The Great Church
5
The Great Church
Unity in second-century Christianity
[The church] also believes these points [of doctrine] just as if she had but one soul, and one and the same heart, and she proclaims them, and teaches them, and hands them down, with perfect harmony, as if she possessed only one mouth.
Irenaeus (Haer. 1.10.2)
The prior chapter, though very limited in its scope, adequately demonstrates that the second century was a time of significant theological diversity. The infant Church, learning to walk on its own after the departure of the apostles, faced many doctrinal challenges and debates. On this score, Walter Bauer’s intuitions seem to be correct – early Christianity was more diverse than is often realized at first glance.
But there still remains the question of what implications this diversity has for our understanding of the concepts of ‘heresy’ and ‘orthodoxy’ in the second century. There are two main groups of questions that need to be answered. First, were ‘heretical’ groups really as popular and widespread as the ‘orthodox’ ones? Did the heretics really outnumber the orthodox in most geographical centres of second-century Christianity? Second, is it really the case that there is no way to distinguish heresy and orthodoxy during this period? Or, put differently, did all early versions of Christianity really have an equal claim on originality, with the only distinguishing factor being that one of them happened to emerge victorious?
These are not easy questions to answer. But they cannot be answered simply by noting the existence of diversity. Diversity by itself does not mean there is no way to distinguish between heresy and orthodoxy. Nor does it mean that heretical views were as popular as orthodox ones. Diversity – even if there is a lot of it – simply doesn’t answer these questions.
The purpose of the present chapter, then, is to move beyond the mere existence of diversity and address these two main categories of questions. When we do, we shall discover that even in the midst of diversity, there was a core set of beliefs that unified most Christians together. And even more than this, these beliefs appear to have an ancient pedigree – one that goes back even to the days of the apostles. In other words, diversity is only part of the story of early Christianity. There is also an impressive unity that must be appreciated and understood.
The rule of faith in second-century Christianity
For those who have never studied the second century before, the existence of diversity elicits a variety of responses. For some, a conviction emerges that the Church during this period was so hopelessly adrift on the theological sea – without any clear sense of where it had come from or where it was heading – that we can no longer meaningfully speak about what Christians believed. After all, which ‘Christians’ are we talking about when we ask such a question? In the minds of many, the diversity present in the second century must mean that there was no common core of beliefs that could be reasonably identified as ‘Christianity’.
But such a reaction needs to be balanced by the fact that there was also a meaningful unity expressed by many early Christians. Everett Ferguson observes: ‘From very early on there was a widely shared consensus – at least within the Jesus communities that saw themselves as directly linked to the ministry of the apostles – as to the basic shape of the church’s proclamation.’1 Such unity does not, of course, mean that all groups in early Christianity were identical in every way. Rather, as Paul Trebilco argues, unity around the basic Christian message creates a ‘commonality’ where early Christians ‘acknowledge the validity of each other’s claim to be part of the wider movement that we call early Christianity’.2 For many second-century Christians, this doctrinal unity was expressed in what was known as the ‘rule of faith’.
Definition of the rule of faith
The rule of faith, or regula fidei, is basically a convenient summary of what ‘orthodox’ Christians in the second century (and later) regarded as the earliest apostolic teaching. Although the rule is expressed with different language by various writers, it is remarkably consistent across a number of patristic sources such as Dionysius of Corinth, Hippolytus, Irenaeus, Clement of Alexandria, Tertullian and Origen.3 The rule of faith was particularly effective in the battle against heretics largely because of its brevity – it could be simply expressed, easily remembered, and rapidly disseminated.
The rule of faith, then, can be understood as a type of church ‘trad-ition’. But it is a type of tradition that should be distinguished from later ecclesiastical teachings. The Church did not create the rule of faith but viewed it as something that derived from the apostles themselves – the Church merely preserved it and passed it along.4 Irenaeus comments, ‘We refer [the heretics] to that tradition from the apostles which is preserved through the succession of presbyters in the churches.’5 In as much as orthodox writers viewed the rule of faith as a summary of apostolic teaching, they were also able to view it as a summary of the New Testament writings. After all, the New Testament was, in the minds of the orthodox, the written embodiment of the apostolic message.6 In addition, the rule of faith was also viewed as something that expressed the fundamental message of the Old Testament and how that message pointed to the redemptive work of Christ.7 In sum, the rule of faith was viewed as ‘a summary of Scripture’s own story line’.8
For this reason, orthodox writers viewed the rule of faith as a type of tradition that was fixed and unchangeable. This is not to suggest that all expressions of the rule were identical. As we shall see below, there was some flexibility in manner of expression and level of detail. The rule of faith could be adjusted to fit particular needs and situations.9 Moreover, sometimes just portions of the rule are cited by patristic writers, depending on what they wanted to emphasize. Nevertheless, Irenaeus insists, ‘[The church] carefully guards this preaching and this faith, which she has received. . . . Neither will any of those who preside in the churches, though exceedingly eloquent, say anything else.’10 And, as John Behr observes, ‘It is clear, then, for Irenaeus “tradition” is not alive . . . it cannot change, grow, or develop into something else.’11 Irenaeus contrasts the orthodox practice of looking back to the apostles with that of heretics who are listening to the present voices like Valentinus, Marcion or Cerinthus.12 For Irenaeus, and orthodox writers generally, Christians must always ground their theological commitments in the fixed, unchanging tradition of the apostles, as summarized in the rule of faith.
The fixed nature of the rule does not mean, of course, that there is no room for the Church to develop its theological understanding or to make progress in its doctrinal articulations. The Church made great strides, particularly in the second and third centuries, in regards to how they understood (and how they expressed) certain truths. The rule of faith did not stifle such progress, but rather made it possible. The rule provided the necessary theological boundaries and the proper narrative framework within which such theological development could take place. As Paul Blowers observed, ‘[The Rule of Faith] does not provide the answers to all prospective theological and exegetical questions. What it does provide is the fundamental makings . . . of a cosmic and evangelical narrative upon which basis the church must aspire to articulate its doctrine.’13 Or, as Paul Hartog describes it, the rule provided ‘an interpretive “field of play”’ for the Church’s theological growth.14 While the rule marked out the ‘field of play’ for what was regarded as orthodoxy, there still could be (and there still was) much disagreement on a number of issues within those boundaries. So, the existence of the rule should not be taken as an indication of early Christian unity over all doctrinal matters, but rather as an indication of broad-based unity on doctrinal matters that were regarded as central, core and non-negotiable.
Examples of the rule of faith
We now turn our attention to a few examples of the rule of faith in the second century. Of course, there is scholarly debate about what exactly counts as an instance of the rule – some scholars have a more narrow definition, while others allow more flexibility. Since there is not time to adjudicate this complex debate here, we shall use the list provided by Bryan Litfin15 who in turn is dependent on the work of scholars like Jaroslav Pelikan and Valerie Hotchkiss and J. N. D. Kelly.16 The account offered below will not be exhaustive but illustrative of the core beliefs held by orthodox Christians during this period.
We begin at the very end of the second century (though possibly early third century) with the expression of Tertullian:
Now, with regard to this rule of faith – that we may from this point acknow-ledge what it is which we defend – it is, you must know, that which prescribes the belief that there is one only God, and that He is none other than the Creator of the world, who produced all things out of nothing through His own Word, first of all sent forth; that this Word is called His Son, and, under the name of God, was seen ‘in diverse manners’ by the patriarchs, heard at all times in the prophets, at last brought down by the Spirit and Power of the Father into the Virgin Mary, was made flesh in her womb, and, being born of her, went forth as Jesus Christ; thenceforth He preached the new law and the new promise of the kingdom of heaven, worked miracles; having been crucified, He rose again the third day; (then) having ascended into the heavens, He sat at the right hand of the Father; sent instead of Himself the Power of the Holy Ghost to lead such as believe; will come with glory to take the saints to the enjoyment of everlasting life and of the heavenly promises, and to condemn the wicked to everlasting fire, after the resurrection of both these classes shall have happened, together with the restoration of their flesh. This rule, as it will be proved, was taught by Christ.17
The most articulate expressions of the rule of faith undoubtedly come from the highly influential Irenaeus, bishop of Lyons. He speaks of the rule of faith in a number of different places, but we will mention only two here:
The Church, though dispersed throughout the whole world, even to the ends of the earth, has received from the apostles and their disciples this faith: [She believes] in one God, the Father Almighty, Maker of heaven, and earth, and the sea, and all things that are in them; and in one Christ Jesus, the Son of God, who became incarnate for our salvation; and in the Holy Spirit, who proclaimed through the prophets the dispensations of God, and the advents, and the birth from a virgin, and the passion, and the resurrection from the dead, and the ascension into heaven in the flesh of the beloved Christ Jesus, our Lord, and His [future] manifestation from heaven in the glory of the Father ‘to gather all things in one,’ and to raise up anew all flesh of the whole human race, in order that to Christ Jesus, our Lord, and God, and Saviour, and King, according to the will of the invisible Father, ‘every knee should bow, of things in heaven, and things in earth, and things under the earth, and that every tongue should confess’ to Him, and that He should execute just judgement towards all.18
And this is the order of our faith, the foundation of the edifice and the support of our conduct: God, the Father, uncreated, uncontainable, invisible, one God, the creator of all: this is the first article of our faith. And the second article: the Word of God, the Son of God, Christ Jesus our Lord, who was revealed by the prophets . . . by whom all things were made, and who, in the last times, to recapitulate all things, became a man amongst men, visible and palpable, in order to abolish death, to demonstrate life, and to effect communion between God and man. And the third article: the Holy Spirit, through whom the prophets prophesied and the patriarchs learnt the things of God and the righteous were led in the path of righteousness, and who, in the last times, was poured out in a new fashion upon the human race renewing man, throughout the world, to God.19
The apocryphal work the Epistle of the Apostles (Epistula Apostolorum) is purportedly from Jesus’ disciples but is actually an anonymous production from the second century. Regardless, it does preserve some creedal material that is regarded as an expression of the rule of faith:
We know this: our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ (is) God and the Son of God, who was sent from God, the ruler of the entire world, the maker and creator of what is named with every name, who is over all authority (as) Lord of lords and King of kings, the ruler of the rulers, the heavenly one who is over the Cherubim and Seraphim and sits at the right hand of the throne of the Father, who by his word commanded the heavens and built the earth and all that is in it . . . who spoke in parables through the patriarchs and prophets and in truth through him who the apostles declared and the disciples touched. And God, the Lord, and the Son of God, we believe: the word which became flesh through the holy virgin Mary, was hidden in her birthpangs by the Holy Spirit, and was born not of the lust of the flesh but by the will of God.20
Although not a formal instance of the rule of faith, it is worth noting Justin Martyr’s concise expression of early Christian beliefs. When asked by the Roman prefect Rusticus about what Christians believe, Justin replies:
The belief that we piously hold regarding the God of the Christians, whom alone we believe to have been the maker and creator of the entire world from the beginning, both visible and invisible; also regarding the Lord Jesus Christ, the child [Son] of God, who was also foretold by the prophets as one who was to come down to mankind as a herald of salvation and a teacher of good doctrines.21
The early second-century apologist, Aristides of Athens (writing c.125), includes a remarkable summary of the rule of faith in his Apology to the Emperor Hadrian:
The Christians, then, trace the beginning of their religion from Jesus the Messiah; and he is named the Son of God Most High. And it is said that God came down from heaven, and from a Hebrew virgin assumed and clothed himself with flesh; and the Son of God lived in a daughter of man. This is taught in the gospel, as it is called, which a short time was preached among them; and you also if you will read therein, may perceive the power which belongs to it. This Jesus, then, was born of the race of the Hebrews; and he had twelve disciples in order that the purpose of his incarnation might in time be accomplished. But he himself was pierced by the Jews, and he died and was buried; and they say that after three days he rose and ascended to heaven.22
Ignatius, bishop of Antioch in the early second century, provides snippets of what might be regarded as an ‘incipient’ rule of faith, mostly centred on the person of Christ. Ignatius is apparently using this material in the battle with heretical teachers in his day (most probably docetists), and his statements are even employed by later writers such as Theodoret of Cyrus and Athanasius.23 He states:
For some are accustomed to bear the name [of Jesus] in wicked deceit, while acting in ways that are unworthy of God. . . . You must guard against them, for they are hard to tame. For there is one physician, both fleshly and spiritual, born and unborn, God come in the flesh, true life in death, from both Mary and God, first subject to suffering and then beyond suffering, Jesus Christ our Lord.24
And so be deaf when someone speaks to you apart from Jesus Christ, who was from the race of David and from Mary, who was truly born, both ate and drank, was truly persecuted at the time of Pontius Pilate, was truly crucified and died. . . . He was truly raised from the dead, his Father having raised him. In the same way his Father will also raise us in Christ Jesus, we who believe in him, apart from whom we do not have true life.25
Although not part of the list offered by Litfin, it is worth observing here that one of our earliest letters outside the New Testament, 1 Clement (c.96), makes an appeal to the rule of faith. The author (possibly Clement of Rome) exhorts his audience to combat heretical teachings – what he calls ‘empty and frivolous thoughts’ – by conforming to ‘the venerable rule of our tradition’.26 Although 1 Clement does not provide details on the content of this rule, Irenaeus later identifies 1 Clement as a letter that supports his own understanding of the rule of faith.27 Irenaeus even appeals to this letter as embodying the kind of apostolic teaching that can refute gnostic-type thought:
From this document [1 Clement], whosoever chooses to do so, may learn that He, the Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, was preached by the Churches, and may also understand the apostolic tradition of the Church, since this Epistle is of older date than these men who are now propagating falsehood, and who conjure into existence another god beyond the Creator and the Maker of all existing things.28
In addition, the second-century apologetic work, the Epistle to Diognetus, also offers an impressive creedal-like statement of faith about Christ. While not necessarily a technical example of the rule, it covers much of the same territory, moving from the existence of the one true God, to creation, and to the person of Christ:
But the truly all-powerful God himself, creator of all and invisible, set up and established in their [Christians’] hearts the truth and the holy word from heaven, which cannot be comprehended by humans. To do so, he did not, as one might suppose, send them one of his servants or an angel or a ruler . . . but he sent the craftsman and maker of all things himself, by whom he created the heavens . . . by whom all things are set in order and arranged and put into subjection, the heavens and the things in the heavens, the earth and the things in the earth, the sea and all the things in the sea, fire, air, the abyss, creatures in the heights, creatures in the depths, and creatures in between – this is the one he sent to them.29
Summary of the rule of faith
The above list provides an impressive witness to a second-century rule of faith that was remarkably consistent across a wide range of influential figures (Tertullian, Irenaeus, Justin, Aristides, Ignatius, Clement of Rome, author of Epistula Apostolorum), geographical regions (North Africa, Gaul, Rome, Syria, Greece, Asia Minor), and literary genres (treatise, apology, letter, acts). Moreover, it is a rule that extends far back into the very earliest phases of the second century – not long after the last of the New Testament books had been written and the last of the apostles had died. Thus, at least in the minds of leaders like Irenaeus, the rule provides reliable access to apostolic tradition. It is the bridge between the time of the apostles and time of the early Church.
When we consider the nature of second-century Christianity, this sort of unity should not really come as a surprise. While there was no hierarchical authority structure, there was a robust interaction, communication, cooperation and networking among churches during this period. Christians were keen to travel, to confer with other believers, to share their theological views, and to exchange letters and other writings. The extent of literary interaction was particularly impressive – there was a ‘busy, almost hectic traffic of messengers and letters between churches’.30 Of course, this sort of interaction was not a new development in the second century but was evident in the earliest Christian sources, including Paul’s letters, Acts, and the authors of the Synoptic Gospels.31 The interactive nature of early Christianity suggests that we should not view the movement as fractured and divided into a myriad of subgroups that are isolated and cut off from one another. Christianity was not marked by an ‘inward-looking parochialism’ but by an outward-looking spirit of cooperation.32 And it is precisely this feature that would have made a consistent and widespread ‘rule of faith’ a genuine possibility.
As we summarize the instances of the rule discussed above, we should remember again that there was flexibility in the way it was articulated. Some writers provide more detailed versions, while others rehearse smaller portions of it, all of which is determined by the need and situation of the author. But when the rule is looked at as a totality, its theological themes can be summarized in the following affirmations:
1
There is one God, the creator of heaven and earth.
2
This same God spoke through the prophets of the Old Testament regarding the coming Messiah.
3
Jesus is the Son of God, born from the seed of David, through the virgin Mary.
4
Jesus is the creator of all things, who came into the world, God in the flesh.
5
Jesus came to bring salvation and redemption for those who believe in him.
6
Jesus physically suffered and was crucified under Pontius Pilate, raised bodily from the dead, and exalted to the right hand of God the Father.
7
Jesus will return again to judge the world.
What is noteworthy about this list is that it is not just an abstract collection of doctrinal affirmations, but is, in essence, a history of redemption. The rule of faith, as expressed by the second-century fathers, typically runs through these items in the chronological order, beginning with creation and ending with consummation. Thus, this list is less about raw doctrinal truths and more about affirming divine actions in history. It is about what God has done and what he will do through the person of Jesus Christ. Or, to put it differently, the rule functions as a description of the entire biblical storyline, from the Old Testament through the New.33 This is what allowed Clement of Alexandria to say that ‘the ecclesiastical rule is the concord and harmony of the law and the prophets with the covenant delivered at the coming of the Lord’.34
The fact that the rule of faith is a retelling of the cosmic story of creation–fall–redemption–consummation should not be surprising given the fact that the first-century Christians had already begun to articulate their identity in the light of the overall biblical meta-narrative.35 In other words, from the very beginning Christians expressed their theological worldview not just in isolated axioms (although, at times, they did) but primarily in the form of a story. Robert Jenson observed: ‘As to what . . . maintained the church’s grasp of the narrative character of the gospel itself, against powerful temptation to turn it into moral or religious instruction, it was the rule of faith that did this.’36
Indeed, it is perhaps this feature that explains why the above expressions of the rule are rather limited in terms of their discussions of soteriological issues, i.e., how exactly a person is saved. Versions of the rule mention this theme on occasion – Ignatius is clear that salvation is for those who ‘believe in him’ and that apart from Jesus ‘we do not have true life’,37 and Irenaeus affirms that Jesus came ‘in order to abolish death, to demonstrate life, and to effect communion between God and man’38 – and patristic authors certainly talk about it in other places. But as a whole, soteriology is not the focus of the rule of faith. This is probably due to the narrative nature of the rule. It is primarily designed to express God’s great acts in history and is less focused on the human response to (or acceptance of) those acts.
The extent of orthodoxy in second-century Christianity
The above discussion provides a substantial corrective to overly sceptical approaches to the second century that imply there is no meaningful theological unity to be found. The widespread, early and uniform nature of the rule of faith suggests otherwise. Apparently there was a substantive segment of Christianity that was committed to a core set of beliefs about creation, the Old Testament, the person of Jesus, his death and resurrection, and his second coming.
However, there is still the question of how extensive this segment of Christianity really was. Were the Christians committed to the rule of faith merely a small fraction of the diverse mass of Christ-followers, easily lost in the sea of diversity, as followers of Bauer have repeatedly insisted? Was Bauer correct that the ‘orthodox’ groups were late arrivals to geographic areas dominated by heterodox ones? Although a detailed investigation into these issues is beyond the scope of this chapter, we shall offer some brief considerations here that suggest that ‘orthodox’ groups were not on the margins as Bauer’s followers have maintained but probably constituted mainstream Christianity during this period.
Leadership
We begin with the most basic of observations, namely that the primary leaders of the Christian movement in the second century were individuals who would largely be associated with the ‘orthodox’ camp. This reality is evident even in the discussion above regarding the Christian leaders who provided examples of the rule of faith. These individuals could hardly be categorized as on the margins: Tertullian, Irenaeus, Justin Martyr, Aristides, Ignatius and Clement of Rome. In addition, there are many other second-century leaders who, generally speaking, fit within the ‘orthodox’ camp even though they did not record particular instances of the rule of faith. These would include individuals such as Polycarp, Papias, Hegesippus, Theophilus of Antioch, Anicetus of Rome, Polycrates of Ephesus, Victor of Rome, Demetrius of Alexandria, Melito of Sardis, Theophilus of Caesarea, and Dionysius of Corinth. While these leaders certainly did not agree on everything, it is evident from their writings, or from historical reports about them, that there are no reasons to identify them with heterodox groups like the Marcionites, gnostics or Ebionites.
What is particularly noteworthy about the above leaders is that most of them held the ecclesiastical office of ‘bishop’ during this period. As such, they not only bore considerable influence but represented a wide geographical range: Lyons (Gaul), Smyrna, Antioch, Hierapolis, Rome, Sardis, Ephesus and Corinth. It might be objected that orthodox bishops were forced into these geographical locales by higher ecclesiastical powers bent on imposing their agenda on others. The problem with this suggestion is that there were no ‘higher ecclesiastical powers’ during this period. As already observed in a prior chapter, there was not an ecclesiastical structure that allowed churches in one city to dictate the leadership of churches in another city. Even Rome was in no position to do this in the second century. Moreover, it must not be forgotten that, in this earliest phase, it was common for leaders to be elected by their local congregations.39 Thus, we have every reason to think that these many bishops, and the beliefs that they held, are a reasonably accurate representation of the Christian constituencies they served.
When we turn to heterodox groups in the second century, there are certainly many examples of their leaders (e.g., Menander, Saturninus, Cerdo, Basilides, Cerinthus). But what is lacking is evidence that they held the office of bishop in the various locales in which they were active. Of course, we have scattered hints here and there that ‘heretics’ were influential,40 but there is no explicit mention, at least in the second century, of any identifiable gnostic, Marcionite or Ebionite holding the office of bishop. We do have indications that Valentinus may have been considered for the office of bishop of Rome, but the legitimacy of this report is in substantial doubt.41 A possible example is the presbyter Florinus who was rebuked by Irenaeus for embracing the ‘Valentinian error’.42 But even given the fluidity of church offices during the second century (see Chapter 3), there is no indication he served as a bishop. Moreover, it is evident that Florinus’ questionable theology was a new development – he actually entered his ecclesiastical office as an orthodox disciple of Polycarp. Eusebius mentions a Marcionite presbyter Metrodorus who, he claims, was martyred the same time as Polycarp.43 However, other sources indicate that Metrodorus was actually martyred along with Pionius more than a century later.44
Although barely within our stated timeframe, we might also think of Zephyrinus, bishop of Rome at the beginning of the third century (c.199–217), whom Hippolytus accused of modalism.45 But the modalism issue was a debate within the bounds of the rule of faith discussed above – it was not a rejection of the humanity and divinity of Jesus, but was about how best to articulate it. Hippolytus also tells us that the heretical followers of Marcus may have had a bishop sympathetic to their cause.46 But this seems to be a reference to the Marcosians in his own day (early third century), and he never mentions a specific name. We might also consider Natalius who was persuaded by later followers of Theodotus to ‘be called a bishop of this heresy’.47 But the fact that he later repented to Zephyrinus puts him in the third century and outside our timeframe.48
Regardless, these limited and rather obscure exceptions (if they are exceptions) actually prove the rule. There is little evidence in the second century that it was normal for a gnostic, Marcionite or Ebionite to hold the office of bishop. Compared with the litany of orthodox bishops, the paucity of evidence concerning heretical ones is noteworthy. If in fact these various heretical groups had achieved widespread support, even larger than the orthodox churches, then we might have expected to see this fact reflected in the formal leadership of churches in at least some places. And the absence of such leadership can hardly be explained on the basis that these heterodox views were unjustly suppressed by the orthodox. For that to be a credible explanation, there would need to be a church structure in place to do the suppressing (which there was not). And while one might point out that groups like the Marcionites formed their own separ-ate churches, this still does not explain the silence in the historical record about Marcionite bishops. As already observed, the orthodox writers were quite willing to call out the names of heretical leaders, often observing whatever position or role they might have attained.
This pattern regarding the dominance of orthodox leadership in the churches of the second century is confirmed in Ignatius’ letters where he repeatedly calls his audience to obey their bishop. Bauer argued that Ignatius’ push for obedience to the bishop was due to the fact that the orthodox bishops were not firmly established and were on the verge of being overrun. But what Bauer fails to mention is that Ignatius also called for obedience to the presbytery and not just the bishop.49 This suggests, contra Bauer, that these orthodox bishops were over a unified, harmonious presbytery and that the breakaway groups were in the minority. As Robinson observes:
The call by Ignatius for obedience to the presbytery as well as the bishop makes little sense if the presbytery was divided between heretical and orthodox representatives, and it makes even less sense if the heretics had the majority of presbyters – the very situation Bauer seemed to visualize.50
Geography
In regard to Bauer’s case that the major locales of Edessa, Egypt, Antioch and Asia Minor were dominated by heretics, there have been a number of serious (and some would say decisive) rebuttals. Bauer has been shown to overestimate the influence of Rome, to underestimate the extent of orthodoxy, and, most problematically, to overuse the argument from silence.51 Indeed, these rebuttals have been influential enough that even advocates of Bauer have had to acknowledge serious weaknesses in his argumentation.52
Of course, there is no need to rehearse the details of these critiques of Bauer here. However, it should be noted that Bauer’s geographical analysis continues to be challenged in more recent studies.53 Paul Trebilco, in an analysis of Asia Minor, has shown that Bauer’s thesis fails at a number of key points.54 While Bauer argued that Docetism preceded orthodoxy in Smyrna and that the Judaizers preceded orthodoxy in Philadelphia, Trebilco points out that Bauer overlooks key pieces of earlier evidence that suggests otherwise, namely the letters in Revelation to these same cities (2.8–11; 3.7–13). As for Hierapolis, Trebilco shows that Bauer is leaning on the argument from silence when he assumes that Ignatius did not write a letter to that city because it was dominated by heresy. On the contrary, the earliest sources for Hierapolis actually indicate an orthodox presence – the daughters of Philip settled there at the end of the first century and Papias was the bishop there at the beginning of the second. On top of this, Trebilco sketches the influence of both Pauline and Johannine literature in the communities of Asia Minor, showing again that the heritage there appears to be more of the orthodox variety. He concludes:
In the period from around AD 65–135, we can argue that there were strong and influential voices which stood for what later became ‘orthodoxy’. The situation in Western Asia Minor in the early second century thus supports quite a different scenario from that proposed by Bauer.55
In a similar fashion, Arland Hultgren critiques Bauer’s geographical arguments for Asia Minor and also finds them wanting.56 He explores the historical evidence for a number of locales – Philippi, Thessalonica, Galatia, Corinth and Ephesus – and demonstrates that Bauer regularly appeals to the argument from silence, overlooks contrary evidence, and reads too much into his sources. By way of example, Bauer insists that the ousting of church leadership in 1 Clement (which was written to Corinth) was evidence of a gnosticizing takeover.57 The problem with this claim, as Hultgren points out, is that 1 Clement is utterly silent about any gnostic threat – Bauer has to read this into the account. Moreover, the idea that there was a gnostic takeover at Corinth contradicts the later (plain) testimony of Hege-sippus who indicates in the second century that Corinth ‘has remained in the true doctrine’.58 Hultgren concludes, ‘An examination of the sources shows that Bauer’s claims are too sweeping and simplistic.’59
We might also mention Darrell Bock’s study which continues to expose these same sorts of issue with Bauer’s thesis.60 Bock surveys a number of geographical locales, including Rome, Alexandria and Edessa. As for Rome, Bock argues that it was not nearly capable of bearing the influence that Bauer requires and that therefore ‘orthodoxy may have been more widely distributed than Bauer argued’.61 In regard to Egypt, Bock points out that Irenaeus and Clement of Alexandria both provide testimony that, contra Bauer, Valentinianism came to Egypt after orthodoxy – yet another example that Bauer overlooks the express testimony of the church fathers in favour of more speculative views. Although Bock admits that Edessa is ‘the one place where Bauer’s claim might hold’,62 he points out that the historical evidence is just too scanty to know either way. Regardless, Edessa was hardly the hub of early Christianity and therefore not necessarily an indication of the broader situation within the early Church.
If space permitted, we could look at further studies which reach similar conclusions.63 But we can agree with Bock’s overall summary, ‘[Bauer’s] claims are exaggerated. Evidence for an extensive array of alternatives that were the majority is simply not there.’64
Literature
As we will explore further in a later chapter, early Christianity was a ‘bookish’ movement, interested in writing, reading, studying and, of course, copying texts. And these texts provide a window into what early Christians believed. Thus if we want to assess the relative strength of both the orthodox and heterodox movements, examining the literary remains of early Christian texts proves to be a fruitful line of inquiry. The manuscripts left behind can provide insight into which texts, and therefore which theological systems, were most cherished and valued by early Christians.
When we consider the physical remains of Christian texts from just the second and third centuries, we find that there are over 60 copies of New Testament writings, with most coming from Matthew, John, Luke, Acts, Romans, Hebrews and Revelation.65 The Gospel of John proves to be the most popular of these writings with 18 manuscripts, many of which can be dated to the second century (e.g., P52, P90, P66, P75). When we consider Christian writings that represent alternative versions of Christianity – what scholars sometimes call ‘apocryphal’ texts – we find a sizable difference in quantity. During this same period, we possess approximately 17 manuscripts representing alternative versions of the faith – texts such as the Gospel of Thomas, the Gospel of Mary, the Gospel of Peter, the Protevangelium of James, and more. Of all these writings, the Gospel of Thomas has the most manuscripts with just three. If we consider just the second century alone, the disparity is even greater. When we consider all manuscripts that, according to Hurtado’s catalogue,66 have a date that is possibly second century, we find that there are 23 manuscripts from the New Testament compared to only 4 from apocryphal works – a ratio of almost 6:1.
The disparity in the extant remains of these books tells us something about their relative level of usage and popularity. New Testament writings outnumber alternative writings almost six to one in the second century, and almost four to one when we include the third (with the manuscripts of John alone outnumbering all the copies of apocryphal books combined). On this basis, C. H. Roberts argued, ‘Once the evidence of the papyri is available, indisputably gnostic texts are conspicuous by their rarity.’67 Similarly, Scott Charlesworth notes: ‘If the “heterodox” were in the majority for so long, the non-canonical gospels should have been preserved in greater numbers in Egypt. But the early papyri provide “no support for Bauer’s view”.’68
Of course, the random nature of manuscript preservation in antiquity, not to mention the unpredictable nature of subsequent discovery, raises questions about whether extant manuscripts are reliable guides to determining which books Christians read. However, scholars have observed that the transmission and dissemination of books within early Christianity was remarkably rapid and efficient, suggesting that the manuscript remains in one area (in this case, largely Egypt) would be reasonably representative of the broader Christian movement.69 Moreover, the pattern we see in the extant papyri is confirmed when we consider another important fact, namely which books early Christian writers were citing and the frequency with which they cited them. Again, there is a great disparity between the frequency with which the patristic authors cited New Testament writings compared to writings that represented alternative Christianities. For instance, the Gospel of Mary and the Gospel of Peter are never cited at all by any patristic writer.70 Comparatively, just a single author like Clement of Alexandria, who was known for his willingness to cite books outside the New Testament, references Matthew 757 times, Luke 402 times, John 331 times, and Mark 182 times. In contrast, Clement cites apocryphal gospels only about 16 times.71 Thus, John Barton is able to observe: ‘Citations of apocryphal gospels and of other books that were later excluded from the canon do not begin to compete with the frequency of citation of the basic core.’72
In the end, both the distribution of extant papyri and the frequency of citation by patristic writers present serious problems for Bauer’s thesis that heterodox groups dominated the landscape of early Christianity. If they did, they have left very little evidence of that fact.
Rhetoric
When it comes to evaluating the comparative strength of orthodoxy and heresy, much scholarly attention has been devoted to the rhetoric of competing groups and what they say about each other’s relative size or influence. Advocates of the Bauer thesis are quick to point out how concerned the orthodox were about the growing numbers of heretics and how they ‘have been manifested like mushrooms growing out of the ground’73 or have ‘filled the whole world’.74 But it is doubtful that such statements can be taken as evidence that the orthodox were in the minority. On the contrary, such statements are the standard rhetoric of those embroiled in heated doctrinal battles. While they certainly provide evidence that the orthodox writers saw these heretical movements as a serious threat to the health of the Church, there is little to suggest that they are a reliable guide to which group had the numerical advantage. As Robinson observed, ‘The number of heretics has no proportional relationship to the decibel of the polemic raised against it.’75
Bauer appeals to Polycarp’s reference to ‘the error that deceives many’76 in his day and insists that this must mean ‘the overwhelming majority’.77 But it is not necessary to take the language this way.78 Polycarp may simply mean the heresy was widespread without indicating that it was the majority view. Moreover, in other places heretical writers seem to acknowledge they are in the minority. Clement of Alexandria records excerpts of the Valentinian Theodotus, one of which says, ‘therefore many are material, but not many are psychic, and few are spiritual’.79 It is clear that the ‘psychics’ are the orthodox whereas the ‘spiritual’ are the gnostics.80 Thus, we have an indication here – from the mouth of a gnostic – that they are ‘few’ in number. And this self-understanding fits quite well with the widespread conviction among the gnostics that only a limited number are spiritually enlightened like they are. This same pattern is visible in the gnostic leader Heracleon as he indicates that the psychics are ‘many’ as opposed to the more spiritual gnostics.81 Even Elaine Pagels acknowledges this reality: ‘Certainly Bauer’s suggestion that . . . those later called “heretics” formed the majority, goes beyond even the gnostics’ own claims: they typically characterized themselves as “the few” in relation to “the many”.’82
We find confirmation of this pattern again in the writings of the pagan philosopher Celsus. As noted in a prior chapter, Celsus was one of Christianity’s harshest critics in the second century and was relentless in attacks on the emerging Church. As such, Celsus serves as an ideal source for acquiring an outside and disinterested assessment about the nature of orthodoxy and heresy in early Christianity. While Bauer insists that Celsus’ description of Christianity could only have come from the church at Rome, he provides no evidence for this claim.83 Indeed, one of the few geographical references in the treatise of Celsus actually places his travels in the East in the regions of Phoenicia and Palestine.84 Thus, we have no reason to think Celsus had access only to the Roman version of Christianity.
When we examine Celsus’ description of Christianity, he does acknowledge the diversity of factions that existed during this period, including groups like the Valentinians, Marcionites, and Jewish Christians.85 However, at the same time, Celsus describes this fracturing of Christianity as a later development – the Church started out unified and only later did these divergent views create problems. He writes: ‘Christians at first were few in number, and held the same opinions; but when they grew to be a great multitude, they were divided and separated, each wishing to have his own individual party.’86 Such a description is contrary to Bauer’s insistence that what came to be known as heresy was the dominant view from the very beginning. Moreover, it fits quite well with how Irenaeus and Eusebius both understood heretical factions to be a later development.87 Beyond this, Celsus even provides indications that it was the orthodox party, and not the heretical factions, that were those ‘of the multitude’,88 that is the majority party. Indeed, Celsus contrasts those who denied the Jewish God and the Old Testament creation accounts (common among the heretical groups) with ‘the Great Church’ that accepted them – yet another indication that the orthodox were numerically superior.89 As Gary Burke observes, ‘For Celsus Christianity was predominantly of the orthodox type, which he recognized as theologically closer to its origins and numerically stronger than the other forms.’90
That the ‘Great Church’ was simply mainstream Christianity in Celsus’ day finds confirmation in the fact that Celsus directed the bulk of his attacks against precisely this form of Christianity. Despite the fact that he recognized many sub-factions within the Christian movement, Celsus focused his attention on the beliefs, practices and writings that were clearly associated with the orthodox party. Robert Wilken comments:
When he [Celsus] wishes to offer substantive criticisms of Christianity, he does not discuss the Gnostics or the Marcionites; Celsus assumes he knows what Christianity is, and he does not identify it with one of these parties. Instead, he aims his attack at “the great church,” the centrist party if you will.91
In sum, all of these considerations – early church leadership, geography, literature and rhetoric – appear to be pointing in the same overall direction. And that direction is not in favour of Bauer’s reconstruction of early Christianity. On the contrary, all these considerations suggest there are few reasons to think heretical groups held a numerical advantage in the second century.
Distinguishing between heresy and orthodoxy in second-century Christianity
Thus far we have seen that, even in the midst of significant diversity, there was a mainstream Christian Church that was unified around the rule of faith and appears to have represented the majority of believers. However, the question still remains whether this version of Christianity should be granted some sort of ‘normative’ status. After all, it might be argued, being in the majority is not a sufficient basis to regard one group as more authentic or legitimate than the many other versions we discussed in the prior chapter. Why should followers of the rule of faith be regarded as ‘true’ Christians and not the followers of, say, gnostic teachings? There is still no standard, Bauer would insist, to distinguish between such groups in this period.
The definition of ‘Christianity’
By way of response, it certainly is true that historians are not in a position, merely by looking at the historical data, to determine which group represents ultimate religious truth. That is not what historians are asked to do. However, at the same time, historians are in a position where they are called upon to accurately describe the development of religious movements. And in order to do so, some reasonable effort must be made to define what counts as a genuine instance of that religious movement. Refusing to take up this task when it comes to the Christian religion leaves the historian in a position where he must attach the label ‘Christianity’ to any and every ancient instance where someone claims the name of Jesus. While at first glance this approach may seem fair and charitable, it runs the danger of making the term ‘Christianity’ utterly meaningless. To define Christianity solely on the basis of a person’s (or group’s) self-declaration is to plunge it fully into the realm of subjectivism. On this approach, Christianity can be anything. And if it can be anything, then there can be no such thing as ‘Christianity’. It becomes a chimera – an illusion.
Of course, there are some that would be all too happy to deconstruct Christianity in this fashion. Religions are whatever people make of them, they might say. However, as appealing as that might be to some, it is simply not the job of historians. Their role is not to deconstruct religion any more than it is to advocate for it. The historian’s job is to describe it and trace its historical development – and this is not possible when terms like Christianity are attached to virtually any and every group that claims the label.
The problem with such an approach becomes even more apparent if it were practised in the modern day. Consider for example the UFO religious group ‘Heaven’s Gate’ led by Marshall Applewhite. This group believed that they would, upon death, be transported to an alien ship following the Hale-Bopp comet – a belief that led 39 of them to commit mass suicide in 1997. They also claimed to follow Jesus and to be fulfilling the prophecies of Revelation. If a media outlet reporting on this event had declared ‘Christianity is a religion that believes in UFOs and mass suicide’, there are few that would defend such a statement as legitimate. People intuitively know that religious definitions cannot be entirely self-designated with little or no concern for what a religion has historically believed.
But there may be a way forward. If we are looking for a reasonable standard for what counts as ‘Christianity’ in the second century, and thus the standard for what we could call ‘orthodoxy’, one possibility is to use a standard that even conflicting groups agreed upon. Incredibly, even in the midst of all the give and take of early Christian debates, both sides would often appeal to the same ultimate criterion, namely the teaching of the apostles. The original apostolic message – what we might call the apostolic kerygma – was regarded by virtually all Christian groups as the earliest, most authentic version of Christianity. This is why both an ‘orthodox’ leader like Irenaeus, and ‘heterodox’ leaders like Basilides, Valentinus and Ptolemy, all claim to have received their teaching from individuals who were taught directly by the apostles. This is why Christian groups regularly claimed their books were ‘apostolic’ and contained the teachings of the apostles – which is why so many books were named after apostles. And this explains why Mark’s Gospel was routinely regarded as containing the preaching of the apostle Peter.
Ironically, many modern scholars use this shared standard for truth as a reason to sweep all Christian groups together into one massive, undefined lump. We cannot differentiate among them using this standard, it is argued, because they all claim to be an authentic apostolic version of Christianity. So, Helmut Koester argues that ‘the criterion of “apostolic” is useless when Christian movements that were later condemned as heretical can claim genuine apostolic origin’.92 Similarly, Ehrman argues that Ptolemy’s gnostic Letter to Flora ought to be regarded as equally valid as any other Christian document precisely because ‘he understood his views to be those of the apostles’.93
The problem, however, with this line of reasoning is that it repeats the same mistake we observed above. It assumes that all self-designations are equally valid. If a person claims a label (in this case ‘apostolic’) then we ought to simply grant it. Missing from the assessments of Koester and Ehrman is one critical fact, namely that we have access to historical sources from the first century that contain primitive apostolic teaching. In other words, we can actually check these second-century groups against this earlier apostolic material. Bauer (and those who follow Bauer) often res-trict their discussion to the competing claims of second-century groups, almost as if there were not earlier material to which we could compare those claims. Indeed, Bauer was often criticized for (largely) ignoring the first-century sources. But even if we leave aside some of the disputed New Testament writings, we have access to at least seven genuine letters from the apostle Paul himself (Romans, 1 and 2 Corinthians, Galatians, Philippians, 1 Thessalonians, Philemon).
If we want to know what the earliest apostles believed, these seven letters provide our best opportunity to find out. The primary reason to start with Paul is, as Larry Hurtado has observed, that ‘Pauline Christianity is the earliest form of the Christian movement to which we have direct access from undisputed firsthand sources.’94 While some scholars have tried to reconstruct even earlier sources – such as the hypothetical Q source – the provenance, authorship and content of these sources is in serious doubt. Even more than this, Paul had close relationships with key leaders in the earliest Christian circles ever since the days of his own conversion in the 30s of the first century. These relationships included leaders like Peter and James, as well as those he met during his various travels throughout the Greco-Roman world, from Palestine to Asia Minor to Rome. Thus, Paul was in a position to be well-acquainted with Christian beliefs and practices that were genuinely ancient and geographically widespread.95 And, of course, it should not be forgotten that embedded within Paul’s letters are numerous pieces of even earlier confessional and creedal material that takes us back to the most primitive layers of Christian teaching, into the 30s and 40s of the first century. In other words, Paul did not just provide apostolic teaching himself, he passed along apostolic teaching that no doubt touches the very first decades of the Christian movement (e.g., Rom. 1.2–4; 1 Cor. 8.6; 11.23–26; 15.3–11; Gal. 1.4; Phil. 2.6–11; 1 Thess. 4.14). Even for scholars that continue to question whether Paul’s letters accurately represent the earliest apostolic teaching, it must be acknowledged that they nonetheless represent the earliest apostolic teaching available to us. And, as such, they constitute a reasonable standard for what should count as ‘original’ Christianity.
All of this is to suggest that we should define ‘orthodoxy’ not only by looking forward to the fourth-century developments and later (as Bauer argued) but by looking back to the earliest apostolic teaching available to us (Paul’s writings) and the confessional formulas embedded within them.
Comparing apostolic teaching and the rule of faith
If we have a reasonable standard for what should count as original/orthodox Christianity, namely the earliest apostolic teaching available to us in Paul, then that standard can be compared to the teachings of the various groups we have surveyed from the second century. When we do so, we find (perhaps not surprisingly) that the apostolic teaching in Paul matches very closely with the core doctrinal commitments of those groups that embraced the rule of faith. Leaning on the work of a litany of scholars – including C. H. Dodd, J. N. D. Kelly, Oscar Cullmann and Jaroslav Pelikan – Bryan Litfin has offered a detailed study comparing the rule of faith and the earliest apostolic teaching in the first century. He argues:
My contention is that when we examine the second- and third-century orthodox regula fidei, we find it coheres with the earliest available creedal material to be found in (or discerned behind) the New Testament – which is the most historically valid baseline for defining the Christian religion, quite apart from any spiritual or canonical value assigned to the Bible.96
Of course, we do not have space here to rehearse the full details of Litfin’s case. But even a brief comparison of the aforementioned seven tenets of the rule of faith with the teachings found in the undisputed letters of the apostle Paul suggests that Litfin’s intuitions are correct. One hardly need demonstrate that Paul was a monotheist who believed in the one true God of Israel (e.g., Rom. 3.29–30; Gal. 3.20; 1 Cor. 8.6), maker of heaven and earth (e.g., Rom. 1.18–23; 1 Cor. 8.5–6), that he viewed the Old Testament writings as a reliable and faithful witness of the deeds of the God of Israel (e.g., Rom. 2.24; 3.4, 10; 4.17; 8.36; 9.13; 1 Cor. 1.19, 31; 2.9; 3.19; 6.16; 9.9), and that these same writings predicted and promised the coming Messiah (e.g., Rom. 1.2; 3.21; 16.25–26; Gal. 3.15–18). Moreover, it is hardly disputed that Paul believed that Jesus was the Son of God (e.g., Rom. 1.4; 2 Cor. 1.19; Gal. 2.20), born of the seed of David (e.g., Rom. 1.3; 9.5; Gal. 4.4), and suffered crucifixion (e.g., 1 Cor. 1.13, 23; 2.2; 2 Cor. 13.4) for the salvation of those who put their faith in him (e.g., Rom. 3.21–26; 5.6–8; 1 Cor. 15.3; 1 Thess. 5.10). And certainly Paul believed in the bodily resurrection of Jesus from the dead (e.g., Rom. 1.4; 8.11; 1 Cor. 15.3–49) and in his future return in glory and judgement (e.g., 1 Thess. 1.10; 2.19; 3.13; 4.15–18).
Perhaps the one area scholars would want to contest is whether Paul believed that Jesus was fully divine, the pre-existent creator, God come in the flesh. But a number of Christological studies have suggested that Paul indeed held just such a view.97 Richard Bauckham, in fact, has argued not only that Paul held such a view but that the entire New Testament corpus held the same view: ‘The highest possible Christology – the inclusion of Jesus in the unique divine identity – was central to the faith of the early church even before any of the New Testament writings were written, since it occurs in all of them.’98 Thus, the view that Jesus was to be identified with the God of Israel was not something that developed in the second century, nor was it something that gradually grew over time (as opinions of Jesus moved in stages towards divinity), but was something that was present at the heart of Christianity from the very start.
Let us consider just two examples that show that the highest of Christologies was present in our earliest sources. First, consider Paul’s language in 1 Corinthians 8.5–6:
For although there may be so-called gods in heaven or on earth – as indeed there are many ‘gods’ and many ‘lords’ – yet for us there is one God, the Father, from whom are all things and for whom we exist, and one Lord Jesus Christ, through whom are all things and through whom we exist.
At the heart of this statement – given in the context of food offered to idols – is Paul’s concern to uphold monotheism. There is only one God who is worthy to receive cultic worship, as opposed to the many false gods present in pagan worship. Indeed, it is widely recognized that Paul is clearly drawing upon the core monotheistic confession of ancient Israel, the ‘Shema’ of Deuteronomy 6.4: ‘Hear, O Israel: the Lord our God, the Lord is One.’99 What is noteworthy, however, is that Paul has now included Jesus Christ within the Shema, even using the same word (‘Lord’) to describe him. Paul is not adding Jesus as a second deity, as if there were now two gods, but rather he is including Jesus in the divine identity of Yahweh. This is confirmed by the fact that Paul attributes to Jesus the very same act of creation that he attributes to God: ‘through whom are all things and through whom we exist’. Jesus is not the recipient of a creative act, but the one who performs the creative act.100 Thus, Bauckham concludes, ‘A higher Christology than Paul already expresses in 1 Corinthians 8.6 is scarcely possible, and . . . [is] the common character of all New Testament Christology.’101
The other passage (not surprisingly) is Philippians 2.6–11, one of the clearest and most profound declarations that Jesus is Lord over all. Not only does Paul affirm the pre-existence and Incarnation of Jesus – ‘though in the form of God . . . made himself nothing, taking the form of a servant, being born in the likeness of men’ – but he describes the highest possible exaltation of Jesus: ‘So that at the name of Jesus every knee should bow, in heaven and on earth and under the earth, and every tongue confess that Jesus Christ is Lord, to the glory of God the Father.’ This latter phrase draws explicitly on Isaiah 45.23, where, in the original context, Yahweh declares, ‘To me every knee shall bow, every tongue shall swear allegiance.’ Paul takes the glory due to Yahweh alone and applies it to Jesus – showing that he considers the latter as fully part of the divine identity. Thus, Hurtado has observed that Philippians 2.6–11, when viewed as a whole, describes the work of Christ in a ‘narrative sequence’, starting with his pre-existence, moving to his Incarnation, then to his humiliation, and finally to his exaltation.102
What is particularly noteworthy about both of these passages is that scholars have argued that each of them reflects even earlier Christian trad-ition that significantly pre-dates Paul’s own letters. In the case of Philippians 2.6–11, it is widely regarded as an earlier Christological ‘hymn’ that Paul adapted for use within this particular letter. Likewise, 1 Corinthians 8.6 is considered to be one of the earliest creedal statements within the Pauline corpus.103 Thus, not only do these passages show that the apostle Paul himself had a high Christology, but that this high Christology pre-dates Paul and appears in the very earliest layers of the Christian faith, possibly back into the 30s of the first century.104
If our analysis has been correct, then it seems that there is a noteworthy level of theological continuity that extends from the apostolic tradition contained in Paul to the tradition contained in the rule of faith. As Philip Jenkins has observed, ‘What became the orthodox view has very clear roots in the first century, and indeed in the earliest discernible strands of the Jesus movement.’105 This would seem, at least to some degree, to comport with Irenaeus’ own understanding of the rule of faith when he said, ‘We refer [the heretics] to that tradition from the apostles which is preserved through the succession of presbyters in the churches.’106 And this continuous tradition would have effectively ruled out many of the beliefs of the heterodox groups discussed in the prior chapter. A monotheistic commitment to the one God of Israel would have eliminated gnostic, Valentinian, or Marcionite claims that there were multiple gods and that the God of Israel was not the real God. The embracing of the Old Testament as a faithful witness to the God of Israel (and to Christ) would also have had a similar effect, negating the claims of Marcion and the gnostics who regarded the Old Testament as obsolete. The commitment to the physical birth and physical resurrection of Jesus would have led to the rejection of both Docetic and separationist Christologies. And the belief that Jesus was to be identified with the God of Israel would have ruled out Ebionite claims that Jesus was merely human descended from David.
First-century diversity
Of course, it should be acknowledged that Christianity even in Paul’s day was also not a monolithic entity. There were numerous divergent groups, some of which disagreed with Paul and had a very different conception of the Christian faith. Some scholars would argue that Paul’s teachings cannot be the standard for what counts as orthodoxy because other Christians in his own day saw things differently. Moreover, many of the other New Testament writings themselves, it is argued, exhibit a theological system at odds with Paul. Why should we think Paul’s version of Christianity is any more valid than the other versions visible within the pages of the New Testament? J. D. G. Dunn has argued for this general approach in his investigation of unity and diversity in the New Testament and concludes, ‘There was no single normative form of Christianity in the first century.’107 In other words, the reason we have no clear demarcation between orthodoxy and heresy in the second century is because that was the way it was even in the first.
Now, in many ways, Dunn is right in his analysis. Certainly there were diverse Christian groups in the first century – even a cursory glance through the pages of the New Testament shows the existence of various factions.108 There was the circumcision party in Galatians (2.12), the eschatological sceptics in 2 Peter (3.4), the secessionists in 1 John (2.19), the Nicolaitans in Revelation (2.6), and many more. The problem, however, is that there are few reasons to regard the teachings of these groups as more authentic than the teachings of Paul that we have already discussed. Indeed, we know very little about these divergent groups, their history, their provenance, and even their beliefs (which have to be reconstructed from the limited descriptions in the New Testament writings). In contrast, Paul’s historical situation, his relationship to the other apostles, his core teachings, and his access to earlier traditions, are all much more well established.
As for Dunn’s observation that even the different New Testament writings themselves exhibit theological diversity, we can agree in part. Certainly the New Testament authors come from a variety of perspectives and backgrounds, each offering their distinctive assessment of the work and person of Jesus. Indeed, even the inclusion of four distinct Gospels – which are different from each other in a number of ways – demonstrates the internal diversity within the pages of the New Testament. However, such diversity still has limits.109 As one obvious example, there is no evidence of a New Testament writing affirming multiple gods. The earliest believers, coming out of a Jewish background, were decidedly monotheistic. We might also add the fact that the New Testament writers consistently viewed the Old Testament as a faithful witness to the deeds of this one true God. Just these two considerations alone would rule out many of the later heretical movements.
But even if one were to conclude that there were genuinely contradictory theological camps represented within the pages of the New Testament, it would still have to be shown that they have a better claim to represent original Christianity than the apostle Paul. Take, for example, the issue of the Christology of the Gospel of Mark. Ehrman argues that Mark taught a different (and lower) Christology than the apostle Paul, and thus represents a competing camp within the early Christian movement.110 Even if he is correct – and his views have been substantively questioned111 – one must still demonstrate that Mark’s Gospel contains tradition that is as (or more) reliable and primitive as that contained in the writings of the apostle Paul. Given the later date critical scholars give for Mark (c.70), and the ambiguous authorship and historical situation (at least according to Ehrman), this seems to be a difficult case to make.
Regardless, let us grant (for the sake of argument) that there are not only contradictory theological camps represented within the New Testament but that the evidence for the primitive nature of all of them is precisely equal. Does that mean there was no theological ‘core’ that the earliest Christians agreed upon? Even Dunn, who has laboured to demonstrate the diversity within the pages of the New Testament, has argued that there still was ‘a fairly clear and unifying strand’ that tied all Christians together:
That unifying element was the unity between the historical Jesus and the exalted Christ, that is to say, the conviction that the wandering charismatic preacher from Nazareth had ministered, died, and been raised from the dead to bring God and man finally together, the recognition that the divine power through which they now worshipped . . . was one and the same person, Jesus, the man, the Christ, the Son of God.112
This core set of beliefs, as minimalistic as it is, still would provide a clear standard by which many later movements could be deemed heretical. In particular, the affirmation of the full humanity of Jesus, and the same Jesus’ physical death and resurrection, would at least rule out any Docetic version of the faith (which denied the humanity of Jesus) and any gnostic version of the faith (which denied that Jesus physically suffered and was physically raised). Thus, even if one were to grant the critical consensus on diversity within the New Testament (as represented by Dunn), there would still be no reason to think the definition of ‘Christianity’ was utterly without boundaries and contingent solely on a person’s self-definition. Put differently, even the minimalistic core highlighted by Dunn is more consistent with the later rule of faith than with any other competing groups.113
Conclusion
While there is little doubt that second-century Christianity was a diverse phenomenon – Bauer appears to be correct on this score – that observation is not the whole story. Indeed, this chapter offered three considerations that provide a more balanced perspective. First, even in the midst of this diversity, there was a widespread unity centred upon the ‘rule of faith’, one of the earliest expressions of apostolic teaching. As observed above, this rule was embraced by a significant number of influential leaders and texts – including Tertullian, Irenaeus, Aristides, the Epistula Apostolorum, Justin Martyr, the Epistle to Diognetus, Ignatius, Clement of Rome – covering a wide range of geographical locales. Second, there are a number of lines of evidence that suggest this ‘orthodox’ crowd was not on the margins as Bauer maintained, but constituted the majority of Christians or, as Celsus put it, ‘the Great Church’. And third, we argued that the teaching found in the rule of faith matches most closely with the earliest accessible apostolic teaching, namely the seven undisputed letters of Paul. If the earliest apostolic teaching is a reasonable standard for what counts as ‘orthodoxy’, then it seems that title is best applied to the mainstream Church that embraced the rule of faith.
In the end, these three considerations demonstrate that it is not adequate to view second-century Christianity as merely a cacophony of variegated and divergent traditions. There was diversity, but there was also a centre. Christoph Markschies refers to this as an ‘identity-forming center’ which was driven by the ‘great store of theological commonalities’ among early Christians.114 And this centre was not just one of many traditions, but the set of beliefs and practices that emerged as the dominant form of the faith for the next 2,000 years. Thus, to understand how and why this centre formed confronts us not only with the Christianity of the past, but also with the Christianity of the present.