολος· ‘εἰρήνη ἐπὶ τῆς γῆς καὶ δόξα ἐν ὑψίστοις’. διὰ τοῦτο ἀνέτειλεν ξένος ἀστὴρ καὶ καινός, καταλύων τὴν παλαιὰν ἀστροθεσίαν, καινῷ φωτί, οὐ κοσμικῷ, λαμπόμενος, ὁ καινὰς ὁδοὺς καὶ σωτηρίους τρεπόμενος, ‹ὡς› αὐτὸς ὁ κύριος, ἀνθρώπων ὁδηγός, ὁ κατελθὼν εἰς γῆν ἵνα μεταθῇ τοὺς εἰς τὸν Χριστὸν πιστεύσαντας ἀπὸ τῆς Εἱμαρμένης εἰς τὴν ἐκείνου πρόνοιαν.

83 84 85 86 87 88 89 90 91

The last sentence highlights the role of faith in Christ (εἰς τὸν Χριστὸν πιστεύσαντας) as the recommended attitude. The Christological image of a ‘guide’ (ὁδηγός) in relation to the Logos was used by various Christians, and earlier by Philo of Alexandria; see some references in Attridge and Pagels, CGL (1985), vol. XXIII, 55. It is a Biblical term (LXX): 2 Es 8:1; Sap 7:15; 18:3, 1 Mac 4:2; 2 Mac 5:15, later Acts 1:16 and Rom 2:19; Mt 15:14; 23:16 and 23:24. Thomassen, The Spiritual Seed, 135. On astrology in the Excerpts, see Sagnard, Clément d’Alexandrie, 224–8. ExTh., 27.4. ExTh., 78.1–2. ExTh., 57. ExTh., 9.1. Dunderberg, Gnostic Morality Revisited, 127. Strom., 3.4.13.1–3 (Marcion) and 3.12.81.1–90.5 (Tatian). Strom., 3.2.5.1–11.1. I have mentioned earlier in this chapter the character of the Demiurge (footnotes 24 and 25).

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92 Ex.Th., 61.1–8. 93 For context, see Robin Lane Fox, Pagans and Christians in the Mediterranean World from the Second Century AD to the Conversion of Constantine (London: Penguin Books), 66. 94 See the passage from the Gospel of the Egyptians in Ex.Th., 67.2 and Strom., 3.6.45.3. I discuss these citations in my forthcoming paper ‘Clement of Alexandria and the Riddle of the Gospel of the Egyptians’, SP (2021) (Leuven: Peeters). 95 For some short reconstruction of this notion, see April D. DeConick, Holy Misogyny: Why the Sex and Gender Conflicts in the Early Church Still Matter (New York, London: Bloomsbury, 2013), 1–12. 96 For Irenaeus of Lyons, it is sin in paradise that plays a vital role in the understanding of salvation. For Tertullian, transmission of Adam and Eve’s sin and contamination of human nature is highly important (e.g. An., 39–41; Marc. 1.22.8; 5.5.4–6). For Origen, it was the fall prior to the creation of the material world which was the beginning of catastrophe, see Princ., II.8.3. 97 See the valuable discussion by Thomassen, The Spiritual Seed, 41–5. 98 See Princ., II.3.7; III.5.7. See the excellent discussion and context in Illaria L.E. Ramielli, The Christian Doctrine of Apokatastasis: A Critical Assessment from the New Testament to Eriugena, SVCh, vol. 120 (Leiden: E.J. Brill, 2013), 223–77. 99 See more in Einar Thomassen, ‘Going to Church with the Valentinians’, in Practicing Gnosis: Ritual, Magic, Theurgy and Liturgy in Nag Hammadi, Manichaean and Other Ancient Literature: Essays in Honour of Birger A. Pearson, April D. DeConick, Gregory Shaw and John D. Turner (eds) (Leiden: E.J. Brill, 2013), 183–97.

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8 CONSTRUCTION OF THE CHRISTIAN IDENTITY IN THE GOSPEL OF PHILIP, N H C, I I, 3 1. The Gospel of Philip and its literary puzzle The Gospel of Philip, for both good and bad1 reasons, is one of the most popular and studied documents from the Nag Hammadi collection.2 It was found in Codex II. It is preceded by the Apocryphon of John and the Gospel of Thomas. It is followed by the Hypostasis of the Archons, On the Origin of the World, the Expository Treatise on the Soul and the Book of Thomas the Contender.3 The Gospel4 is in a highly eclectic literary company, which does not indicate any direct common background. One modern commentator, Wesley Isenberg, rightly noticed a peculiarity of this puzzling document5 – it is without a clear structure or direction of discourse. More recently Martha Lee Turner has called it ‘very rich in provocative enigma’.6 The title is clearly preserved at the end of the treatise, but we don’t know whether the original text had the same title, or whether an editor or translator added the title later. We read in Epiphanius’ polemical work against various heretical groups7 that there was a ‘Gospel of Philip’. Nonetheless Epiphanius’ quotes do not match the context of our Coptic document found near Nag Hammadi. The dominant view among modern scholars is that this anthology reflects a ‘Valentinian’8 or ‘Gnostic’9 affiliation. Recently Hugo Lundhaug10 has rejected the affiliation of the Coptic document with ‘Valentinianism’. His voice goes against a long list of highly esteemed scholars who since the discovery of the Gospel of Philip in 1945 have argued about its ‘Valentinian’ outlook, vocabulary and affiliation.11 Lundhaug’s main argument is that reading the Gospel without an assumption of its ‘Valentinian’ viewpoint, but rather as a Christian, poetic and theological narrative, is not only possible but also shows the inner richness of the document. In this chapter, I would like to enhance Lundhaug’s argument, that the traditional association of the Gospel of Philip with the ‘Valentinians’ needs to be suspended. The document is very complex and presents various Christian exegetical and theological investigations not always connected or even finished. I will explore some aspects of the inner exegetical richness of this document with the focus on Christian identity as argued in the Gospel. In order to reassess the Christian character of this anthology, I place the narrative alongside other sources 161 DOI: 10.4324/9781003181095-9

Construction of the Christian identity

which earlier constructed the Christian identity: the Letter of Barnabas, some of Ignatius’ letters and the Letter to Diognetus. With that background I will explore the Coptic document, bearing three questions in mind: ‘who is a Christian?’, ‘what is the life of a Christian?’, and ‘what is Christian mysticism?’ as depicted by our source. This approach will show a deep-rooted theology which underpins the treatise.

2.  Some early Christian self-definitions The natural place to start our reconstruction of the background would be the testimony of the New Testament: how did the documents accepted as canonical present ‘Christian identity’? Judith M. Lieu’s short but insightful inaugural lecture12 offers two important contributions to our discussion. First, it highlights the few references to the notion ‘Christian’ (Χριστιανός) in the New Testament (Acts 11:26; 26:28; 1 Pet 4:16).13 In relation to the appearance of this term in Acts, Lieu points out that we are dealing with an ‘anachronism’.14 The question is: did the earliest followers of Jesus see themselves as ‘Christians’? On the basis of the New Testament I am inclined to answer in the negative. They would have seen themselves as followers of a particular Apostle15 or, in more general terms, as followers of ‘the Lord’ or ‘the way of the Lord’.16 That Judeo-Christian origin is a highly important designation of the group of communities active in various parts of the Roman Empire. However, as Daniélou reminds us,17 even ‘Jewish Christianity’ as a notion referred to varied religious parties among the early Christians. Lieu’s second valuable remark in the context of our discussion is about ‘shifting boundaries’18 within early Christianity as the theological responses to the incarnation and revelation were expressed in varied intellectual forms and interacted in different ways with one another as well as with the outside culture. Sometimes, even at this early stage, they clashed – to give just one example, docetic Christology was rejected as erroneous in the Johannine milieu.19 Within the earliest context of Christian communities which were emerging in various directions (e.g. more or less eschatologically oriented), theological agendas (salvation of all or just a few/us), and different interactions with the surrounding cultures (e.g. assimilation or withdrawal), we should see the multiple constructions of different self-understandings as a highly complex process which avoided a unifying pattern. The appearance of the name ‘Christian’ become visible on the edge of these movements, with painful moments of clashes between Jewish and Gentile neighbours. Soon, it would also show inner cracks, as the theology of one group of Christians clashed with that of another. Let’s focus on three examples of the process of building a distinct self-identity. We start with the Letter of Barnabas,20 where the ‘Christian’ way of life is put in opposition to the ‘Jewish’ one. The Letter of Barnabas, the exact date and background of which are still debated,21 proposed a new understanding of the readers. It is clear that the 162

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author makes a vital distinction on various occasions between ‘us’ (Christians) and ‘them’ (ἐκείνοι) – the Jews.22 Still, the Letter reveals a paradox: its author and the milieu are very familiar with Hebrew Scriptures as well as with Jewish rituals, such as sacrifices, circumcision, fasting, the oncoming judgement and the symbolism of the temple. Barnabas, nonetheless, is fervently anti-Jewish.23 Barnabas ardently rebels against what is possibly its previous religious background. As we see studying Barnabas, this acquaintance with the Jewish religious tradition is not recently learned but comes from some long familiarity. The rhetorical strategy uses these Jewish themes known to the author and audience and reinterprets them in a Christian way. Now, they reflect a new didactic and contribute to the proposed self-understanding. Barnabas claims to have a better understanding of the Law and the Scriptures than Jewish people (1.5 and 6.9). That high self-esteem also emphasises the opposite values/identities: ‘us/good’ and ‘them/evil’.24 The construction of Christian distinctiveness is explored in detail. It keeps the Decalogue but applies it to practical, social issues. Thus, the readers are introduced to ‘two ways’.25 The first is ‘the way of light’ (ἥ τε τοῦ φωτὸς), and the second of ‘darkness’ (καὶ ἡ τοῦ σκότους). The first is encouraged (19.1–12) while the second is rejected and condemned (20.1–2). Looking closely at these exhortations, we can clearly detect that they echo the Ten Commandments. They more or less follow their order, emphasising love and fear of God (19.2), proper relationships with family and neighbours (19.4–6, then 8–9), avoiding people who live in the shadow of death (19.4), and finally peace and unity is recommended (19.12). These attitudes are contrasted with the list describing the way of darkness and exemplified in the long catalogue of vices (20.1), social abuse of the weak, and the pursuit of wealth (20.2). The vital distinction in the Letter of Barnabas is about choice in the way of life; it is about ‘our’ versus ‘their’, it contains proper ‘knowledge’ (γνῶσις in 19.126), not error or misunderstanding. It promotes the love and fear of God (19.2), while also warning against idolatry.27 The whole rhetoric separates the realms into two: the previous, now outer/lower (literal), and the new, now inner/higher (spiritual). As it is a strong appeal, there is no room for ‘common ground’ or compromise. Again, ‘us’ versus ‘them’ (13.1–3) echoes a painful conflict in Barnabas’ community. There is nothing good or valuable among ‘them’ (16.1: ‘wretched men’ ταλαίπωροι) that ‘we’ should acknowledge. Two short observations are needed. First, although Barnabas is attached to Christian revelation, it does not claim any legacy of the Apostolic tradition (Pauline or other).28 Its authority, as a teacher, comes directly from God (2.9) and Christ (6.13; 7.1; 14.4). That direct connection with the Saviour and his Father seems to be an unquestionable, sufficient source of reaffirmation of the Christian identity. Secondly, we are missing any references to non-Jewish elements. In this highly polemical address, where the Graeco-Roman religion and culture are absent, for the author they are, essentially, irrelevant. The conflict with the Jewish legacy and the re-evaluation of its terms is at the centre of Barnabas’ concerns and attack. 163

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Now, as we turn to Ignatius’ letters, we detect yet another possible new challenge arising: other Christians who promoted erroneous theology. Here the Christian identity is built upon a distinction between orthopraxis versus heresy. The second example of the defining Christian identity comes from Ignatius of Antioch,29 who was in conflict with other local Christians. That controversy is echoed in his correspondence.30 Careful reading of the letters reveals Ignatius’ struggle with some alternative, to his mind erroneous and dangerous, views. They brought discord to some communities in Asia Minor. They undermined the authority of the ‘guardian/leader’ (ἐπίσκοπος in Trall. 7; Phld., 7; Smyrn. 8) and the hierarchical order in the Christian milieu. On his way to Rome and awaiting his execution, Ignatius tries to use his authority first to correct perilous theological opinions and secondly to restore harmony amongst Christians in his area. In my approach, I would like to see beyond Ignatius’ critique of his opponents to establish the Christian orthodoxy and orthopraxy which in his view stand for the Christian identity. What was the vital theological challenge faced by Ignatius? Michael D. Goulder points out the diversity among modern scholars’ answers.31 Some are keen to highlight a single rival which combined Judaizing Christians with their ‘docetic’32 Christology.33 Others scholars postulate two separate groups – one Judaizers and the second sceptics – about Jesus’ real incarnation and death.34 But some scholars propose a third identification of Ignatius’ adversaries as different from Judaizers and ‘docetic’ Christians and representing a ‘charismatic movement’.35 Facing these multiple challenges, Ignatius reaffirms the correct way of thinking and believing: Jesus’ incarnation and the reality of his flesh (Eph., 18.2; Trall. 9) as well as his death on the cross (Eph., 7.2; 16.2; Trall. 9.1; Smyrn., 1). The first characteristic of the Christian identity, proposed by Ignatius, is the belief in the reality of incarnation as well as the crucifixion. It must be emphasised that it was Ignatius of Antioch who introduced the new term ‘Christianity’.36 In his mind this term stands for a distinctive way of believing as well as living; it is the opposition to what he calls ‘Judaism’.37 It is here worth showing the difference between Barnabas and Ignatius. The former was familiar with the Jewish ethos, as I have noted; however, Ignatius produces a label to identify his theological adversaries, even if they, unlike the Jews, still believe in Jesus as the Messiah. Ignatius highlights the real incarnation and death on the cross to create the co-belief that will distinguish ‘Christians’ from, in his words, ‘Jews’. Those who believe in these two theological axioms (incarnation and crucifixion) are, for Ignatius, Christians. Those who reject these axioms are schismatics and in consequence should be avoided.38 This is Ignatius’ orthodoxy. This theological principle also has a second, ecclesiastical consequence: orthopraxy. It is centred on the role of the bishop. The most striking feature of Ignatius’ proposal for the Christian identity is ‘the unity’ (ἑνότης) with Christ extended to the Christian community through the bishop.39 The community is gathered around the bishop as the Church is joined with the Saviour and, in turn, Christ is united with his Father:40 ‘the bishop of all’ (τῷ πάντων ἐπισκόπῳ).41 What constitutes the Christian identity is the union; what destroys it is division 164

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and anger (μερισμός ἐστιν καὶ ὀργή).42 Obedience to the bishop is obedience to God.43 Only the bishop can lead public worship and distribute the sacrament,44 with baptism45 and the Eucharist.46 The Eucharist is elevated to the highest level as it is identified with ‘the flesh of the Lord’,47 ‘the medicine of immortality’.48 But marriage is also important, and, again, can be conducted only by the bishop.49 If we wish to answer the question about the main features of a Christian selfunderstanding proposed by Ignatius, it is evident that two aspects come together: the correct way of believing (Christology and salvation) and the proper way of being a community (unity within and the sacraments). But we must also note that Ignatius’ emphasis on the role of the single bishop, not a college of elders/presbyters or the leadership of charismatic Christians, makes his proposal distinctive. Yes indeed, his stance will be embraced by the emerging Universal Church, but other Christian groups, including the New Prophecy, would find it too rigid and restrictive of the power of the Holy Spirit. His creation of new theological terms is poetic and innovative. They can be understood within the boundaries of the Letters. His proposal of the Christian identity was embraced as a valuable, authoritative voice in the early Church. The third selected example comes from the Letter to Diognetus.50 Unlike the two previous occasions, we cross the boundaries of Jewish-Christian and interChristian polemics and we encounter the issue of the relationship with the GraecoRoman world. Diognetus presents the ‘religion’51 of Christians (τὴν θεοσέβειαν τῶν Χριστιανῶν) as the best alternative to the ‘superstition’ of Jews and ‘idolatry’ of the Greeks.52 The separate path, the way of life ascribed to Christians, is further endorsed by a sharp critique of Jewish worship,53 including religious observances,54 and the foolishness (ἀφροσύνη) of the Greeks.55 Having scorned both groups and their religions, the author argues for keeping a disconnection from both religions.56 For our purposes, the most important part of Diognetus is Chapter 5, when Diognetus, in a positive way, explains the (idealised) life of Christians. It is good to propose two categories that help us to understand the rhetoric of the document. It describes the life of Christians by ‘external’ integration, but with ‘internal’ supremacy. The rhetoric of the document, based on affirmation and refusal, presents a number of imaginative oppositions: present/absent, similar/different, visible/invisible, familiar/alien, dwelling/travelling. From this perspective, Christians are well integrated with the world around them,57 yet they remain superior to it. The inventive image of the Christian peaceful, morally noble existence ends with the statement that Christians ‘live on earth, but their citizenship is in heaven’.58 Judith Lieu rightly suggests that the term ‘citizenship’ (πολιτεία) is used in Diognetus as a synonym of Christian ‘identity’.59 It helps, in my view, to suggest to the reader his or her proper loyalty. As in Paul’s exhortation to the Philippians (3:20), Christians belong to heaven, that is to the higher, invisible and original world. On earth, as Diognetus proposes, the life of Christians is harmonious with their neighbours, accepting the local, cultural rules of language and fashion, the code of family life, but with a greater commitment to love and respect. They don’t hate this world, don’t withdraw from it, but treat 165

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it as their journey. Still, throughout that existence, they are aware of their own difference. They are persecuted60 but the suffering only strengthens their selfunderstanding. Finally, the author reinforces the ideal image of Christian identity by introducing the opposition between the soul and the body, pronouncing that Christians, like the soul, animate this world and their neighbourhood (body).61 Diognetus acknowledges that sometimes the body hates the soul,62 but this experience only underlines the nobility of the soul. There is also an Orphic motif of imprisonment of the soul in the body,63 but, in my view, it does not suggest a specific philosophical orientation of the document. Having said that, there is no doubt that Diognetus is familiar with some ancient Greek philosophical ideas.64 In the final part of this exhortation we find a strong encouragement to achieve ‘full knowledge of the Father’ (ἐπίγνωσιν πατρός).65 In this part we find a eulogy of ‘knowledge’ (γνῶσις) through the reinterpretation of the story from Genesis (2:8–9) about the tree of life, now identified with knowledge.66 In that interpretation the reader or listener67 is encouraged to search for knowledge and combine it with love. What type of Christian identity is reflected in our document? First, as a portrait it has a strong emphasis on its difference in relation to the Jews and Graeco-Romans. This emphasis has a visible priority in the whole picture. The Christian identity is also linked with an awareness of the personal relationship with God through ‘imitation’ (μίμησις).68 However, for a Christian narrative, the teaching about the Saviour is surprisingly limited. His name is not mentioned: even if the tag ‘Christians’ is mentioned 14 times, it is never linked with Christ. The Saviour is only mentioned as God’s Son,69 without any further elaboration. It is remarkable that this initial catechesis does not refer to any basic information about the Saviour’s earthly life, including his birth, crucifixion, death or resurrection. Neither his teachings nor his miracles are mentioned. The author willingly decided that this information is not relevant to the image of a Christian that he or she would wish to communicate. What have we learned from these three documents about the Christian identity? The common feature of all three models is the emphasis on the separation between ‘us’ (i.e the audience) and the ‘others’. Barnabas, Ignatius and Diognetus are unanimous in their elevation of Christian distinctiveness. All three strongly argue for partition with Judaism, but Diognetus also adds the Gentile religion. However, this shared message is accompanied by large discrepancies in the proposed uniqueness of Christian self-understanding. Ignatius is strongly attached to the reality of the incarnation and suffering of the Saviour; Barnabas’ priority is the allegorical explanation of the true meaning of Jewish rituals, arguing that Christianity now fulfils their deep meaning; for Diognetus neither the incarnation nor an allegorical interpretation of the Scriptures and rituals is important. Still, even with these incongruities, all three testimonies were treated as authoritative and represented ‘mainstream’ Christianity. But Ignatius of Antioch, if he were to have read Diognetus, would have expressed his critique of an a-historical 70 approach to Christology. Similarly, if Ignatius read Barnabas, he would have pointed out the lack of any reference to the ecclesiastical hierarchy with its pinnacle: the bishop. 166

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This diversity of accents and proposals, with such dissimilar attachment to the Scriptures in our three sources, such varied theories of salvations and views on liturgical life, teaches us that we should approach each voice and proposal within the parameters that were important to these individual narratives. This is a valuable lesson as we now approach the Gospel of Philip.

3. The Christian uniqueness in the Gospel of Philip Now we have a proper background we can turn to the Gospel of Philip in search of its proposal for the Christian identity. As in the previous cases of Barnabas, Ignatius, and Diognetus, Christian uniqueness is an important part of the reflection and didactic for the Gospel too. We should start with all seven references to the term ‘Christian’ (e.g. 62.31: ⲟⲩⲭⲣⲏⲥⲧⲓⲁⲛⲟⲥ) or ‘Christians’ (e.g. 52.24: ⲛ̄ⲭⲣⲏⲥⲧⲓⲁⲛⲟⲥ) in the Coptic document.71 There is, however, a methodological issue about our dealing with these seven direct statements. First, although it is possible to introduce them in order of their appearance in the Gospel of Philip, this does not mean that the original author developed the interpretation of the motif from the initial remarks to a more advanced explanation later in the Gospel,72 nor that he or she expounded the Christian identity later in the collection with more complex teaching.73 I understand that the author returned to the theme of Christian self-understanding, motivated by several questions and on different occasions in time.74 Therefore I will combine some similar statements about Christian distinctiveness and collect them around two main ‘lines’: a ‘horizontal’ reading by a comparison of the Christian identity with two alternatives found in the Gospel, and a ‘vertical’ reading as the discussion introduces the mystical or spiritual aspect. The first appearance of the term ‘Christian’ is very early in the narrative and, in my view, it reflects an intention of contrast with ‘others’: When we were Hebrews we were fatherless (ⲛ̄ⲟⲣⲫⲁⲛⲟⲥ/orphans – P. A.-S.). We had our mother, but when we became Christians we got (both) father and mother. (Gos. Philip, 52.21–4)75 This short aphorism reflects on the important and recurring76 issue of Christian self-understanding in contrast with another religious tradition. The aim of the author is to show the nobility of being Christian as a person with fullness of parentage,77 with father78 and mother,79 or on another level of interpretation, with ‘truth’ and ‘knowledge’.80 Unlike ‘Hebrews’81 who have only a mother,82 Christians have both parents. At some point, the author believes, his or her predecessors were also ‘Hebrews’. The image of ‘a Hebrew’ or ‘Hebrews’ returns on a number of occasions in the Gospel,83 while one refers to the language (62.15 ⲙ̅ⲙⲛ̅ ̅ ⲧ̅ϩⲉⲃⲣⲁⲓⲟⲥ). Still, the image has a consistently negative connotation. Among those references, on one occasion, this term is identified with ‘the apostles and 167

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apostolic persons’ (ⲛⲁⲡⲟⲥⲧⲟⲗⲟⲥ ⲛⲉ ⲁⲩⲱ [ⲛ̄]ⲁⲡⲟⲥⲧⲟⲗⲓⲕⲟⲥ).84 Like Turner,85 I am inclined to accept that this term refers also to Jewish-Christians, whom the author of the Gospel contrasts with his or her own community. Does it mean that the original author had the beginning of Christianity as a Jewish sect in mind, or did he or she still remember the presence of Jewish-Christians in his or her Christian milieu? I am sceptical about our ability to find the answer to these questions. Still, ‘Hebrews’ are remembered at least as a metaphor and that memory is important to the author and the audience. Furthermore, we find that the Gospel is highly critical of ‘the apostles’. At one point in the Gospel they are contrasted with ‘the disciples’ (ⲛ̄ⲛ̄ⲙⲙⲁⲑⲏⲧⲏⲥ).86 Further connection of ‘the apostles’ with ‘Hebrews’ is explored when there is a discussion about the names of the Saviour.87 This overlap is one of the characteristics of the Gospel, which Lundhaug calls ‘blending’.88 On this occasion the metaphor of ‘Hebrews’ covers that of ‘apostles’ and creates a third meaning: people who were at the origin, yet without fullness of understanding. They are in opposition to the group represented by the author and their community. Again, the identity emerges as a contrast. Likewise, I would like to imply that the Gospel of Philip denotes a progression from a lesser religious and spiritual existence (‘Hebrew’/‘apostles’) to a higher, current one (‘Christian’). It also assumes better self-understanding as it contrasts the former level of knowledge with the present one. In the eyes of the author this is a valuable development. It must also be noted that the ‘disciples’ are depicted as the ideal model of Christians. In a famous, but badly damaged, section (63.30–64.9) they are contrasted with the ‘Mary of Magdala’ who was loved more ([. . . . . ⲙⲉ] ⲙ̣̄ⲙⲟ̣[ⲥ ⲛ̄]) by the Saviour than them.89 So far, we see a contrast between ‘Christians’ and ‘Hebrews’. But the preceding lines to our citation also mention ‘a Gentile’ (ⲟⲩϩⲉⲑⲛⲓⲕⲟⲥ).90 Looking for other analogical statements from the Gospel, I would like to propose that, in the construction of distinctiveness, the metaphor of ‘Gentiles’ should also be taken into account. Therefore, the introduction to our discussed declaration about self-definition starts earlier on the page with the following lines: A gentile man does not die, for he has never lived so that he may die. He who has believed in the truth, he has lived, and this one is liable to die, for he is alive since the day Christ came. The world is created, the cities are organised (ⲥⲉⲣ̄ⲕⲟⲥⲙⲉⲓ), the dead are carried out. (Gos. Philip, 52.15–20)91 We can see the ‘Gentile’ as an image of somebody who is dead in the current life. It is the worst type of existence as we shall see in the forthcoming comparison. Next, we encounter the ‘Hebrew’ who is alive but clearly with detriments as an ‘orphan’ (ⲟⲣⲫⲁⲛⲟⲥ). Finally, we see the ‘Christian’ possessing fullness of life. The evidence from other places in the Gospel reaffirms the triad: Hebrew–Gentile–Christian.

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If you say, ‘I am a Jew’, no one will be moved (ⲙⲛ̄ ⲗⲁⲁⲩ ⲛⲁⲕⲓⲙ). If you say, ‘I am a Roman’, no one will be troubled (ⲙⲛ̄ ⲗⲁⲁⲩ ⲛⲁⲣ̄ⲧⲁⲣⲁⲥⲥⲉ). If you say, ‘I am a Greek’, ‘a barbarian’, ‘a slave’, [‘a free’,] no one will be shaken (ⲙⲛ̄ ⲗⲁⲁⲩ ⲛⲁϣⲧⲟⲣⲧⲣ̄). [If] you [say], ‘I am a Christian’, the [...] will tremble (ⲛⲁⲛⲟⲉⲓⲛ). If only [... of] this sort, this one [who ...] will not be able to endure [hearing] his name. (Gos. Philip, 62.26–35)92 Similarly, although the text has some lacunae, another passage refers to the triad while discussing the interaction between similar types of beings. They are all on the same label and can only interact with those of the same class: A horse begets (ϫⲡⲉ) a horse, a human begets human, a god begets god. Thus it is with [the] bride [groom] and brides [too]. They [come into being] from the [...] and/with/no Jew(s) [...] from [...] exist(s) and [...] from the Jews [...] the Christians [...] these [...] were called [...] the chosen race of [...] and the true man and the Son of Man and the seed of the Son of Man. This true race (ⲡⲉⲉⲓⲅⲉⲛⲟⲥ ⲛ̄ⲁⲗⲏⲑⲉⲓⲛⲟⲛ) is renowned in the world. These are the places where the children of the bridal chamber. (Gos. Philip, 75.25–76.6)93 As we can see, the correct affiliation is important, so the Gospel proposes awareness for Christians who should know their identity and act with that knowledge. It is clear so far that the Gospel continues the earlier, popular motif found in Barnabas, Ignatius, and Diognetus – that of defining Christian distinctiveness by comparing the new category of people (‘Christians’) to the two other groups. As before, the ‘third race’ is presented as the most noble. The other two are portrayed with two different degrees of perfection. There is no hint at a more specific self-definition such as ‘Valentinian Christians’, ‘Spiritual Christians’, ‘Gnostic Christians’.94 The Gospel uses theological ‘measurements’ to advocate its correctness, as its community is closer to the divine Father and Mother. On another level, this community exclusively possesses ‘truth’ and ‘knowledge’ in a greater degree than any other group. In this approach and aspiration there is not much originality or theological deficiency (‘heresy’). It was a common Christian tactic of selfpromotion among Apologists that was not continued in the Gospel. Still, this method, which I call ‘horizontal’, magnifies the distinctiveness of the Christian milieu of the Gospel in the religious landscape. Now with the remaining references to the term ‘Christians’, I would like to explore the ‘vertical’ (mystical or spiritual) dimension of this literary production. While talking about ‘baptism’, which is discussed on various occasions in the Gospel,95 the author makes a distinction between a mere ritual and deeper transformation under the influence of the Holy Spirit:

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If one goes down to the water and comes up without having received anything and says, ‘I am a Christian’, he has borrowed the name at interest. But if he receives the Holy Spirit he has the gift of the name. He who has received a gift does not have it taken away from him, but he who has borrowed at interest has it extorted from him. Thus it is for us if one comes into being in a mystery. (Gos. Philip, 64.22–31)96 I read these statements as polemical. The author is aware that many people were being baptised in his or her time; however, this liturgical act seems to be shallow.97 It does not make an impact on the newly baptised. Therefore, the Gospel points out the role of the Holy Spirit, as we have seen in other passages from the document, the true Mother, who gives life. The last verse of the quoted passages introduces the author’s community. They are identified with that spiritual regeneration. Lundhaug’s translation renders that kind of declaration with clarity.98 Baptism and the commitment to new identity is a serious matter. The Gospel reminds its audience, warning against light-hearted, imprudent entry into Christian spirituality: The Lord said [it] well: ‘Some went to the kingdom of heaven laughing and they came out [...] a Christian [...] and immediately [... went down] to the water and he came [...] everything concerning / because [...] it is [a] game, [but ... despise] this [...] to the kingdom of [heaven ...] if he despises [...] and if he scorns it as a game [... out] laughing. Thus also with the bread and the cup and the oil, even though there is one that is superior to these’. (Gos. Philip, 74.25–75.2)99 There is a direct link in the Gospel between attainment of the new Christian identity and its reaffirmation through participation in the sacramental life of the community. None of these rituals are ‘private’, they all highlight the equality between the members of the community. The proposed identity is not ‘individualistic’ but embraces many members, men and women. For a Christian, as we can see in the Gospel, the vital connection is with the divine; in the case of baptism, it starts with the Holy Spirit. It is important to stress that we are reading in the Gospel of Philip about identity which goes through the process of reaffirmation, maturing and advancement. The next stage as proposed by the Gospel is ‘chrism’ (ⲡⲭⲣⲉⲓⲥⲙⲁ): The chrism is superior to baptism, for from the chrism we were called Christian, not because of baptism, and it was because of the chrism that Christ was named (such). For the Father anointed the Son, and the Son anointed the apostles, and the apostles anointed us. He who has been anointed has everything. He has the resurrection, the light, the cross, the Holy Spirit. The Father gave him this in the bridal chamber (ⲡⲛⲩ[ⲙ]

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ⲫⲱⲛ̣). He received, and the Father came to be in the Son and the Son in the Father. This is [the kingdom] of heaven. (Gos. Philip, 74.12–24)100 This is a very original interpretation of the origin of the name ‘Christian’. It also reflects other passages in the Gospel where we see some exegetical efforts to discover the ‘hidden’ meaning of names. This feature is well known in Philo of Alexandria’s approach to the Scriptures and the names of people as well as places.101 Later it was also cherished by Clement of Alexandria.102 Still it was important for the Gospel to provide its readers and listeners with a correct selfunderstanding. As with the meaning of baptism and the vital role of the Holy Spirit, the role of the divine Father and then the Saviour, here named as the Son, now also start at the beginning of the process of transformation, or deification. I would like to point out that this passage offers a positive connotation to the term ‘apostles’. In my view, this ambiguity about the ‘apostles’ comes from various sources integrated in this anthology. Editors, copyists or even Coptic translators did not make any effort to harmonise those various sources. This diversity in symbolism and understanding shows many elements integrated into the Gospel.103 The quoted passage also refers to the term ‘bridal chamber’ (74.22: ⲡⲛⲩⲙⲫⲱⲛ). It is one of the notions that prompts scholars to affiliate the Gospel of Philip with the ‘Valentinian’ milieu.104 I see this term as perfectly understandable within the scope of this narrative as a metaphor for reintegration through love, bringing together what has been separated in the context of the nuptial relationship, now depicted as love between God and the human soul.105 We note that the Apologists introduce some new terminologies which function well in their own didactic. The final reference in my proposed reconstruction106 of the term ‘Christian’ reaches the spiritual climax. It echoes the conversation between Jesus and Nicodemus.107 It shows the mystical dimension as reaffirming the theology of the Gospel. Truth did not come to the world naked, but it came in types and images. It (i.e. the world) will not receive it in any other way. There is a rebirth and an image of rebirth. It is truly necessary to be born again by means of the image. What is the resurrection and the image? By means of the image it is necessary for it to arise. The bridal chamber and the image? By means of the image it is necessary for them to enter the truth, that is, the restoration. It is not only necessary for those who acquire the name of the Father and the Son and the Holy Spirit, but they too have been produced for you. If one does not acquire them for himself, the name will also be taken from him. But one receives them in the chrism of the [...] power of the cross. The apostles called this ‘[the] right and the left’.108 For this one is no longer a [Christian], but a Christ. (Gos. Philip, 67.9–26)109

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This passage presents original insights into the theory of deification, or assimilation to God, in the Gospel of Philip. The ‘vertical’ dimension reaches its highest point in the identification with Christ (ⲅⲁⲣ ⲟⲩⲕⲉⲧⲓ ⲟⲩ[ⲭⲣⲏ]ⲥ̣ⲧ̣[ⲓ]ⲁⲛⲟⲥ ⲡⲉ ⲁⲗⲗⲁ ⲟⲩⲭⲣ̅ⲥ̅ ⲡⲉ). Now, let’s pay greater attention to the name of ‘Christ’. It is one of the Christological titles110 and refers to the Saviour, the Son of God. We are correct to accept that this is the same Saviour that we found in the canonical Gospels, Jesus Christ, who in the Gospel of Philip does not have any other metaphysical modifications such as dissolution of the human into divine, cessation of existence, or return to original unity (androgyny). The narrative proposes the quest for spiritual union with Christ. Therefore the assimilation with the Saviour, the union with the divine Christ, is a shared spiritual identity.111 It is also affirmed in another passage in the Gospel of Philip (61.20–35), with a brave pronouncement of the deification combining the metaphors of ‘seeing’ and ‘becoming’. Unlike in the current, physical world and perception, where the subject and object are separated, in the mystical union of love they become one. The mystical assimilation ultimately seals the Christian identity and its uniqueness. This proposal does not show any symptoms of affiliation with a particular philosophical stance (Middle Platonism, Roman Stoicism or Hermetic); on the contrary it is deeply Christian with strong attachments to the earlier Scriptural, including Pauline, models of mystical union.

4. Conclusion The Gospel of Philip continues a very popular trend in early second-century Christianity of arguing for the distinctiveness of its milieu. That otherness, as in the case of Judaism, can’t be argued on the basis of ethnicity. Similarly, it crosses the boundaries of several schools of philosophy. It aspires to be universal, not just contained in one location. In consequence, it needs to invent the measurement of its distinctiveness. The earlier practice, as we have seen in the case of Ignatius, Barnabas, and Diognetus’, was to contrast Christianity with Judaism and the Graeco-Roman religions. That practice argued for its higher values and a deeper understanding of the Scripture and rituals. However, in the world of the Gospel of Philip a new method appears. As that identity became increasingly challenged from ‘inside’ by competition with other Christian factions, new theology became more sophisticated. It builds the Christian identity alongside two other attempts: one to reaffirm ‘historical’ events such as the real incarnation and crucifixion, but also persuasively to argue about reinterpretation of their deeper meaning for Christians. Somewhere within this context emerges the Gospel of Philip. It does not claim a sectarian, autonomous identity, but continues the previous Scriptural revelation about Christian distinctiveness. Far from being unanimous, as I have pointed out through selected examples, its proposed Christian identity assimilates previous strategies, while also more openly highlighting the mystical and spiritual dimension of union with Christ. But in the light of the Gospel of Philip it remains ‘unfinished’. The literary genre of the narrative is confusing; so many 172

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ideas are proposed and left without further development. It reflects the many diverse interests of the authors and the readers. They all pulled in different directions. There is a lack of priority in the narrative, if a sense of priority was ever aimed at by this anthology. Still, the Gospel of Philip is a very attractive, open to interpretation, inspiring, and intelligent anthology. It comes from a multicultural, possibly urban, locale and speaks to Christian men and women in terms of their nobility as well as spiritual aspirations. Who is a Christian? We find out that he or she is a child of the Father and Mother, born through baptism, illuminated by the chrism, nourished by the Eucharist, restored to fullness in the bridal chamber. What is a Christian life? Awareness of that rich gift and deep indemnity. What is the role of mysticism? To lift up the Christian soul in the right direction towards the divine.

Notes 1 This Gospel was one of the sources of inspiration for Dan Brown’s bestseller The Da Vinci Code. More on the context in Matthew J. Dillon, ‘Symbolic Loss, Memory, and Modernization in the Reception of Gnosticism’, JGS, vol. 1, nos 1–2 (2016), 276–309, esp. 303. 2 The recent translations include one in Czech; see L. Kopecká and Petr Pokorný, ‘Filipovo evangelium’, in Rukopisy z Nag Hammádí vol. 1, Wolf B. Oerter and Petr Pokorny (eds) (Prague: Vyšehrad, 2008), 185–208, and Polish Wincenty Myszor, Biblioteka z Nag Hammadi: Kodeksy I i II (Katowice: Uniwersytet Śląski, 2017), 229–98. 3 All titles are taken from CGL (1989), vol. XX. 4 On the genre of this document, see Martha Lee Turner, The Gospel According to Philip: The Sources and Coherence of an Early Christian Collection, NHMS, vol. XXXVIII (Leiden: E.J. Brill, 1996), 15–59. See also the previous Chapter 4. 5 Wesley W. Isenberg, The Coptic Gospel According to Philip, PhD dissertation (Chicago: The University of Chicago Press, 1968), 2. 6 Martha Lee Turner, The Gospel According to Philip, 12. See also her ‘On the Coherence of the Gospel of Philip’, in The Nag Hammadi Library after Fifty Years: Proceedings of the 1995 Society of Biblical Literature Commemoration, John D. Turner and Anne McGuire (eds), NHMS, vol. XLIV (Leiden: E.J. Brill, 1997), 223–50. 7 See Pan. 26.13.2. 8 See Madeleine Scopello, ‘Introduction’, in The Nag Hammadi Scriptures: The Revised and Updated Translation of Sacred Gnostic Texts, Marvin Meyer (ed.) (New York: HarperOne, 2007), 158. See a valuable discussion by Einar Thomassen, ‘How Valentinian is The Gospel of Philip?’ in The Nag Hammadi Library after Fifty Years: Proceedings of the 1995 Society of Biblical Literature Commemoration, NHMS, vol. 44, John D. Turner and Anne McGuire (eds), NHMS, XLIV (Leiden: E.J. Brill, 1997), 251–79. 9 Wesley W. Isenberg, ‘Introduction’, in The Coptic Gnostic Library: A Complete Edition of the Nag Hammadi Codices, NHS, vol. XX, James M. Robinson (ed.) (Leiden: E.J. Brill, 2000), 138. 10 See his ‘No Longer a Christian but a Christ: Deification and Christology in the Gospel of Philip’, in Hugo Lundhaug, Images of Rebirth: Cognitive Poetics and Transformational Soteriology in the Gospel of Philip and the Exegesis on the Soul, NHMS, vol. LXXIII (Leiden: E.J. Brill, 2011), 153–399, esp. 349–56. I am most grateful to Professor Lundhaug for sending me an electronic copy of his study. 11 Among them are Hans-Martin Schenke, ‘Das Evangelium nach Philippus: Ein Evangelium der Valentinianer aus dem Funde von Nag-Hamadi’, Theologische Literaturzeitung,

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12

13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20

21

vol. 84, no. 1 (1959), 8; Robert M. Wilson, The Gospel of Philip: Translated from the Coptic Text, with an Introduction and Commentary (London: Mowbray, 1962), 15; Kurt Rudolph, Gnosis: The Nature and History of Gnosticism, Robert. M. Wilson (trans.) (Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1977), 83; Edward T., Revolinski, ‘The Use of Sacramental Language in the Gospel of Philip (Cairensis Gnosticus II,3)’. PhD dissertation (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1978), 38–42; Broek, Roelof van den Broek, ‘The Present State of Gnostic Studies’, VCh, vol. 37, no. 1 (1983), 41–71; Wesley W. Isenberg, ‘The Gospel According to Philip: Introduction’ (1988), 131; Bentley Layton, The Gnostic Scriptures: A New Translation with Annotations and Introductions (London: SCM Press, 1995), 325–6; Einar Thomassen, ‘How Valentinian is the Gospel of Philip?’ in The Nag Hammadi Library after Fifty Years: Proceedings of the 1995 Society of Biblical Literature Commemoration, John D. Turner and Anne McGuire (eds), NHMS, vol. 44 (Leiden: E.J. Brill, 1997), 251–79; April DeConick, ‘The Great Mystery of Marriage, Sex and Conception in Ancient Valentinian Traditions’, VCh, vol. 57, no. 3 (2003), 307–42; Elaine Pagels, Beyond Belief: The Secret Gospel of Thomas (New York: Random House, 2003), 130; Ismo Dunderberg ‘The School of Valentinus’, in A Companion to Second-Century Christian ‘Heretics’, Antti Marjanen and Petri Luomanen (eds), SVCh, vol. 76 (Leiden: E.J. Brill, 2005), 84; Oerter and Pokorny, Rukopisy (2008), 185–208; Myszor, Biblioteka (2017), 229. This long list, however, does not even come close to reflecting the number of scholars who are referred to the ‘Valentinian’ label while discussing the Gospel of Philip. Judith M. Lieu, ‘The New Testament and Early Christian Identity’, in Neither Jew Nor Greek: Constructing Early Christianity (London, New York: T&T Clark, 2002), 191–209. See also insightful discussion in Denise Kimber Buell, Why This New Race: Ethnic Reasoning in Early Christianity (New York: Columbia University Press, 2005); Exploring Early Christian Identity, Bengt Holmberg (ed.), WUNT 226 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2008). I would like to point out recent discussion of this subject in Erich S. Gruen, ‘Christians as a “Third Race”: Is Ethnicity at Issue?’ in Christianity in the Second Century: Themes and Developments, James Carleton Paget and Judith Lieu (eds) (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2017), 325–49. Lieu, ‘The New Testament and Early Christian Identity’, 192. Lieu, ‘The New Testament and Early Christian Identity’, 192. See Paul’s polemic in 1 Cor 1:12. Acts 9:2, see also 1 Pet 3:16; Rev 1:9. See also Martin Hengel, Charismatic Leader and His Followers (Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1981). Jean Daniélou, The Theology of Jewish Christianity: A History of Early Christian Doctrine before the Council of Nicaea, vol. 1, John A. Baker (trans.) (London: Darton, Longman & Todd, 1964), 55–85. Lieu, ‘The New Testament and Early Christian Identity’, 209. See 1 John 1:1 and 4:2. More in Urban C. von Wahlde, Gnosticism, Docetism, and the Judaism of the First Century (New York: Bloomsbury, 2015). I highly recommend Emanuela Prinzivalli and Manlio Simonetti, ‘Introduzione’, in Seguendo Gesú: Testi Cristiani Delle Origini, vol. II (Milan: Fondazione Lorenzo Valla/Mondadori, 2015), 51–98, and the earlier James Carleton Paget, The Epistle of Barnabas: Outlook and Background, WUNT 2.64 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1994), and more recently, related to our discussion, Reider Hvalvik, The Struggle for Scripture and Covenant: The Purpose of the Epistle of Barnabas and Jewish-Christian Competition in the Second Century, WUNT 2.82 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1996). Lightfoot (70–9 ce), Barnard (117–38 ce), Wengst (130–2), see Michael W. Holmes, The Apostolic Fathers: Greek Texts and English Translations (Grand Rapids: Baker Books, 2004), 272 and footnote 4. James Carleton Paget proposes 90 ce, see his ‘Paul and the Epistle of Barnabas’, NT, XXXVIII, 4 (1996), 364. Emanuela Prinzivalli and Manlio Simonetti suggest 70–c.130 ce, in their ‘Introduzione’, 51, 78–86.

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22 Ep.Barn, 4.2, for ἐκείνοι see 3.6, 8.7, 10.12, 13.1, 14.5. All my Greek and English quotations come from Michael W. Holmes, The Apostolic Fathers: Greek Texts and English Translations (Grand Rapids: Baker Books, 2004). 23 To some degree it reflects the polemic found in the Gospel of Matthew and the Epistle to the Hebrews. 24 Ep.Barn, 3.1: Λέγει οὖν πάλιν περὶ τούτων πρὸς αὐτούς, ‘He speaks again to them’; and: πρὸς ἡμᾶς δὲ λέγει ‘But to us he says’ (3.3). 25 Ep.Barn, 18.1. See e.g. Ps 1; Deut 30:15–16, Jer 21:8; Prov 4:18–19; Enoch 30.15, see more in Emanuela Prinzivalli and Manlio Simonetti ‘Introduzione’, 91–4. The Italian commentators also point out some parallels with Graeco-Roman literature, but it is evident that the author has in mind Jewish, not Graeco-Roman sources. Some commentators highlight the similarities of the motif of ‘two ways’ between Barnabas and Didache (1.1–6.2) but I would like to leave this similarity outside of our discussion. 26 I propose to understand this term in the light of the NT use: as ‘investigation’, ‘experience’ of the spiritual truth; see G. Abbott-Smith, A Manual Greek Lexicon of the New Testament (Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1991), and the entry γνῶσις. 27 This vice is mentioned as the first on the way to darkness: Ep.Barn, 20.1. 28 See, again Carleton Paget, ‘Paul and the Epistle of Barnabas’, 359–81 with some possible interpretations of that silentio. 29 Among scholars there is a common agreement that Ignatius died as a martyr in Rome during the reign of Trajan (98–117 ce). 30 See the valuable introduction to Ignatius’ correspondence and theology in Allen Brent, Ignatius of Antioch: A Martyr Bishop and the Origin of Episcopacy (London: T&T Clark, 2009). 31 Michael D. Goulder, ‘Ignatius’ “Docetists”’, VCh, vol. 53, no. 1 (1999), 20, footnote 10. 32 Yet, again, we need to be careful while using this term and tag. It appears as a description of a Christian group in Eusebius, HE., 6.12.6 in a quoted letter of a Bishop Serapion, who denounces other Christians who read the apocryphal Gospel of Peter as δοκηταί. In Ignatius’ correspondence we find critique of certain ‘faithless’ Christians who claimed that Jesus’ suffering was in appearance only: Εἰ δέ, ὥσπερ τινὲς ἄθεοι ὄντες, τουτέστιν ἄπιστοί, λέγουσιν, τὸ δοκεῖν πεπονθέναι αὐτόν in Trall. 10, see also Phld., 3 and Smyrn., 2. 33 Earlier, Theodor von Zahn, Ignatii et Polycarpi epistulae martyria fragmenta (Leipzig, Hinrichs, 1876) and J. B. Lightfoot, The Apostolic Fathers II (London, Macmillan: 1889), Walter Bauer, Die Apostolischen Väter (Tübingen: Mohr, 1920), and more recently C. K. Barrett, ‘Jews and Judaizers in the Epistles of Ignatius’, in Jews, Greeks and Christians: Religious Cultures in Late Antiquity: Essays in Honor of William David Davies, R. Hamerton-Kelly et al. (eds) (Leiden: E.J. Brill, 1976), 220–44. 34 For instance, W. A. Schoedel, ‘Ignatius in the Archives’, HTR, vol. 71, nos 1–2 (1978), 97–106. 35 Christine Trevett, ‘Prophecy and Anti-Episcopalian Activity: A Third Error Combatted by Ignatius’, JEH, vol. 34 (1983), 1–13. 36 Rom. 3.3, see important comments in Lieu, Neither Jew nor Greek? 131–3. 37 Magn., 8.1 and 10.3; Phld., 6. 38 Trall. 11.1; Phld., 2 and 3.1. 39 Eph., 4.1–2; 5.1. 40 Eph., 5.1; Magn., 7.1; Smyrn., 8.1. 41 Magn., 3.1. 42 Phld., 8.1. 43 Eph., 5.3 44 Magn., 3.1; Trall. 12.2. 45 Smyrn., 8. 46 Phld., 4; Smyrn., 8.

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47 48 49 50

51 52 53 54 55 56 57 58 59 60 61 62 63 64 65 66 67 68 69 70 71 72 73

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Smyrn., 6.2: σάρκα εἶναι τοῦ σωτῆρος ἡμῶν Ἰησοῦ Χριστοῦ. Eph., 20.2: ὅς to beἐστιν φάρμακον ἀθανασίας. See Ignatius Epistle to Polycarp, 5.2. For a brief introduction to this rather enigmatic document, see Michael W. Holmes, The Apostolic Fathers: Greek Texts and English Translations (Grand Rapids: Baker Books, 1999), 528–33. Holmes reminds us that it is impossible to establish either the authorship or the exact date. Still, I refer to this document as an example of yet another attempt to express Christian self-awareness and distinctiveness, this time in relation to the surrounding Roman culture and mentality. The Greek text mentions rather ‘fear of God of the Christians’ than ‘religion’; see helpful commentary on the notion of θεοσέβεια in Lieu, Neither Jew nor Greek?, 54–5 and the context 31–68. Diogn., 1. See the very helpful discussion in William Horst, ‘The Secret Plan of God and the Imitation of God: Neglected Dimensions of Christian Differentiation in Ad Diognetum’, JECS, vol. 27, no. 2 (2019), 161–83. Diogn., 3.2. Diogn., 4.1–6. Diogn., 3.3. Diogn., 4.6. Diogn., 5.1–9. Diogn., 5.9: ἐπὶ γῆς διατρίβουσιν, ἀλλ᾿ ἐν οὐρανῷ πολιτεύονται. Lieu, Neither Greek nor Jews, 179. Diogn., 5.12 and 14. Diogn., 6.1. Diogn., 6.5. Diogn., 6.7. Diogn., 8.2–3. Diogn., 10.1; see also 10.3. Diogn., 12.1–8. Diogn., 12.1. Diogn., 10.4–6. Diogn., 7.4. The lack of references to the events in Jesus’ life known from the Christian Scriptures and Apostolic tradition. I have mentioned, although very briefly, the issue of creating Christian identity in the Gospel of Philip, while introducing this document in Chapter 1.4. That is a variation of the ‘Messianic Secret’ in the Gospel of Mark. See the valuable comments in Turner, The Gospel According to Philip, 58–9 and Hugo Lundhaug, Image of Rebirth: Cognitive Poetics and Transformational Soteriology in the ‘Gospel of Philip’ and the ‘Exegesis on the Soul’, NHMS, vol. 73 (Leiden: E.J. Brill, 2010), 156–64. Like Lundhaug, I will treat the material from our document as ‘a coherent theology’, Images of Rebirth, 161; however, I would like to explore the diversity of issues underpinning each instance when our motif is discussed in the Gospel. Having followed the discussion on the various strata of the Gospel of Thomas, some earlier sayings, further additions and later accretions, I am also keen on reading the Gospel of Philip as a chronologically complex document, with some inner development of arguments and exegetical strategies. On the Gospel of Thomas see April D. DeConick, The Original Gospel of Thomas in Translation: With a Commentary and New English Translation of the Complete Gospel (London: T&T Clark, 2007), 7–24. ⲛⲉⲛ ϣⲟⲟⲡ ⲛ̄ϩⲉⲃⲣⲁⲓⲟⲥ ⲛⲉⲛⲟ ⲛ̄ⲟⲣⲫⲁⲛⲟⲥ ⲛⲉⲩ ⲛ̄ⲧⲁⲛ ⲛ̄ⲧⲙ̄ⲙⲁⲁⲩ ⲛ̄ⲧⲁⲣⲛ̄ϣⲱⲡⲉ ⲇⲉ ⲛ̄ⲭⲣⲏⲥⲧⲓⲁⲛⲟⲥ ⲁⲉⲓⲱⲧ ϩⲓ ⲙⲁⲁⲩ ϣⲱⲡⲉ ⲛⲁ(ⲛ). The Coptic is taken from CGL (1989), vol. XX, 142–215, here 144. The English translation follows Lundhaug, Images of Rebirth, 471.

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76 In comparison with previous discussions in Barnabas, Ignatius and Diognetus. 77 Already in Philo of Alexandria we find the interest in the virtue of ‘nobility of birth’ (εὐγένεια); see more in Walter T. Wilson, Philo of Alexandria: On Virtues: Introduction, Translation, and Commentary (Leiden: E.J. Brill, 2011), 83–92. 78 That is God, the Father; see Gos. Philip, 68.10–15: He said, ‘My Father who is in secret’. He said, ‘Go into your chamber and shut the door behind you, and pray to your Father who is in secret’ [Mt 6:6], the one who is within them all. But that which is within them all is the fullness. 79 That is the Holy Spirit, who is female – Gos. Philip, 55.23.26 – and gives life to her children – Gos. Philip, 69.4. 80 Gos. Philip, 77.20: ‘Truth is the mother, knowledge the father’. 81 I approach this term as a metaphor, not as a designation of factual Jews, for instance in the milieu known to the author of the Gospel of Philip. See more in Isenberg ‘Coptic Gospel’, 193 and Minna Heimola, ‘Christians and Jews in the Gospel of Philip’, in Rediscovering the Apocryphal Continent: New Perspectives on Early Christian and Late Antique Apocryphal Texts and Traditions, Pierluigi Piovanelli and Tony Burke (eds), with Timothy Pettipiece, WUNT 349 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2015), 137–52. As additional reconstruction of the background for our discussion, I would like to point out Jennifer Otto, Philo of Alexandria and the Construction of Jewishness in Early Christian Writings (Oxford Early Christian Studies) (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2018). 82 Any suggestions that the metaphor of the mother is a synonym for Sophia from the ‘Valentinian’ myth should be rejected, as in the Gospel of Philip Sophia is barren: 59.30–4. 83 Gos. Philip, 51.29; 52.20 (the current example), then 55.29; 61.36–62.6. 84 Gos. Philip, 55.29. 85 Turner, The Gospel according to Philip, 150. See Lundhaug’s interpretation, Images of Rebirth, 131. 86 Gos. Philip, 59.29. 87 Gos. Philip, 62.6–17. 88 Lundhaug, Images of Rebirth, 21–39, especially 29 and footnote 34. Lundhaug refers to the theory proposed by Gilles Fauconnier and Mark Turner, when two different sets of meaning are combined into a new, third one, now important to the author and his audience. Gilles Fauconnier and Mark Turner, ‘Polysemy and Conceptual Blending’, in Polysemy: Flexible Patterns of Meaning in Mind and Language, Brigitte Nerlich (ed.) (Trends in Linguistics: Studies and Monographs, 142) (Berlin: Mouton de Gruyter, 2003), 79–94. 89 Here the text has some lacunae, still it is possible to see this contrast: ⲛⲉⲣⲉⲡ. [. . . . . ⲙⲉ] ⲙ̣̄ⲙⲟ̣[ⲥ ⲛ̄] ϩⲟⲩⲟ ⲁⲙ̄ⲙⲁⲑⲏⲧⲏⲥ ⲧⲏⲣⲟⲩ. CGL (1989), vol. XX, 168. Does this statement about Mary of Magdala’s privileged position reflect some extra-canonical memories preserved by this community? I agree with those scholars who see that the Gospel, as with other early Christian sources, confuses Mary of Magdala with Mary of Bethany (John 12:3–7). Still, within the didactic of the Gospel of Philip it is the image of Mary of Magdala/ Bethany that shows the highest level of love and commitment to the Saviour. For context and valuable discussion, see Lundhaug, Images of Rebirth, 296–9. 90 Gos. Philip, 52.15–20. Again, as in the case of ‘Hebrew’, I am inclined to read ‘Gentile’ not as a Roman, Greek or Syriac factual neighbour, but rather as a symbol of an attitude. I am aware that Thomassen sees in ‘Hebrew’ and ‘Gentile’ references to ‘psychic’ and ‘material’ categories of people as links them with Heracleon, frags 20 and 21. I don’t see the need to make this connection on the basis of the Gospel of Philip its own

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interpretation. See Einar Thomassen, Spiritual Seed: The Church of the ‘Valentinians’, NHMS, vol. 60 (Leiden: E.J. Brill, 2006), 477, footnote 116. 91 ⲟⲩϩⲉⲑⲛⲓⲕⲟⲥ ⲣ̄ⲣⲱⲙⲉ ⲙⲁϥⲙⲟⲩ ⲙ̄ⲡⲉϥⲱⲛϩ ⲅⲁⲣ ⲉⲛⲉϩ ϩⲓⲛⲁ ⲉϥⲛⲁⲙⲟⲩ ⲡⲉⲛⲧⲁϩⲡⲓⲥⲧⲉⲩⲉ ⲉⲧⲙⲉ ⲁϥ ⲱⲛϩ ⲁⲩⲱ ⲡⲁⲓ̈ ϥϭⲛ̄ⲇⲩⲛⲉⲩⲉ ⲉⲙⲟⲩ ϥⲟⲛϩ ⲅⲁⲣ ϫⲓⲙ̄ ⲡϩⲟⲟⲩ ⲛ̄ⲧⲁ ⲡⲭ̄ⲥ̄ ⲉⲓ ⲥⲉⲥⲱⲛⲧ ⲙ̄ⲡⲕⲟⲥⲙⲟⲥ ⲥⲉⲣ̄ⲕⲟⲥⲙⲉⲓ ⲛⲙ̄ⲡⲟⲗⲉⲓⲥ ⲥⲉϥⲓ ⲙ̄ⲡⲉⲧⲙⲟⲟⲩⲧ ⲉⲃⲟⲗ. CGL (1989), vol. XX, 142–4. Lundhaug, Images of Rebirth, 471. 92 ⲉⲕϣⲁϫⲟⲟⲥ ϫⲉ ⲁⲛⲟⲕ ⲟⲩⲓ̈ⲟⲩⲇⲁⲓ̈ ⲙⲛ̄ ⲗⲁⲁⲩ ⲛⲁⲕⲓⲙ ⲉⲕϣⲁϫⲟⲟⲥ ϫⲉ ⲁⲛⲟⲕ ⲟⲩϩⲣⲱⲙⲁⲓⲟⲥ ⲙⲛ̄ ⲗⲁⲁⲩ ⲛⲁⲣ̄ⲧⲁⲣⲁⲥⲥⲉ ⲉⲕϣⲁϫⲟⲟⲥ ϫⲉ ⲁⲛⲟ[ⲕ ⲟ]ⲩϩⲉ̣ⲗ̣ⲗⲏⲛ ⲟⲩⲃⲁⲣⲃⲁⲣ̣ⲟⲥ ⲟⲩϩⲙϩ̅ⲁ̅ⲗ̅ [ⲟⲩⲉⲗⲉⲩ]ⲑⲉⲣⲟⲥ ⲙⲛ̄ ⲗⲁⲁⲩ ⲛⲁϣⲧⲟⲣⲧⲣ̄ ⲉⲕ [ϣⲁϫⲟⲟⲥ] ϫⲉ ⲁⲛⲟⲕ ⲟⲩⲭⲣⲏⲥ̣ⲧⲓⲁⲛⲟⲥ ⲡ[. . . . .] ⲛⲁⲛⲟⲉⲓⲛ ⲛ̄ⲅⲉⲛⲟⲓⲧ̣ⲟ ⲛ̄ⲧⲁϣ̣[... ⲛ̄ⲧ]ⲉⲉⲓⲙⲉⲓⲛⲉ ⲡⲁⲉⲓ ⲉ [ⲧ]ⲉ̣.[. . . . .] ⲛⲁϣϩⲩⲡⲟⲙⲉⲓⲛⲉ ⲁⲛ ⲉ[ⲥⲱⲧⲙ̄ ⲉⲡ] ⲉ̣ϥⲣⲁⲛ. (CGL (1989), vol. XX, 164–6)

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As we can see, though the Coptic script is damaged, the general meaning is still clear; see Lundhaug, Images of Rebirth, 491. I introduced this passage in Chapter 1, footnote 114. Further comments can be found in Hans-Martin Schenke, Das Philippus-Evangelium (Nag Hammadi-Codex II,3):neu herausgegeben, übersetzt und erklärt, TUGAL, vol. 143 (Berlin: Akademie Verlag, 1997), 318–21. ϣⲁⲣⲉ ⲟⲩϩⲧⲟ ϫⲡⲉ ⲟⲩϩⲧⲟ ⲟⲩⲣⲱⲙⲉ ϣⲁⲣⲉϥϫⲡⲉ ⲣⲱⲙⲉ ⲟⲩⲛⲟⲩⲧⲉ ϣⲁⲣⲉϥϫⲡⲉ ⲛⲟⲩⲧⲉ ⲧⲁⲉⲓ ⲧⲉ ⲑ̣ⲉ ϩⲙ̣̄[ⲡⲁ ⲧ] ϣⲉⲗⲉⲉⲧ ⲙⲛ̄ ϩⲛ̣̄[ⲕⲉϣⲉ]ⲗⲉⲉ̣ⲧ ⲁⲩ[ϣⲱ] ⲡⲉ ⲉⲃⲟⲗ ϩⲙ̄ ⲡⲛ[. . . . . .] ⲛ̣̄[. . . . . .]ⲛⲉ ⲙⲛ̄ ⲓⲟⲩⲇⲁⲓ ⲟ̣[. . . . . . . . . . . .] ⲉⲃⲟⲗ ϩⲛ̄ ⲛ̄ϩⲉ [. . . . . . . . . . . . .] ϣⲟⲟⲡ ⲁⲩⲱ ⲁⲛ̣[. . . . . . . . . . . .] ⲉⲃⲟⲗ ϩⲛ̄ ⲛ̄ⲓⲟⲩⲇ[ⲁⲓ . . . . . . . . . . .] ⲛ̄ⲭⲣⲓⲥⲧⲓⲁⲛⲟⲥ ⲁⲕ[. . . . . . . . . . . .]ⲱ ⲁⲩⲙⲟⲩⲧⲉ ⲁⲛⲉⲉⲓⲙⲁ[. . . . . . .] ⲡⲅⲉⲛⲟⲥ ⲉⲧⲥⲟⲧⲡ ⲙ̄ⲡⲛ̣[. . . . . . .]ⲁⲩⲱ ⲡⲁⲗⲏⲑⲉⲓⲛ̣ⲟⲥ̣ ⲣ̣̄ⲣⲱⲙⲉ ⲁⲩⲱ ⲡϣⲏⲣⲉ ⲙ̄ⲡⲣⲱⲙⲉ ⲁⲩⲱ ⲡⲥⲡⲉⲣⲙⲁ ⲙ̄ⲡϣⲏⲣⲉ ⲙ̄ⲡⲣⲱⲙⲉ ⲡⲉⲉⲓⲅⲉⲛⲟⲥ ⲛ̄ⲁⲗⲏⲑⲉⲓⲛⲟⲛ ⲥⲉⲣ̄ⲟⲛⲟⲙⲁⲍⲉ ⲙ̄ⲙⲟϥ ϩⲙ̄ ⲡⲕⲟⲥⲙⲟⲥ ⲛⲁⲉⲓ ⲛⲉ ⲡⲙⲁ ⲉⲧⲟⲩϣⲟⲟⲡ ⲙ̄ⲙⲁⲩ ⲛ̄ϭⲓ ⲛ̄ϣⲏⲣⲉ ⲙ̄ⲡⲛⲩⲙⲫⲱⲛ. (CGL (1989), vol. XX, 192–4)

Again, we have many lacunae; I follow Lundhaug’s proposal of translation in Images of Rebirth, 491. See also Schenke, Das Philippus-Evangelium, 462 with his reconstruction of the text: ‘Diese (d.h. die Träger dieser Namen) wer zu dem Ort, wo die Kinder des Brautgemachs (schon) sind’. 94 To show some contrast, the ideal of ‘Gnostic Christian’ was important to Clement of Alexandria; see my discussion in Clement of Alexandria: A Project of Christian Perfection (London: T&T Clark, 2008), 147–87. 95 57.22–8 with the relation between baptism and anointing; 61.12–20 with God’s activity at the baptism; 64.22–31, as we discussed with the role of the Holy Spirit; 67.2–9 with a reference to other sacraments and a similar note in 67.27–30; again with a connection to chrism and the role of the Holy Spirit in 69.4–14; Jesus’ redemptive baptism in 70.34–71.3 and in 72.29–73.1; in relation to resurrection 73.1–8; on the superiority of chrism to baptism 74.12–24; on the link between the Eucharist and baptism 75.14–25; on Jesus’ act of perfection of baptism 77.7–15. 96 ⲉⲣϣⲁ ⲟⲩⲁ ⲃⲱⲕ ⲉⲡⲉⲥⲏⲧ ⲉⲡⲙⲟⲟⲩ ⲛ̄ϥⲉⲓ ⲉϩⲣⲁⲓ̈ ⲉⲙ ⲡⲉϥϫⲓ ⲗⲁⲁⲩ ⲛ̄ϥϫⲟⲟⲥ ϫⲉ ⲁⲛⲟⲕ ⲟⲩⲭⲣⲏⲥⲧⲓⲁⲛⲟⲥ ⲛ̄ⲧⲁϥϫⲓ ⲙ̄ⲡⲣⲁⲛ ⲉⲧⲙⲏⲥⲉ ⲉϥϣⲁϫⲓ ⲇⲉ ⲙ̄ⲡⲡ̅ⲛ̣̅ⲁ̅ ⲉⲧⲟⲩⲁⲁⲃ ⲟⲩⲛ̄ⲧⲁϥ ⲙ̄ⲙⲁⲩ ⲛ̄ⲧⲇⲱⲣⲉⲁ ⲙ̄ⲡⲣⲁⲛ ⲡⲉⲛⲧⲁϩϫⲓ ⲛ̄ⲟⲩⲇⲱⲣⲉⲁ ⲙⲁⲩϥⲓⲧⲥ̄ ⲛ̄ⲧⲟⲟⲧϥ ⲡⲉⲛⲧⲁϩϫⲓ ⲇⲉ ⲉϫⲱϥ ⲉⲧⲙ̣ⲏⲥⲉ ϣⲁⲩϣⲁⲧϥ ⲧⲁⲉⲓ ⲧⲉ ⲑⲉ ⲉⲧϣⲟ̣[ⲟ]ⲡ ⲛⲁ̣ⲛ ⲉⲣϣⲁ ⲟⲩⲁ ϣⲱⲡⲉ ϩⲛ̄ ⲟⲩⲙⲩⲥⲧⲏⲣⲓⲟ[ⲛ]. (CGL (1989), vol. XX, 168) See Lundhaug, Images of Rebirth, 495.

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97 Earlier Ignatius’ polemic with other Christian groups and practices is a helpful reminder of the similar strategy. 98 Lundhaug’s Images of Rebirth, 495. 99 ⲕⲁⲗⲱⲥ ⲁⲡϫⲟⲉⲓⲥ ϫⲟⲟ[ⲥ ϫ]ⲉ ⲁϩⲟⲉⲓⲛⲉ ⲃⲱⲕ ⲉⲧⲙⲛ̄ⲧⲉⲣⲟ ⲛⲙ̄ⲡⲏⲩ[ⲉ] ⲉⲩⲥⲱⲃⲉ ⲁⲩⲱ ⲁⲩⲉⲓ ⲉⲃⲟⲗ [...] ⲱ̣[.] ⲉ̣ⲁⲩ[...]ⲟⲩⲁ ϫⲉ ⲟⲩⲭⲣⲏⲥⲧⲓⲁⲛⲟⲥ [...]ⲡⲉⲭ̣[ . . ][ . . . . ]ⲟⲛ ⲁⲩⲱ ⲛ̄ⲧⲉⲩⲛⲟⲩ [. . . . . . . . ⲃⲱⲕ ⲉⲡ]ⲓ̣ⲧⲛ̄ ⲉⲡⲙⲟⲟⲩ ⲁϥⲉⲓ [. . . . . . . . . . . .]ⲥ̣ ⲁ̣ⲡⲧⲏⲣϥ ⲉⲧⲃⲉ [. . . . . . . . . . . ⲟⲩⲡ]ⲁⲓⲅⲛⲓⲟⲛ ⲡⲉ ⲁⲗ [ⲗⲁ . . . . . . . . ⲣ̄ⲕⲁⲧⲁⲫ]ⲣⲟⲛⲉⲓ ⲙ̄ⲡⲉⲉⲓⲡⲉ [. . . . . . . . . . . .]ⲛ ⲉⲧⲙⲛ̄ⲧⲉⲣⲟ ⲛⲙ̄ [ⲡⲏⲩⲉ . . . . . .] ⲉ̣ϥϣⲁⲣ̄ⲕⲁⲧⲁⲫⲣⲟⲛⲉⲓ [. . . . . . ⲁ]ⲩ̣ⲱ ⲛ̄ϥϣⲟⲥϥ ϩⲱⲥ ⲡⲁⲓⲅⲛⲓ[ⲟⲛ . . . . ⲉⲃ]ⲟ̣ⲗ ⲉϥⲥⲱⲃⲉ ⲧⲉⲉⲓϩⲉ ⲟⲛ ⲧⲉ ϩⲓ ⲡⲟⲉⲓⲕ ⲙⲛ̄ ⲡⲡⲟ[ⲧ]ⲏⲣⲓⲟⲛ ⲙⲛ̄ ⲡⲛⲏϩ ⲕⲁⲛ ⲟⲩⲛ̄ ⲕⲉⲟⲩⲁ ⲉϥϫⲟⲥⲉ ⲉⲛⲁⲉⲓ. (CGL (1989), vol. XX, 192)

100

101 102 103

104

105 106 107 108 109

While it is evident the Coptic text is seriously damaged, still the warning against disrespecting baptism, here ‘laughing’ or ‘mocking’ (ⲥⲱⲃⲉ), is comprehensible. See Lundhaug, Images of Rebirth, 515–17. For other possible reconstruction, see Schenke, Das Philippus-Evangelium, 451. ⲡⲭⲣⲉⲓⲥⲙⲁ ϥⲟ ⲛ̄ϫⲟⲉⲓⲥ ⲉⲡⲃⲁⲡⲧⲓⲥⲙⲁ ⲉⲃⲟⲗ ⲅⲁⲣ ϩⲙ̄ ⲡⲭⲣⲓⲥⲙⲁ ⲁⲩⲙⲟⲩⲧⲉ ⲉⲣⲟⲛ ϫⲉ ⲭⲣⲓⲥⲧⲓⲁⲛⲟⲥ ⲉⲧⲃⲉ ⲡⲃⲁⲡⲧⲓⲥⲙⲁ ⲁⲛ ⲁⲩⲱ ⲛ̄ⲧⲁⲩⲙⲟⲩⲧⲉ ⲉⲡⲉ ⲭ̅ⲥ̅ ⲉⲧⲃⲉ ⲡⲭⲣⲓⲥⲙⲁ ⲁⲡⲉⲓⲱⲧ ⲅⲁⲣ ⲧⲱϩⲥ ⲙ̄ⲡϣⲏⲣⲉ ⲁⲡϣⲏⲣⲉ ⲇⲉ ⲧⲱϩⲥ ⲛ̄ⲁⲡⲟⲥⲧⲟⲗⲟⲥ ⲁⲛⲁⲡⲟⲥⲧⲟⲗⲟⲥ ⲇⲉ ⲧⲁϩⲥⲛ̄ ⲡⲉⲛⲧⲁⲩⲧⲟϩⲥϥ ⲟⲩⲛ̄ⲧⲉϥ ⲡⲧⲏⲣϥ ⲙ̄ⲙⲁⲩ ⲟⲩⲛ̄ⲧⲁϥ ⲧⲁⲛⲁⲥⲧⲁⲥⲓⲥ ⲡⲟⲩⲟⲉⲓⲛ ⲡⲉⲥⳁⲟⲥ ⲡⲡⲛ̅ⲁ̅ ⲉⲧⲟⲩⲁⲁⲃ ⲁⲡⲉⲓⲱⲧ ϯ ⲛⲁϥ ⲙ̄ⲡⲁⲉⲓ ϩⲙ̄ ⲡⲛⲩ[ⲙ]ⲫⲱⲛ̣ ⲁϥϫⲓ ⲁϥϣⲱⲡⲉ ⲛ̄ϭⲓ ⲡⲉⲓⲱⲧ ϩⲙ̣̄ ⲡϣ̣[ⲏ]ⲣ̣ⲉ ⲁⲩⲱ ⲡϣⲏⲣⲉ ϩⲙ̄ ⲡⲉⲓⲱⲧ ⲧⲁⲉⲓ ⲧ[ⲉ ⲧⲙⲛ̄ⲧ]ⲉⲣⲟ ⲛⲙ̄ⲡⲏⲩⲉ. (CGL (1989), vol. XX, 190) Lundhaug, Images of Rebirth, 515. See further helpful comments on the anointing in the document, Thomassen, The Spiritual Seed, 346–7. See our earlier discussion in Chapter 3.5. See discussion of the examples in Annewies van den Hoek, ‘Etymologizing in a Christian Context: The Techniques of Clement of Alexandria’, SPh, vol. 16 (2004), 122–68. Another example is the use of terminology coming from different languages: Hebrew/ Aramaic, Syriac and Greek. It is not an accident but echoes the multi-ethnicity of the milieu where the original Gospel of Philip emerged. See Gos. Philip, 56.3–13; 62.6–17. See for instance, Gaye Strathearn, ‘The Valentinian Bridal Chamber in the Gospel of Philip’, Studies in the Bible and Antiquity, vol. 1 (2009), 83–103; DeConick, ‘The Great Mystery of Marriage’, 307–42; Thomassen, ‘How Valentinian ...’, 257. A more recent valuable contribution comes from Silke Petersen, ‘Marriages, Unions, and Bridal Chambers in the Gospel of Philip’, in Re-Making the World: Christianity and Categories: Essays in Honor of Karen L. King, Taylor G. Petrey et al. (eds), WUNT 434 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2019), 213–34. See further discussion in Lundhaug, Images of Rebirth, 316–26. I have chosen this sequence of references as, I believe, they help us to understand the intention of the Gospel. My arrangement still shows that they are completely compatible, meaningful, and comprehensible within the scope of the document. John 3:1–21. 2 Cor 6:7. ⲧⲁⲗⲏⲑⲉⲓⲁ ⲙ̄ⲡⲉⲥⲉⲓ ⲉⲡⲕⲟⲥⲙⲟⲥ ⲉⲥⲕⲁⲕⲁϩⲏⲩ ⲁⲗⲗⲁ ⲛ̄ⲧⲁⲥⲉⲓ ϩⲛ̄ ⲛ̄ⲧⲩⲡⲟⲥ ⲙⲛ̄ ⲛ̄ϩⲓⲕⲱⲛ ϥⲛⲁϫⲓⲧⲥ̄ ⲁⲛ ⲛ̄ⲕⲉⲣⲏⲧⲉ ⲟⲩⲛ̄ ⲟⲩ ϫⲡⲟ ⲛ̄ⲕⲉⲥⲟⲡ ϣⲟⲟⲡ ⲙⲛ̄ⲛⲟⲩ ϩⲓⲕⲱⲛ ⲛ̄ϫⲡⲟ ⲛ̄ⲕⲉⲥⲟⲡ ϣϣⲉ ⲁⲗⲏⲑⲱⲥ ⲁⲧⲣⲟⲩ ϫⲡⲟⲟⲩ ⲛ̄ⲕⲉⲥⲟⲡ ϩⲓⲧⲛ̄ ⲧϩⲓⲕⲱⲛ ⲁϣ ⲧⲉ ⲧⲁⲛⲁⲥⲧⲁⲥⲓⲥ ⲁⲩⲱ ⲑⲓⲕⲱⲛ ϩⲓⲧⲛ̄ ⲑⲓⲕⲱⲛ ϣϣⲉ ⲉⲧⲣⲉⲥⲧⲱⲟⲩⲛ ⲡⲛⲩⲙⲫⲱⲛ ⲙⲛ̄ ⲑⲓⲕⲱⲛ ϩⲓⲧⲛ̄ ⲑⲓⲕⲱⲛ ϣϣⲉ

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ⲉⲧⲣⲟⲩⲉⲓ ⲉϩⲟⲩⲛ ⲉⲧⲁⲗⲏⲑⲉⲓⲁ ⲉⲧⲉ ⲧⲁⲉⲓ ⲧⲉ ⲧⲁⲡⲟⲕⲁⲧⲁⲥⲧⲁⲥⲓⲥ ϣϣⲉ ⲁⲛⲉⲧϫⲡⲟ ⲁⲛ ⲙ̄ⲙⲁⲧⲉ ⲙ̄ⲡⲣⲁⲛ ⲙ̄ⲡⲉⲓⲱⲧ ⲙⲛ̄ ⲡϣⲏⲣⲉ ⲙⲛ̄ ⲡⲡⲛ̅ⲁ̅ ⲉⲧⲟⲩⲁⲁⲃ ⲁⲗⲗⲁ ⲁ ⲩ ϫⲡⲟⲟⲩ ⲛⲁⲕ ϩⲱⲟⲩ ⲉⲧⲙ̄ ⲟⲩⲁ ϫⲡⲟ̣ⲟⲩ ⲛⲁϥ ⲡⲕⲉⲣⲁⲛ ⲥⲉⲛⲁϥⲓⲧϥ ⲛ̄ⲧⲟⲟⲧϥ ⲟⲩⲁ ⲇⲉ ϫⲓ ⲙ̄ⲙⲟⲟⲩ ϩⲙ̄ ⲡⲭ̣ⲣⲓⲥⲙⲁ ⲙ̄ⲡⲥⲟ.[.] ⲛ̄ⲧⲇⲩⲛⲁⲙⲓⲥ ⲙ̄ⲡⲥⳁ̣[ⲟ]ⲥ̣ ⲧⲁ̣[ⲉ]ⲓ̣ ⲛⲉ ⲛⲁⲡⲟⲥⲧⲟⲗⲟⲥ ⲙⲟⲩⲧⲉ ⲉⲣⲟⲥ ϫⲉ̣ [ⲧⲟ]ⲩⲛ̣ⲁ̣ⲙ̣ ⲙⲛ̄ ⲧⲉϩⲃⲟⲩⲣ ⲡⲁⲉⲓ ⲅⲁⲣ ⲟⲩⲕⲉⲧⲓ ⲟⲩ[ⲭⲣⲏ]ⲥ̣ⲧ̣[ⲓ]ⲁⲛⲟⲥ ⲡⲉ ⲁⲗⲗⲁ ⲟⲩⲭⲣ̅ⲥ̅ ⲡⲉ. (CGL (1989), vol. XX, 174–6) The Coptic is relatively well preserved, so that the conclusion which hints at some form of a mystical union between a Christian and Christ can be confirmed with certainty. For translation, see Lundhaug, Images of Rebirth, 501. 110 Gos. Philip, 56.3–13; 62.6–17. 111 See Paul’s confession: Gal 2:20. This reference seems to be affirmed by the earlier echoing of 2 Cor 6:7 in ‘This power the apostles called “the right and the left”’. I am also keen to point out the important Johannine motif of ‘abiding in Christ’ (John 15:5–7) as the model of the mystical union in the Gospel of Philip. See my previous comments in Chapter 6.3.

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9 T H E R E L AT I O N S H I P B E T W E E N SELECTED DOCUMENTS FROM THE NAG HAMMADI COLLECTION AND T H E N E W T E S TA M E N T 1 1. Preliminaries It is unlikely that the authors of the Gospel of Thomas, Gospel of Truth, Gospel of Philip or the several apocryphal acts ever wanted their text to be part of a NT collection. (Larry Hurtado’s entry on his blog, 19 October 2010) In this closing chapter I would like to bring together two academic fields that in the past were traditionally separated and defended as autonomous: New Testament studies and studies in early Christian apocryphal literature, here from the Nag Hammadi collection. My effort embraces the recent studies where these two disciplines enter into prolific dialogue.2 I shall argue that what is called ‘postcanonical’, often ‘apocryphal’or ‘parabiblical’3 literature is still relevant to the New Testament. This literature is an important witness to the way in which Christians from the first three centuries received and preserved what they believed to be holy and authoritative narratives, and is an original expression of their literary culture. That ‘preservation’ included copying and translating, adding titles4 and correcting the earlier text in order to match current theological interests (while also making unwanted errors). Numerous Christian exegetes, teachers and theologians, men and women,5 some labelled by their opponents as ‘heretics’, participated in this literary endeavour.6 In previous chapters7 I have pointed out different aspects of the reception given to this literary material as well as its development. In this chapter, I shall add further observations that explore the important link between second- and third-century commentaries and the New Testament. However, before we assess the specific contribution of selected documents and their value (or lack of value) for New Testament studies, I would like to highlight the intellectual framework for Christian literary culture during the first three centuries of the Common Era.

181 DOI: 10.4324/9781003181095-10

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2. Reading and commenting in Late Antiquity Recent studies on the ancient sacred narratives, the Hebrew Bible, and established authors (such as Homer, Plato, and Philo) offer a rich and illuminating contribution.8 They provide us with better knowledge of the development of the Christian discourse (or discourses) based on the growing authority of the New Testament documents alongside the emergence of Christian hermeneutics, catechesis, paraenesis,9 and apologetics.10 Within the scope of New Testament studies, we know more about the role of scribes in harmonising different copies of the same Apostolic document, introducing alterations within the text of a Gospel (Mark’s ending varies in different manuscripts),11 and making multiple additions and substitutions. These scribal interventions suggest that, during the first century and even well into the second, editors were willing to modify wording, including large sections of the sacred narrative.12 Different scholars draw different conclusions. Bart D. Ehrman, for example, proposed that those intentional changes reflected the theological agenda of the copyists, who sought conformity with contemporary orthodox theological beliefs.13 David C. Parker disagreed with Ehrman’s assumption.14 William L. Petersen claimed that, before Irenaeus of Lyons (180 ce), there was no single ‘canonical’ or common textual form of the New Testament documents,15 and the copying of the New Testament manuscripts was sloppy. We should approach the New Testament documents in the way we approach the later apocrypha – as a process that develops theological reflection. It is a complex interaction between the earlier memories, or the original data, and the specific situation of the author(s), editor(s) and the ecclesiastical milieu. Apocryphal literature was not written for the sake of the author or with the intention of ‘misleading’ the audience. In modern scholarship, as Stephen J. Shoemaker recently reminded us, we should therefore remain critical of the previous perception of the apocryphal literature as ‘deviant’.16 This chapter concerns the documents from the Nag Hammadi that are commonly viewed as ‘Valentinian’ and their interpretations of a selection of Scriptural motifs. As on many previous occasions in this book, I stress that I do not take ‘Valentinian’ exegesis as being unanimous or coherent or expressing the milieu’s leading theological inclination. I will deal with documents and authors from the second and possibly the third centuries whose approach to the New Testament was original; sometimes, by our modern rigorous standards, it was even too fluid and autonomous. We should also be aware of our concept of the ‘integrity’ of a text. Our modern expectation is that an author or commentator should acknowledge all relevant sources, but this expectation has to be suspended in the case of the period that frames the selected documents from Nag Hammadi. Equally, those ancient commentators do not necessarily take the same care in providing the most accurate quotations. Each of the ancient commentators also had his or her own mindset, with varying degrees of erudition and more or less limited access to the primary sources. Was this hermeneutic approach an exegetical innovation spread among our anonymous Christian authors? In my view, they continued the trends that were already visible in the New Testament. There, the Gospel writers 182

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were free to select and combine different prophecies about the Saviour, creatively engaging with the previous oral traditions and accepting and rejecting different recollections of Jesus’ teaching and miracles.17 Before engaging further with the content of some of the Nag Hammadi texts, I would like to refer to Paul Foster’s observations in his insightful paper on the reception that the Apostolic Fathers gave the New Testament.18 His opening remark closely matches our concern about the documents that we will study in this chapter: In the quest for the form of the NT text in the second century, some scholars have appealed to the corpus of writing we call the Apostolic Fathers. However, the loose citation techniques of the Apostolic Fathers, combined with the fact that we have no extant manuscripts of these writings from the second century, suggests they provide no conclusive evidence of the state of the NT text during this critical period. For this reason, the writings of the Apostolic Fathers get us no closer to reconstructing that text than the actual extant manuscripts of the third and fourth centuries. In fact, the complications surrounding NT citations in the writing of the Apostolic Fathers may confuse, rather than clarify this endeavour.19 Similarly, our sources from the Nag Hammadi do not provide us with any additional insight into the origin of the New Testament, the exact wording, or any fresh insight into the context of, for instance, Jesus’ miracles. Some of the sources, such as the Gospel of Philip, II, 3 preserve a number of sayings of Jesus20 that are unknown in the New Testament. However, the same document also quotes the exact words of Jesus from the canonical Gospels21 and exact Pauline verses.22 The usefulness of these treatises lies in revealing the complexity of the reception given to the material that became ‘the New Testament’. It shows the polyphony of voices in the Christian milieu (which boldly assimilated the previous Scriptural motifs into a new theological context) and the changing pastoral needs of those commentators. Through this assimilation, they continued the Apostolic tradition but with a new sensitivity, imagination, and purpose.

3. Themes that offer insight into New Testament scholarship Titus Nagel23 and Charles E. Hill24 have each examined the reception that the fourth Gospel received during the second century. While both authors point out that the Gospel of John was known to various Christian authors in the early second century, Hill questions the theory that John, in particular, was popular among ‘heretics’ such as Heracleon, and that therefore the fourth Gospel was ignored by the orthodox branch of the Church. It is not my intention to discuss Hill’s proposal;25 however, his comments on the ‘gnostic exegetical exploitation’26 of John and his suggestion that ‘the Valentinians’ ‘spoiled’ John’s prologue27 echo great interest in this document among various second-century theologians.28 183

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Further observations come from David Brakke29 who, following Rowan Williams, proposed the category of ‘academic Christianity’ and listed Justin Martyr, Marcion of Synope, Valentinus, Clement of Alexandria, Origen, and Eusebius of Caesarea as the representatives of this group.30 The group centred on the teacher as the vital authority and, in Brakke’s view, expressed its identity as being distinct from the martyr (the second figure) and the bishop (the third authority). Furthermore, Brakke suggested ‘three types of early Christian scriptural practices’: 1. 2. 3.

Study and contemplation Revelation and continued inspiration, and Communal worship and edification.31

The category of ‘academic Christianity’ suggests some demarcation, but more careful examination of Marcion’s engagement with the Scriptures, especially the emerging New Testament,32 reveals that he is not an ‘academic’ in the same way as Clement of Alexandria, for instance. In addition, as we have seen in Chapter 6, Heracleon’s engagement with the Gospel of John or Theodotus’ assimilation of some Pauline motifs33 matched the sophisticated exegesis of Clement and Origen. This academic group differed from the other two: one with the martyr produced a number of exhortations and revelations (for instance the New Prophecy movement), and the other with the bishop focused on collective worship, possibly under the guidance of an ecclesiastical authority.34 The latter was concerned with the correct ‘canon’ or collection of New Testament documents, and the best example of that milieu, in Brakke’s view, is Athanasius of Alexandria and his pastoral activity.35 The rigid separation of the ‘academic Christians’ from, for instance, ‘charismatic’ ones, or those with a strong attachment to ‘prophetic’ activities, seems to be too theoretical. Nevertheless, Brakke made a valuable point in listing the Scriptural practices that can be clearly seen in our documents from Nag Hammadi. These are not an exegetical innovation, but a continuation of the earlier Pauline36 concerns and the concerns of the other Gospels. Let us now turn to some selected treatises from Nag Hammadi.

4. Johannine motifs37 and their reception in some Coptic documents from Nag Hammadi One of the leading experts on the Gospel of John, Raymond E. Brown, pointed out that the theology of the fourth Gospel includes four motifs: ecclesiology, sacramentalism, eschatology, and Wisdom.38 I would like to explore these four Johannine motifs within the scope of chosen documents from the Nag Hammadi, but without the traditional affiliation of those documents to the ‘Valentinian’ school of thought. We have encountered some of these Coptic treatises earlier in this book but will now assess their theological richness in

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a new light, mainly that of the Gospel of John and Johannine Letters. I will discuss their relevance to our understanding of the New Testament not just as a collection of canonical books, but also as an academic field. Can this field be enriched by these later interpretations? 4.1. Echoes of Johannine ecclesiology We start with Brown’s first motif, which is about Johannine ecclesiology, or the community of Jesus’ followers.39 Among a variety of ideas that express the Johannine outlook on the early Christians is the important notion of being or becoming ‘children of God’ (τέκνα θεοῦ).40 I agree with some commentators that, at this point, the Gospel of John assimilates the earlier Jewish Sapiential idea of a wise person who, like an obedient child, listens to the voice of the parent, Wisdom.41 This idea reflects the spiritual status of Christians and their relationship with God and with one another: it is about fellowship and participation in the life of Christ. This same motif is very important to the Gospel of Truth NHC, I, 3, which we explored earlier in the book in relation to its Alexandrian affiliation.42 The Gospel of Truth promotes the identity of its readers as ‘children of the Father’ (ⲛ̄ϣⲏⲣⲉ ⲙ̄ⲡⲓⲱⲧ, in Gos. Truth, 33.38).43 They are encouraged to see themselves not as individual men and women who have their individual relationship with God, but as members of a community (‘children’): a religious family, loved by their divine Father.44 Christ the Saviour is the Revealer of God and at the same time illuminates the disciples’ new self-understanding.45 Nobody else is mentioned by the Gospel as the founder of the community or the source of its identity, neither a particular Apostle (such as Paul), nor an Old Testament figure (for example, Seth), nor a prophet/lawgiver (such as Moses) nor a particular charismatic Christian teacher. The Coptic document links this self-understanding directly with the gift of the knowledge of the Father (ⲡⲥⲁⲩⲛⲉ ⲙ̄ⲡⲓⲱⲧ).46 As in the Gospel of John, the Gospel of Truth highlights the central role of Christ and his revelation, making a distinction between the one who is ‘visible’ (ⲛⲁⲩ), that is, the Son, and reveals the one who is ‘invisible’ (ⲁⲧⲛⲉⲩ), that is, the Father.47 This important Johannine feature is not a coincidence. In the Gospel of Truth, revelation is crucial in forming the identity of the group. They are ‘children’ and as such they cherish and commemorate their special relationship with the divine Father.48 Brown observes that the Gospel of Truth resonates with many ‘favourite Johannine themes’.49 Among them are ‘truth’ ἀλήθεια (e.g. John 1:14; 1:17 and Gos. Truth, 16.18–21; 16.25; 16.31–2; 18.20; 23.9; 26.27–36; 32.35; 36.12; 39.1; 40.6; 42.25–6; 43.10); ‘eternal life’ ζωὴν αἰώνιον (John 3:15–16; 1 John 3:15 and Gos. Truth, 43.11); and ‘seed’ σπέρμα (1 John 3:9 and Gos. Truth, 43.14). These and other notions depict mature (‘perfect’) Christians who are the Father’s children. Maturity and childhood are interwoven in the message, which elaborates some Johannine themes in a new context and for a different audience. Terms such as ‘truth’, ‘eternal life’ ‘light’, ‘fulness/pleroma’, ‘name’, ‘love’

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and the verb ‘glorify’, remind readers of the fourth Gospel. Of God’s children, the Gospel of Truth announces: They are the ones who appear in truth (ⲛⲉⲉⲓ ⲛ̄ⲧⲁⲩ ⲉⲧⲟⲩⲱ[[ϩ]]ⲛ[[ⲙ]]ϩ̄ ⲙⲁⲙⲏⲉ[[ⲓ]]), since they exist in true and eternal life, and speak of the light which is perfect, and filled with the seed of the Father, and which is in his heart and in the pleroma, while his Spirit rejoices in it and glorifies the one in whom it existed, because he is good. And his children are perfect and worthy of his name (ⲛⲉϥϣⲏⲣⲉ ⲁⲩⲱ ⲥⲉⲙ̄ⲡϣⲁ ⲙ̄ⲡⲉϥⲣⲉⲛ), for he is the Father; it is children of this kind that he loves. (Gos. Truth, 43.9–22)50 This excerpt combines all three Scriptural practices mentioned by Brakke: it is about contemplation of their origin (the Father), revelation of what has been hidden (truth and eternal life) and edification (the Father loves his children). In addition, the passage illustrates that fellowship with the Father was a highly important message in the Gospel of Truth. However, as also noted by Brown,51 the issue of community in the fourth Gospel poses some questions. For instance, does the Gospel of John over-emphasise the individual relationship with the Saviour in comparison with the communal one?52 Both the Gospel of John and our Coptic document stress the fundamental role of unity and community in relationship with the Father.53 An inner harmony among members is presumed in the Gospel of Truth and can be viewed as a reflection of the unity and harmony between God the Father and this revealer, the Son. In the context of ecclesiology, Brown also discusses the Johannine view of the church order, particularly in relation to the authority given to the disciples to absolve people from sin. I will argue the point later, but this motif is less important to the milieu of the Gospel of Truth as it is not sin that is the greatest obstacle on the path to salvation, but ignorance (ⲁⲧⲥⲟⲟⲩⲛ̄).54 Therefore, the position of a teacher (Brakke) would play a pivotal role in this milieu. As catechist, exegete and theologian, the teacher would be very important to the ecclesiastical order and the community. The understanding of the Christian community in the Coptic Gospel resonates with the Gospel of John and later Johannine letters. It is a community illuminated by the Saviour’s teaching and revelation, in the light of which they are children of the divine Father. The centrality of Christ is powerfully affirmed55 and the community exists as, again in Johannine terms, an expression of ‘truth and eternal life’ (Gos. Truth, 43.11–12). The Father’s love is also emphasised; he is the source of love.56 However, the narrative does not elaborate on the commandment to love one another, which is so important to the Gospel of John (13:34–5). The significance of the Gospel of Truth for New Testament scholars lies in reaffirmation of these parallels with the Gospel of John. The apocryphal document also reveals the next stage in the development of the

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notion of ‘community’, from its original Jewish milieu (in Wisdom literature), through the Johannine milieu to the setting found in the Gospel of Truth, which strongly mirrors the features of the fourth Gospel. It provides an insight into how some Johannine themes were seen and valued in circles that were outside the original Johannine group and yet in theological proximity. In the ecclesiology (or the community’s self-understanding) of the fourth Gospel, one of the pivotal points was the revelation of the Father through the Saviour/Word, followed by the commandment to love and the disciples’ application of that commandment in their lives. The Gospel of Truth selects some of these theological topics and shows their reception in a theological setting.57 However, unlike the Gospel of John, it avoids any further references to the historical or geographical context. In this way, the Coptic apocryphal document concentrates on the spiritual and mystical dimension of the assimilated theology. 4.2. Johannine sacramentalism Secondly, Brown reminds us about the question of John’s notion of sacraments.58 Brown concludes with an observation about the significance of John for a deeper understanding of baptism as the source of eternal life (John 4:13–14), while the Eucharist transmits divine life through Jesus to Christians (John 6:57).59 I propose to explore some assimilations of Johannine material with the Gospel of Philip. This document commemorates and develops some motifs from the fourth Gospel. The Gospel of Philip discusses sacraments and their inter-relation on many occasions and in a variety of contexts.60 It is evident that baptism, anointment, the Eucharist and the ritual kiss61 were stages in reaching salvation.62 For the current discussion, I will focus on baptism and the Eucharist. Baptism is elaborated in two significant ways in the Coptic narrative: it refers to Jesus’ baptism but also highlights the possibly mystical union between each Christian and the Saviour. Other sacrament motifs from the Gospel of Philip, such as anointment, the Eucharist, the kiss and the ‘bridal chamber’, show the authors’ original reflections as they freely explore motifs that were less relevant in the Johannine traditions. The theme of baptism has a double context: Jesus’ baptism and the baptism of the believer. The Gospel of Philip clearly mentions Jesus’ baptism (70.34–71.3). Yet, we also have other occasions when the author discusses baptism (72.30–73.1–8 and 77.7–15), this time as the model of spiritual transformation for Christians. Jesus’ baptism is affirmed in the following section: Jesus revealed [... the Jo]rdan, the [fullness of the kingdom] of heaven. He who [was begotten] before all things was begotten again. He [who was anointed] first was anointed again.63 He who was redeemed redeemed again. (Gos. Philip, 70.34–71.3)64

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The passage depicts Jesus’ baptism using vocabulary from three of the Gospels. The notion of the ‘kingdom of heaven’ (... ⲧⲙ̄ⲛ̄ⲧ̄ⲉ]ⲣ̣ⲟ ⲛⲙ̄ⲡⲏⲩⲉ) is well attested in the Gospel of Matthew,65 while the partially reconstructed terms ‘fullness’ (ⲡⲗⲏ[ⲣⲱⲙⲁ  ...]) and ‘begotten’ (ϫⲡⲟϥ) are borrowed from the Gospel of John (3:3: γεννάω).66 The term ‘being anointed’ (ⲁⲩⲧⲟϩⲥϥ̄)67 appears in the Gospel of Luke (4:18 – χρίω). That factuality is important to the Gospel of Philip. There is no doubt that the Gospel of Philip takes Jesus’ baptism by the river Jordan as factual; however, it does not mention John the Baptist. In a similar way to the canonical Gospels, the Coptic document assumes the baptism is a historical event and adds its own interpretation of the ritual. In brief, Jesus’ baptism is the archetype of Christian baptism: As Jesus perfected the water of baptism, thus he poured out death. Therefore we go down into the water, but we do not go down into death, so that we may not be poured out in the spirit of the world. Whenever it blows the winter comes. Whenever the Holy Spirit blows the summer comes. (Gos. Philip, 77.7–15)68 The text distinguishes between two opposite realms: life and death, the spirit of life and the spirit of this world, summer and winter. In a very Johannine way, the Gospel of Philip highlights the role of the Holy Spirit in giving life, as we see in Jesus’ dialogue with Nicodemus (3:5 and 3:8). In John, it is Jesus who breathes and gives the Holy Spirit (20:22); in the Gospel of Philip, it is the Holy Spirit who breathes ‘summer’. The role of the Holy Spirit is also clearly visible in the other two references to baptism/a new life (64.22–9 and 69.4–9). The section quoted above also hints at the role of movement, here ‘going down’,69 while the third reference to baptism in 72.29–73.1 says ‘going down’ (ⲃⲱⲕ ⲉⲡⲓⲧⲛ̄) or ‘coming out’ (... ⲉⲃⲟⲗ). These contrasting directions are also present in John as ‘ascent’ and ‘descent’ (e.g. John 1:51; 3:13 and e.g. Gos. Philip, 72.30). The Gospel of Philip underlines the role of the Holy Spirit who ‘breathes’ (77.14: ⲛⲓϥⲉ), and is received as ‘a gift’ (64.29: ⲇⲱⲣⲉⲁ) as well as ‘begets’ (69.4–9: ϫⲡⲟ). These notions correspond to Johannine theology about the role of the Holy Spirit. However, the Gospel of Philip adds a new characteristic not found in the New Testament, which is that the Spirit is female: Some say that Mary conceived by the Holy Spirit. They are wrong. They do not know what they are saying. When did a female ever conceive by a female? (Gos. Philip, 55.24–5)70 Here ‘some’ (ϩⲟⲉⲓⲛⲉ) can be identified with Matthew 1:18.20 and Lk 1:35. For the Gospel of Philip, the gender of the Holy Spirit is clearly identified in a Semitic way as feminine, just as it is in the Gospel of Thomas (101), the Gospel of the 188

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Hebrews (3) and the Secret Book of James (6). Whether this characteristic is a later development or goes back to witness the pre-written tradition of John is difficult to assess. However, in relation to initiating a new spiritual life in the Christian, it reflects the feminine role of begetting and nurturing the believer. It is interesting that in the Gospel of Philip and in the Gospel of John the role of the Holy Spirit is not related to Jesus’ incarnation, but is very important in the spiritual life of his disciples and Johannine community.71 Having outlined out the role of baptism in the Gospel of Philip, I shall now highlight the value of the Eucharist.72 We know from the Gospel of John that its view of the Eucharist is rather complex and less explicit73 than the baptism or ‘being born again’. Similarly, the Eucharist is only briefly noted in the Gospel of Philip, which mentions the Eucharist directly twice. First: The Eucharist is Jesus, for in Syriac he is called Pharisatha, that is, ‘the one who is spread out’, for Jesus came crucifying the world. (Gos. Philip, 63.21–5)74 And the second time: The Lord [did] everything in a mystery: a baptism and a chrismation and a Eucharist and a redemption and a bridal chamber. (Gos. Philip, 67.27–30)75 In addition, the Coptic Gospel talks about the Eucharist three times in a metaphorical way, once with a clear Johannine idea of the ‘bread from heaven’ (John 6:31; 50–1 in Gos. Philip, 55.7–15), the relation between water, blood and the Spirit (1 John 5:6 in Gos. Philip, 75.15–20), and also a clear reference to John 6:53–4: Therefore, he said: ‘He who will not eat my flesh and drink my blood has not life in him’. (Gos. Philip, 57.4–7)76 The final passage appears in the Gospel of Philip as the author explains the meaning of the resurrection and highlights the direct connection between Christ’s resurrection and participation in that new life through the Eucharist. All these references to the Eucharist, both shorter and longer, mention it in the context of the theory of salvation and the celebration of this sacrament as a Christian community. The Johannine references are evident, but we should not conclude that the authors of the Gospel of Philip did not know the synoptic accounts of the Last Supper. In a rather Johannine way, the Eucharist signifies the inner union between the Christian who participates in it and the Saviour. If baptism opens the transformation of the Christian into a new stage of relationship with God, the Eucharist celebrated by the Christian community deepens that relationship and 189

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provides reassurance about the salvation/redemption that has already taken place in the lives of Christians. In concluding this section, I should like to note that the Gospel of Philip, although acknowledging the factual (historical) baptism of Jesus as an archetype, gives its primary attention to the baptism of the believer, which is the first stage of initiation into a deeper sacramental and spiritual life. It is Jesus’ baptism, not his birth or incarnation, that initiates the process of salvation and redemption. In this way, the Christology found in the Coptic document shares its outlook with Mark, although the role of John the Baptist is omitted. In the case of sacramental baptism, the pivotal role is given to the feminine Holy Spirit, which goes back to the Hebrew notion of the feminine spirit. Does this rather surprising return to the Semitic imagination testify to some earlier sources used by the Gospel of Philip? If so, how important is it to New Testament studies and the elaboration of the notion of the Holy Spirit in the canonical Gospels? Again, I should like to highlight the value of this later document for the New Testament academic field in containing yet another stage of interpretation of Jesus’ baptism, as in all four canonical Gospels. Finally, I should like to point out another aspect found in the Gospel of Philip that reflects a significant Johannine theme: a personal union with the Saviour through baptism. This does not mean that the role of community is diminished, but underlines the relationship between believers and the Saviour. The Eucharist is significant to the Gospel of Philip as one of the practices that unites the believer with the Saviour and his or her community. It is clear that the elaboration of the Eucharist goes back to the appearance of the sacrament meal in the Synoptic Gospels, but there is also a very special link to the fourth Gospel. In relation to Brakke’s earlier observation, the Coptic document pays great attention to communal worship and edification. In doing so, the Gospel of Philip does not open a new path, but amplifies Johannine motifs about the profound union between the Christian and the Saviour. 4.3. Eschatology: The end is already in the present life The third point in Brown’s list is about eschatology in the Gospel of John.77 Brown famously said that the fourth Gospel is ‘the best example in the NT of realised eschatology’.78 The subject of eschatology in the Gospel of John has recently been studied in some detail by Ruben Zimmermann,79 while the motif of ‘realised eschatology’ (C. H. Dodd) in the Gospel is still a subject of ongoing academic discussion.80 The core point of this theological notion is that eternal life has been given to those who receive Jesus’ teaching (John 3:15 and 16; 3:36; 4:36; 5:24; 5:39; 6:40; 6:47; 6:54; 6:68; 10:28; 12:50; 17:2–3) and its fullness will be achieved after their physical death. With faith in Jesus, it is possible to receive a foretaste of that eschatological bliss in the current life. Present existence and existence after death are not separate but are united, thanks to faith and especially thanks to love. A closer look at Jesus’ discourses in the fourth Gospel shows a 190

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spectrum of theological opinions about the exact meaning of ‘the hour of Jesus’.81 The main emphasis is on real life, which began with Jesus’ incarnation. The Treatise on the Resurrection, NHC, I, 4 (known also as The Epistle to Rheginos)82 is the Coptic source that discusses eschatology as already initiated in the present life of the Christian believer. So far in my study, we have encountered the Treatise on the Resurrection only briefly in Chapter 1.83 It is yet another fascinating document from the Nag Hammadi collection that offers a great insight into the complexity of the Christian understanding of resurrection in relation to the New Testament legacy. Recently, Markus Vinzent has challenged New Testament scholarship about the traditional (that is, New Testament) views on the resurrection as proclaimed by canonical documents.84 Vinzent gives very limited attention to the documents from Nag Hammadi, focusing mainly on Apostolic and apologetic sources. Even though the Treatise on the Resurrection is not mentioned in his study, the value of his argument is that non-canonical documents should be included in discussion of the emerging theological notions. We should start our scrutiny with one observation, which is that Christology and eschatology are closely interwoven in the Treatise of the Resurrection.85 Hugo Lundhaug has recently discussed the compilation of the Scriptural (New Testament) motifs in relation to the notion of death and transformation.86 The Treatise confirms the Saviour’s real (physical) incarnation.87 The dual nature of the Saviour, divine and human, are mentioned clearly.88 Although the Treatise does not comment on the Saviour’s suffering or the nature of his death, his victory over death is declared literally in the language of Paul: ‘The Saviour swallowed death’ (ⲡⲥⲱⲧⲏⲣ ⲁϥⲱⲙⲛ̄ⲕ ⲙ̄ⲡⲟⲩ).89 Equally, in a Pauline way, the participation of the Christian in the Saviour’s suffering is openly affirmed through a combination of sources: Then, indeed as the Apostle said, ‘We suffered with him, and we arose with him, and we went to heaven with him’. (Treat. Res., 45.25–8)90 This union is very significant as it sets the foundation for realised eschatology. The disciple experiences suffering in the current life with the Saviour and has died with the Saviour91 (possibly meaning that he or she has died to the non-Christian way of life). With the Saviour, the believer is already resurrected. We can assume in the context of the Treatise that this is a new life of faith: And let not the philosopher who is in this world have cause to believe that he is one who returns himself by himself – and (that) because of our faith! For we have known the Son of Man, and we have believed that he rose from among the dead. This is he of whom we say, ‘He became the destruction of death, as he is a great one in whom they believe’. are those who believe. (Treat. Res., 46.10–20).92 191

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The Treatise sets the life of a Christian believer and the life of verbatim ‘the philosopher of this place’ – that is this current world (ⲡⲫⲓⲗⲟⲥⲟⲫⲟⲥ ⲉⲧⲛ̄ⲛⲓⲙⲁ) – in clear opposition, and the former is highly recommended, while the latter is condemned. Nevertheless, a philosopher who accepts faith can be saved and resurrected.93 There are some further similarities with the fourth Gospel to explore. First, as noted by Lundhaug, the Coptic document ‘blends the concepts of resurrection and birth’.94 This ‘blending’, in my view, echoes the Johannine motif of being ‘born from above/again’ (ἄνωθεν)95 in the current life (John 3:3; 3:7 and 3:31), which we recognise from Jesus’ discussions with Nicodemus. Lundhaug correctly observes that the Treatise: invites the reader to consider life, death, and resurrection in terms of the more concrete and easily grasped concepts of pregnancy and birth.96 In my opinion, Lundhaug’s observation is also valuable in relation to the theological reflection in the fourth Gospel, where we find the motif of being ‘born again’ and receiving eternal life now.97 Again, in the context of eschatology, this process must be initiated in the present life and is a faith response to the revelation given by the Saviour. The enigmatic use of the Greek medical term χóριoν (‘membrane that encloses the foetus’)98 symbolises also ‘the old age’ of the believer, the ‘old body’ that needs to be left behind at the dawn of the new life of faith. Did Jesus’ conversation with Nicodemus stimulate this metaphor? I suggest it was a possible inspiration. However, the raising of Lazarus in the fourth Gospel (John 11:1–43) offers even more fertile theological material for reflection on the resurrection and its direct link with faith in Jesus. Although the episode with Lazarus, like that with Nicodemus, is not mentioned word for word by the Treatise, careful reading of the Coptic text unveils some semantic dependence: Therefore, do not think in part, O Rheginos, nor live in conformity with this flesh for the sake of unanimity, but flee (ⲁⲙⲟⲩ ⲁⲃⲁⲗ) from the divisions and the fetters, and already you have (ⲏⲇⲏ ⲟⲩⲛⲧⲉⲕ) the resurrection. (Treat. Res., 49.9–16)99 The author of the Treatise addresses Rheginos as the one who has already risen and should leave behind his bondage. Lundhaug points out100 that the Coptic expression (ⲁⲙⲟⲩ ⲁⲃⲁⲗ), which is translated by Peel as ‘flee from’, could also mean ‘come out’, which is the grammatical imperative used in the Coptic Lycopolitan translation of the order Jesus gives in John (11:43). Again, in the context of our reflection on ‘realised eschatology’, we find the confirmation that this Johannine notion is valuable to the Treatise on the Resurrection. I propose that, like the Gospel of John, the Treatise argues that the next life is initiated in the current life, through faith. It is fulfilled after physical death through ascension to the divine realm with the Saviour.101 Inspired by the Gospel of John, the Treatise 192

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gives crucial attention to the current moment of time: salvation and redemption are given to the believer now.102 This understanding is reaffirmed in another episode from the Synoptic Gospels, the Transfiguration of Jesus (Mt 17:1–8; Mk 9:2–10 and Lk 9:28–36), and this time is clearly identifiable. The Treatise comments: What, then, is the resurrection? It is always the disclosure (ⲡϭⲱⲗⲡ̄ ⲁⲃⲁⲗ) of those who have risen. For if you remember reading in the Gospel that Elijah appeared and Moses with him, do not think the resurrection is an illusion. It is no illusion, but it is truth! Indeed, it is more fitting to say the world is an illusion, rather than the resurrection which has come into being through our Lord the Savior, Jesus Christ. (Treat. Res., 48.3–19)103 Resurrection is depicted as exposure of those Christians in the current world who already have experience of eternal life through their union with Christ. This idea, so important to the Christian author, has its roots in the New Testament,104 and is rediscovered now in this new context. To conclude, I would like to point out that it is evident that the Christian author of the Treatise on the Resurrection was very keen to combine various Scriptural references, some of them ‘hidden’ (Nicodemus; Lazarus) and others openly declared (the Transfiguration; the teachings of the Apostle Paul), that matched his or her theological agenda. There is nothing new in the approach105 found here in the apocryphal document. The Coptic narrative continues the editorial work of the Gospel writers and editors who decided which episodes they should include in their account of Jesus’ life and miracles, and which to leave out or just shorten. For the New Testament scholars, the Treatise on the Resurrection continues the earlier type of didactic where the direct link with Christ, his death, and resurrection provides new readers with reassurance of their faith.106 It is a new inspiration (Brakke), which is given by a Christian teacher to a Christian disciple. In some ways, the Treatise carries the previous motifs of union with Christ through baptism, the Eucharist and community (ecclesiology) into a new perspective of the glorious end that is already present now. 4.4. Some Johannine Wisdom motifs The final item in Brown’s list concerns Wisdom motifs. He points out that the portrait of Jesus in the Gospel of John uses Wisdom literature as a source for the portrayal of Jesus as personified divine Wisdom.107 This theme continues to attract the attention of modern scholars.108 We should remember that Jewish Wisdom traditions were rather complex multi-streamed theological reflections that included diverse subjects, among them a belief about the specific origin of Wisdom/Sophia and her relationship with the Holy God of Israel, the Torah and the Jews. These Sapiential reflections also speculated on people’s attainment of wisdom and 193

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emphasised the higher (reflective) life, the purpose of life, and relationships with other people, including family. Finally, there was also a significant element of universalism that allowed non-Jews attainment of wisdom. The Gospel of John engages with these features in a variety of ways. For the fourth Gospel, the divine Wisdom, now identified with the Word/Logos, dwells in this world and people can hear her voice and teaching. In my view, this presentation enhances the streams of the Sapiential tradition in the Old Testament where the Wisdom, now incarnate in flesh, is present in this world and teaches and nourishes those who listen to her voice and are hungry or thirsty (e.g. John 4:10; 7:38 and Eccl 15:3; Ps 36:10). From that Sapiential background, I would like to elaborate on only one detail: the role of the book/scroll (βιβλίον), which later in the apocrypha would be applied to Christology. The Gospel of John testifies that Jesus performed many more signs (σημεῖα) that are ‘not written in this book’ (John 20:30)109 and later (John 21:25) the narrative reaffirms that Jesus’ deeds cannot be contained in any number of books. This hyperbole brings the image of ‘a book’ as a means of communication about Jesus’ message and his redemptive action. The Book of Revelation often uses the image of a book or scroll to highlight the symbolic form of divine teaching, instruction, which then leads to wisdom, and immortality.110 Thus the symbol of the ‘book of life’ (βιβλίον τῆς ζωῆς) is the synonym of salvation.111 This very motif is found – as already discussed in this study – in the Gospel of Truth.112 Let us remind ourselves of the direct context of the declaration in the Coptic Gospel: that [book] which no one was able to take, since it remains for the one who will take it to be slain. No one could have become manifest from among those who have believed in salvation unless that book has appeared. For this reason the merciful one, the faithful one, Jesus, was patient in accepting sufferings until he took that book [ϫⲱⲱⲙⲉ], since he knows that his death is life for many. [...] (Gos. Truth, 20.3–14)113 The Coptic Gospel offers a complex reinterpretation of various Scriptural symbols. The motif of the cross, or a tree, goes back to the prophecies about the tree of life (Gen 2:9). It combines references to Jesus’ death on the cross but now with a proclamation of the ‘book’ that brings life to those who accept the teaching or whose names are inscribed in the book. The Gospel of Truth also provides an innovative interpretation, which is that Jesus embodied this book. His death is at the same time a publication of the message of salvation and, in a Johannine way, the very moment of glorification. There is no mention of any secret or esoteric teaching in the book; on the contrary, its publication is a public act, universal and cosmological. It also echoes the Roman legal custom of an announcement.114 The stress on ‘teaching’ (ⲛ̄ⲥⲃⲱ) and ‘receiving teaching’ (ⲉⲧⲁϫ̣ⲓ̣ ⲥ̣ⲃ̣[ⲱ]) places this image within the Jewish Sapiential tradition of instruction of the faithful ones. 194

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The whole visionary discourse shows the redemptive act of the Saviour as a revelation of the true identity of Christians (their names are written in the book). It is the incarnate Saviour who brings the disciples a spiritual inner life from heaven. The Gospel of Truth identifies the divine Word as the book,115 and those who eat him are given life.116 It is interesting how the narrative brings together Scriptural references to Jesus’ crucifixion, with its emphasis on the fullness of revelation on the cross, and then revelation of the hidden identity of the disciples. The motif of teaching is central to the Gospel of Truth and to this passage. It links to many occasions in the Synoptic Gospels where Jesus was portrayed as a ‘teacher’,117 and in parallel, in the Gospel of John, as the ‘rabbi’ (John 1:38; 3:2; 8:4; 11:28; 13:13; 20:16). The Gospel of Truth amplifies these cases and the characteristic of the Saviour as the teacher. The Saviour is the embodiment of the eternal Wisdom, the one who descended to the current world, whose teaching can be heard and whose words resonate in the hearts of his disciples. This is not a hidden, esoteric wisdom; the revelation described by our document has a visible and audible public presence in the same way as in the Gospel of John. As a Christian meditation and commentary, the Gospel of Truth does not assume predestination for the elite group that is able to understand the teaching while the masses either remain ignorant or need explanation in additional commentaries. Rather, it suggests a Christian Wisdom-loving community: not only an intellectual gathering but also a community of worship. Again, with Brakke we can conclude that this Scriptural practice brings together study and contemplation, inspiration and edification. The Christians who wrote and then read this document were encouraged to aspire to Wisdom that was different from contemporary philosophical knowledge (Stoic, Middle and Neoplatonic, Hermetic). They were also distinguished from the Jewish Sapiential legacy where the divine Wisdom/Sophia did not provide her followers with that immediate joyful exultation as testified by our document (Gos. Truth, 16.31; 18.29 and 38.6). At the end of this fourth section, I would like to point out the following chain of borrowing, which is important to New Testament scholarship. First, the Gospel of John assimilates from the Jewish Sapiential traditions the notion of the Wisdom/teacher who is now ‘dwelling’ in this world. Wisdom is not hidden or absent, but revealed, not with the Holy One of Israel, but descended to the current world. The Gospel of John sees in the Word/Logos the personification of the Wisdom. Jesus/Logos and his teachings and signs cannot in their richness be encompassed by ‘one scroll’ or ‘one story’. The Gospel of Truth takes up this motif and reinterprets it further, as we have seen, in a new theological direction. For its audience, the motif of a published book is identified with Jesus. The Saviour brings reassurance of being included in the salvation, as ‘the names’ of the believers are written in the scroll. The Gospel of Truth thus continues the process of assimilation, adaptation, and reinterpretation. It offers a deeper level of contemplation, inspiration, and edification (Brakke). Again, it is not a new process, but is well developed by the authors of the canonical Gospels and other New Testament documents. 195

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5. Conclusions The title of this chapter suggests a connection between the research focus on the New Testament and these selected Christian apocrypha from the later centuries. The chosen Coptic treatises, which belong to diverse Christian traditions, give a fresh view of some of the themes from the New Testament canon. My working assumption was that the later treatises can be valuable in assessing the New Testament motifs and can shed some light on their original function. The primary focus of the current chapter was on the Johannine works and I would like to offer three conclusions. First, the investigation of the Coptic documents helps us see some of the theological themes from the New Testament in a new light. Brown’s comments on four aspects of the Gospel of John were re-examined in relation to different Coptic documents and, as we have seen, provide examples of the creative implementation of Johannine ideas. However, these ideas are now harmonised with a Christian theology so as to reach new conclusions. Secondly, hearing these early voices echoed by the Coptic documents, we become more aware that these anonymous Christians saw themselves as heirs to the Apostolic legacy. Like the author of the fourth Gospel, they also interpreted the earlier Scriptural Jewish and Christian themes allegorically. The Coptic documents did not start a new movement in Christianity, but were specific early Christian interpretative paths that flourished through poetry, symbolic language, inner spiritual potential and interests in mysticism. They produced a sophisticated theology based on the canonical documents and the seed for their growth was already planted in those canonical sources, such as the Gospel of John. Thirdly, by allowing the Coptic narratives to speak in their own language, I join those scholars who claim that the separation of New Testament studies from the theology and literature of the second and third centuries creates the illusion that the former is a self-sufficient academic discipline. Growing interest in studying the reception of the New Testament among the Apostolic Fathers, early Christian Apologists, and Christian Platonists shows that the disciplines traditionally labelled as ‘New Testament studies’ and ‘study of early Christian literature’, including ‘parabiblical’ literature (Annette Yoshiko Reed), should be in a fruitful dialogue.

Notes 1 The earlier version of this paper was read at the New Testament seminar at Durham on 8 May 2017. I wish to express my gratitude to Prof. Francis Watson for the invitation and to members of the seminar for the discussion, which helped me to work on this chapter. 2 Among many studies that inspired my approach are: Rediscovering the Apocryphal Continent: New Perspectives on Early Christian and Late Antique Apocryphal Texts and Traditions, Pierluigi Piovanelli and Tony Burke (eds), with Timothy Pettipiece, WUNT 349 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2015), and discussion around the Gospel of Thomas by the leading scholars from various fields, John S. Kloppenborg, ‘A New Synoptic Problem: Mark Goodacre and Simon Gathercole on Thomas’, JSNT, vol. 36, no. 3 (2014),

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3 4 5 6 7 8

9 10 11

12 13 14 15

199–239; Stephen J. Petterson, ‘Twice More – Thomas and the Synoptics: A Reply to Simon Gathercole, The Composition of the Gospel of Thomas, and Mark Goodacre, Thomas and the Gospels’, JSNT, vol. 36, no. 3 (2014), 251–61. More recently, Jens Schröter, ‘The Contribution of Non-Canonical Gospels to the Memory of Jesus: The Gospel of Thomas and the Gospel of Peter as Test Cases’, NTS, vol. 64, no. 4 (2018), 435–54; Jörg Frey, ‘Apocryphal Texts about Jesus: Public Expectations, Historical Relevance, and Changed Perspectives’, EC, vol. 11, no. 3 (2020), 364–86, and Connecting Gospels: Beyond the Canonical/Non-Canonical Divide, Francis Watson and Sarah Parkhouse (eds) (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2020). Annette Yoshiko Reed, ‘Apocrypha, “Outside Books”, and Pseudepigrapha: Ancient Categories and Modern Perceptions of Parabiblical Literature’ (2002), http://ccat.sas. upenn.edu/psco/year40/areed1.htm See more in relation to the titles of NT documents, Garrick V. Allen and Kelsie G. Rodenbiker, ‘Titles of the New Testament. A New Approach to Manuscripts and the History of Interpretation’, EC, vol. 11, no. 2 (2020), 265–80. See for example Eusebius, HE., 6.23.2 on female scribes in Origen’s school. More in Kim Haines-Eitzen, ‘“Girls Trained in Beautiful Writing”: Female Scribes in Roman Antiquity and Early Christianity’, JECS, vol. 6, no. 4 (1998), 629–46. See the context: Mark Vessey, ‘Literature, Patristics, Early Christian Writings’, in The Oxford Handbook of Early Christian Studies, Susan Ashbrook Harvey and David G. Hunter (eds) (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2010), 42–65. See especially Chapters 5, 6 and 7. Among many studies, I wish to point out: Robert Lamberton, Homer the Theologian: Neoplatonist Allegorical Reading of the Growth of the Epic Tradition (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1986); David Dawson, Allegorical Readers and Cultural Revision in Ancient Alexandria (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1992); Harry Y. Gamble, Books and Readers in the Early Church (London, New Haven: Yale University Press, 1997); Gerard P. Luttikhuizen, Gnostic Revisions of Genesis Stories and Early Christian Traditions (Leiden: E.J. Brill, 2006). For the wider context, see David C. Parker, The Living Text of the Gospels (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2008); Francis Watson, Gospel Writing: A Canonical Perspective (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2013); Larry Hurtado, Destroyer of the Gods: Early Christian Distinctiveness in the Roman World (Waco: Baylor University Press, 2016); Markus Vinzent, Writing the History of Early Christianity: From Reception to Retrospection (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2019). For one example of that insightful discussion, see Early Christian Paraenesis in Context, James Starr and Troels Engberg-Pedersen (eds), BZNW, 125 (Berlin, New York: Walter de Gruyter, 2004). Handbook of Patristic Exegesis: The Bible in Ancient Christianity, Charles Kannengiesser (ed.) (Leiden: E.J. Brill, 2004). David C. Parker, An Introduction to the New Testament Manuscripts and Their Texts (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2008), 341–2, and further discussion by Timothy Mitchell, ‘Exposing Textual Corruption: Community as a Stabilizing Aspect in the Circulation of the New Testament Writings during the Greco-Roman Era’, JSNT, vol. 43, no. 2 (2020), 266–98. These and other motifs are mentioned by Michael J. Kruger in his ‘Early Christian Attitudes towards the Reproduction of Texts’, 64. Bart D. Ehrman, The Orthodox Corruption of Scripture: The Effect of Early Christological Controversies on the Text of the New Testament (New York, Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1993), 275. Parker, An Introduction, 154. William L. Petersen, ‘What Text Can New Testament Textual Criticism Ultimately Reach?’, in B. Aland and J. Delobel (eds), New Testament Textual Criticism (Kampen: Kok Pharos, 1994), 150, and further discussion in Charles E. Hill, ‘In These Very

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Words’, in The Early Text of the New Testament, Charles E. Hill and Michael J. Kruger (eds) (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2014), 262–81. 16 Shoemaker notes: The result of this older approach was a general view of apocrypha as both deviant and derivative from the normative texts of the canon, rather than as original literary creations that explored (often quite independently) many of the same events and characters described in the Bible. See his ‘Early Christian Apocryphal Literature’, in The Oxford Handbook of Early Christian Studies, 524. 17 For instance, see the case of assimilation of various literary materials in the Gospel of John, in Michael Labahn, ‘Literary Sources of the Gospel and Letters of John’, in The Oxford Handbook of Johannine Studies, Judith M. Lieu and Martinus C. de Boer (eds) (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2018), 23–43. 18 Paul Foster, ‘The Text of the New Testament in the Apostolic Fathers’, in The Early Text of the New Testament, 283–301. 19 Paul Foster, ‘The Text of the New Testament in the Apostolic Fathers’, 282. He also adds (282): None of the manuscripts that preserve the writings of the Apostolic Fathers come from the second century, and yet at times there is an almost pre-critical belief that manuscripts often several centuries later than the date of composition of these writings provide pristine access to the state of that author’s writing and consequently for NT text as that author read it in the second century. 20 We have encountered this document earlier in Chapter 1 and recently in Chapter 8. Here, I shall explore some other aspects of this document rich in theology. For some examples these apocryphal sources see Gos. Philip, 58.10–14; 59.27; 59.29–30; 63.30–64.11; 73.8–9. 21 Mt 16:17 in 55:34; John 6:53 in 57:5; Mt 6:6 in 68:10; Mk 15:34/Mt 27:46 in 68:27; Mt 3:15 in 73:1; John 8:34 in 77:16–17; Mt 3:10/Lk 3:9 in 83:14; John 8:32 in 84:9; Mt 15:13 in 85:29–31. 22 1 Cor 15:50 in 56:33; 1 Cor 8:1 in 77:24; 1 Cor 8:1 in 77:26; 1 P 4:8 in 78:10. 23 Titus Nagel, Die Rezeption des Johannesevangeliums im 2. Jahrhundert: Studien zu vorirenäischen Aneignung und Auslegung des vierten Evangelium in christlicher und christlich-gnostischer Literatur, ABG 2 (Berlin: Evangelische Verlagsanstalt, 2000). 24 Charles E. Hill, The Johannine Corpus in the Early Church (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2004). 25 In brief, I agree with Dunderberg’s observations; see Gnostic Morality Revisited, 93 and footnote 2. For more see Alastair H. B. Logan, ‘The Johannine Literature and the Gnostics’, in The Oxford Handbook of Johannine Studies, 171–85. 26 Hill, The Johannine Corpus, 288 and footnote 319. 27 Hill, The Johannine Corpus, 286. This and the previous examples are quoted by Dunderberg, Gnostic Morality Revisited, 93 and footnote 3. 28 I am not convinced by the thesis that the Gospel of John was first highly popular among ‘heretics’ and later ‘rescued’ by proto-orthodox theologians. See my further observations in ‘Clement of Alexandria’s reception of the Gospel of John: Context, Creative Exegesis and Purpose’, in Clement’s Biblical Exegesis: Proceedings of the Second Colloquium on Clement of Alexandria (Olomouc, May 29–31, 2014), V. Černušková, J. L. Kovacs and J. Plátová (eds), SVCh, vol. 139 (Leiden: E.J. Brill, 2016), 259–76. 29 David Brakke, ‘Scriptural Practices in Early Christianity: Towards a New History of the New Testament Canon’, in Invention, Rewriting, Usurpation: Discursive Fights

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30 31 32 33 34 35 36 37 38 39

40 41 42 43 44

over Religious Traditions in Antiquity, Jörg Ulrich, Anders-Christian Jacobsen and David Brakke (eds) (Frankfurt am Main: Peter Lang, 2012), 263–80, here 270. Brakke, ‘Scriptural Practices in Early Christianity ...’, 272. Brakke, ‘Scriptural Practices in Early Christianity ...’, 271. These observations about post-New Testament intention could also apply to various New Testament documents, especially, Pauline (and other) letters. For instance, Sebastian Moll, ‘The Arch-Heretic Marcion’, WUNT 250 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2010), 77–120. On Marcion, see Chapter 2, footnote 22. See Chapter 7.2. Brakke, ‘Scriptural Practices in Early Christianity ...’, 273–5. Brakke, ‘Scriptural Practices in Early Christianity ...’, 276–80. As we are talking about second- and third-century authors, we do not need to use the modern notions of ‘Pauline’ and ‘Deutero-Pauline’ sources. The original paper discussed Johannine and Pauline motifs in the selected documents from Nag Hammadi, but I needed to shorten this chapter and my selection of themes to the Gospel of John. Raymond Brown, The Gospel According to John I–XII, vol. 1, ‘The Anchor Yale Bible’ (New Haven, London: Yale University Press, 1996), CV–CXXVIII. This subject is also popular among modern scholars; see for instance, Andrew J. Byers, Ecclesiology and Theosis in the Gospel of John (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2017); Andrew T. Lincoln, ‘The Johannine Vision of the Church’, in The Oxford Handbook of Ecclesiology, Paul Avis (ed.) (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2018), 99–118. John 1:12; 11:52; 1 John 3:2; 5:13. See more in Matthew Vellanickal, The Divine Sonship of Christians in the Johannine Writings (Pontifical Biblical Institute: Rome, 1977). See more in Alan Culpepper, ‘The Pivot of John’s Prologue’, NTS, vol. 27, no. 1 (1981), 1–31, and Jutta Leonhardt-Balzer, ‘Johannine Literature and Wisdom Literature’, in The Oxford Handbook of Johannine Studies, 156. For detailed discussion see Chapter 3. This motif of ‘children’ is significant in the Gospel of Truth, as it is repeated on various occasions: Gos. Truth, 19.29; 27.13–14; 43.20–1) and serves as an important motif in self-understanding of the readers. Gos. Truth, 33.34–8. For the Father is sweet and his will is good. He knows the things that are yours, so that you may rest yourselves in them. For by the fruits, one knows the things that are yours, that they are the children of the Father, and one knows his aroma, that you originate from the grace of his countenance. For this reason, the Father loved his aroma; and it manifests itself in every place.

See also Gos. Truth, 43.20–2. 45 Gos. Truth, 18.15–20; 19.17–34; 30.23–35. The Gospel of Truth highlights, in a similar way to the Gospel of John, the centrality of the Saviour as the Revealer of the Father. 46 Gos. Truth, 19.30. 47 Gos. Truth, 38.6–41.3. 48 Gos. Truth, 27.14. 49 Brown, The Gospel According to John, 499. 50 ⲛⲉⲉⲓ ⲛ̄ⲧⲁⲩ ⲉⲧⲟⲩⲱ[[ϩ]]ⲛ[[ⲙ]]ϩ̄ ⲙⲁⲙⲏⲉ[[ⲓ]] ⲉⲩϣⲟⲟⲡ ϩⲙ̄ ⲡⲓⲱⲛϩ ⲛⲁⲙⲏⲉ‧ ⲁⲩⲱ ⲛ̄ⲛⲁⲛⲏϩⲉ‧ ⲁⲩⲱ ⲉⲩϣⲉϫⲉ ⲁⲡⲟⲩⲁⲉⲓⲛ ⲉⲧ‧ϫⲏⲕ ⲁⲃⲁⲗ‧ ⲁⲩⲱ ⲉⲧⲙⲏϩ‧ ϩⲛ̣̄ ⲡⲓⲥⲡⲉⲣⲙⲁ‧ ⲛ̄ⲧⲉ ⲡⲓⲱⲧ‧ ⲁⲩⲱ ⲉⲧ‧ϩⲛ̄ ⲡⲉϥϩⲏⲧ‧ ⲁⲩⲱ ϩⲛ̄ ⲡⲓⲡⲗⲏⲣⲱⲙⲁ‧ ⲉϥⲧⲉⲗⲏⲗ ⲛ̄ϩⲏⲧϥ̄ ⲛ̄ϭⲓ ⲡⲉϥⲡⲛ(ⲉⲩⲙ)ⲁ‧ ⲁⲩⲱ ⲉϥϯ ⲉⲁⲩ ⲙ̄ⲡⲉⲧⲉⲛⲉϥϣⲟⲟⲡ ⲛ̄ϩⲏⲧϥ̄ ϫⲉ ⲛⲁⲛⲟⲩϥ ⲁⲩⲱ ⲥⲉϫⲏⲕ

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ⲁⲃⲁⲗ ⲛ̄ϭⲓ ⲛⲉϥϣⲏⲣⲉ ⲁⲩⲱ ⲥⲉⲙ̄ⲡϣⲁ ⲙ̄ⲡⲉϥⲣⲉⲛ ϫⲉ ⲛ̄ⲧⲁϥ ⲅⲁⲣ‧ ⲡⲓⲱⲧ‧ ϩⲛ̄ϣⲏⲣⲉ ⲛ̄ⲧⲉⲉⲓⲙⲓⲛⲉ ⲛⲉⲧϥ̄ⲟⲩⲁϣⲟⲩ.

51 52 53 54 55

The Coptic does not create here any special problems with reading. The translation follows Harold W. Attridge and George W. MacRae, CGL (1985), vol. XXII, 117. Brown, The Gospel According to John I–XII, vol. 1, CV–CXXVIII. Brown, The Gospel According to John I–XII, vol. 1, CVIII. See Gos. Truth, 42.25–30. See, for instance, Gos. Truth, 17.4–18.11. For instance, Gos. Truth, 18.12–20: Through this, the gospel of the one who is searched for, which revealed to those who are perfect, through the mercies of the Father, the hidden mystery, Jesus, the Christ, enlightened those who were in darkness through oblivion. He enlightened them; he showed (them) a way; and the way is the truth which he taught them.

56 See also John 3:16, 1 John 4:8. 57 I wish to propose that the author and the audience of the Gospel of Truth were familiar with the Gospel of John. It is evident from the vocabulary and Christology that the later Coptic document assimilated that kind of language, metaphors and understanding of salvation through the Word/Christ. 58 Brown, ‘Introduction’, in The Gospel According to John, CXI–CVII. 59 Brown, ‘Introduction’, in The Gospel According to John, CXIV. See also Richard Bauckham, ‘Sacraments and the Gospel of John’, in The Oxford Handbook of Sacramental Theology, Hans Boersma and Matthew Levering (eds) (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2015), 83–96. 60 My list follows the discussion in Thomassen with references to the most important statements. For baptism, see 61.12–35; 64.22–23; 67.28–30; 69.8–70.4; 72.30–1; 75.23–4; 77.9–10. For chrism/anointment, see 57.22–8; 67.2–6; 67.28–9; 69.14; 73.17; 74.12–16; 85.27–8. For Eucharist, see 75.1; 77.5. 61 See Gos. Philip, 59.2–6. 62 See Gos. Philip, 69.1; 69.37; 70.18–19; 70.22; 70.33; 71.7: 71.9. See LXX Ps 18 (19):5. For the recent discussion, see April DeConick, ‘The Great Mystery of Marriage: Sex and Conception in Later Valentinian Traditions’, VCh, vol. 57, no. 3 (2003), 307–42. 63 See Mt 26:7; Mk 14:3; Lk 7:37–8; John 12:3; 19:39–40. 64 ⲁⲓⲥ̄ ϭⲱⲗⲡ [ⲉⲃⲟⲗ . . . . . ⲡⲉⲓⲟ]ⲣⲇⲁⲛⲏⲥ ⲡⲡⲗⲏ[ⲣⲱⲙⲁ ⲛ̄ⲧⲙⲛⲧⲉ]ⲣ̣ⲟ ⲛⲙ̄ⲡⲏⲩⲉ ⲡⲉ(ⲛ)[ⲧⲁⲩ ϫⲡⲟϥ ϩ]ⲁ ⲧⲉϩⲏ ⲙ̄ⲡⲧⲏⲣϥ ⲡⲁⲗⲓⲛ ⲁⲩϫⲡⲟϥ ⲡ[ⲉⲛⲧⲁ]ⲩ̣ⲧ̣[ⲟ]ϩ̣ⲥϥ̄ ⲛ̄ϣⲟⲣ̣[ⲡ] ⲡⲁⲗⲓⲛ ⲁⲩⲧⲟϩⲥϥ̄ ⲡ[ⲉⲛ]ⲧⲁⲩⲥⲟⲧϥ̄ ⲡⲁⲗⲓⲛ ⲁϥⲥⲱⲧⲉ. The Coptic is taken from CGL (1989), vol. XX, 142–215, here 184. The English translation follows Hugo Lundhaug, Images of Rebirth: Cognitive Poetics and Transformational Soteriology in the Gospel of Philip and the Exegesis on the Soul, NHMS, vol. LXXIII (Leiden: E.J. Brill, 2011), in relation to the quoted passage, see 183–4. Schenke sees in this statement an echo of liturgical catechesis, Hans-Martin Schenke, Das Philippus-Evangelium (Nag Hammadi-Codex II,3)): neu herausgegeben, übersetzt und erklärt, TUGAL, vol. 143 (Berlin: Akademie Verlag,1997), 418. 65 See more in C.C. Caragounis, ‘Kingdom of God/Heaven’, in Dictionary of Jesus and the Gospels, Joel B. Green, Scot McKnight and I. Howard Marshall (eds) (Grand Rapids: IVP Academic, 1997), 426; Robert Foster, ‘Why on Earth Use “Kingdom of Heaven”? Matthew’s Terminology Revisited’, New Testament Studies, vol. 48, no. 4 (2002), 487–99 and Jonathan T. Pennington, Heaven and Earth in the Gospel of Matthew (Grand Rapids: Baker, 2007).

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66 This link is preserved also by the Coptic translation of John 3:3 ἐὰν μή τις γεννηθῇ into ϫⲉ ⲉⲩⲧⲙ̄ϫⲡⲉ ⲟⲩⲁ. 67 See Mk 14:3 and 14:8, both of which refer to an act done by an anonymous woman; see Lk 7:38 and 7:46; then Salome in 16:1. In John 9:6 it is Jesus who anoints the blind man, while in 12:3 and earlier 11:2 it is Mary who anoints Jesus. 68 ⲛ̄ⲑⲉ ⲛ̄ⲧⲁ ⲓ̅ⲥ̅ ϫⲱⲕ ⲉⲃⲟⲗ ⲙ̄ⲡⲙⲟⲟⲩ ⲙ̄ⲡⲃⲁⲡⲧⲓⲥⲙⲁ ⲧⲁⲉⲓ ⲧⲉ ⲑⲉ ⲁϥⲡⲱϩⲧ ⲉⲃⲟⲗ ⲙ̄ⲡⲙⲟⲩ ⲉⲧⲃⲉ ⲡⲁⲉⲓ ⲧⲛ̄ⲃⲏⲕ ⲙⲉⲛ ⲉⲡⲓⲧⲛ̄ ⲉⲡⲙⲟⲟⲩ ⲧⲛ̄ⲃⲏⲕ ⲇⲉ ⲁⲛ ⲉⲡⲓⲧⲛ̄ ⲉⲡⲙⲟⲩ ϣⲓⲛⲁ ϫⲉ ⲛⲟⲩⲡⲁϩⲧⲛ̄ ⲉⲃⲟⲗ ϩⲙ̄ ⲡⲡⲛ̅ⲁ̅ ⲙ̄ⲡⲕⲟⲥⲙⲟⲥ ϩⲟⲧⲁⲛ ⲉϥϣⲁⲛⲛⲓϥⲉ ϣⲁⲣⲉϥ ⲧⲉ ⲧⲡⲣⲱ ϣⲱⲡⲉ ⲡⲡⲛ̄ⲁ̄ ⲉⲧⲟⲩⲁⲁⲃ ϩⲟⲧⲁⲛ ⲉϥϣⲁⲛⲛⲓϥⲉ ϣⲁⲣⲉ ⲧϣⲁⲙⲏ ϣⲱⲡⲉ. (CGL (1989), vol. XX, 196)

69 70

71

72

73 74

75

76

Lundhaug, Images of Rebirth, 521. The Coptic text is well preserved in the fragment and does not cause any specific problems in translation. The metaphor of ‘summer’ may stand here for the other, better, spiritual life as a gift of the Holy Spirit. See also Gos. Philip, 64.22–31; 74.25–75.1; 75.20–5. ⲡⲉϫⲉ ϩⲟⲉⲓⲛⲉ ϫⲉ ⲁⲙⲁⲣⲓⲁ ⲱ̂ ⲉⲃⲟⲗ ϩⲙ̄ ⲡⲡⲛ̄ⲁ̄ ⲉⲧⲟⲩⲁⲁⲃ ⲥⲉⲣ̄ⲡⲗⲁⲛⲁⲥⲑⲉ ⲟⲩ ⲡⲉⲧⲟⲩ ϫⲱ ⲙ̄ⲙⲟϥ ⲥⲉⲥⲟⲟⲩⲛ ⲁⲛ ⲁϣ ⲛ̄ϩⲟⲟⲩ ⲉⲛⲉϩ ⲡⲉⲛⲧⲁ ⲥϩⲓⲙⲉ ⲱ̂ ⲉⲃⲟⲗ ϩⲛ̄ ⲥϩⲓⲙⲉ. CGL (1989), vol. XX, 150. Lundhaug, Images of Rebirth, 477 and his discussion of this passage, 180–2. Lundhaug proposes that Jesus’ origin is seen by the Gospel of Philip alongside of the Gospel of Matthew, with the fatherhood of Joseph, see Images of Rebirth, 181. Schenke argues that this statement in the Gospel rejects ‘orthodox’ teaching on Jesus’ conception, see his Das Philippus-Evangelium, 215. I cannot develop this analogy further, but the emphasis on the role of the Holy Spirit in the initiation of the new life in disciples and further guidance/instruction is very important in the Gospel of John; see further comments in Martinus C. de Boer, ‘The Story of the Johannine Community and Its Literature’, in The Oxford Handbook of Johannine Studies, esp. 66; on the role of gender in the fourth Gospel, see Colleen M. Conway ‘Gender and the Fourth Gospel’, in The Oxford Handbook of Johannine Studies, esp. 223–31. See the valuable discussion in Silke Petersen, ‘Interpretations of the Eucharist in the Gospel of Philip’, in T&T Clark Handbook to Early Christian Meals in the GrecoRoman World, Soham Al-Suadi and Peter-Ben Smit (eds) (London, New York: T&T Clark, 2019), 147–64. Jesus is presented in the fourth Gospel as the ‘bread of life’ (John 6:35), but the Last Supper has a different sacrament emphasis than the accounts in the Synoptic Gospels. ⲧⲉⲩⲭⲁⲣⲓⲥⲧⲉⲓⲁ ⲡⲉ ⲓ̄ⲥ̄ ⲉⲩⲙⲟⲩⲧⲉ ⲅⲁⲣ ⲉⲣⲟϥ ⲙ̄ⲙⲛⲧⲥⲩⲣⲟⲥ ϫⲉ ⲫⲁⲣⲓⲥⲁⲑⲁ ⲉⲧⲉ ⲡⲁⲉⲓ ⲡⲉ ⲡⲉⲧⲡⲟⲣϣ ⲉⲃⲟⲗ ⲁⲓⲥ̄ ⲅⲁⲣ ⲉⲓ ⲉϥⲥⲁⲩⲣⲟⲩ ⲙ̄ⲡⲟⲥⲙⲟⲥ. CGL (1989), vol. XX, 166. Lundhaug, Images of Rebirth, 493, and for comments, 222. In my view the author brings together the celebration of the Eucharist as the commemoration of Jesus’ death on the cross. Schenk explains the Syriac term as the Eucharist break, which is broken into smaller parts; see his Das Philippus-Evangelium, 329. ⲁⲡⲟϫⲉⲓ̣[ⲥ ⲣ̄] ϩⲱⲃ ⲛⲓⲙ ϩⲛ̄ⲛⲟⲩⲙⲩⲥⲧⲏⲣⲓⲟⲛ ⲟⲩⲃⲁ[ⲡ]ⲧⲓⲥⲙⲁ ⲙⲛ̄ ⲟⲩⲭⲣⲓⲥⲙⲁ ⲙⲛ̄ⲟⲩⲉⲩⲭⲁⲣ[ⲓⲥⲧ] ⲓ̣ⲁ̣ ⲙⲛ̄ⲛⲟⲩⲥⲱⲧⲉ ⲙⲛ̄ⲛⲟⲩⲛⲩⲙⲫⲱⲛ. CGL (1989), vol. XX, 176. Lundhaug, Images of Rebirth, 501 and discussion 312–16. The passage presents a list of rituals which were significant for the community, and their origin is seen in Jesus’ acts. Some of them have their Scriptural attestation, while others suggest later liturgical development. ⲇⲓⲁ ⲧⲟⲩⲧⲟ ⲡⲉϫⲁϥ ϫⲉ ⲡⲉⲧⲁⲟⲩⲱⲙ ⲁⲛ ⲛ̄ⲧⲁⲥⲁⲣⲝ ⲁⲩⲱ ⲛ̄ϥⲥⲱ ⲙ̄ⲡⲁⲥⲛⲟϥ ⲙⲛ̄ⲧⲁϥ ⲱⲛϩ ϩⲣⲁⲓ̈ ⲛ̄ϩⲏⲧϥ̄. CGL (1989), vol. XX, 154. Lundhaug, Images of Rebirth, 501 and further observations, 173–5.

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77 For the history of research of this motif, see Jörg Frey, Die Johanneische Eschatologie: Ihre Probleme im Spiegel der Forschung seit Reimarus, WUNT 96 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1997). 78 Brown, ‘Introduction’, in The Gospel According to John, CXVII. 79 Ruben Zimmermann, ‘Eschatology and Time in the Gospel of John’, in The Oxford Handbook of Johannine Studies, 292–310. 80 R. Alan Culpepper, ‘Realized Eschatology in the Experience of the Johannine Community’, in The Resurrection of Jesus in the Gospel of John, C.R. Koester and R. Bieringer (eds), WUNT 222 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2008); Petrus Jacobus Maritz, ‘Some Time in John: Tensions Between the Hour and Eternity in John 17’, N, vol. 41, no. 1 (2007), 112–30; Tim O’Donnell, ‘Complementary Eschatology in John 5:19–30’, CBQ, vol. 70, no. 4 (2008), 750–65; Jan G. Van der Watt, ‘Eschatology in the Gospel According to John’, in Eschatology in the New Testament and some Related Documents, J. G. Van der Watt (ed.), WUNT 2/315 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2011), 109–40; Hugo Méndez, ‘Mixed Metaphors: Resolving the “Eschatological Headache” of John 5’, JBL, vol. 137, no. 3 (2018), 711–32. Alexander D. Garton, ‘“Very Truly, I Tell You, Before Abraham was, I am”: A Theological Treatise on the Concept of Time in John’s Gospel’, MTh (2019), 617–37. 81 Zimmermann, ‘Eschatology and Time in the Gospel of John’, 298–301. 82 The Coptic document ends (50.17–18) with the title The Treatise on the Resurrection (ⲡⲗⲟⲅⲟⲥ ⲉⲧⲃⲉ ⲧⲁⲛⲁⲥⲧⲁⲥⲓⲥ) in CGL (1985), vol. XXII, 157; however, as it has the form of a didactic letter to a certain Rheginos, modern commentators use both titles. 83 See section 1.4. 84 Markus Vinzent, Christ’s Resurrection in Early Christianity and the Making of the New Testament (Farnham: Ashgate, 2011). 85 We have introduced this document in Chapter 1.4. Here we shall explore its different features. 86 Hugo Lundhaug, ‘“These are the Symbols and Likeness of the Resurrection”: Conceptualisation of Death and Transformation in the Treatise on the Resurrection (NHC I, 4)’, in Metamorphoses: Resurrection, Body and Transformative Practices in Early Christianity, Turid Karlsen Seim and Jorunn Økland (Berlin, New York: Walter de Gruyter, 2009), 187–205. This is a valuable contribution to our interpretation of this Coptic treatise, which I will include in my discussion. However, in the light of Brown’s four characteristics, I will leave out Pauline motifs and focus on the Johannine context of the Coptic treatise. 87 Treat. Res., 44.14–15: ‘How did the Lord proclaim things while he existed in flesh and after he had revealed himself as Son of God?’ The English translation follows Malcolm L. Peel, in CGL (1985), vol. XXII, 148–9. 88 Treat. Res., 44.25–35: Now the Son of God, Rheginos, was Son of Man. He embraced them both, possessing the humanity and the divinity, so that on the one hand he might vanquish death through his being Son of God, and that on the other through the Son of Man the restoration to the Pleroma might occur; because he was originally from above, a seed of Truth. (Peel, in CGL (1985), vol. XXII, 148–9) 89 Treat. Res., 45.14. ‘The Saviour swallowed death’, this is the Pauline motif found in 1 Cor 15:54; 2 Cor 5:4, see also 45:20; 46:1; 49:3–4. 90 ⲧⲟⲧⲉ ϭⲉ ⲛ̄ⲑⲉ ⲛ̄ⲧⲁϩⲁⲡⲁⲡⲟⲥⲧⲟⲗⲟⲥ ϫⲟⲟϥ ϫⲉ ⲁⲛϣⲡ̄ ϩⲓⲥⲉ ⲛⲙ̄ⲙⲉϥ ⲁⲩⲱ ⲁⲛⲧⲱⲱⲛ ⲛⲙ̄ⲙⲉϥ ⲁⲩⲱ ⲁⲛⲃⲱⲕ ⲁⲧⲡⲉ ⲛⲙ̄ⲉϥ. Peel, CGL (1985), vol. XXII, 150–1. See the NT context: Rom 8:17; Eph 2:5–6; Col 2:12–13; 3:1–4; Rom 6:3–11; 2 Cor 4:10–13; 2 Tim 2:11–12. 91 Treat. Res., 44:27–9; 45:14–15; 45:25–6.

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92

ⲁⲩⲱ ⲡⲫⲓⲗⲟⲥⲟⲫⲟⲥ ⲉⲧⲛ̄ⲛⲓⲙⲁ ⲙ̄ⲡⲱⲣ ⲁⲧⲣⲉϥⲡⲓⲥⲧⲉⲩⲉ ⲟⲩⲣⲉϥⲕⲧⲟ ⲙ̄ⲙⲁϥ ⲟⲩ[ⲁ]ⲉ̣ⲉⲧϥ̄ ⲁⲩⲱ ⲉⲧⲃⲉ ⲧⲛ̄ⲡⲓⲥⲧⲓⲥ [ⲁ]ϩⲛ̄ⲥⲟⲩⲛ̄ ⲡϣⲏⲣⲉ ⲛ̄ⲅⲁⲣ ⲙ̄ⲡⲣⲱⲙⲉ ⲁⲩⲱ ⲁϩⲛ̄ⲡⲓⲥⲧⲉⲩⲉ ϫⲉ ⲁϥⲧⲱⲟⲩⲛ ⲁⲃⲁⲗ ϩⲛ̄ ⲛⲉⲧⲙⲁⲟⲩⲧ ⲁⲩⲱ ⲡⲉⲉⲓ ⲡⲉⲧⲛ̄ϫⲟⲩ ⲙ̄ⲙⲁϥ ϫⲉ ⲁϥϣⲱⲡⲉ ⲛ̄ⲃⲱⲗ ⲁⲃⲁⲗ ⲙ̄ⲡⲙⲟⲩ ϩⲱⲥ ⲟⲩⲛⲁϭ ⲡⲉ ˋⲡˊⲉⲧⲟⲩⲣ̄ ⲡⲓⲥⲧⲉⲩⲉ ⲁⲣⲁϥ̄ ϩⲛ̄ⲛⲁⲧ ⲛⲉ ⲛⲉⲧⲣ̄ ⲡⲓⲥⲧⲉⲩⲉ. (Peel, in CGL (1985), vol. XXII, 150–1)

See more in Lundhaug, ‘These are the Symbols and Likeness of the Resurrection’, 188, footnote 5 with discussion and a reference to Luther M. Martin, ‘The AntiPhilosophical Polemic and Gnostic Soteriology in “The Treatise on the Resurrection” (CGL I, 3)’, Nu, vol. 20, no. 1 (1973), 20–37, especially 29. 93 Treat. Res., 46.8–10. 94 Lundhaug, ‘These are the Symbols and Likeness of the Resurrection’, 193. 95 See Karl Olav Sandnes, ‘Whence and Whither A Narrative Perspective on Birth ἅνωθεν (John 3.3–8)’, B, vol. 86, no. 2 (2005), 153–73. 96 Lundhaug, ‘These are the Symbols and Likeness of the Resurrection’, 194. 97 See more in Catrin H. Williams, ‘Faith, Eternal Life, and The Spirit in the Gospel of John’, in The Oxford Handbook of Johannine Studies, 353. 98 Treat. Res., 47.17–22. More in Lundhaug, ‘These are the Symbols and Likeness of the Resurrection’, 194–5. 99 Ϩⲱⲥⲧⲉ ⲙ̄ⲡⲱⲣ ⲁⲣ̄ⲛⲟⲉⲓ ⲙⲉⲣⲓⲕⲱⲥ ⲱ ⲣⲏⲅⲓⲛⲉ ⲟⲩⲧⲉ ⲙ̄ⲡⲣ̅ⲣ̅ ⲡⲟⲗⲓⲧⲉⲩⲉⲥⲑⲁⲓ ⲕⲁⲧⲁ ⲧⲉⲉⲓⲥⲁⲣⲝ ⲉⲧⲃⲉ ⲧⲙⲛ̄ⲧⲟⲩⲉⲉⲓ ⲁⲗⲗⲁ ⲁⲙⲟⲩ ⲁⲃⲁⲗ ϩⲛ̄ ⲛ̄ⲙⲉⲣⲓⲥⲙⲟⲥ ⲙⲛ̄ ⲛ̄ⲙⲣ̄ⲣⲉ ⲁⲩⲱ ⲏⲇⲏ ⲟⲩⲛⲧⲉⲕ ⲙ̄ⲙⲉⲩ ⲛ̄ⲧⲁⲛⲁⲥⲧⲁⲥⲓⲥ. Peel, in CGL (1985), vol. XXII, 154–5. 100 Lundhaug ‘These are the Symbols and Likeness of the Resurrection’, 200, footnote 36. 101 Treat. Res., 45.34–9. 102 Treat. Res., 43.34–7; 45.22–8; 46.20–4; 47.26–9; 49.15–16; 49.25–6. 103 ⲉⲩ ϭⲉ ⲧⲉ ⲧⲁⲛⲁⲥⲧⲁⲥⲓⲥ ⲙϭⲱⲗⲡ̄ ⲁⲃⲁⲗ ⲡⲉ ⲛ̄ⲟⲩⲁⲉⲓϣ ⲛⲓⲙ ⲛ̄ⲛⲉⲧⲁϩⲧⲱⲟⲩⲛ ⲉⲓϣⲡⲉ ⲁⲕⲣ̄ ⲡⲙⲉⲩⲉ ⲛ̄ⲅⲁⲣ ⲉⲕⲱϣ ϩⲙ̄ ⲡⲉⲩⲁⲅⲅⲉⲗⲓⲟⲛ ϫⲉ ⲁϩⲏⲗⲉⲓⲁⲥ ⲟⲩⲱⲛϩ̄ ⲁⲃⲁⲗ ⲁⲩⲱ ⲙⲱⲩⲥⲓⲥ ⲛⲙ̄ⲙⲉϥ ⲙ̄ⲡⲱⲣ ⲁⲙⲉⲩⲉ ⲁⲧⲁⲛⲁⲥⲧⲁⲥⲓⲥ ϫⲉ ⲟⲩⲫⲁⲛⲧⲁⲥⲓⲁ ⲧⲉ ⲟⲩⲫⲁⲛⲧⲁⲥⲓⲁ ⲉⲛ ⲧⲉ ⲁⲗⲗⲁ [ⲟ]ⲩⲙⲏⲉ ⲧⲉ ⲛ̄ϩⲟⲩⲟ ⲛ̄ⲇⲉ ⲟⲩⲡ̣ⲉⲧⲉⲥϣⲉ ⲡⲉ ⲁϫⲟⲟⲥ ϫⲉ ⲟⲩⲫⲁⲛⲧⲁⲥⲓⲁ ⲡⲉ ⲡⲕⲟⲥⲙⲟⲥ ⲛ̄ϩⲟⲩⲟ ⲁⲧⲁⲛⲁⲥⲧⲁⲥⲓⲥ ⲧⲉⲉⲓ ⲉⲛⲧⲁⲥϣⲱⲡⲉ ⲁⲃⲁⲗ ϩⲓⲧⲟⲟϥ̄ ⲙ̄ⲡⲉⲛϫⲁⲉⲓⲥ ⲡⲥⲱⲧ̣ⲏⲣ ⲓⲏ(ⲥⲟⲩ)ⲥ ⲡⲉⲭⲣⲏⲥⲧⲟⲥ. (Peel, in CGL (1985), vol. XXII, 154–5)

104 105 106

107

Among modern commentators there is ongoing discussion about the meaning, or rather the nature, of the flesh in this passage: is it the transformed current body or a new type of ‘spiritual’ flesh? This kind of discussion was a part of inner-Christian debate during the second century and the author presents his or her view on this subject. See Malcolm L. Peel’s commentary, CGL (1985), vol. XXIII, 192–3. Acts 10:40; Rom 8:19; Col 3:4. One of the major questions that it poses for New Testament scholarship is whether or not the fourth Gospel was aware of the earlier Pauline debate on eschatology. If not, from what source did the notion of realised eschatology come to John? See also the conclusion in Outi Lehtipuu, ‘Counter-Narratives or Competing Voices? Early Christians and the Resurrection of the Flesh’, in Telling the Christian Story Differently: Counter-Narratives from Nag Hammadi and Beyond, Francis Watson and Sarah Parkhouse (eds) (London, New York: T&T Clark, Bloomsbury Publishing, 2020), 132. Brown, ‘Introduction’, in The Gospel according to John, CXXIII: The function of Wisdom among men is to teach them of the things that are above (Job xi 6–7; Wis ix 16–18), to utter truth (Prov vii 7; Wis vi 22), to give

203

N a g H a m m a d i c o l l e c t i o n a n d N e w T e s ta m e n t

instructions as to what pleases God and how to do His will (Wis viii 4, ix 9–10), and thus to lead men to life (Prov iv 13, viii 32–35; Sir iv 12; Bar iv 1) and immortality (Wis vi 18–19).

108

109

110 111 112 113

114 115 116 117

See more in Jutta Leonhardt-Balzer, ‘Johannine Literature and Wisdom Literature’, in The Oxford Handbook of Johannine Studies, 156. Thomas H. Tobin, ‘The Prologue of John in Hellenistic Jewish Speculation’, CBQ, vol. 52, no. 2 (1990), 252–70; Martin Scott, Sophia and the Johannine Jesus (Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 1992); Cornelis Bennema, The Power of Saving Wisdom: An Investigation of Spirit and Wisdom in Relation to the Soteriology of the Fourth Gospel, WUNT 148 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2002); John Ashton, ‘The Transformation of Wisdom: A Study of the Prologue of John’s Gospel’, NTS, vol. 32, no. 2 (2009); James Cregan, ‘Eden and Jesus as the Wisdom of God in the Gospel of John’ (2018), www. crucibleonline.net/wp-content/uploads/2018/11/Cregan-Eden-and-Jesus-as-theWisdom-of-God-in-the-Gospel-of-John.pdf; Colleen M. Conway, ‘Gender and the Fourth Gospel’, in The Oxford Handbook of Johannine Studies, 223–5. As observed by Adele Reinhartz: ‘The phrase “written in this book” or similar can be found five times in the Torah and 65 times in the prophetic and historical books of the Jewish scriptures’. Reinhartz provides two examples: 2 Kings 23:28 and Deut 30:9–10. This observation locates the Johannine note within Jewish tradition where the ‘scroll’ commemorates the acts of the heroic person or contains God’s law. See her ‘The Jews of the Fourth Gospel’, in The Oxford Handbook of Johannine Studies, 132. Rev 1:11; 5:1–9; 6:14; 10:8; 20:12; 22:7–19. See more on Rev 10:8–10 in Meredith J. C. Warren, ‘Tasting the Little Scroll: A Sensory Analysis of Divine Interaction in Revelation 10.8–10’, JSNT, vol. 40, no. 1 (2017), 101–19. Rev 3:5 and 20:15. See Chapter 3.4. See further discussion in Anne S. Kreps, ‘The Crucified Book, Textual Authority and the Gospel of Truth’ (Dissertation and Thesis, PhD and Master’s) (2013), 101–13, https://deepblue.lib.umich.edu/handle/2027.42/100046 ⲡⲉⲉⲓ‧ ⲉⲧⲉ ⲙⲛ̄ ϭⲁⲙ ⲛ̄ⲗⲁⲩⲉ‧ⲁϥⲓⲧϥ̄ ⲉⲡⲓⲇⲏ ⲉⲥⲕⲏ ⲙ̄ⲡⲉⲧⲛⲁϥⲓⲧϥ̄ ⲛ̄ⲥⲉϩⲗ̄ϩⲱⲗϥ̄ ⲉⲙⲡⲉⲗⲁⲩⲉ ϣⲟⲩⲁⲛϩ̄ ⲁⲃⲁⲗ‧ ϩⲛ̄ ⲛⲉⲉⲓ ⲛ̄ⲧⲁⲩⲛ̄ϩⲟⲩⲧⲟⲩ ⲁⲡⲓⲟⲩϫⲉⲉⲓ ⲉⲛⲉⲙ̄ⲡⲉϥⲉⲓ ⲉⲧⲙⲏⲧⲉ ⲛ̄ϭⲓ ⲡˋⲓˊϫⲱⲱⲙⲉ ⲉⲧⲙ̄ⲙⲉⲩ ⲉⲧⲃⲉ ⲡⲉⲉⲓ ⲡⲓϣⲁⲛϩⲏⲧ ⲡⲓⲡⲓⲥⲧⲟⲥ ⲓⲏ(ⲥⲟⲩ)ⲥ ⲁϥⲣ̄ ϣⲁⲣˋϣˊϩⲏⲧ‧ ⲉϥϣⲱⲡ ⲛ̄ⲛⲓϩⲓ̈ⲥⲉ ϩⲁⲛ̄ⲧⲉϥϥⲓ ⲙ̄ⲡⲓϫⲱⲱⲙⲉ ⲉⲧⲙ̄ⲙⲉⲩ ⲉⲡⲓⲇⲏϥⲥⲁⲩⲛⲉ ϫⲉ ⲡⲓⲙⲟⲩ ⲛ̄ⲧⲟⲟⲧϥ̄ ⲟⲩⲱⲛϩ̄ ⲛ̄ϩⲁϩ ⲡⲉ. As previously (see footnote 50), translations from the Gospel of Truth come from CGL (1985), vol. XXII, 82–117, here 86–7. Karen King, What is Gnosticism? (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 2005), 155. Gos. Truth, 27.1–6. Gos. Truth, 18.27–31. Mt 8:19; 9:11; 12:38; 17:24; 19:16; 22:16; 22:24; 22:36; 26:18; Mk 4:38; 5:35; 9:17; 9:38; 10:17; 10:20; 10:35; 12:14; 12:19; 12:32; 13:1; 14:14; Lk 3:12; 7:40; 8:49; 9:38; 10:25; 11:45; 12:13; 18:18; 19:39; 20:21; 20:28; 20:39; 21:7; 22:11. Nota bene, these examples show that Jesus was called a teacher not only by his disciples but also by his detractors.

204

CONCLUSION When did the ‘Valentinians’ cease to be Christians? The wrong question

Usually, the conclusion in an academic book sums up the examination of a subject in the preceding discussion and provides some suggestions for further deplanements of the central subject. In the previous nine chapters I have discussed selected documents allocated by scholars to the ‘Valentinian’ school of thought. In that discussion, through a hermeneutical spiral, I paid attention to some topics, motifs, and symbols at the beginning of the book and then I returned to them again in a later stage of my examination, but this time in a different context. In my view, these selected motifs and symbols do not look ‘Valentinian’, ‘quirky’, ‘off the beaten track’, or ‘non-Scriptural’; on the contrary they belong to the next stage of development of genuine Christian theology, which has never aspired to be seen as innovative or original. Following that attitude I see here a certain similarity to the anonymous authors and editors of, for instance, the Gospel of John or the deuteroPauline letters. In the case of the Gospel of John those later editors decided to place the Prologue about the Word/Logos at the beginning of the theological narrative. Did they believe it to be original? If they knew the Synoptic Gospels, still an open question for scholars, surely, they were aware that their proposal of beginning the Gospel with a hymn written using sapiential terminology would be a bit ‘off the beaten track’ of Synoptics. This is a good analogy to my approach to these selected Greek and Coptic Christian documents. I have presented them as an authentic continuation of what their authors believed to be the Scriptural and Apostolic tradition. The fact that they used some new material and symbolism does not qualify them as inventors, Platonists, or Gnostics. If they still are called, in an anachronistic way, ‘heretics’, this only points out the original Greek meaning of the verb and the noun: as those who ‘made a choice’ in the selection of material for their presentation, method and the literary genre of their diverse narratives. Closing this book, I would like to say that it is hard to say farewell to terms such as ‘Gnosticism’ or in our case ‘Valentinian’ with their long, established position. I have only changed my style of writing recently. I don’t think that this book will be the Requiem Mass for the notion of ‘Valentinianism’, as in academia we still find the term ‘Gnosticism’ many years after Williams’ brilliant publications. Still, I hope that we will be more aware of diversity and the deep Christian attachment found in the examined documents. This study is about a reassessment of one 205 DOI: 10.4324/9781003181095-11

Conclusion

of those long-standing notions. Should we use the term ‘Valentinian’ in academia? I would like to express my serious scepticism as to the suitability of this tag. Even if Valentinus saw himself as the founder of a school, and I doubt it, he wanted, in my view, to remain within the scope of the Apostolic legacy, including the Christian Scriptures. It was not Valentinus, or indeed Heracleon, Ptolemy or the author(s) of the Gospel of Philip, who crossed the Rubicon, although the Apologists for various reasons wished to convince their audience that this was the case. Valentinus was seen, even with dismay, as a Christian by his contemporaries.1 We can also say that his audience was inspired by his teaching. If Christian men and women decided to come to his lectures or listen to his homilies and poetry during acts of worship, they participated first and foremost as Christians – that is as the followers of Christ. It was not Valentinus who was understood as the founder of their identity, but the Saviour revealed in the Christian Scriptures and the Apostolic tradition. In other words, those early Christians, more or less familiar with the Scriptures and philosophical queries, were present at places of worship. Through teaching, as candidates to become followers of Christ through the ritual of baptism, they were further guided through the exegetical practices and aspired to a spiritual union with the Saviour. Like us, they wished to live in fullness of life within a Christian context. They were not there to become yet another member of the ‘Valentinian’ group. Much like other Christian communities during the second century in Rome, Alexandria, Carthage and Lyons, they were baptised with reference to the trinitarian names. When they celebrated the Eucharist, it was the commemoration of Christ’s sacrifice and resurrection. This book tries to re-establish that important connection between the Greek and Coptic documents found near Nag Hammadi and their Scriptural background, as well as providing an intellectual (philosophical) orientation. Naturally, some of the listeners of Valentinus continued teaching, preaching, praying and with their liturgical celebrations, but they felt linked with the Saviour as the source of their inspiration. Some of them were involved in leadership in their local churches, but they saw themselves as a part of a greater, universal Christian fellowship. We do not have any evidence that the second or third generations of those Christians would have made inscriptions ‘Valentinian’ on the walls of their schools or churches, if indeed these two institutions and forms of activity were separate from one another. Their critics, the Apologists, were not part of the true Church, which aimed over time to establish stronger doctrinal unity and episcopal integrity. I hope that, in the light of the effort and work behind this book, as modern commentators and explorers of early Christianity, we might wish to be more critical of the tag ‘Valentinian’ and to pay more attention to the individual theological, ethical and exegetical features of the Greek and Coptic documents gathered under the umbrella term, which needs to be revised, if not retired.

Note 1 As we are reminded by Gerd Lüdemann, ‘The History of Earliest Christianity in Rome’, JHC, vol. 2 (1995), 123.

206

INDEX OF ANCIENT AUTHORS

Heraclitus 42–3 Hermas 78n77, 94n5, 97n52

Alcinous 76n54, 155n25 Aristotle 26n14, 27n25, 29n49, 54n23, 75n31 Athanasius of Alexandria 98n64, 114n67, 184 Athenagoras of Athens 41 Basilides 108, 115n77 1 Clement 78n77, 98n60, 99n70 Clement of Alexandria 2, 4, 5, 13, 18, 25n7, 33n106, 35n140, 38, 41–2, 51, 55n44, 55n47, 59n110, 62–3, 66, 69–70, 72, 75n18, 75n26, 75n27, 76n54, 77n65, 78n77, 78n93, 83, 87, 90, 95n23, 97n51, 98n61, 100n83, 104, 106, 110, 114n59, 115n71, 115n77, 115n92, 116n95, 117, 134n1, 135n26, 141–2, 146, 150–1, 153, 153n1, 153n3, 154n19, 156n38, 160n94, 171, 178n94, 179n102, 184, 198n28 Cornutus (Lucius Annaeus) 42–3 Cynics 9, 150 Epictetus 92–3, 115n80 Epiphanius of Salamis 2, 35n140, 80, 82, 87, 94n4, 98n64, 100n86, 157n57, 161 Eusebius of Caesarea 25n6, 41–2, 142, 154n11, 175n32, 184, 197n5

Iamblichus 136n40 Ignatius of Antioch 5, 162–7, 169, 172, 175n29, 175n30, 175n31, 175n32, 175n33, 175n34, 175n35 Irenaeus of Lyons 2, 12–14, 16, 22–3, 27n21, 28n36, 28n40, 29n54, 32n100, 35n140, 41, 43–6, 56n62, 56n66, 57n79, 59n109, 61, 74n6, 79n105, 81–2, 87–8, 94n3, 94n5, 97n51, 97n54, 114n67, 118, 123, 137n66, 146, 150–1, 156n37, 157n54, 160n96, 182 Josephus 54n30 Justin Martyr 2, 4, 9–13, 23, 25n6, 26n12, 26n19, 27n21, 27n34, 28n40, 29n61, 41, 81, 83, 85, 91, 94n5, 94n6, 94n7, 95n9, 97n37, 97n51, 97n52, 97n54, 100n82, 104, 113n41, 146, 156n37, 184 Lucian of Samosata 26n10 Marcion of Synope 26n19, 27n34, 53n22, 83–5, 91, 94n8, 95n22, 96n31, 150, 159n89, 184, 199n32 Musonius Rufus 92–3, 99n71

Galen 27n32 Hegemonius 41 Heracleon 5, 108, 115n78, 117–26, 128, 133, 134n1, 134n2, 134n4, 134n7, 134n8, 134n9, 134n10, 134n11, 135n13, 135n14, 135n15, 135n16, 135n17, 136n37, 137n68, 142, 154n4, 177n90, 183–4, 206

Numenius of Apamea 42–3, 84, 96n33, 155n26 Origen 5, 27n29, 41, 54n24, 58n94, 61–4, 73n1, 74n13, 74n14, 76n53, 78n84, 98n63, 108, 114n64, 117–18, 120–3, 126, 128–33, 134n1, 134n2, 134n3, 134n8, 135n13, 135n14, 135n17, 136n35, 137n57, 137n60, 137n62,

207

Index of ancient authors

96n35, 97n38, 97n48, 97n49, 97n50, 97n51, 97n52, 98n57, 99n66, 100n80, 100n82, 100n83, 100n86, 100n88, 118, 134n6, 142, 154n4, 158n61, 206 Pythagoras 26n8, 26n14, 43, 75n31

137n68, 138n73, 138n89, 138n92, 139n96, 139n97, 136n98, 136n100, 136n104, 136n105, 136n121, 140n123, 152, 153n1, 157n50, 160n96, 184, 197n5 Philo of Alexandria 3–4, 41, 47–8, 54n30, 57n79, 58n94, 62, 67–72, 76n54, 77n74, 78n77, 78n81, 78n84, 78n93, 79n100, 84, 96n28, 96n29, 108, 110, 114n64, 115n92, 116n95, 138n92, 155n25, 155n28, 155n31, 156n41, 159n82, 171, 177n77, 177n81 Philostratus 26n8 Plato 39–42, 53n16, 54n24, 54n25, 54n27, 57n90, 75n31, 77n74, 77n75, 128, 135n13, 136n35, 137n56, 137n57 Pliny the Younger 27n31 Plotinus 4–5, 10–11, 25n7, 26n12, 27n23, 27n24, 27n27, 54n23, 82, 86, 93, 96n31, 98n56, 99n71, 117, 122–3, 127–8, 133, 137n56, 137n58, 137n60, 137n62, 138n83, 138n88, 138n90, 155n33 Plutarch 26n10, 42, 55n50, 57n90 Porphyry of Tyre 4, 10–11, 25n7, 26n14, 27n23, 27n24, 82, 95n17, 96n31, 99n68 Proclus 27n23, 136n40 Ptolemy 2, 4–5, 12–13, 27n35, 28n36, 29n54, 44, 80–93, 94n1, 94n4, 94n8, 95n11, 95n15, 96n28, 96n31, 96n33,

Seneca 42, 82, 92–3 Tatian 10, 27n20, 27n21, 27n22, 150–1, 159n89 Tertullian of Carthage 2, 13–14, 23, 28n37, 28n42, 32n100, 37, 41, 44, 50, 52n1, 53n22, 55n31, 87–8, 92, 94n3, 94n5, 97n50, 98n62, 118, 142, 146, 151, 154n5, 154n10, 160n96 Theodoret of Cyrus 154n4 Theodotus 5, 14, 44, 108, 141–53, 154n4, 154n7, 154n22, 155n28, 155n33, 156n41, 156n43, 158n64, 158n66, 184 Valentinus 1–2, 6n2, 7n7, 8–18, 20–4, 25n1, 25n3, 26n19, 28n35, 28n40, 28n42, 28n48, 30n61, 33n111, 34n120, 34n131, 37–8, 41, 44–6, 51, 55n48, 56n66, 61, 73n4, 81, 90, 94n8, 95n11, 95n14, 95n19, 96n28, 97n49, 99n66, 108, 117–18, 134n8, 134n12, 135n13, 141–2, 150, 154n7, 155n29, 157n57, 158n61, 174n11, 184, 206

208

INDEX OF MODERN AUTHORS

Authors mentioned in the main body of the chapters. Attridge, H. W. 16, 18, 118, 121–2 Auvinen, R. 145 Brakke, D. 184, 186, 190, 193, 195 Brown, R. E. 6, 184–7, 190, 193, 196 Burridge, R. A. 62 Burkert, W. 39 Bussière, M.–P. 118 Colpe, C. 5, 117 Dawson, D. 41–2 Denzey Lewis, N. 83 Desjardins M. 2 Dunderberg, I. 41, 81, 145, 150 Dunn, J. D. G. 64–5, 67 Edwards, M. 3, 9, 11, 39, 118 Ehrman, B. D. 182 Eliade, M. 4, 38 Foster, P. 183 Hill, C. E. 183 Hurtado, L. 181 Jenott, L. 15 Jung, C. G. 4, 38 Kaler, M. 15, 118 Kalvesmaki, J. 142 King, K. L. 15 Kreps, A. 4, 16, 61–2

Lamberton, R. 42 Lampe, P. 81 Lévi–Strauss, C. 4, 38 Lieu, J. M. 8, 23, 162, 165 Lüdemann, G. 81 Lundhaug, H. 3, 22, 161, 168, 170, 191–2 MacRae, G. W. 16 Malinowski, B. 4, 38 Marjanen, A. 49 Markschies C. 3–4, 14–15, 38, 81, 118 Marrou, H. I. 38 Ménard, J. É. 22, 45 Moll, S. 81 Muller, D. 15 Nagel, T. 183 Pagels, E. H. 15, 18, 21–2, 45–6, 104–5, 118, 121–2 Parker, D. C. 182 Peel, M. L. 17, 192 Petersen, W. L. 182 Plisch, U.–K. 5, 101 Puech, H.–C. 5, 117 Quispel, G. 5, 89 Rasimus, T. 81 Ricoeur, P. 4, 38

209

Index of modern authors

Sagnard, F. 142–4 Scopello, M. 15 Smith, G. S. 11 Stanton, G. 64

Tite, P. L. 5, 22 Turner, M. L. 161

Thomassen, E. 3, 12, 14, 21, 43, 45–6, 48–9, 65, 67, 81, 101, 104–5, 107–8, 118, 122–3, 142, 149

Williams, M. A. 2, 15, 205 Williams, R. 184

Vinzent, M. 191

210

INDEX OF SUBJECTS

Adam 47, 51, 102, 145–7, 153, 156n37, 156n38, 160n96 Aeon 49, 107, 111; Aeons 43–4, 51, 57n81, 65, 76n53, 111, 118, 126 allegorical interpretation 40–1, 48, 84, 97n51, 151, 166; exegesis 69, 83, 114n64; method 88 anointment 21, 49, 59n111, 87, 187, 200n60 apophatic 69, 76n54, 119, 121–2, 131, 136n35, 143 Apostolic 14, 37; authorities 22; Church 28n40; Fathers 183, 196, 198n18, 198n19; legacy 24, 33n113, 97n49, 196, 206; tradition/successio 1, 25, 50, 89–90, 163, 176n70, 183, 205, 206 asceticism 87, 150 astrology 93, 152, 159n83 baptism 1, 18, 20–3, 36n149, 49–50, 59n110, 59n111, 59n114, 59n117, 59n118, 63, 65, 87, 147, 150, 152–3, 158n71, 165, 169–71, 173, 178n95, 179n99, 187–90, 193, 200n60, 206 body/flesh 8, 31n94, 48, 76n56, 107–8, 139n109, 158n71, 164–5, 189, 192, 194, 202n87, 203n103, 203n106 book (scroll) 4, 7n14, 15, 31n75, 61, 66–8, 74n7, 74n15, 77n66, 77n70, 146, 194–5, 204n109 bridal chamber 21, 169–73, 179n104, 187, 189 child 65, 71, 86, 108, 146, 149, 173, 185; children 38, 49, 53n17, 71–3, 87, 97n53, 123, 146, 169, 177n79, 185–6, 199n43, 199n44

Christians 2, 8, 11–13, 16–17, 19–22, 24, 26n12, 26n19, 27n32, 27n34, 29n61, 31n74, 37, 49, 57n79, 63–5, 68, 71–2, 83–9, 91, 94n8, 95n19, 96n31, 97n52, 98n57, 98n60, 98n61, 102–4, 106–7, 110–11, 119, 127, 143, 146, 148–51, 156n41, 158n41, 159n82, 162–9, 172, 174n12, 175n32, 176n51, 177n81, 181, 185, 187, 190, 193, 195–6, 203n106, 205–6; ‘academic Christians’ 184 creation 45, 47–8, 57n79, 65, 67, 78n83, 84, 96n30, 129–30, 143–5, 153, 155n28, 156n37, 156n38, 156n41, 160n96 cross 66–8, 76n56, 103, 110, 164–5, 170–1, 194–5, 201n74 crucifixion 24, 101, 104, 106, 112n9, 164, 166, 172, 195 Decalogue 72, 80, 82, 84–5, 89, 163 Demiurge 48, 50, 58n107, 80, 84–5, 89, 91, 93, 96n31, 96n32, 96n35, 105, 113n44, 130, 143–5, 151–2, 155n24, 155n25, 155n26, 155n39, 156n41, 159n91 desire (passion(s)) 41, 44, 55n47, 56n66, 91, 155n31 determinism 92–3; fate 7n7, 81, 93, 114n63, 147, 149, 152–3 docetic 76n56, 162, 164 dyad 31n74, 45–7, 57n79, 57n81 Eucharist 21–3, 49–50, 59n111, 87–8, 152, 165, 173, 178n95, 187, 189–90, 193, 200n60, 201n72, 201n74, 206 Eve 47, 153, 156n37, 156n38

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Index of subjects

Middle Platonic 4, 45, 48, 50, 54n23, 69, 111, 119, 143, 155n25, 156n41 monad 35n146, 43, 45–6, 57n81 (Mosaic) Law 80, 82–4, 96n28 Moses 43, 54, 82, 85, 119, 155n28, 185, 193

freedom 64, 76n59, 147, 152 Gentile (Graeco–Roman) 54n30, 122, 132, 162, 168, 177n90; Gentiles 27n34, 85, 168; religion 166 grace 61, 64–6, 76n58, 77n62, 92, 98n60, 115n88, 199n44

Neoplatonic 4, 27n23, 27n24, 27n25, 82, 88, 93, 122, 128, 134n1, 138n80, 195

Hebrews 19–20, 132, 167–8; Jews 26n12, 97n52, 118, 152, 163–6, 169, 175n33, 177n81, 193, 204n109 Holy Spirit 18, 21, 61, 65, 68, 132, 139n97, 152, 165, 169–71, 177n79, 178n95, 188–9, 190, 201n68, 201n71 immortality 28n48, 53n17, 86, 92, 104–5, 110, 138n94, 194, 204n107; medicine of immortality 165; Teacher of Immortality (Christological title) 5, 101–2, 104–6, 110, 113n44; water of immortality 113n48 incarnation 1, 29n54, 65, 75n20, 76n56, 78n94, 102, 106–8, 111, 113n32, 119, 123, 127, 129, 130, 132, 135n22, 145, 149, 150–2, 156n43, 162, 164, 166, 172, 189, 190–1 knowledge (as spiritual experience) 13, 16, 19, 25, 33n106, 49, 52n3, 63–5, 68–72, 75n24, 76n58, 82, 87, 89–93, 97n35, 105–6, 111, 119–20, 122, 126, 147, 151, 166, 168, 177n80, 185; knowledge of the Scriptures 82, 96n25; philosophical knowledge 40, 42, 195; speculative knowledge 9; women and knowledge 95n21 Logos (Christological title) 19, 38, 44, 47, 56n73, 63, 66–71, 75n20, 104, 107, 111, 113n34, 115n96, 122, 130–1, 143, 151, 194–5, 205; Logos as a Guide 159n82; Logos in Clement of Alexandria 78n94; Logos in Origen 139n104; Logos in Philo 78n84, 155n25, 156n41 marriage 63, 75n23, 81–2, 91, 93, 95n20, 123, 165, 174n11, 179n104, 200n62; as metaphor 65, 76n45 material (category of people) 19, 41, 48, 127, 132, 144–8, 152, 177n90; material people perish by nature 147

participation (theology of) 49, 64, 107, 114n67, 135n22, 147, 152, 170, 185, 189, 191; ‘mutual participation’ 122–4, 126–8, 138n70 Platonic 3–4, 8–10, 21, 39–40, 43, 47–8, 50, 54n23, 56n60, 67, 70, 82, 106, 111, 115n73, 120, 126, 130, 133, 138n89, 143–4, 148, 151, 155n24, 156n41 Pleroma (realm of the perfect spiritual beings) 44, 56n73, 57n84, 66, 76n61, 123–4, 126–7, 185–6, 202n88 psychic (category of people) 22–3, 59n18, 103, 111, 123, 127, 132, 145–9, 152, 156n39, 159n80 redemption 2, 5, 18, 25n5, 49–51, 64, 94n5, 102, 106, 108–9, 127, 132, 141, 143, 148, 152–3, 158n64, 189–90, 193 Rest (in Pleroma) 44; God’s rest 72; Sabbath as Rest see Sabbath restoration (eschatology) 18, 47, 59n117, 127, 171, 202n88 Sabbath 71–2, 79n104, 83, 86, 95n26, 97n48, 97n51, 102, 109–10, 115n92, 116n95, 116n99; Sabbath as Rest 95n26; Sabbath in Philo 79n100 sacraments 87, 92, 165, 178n95, 187, 200n59 sin 30n62, 65, 102, 138n89, 158n66, 160n96, 186 Sophia/Wisdom 31n74, 44–9, 56n66, 107, 111, 177n82, 204n108 spiritual (category of people) 19, 22, 33n106, 41, 48, 65, 103, 120, 123, 127, 132, 143, 145–9, 157n53, 157n71, 169, 185; mature Christians 19, 149, 151, 185; perfect Christians 19, 123, 125, 127, 145, 151, 186; pneumatic 22, 48,

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Index of subjects

59n118, 111, 137n65; spiritual essence 148, 152; spiritual seed 19, 24, 37 Stoic (Roman Stoicism) 3–4, 9, 26n10, 27n25, 41–2, 45, 48, 50, 54n23, 55n49, 68, 75n30, 88, 92–3, 100n88, 108, 111, 144, 148–51, 155n29, 155n31, 172, 195; Zeno 155n35

women 2, 10, 17, 19, 23, 33n106, 41, 46, 55n44, 60n120, 63, 67, 82–3, 86–90, 92–3, 95n15, 95n20, 95n21, 98n56, 98n57, 98n59, 98n60, 98n63, 99n71, 100n86, 100n88, 123, 147, 158n71, 170, 173, 181, 185, 206

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