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

by Bart D. Ehrman

  "Orthodox" Christianity maintained that this world was the intentional creation of the one true God, and as such was made good—even if sin later came into the world and corrupted it. This Gnostic Gospel claims that the material world came about, instead, by a conflict in the divine realm, resulting in ignorance, terror, anguish, and error:

  Ignorance of the Father [i.e., the opposite of "gnosis"] brought about anguish and terror; and the anguish grew solid like a fog so that no one was able to see. For this reason error became powerful; it worked on its own matter foolishly, not having known the truth. It set about with a creation, preparing with power and beauty the substitute for the truth. (G. Truth 17)

  "Orthodox" Christianity claimed that Christ died for the sins of the world and that his death and resurrection are what brings salvation. This Gospel, however, maintains that Jesus brought salvation by delivering the truth that could set the soul free. Moreover, it was out of anger for his deliverance of this knowledge that the ignorant rulers of this world erroneously put him to death:

  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. For this reason error grew angry at him and persecuted him.... He was nailed to a tree and he became a fruit of the knowledge of the Father. (G. Truth 18)

  "Orthodox" Christianity insisted that people are made right with God by faith in Jesus' death and resurrection. This Gospel maintains that people are saved by receiving the correct knowledge of who they really are.

  There came the men wise in their own estimation, putting him to the test. But he confounded them because they were foolish. They hated him because they were not really wise. After these, there came the little children also, those to whom the knowledge of the Father belongs. Having been strengthened, they learned about the impressions of the Father. They knew, they were known; they were glorified, they glorified.... But those who are to receive teaching are the living who are inscribed in the book of the living. It is about themselves that they receive instruction. (G. Truth 19-21)

  "Orthodox" Christianity understood that God would redeem this sinful world, create it anew as a Utopian place of eternal life. This Gospel states that once saving knowledge comes to souls entrapped in this world, the world of ignorance will pass away.

  Since the deficiency came into being because the Father was not known, therefore, when the Father is known, from that moment on, the deficiency will no longer exist. As in the case of the ignorance of a person, when he comes to have knowledge, his ignorance vanishes of itself, as the darkness vanishes when light appears, so also the deficiency vanishes in the perfection. (G. Truth 24-25)

  The book concludes with an exhortation for its hearers to share the true knowledge of salvation with those who seek the truth, and not to return to their former (proto-orthodox?) beliefs, which they have already transcended.

  Say, then, from the heart that you are the perfect day and in you dwells the light that does not fail. Speak of the truth with those who search for it and of knowledge to those who have committed sin in their error. ... Do not return to what you have vomited to eat it. Do not be moths. Do not be worms, for you have already cast it off. . . . Do the will of the Father, for you are from him. For the Father is sweet and in his will is what is good. (G. Truth 32)

  Whatever one might say about this form of Christianity, I don't think we can call it insincere or wanting of feeling. It is warm and intense, full of joy and passion. Its enemies found it heinous, though, and did their utmost both to destroy it and to sully the reputation of its author.

  We have seen that Gnostic Christians, in addition to utilizing their own writings, had no difficulty accepting on some level the Scriptures used by other Christians as well. But how did they understand these other texts? One of the most interesting Gnostic documents that we have is a letter written by one of Valentinus's main followers, a teacher named Ptolemy, who bore the brunt of much of the attack of Irenaeus's lengthy five-volume work against the Gnostics. The letter is addressed to an otherwise unknown woman named Flora, who was evidently a proto-orthodox Christian who had inquired into the Gnostic understanding of Scripture. The letter is not cited by Irenaeus, however, nor was it discovered among the writings at Nag Hammadi. It is instead known from the work of that doughty defender of orthodoxy, the fourth-century Epiphanius of Salamis, who quotes the letter in toto.

  The letter provides a clear and coherent exposition of this particular Gnostic's understanding of the Old Testament. It is striking that Ptolemy does not simply state his views as the "gospel truth." Instead, he reasons with his reader, urging her to see that his views are completely sensible and even persuasive. We should recall that there were a range of understandings of the Old Testament among early Christian groups: For Ebionite Christians, they were the sacred Scriptures par excellence, the heart and soul of the Christian canon; for Marcion, they were the Scriptures of the Jewish God, not of the God of Jesus, and they were not to be accepted as in any way canonical. Ptolemy's understanding of the Old Testament is based on both his Gnostic assumptions and the words of Jesus. His focus is on the Law of Moses, the first five books of the Old Testament (the Torah, also known as the "Pentateuch").

  Ptolemy begins by indicating views of Scripture that he considers to be absolutely wrong. Some people, he points out, claim that the "law was ordained by God the Father," whereas others insist that "it has been established by the adversary, the pernicious devil." The first view, we might suppose, is that of most Jews and proto-orthodox Christians (and Ebionites, etc.). The second view is not exactly that of Marcion; possibly it was held by other Gnostics. In any event, Ptolemy insists that both views "are utterly in error ... and miss the truth of the matter."

  On the one hand, the Old Testament could not have been inspired by the one true God, since it is not perfect. The Old Testament, for example, contains commandments that are not appropriate to God, such as when God gives his people, the Israelites, the promised land and orders them to murder in cold blood the Canaanites already living there. Moreover, since some of the Old Testament had to be "fulfilled" by Jesus (e.g., the prophecies that the Messiah was to be born in Bethlehem to a virgin), this shows that parts of the Old Testament were incomplete and therefore imperfect. But neither could the Old Testament have been inspired by the Devil, since it contains laws that are just and good. An evil being cannot produce something that is contrary to its nature.

  The payoff is that the Old Testament must have been inspired by some other divine being, neither the one true perfect God nor his nemesis, the Devil, but a deity between the two. One can see, here, the "logic" of the need for intermediaries between God and the cosmic forces of this world.

  Ptolemy goes on to insist, on the basis of Jesus' own words, that there are in fact three kinds of laws found in the Old Testament:

  Indeed, our savior's words teach us that the Law of the Old Testament divides into three parts. For one division belongs to god himself and his legislations [Ptolemy means here the intermediary god, not the one true God], while another division belongs to Moses . . . not as god himself ordained through him, rather based upon his own thoughts ... and yet a third division belongs to the elders of the people. (4:1-2)

  As he explains, the Ten Commandments must have been given by (the intermediary) God. But there are other laws that Jesus clearly indicates did not come from God, for example, the law of divorce, which Jesus disallowed by saying, "For your hardness of heart Moses allowed divorce. .. . But from the beginning it was not so" (4:4; quoting Matt 19:8). This kind of law comes, then, not from God but from Moses. And other laws come not from Moses but from "the elders of the people," for example, the law which indicates that a gift that might benefit one's parents could be donated instead to the Temple; Jesus claims that this law "from the elders" violates God's commandment to "honor your father and mother" (4:11-12, quoting Matt 15:4-5).

  And so only some laws of Scripture actually come from
(the intermediary) God. But even these divine laws are of three kinds. Some of them are perfect, for example, the Ten Commandments. Others are tainted by human passion. For example, the law of retaliation, "an eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth," is "interwoven with injustice," since, as Ptolemy points out, "the one who is second to act unjustly still acts unjustly, differing only in the relative order in which he acts, and committing the very same act" (5:4). Third, there are some laws of Scripture that are clearly meant to be taken symbolically, not literally. The law of circumcision is not about cutting the foreskin off baby boys but about setting aside one's heart for God; the law of Sabbath is not about refraining from work on the seventh day but about refraining from doing what is evil; the law of fasting is not about going hungry but about abstaining from bad deeds (5:11-13).

  Ptolemy concludes that Jesus' teaching of the Law therefore presupposes a just divine being who is not the one true perfect God. This one is the Demiurge, the maker of the world, in an intermediate state between God and the Devil, "inferior to the perfect God" but "better and more authoritative than the Devil" (7:6; note: Ptolemy here differs from other Gnostics in giving a rather positive evaluation of the Demiurge). He ends his letter by indicating that in a future treatise he will explain this divine world inhabited by more than one God, urging that his views come from the "apostolic tradition" and are founded on "our savior's teaching" (7:9).

  Clearly, here is a sincere believer who understood his views to be those of the apostles and, through them, of Jesus. This applies not just to his views of Scripture but to those of the divine world and of the human's place in it. Here we have additional evidence, as if more were needed, that the losers in the battle to establish the "true" form of Christianity were intent on discovering the truth and were certain that their understanding of the faith resided in the teachings of Jesus' own apostles. Had his views not been quoted in the writings of Epiphanius, who set them forth simply in order to attack them, we might never have realized just how clear, passionate, and earnest they really were.

  One of the issues naturally raised by a Gnostic understanding of the world involves the character of the afterlife. If salvation comes by escaping the body rather than while in the body, what kind of existence awaits us after death? How can a bodiless existence be imagined? Moreover, if Christianity in any sense is based on the notion that Christ was "raised from the dead," what exactly could that mean for someone who did not think that Christ had a fleshly body to begin with, or for someone who maintained that Jesus and Christ were two separate beings?

  These are the sorts of questions dealt with by another surviving Gnostic letter, again addressed to a non-Gnostic Christian. This letter, however, appeared for the first time among the writings of Nag Hammadi. It is sometimes called by the name of its recipient, Letter to Rheginus, but is more commonly entitled Treatise on the Resurrection. It is a short work, meant to argue that the resurrection is not at all an illusion, but that neither does it involve some kind of crass revivification of the material body, which itself is illusory. No, the resurrection involves the salvation of the spirit as it rises up to its heavenly home.

  The letter addresses itself to questions raised by Rheginus, concerning "what is proper concerning the resurrection.'" The author indicates that Christ was both Son of God and Son of man, "possessing the humanity and the divinity ... originally from above, a seed of the truth, before this structure of the cosmos had come into being" (Treat. Res. 44). He claims that at Jesus' resurrection, "the Savior swallowed up death ... for he put aside the world which is perishing. He transformed himself into an imperishable aeon and raised himself up, having swallowed the visible by the invisible, and he gave us the way of our immortality" (Treat. Res. 45). In other words, what is eternal is the invisible; that which is perishable is done away with, for the life of immortality. And Jesus' resurrection then paves the way for that of the Christians: "We are drawn to heaven by him, like beams by the sun, not being restrained by anything. This is the spiritual resurrection.... The thought of those who are saved shall not perish. The mind of those who have known him shall not perish" (Treat. Res. 45-46).

  The author continues by pointing out that before they appeared in this world, people were not in the flesh, and once they leave this world, they will leave the flesh behind (v. 47). Not that which is dead (the flesh) will be saved, but only that which is alive (the spirit) (v. 48). Yet the author insists that even though it is the invisible which is raised, the resurrection is no illusion. On the contrary, it is this world which is the illusion, falsely lulling people into thinking that it is the ultimate reality. But this material world will pass away; it is the spirit that will live on (v. 48).

  This doctrine that the flesh will pass away but the spirit will live has clear ethical implications for the author: "Therefore do not, O Rheginus, live in conformity with this flesh ... but flee the divisions and the fetters and already you have the resurrection. ... It is fitting for each one to practice in a number of ways, and he shall be released from this Element that he may not fall into error, but shall himself receive again what at first was" (Treat. Res. 49).

  And so, to achieve this return to the realm whence we came, we must refuse to satisfy the longings of our flesh. This is scarcely the ticket to flagrant immorality that the proto-orthodox thought; instead, it is a life of freedom of the spirit, no longer yielding to the demands of the body.

  Gnostic Religions and the Question of Dominance

  So much more could be said about Gnostic forms of Christianity. But perhaps enough has been said to give a taste of this strange, even inviting set of religious practices and beliefs.

  Christianity in nearly all its forms has always had its spiritual elite, the insiders who have a special insight into the true meaning of the faith, a cut above the rest of us in their nuanced understanding of God, the world, and our place in it. The Gnostics virtually fetishized this notion of an elite, a group of people in the know, who recognized the true nature of the church's profession of faith, of its Scriptures, of its sacraments. Those outside the inner circle often felt threatened by it, so much so that the ones claiming to be in the know became the object of scorn and derision. We will observe some of these reactions in a later chapter, and we will see how some of the Gnostics answered in turn. For it was not only the proto-orthodox who felt that they themselves were right and all others were wrong. Every group felt the same, whether relatively small, established, and marginalized groups like the Ebionites, or fast-growing and progressive groups like the Marcionites, or insider, elitist groups like the Gnostics.

  Is it conceivable that Gnostic Christianity could have eventually won out in this struggle for dominance? Certainly the proto-orthodox leaders felt the pressure of these groups; otherwise, we would be hard-pressed to explain the massive expenditure of time and energy devoted to rooting out the Gnostic "heretics," spurning their views, maligning their persons, destroying their writings, eliminating their influence. And one can certainly see why the Gnostic views won a following. Here were Christian groups that were fearless in their denunciation of our material existence: This world is not just fallen; it is inherently evil, a cosmic catastrophe; it is a place to be escaped, not enjoyed. It may seem acceptable on one level simply to say that humans have corrupted it. You can account for war and oppression and injustice simply by pointing the finger at someone else. But the suffering of this world is far deeper than that: droughts that bring massive starvation, unstoppable floods, volcanoes that devastate entire populations, rampant disease, pain that wracks the body, infirmity, death. The Gnostics took the suffering of this world seriously, and they turned their backs on it. This, they argued, cannot be laid at the feet of God.

  God is good, true, and perfect. And some of us belong to him. We may feel alienated here. If so, it is for good reason. We are alienated here. We are not of this world; we belong to another world. The story of how we got here is filled with mystery; it can be told only as a myth, not as a propositional
statement of historical fact. We came to be here by a cataclysmic rip in the fabric of reality, a cosmic disaster, a tragic mistake. But we can escape this world and all that it holds; we can return to our heavenly home; we can become united with God, once again, as we originally were.

  It is a powerful message. It was obviously attractive. But I don't know if it could ever have won out. One of the problems with religions that stress the importance of the spiritually elite is that they have trouble winning over the (nonelite) masses.

  Had Gnostic Christianity done so, it would have made for quite a few changes in our world. Who knows what kind of social agenda could have been formed in the long run by a group that rejected the importance of the ongoing life of society? Would they have been able to address problems of poverty and disease, injustice and oppression, when they thought the flesh was to be escaped rather than endured? It is a genuine question, since other "other-worldly" groups have strived to improve life on earth. On a less pressing but more fundamental level: Who knows how common modes of discourse would have developed had secret revelatory knowledge, accessible to only a few and confusing, no doubt, even to them, proved to be the ultimate arbiter of truth? Would a western form of philosophy rooted in the likes of Aristotle, which provide us today with what we think of as "common sense" (for example, in the Aristotelian "law of noncontradiction"), have seemed bizarre or even quaint? Who knows how the ways of reading texts that strike us as obvious and straightforward, literal readings in which we follow the words in sequence and accept their commonly accepted meanings within their own contexts—who knows how our ways of reading texts would have altered if a group that insisted on figurative understandings as the primary modes of interpretation had won out and established sway in our forms of civilization?