The Lost Christianities: The Battles for Scripture and the Faiths We Never Knew

by Bart D. Ehrman

  Women in Paul and the Apocryphal Acts

  Scholars of Paul have debated his view of women in the church. For a long time, it was seen as an uncomplicated matter. Tertullian himself quotes Cor. 14:34-35 to show that women were to be silent in church and exercise no authority over men. As the text says, Let the women be silent in the churches, for they are not permitted to speak; but let them be in subjection, just as the law says; but if they want to learn anything, let them ask their husbands at home. For it is shameful for a woman to speak in church.

  The passage coincides rather well with Paul's (in)famous instructions to Timothy:

  I do not allow a woman to teach, nor to exercise authority over a man; they are to be quiet. For Adam was formed first, and then Eve. And Adam was not deceived, but the woman was deceived and fell into a transgression. But she will be saved through bearing children—if they remain in faith, love, and holiness, with moderation (Tim. 2:12-15).

  In other words, women earn salvation by keeping quiet and pregnant; it is men who have the authority to teach. So says Paul.

  Or does he? Scholars today are not so convinced. As I have already pointed out, most critical scholars think that Timothy is pseudonymous: its vocabulary, writing style, theological modes of expression, and presupposed historical situation all differ significantly from what can be found in Paul's authentic letters. But what about the passage in Corinthians? No one doubts that Paul wrote that letter. Even so, there are good reasons for thinking Paul did not write the passage about women being silent in chapter 14. For one thing, just three chapters earlier Paul condoned the practice of women speaking in church. They are to have their heads covered, he insists, when they pray and prophecy—activities done out loud in antiquity. How could Paul condone a practice (women speaking in church) in chapter 11 that he condemns in chapter 14?

  It has often been noted that the passage in chapter 14 also appears intrusive in its own literary context: Both before and after his instructions for women to keep silent, Paul is speaking not about women in church but about prophets in church. When the verses on women are removed, the passage flows neatly without a break. This too suggests that these verses were inserted into the passage later. Moreover, it is striking that the verses in question appear in different locations in some of our surviving manuscripts of Paul's letter as if they had originally appeared as a marginal note (drawn from the teaching of the forged letter of Timothy?) and inserted as judged appropriate in different parts of the chapter. On these grounds, a number of scholars have concluded that Paul's instructions for women to be silent in Corinthians may not be from Paul, just as the letter to Timothy is not from Paul.

  What, then, was Paul's attitude toward women in the church? In his undisputed letters, Paul indicates that "in Christ there is no male and female" (Gal. 3:28), that is, that men and women were completely equal in Christ. Moreover, as scholars of the late twentieth century began to emphasize, churches connected in some way with Paul appear to have had women leaders. Just in the greetings to the church of Rome, for example, Paul mentions several women who worked with him as Christian missionaries (Rom. 16:3, 6, 12), another who was the patron of the church meeting in her home (16:3), one other, a woman named Phoebe, who was a deacon in the church of Cenchrea (16:1), and most striking of all, yet another woman, Junia, whom Paul describes as "foremost among the apostles" (16:7).

  Paul, and his churches, may have been more open to women and their leadership roles than people have traditionally thought and far more than Tertullian thought. No wonder that members of Paul's churches (primarily women members?) told stories about the adventures of his female companions like Thecla. And no wonder that men in the churches eventually decided to clamp down, forging documents in Paul's name condemning the practice of having women speak in church (Timothy), inserting passages into Paul's authentic letters urging women to be silent (Cor. 14:34—35), calling church councils to condemn an elder of a Pauline church who had dared collect narratives of Paul's woman disciple Thecla and pass them off as authentically Pauline.

  Some scholars have wondered whether the stories of Thecla were causing problems in the Pauline churches years before this accused forger did his work, wondered whether the existence of such stories is what led the author of Timothy, whoever he was, to compose his letter in Paul's name. It is indeed striking that the letter predicts that in "later times" there will be people who condemn the practice of marriage (4:1-4): "Paul" himself speaks against the practice in the Acts of Thecla. Moreover, the canonical letter of Timothy explicitly urges its readers not to listen to "the profane tales of old women" and condemns younger women who are "idlers, going about from door to door... as gossips and busybodies, saying things they should not" (4:8, 5:13). The younger women who have lost husbands are to "marry, bear children, rule their households, and give the enemy no grounds to reproach us" (5:14).

  This is certainly not the view advanced in the Acts of Thecla, which urges women not to marry, not to bear children, and to leave their households. For that "Paul," the Paul of the Acts of Thecla, "blessed are the continent, for God shall speak with them" and "blessed are the bodies of the virgins, for they will be well pleasing to God and will not lose the reward of their chastity." Possibly the stories of Thecla and others like them are what motivated the author of Timothy to write his letter in Paul's name.

  Some of the Other Apocryphal Acts

  The view of sexual renunciation found in the Acts of Thecla recurs in other Apocryphal Acts as well. One of the most intriguing is the Acts of Thomas, an account of the exploits of the apostle Thomas, probably written in Syria some time in the third century." It is a famous account, in that it is the first to present the well-known legend that the apostle Thomas became a missionary to India. One of the most striking features of the text is that it assumes that this apostle Thomas was Jesus' brother. The name Thomas is an Aramaic equivalent of the Greek word Didymus, which means "twin." Thomas was allegedly Jesus' identical twin, otherwise known as Jude (Mark 6:3), or Didymus Judas Thomas.

  One might wonder how some early Christians could have thought that Jesus had a twin brother. If, after all, his mother was a virgin, and, presumably, Jesus was the unique Son of God that she bore, how could she at the same time bear a mortal brother, his twin, his identical twin? Unfortunately, none of the texts that present or presuppose the tradition gives us any hint.

  We do know of a parallel situation in ancient Greek and Roman mythology, however, instances of a son of a god who is born to a mortal and who has a twin brother whose father was human. The best known example is the Greek god Heracles (Roman Hercules), whose mortal twin was Iphicles. The story of their conception intrigued ancient storytellers. A woman named Alcmena had conceived a child with her husband, Amphitryon, but then she became irresistibly attractive to the god Zeus, who came down and made love with her in human form—in the form of Amphitryon. She never knew the difference. Two children developed in her womb and then came forth at birth, one the son of a mortal, the other the son of a god.

  Did the Syrians who considered Thomas to be Jesus' twin brother imagine something roughly similar in his case? That Joseph and Mary had conceived a child through sexual intercourse and that subsequently (or perhaps before) she conceived through the Holy Spirit? One cannot very well object that this is not taught in the New Testament. Remember, these people did not yet have the New Testament.

  In any event, the Acts of Thomas narrates the adventures of Thomas, Jesus' brother, in his missionary work on the way to and in India. The plot is fairly basic. The apostles draw lots to decide who will go to which region to spread the gospel. The lot for India falls to Thomas, who tells his companions that it is the last place on earth he wants to go: "Wherever you wish to send me, send me, but elsewhere. For I am not going to the Indians!" (Acts of Thomas l).

  The ascended Jesus, however, has other plans for his mortal twin. An Indian merchant arrives in Jerusalem, looking for a skilled carpenter to build a castle for the king of India
. Jesus descends from heaven in bodily form, appears to the merchant, and tells him that he has a slave who would be ideal for the job (he was, after all, apprenticed for years to his father, Joseph the carpenter). Jesus writes out a bill of sale to the merchant, who then approaches Thomas and asks if he is the slave of Jesus. He has no choice but to reply truthfully, "Yes, he is my Lord." The deal is done: Thomas is taken off to India.

  The narrative is designed to show that Thomas, like the other apostles, is supernaturally empowered to do miracles. He can predict the future, cast out demons, heal the sick, raise the dead. It is also designed to show that a source for supernatural power, and in fact for all right relationship with God, comes from living the life of renunciation, free from sexual activity of any kind, even within the context of marriage. In one of the more intriguing accounts early in the narrative, Thomas and his merchant-owner arrive in the city of Andrapolis in time for a large wedding feast. The king of the city has an only daughter who is that day being given in marriage, and everyone is invited to attend. Thomas is dragged along to the proceedings, somewhat unwillingly, and asked to pray over the blissfully married couple, as they are about to consummate their marriage in the bridal chamber, bringing health and a bright future to the life of the community.

  After his rather noncommittal prayer, in which he asks the Lord Jesus to "do to them what helps, benefits, and is profitable for them," he leaves with the other guests, so the bride and groom can begin the private festivities. The bridegroom then lifts the curtain of the bridal chamber to gather his beloved in his arms, only to find her speaking with Thomas—or at least with someone who looks exactly like Thomas. This, needless to say, causes a bit of consternation, not just because the groom has been eagerly awaiting the moment but also because he has just seen Thomas leave and cannot understand how he managed to creep back in.

  As it turns out, it is not Thomas at all but his identical twin, Jesus, who has come down from heaven to persuade the bride and groom to refrain from consummating their marriage: "If you refrain from this filthy intercourse you become temples holy and pure, released from afflictions and troubles, known and unknown, and you will not be involved in the cares of life and of children, whose end is destruction" (Acts of Thomas 12). Jesus goes on to show that children are an enormous burden, that they either become demon-possessed, diseased, or lazy burdens, destined for heinous sins and ultimate condemnation. It is better, Jesus insists, to refrain from sex altogether and live the life of purity, bringing no more sinners into the world and being wedded, ultimately, to God.

  As one might expect from such a Christian account, Jesus is entirely persuasive and convinces the couple on the spot. For the entire night they "refrained from filthy lust," much to the chagrin of the king, who arrives the next morning to find his daughter cheerful and unspoiled. As she herself tells her father: "I have set at naught this husband and these nuptials ... because I have joined in a different marriage. I have had no conjugal intercourse with a temporary husband, whose end is repentance and bitterness of soul, because I have been united to my true husband" (Acts of Thomas 14). Incensed, the king sends off to have Thomas, "that sorcerer," arrested, but too late. He has already set sail.

  Clearly, as with the Acts of Thecla, this book stands in direct opposition to the Greek Romances' celebration of marital love as the glue that holds together society. Here sex of any kind, even within marriage, is portrayed as foul and to be avoided at all costs. For these Christian Acts, the good of society is not of ultimate interest. There is a greater world that cannot be seen, far superior to this one, and life in this world should be directed entirely toward life in that other one, lest we be entrapped in the bodily desires of this age and suffer dire consequences in the age to come.

  A comparable message appears in another of the Apocryphal Acts, the last we will consider in this chapter. The Acts of John narrates the legendary adventures of John, the son of Zebedee, one of Jesus' closest disciples in the New Testament Gospels. He continues to be an important figure after Jesus' death, according to the early chapters of the canonical Acts of the Apostles, but he quickly drops out of sight in that narrative as the book turns its entire attention to the missionary activities of Paul. Later Christians, not content with the silence shrouding John's later life, filled the gap with numerous stories, some of which have made it into this second-century Apocryphal Acts of John.

  Once again we are handicapped by not having the complete text. It was, of course, a noncanonical book, and parts of it were theologically dubious to the proto-orthodox. It was eventually condemned as heretical at the Second Council of Nicaea in the eighth century, so that most manuscripts of it were either destroyed or lost. One of the offensive passages occurs in John's description of Jesus, which has a decidedly docetic flavor, for John indicates that Jesus appeared to different people in different guises at the same time (e.g., as an old man and as a youth, simultaneously to different people), that he never blinked his eyes, that sometimes his chest felt smooth and tender but sometimes hard as stone. As John later says, "Sometimes when I meant to touch him, I met a material and solid body; at other times again I felt him, the substance was immaterial and bodiless and as if it were not existing at all" (chap. 93). One time, John indicates, he noticed that Jesus never left any footprints—literally a God striding on the earth.

  This docetically inclined Christology is played out in a way disturbing to the orthodox understanding of Jesus' death as an atonement as well. Here Jesus tells his disciples:

  You hear that I suffered, yet I suffered not; that I suffered not, yet I did suffer; that I was pierced, yet was I not wounded; hanged, and I was not hanged; that blood flowed from me, yet it did not flow; and in a word, those things that they say of me I did not endure, and the things that they do not say, those I suffered, (chap. 101)

  Such views may well be acceptable for Christians reflecting on the mysteries of Christ's divinity. But for the orthodox, they created enormous problems for the doctrine of redemption, since if Jesus did not really suffer, bleed, and die, then he could scarcely have purchased redemption through his blood.

  Not all of the Acts of John, however—in fact, very little of it—is concerned with delving into theological niceties. Most of it is filled with entertaining accounts of John's own adventures. Among the most famous is the tale of John and the bedbugs. Arriving at an inn late at night and tumbling onto the bed for some much needed sleep, John is dismayed to find the mattress infested with bedbugs. Desperately needing his rest, and to the amusement of his companions, John orders the bedbugs out. Amusement turns to amazement, however, when the next morning John's companions wake to find the bugs obediently gathered together in the doorway, awaiting permission to return to their home in the straw. John awakens and grants his permission; they return, and he goes on his way (chaps. 60-61).

  Saint John the Evangelist raises Drusiana from the dead, as depicted by Giotto di Bondone (1266-1336). Peruzzi Chapel, S. Croce, Florence, Italy.

  John's supernatural powers are also shown in more massive demonstrations, including his destruction of pagan temples, through a word alone, and especially in his ability to raise the dead. A particularly intriguing episode comes in an account that continued to inspire storytellers and artists down through the Middle Ages, with a brilliant portrayal by Giotto, still on view in the Peruzzi chapel of the Church of Santa Croce in Florence. It is the bizarre story of the raising of Drusiana, the chaste and beautiful wife of Andronicus, a story that involves almost unheard-of chastity and crass immorality, a tale of attempted necrophilia, supernatural intervention, miraculous resurrection, and conversion to the life of purity.

  It is a long and somewhat involved story. Andronicus is an important citizen of Ephesus. Both he and Drusiana have converted to Christianity through the missionary preaching of the apostle John, and as part of their commitment to Christ, they remain celibate with one another. But as so often happens in these accounts, another prominent citizen of Ephesus, Callimachus, falls
in love with Drusiana and wants to commit adultery with her. As a recent convert to the life of chastity, she feels incredible guilt in stirring up such a wicked desire in him. The guilt causes her to become ill, and she dies.

  They bury her in a family tomb. But not even her death assuages the passions of the wicked Callimachus, who bribes the family steward to let him into the crypt so that he can have sex with Drusiana's corpse. Before he can perform the evil deed, however, an enormous serpent appears, bites the steward (killing him), and entwines itself around Callimachus.

  Soon thereafter, the apostle John and Andronicus come to the crypt to pay their respects. Discovering the doors open, they enter to find an angel, who informs them of what has happened. Along with the dead Drusiana they find the dead steward and Callimachus, dead beneath the serpent. What follows is a scene of seriatim resuscitation: First John raises Callimachus from the dead, who confesses to everything he did and wanted to do, and who converts to the true faith. John then raises Drusiana from the dead. She in turn wishes the steward raised and is empowered to do the deed herself. Once raised, however, rather than converting to faith in Christ, the steward curses them all, wishes himself still dead, and runs from the tomb. They find him later, wish fulfilled, felled by another poisonous serpent bite.

  And so, in the end, chastity is preserved, in life and in death. Those who remain chaste have power far beyond what humans can possibly attain otherwise. Those who oppose the chaste and refuse to adopt their ways, on the other hand, not only fail to live well; they are also killed off as opponents of God and his representatives on earth.

  Lost Views of Renunciation