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

by Bart D. Ehrman

  On the other hand, maybe hatred of the world would have led people to work to change the world instead of abandon it. Maybe devaluation of the body would have ultimately led people to work to control the body. We don't know. What we do know is that these precious systems of belief and practice, these alternative forms of Christianity, had a lot to say to the world of antiquity, and evidently they have a lot to say to people even today, given the fascination about Gnosticism among those interested in early Christianity. They nonetheless came to be roundly defeated in the battles for dominance among early Christian groups. As a result, they were virtually lost to the world except in their polemical refutations by proto-orthodox adversaries, until some of their texts reappeared by sheer serendipity in modern times.

  Chapter Seven: On the Road to Nicaea: The Broad Swath of Proto-orthodox Christianity

  In America today, Christians new in town sometimes find it difficult to choose the right church. If they are Episcopalian, do they prefer high church or low church? If Methodist, socially liberal or ethically conservative? If evangelical, large and technologically sophisticated or small and intimate? Should it be a Bible-preaching church or a liturgically oriented church? Politically active or spiritually focused? Strong music program or thoughtful sermons? Should it have a solid social ministry? Active youth group? Vibrant outreach program? The questions go on and on for those concerned about such things.

  Imagine the choices facing Christians in the second century. Which is better: the Ebionite church or the Marcionite? Gnostic or proto-orthodox? A church that believes in one god or twelve or thirty? A church that accepts the Gospels of Matthew, Mark, and Luke or the Gospels of Thomas, Philip, and Mary? A church that believes God created the world or that the world is a cosmic mistake? A church that adheres to the Jewish laws of kashrut, Sabbath observance, and circumcision or a church that condemns these laws as inspired by an inferior deity?

  It makes the choice of a good music program pale a bit by comparison.

  We have talked about several of the early Christian groups, but as we have seen, there were in fact many more. Gnostic groups alone had so many perspectives, theologies, and mythological systems that not even the heresy hunters could track them all down. And there were interminglings: Jewish Christians influenced by Gnostics, Gnostics influenced by Marcionites, proto-orthodox influenced in one way or another by everyone.

  But only one form of Christianity, this group we have been calling proto-orthodox, emerged as victorious, and it is to this victory that we owe the most familiar features of what we think of today as Christianity. This victory bequeathed to us four Gospels to tell us virtually everything we know about the life, death, and resurrection of Jesus. In fact, it handed down to us the entire New Testament, twenty-seven books, the only books produced by Christians accepted as Scripture. Along with these "new" Scriptures was the "Old" Testament, still accepted as canon, even though sometimes considered to have been superseded by the New. The proto-orthodox victory also passed along a church hierarchy—different kinds of hierarchy in different denominations now. But for centuries (in parts of the church) it was as widely accepted and unproblematic as the branches of the federal government in the United States today, a hierarchy of bishops, elders, and deacons and eventually offices still higher up, to the rank of pope, and lower down.

  In addition, the proto-orthodox victory conferred to Christian history a set of practices and beliefs. These include "sacraments" practiced by Christians almost everywhere: baptism and eucharist. And they include doctrines familiar to anyone conversant with Christianity: Christ as both divine and human, fully God and fully man. And the sacred Trinity, the three-in-one: Father, Son, and Holy Spirit, three persons, but only one God, the mystery at the heart of traditional Christian faith.

  All this, and much more, was bequeathed to the world by the victory of proto-orthodoxy. We are now in a position in our study to take a closer look at what the proto-orthodox stood for and, to some extent, see what they stood against. In many respects, it was their opposition to alternative perspectives that drove proto-orthodox Christians to adopt the views they did. But rather than focusing on the conflicts with other groups, for the moment we will consider some of their major perspectives on their own terms, as reflected in the proto-orthodox writings. As was true of the other forms of Christianity we have examined, this group was no monolith. Here also we find a wide range of perspectives, even though they all fall within certain parameters, boundary markers that separated the proto-orthodox from other groups and that determined their acceptability to later Christians who established the creeds and scriptural canon of Christianity. But within these broader parameters there were multiple views represented—not a solitary perspective that could be traced all the way back to Jesus and his apostles, despite the claims of the proto-orthodox themselves, claims they sometimes made, ironically enough, even when expressing views that their fellow proto-orthodox found dubious or problematic.

  Moreover, not even the parameters of proto-orthodoxy were hard and fast, static boundary markers that were never moved. They evolved over time, with new boundaries occasionally being set up and old ones shifted accordingly.

  Still, we can acquire a good sense of the broad contours of proto-orthodox Christianity by examining the writings of some of its earliest champions, authors who were later embraced as the forebears of orthodoxy. Of these, no one can serve our purposes better than Ignatius of Antioch, whose letters adumbrate many of the issues to be taken up by his successors among the proto-orthodox.

  Proto-orthodox Martyrs as Witnesses to the Truth

  Ignatius has long been a source of fascination for students of early Christianity, both for what he says in his letters and for the context in which he said them.' Bishop of Antioch at the beginning of the second century, Ignatius had been arrested, evidently for Christian activities, and sent to Rome for execution in the arena, where he was to be thrown to the wild beasts. We are not sure why he was sent to Rome for the occasion, rather than executed on the spot, as more typically happened with convicted criminals in the Roman provinces. It may be that the governor of Syria chose to send him, possibly along with some others, as a gift for the Roman hunting games, in which convicted criminals were made to "fight" fierce and exotic animals as part of a public spectacle before a crowd of delighted onlookers. American football is a mere shadow of that particular reality.

  In any event, it seems reasonably clear that Ignatius was not going to Rome under conditions similar to those of his own hero, the apostle Paul, who, according to Acts, appealed to the emperor for a fair trial as a Roman citizen, and so was sent to the capital to receive due process (see Acts 25:10-12). Ignatius is not concerned about due process or a fair trial. He speaks of himself as already condemned, not under judicial review, and is clearly not interested in an appeal for clemency. One of his letters is addressed to the Christians of Rome, in which he urges them not to intervene in the proceedings, because he is eager to be devoured by the wild beasts: By suffering that kind of death he will "attain to God." To most modern ears, his passion for a violent death borders on the pathological:

  Allow me to be bread for the wild beasts; through them I am able to attain to God. I am the wheat of God and am ground by the teeth of the wild beasts, that I may be found to be the pure bread of Christ. Rather, coax the wild beasts, that they may become a tomb for me and leave no part of my body behind, that I may burden no one once I have died. (Ign. Rom. 4)

  May I have the full pleasure of the wild beasts prepared for me; I pray they will be found ready for me. Indeed, I will coax them to devour me quickly. . . . And even if they do not wish to do so willingly, I will force them to it.. . . May nothing visible or invisible show any envy toward me, that I may attain to Jesus Christ. Fire and cross and packs of wild beasts, cuttings and being torn apart, the scattering of bones, the mangling of limbs, the grinding of the whole body, the evil torments of the devil—let them come upon me, only that I may attain to Jesus Christ. (
Ign. Rom. 5)

  One person's pathology, however, is another person's common sense. For Ignatius, and other martyrs following in his steps, wanting to die a violent death for the faith was not at all unreasonable. It was a way to imitate the Son of God and to show the world that neither the pains nor the pleasures of this life were anything compared with the glories of salvation awaiting those who gave themselves over not to this world but to the world above, the world of God.

  Proto-orthodox authors considered this willingness to die for the faith one of the hallmarks of their religion, and in fact used it as a boundary marker, separating true believers (i.e., those who agreed with their theological perspectives) from the false "heretics" they were so concerned about. Some of their opponents agreed that this was a distinctive boundary marker: One of the Gnostic tractates from Nag Hammadi, for example, The Testimony of Truth, takes just the opposite position, maintaining that martyrdom for the faith was ignorant and foolish. From this Gnostic perspective, a God who required a human sacrifice for himself would be completely vain {Test. Truth 31-37).

  We do not have a historical account of Ignatius's own martyrdom, although we do have a later, legendary account forged by some of his proto-orthodox successors. In this account Ignatius is shown standing trial before the emperor Trajan himself (who just happens to be in Antioch at the time) and making a profession of his faith, filled with proto-orthodox notions. Condemned then to the amphitheater in Rome, he undertakes his travels and is thrown to the wild beasts, fulfilling his every desire. Or almost every desire. For according to this later account, the beasts did not completely consume his body (recall what he wrote to the Romans: "I wish that they leave no part of my body behind"): Some of the "harder portions of his holy remains were left." And, as appropriate in a period that saw a rising passion for relics of the saints, these were wrapped in linen and taken back to Antioch as an object of veneration (Mart. Ign. 6).

  Martyrologies—that is, written accounts of martyrdom—became common in proto-orthodox circles after Ignatius. The first full account of a Christian being condemned to execution for his faith is based on an eyewitness report of the death of Polycarp, bishop of Smyrna in Asia Minor, the one individual, as it turns out, to receive a letter of Ignatius (the others were all written to churches). Ignatius's letter to Polycarp was written, as were the others, while Ignatius was on his journey to his martyrdom. This was probably around 110 ce, just after most of the books of the New Testament had been written. Polycarp was a middle-aged bishop at the time, and he lived for another forty-five years before becoming the victim of a local persecution that culminated in his death.

  The account of the Martyrdom of Polycarp is intriguing for both its historical character and its legendary accretions. On the historical side, it shows that Polycarp was not eager to be martyred for his faith. When the authorities decide to arrest him, he goes into hiding, at the encouragement of his parishioners. On the other hand, he refuses to be intimidated and makes no serious attempt to resist the forces that want him dead, principally the mobs in town who evidently see Christians as a nuisance and social disease, and who want to be rid of them and, particularly, their cherished leader. Rather than stay on the run, Polycarp allows himself to be captured in a farmhouse in the countryside. And when taken into the arena and threatened with death, rather than defend himself, he stoutly refuses to do what is required: deny Christ and make an offering for the emperor. He is threatened with torture and wild beasts, but nothing fazes him. The governor orders his death by burning at the stake, and the sentence is immediately carried out.

  As I have indicated, the account appears to be written by an eyewitness, and there is no reason to doubt that in its essentials it is accurate. At the same time, the author expressly states that he intends to show how Polycarp's death was "in conformity with the Gospel" (Mart. Pol. 1.1) and, indeed, there are important similarities here with the death of Jesus: Like Jesus, Polycarp did not turn himself in, but waited to be betrayed; he knew about his coming execution in advance and predicted it to his followers; he prayed intensely before his arrest; he asked that "God's will be done"; the official in charge of his arrest, remarkably enough, was named Herod; he rode into town on a donkey, and so on. Moreover, God works a miracle for this proto-orthodox champion of the faith: Polycarp receives such divine succor that he appears to feel no terror and experiences no anguish. When burned at the stake, he does not need to be secured to the upright with nails but is only tied, standing of his own volition. When the conflagration begins, a miracle occurs: The flames do not touch his body but envelop him like a sheet. And rather than emitting a stench of burning flesh, his body seems to exude a sweet odor like perfume. When the flames fail to consume his body, an executioner administers the coup de grace by stabbing him with a dagger, which has the effect of releasing a dove from his side (his "holy" spirit, returning to heaven?), along with such a quantity of blood that it douses the flames.

  The legendary details of the account, in other words, are designed to show God's stamp of approval on a martyrdom of this kind. This was the sort of death for the faith celebrated by the proto-orthodox authors whose writings have survived, including other martyrologies of the period and essays written about martyrdom by those who were spared. No one is more forthright in his insistence that martyrdom is a sign of the truth than Tertullian, who wrote several treatises touching on the matter, including one that urges the martyrs on to their deaths. In language reminiscent of his archenemies, the Gnostics, Tertullian speaks of the world, not the dungeon, as the real prison to be escaped: "Nor let this separation from the world alarm you; for if we reflect that the world is more really the prison, we shall see that you have gone out of a prison rather than into one" (To the Martyrs 2). Christians should reflect on their heavenly home, even when in chains here, for "the leg does not feel the chain when the mind is in the heavens." This may sound a bit like armchair theology: It is well enough to claim that being tortured to death is not a matter of ultimate concern, when you yourself are destined to live long and reasonably well. But there is more to it than that. For Tertullian, like other proto-orthodox writers before and after him, the divine succor afforded true martyrs in the time of torment was proof positive of the validity of their faith.

  And so it is no accident that Tertullian uses proto-orthodox martyrdoms as a point of differentiation between true and false believers. As he indicates, "heretics" refuse to pay the ultimate price for their faith. In his essay "The Remedy for the Scorpion's Sting" (the scorpion being "heresy"), Tertullian indicates that Gnostics—not true believers in any sense for Tertullian—avoid martyrdom, reasoning that Christ died precisely so that they would not have to and that it is better to deny Christ and repent of it later than to confess Christ and pay the ultimate price.

  We have no way of knowing how many proto-orthodox Christians were actually martyred or, conversely, how many chose to deny Christ under oath rather than face executioners renowned for their creativity in the technology of torture. Nor, for that matter, do we know how many Gnostics, Marcionites, Ebionites, or others were willing to brave death for the sake of what they held to be true. But it is clear that one of the distinguishing marks of the proto-orthodox, at least in their own minds, was their claim not only to represent the truth but also to be willing to die for it. In this, as in so many other ways, Ignatius shows us a clear boundary marker for proto-orthodox Christianity in the early centuries.

  Apostolic Successors in the Proto-orthodox Tradition

  We have already seen that at a much later time, in the early seventeenth century, the letters of Ignatius became a hotbed of contention, not for their stance on martyrdom but for their view of church organization. This was especially true in England, where, in the wake of the Reformation, traditionalists and nonconformists were at loggerheads concerning the validity of the "church offices." Anglicans like James Ussher, one of the most erudite scholars of his age, argued that the earliest Christian writings, such as those of Ignatius, de
monstrate that the office of the bishop had been in place virtually from the beginning. His opponents, including the young and already feisty John Milton, argued that the letters of Ignatius were forgeries of later times, fabricated, in part, precisely in order to justify the later creation of the office. Among all the participants in this debate, it was Ussher himself who cut through the Gordion knot by showing that of the thirteen widely circulated letters of Ignatius, six were forgeries and the rest had undergone illicit expansion by the author of the forgeries. But there were authentic Ignatian letters as well, and we still have them, preserved in their shorter, more original form in several surviving manuscripts.

  This judgment, with some slight modification, is still the consensus among scholars who work in the field today. We have seven of Ignatius's letters. And even stripping away the fabricated expansions, these give a clear picture of one proto-orthodox author's view of church structure. Ignatius was an avid and outspoken advocate of the monepiscopacy (single bishop). Each Christian community had a bishop, and this bishop's word was law. The bishop was to be followed as if he were God himself. As Ignatius urges his readers in various churches: "Be subject to the bishop as to the commandment" (Ign. Trail. 13.2); "We are clearly obliged to look upon the bishop as the Lord himself" (Ign. Eph. 6.1); "You should do nothing apart from the bishop" (Ign. Magn. 7.1).