Alternative pathways

Diversity in second-century Christianity

All heretics are at first true believers; then later they swerve from the rule of faith.

Origen (Comm. Cant. 3)

Unlike many other religions in the Greco-Roman world, Christianity was not centred so much on cult or ritual, but on a message. In particular, it was centred upon a message about Jesus of Nazareth – who he was, why he came, and what he accomplished. Of course, early Christians did engage in some ritual-like activities (as noted in the prior chapter), but these were comparatively more basic (and played a different role) than their Greco-Roman counterparts. What made Christians distinctive was not so much what they did but what they believed. Indeed, it was the robust intellectual or doctrinal content of Christianity that led many to regard this new movement as not a religion at all, but more of a philosophy. As we observed in Chapter 2, even the second-century physician and philosopher Galen regarded Christianity as one of the many philosophical schools prevalent during his day.

In contrast, most other religious systems in the Roman Empire (aside from Judaism) were not nearly so keen to make sure their doctrine was correct.¹ People worshipped a panoply of gods with little concern about whether it was the ‘right’ god or whether they thought about their god in the right way. After all, gods were not competing with one another (at least in their minds). A person may worship the gods of their ancestors and, at the same time, worship the gods of the empire or even the gods of their local city or township. As Jan Assmann observes: ‘Polytheistic or “primary” religions generally are not concerned with questions of what to believe, but how to act. Not the truth of the beliefs but the correctness of the ritual performances and recitations is what matters.’² For this reason, there was little attempt by these religions to craft precise creeds or doctrinal formulations. For them, worship wasn’t about professing the content of your beliefs. It was about performing a sacred duty or ritual.

Not so for Christians. Like their Jewish forebears, Christians were monotheists. There was only one true God, and that God was jealous in his desire for exclusive worship. Moreover, one entered into a right relationship with that God not so much by the performance of cultic duties, but by belief. And if it is by belief, then Christians were eager to make sure they believed the right things.

So, what did the second-century Christians believe? What were their doctrinal commitments? In this chapter we will begin to answer that question by exploring the degree of doctrinal diversity during this period. Then, in the next chapter we will explore the core doctrinal unity that bound Christians together.

Orthodoxy, heresy, and the challenge of Walter Bauer

While there was little disagreement among early Christians about the importance of doctrinal truths, there was quite a bit of disagreement on what these truths actually were. Even a cursory survey of Christianity in the second century reveals that it was no monolithic movement. Those who claimed the name of Jesus were at odds over a great many doctrinal issues – some major and others minor. Some thought the Old Testament was authoritative, but others thought it was the product of a false god, a demiurge. Some thought ceremonial laws of Moses should still be observed, but others argued they had been abrogated. Some viewed Jesus as fully divine, but others viewed him as a mere man (and still others saw him as semi-divine). Some embraced new charismatic prophecies, but others insisted such prophetic gifts had ceased. This variety of perspectives led David Brakke to observe, ‘Christians were strikingly diverse and disagreed about nearly everything.’³

Awareness of this doctrinal diversity in early Christianity has been heightened among modern scholars largely through Walter Bauer’s 1934 volume, Orthodoxy and Heresy in Earliest Christianity. Bauer surveyed a number of geographical locations in early Christianity – Asia Minor, Antioch, Egypt and Edessa – and argued that the earliest (or predominant) version of Christianity in these locales was what eventually became regarded as ‘heresy’. Of course, the Christians in these places did not think of their beliefs as heretical. They simply understood their beliefs to be ‘Christianity’. It was only in the later centuries – largely due to the influence of the church at Rome – that the doctrinal debates were settled and the ‘heretical’ nature of these beliefs was to become evident. Thus, for Bauer, distinctions between orthodoxy and heresy in these earliest centuries are nonsensical. Instead, what you have in these early centuries are just various competing versions of Christianity all claiming to be original.

Bauer’s thesis constitutes a challenge to the standard paradigm for understanding the development of early Christian doctrine. This standard paradigm is well represented by Eusebius, the fourth-century bishop of Caesarea, and his foundational work, Ecclesiastical History. Eusebius portrays the development of Christian doctrine as a relatively pristine affair, with little turbulence or turmoil. Sure, there were heretics that would arise from time to time, but these were later developments and corruptions of the original pure orthodoxy that was there from the beginning. Consequently, Eusebius is able to describe (using the words of Hegesippus) the early history of the Church as a time when ‘the church remained a pure and uncorrupted virgin’.⁴ Bauer’s thesis flips this paradigm on its head. Rather than orthodoxy being first, and heresy a derivative, Bauer argues that heresy was often first and was quite widespread.

The implications of Bauer’s thesis on the study of second-century Christianity have been monumental. Whereas prior studies would use the term ‘orthodoxy’ to refer to right beliefs and ‘heresy’ to refer to wrong beliefs, followers of Bauer have insisted that such terms are prejudicial and anachronistic. Why should we think the winners of the theological battles have any more claim to legitimacy than those groups that lost? What if a different group (such as the gnostics) had emerged victorious? If that had happened, then what we call ‘orthodox’ Christianity would be radically different. As a result, followers of Bauer have insisted that scholars adjust their terminology. Terms like ‘heresy’ and ‘orthodoxy’ should be placed in quotations and used not to make normative judgements but as descriptive categories, i.e., ‘orthodoxy’ simply refers to the version of Christianity that came to dominate in the fourth century and later.

So, what shall we make of Bauer’s thesis? As might be expected, there are aspects of Bauer’s thesis that are certainly correct, and other aspects that have been decisively challenged. Bauer was correct about one key fact, namely that early Christianity was more diverse (theologically speaking) than many scholars have recognized in the past. Eusebius’ model of church history, at least in this area, needs an adjustment and Bauer rightly provides it. We will explore this contribution in the present chapter by surveying a diversity of Christian groups in the second century which held radically different beliefs about Jesus, creation, the Old Testament, and more.

In regard to challenges to Bauer’s thesis, scholars have pushed back against the notion that we can make no meaningful distinctions between heresy and orthodoxy in the earliest centuries of Christianity. Is it really true, as Bauer argues, that ‘orthodoxy’ is simply the product of the political manoeuvring of the eventually victorious party? Is there really no way to identify something as ‘orthodox’ or ‘heretical’? Moreover, scholars have also questioned Bauer’s contention that heretical groups were, in the early stages, even more dominant than the orthodox ones. Is it really true that heresy was as popular as orthodoxy? We will explore these challenges to Bauer in the following chapter.

Diverse groups within second-century Christianity

In the study of early Christianity, scholarly attention has been largely centred upon the major groups and individuals who would eventually come to be regarded as ‘orthodox’ Christianity. Thus, when it comes to the second century, students typically hear about Polycarp, Ignatius, Justin Martyr, Irenaeus, and so on. And, to some extent, this is understandable. After all, these are the individuals who are the major leaders and influencers in this period; and they are the ones who have left behind most of the writings that form our key historical sources. However, we must not forget that these individuals do not represent the only version(s) of Christianity circulating during the second century. Indeed, there were other groups or factions that regarded themselves as Christians; and these ‘alternative’ forms of Christianity also need to be studied and understood.⁵

But before we can commence with a brief survey (a ‘sampling’ really) of some of these groups, an important limitation must be acknowledged. Most of our information about these other groups does not come from the groups themselves but comes from polemical works that were written by individuals who were intent on critiquing them. Put simply, most of our information about ‘heretical’ groups comes from ‘orthodox’ writers. There are a few exceptions to this trend – we do possess some apocryphal writings which come directly from some of these groups (which we will explore further in a later chapter). But as a whole, our primary sources about the nature of divergent groups are the writings of those who attacked them.

Understandably, this raises questions about whether we are always getting an accurate picture of what these groups were actually like and what they really believed. Polemical literature, by its very nature, runs the risk of caricature and misrepresentation.⁶ That said, however, we must be careful of making the opposite mistake and dismissing these historical sources in their entirety merely because they are offering a critique. We cannot forget that the polemical nature of a document can also work in the opposite direction – the writer has at least some interest in accurately capturing the beliefs of his opponents because otherwise his critique quickly becomes irrelevant. It makes little sense for an author to spend time helping other Christians defend themselves against a belief system that doesn’t actually exist. Moreover, we would want to be careful that we do not reject a historical source merely under the claim that it is ‘biased’, given the fact that all historical (and modern!) sources are biased to some degree. Everyone who puts pen to paper has a perspective and a belief system that informs the way they see the world. All these considerations suggest that while appropriate caution is warranted, these polemical tracts can (and often do) still retain accurate and useful information about these divergent Christian movements.

Even so, it must be acknowledged that our earliest sources about these ‘aberrant’ Christian groups often disagree with one another on some of the details. While no doubt some of this disagreement might be due to an overly zealous writer who intentionally misrepresents his opponent, we should not forget that sometimes ancient writers simply got it wrong. Their sources were limited and sometimes they just made mistakes.⁷ This reality should be kept in mind as we enter into a cursory survey of these groups below. We can only sketch the broad outlines of these groups and therefore will not be able to acknowledge (or adjudicate) all the inevitable differences among patristic sources.

Ebionites

One of the central flash points in early theological debates was whether a person needed to follow distinctive aspects of the Mosaic law – circumcision, Sabbath observance, dietary restrictions – in order to be saved. In other words, did a person first have to become a Jew before he or she could become a Christian? Apparently this was not only the issue that led to the Jerusalem council (Acts 15.1), but also the issue that Paul addressed in his highly polemical epistle to the Galatians (Gal. 2.11–21). Apparently there were groups of Christians even in the first century – which Paul labelled ‘the circumcision party’ (Gal. 2.12; cf. Phil. 3.2) – that answered this question with a ‘yes’.⁸

When we come to the second century, we learn of a group that held beliefs very similar to the opponents Paul battled in his letter to the Galatians: the Ebionites. This is not to suggest that the Ebionites existed in the first century – the evidence suggests that ‘Ebionism originated probably sometime in the second century’.⁹ But the Ebionites, like the Galatian ‘circumcision party’, were Christ-followers who refused to abandon the Jewish system of law-observance as they knew it. The origin of the name is a bit of a mystery; some say the group’s founder was a person named ‘Ebion’¹⁰ while others suggest it comes from a Hebrew word meaning ‘poor’.¹¹ Regardless, Irenaeus tells us that ‘Those who are called Ebionites . . . practice circumcision, persevere in the observance of those customs which are enjoined by the law, and are so Judaic in their style of life.’¹² As a result, and not surprisingly, they ‘repudiate the Apostle Paul, maintaining that he was an apostate from the law’.¹³ Likewise, Hippolytus affirms that the Ebionites believe that ‘they are justified according to the law’.¹⁴ And Justin Martyr, while not using the formal name, appears to refer to the beliefs of this same group in his Dialogue with Trypho:

And Trypho inquired again, ‘But if someone . . . recognizing that this man is the Christ, and has believed and obeys him, wishes, however, to observe these institutions, will he be saved?’ I said, ‘In my opinion, Trypho, such a one will be saved, if he does not strive in every way to persuade other men . . . to observe the same things as himself, telling him they will not be saved unless they do.’¹⁵

In addition to their rejection of salvation by faith alone, the Ebionites held a number of other beliefs that stood at odds with traditional ‘orthodox’ Christianity. Most notably, they rejected both the virgin birth and the divinity of Jesus, opting for more of an ‘adoptionistic’ Christology.¹⁶ Jesus was just an ordinary human being, they claimed, who was born physically from the union of Mary and Joseph¹⁷ and was later ‘adopted’ as Messiah by the Holy Spirit due to his holy and righteous life.¹⁸ However, it should be noted that some scholars attribute more of a ‘separationist’ Christology to the Ebionites where a heavenly ‘Christ’ inhabits the man Jesus and leaves him before his death.¹⁹ Such scholarly disagreements are not uncommon given the ambiguity of the patristic sources and the overlap between adoptionistic and separationist Christologies (which sometimes makes them difficult to distinguish).²⁰

The Ebionites also had their own writings. In addition to accepting the authority of the Old Testament, the Ebionites may have used a gospel which some called the Gospel of the Hebrews²¹ which was possibly a modified version of the Gospel of Matthew.²² Scholars have dubbed this mysterious gospel the Gospel of the Ebionites. Noteworthy among the features of this Ebionite gospel, at least according to the excerpts from Epiphanius, is the fact that it did not contain the account of the virgin birth. This fits quite well with the historical testimony mentioned above that the Ebionites rejected the virgin birth and viewed Jesus as the natural offspring of Joseph and Mary.

Just as Paul rejected the Judaizers of his day, the major voices of early Christianity roundly condemned the teachings of the Ebionites. Justin Martyr, Irenaeus, Hippolytus, Tertullian, Origen, and later Epiphanius all regarded the Ebionite doctrine as out of sync with the apostolic faith that had been handed down to them. Jerome even tells us that Ignatius and Polycarp also opposed the Ebionites, but there is no mention of the Ebionites in their extant writings.²³ Most strident in his criticisms was Irenaeus. He compares the Ebionites to heretics like Cerinthus and Carpocrates, he condemns their rejection of the apostle Paul, and he pronounces judgement on them for denying the divine identity of Jesus: ‘[God] will judge also the Ebionites; [for] how can they be saved unless it was God who wrought out their salvation upon earth? Or how shall man pass into God, unless God has [first] passed into man’?²⁴

The existence of groups like the Ebionites also raises complex questions about how they should be labelled or described. The term ‘Jewish Christianity’ has typically been used to describe movements that follow Jesus and yet still adhere, to some degree, to Jewish law-observance.²⁵ But scholars have rightly criticized this label as far too imprecise, and even misleading.²⁶ It leaves unclear whether one has to be ethnically Jewish to be regarded as a Jewish Christian or whether one just needs to follow Jewish practices (or both). The problems with this definition are also exacerbated by the obvious overlap between Judaism and Christianity (as noted in Chapter 1 above). From one perspective, all Christianity is Jewish since it follows a Jewish messiah. Nevertheless, the term ‘Jewish Christianity’ still has a broad usefulness as a way to describe Christ-believers who maintained a ‘faithful adherence to the law’.²⁷ When it comes to defining groups that seem to share both Jewish and Christian traits, Carleton Paget defends the traditional terminology: ‘Possibly we should admit that the word “Jewish Christian” remains the best, even if an inadequate, way of doing such a thing.’²⁸

It is worth noting, however, that not all Jewish-Christian groups were the same. Also active during the second century was a group of Jewish believers known as the Nazarenes (or Nazoraeans). Although the Nazarenes continued to observe the Mosaic law, they did not require its observance for salvation. Indeed, unlike the Ebionites, they embraced the apostle Paul and his mission to the Gentiles and appeared to be generally orthodox in their Christology.²⁹ However, the reliability of this profile of the Nazarenes is complicated by the fact that they are only mentioned by name in later sources, namely Epiphanius and Jerome – and sometimes even these writers seem confused.³⁰ Nevertheless, some scholars have made the case that it was the Nazarenes, and not the Ebionites, that can be traced back to the first century to the earliest Jewish believers in Jerusalem.³¹ If they are correct, then the earliest Jewish-Christian groups appear to be of the orthodox variety, and the divergent factions (like the Ebionites) were a later, second-century development. But the patristic sources that describe these various Jewish-Christian groups are often contradictory, making it difficult to determine which groups they have in mind.

Regardless, it is clear that groups like the Ebionites represent one end of the theological spectrum in second-century Christianity – one that retained a deep commitment (in some fashion) to the Mosaic law and insisted that salvation was contingent upon its observance. We might say that these groups, although professing to follow Christ, viewed their primary identity as Jewish.³² For them, it was the Jewish identity markers that would define the boundaries of the community.

Marcionites

If the Ebionites represented one end of the theological spectrum in second-century Christianity, then one might say that the Marcionites represented the other. The origin of this group can be clearly traced to one of the most well-known figures in the second-century Church, Marcion of Sinope. Marcion was a wealthy merchant and shipowner who made his way to Rome around 144 and made a large financial gift to the church there.³³ His unparalleled generosity would be matched only by the unparalleled theological crisis that would soon follow. Marcion used his newfound standing in the Roman church to disseminate a doctrinal system that would eventually lead him to be regarded as one of the most influential heretics in the history of Christianity.

Due to the disparate (and sometimes contradictory) accounts of Marcion from a variety of patristic sources, it is not always an easy task to know exactly what Marcion believed and taught.³⁴ Nevertheless, across a variety of sources a general picture begins to emerge. Marcion’s theology was shaped by what he regarded as an insurmountable problem with the Old Testament. He viewed the God of the Old Testament as vengeful and wrathful; and viewed the God of Jesus, as described in the writings of Paul, as peaceable, merciful and loving. The former God was strict and lawcentred, the latter was gracious and forgiving. Thus, concluded Marcion, the God of the Old Testament – the God that created this physical world – must be a different God from the one who sent Jesus.³⁵ Or, put differently, the God of the Jews is not the God of the Christians. This fundamental framework, an antithesis between Old and New Testaments, had numerous theological implications for Marcion.

Marcion rejected the authority of the Old Testament

Since the Old Testament was viewed as the product of an inferior and morally questionable deity, Marcion did not regard it as authoritative for Christians. This did not mean that Marcion rejected its authenticity – he believed it contained the words of God, just the words of a different (and lesser) God.³⁶ As a result he engaged in scathing criticisms of the Old Testament teachings and stories, arguing that they were incoherent, contradictory and at odds with what he found in the New Testament.³⁷ Whereas other Christian writers solved some of these Old Testament problems by appealing to allegorical and typological methods of interpretation, Marcion was a literalist who read the text in a more straightforward manner.³⁸ These sorts of criticism of the Old Testament may have been contained in Marcion’s work the Antitheses, which unfortunately has not survived. Based on limited evidence from the church fathers, it seems the Antitheses contained ‘contradictory propositions, which aim at committing the gospel to a variance with the law, in order that from the diversity of the two documents which contain them, they may contend for a diversity of gods also’.³⁹ In the end, Marcion concluded that the Old Testament was from the God of the Jews, not the God of the Christians, and therefore did not view it as binding for believers. In this way, Marcion was the opposite of Jewish-Christian groups like the Ebionites who embraced the Old Testament as central to their Jewish (and Christian) heritage.

Marcion embraced the apostle Paul

Since Marcion rejected the law-centred God of the Old Testament, he resonated with the writings of the apostle Paul who taught that Christians were no longer bound by the Mosaic system (e.g., Gal. 3.2; 5.1). In Marcion’s mind, only Paul understood the radical nature of the gospel over against figures like James, the leader of the Jerusalem church (Acts 13.13). Again, this is nearly the opposite of the Ebionites who rejected Paul as an apostate and embraced more Jewish-oriented Christians like James. When Marcion assembled his own collection of scriptural writings, he would only affirm the writings of Paul and the Gospel of Luke – probably because these were deemed to be the least ‘Jewish’ of the New Testament writings. In addition, it appears that Marcion attempted to edit out any remaining Jewish elements still present in Luke and Paul under the conviction that the text of these books had been corrupted in a Judaizing direction (although Marcion’s ‘editorial’ work was rather inconsistent). Irenaeus describes Marcion’s activities:

Wherefore also Marcion and his followers have betaken themselves to mutilating the Scriptures, not acknowledging some books at all; and, curtailing the Gospel according to Luke and the Epistles of Paul, they assert that these are alone authentic, which they have themselves thus shortened.⁴⁰

Some scholars have even credited Marcion with creating the very first New Testament canon and have suggested the larger 27-book canon that we know today was simply the orthodox response to Marcion’s smaller collection.⁴¹ Other scholars go even further and suggest that canonical Luke did not precede Marcion’s gospel but was actually an expansion of it; i.e., Marcion didn’t cut parts from Luke’s Gospel, but a later author (under the name of Luke) added parts to Marcion’s.⁴² However, today most scholars doubt whether Marcion had near this level of influence on the development of the canon.⁴³ We will explore the origins of the New Testament canon in more detail in a later chapter.

Marcion denied the humanity of Jesus

Marcion’s belief that the physical world was the creation of the inferior God of the Old Testament led him to reject the doctrine of the Incarnation. According to Marcion, Jesus did not really assume a flesh-and-blood human body – after all, Jesus came from another world and could not be bound to the physical creation. Instead, Jesus only seemed to take on human flesh. In fact, it appears that Marcion may not have believed that Jesus was born to a human mother at all, but ‘appeared’ on earth for the first time as a full grown adult.⁴⁴ In this way, Marcion’s Christology was essentially docetic in nature. Docetism – derived from the Greek word dokέw which means ‘to seem’ – held the belief that Jesus was absolutely divine and was (therefore) a human in appearance only. Once again, Marcion’s views stand in contrast to that of the Ebionites. The latter group believed that Jesus was only human, whereas the former believed Jesus was not human at all.

Marcion promoted an ascetic lifestyle

Marcion’s rejection of the physical world also led to an asceticism that was later embraced by his followers. Marcionites were known for their rejection of anything ‘fleshly’ and thus were known for fasting, strict dietary regulations, and the refusal to marry or engage in sexual activity.⁴⁵ Such ascetic tendencies were not uncommon in some second-century groups, particularly among the gnostics. Indeed, it is Marcion’s asceticism, along with his Docetic tendencies, that have led some to suggest that Marcion was a gnostic. However, this is not entirely accurate. While there was surely a gnostic flavour about some of Marcion’s beliefs, he was also markedly different from Gnosticism as will become clear when that movement is explored in more detail below.⁴⁶ In particular, Marcion did not engage in the varied and complex creation mythologies and speculations about divine emanations (‘aeons’) coming from God that were common among the gnostic groups.

As Marcion promoted this system of thought within the Roman church, controversy ensued and eventually a meeting was called where Marcion was allowed to present his views. But the outcome was not what he had hoped it would be. Marcion’s teachings were roundly rejected, his financial gift was refunded, and he was excommunicated from the Roman church. But this was not the end of Marcion’s influence. His followers – the Marcionites – proved to be quite tenacious and his teachings continued to spread far and wide. Indeed, the Marcionites had become such a theological nuisance that just a short time later Justin Martyr complains that Marcion ‘has caused many of every nation to speak blasphemies, and to deny that God is the maker of this universe’.⁴⁷ Similarly, Tertullian lamented that Marcion’s heresy ‘has filled the whole world’.⁴⁸ While such language is no doubt exaggerated for rhetorical effect – the influence of the Marcionites started to decline after the second century⁴⁹ – Marcionite teachings continued to hang on in various parts of the empire for centuries to come. Even in the fourth century, Cyril of Jerusalem warned his congregation to make sure they avoid Marcionite churches when they travel abroad.⁵⁰

Because of the influence of Marcion, a number of church leaders in the second and third centuries expressed their vigorous opposition to his theology, including Justin Martyr, Irenaeus, Hegesippus, Hippolytus, Theophilus of Antioch, Clement of Alexandria and Origen. But the most extensive rebuttal no doubt belongs to Tertullian and his five-volume treatise, Against Marcion. Tertullian not only offers a scathing critique of the teachings of Marcion, but quotes extensively from his edited version of Luke’s Gospel, allowing scholars to offer at least a tentative reconstruction of its content.⁵¹

Gnostics

In 1945 two shepherds made a discovery that would revolutionize our understanding of unity and diversity in early Christianity. While digging for fertilizer outside the small town of Nag Hammadi, Egypt, they uncovered an earthenware jar that contained a library of ancient Christian texts that were radically different from the kinds of writing we have in our modern New Testament. While this collection of manuscripts – contained in 13 distinct codices – was manufactured around the fourth century, a number of the writings contained therein were probably produced much earlier, some even in the second century. These texts documented, in many ways for the first time, the theological system of an early Christian group known as ‘gnostics’. At the centre of this discovery was the Gospel of Thomas, a book that would become, in the modern day at least, one of the most famous alternative gospels (we will say more about Thomas in a later chapter). These texts provide something relatively rare in early Christian history, namely the views of a ‘heretical’ group (or groups) expressed in their own writings. As noted above with the Ebionites and the Marcionites, most of our knowledge of such groups comes from those patristic writers who are attacking them. But in the case of the gnostics, we have an opportunity to hear their own voice.

However, even with such documents at our disposal, defining the precise theological system of Gnosticism is not an easy task. For one, the documents in the Nag Hammadi collection are often difficult to understand, containing strange, symbolic and obscure language. Gnostic thought had a mythological dimension to it that was complicated and perplexing. Second, the individual Nag Hammadi documents do not always share the same outlook. There are a variety of different viewpoints represented by these writings, overlapping at some points and disagreeing at others. There is even scholarly debate about how ‘gnostic’ the Gospel of Thomas really is. Thus, these texts do not represent a single, unified system of thought which we could easily sweep under a single label. Even Irenaeus lamented the diversity of gnostic thought:

But since they [gnostics] differ so widely among themselves both as respects doctrine and tradition, and since those of them who are recognized as being most modern make it their effort daily to invent some new opinion, and to bring out what no one ever before thought of, it is a difficult matter to describe all their opinions.⁵²

As a result, scholars have begun to question whether ‘Gnosticism’ is even a coherent historical or theological category.⁵³ Is it one thing or many things? And if it is many things then should we abandon the term entirely and just explore the individual subgroups on their own terms? Or is there a ‘core’ set of beliefs that all gnostics share? Scholars continue to debate these questions – and we do not need to resolve these debates here. With the appropriate cautions and qualifications in mind, we can still explore some general features of the gnostic worldview that many, though not all, of these documents share.⁵⁴

The physical creation is the product of a false god

While the gnostic creation myth is varied and complex, the broad contours of the story emerge over a variety of texts. At the centre of it all is the belief that there is one true God who is pure spirit, and from this God other (lesser) divine beings come into existence. They are not so much created by the one God but are emanations from the one true God (called ‘aeons’). In one form of the myth, one of these divine beings rebels and eventually creates the physical world of matter as we know it. This God is ‘Elohim’, the God of Judaism. From the gnostic point of view, Elohim is a false god, a ‘demiurge’, whose act of creation has led to the brokenness and suffering in the world.

A ‘dualism’ between the physical and the spiritual

Building on this creation myth, it was common for gnostics to draw a sharp contrast between the physical world (which is evil) and the spiritual world (which is good). This ‘dualism’ often led to an ascetic flavour with gnostic communities; if the body is evil then it must be punished and controlled. Apparently, however, the dualism sometimes had the opposite effect. If orthodox writers are to be believed, gnostic disregard for the body led some of them to embrace a licentious and hedonistic lifestyle.⁵⁵ But even more noteworthy is the way this spirit–flesh dualism shaped the gnostic understanding of salvation. If humans are trapped in a physical world – a world forced upon them through the creative activity of the demiurge – then ‘salvation’ is release from the physical world back into the spiritual plane. This salvation comes through special knowledge (from the Greek gnosis) of God and ‘the true nature of the human self’.⁵⁶ The true nature of humans is that they have a spark of divinity within them (given by the true God) and they are meant for another world. The Gospel of Philip, one of the Nag Hammadi documents, highlights the salvific nature of this knowledge: ‘He who has the knowledge [gnosis] of the truth is free.’⁵⁷ The gnostic concept of salvation is yet another instance where we can observe a significant difference with the thinking of Marcion. For the latter, redemption is not a freeing of the divine spark that resides within humans, but merely a rescuing from the control of the (false) God that created the world. Thus, for Marcion, ‘those who are saved do not already belong in some sense to the one who saves them; they are “strangers” to him’.⁵⁸ In contrast, gnostics believe that God is saving those who already (but secretly) belong to him.

‘Salvation’ through secret knowledge given by Jesus

This secret knowledge needed for salvation could only be revealed through a special heavenly emissary, an ‘aeon’ from the divine realm. And for gnostics, that heavenly emissary was the person of Jesus Christ. Of course, since such a heavenly messenger comes from another world, he could not have a physical body – that would make him trapped in the world of matter like the rest of humanity. Thus, generally speaking, gnostic Christology took one of two forms.⁵⁹ Not surprisingly, some took a ‘Docetic’ approach to the person of Jesus (similar to that of Marcion), arguing that he only seemed to be human but, in fact, never really took on flesh and blood. Other gnostics solved the problem differently. They made a distinction between the human Jesus and the divine ‘Christ’, arguing that the latter was the heavenly messenger who temporarily inhabited the physical body of the man called Jesus of Nazareth. This inhabitation occurred at Jesus’ baptism and allowed him to perform miracles and accomplish other special tasks. And later, just before the crucifixion, the divine ‘Christ’ departed from Jesus and left him to die on the cross, which explains why he cries out ‘My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?’ (Mark 15.34). On this view, the ‘Christ’ is a separate being from the man Jesus.

Needless to say, this litany of theological views created serious problems in the minds of ‘orthodox’ Christian thinkers. Gnostics not only denied that Jesus was the one true God (instead he was an ‘aeon’ from the heavenly realms), they also rejected the union between his divinity and humanity. Moreover, they rejected the fundamental doctrine of creation – shared by both Judaism and Christianity – that the one true God of the universe had made the world and that he had originally made it very good. Indeed, the complex gnostic creation myth, with multiple levels of emanations from God and its myriad of divine beings, stood in sharp contrast to the traditional Christian (and Jewish) view of the world. Consequently, serious responses to Gnosticism (or aspects of it) were penned by the likes of Ignatius, Justin Martyr, Hippolytus, Tertullian, Clement of Alexandria, Origen and Epiphanius. Most notable, however, was the work of the second-century bishop of Lyons, Irenaeus. His five-volume work, Against Heresies, is devoted to a number of different heretical systems, but his primary opponents were ‘those falsely called Gnostics’.⁶⁰ Thus, he provides one of our earliest explanations of the gnostic system, along with an extensive rebuttal.

The writings of Irenaeus highlight the fact that the second century was the time when Gnosticism emerged as a serious threat to the early Christian movement. Scholars have speculated whether Gnosticism as a philosophical system may have had earlier roots outside Christianity, whether in Judaism or even Platonic thought.⁶¹ And there is not yet a consensus about this question. Regardless, as it pertains to gnostic forms of Christianity, this seems to be a phenomenon that reached its mature form in the second century (even if less-developed forms may have existed earlier). As Ehrman observes, ‘[Gnosticism] may have been in existence by the end of the first century but certainly by the middle of the second’.⁶²

Indeed, Irenaeus observes that already by his own time Gnosticism had become quite a nuisance: ‘A multitude of Gnostics have sprung up, and have been manifested like mushrooms growing out of the ground.’⁶³ But unlike the Ebionites and the Marcionites, it seems that the gnostics were not inclined to form their own separate churches. Instead, they held their beliefs (and spread their beliefs) even while in the midst of the main ‘orthodox’ churches. No doubt, this is one of the reasons they were so difficult to identify and root out – they might appear to share the standard Christian beliefs on the outside, while maintaining their own private understandings of these doctrines on the inside. Irenaeus comments again, ‘Such men [Gnostics] are to outward appearance sheep; for they appear to be like us, by what they say in public, repeating the same words as we do; but inwardly they are wolves.’⁶⁴

Before leaving our discussion of Gnosticism, it would be helpful to mention a few of the gnostic leaders that were active in the second century. The select individuals below had very different systems of thought and thus are representative of the diversity even within this ancient movement we are calling ‘Gnosticism’. Indeed, one might even argue that each of them could represent a distinctive heretical movement in their own right. And some scholars have questioned whether some of these names should be associated with Gnosticism at all.⁶⁵ Nevertheless, these individuals at least share enough broad similarities with the gnostic worldview to be included here.

Cerinthus. Of all those individuals who exhibited gnostic tendencies, Cerinthus is certainly one of the earliest. According to Polycarp, Cerinthus even crossed paths with the apostle John in a bathhouse in Ephesus and thus would have been active in the late first and early second century.⁶⁶ Regarding the teaching of Cerinthus, there are conflicting reports among the patristic sources. Earlier authors like Irenaeus place him more in the gnostic camp, while later writers like Epiphanius view him more as a ‘Judaizer’ committed to a chiliastic eschatology.⁶⁷ Without attempting to resolve this quandary, it is at least worth observing that second-century sources painted him with more of a gnostic brush. Not only was Cerinthus said to have taught that this world was created by a secondary and lesser deity – described as an ‘angelic power’, a likely reference to some version of the gnostic creation myth – but he held to a ‘separationist’ Christology common among the gnostics, namely that the divine ‘Christ’ descended on the human Jesus at his baptism and then departed before his crucifixion.⁶⁸

Basilides. Irenaeus provides our earliest reference to Basilides,⁶⁹ a gnostic teacher from Alexandria who taught from the reign of Hadrian (117–138) into the reign of Antoninus Pius (138–161). While it is unlikely that he was the very first gnostic as Eusebius suggests, he is one of the earliest gnostic teachers we know about.⁷⁰ The later followers of Basilides claimed he received his teachings from Glaucias, an ‘interpreter’ of the apostle Peter; however this claim is almost certainly an imitation of the earlier tradition that Mark was an ‘interpreter’ of the apostle Peter.⁷¹ Basilides offers his own complex version of the familiar gnostic creation myth, with myriads of emanations from the true God – even suggesting there were 365 creator-angels.⁷² But Basilides is perhaps best known for his Christological views. While agreeing with his fellow gnostics that Jesus did not suffer physically, Basilides offered his own twist on the crucifixion event. He taught, at least according to Irenaeus, that Jesus switched places with the person who carried his cross, Simon of Cyrene, transforming himself to look like Simon, and transforming Simon to look like him.⁷³ Thus, the Romans crucified the wrong man while Jesus escaped laughing at them. A very similar shape-shifting view of Jesus shows up in one of the Nag Hammadi texts, Second Treatise of the Great Seth.⁷⁴

Valentinus. While the teachings of Valentinus certainly differed from Gnosticism at a number of points,⁷⁵ he employed enough gnostic material for Irenaeus to say: ‘Valentinus adapted the fundamental principles of the so-called Gnostic school of thought to his own kind of system.’⁷⁶ Indeed, the system of Valentinus proved so influential that Pearson regards him as ‘the greatest of all the second-century Christian heretics’.⁷⁷ Our biographical information about Valentinus is not altogether clear – he may have been from Alexandria, Egypt and thus was possibly a student of Basilides. Valentinus arrived in Rome in the 130s and remained an influential voice for the next 15–20 years. Some sources claim that he almost became the bishop of Rome, but the accuracy of these stories is doubtful.⁷⁸ The Valentinians claimed that Valentinus was a student of Theodas who was a disciple of Paul – a claim to apostolic succession that mimics the one made by the followers of Basilides.⁷⁹ Irenaeus devotes the first eight chapters of Against Heresies to describing the Valentinian system of thought – a system which largely follows the classic gnostic creation myth present in writings like the Nag Hammadi tractate the Apocryphon of John. Scholars have also suggested that the Gospel of Truth, another Nag Hammadi document, may have been composed by Valentinus or his followers.⁸⁰ This gnostic gospel claims that Jesus came to give enlightenment to ignorant people so that they might be set free from the material world. Valentinus, like others in gnostic circles, struggled to understand how Jesus could be both divine and human at the same time. Valentinus’ attempt to solve the problem led him to suggest Jesus had a body that was different from that of other humans – one that didn’t digest or dispose of food in the same manner.⁸¹

Ptolemy. Patristic sources mention a number of other teachers and leaders associated with Valentinianism. One of the most notable was Ptolemy who was active in Rome in the middle of the second century. We have little historical information about Ptolemy beyond the fact that he was a disciple of Valentinus, but apparently he was influential enough to warrant extensive attention from Irenaeus in his five-volume Against Heresies. There is an outside possibility he is the same ‘Ptolemy’ mentioned by Justin Martyr and who was martyred under Urbicus the prefect of Rome.⁸² Regardless, Ptolemy is known to modern scholars mainly through his Letter to Flora, a theological treatise to a woman named Flora that outlines a gnostic-like view of the Old Testament. In this letter, Ptolemy, like many gnostics, rejected the orthodox belief that the Old Testament records the words of the one true God – after all, it is filled with offensive and immoral commandments. Moreover, Ptolemy understands Jesus to be fixing (and sometimes abolishing) some of these problematic laws. At the same time, Ptolemy’s letter does not entirely attribute the Old Testament to the ‘devil’ because he believes it does still have some true portions. Instead, the Old Testament is the product of a lower deity, a ‘demiurge’, who is strict and just. In many ways, therefore, Ptolemy’s view is similar to Marcion’s that we discussed above.⁸³ Like many gnostic teachers before him (Basilides, Valentinus), Ptolemy viewed himself as upholding true Christianity and claimed his teachings were received via apostolic ‘succession’, no doubt an imitation of the orthodox claim to have received their teaching through the same means.

Heracleon. While Clement of Alexandria regarded Heracleon as ‘the most famous of the school of Valentinus’⁸⁴ the historical details of his life are sketchy at best. Like other Valentinians, there are reasons to think Heracleon might have had roots in Egypt and eventually made his way to Rome where he may have learned from Valentinus himself.⁸⁵ However, some scholars question whether Heracleon knew Valentinus personally or should even be considered a Valentinian at all.⁸⁶ Regardless, he is most well known for writing one of the earliest commentaries on the Gospel of John – portions of which are recorded by Origen in his own commentary on John. Although Origen disagrees with much of Heracleon’s exegesis, he appears to regard Heracleon as one who possessed significant textual abilities (and, on occasion, even insightful interpretations). Like other gnostics, Heracleon believed that the creator of this world, the ‘demiurge’, was a lesser god. But for Heracleon, the demiurge ends up being a (sort of) follower of Jesus himself. For instance, he viewed the story of John 4.46–54, where a centurion asks Jesus to heal his son, as an allegorical reference to the demiurge asking Jesus for help. Heracleon’s view of salvation is evident in his allegorizing interpretation of John 4.4–42, the story of Jesus and the Samaritan woman. For Heracleon, the woman is symbolic of the ‘spiritual’ elect whom Jesus rescues from their ignorance. The woman has been drinking from ‘Jacob’s well’, which for Heracleon is symbolic of her being trapped in her devotion to the (false) God of the Old Testament. But Jesus offers her ‘living water’, which symbolizes the power of the Spirit that allows her to recognize her true identity as a spiritual child of the true God. Heracleon’s language throughout a number of these Johannine texts reflects a common gnostic practice of dividing humanity into three classes: ‘spiritual’ people (gnostics in the know), ‘natural’ people (ordinary Christians still bound to the OT God), and ‘material’ people (unbelievers). There is debate among scholars about whether gnostics (especially Valentinians) believed these categories were eternal and unchanging, or that individuals could transcend these categories, moving from one to another.⁸⁷

Theodotus. As yet another disciple of Valentinus, Theodotus was active in Alexandria in the middle of the second century. Although the historical details of his life are limited, Theodotus is noteworthy because we have portions of his writings available to us in Clement of Alexandria’s work, Excerpts from Theodotus. As in the case of Heracleon and Ptolemy, this allows scholars again to have direct (and somewhat rare) access to the actual words of a Valentinian teacher, rather than relying solely on the summary of their critics. Scholars have observed that one of the excerpts is a classic summary of gnostic thinking: ‘It is not the bath [washing] alone that makes us free, but also the knowledge: Who were we? What have we become? Where were we? Into what place have we been cast?’⁸⁸ These statements reflect the classic Valentinian creation mythology, namely that people are trapped in the physical creation of the demiurge and salvation comes through knowledge (gnosis) of one’s real identity as one who is ‘spiritual’ and belongs to the true God. The mission of Jesus is to rescue those people out of the world who have the spiritual seed of the true God planted within them.

Montanists

From the New Testament writings themselves – particularly the book of Acts – it is clear that the first-century Christians experienced a variety of what one might call charismatic activity, including experiences with the Spirit and prophetic utterances. However, at the turn of the century, after the apostles had died, it appears that this sort of prophetic activity had begun to quieten down considerably. Although there is patristic evidence that some level of prophetic activity continued in certain quarters,⁸⁹ the Church had shifted towards a more structured and formal ecclesiological framework.⁹⁰

But in the latter half of the second century (c.165–170), a new group emerged that rekindled interest in prophetic and charismatic gifts. While the origins of this movement are unclear, it seems to have emerged in the geographical region of Asia Minor, particularly with an enigmatic individual named Montanus from the region of Phrygia. Consequently, in some circles it was known as the ‘Phrygian’ or ‘Cataphrygian’ heresy,⁹¹ but later was dubbed Montanism after its supposed founder. While later writers make a number of extravagant claims about Montanus’ life – for instance, Jerome claimed he was castrated⁹² – most of them have dubious historical value.⁹³ The truth is that we have very few reliable details about his background. Nevertheless, he emerged out of Asia Minor as the leading spokesman for what was dubbed by its followers as the ‘New Prophecy’ and was joined by two female ‘prophetesses’, Priscilla and Maximilla.

It was not long before Montanism had expanded beyond Asia Minor and into other regions of the second-century Church. There is evidence that places such as Gaul, Rome, Antioch, Carthage and Alexandria were all affected by the rapidly spreading movement.⁹⁴ Additional Montanist leaders, beyond Montanus himself, are mentioned in the historical records, such as Theodotus, Proculus and Aeschinus. In fact, even the famed Tertullian, a Christian leader from North Africa, eventually adopted some Montanist beliefs. Although the Montanists in each of these locales had their own distinctives, and although the movement changed and developed over time, it was, generally speaking, characterized by the following features:

Prophetic utterances. At its core, the Montanists were a prophetic movement, claiming to receive direct revelation from God. Indeed, Montanus himself claimed, at least according to his critics, that he was the mouthpiece of God himself,⁹⁵ or even that he was the Paraclete, the Holy Spirit.⁹⁶ His prophetesses, Priscilla and Maximilla, were also said to receive direct revelation from God. Evidently, the Montanists produced a great number of texts containing the oracles they claimed to have received by the Holy Spirit,⁹⁷ even penning letters similar to that of the apostle Paul.⁹⁸ Not surprisingly, orthodox leaders of the Church became concerned that such writings might be considered Scripture by the followers of Montanus. Indeed, we are told that Gaius, in his dialogue with the Montanist Proclus, rebuked ‘the recklessness and audacity of his opponents in composing new Scriptures’.⁹⁹ Others objected on the grounds that Montanist prophets were putting their ‘empty sounding words’ on the same level as Christ and the apostles.¹⁰⁰ And Hippolytus complained that the Montanists ‘allege that they have learned something more through these [Montanist writings], than from law, and prophets, and the Gospels’.¹⁰¹ Even the Muratorian Fragment, our earliest canonical list, condemned the writings of ‘the Asian founder of the Cataphrygians’, a likely reference to the writings of Montanus.

Ecstatic experiences. Although the Montanist claim to receive direct revelation caused considerable concern among the orthodox, it was really the manner in which they prophesied that proved most problematic.¹⁰² Montanists were known for their ecstatic experiences and trance-like states. Eusebius records a description of Montanus’ own prophetic activity: ‘[He] became obsessed, and suddenly fell into frenzy and convulsions. He began to be ecstatic and to speak and to talk strangely.’¹⁰³ The two prophetesses are described as speaking in a similar fashion: ‘they spoke madly and improperly and strangely, like Montanus’.¹⁰⁴ The orthodox writers condemned this behaviour on the grounds that it was ‘contrary to the custom which belongs to the tradition and succession of the church from the beginning’.¹⁰⁵ In other words, in prior experiences of true prophecy among God’s people, especially those instances described in Scripture, this is not how prophets behaved. On the contrary, the orthodox writers insisted that prophets maintained their own state of mind and their own sensibilities even in the midst of a revelation from God.¹⁰⁶

Apocalyptic fervour. Closely connected to the revelatory activity of the Montanists was their bold prediction of Jesus’ imminent return. Epiphanius records Montanist prophecies claiming the end of all things was near and that the New Jerusalem would descend to earth at the popular Montanist site of Pepuza.¹⁰⁷ The prophetess Maximilla was recorded as saying, ‘After me there will no longer be a prophetess but the end.’¹⁰⁸ While some scholars have maintained that this apocalyptic dimension of Montanism was a later development, it appears that it was present, at least in some degree, from the beginning and grew in intensity over time.¹⁰⁹ This fervent apocalyptic expectation may have been what led Montanists toward their well-known strict ascetic lifestyle – a desire to be ready when Christ returned. Such a radical obedience included, among other things, regular fasting and a promotion of celibacy. Patristic sources disagree about whether the high value placed on celibacy caused Montanists to reject marriage outright¹¹⁰ or whether they simply rejected remarriage after the death of a spouse.¹¹¹ It is also possible that Montanist views on marriage changed and developed over time (or varied within different factions of Montanism). Regardless, the general commitment to an ascetic style was a well-known attribute of the movement, along with apocalyptic expectations of the end.¹¹²

Although the above features of Montanism caused great concern among many orthodox Christians, the movement was not condemned with the same degree of swiftness and clarity as other divergent groups. Montanism was a distinctive sort of heresy because it did not, generally speaking, reject the more fundamental doctrines held by the Church, particularly those related to Christology. And the fact that an orthodox leader like Tertullian could embrace Montanism bolstered its credibility in the eyes of many. Even Hippolytus admitted that Montanism had an orthodox view of creation, of the Church, and of Christ. However, he did add that some Montanists had a modalistic view of the Trinity and thereby ‘affirm that the Father himself is the Son’.¹¹³

Even so, the Montanist movement eventually did receive widespread condemnation. Major critiques of Montanism – from the likes of Gaius of Rome, Apollonius of Hierapolis, Serapion of Antioch, and a few anonymous sources – are preserved by Eusebius and Epiphanius. Other ‘heresiologists’ who responded to Montanism include Irenaeus, Hippolytus, Clement of Alexandria and Origen. Condemnation of the group is also found in the second-century Muratorian Fragment, our earliest canonical list. According to Eusebius, the churches in Asia even assembled together to discuss the New Prophecy and ‘tested the recent utterances, pronounced them profane, and rejected the heresy – then at last the Montanists were driven out of the church and excommunicated’.¹¹⁴ Consequently, the Montanist movement began to fade in the third century and was reduced substantially by the fourth and fifth centuries, after which it is barely visible.¹¹⁵

Conclusion

The above survey, although limited in scope, is illustrative of the type of diversity present in second-century Christianity. Just a short time after the time of the apostles, it appears that the early Church was mired in controversy over a number of different theological issues. On one level this should not be surprising. After all, even in the first century, our earliest Christian writings indicate that there were groups professing the name of Jesus who held views in conflict with Paul and the other apostles. Apparently, such conflicts did not dissipate at the turn of the century, but, in some ways, they even seemed to increase. Additional divergent groups began to spring up, all claiming, of course, to represent original, apostolic Christianity.

The above survey also highlights the kind of theological issues that divided Christians during this period. Debates appear to have centred on a number of key doctrines:

Doctrine of Creation: Who created the world? Was the world created good? And how many gods were there?

Doctrine of Scripture: What is the nature of the Old Testament? Is it authoritative for Christians? And what about new revelation that claims to be on par with Scripture?

Doctrine of Salvation: What are we being saved from, our own sins or the trappings of the physical world? Is faith in Jesus enough to be saved, or does one have to keep the Mosaic law?

Doctrine of Christ: Was Jesus a mere man? Was he so divine that he was not a man? Was a mix between God and man?

In sum, it seems that at least part of Bauer’s thesis is correct. Second-century Christianity was filled with debates about a number of doctrines – and not minor doctrines, but major ones. However, the mere existence of diversity is not the whole story. As we shall see in the next chapter, other aspects of Bauer’s thesis (maybe even the fundamental aspects) have been vigorously challenged by modern scholars. And these challenges make it clear that while there is little doubt Christianity was diverse, there is substantial doubt about whether that diversity dissolves the traditional understanding of orthodoxy and heresy during this critical period.

↑ Back to top