A somewhat more substantial argument comes in the proto-orthodox claim that truth always precedes error. This argument comes in several guises. On the most basic level, the heresiologists point out that the distinctive viewpoints of each heresy were created by their founders: for example, Marcion, the founder of the Marcionites, Valentinus, the founder of the Valentinians, and for Tertullian, at least, Ebion, the founder of the Ebionites. But if these teachers were the first to propound the proper understanding of the truth of the gospel, what of all the Christians who lived before? Were they simply wrong? This makes no sense to the proto-orthodox. For them "truth precedes its copy, the likeness succeeds the reality" (Tertullian, Prescription 29).
Another way the argument was used involved a kind of "contamination" theory, sounded repeatedly throughout the proto-orthodox writings. In this view, the original truth of the Christian message came to be corrupted by foreign elements, which were secondarily added into it so as to alter it, sometimes beyond recognition. In particular, these authors were incensed by heretics who utilize Greek philosophy in order to explicate the true faith. Tertullian was especially aggravated:
Indeed heresies are themselves instigated by philosophy. From this source come the [Gnostic] aeons, and I know not what infinite forms and the trinity of man [i.e., the tripartite division of humans as flesh, soul, and spirit, corresponding to people who are animal, "psychic," and spiritual] in the system of Valentinus, who was of Plato's school. From the same source came Marcion's better god, with all his tranquility; he came of the Stoics. (Prescription, 7)
Tertullian completely rejects the infusion of philosophy into the truth of the Christian gospel; as he famously asks, "What indeed has Athens to do with Jerusalem? What concord is there between the Academy and the Church? What between heretics and Christians?" (Prescription, 7).
Irenaeus too finds the use of philosophical notions reprehensible, and likens those who take "the things which have been said by all those who were ignorant of God, and who are termed philosophers," to those who "sew together a motley garment out of a heap of miserable rags," thereby "furnishing themselves a cloak that is really not their own" which in reality is "old and useless." If philosophy could reveal the truth about God, asks Irenaeus, what was the point of sending Christ into the world? (Against Heresies 2.14.6- 7).
No one objected more strenuously to the "philosophical" element of heresy than Hippolytus of Rome, whose ten-volume Refutation of All Heresies is entirely devoted to showing that heresy derives from Greek philosophical traditions. The first four volumes of the book, in fact, discuss Greek philosophers on their own terms; the final six show how each and every known heresy borrows its leading ideas from them. To some readers this has seemed to be a bit of overkill, especially since Hippolytus (sticking with the metaphor of Irenaeus, above) had to tailor a number of the heresies to make them fit their reputed philosophical pattern.
The proto-orthodox heresiologists used one other aspect of contamination theory: the notion that, as time goes on, one heretic corrupts the already corrupted work of his predecessor, so that in heretical circles, the variations become wilder and the truth becomes more remote with the passing of time. This view of the progressive perversion of truth explains why the heresiologists are so invested in the genealogical roots of heresy. For Irenaeus and his successors, Simon Magus was the father of all heretics, Simon was succeeded by Menander, who was followed by Saturninus and Basilides, and so on (see Irenaeus, Against Heresies 1.23ff.). According to this view, so creative are the heretics that none of them could be content simply with taking over the false system of his teacher; each has to corrupt the truth yet more in line with his own imagination. And so heresies begin popping up in wild and uncontrolled reproductions and permutations, many-headed hydra who sprout additional heads faster than they can be cut off.
This multiplicity of heretical views appears to have been frustrating for the heresiologists. On the other hand, they could rest in the assurance that they stood for the truth, once and for all delivered to the saints, the orthodoxy taught by Jesus to his disciples and passed along unchanged and unsullied to their own day.
As we have seen time and again, the claim for apostolic connections to the truth played a central role in the debates over heresy. The proto-orthodox had a variety of strategies for linking their views to those of the apostles. The most basic argument involved the "apostolic succession," seen already in a quite early form in Clement. There the Roman church insisted that the Corinthians reinstate their deposed presbyters because the leaders of the churches (including these presbyters) had been appointed by bishops who had been handpicked by apostles who had been chosen by Christ who had been sent from God. To oppose the leaders of the churches, therefore, meant to oppose God (1 Clement 42-44). In the hands of Tertullian, the notion of apostolic succession was developed in a somewhat different way, so that it referred not simply to the authorization of church offices but also to the authorization of church teaching. As Tertullian works it out, Christ commanded the apostles after the resurrection to preach his gospel to all the nations; they did so, establishing major churches throughout the world based on the same preaching of the same gospel in every place. These churches that the apostles established then sent forth missionaries to found yet other churches. "Therefore the churches, although they are so many and so great, comprise but the one primitive church, founded by the apostles, from which they all spring. In this way all are primitive, and all are apostolic" (Prescription 20). Tertullian's conclusion, then:
From this, therefore, do we draw up our rule. Since the Lord Jesus Christ sent the apostles to preach, our rule is that no others ought to be received as preachers than those whom Christ appointed.... If, then, these things are so, it is in the same degree manifest that all doctrine which agrees with the apostolic churches . . . must be reckoned for truth, as undoubtedly containing that which the said churches received from the apostles, the apostles from Christ, Christ from God. (Prescription 21)
He goes on to name churches that can trace their direct lineage to apostles, although it is perhaps surprising and possibly telling that he names only two: Smyrna (whose bishop Polycarp was appointed by the apostle John) and Rome (whose bishop Clement was appointed by Peter). Still, he challenges the "heretics" to come up with any of their churches about which this could be said, and appears to be confident that none will be able to take up his challenge (ch. 32).
It seems like an effective argument. But it is worth noting that other groups besides the proto-orthodox could claim a direct lineage of their teaching straight back to the apostles. We know from Clement of Alexandria, for example, that Valentinus was a disciple of Theudas, who was allegedly a follower of Paul; and the Gnostic Basilides studied under Glaukia, a supposed disciple of Peter (Miscellanies 7,17,106). For the most part, these connections were simply discounted by the proto-orthodox.
The proto-orthodox claim to represent the apostolic teaching eventuated in a set of doctrinal affirmations that expressed for them the true nature of the religion.
By the second century, before there were universal creeds to be said by all Christians everywhere, this body of belief came to be known as the "regula fidei," literally, "the rule of faith." The regula included the basic and fundamental beliefs that, according to the proto-orthodox, all Christians were to subscribe to, as these had been taught by the apostles themselves. There are various proto-orthodox authors who propound the regula fidei, including Irenaeus and Tertullian, and it never achieved any kind of set form. But it was clearly directed in every case against those who opposed one or another aspect of it. Typically included in the various formulations of the regula was belief in only one God, the creator of the world, who created everything out of nothing; belief in his Son, Jesus Christ, predicted by the prophets and born of the Virgin Mary; belief in his miraculous life, death, resurrection, and ascension; and belief in the Holy Spirit, who is present on earth until the end, when there will be a final judgment in which the r
ighteous will be rewarded and the unrighteous condemned to eternal torment (thus, e.g., Tertullian, Prescription 13).
Eventually, in addition to the regula fidei there developed Christian creeds to be recited, possibly, at the outset, by converts who had undergone a program in Christian education (catechesis), at the time of their baptism. The creeds may well have begun as a series of questions delivered and answered in three parts, in conformity with the threefold immersion under the water as suggested by Matthew 28:19-20: "Make disciples of all the nations, teaching all that I have commanded you and baptizing them in the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit." The creeds then became tripartite, stressing proper doctrines about Father, Son, and Spirit. Like the regula fidei, they were directed against the improper doctrines espoused by other groups.
Eventually, by the fourth century, the creeds familiar to Christians still today had been developed in rudimentary form, most notably the Apostles' and Nicene Creeds. It is worth emphasizing that these are formulated against specific heretical views. Take the opening of the Nicene Creed, "We believe in one God, the Father, the Almighty, maker of heaven and earth, of all that is, seen and unseen. We believe in one Lord, Jesus Christ, the only Son of God." Throughout the history of Christian thought, such words have been not just meaningful but also deeply generative of serious theological reflection. At the same time we should recognize that they represent reactions against doctrinal claims made by groups of Christians who disagreed with them, Christians, for example, who believed there was more than one God, or that the true God was not the creator, or that Jesus was not the creator's son, or that Jesus Christ was not one being but two. It is especially worth noting that, as a result of the context of their formulation, many of the views espoused in these creeds are profoundly paradoxical. Is Christ God or Man? He is both. If he is both, is he two persons? No, he is the "one" Lord Jesus Christ. If Christ is God and his Father is God, are there two Gods? No. "We believe in one God."
The reason for the paradoxes should be clear from what we have seen. Proto-orthodox Christians were compelled to fight adoptionists on one side and docetists on the other, Marcion on one side and various kinds of Gnostics on the other. When one affirms that Jesus is divine, against the adoptionists, there is the problem of appearing to be a docetist. And so one must affirm that Jesus is human, against the docetists. But that could make one appear to be an adoptionist. The only solution, then, is to affirm both views at once: Jesus is divine and Jesus is human. And one must also deny the potentially heretical implications of both affirmations: Jesus is divine, but that does not mean he is not also human; Jesus is human, but that does not mean he is not also divine. And so he is divine and human, at one and the same time.
And thus the proto-orthodox paradoxical affirmations embodied in the creeds, about God who is the creator of all things, but not of the evil and suffering found in his creation; about Jesus who is both completely human and completely divine and not half of one or the other but both at once, who is nonetheless one being not two; about the Father, the Son, and the Spirit as three separate persons and yet comprising only one God.
A significant aspect of the proto-orthodox polemic against various heretics involved not just stressing the doctrines that were to be affirmed, but the interpretation of sacred texts on which these doctrines were based. There were, to be sure, disagreements over which books should be accepted as sacred, an issue we will be addressing in another chapter. But there was also the matter of how to interpret texts that had been accepted. This had been an issue from the beginning of Christianity, since Jesus and his followers, like Paul, quoted the Scriptures extensively and interpreted them in their teachings.
In the ancient world there was no more unanimity about how to interpret a text than there is today. Indeed, if the meaning of texts were self-evident, we would have no need of commentators, legal experts, literary critics, or theories of interpretation. We could all just read and understand. People may think that there is a commonsensical way to construe a text. But put a dozen people in a room with a text of Scripture, or of Shakespeare, or of the American Constitution, and see how many interpretations they produce.
It was no different in antiquity. Early on in the controversies over heresy and orthodoxy, people realized that having a sacred text is not the same thing as interpreting it. In order to reach unanimity about what a text meant, there needed to be certain textual constraints imposed from the outside, rules for reading, accepted practices of interpretation, modes of legitimation, and the like. The matter became increasingly important as different teachers from different theological persuasions interpreted the same texts in different ways, and then appealed to these texts in support of their points of view.
Marcion, to take a prominent example, insisted on a literal interpretation of the Old Testament, which led him to conclude that the God of the Old Testament was inferior to the true God. The Old Testament God, Marcion pointed out, did not know where to find Adam in the Garden of Eden, he was talked out of destroying Sodom and Gomorrah for a time, he ordered the destruction of all the innocent men, women, and children in Jericho, and he promised harsh measures against anyone who breaks his law. In other words, simply reading the Jewish Scriptures literally, the Jewish God was occasionally ignorant, indecisive, wrathful, and vengeful. For Marcion, this did not sound like the God of Jesus, and he could make the point simply by taking the text "at face value."
Marcion's proto-orthodox opponent, Tertullian, however, insisted that passages that speak of God's ignorance and emotions were not to be taken literally but figuratively. Since God could not really be ignorant or indecisive or mean-spirited, these passages needed to be interpreted in light of the full knowledge of what God really is like. Tertullian, in fact, interpreted a large number of passages in a figurative way, in order to illustrate his own understanding about God and Christ. To take just one example: There is an important passage in Leviticus 16 that describes two goats that are presented by the Jewish priests on the Day of Atonement. According to the text, one of these goats is to be driven out into the wilderness and the other is to be offered up as a sacrifice. The two goats, Tertullian tells us, refer to the two advents (i.e., appearances on earth) of Christthe first time coming as one who is cursed (cast off into the wilderness), the next time (in his "second coming") providing salvation to those who belong to his spiritual temple (Against Marcion 3.7).
Or consider Irenaeus, who interprets the "clean and unclean" foods of the Law of Moses. The children of Israel are allowed to eat animals that have cloven hooves and that chew the cud, but not animals without cloven hooves or that do not chew the cud (Lev. 11:2; Deut. 14:3; etc.). What does this mean? For Irenaeus the passage indicates the kinds of people Christians are to associate with. Animals with cloven hooves are clean because they represent people who steadily advance toward God and his Son through faith (God + Son = cloven hoof). Animals who chew the cud but do not have cloven hoofs are unclean, representing the Jews who have the words of Scripture in their mouths but do not move steadily toward the knowledge of God (Against Heresies 5.8.4).
By preferring a figurative interpretation in places, Tertullian and Irenaeus were following solid precedent among their proto-orthodox forebears. You may recall Barnabas's extensive use of figurative interpretations in order to attack Jews for keeping the literal meaning of their laws.
On other occasions, however, when proto-orthodox writers faced opponents like certain Gnostics, who interpreted Scripture figuratively, they vehemently insisted that only a literal interpretation of the text would do. Irenaeus in particular objects to Gnostic modes of figurative interpretation used to support their points of view, and gives specific instances. For example, Gnostics who believed in thirty divine aeons appealed to the claim of the Gospel of Luke that Jesus started his ministry when he was thirty years of age, and to the parable of the vineyard, where the owner hired workers at the first, third, sixth, ninth, and eleventh hour (which add up to thirty). They also
maintained that these thirty aeons were divided into three groups, the final one consisting of twelve aeons, the twelfth of which was Sophia, the aeon who fell from the divine realm, leading to the creation of the universe. This notion of Sophia (Greek for Wisdom), the twelfth aeon, is evidenced in Jesus' appearance in the Temple as a twelve-year-old confronting the teachers of the law (showing forth his "wisdom"), and by the fact that Judas Iscariot, the twelfth of the disciples, fell away to become a betrayer (see Against Heresies 2,20-26).
Irenaeus considered these interpretations ludicrous. In his view, Gnostics were simply making texts mean what they wanted them to mean, and ignoring the "clear and plain" teachings of the text, which, for Irenaeus, included the view that there is only one God, who is the good creator of a good creation, which has been marred not by the fall of a divine aeon but by the sin of a human. In a harsh but effective image, Irenaeus likened the capricious use of Scripture among the Gnostics to a person who, observing a beautiful mosaic of a king, decides to dismantle the precious stones and reassemble them in the likeness of a mongrel dog, claiming that this was what the artist intended all along {Against Heresies 1.8).
To modern observers of these ancient debates, it may seem to be a problem that the proto-orthodox insisted on literal interpretations of the text, while appealing to figurative interpretations when it suited their own purposes. Still, it is probably fair to say that for these proto-orthodox authors, literal interpretations of the text were to be primary, and that figurative interpretations were to be used only to support views established on literal grounds. This was true even of the most famous proto-orthodox allegorist of them all, Origen of Alexandria, who was remarkably adept at supplying deep and rich figurative interpretations of Scripture, but who insisted that the methods were to be applied only when the literal meanings of the text appeared hopelessly contradictory or absurd (Origen, On First Principles, bk. 4).
The Lost Christianities: The Battles for Scripture and the Faiths We Never Knew Page 28
