Filoramo G A History of Gnosticism

A History of Gnosticism
moo stOk YO F
(j;NOSTICISM
Giovanni Filoramo
Translated by Anthony Alcock
Basil Blackwell
English translation copyright © Basil Blackwell 1990
First published in Italian as L’attesa della fine. Storia della gnosi © Guus.
Laterza & Figli
First published 1990
Basil Blackwell Ltd

108 Cowley Road, Oxford, OX4 1JF, UK
Basil Blackwell, Inc.

3 Cambridge Center
Cambridge, Massachusetts 02142, USA
All rights reserved. Except for the quotation of short passages for the
purposes of criticism and review, no part of this publication may be
reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by
any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise,
without the prior permission of the publisher.
Except in the United States of America, this book is sold subject to the
condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, re-sold,
hired out, or otherwise circulated without the publisher’s prior consent in
any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and
without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the
subsequent purchaser.
British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data
A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.
Library of Congress Cataloging in Publication Data
Filoramo, Giovanni.
[Attesa della fine. English]
A History of Gnosticism / Giovanni Filoramo ; translated by Anthony
Alcock.
Fae Cit
Translation of: L’attesa della fine. _
Includes bibliographical references,| neology
Library
ISBN 0631-15756-5
1. Gnosticism. I. Title. — eta an aie eam nee
BT1390.F5513 1990 aCHOGL: OF) 'LOLOG®9127513
299’ .932—dc20 AT CLAREMONT CIP
Typeset in 10 on 12 pt Sabon
by Photo-graphics, Honiton, Devon
Printed in Great Britain by TJ Press Ltd., Padstow
Contents
Abbreviations Vill
Introduction Xlll
Gnosis and modern culture xiii
The rediscovery of Gnosticism XViil
Fragments of a Lost Faith

Discovery
The Gnostics and their mask: the problem of the
heresiological sources
In search of a theme: Gnosticism and its interpretations
A voice from the desert: the Nag Hammadi library
Between Demons and Gods: an Age of Revelation

A two-headed Janus: the century of the Antonines
New religious horizons
Ways of salvation
Ecstasy and revelation
In search of a new identity
The Gnostic Imagination

The nature of Gnostic knowledge
Myth, thought and society
The nature of Gnostic myth
In the World of the Pleroma

Gnostic dualism
Prologue in Heaven
The mystery of the archetypal Androgyne
vi Contents
Divine hierarchies: the structure of the pleromatic
family 63
The sin of Sophia 67
(S) The Arrogance of the Demiurge and the Creation of the

World 7
Sophia’s disruptive behaviour 73
‘Woman born of woman’: the birth of the Demiurge wi
Sethian and Valentinian cosmogonies 81
Gnostic variations on cosmogonic themes 83
‘ 6/ And God Said, ‘Let Us Make Man in Our Image and

Likeness’ 87
Introduction 87
The creation of Adam and Eve 88
The unwavering race: Seth and his descendants 94
The anthropogony of the Valentinian School 98
\ 7) Mysterium Coniunctionis: The Gnostic Saviour 101

The data 101
The case of Poimandres 107
Seth the Saviour 110
The Valentinian Jesus 116
Other Gnostic Christologies 124
8) Waiting for the End 128

. The nature of Gnostic eschatology 128
The time of the Church 134
Gnostic accounts of the Ascent of the Soul 137
9 Simon Magus and the Origins of Gnosticism 142

Gnosis and Gnosticism 142
Contents Vil
In search of the origins: Simon Magus and the myth of
Helen 147
10 Visionaries, Prophets and Divines: Towards a History of

Gnosticism 153
Ecstasy, possession and revelation 153
Second-century Gnostic doctors 157
Resistance and surrender 169
ig! Ascetics and Libertines 1735

Towards a sociology of Gnosticism 73
Ritual processes 178
Ascetics or libertines? The dilemma of Gnostic ethics 185
Notes 190
Select Bibliography and Further Reading 246
Index 259
Abbreviations
NHC Nag Hammadi Corpus
Individual treatises in NHC

OrPl Prayer of the Apostle Paul (+ colophon)
Ep]ac Apocryphon of James
EvVer Gospel of Truth
Rheg To Reginus, on Resurrection
TracTrip Tripartite Treatise
A] Apocryphon of John
EvTh Gospel of Thomas
EvPh Gospel of Philip
HA Hypostasis of the Archons
OrigMund On the Origin of the World
ExAn Exegesis on the Soul
LibTh Book of Thomas the Contender
(+ colophon)
AJ Apocryphon of John
EvAeg Gospel of the Egyptians
Eugn Eugnostos the Blessed
SJCh The Sophia of Jesus Christ
Dial Dialogue of the Saviour
AJ Apocryphon of John
EvAeg Gospel of the Egyptians
Eugn Eugnostos the Blessed
ApcPl Apocalypse of Paul
1 ApcJac First Apocalypse of James
2 Apcjac Second Apocalypse of James
ApcAd Apocalypse of Adam
ActPt Acts of Peter and the Twelve Apostles
Bront The Thunder, Perfect Mind
Abbreviations ix
VI.3 AuthLog Authoritative Teaching
V1.4 Noema The Concept of Our Great Power
VIS Plat. Rep. Plato, Republic 588 b—589 b
V1.6 OgdEnn Discourse on the Eighth and Ninth
VI.7 Or Prayer of Thanksgiving (+ scribal note)
Ascl Asclepius 21-9
VIL.1 ParSem Paraphrase of Shem
VII.2 2 LogSeth Second Treatise of the Great Seth
VII.3 ApcPt Apocalypse of Peter
VII.4 Silv Teaching of Silvanus (+ colophon)
VIS StelSeth Three Steles of Seth
VUL1 Zostr Zostrianos
VIL.2 ApPt Letter of Peter to Philip
XI Melch Melchizedek
IX.2 Nor Thought of Norea
IX.3 Test Ver Testimony of Truth
Mars Marsanes
XI.1 Inter Interpretation of Knowledge
XI.2 Exp Val Valentinian Exposition
XI.3 Allog Allogenes
XI.4 Hyps Hypsiphrone
XIL.1 SSex Sentences of Sextus
XII.2 EvVer Gospel of Truth
XII.3 Frgm Fragments
XIII.1 Prot Trimorphic Protennoia
XIIL.2 OrigMund On the Origin of the World
BG Berlin Gnostic Codex 8502
Individual treatises in BG
SJCH The Sophia of Jesus Christ

Lek. First Book of Jeu
Dky Second Book ofJeu
EvMar Gospel of Mark
General
ARW Archiv fur Religionswissenschaft
Aug Augustinianum
x Abbreviations
BCNH Bibliothéque copte de Nag Hammadi, ed. J.E Ménard
(Quebec, 1977-)
Biblica
(Papyrus) Cairensis Gnosticus
Corpus Hermeticum
Dictionnaire de la Bible: Supplements, L. Pirok et
al. (eds) (Paris, 1928-)
Eranos Jahrbuch
Die griechischen christlichen Schriftsteller der ersten
drei Jahbrhunderte (Leipzig—Berlin, 1897-)
Gregorianum
History of Religions
Harvard Theological Review
Jahrburch fiir Antike und Christentum
Museum
Nag Hammadi Studies (Leiden, 1971-)
Novum Testamentum
New Testament Studies
Numen
Orientalische Literaturzeitung
Papyrus Coloniensis
Papyri Oxyrhynchi
A. Pauly and G. Wissowa, Real-Encyclopddie der
klassischen Altertumswissenschaft (1893-)
Qumran Scrolls
Reallexikon fiir Antike und Christentum (Stuttgart,
1941-)
RevHR Revue d’histoire des religions
RevSR Revue des sciences religieuses
RevThPh Revue de théologie et de philosophie
RGG Religion in Geschichte und Gegenwart’, ed. J. C. B.
Mohr (Tubingen, 1958)
RHE Revue d’histoire ecclésiastique
RSLR Rivista di storia e letteratura religiosa
RSPhTh Revue de sciences philosophiques et théologiques
Recherches de sciences religieuses
SMSR Studi e materiali di storia delle religione
ThRu Theologische Rundschau
FLZ Theologische Literaturzeitung (Leipzig, 1876—)
TW Theologisches Worterbuch zum Neuen Testament
(Stuttgart, 1933-)
TA Theologische Zeitschrift
Abbreviations xi
VetChr Vetera Christianorum
VigChr Vigiliae Christianae
ZNW Zeitschrift fiir die neutestamentliche Wissenschaft
ZRGG Zeitschrift fiir Religions- und Geistesgeschichte
ZKG Zeitschrift fur Kirchengeschichte (Gotha,
1877-1930, Stuttgart, 1931-)
ZThk Zeitschrift fiir Theologie und Kirche
spateom Av ace
; Seseee ae éieee. %
wean res , ers : ie
Introduction
GNOSIS AND MODERN CULTURE
Are we witnessing a rediscovery of Gnosis? To judge from the many

indications that may be found collectively or singly in contemporary
culture, the answer would seem to be ‘yes’. However, in contrast with
specialist usage, different interpretations and the inevitable ideological
manipulation, there is a common need to collate and to verify hypotheses
and influences, echoes and intuitions with the historical object that has
been disfigured, but not entirely obliterated, by a complex of concealment
and repression.
The discovery in 1945 of a library containing original Gnostic writings
in Coptic (see chapter 1) has certainly stimulated a renewed interest in
a religious world that for too long has remained the exclusive preserve
of academic research. In fact, before this, the most that the vanguard
of specialists had been able to do was to hesitate (or to hope) to confront
the persistent esoteric tendencies of Christianity. There has, however,
been the danger that, by some strange irony of fate, they would render
themselves liable to the accusation of transmitting that same religious
traditionalism also recognizable in a certain conception of Gnosis.! If
there was an alternative to this (to say the least) embarrassing situation,
it was to maintain close, though misleading, encounters with that group
of theologians, the heirs of the ancient Christian heretical tradition,
which as the new malleus gnosticorum, or ‘hammer of the Gnostics’,
wages its missionary struggle against the menacing Gnostic hydra, at
times without distinguishing in its attacks the scholar of Gnosis from
the object of his research.”
It took almost a ‘secret production’, therefore, as in the case of other
romantic archaeological and manuscript discoveries of recent decades,
for the very means of the discovery to bring it to the attention of a
wider public, investing it with the exotic and provocative aura of a
xiv Introduction
Middle Eastern setting, in addition to the suspense created by a series
of carefully orchestrated situations.
So, if this discovery indicated a decisive shift in the field of specialist
studies in respect of the new primary sources available for research, the
repercussions were bound to be varied once the new material was
brought to the attention of a wider section of the public: the more so
since certain areas of the cultural panorama showed a disposition, a
particular sensitivity to the lively and interested reception of these texts,
recovered in such an extraordinary manner, which dealt with a
phenomenon that they themselves had in some way helped to keep alive.
Jung’s reflections had long been immersed in the thought of ancient
Gnostics to such an extent that he considered them the virtual discoverers
of ‘depth psychology’.? It was Jung himself who promoted the famous
meetings at Ascona, annual conferences attended by some of the greatest
specialists in Gnostic thought,* including Gilles Quispel, a Dutch scholar
deeply attached to Jungian psychology. In his works Quispel helped to
construct a bridge between ancient and modern Gnosis: inasmuch as it
involves research into the ontological self, a cognitive technique that
anticipates the modern process of individuation, ancient Gnosis, albeit
in its form of universal religion, in a certain sense prefigured, and at
the same time helped to clarify, the nature of Jungian spiritual therapy.°
This vital link, this hermeneutic circle between ancient Gnosis and its
modern metamorphosis also affected the studies of Hans Jonas.° A pupil
of Heidegger at the beginning of the thirties, Jonas recognized in Sein
und Zeit an interpretative premiss necessary for the penetration of the
dualist, anti-cosmic and nihilist vision of ancient Gnosis. Thus to the
attentive reader the implication was that there must be a sort of
subterranean umbilical cord between ancient Gnosis and modern
existentialism, strengthened by more than external historical continuity:
profound similarities, secret relationships, elective affinity which were
alive and rooted in analogous forms of sensitivity, if not in identical
critical positions vis-a-vis the world and existence. In this way Heidegger’s
pessimism, while it helped towards a better understanding of Gnostic
nihilism, drawing it into the orbit of the dramatic questions posed by
modern existentialism, was at the same time elevated by its recognition
of a worthy, if somewhat unfortunate, predecessor in the ancient
religion.”
In modern culture, therefore, the Gnostic Weltanschauung predated
the postwar discoveries in terms of the channels of diffusion. At first
sight these appear to be traceable to a particularly important point from
which they radiated: classical German idealism. In this revived form
Gnosticism was in this very sphere to undergo a profound, decisive
Introduction xv
transformation that would render it more suitable to the requirements
of the modern world. Thinkers such as Hegel and Schelling incorporated
into their systems the ideal principles of Gnosticism in such a way as
to make them unrecognizable.* From the Gnostic myths of the second
century AD, first via Manichaean dualism and then via the Bogomil and
Cathar myths, what had appeared as a radically pessimistic view of the
world for more than a thousand years now emerged, in the most typical
representatives of speculative idealism, in the seductive guise of an
optimism and an idealistic, progressive, unquenchable rationalism, a
monistic pantheism which seems to have little or nothing in common with
the ancient matrix. Nevertheless, the spirit of Gnosticism reverberates
throughout these systems. Beneath the more abstract trappings of a
gnoseological principle it presents itself as acute longing, nostalgia for
authentic origins and at the same time as a possibility of total knowledge,
without any vestige of what is divine in man, indeed, of his substantial
divinity. In its aspiration towards the ‘encounter with the self’, which
is fundamental to the Hegelian system, ancient Gnosis appears subdued,
stripped of its mythological apparatus and sacred values, sunk into a
horizon of optimism and immanence which deprive it of its most violent
aspects of protest and rebellion against the rulers of this world. Wearing
this mask, it was better equipped to penetrate into many unsuspected
and hidden places, where it would be discreetly preserved.”
The metamorphoses of ancient Gnosis in modern European culture
have yet to be investigated. It will be a delicate task, thankless and full
of pitfalls. It will in fact involve research into areas historically diverse
and remote, following divergent paths, in some cases penetrating
ideological minefields destined to provoke unavoidably hard feelings
and controversies.'°
The faith of more or less restricted groups who, in the name of their
own divine origin and nature and of a more or less radical rejection of
the world, its creatures and institutions, struggled against religious and
political power supported by an armory of ideas in a battle destined to
be lost,!! was up to a point substantially unitary in socio-historical
circumstances that were diverse, but not too dissimilar. With the advent
first of Humanism, then of the Renaissance, the complex tradition of
Gnostic thought, in conjunction with Cabbalistic modes of thought and
imbued with the new fevers of Hermeticism, abandoned its ancient
nihilism and threw aside its dualistic attire, refashioning its constituent
nucleus: self-knowledge as consciousness of the encounter with the Self,
in keeping with the new requirements of the age. Thus it has inspired
the thought of Cabbalistic Christians,’ it is at the centre of Rosicrucian
movements,!? it blooms in the many ventures into the occult,'* it
xvi Introduction
pervades the reflections of the great mystics, the spiritual thinkers and
alchemists, particularly the Germans of the sixteenth century.'°
We see a veritable efflorescence of Gnostic mythology in Jacob
Bohme,!® the new Valentinus. Known to his contemporaries as the
‘Philosophus Teutonicus’, he stands, with the depth and daring of
his visions and his theosophical speculations, at: the origin of the
modernization of Gnostic esoteric traditions,'’ destined, especially
among the Germans, to leave an often profound influence on thinkers
such as Goethe! or, specifically, Hegel.'? Friedrich Oetinger, the greatest
German esoteric specialist of the eighteenth century, openly refers to
him,”° as does Franz von Baader (A. W. Schlegel’s ‘Boehmius redivivus’)
one of the most acute minds of the first German Romanticism.7! And
in his letters Schelling acknowledged his debt to this ‘theogonic nature’.??
Even in the early writings of Marx we find a positive reference to
Bohme.”? This is no accident. Some years ago Ernst Topitsch, in an
important, if sometimes debatable, essay on the history of ideas, had
detected the influence of a tradition of Gnostic thought in the shaping
of the founder of Marxism.7* And there are a number of political
scientists who have wanted to see in Leninism and its conception of the
single party as a group of elect already saved because they possess the
keys of knowledge (the party being a political substitute for the self)
yet another metamorphosis of ancient Gnosis.*° The political scientist
Eric Vogelin, who has tried to isolate in a certain conception of
Gnosticism a fundamental category for discovering the roots of modern
nihilism, has maintained in many of his works that ‘Gnostic thinkers,
ancient and modern, are the great psychologists of alienation, the bearers
of the Promethean revolution.’°
While not going so far as to hold, with Jean Guitton, that ‘the Gnostic
spirit is always present and continues to inspire philosophy and politics
even today’, this brief survey may help to conjure up a picture, however
partial and arbitrary, of the many streams into which ancient Gnosis
appears to be divided today. If we omit the important evidence afforded
throughout the history of European art, from the Manichaean visions
of Hieronymus Bosch to those of William Blake, which have been
nourished by a mythology in which ‘the tempestuous wind of ancient
Gnosis gently blows’,*” there still remain the large number of its
appearances in literature. If it is true that only with Romanticism did
the literary act begin to be conceived as a sort of attempt to make direct
contact with the Absolute, and its result as a revelation, the foundation
of this literary creativity might easily be discovered in the magical
idealism of Friedrich von Hardenberg, otherwise known as Novalis.28
In his brief life, which appears to have been spent with Werther’s genius
Introduction xvii
as its model, a thirst for knowledge and a poetic flair merge in a literary
output transcending the boundaries of the traditional compartments of
knowledge. In his poetry it is not difficult to discern the guiding lines
of ancient Gnostic myth, with its accounts of the Fall from the Pleroma
and the reconstruction of primordial unity. It is the language of the poet
that will finally re-establish Paradise Lost, the language of a visionary
poet able to discover the hidden relationship between the visible and
the invisible worlds. The poet is therefore endowed with an extraordinary,
magical power: he arouses — as it were creates — what he evokes. This
is Promethean power, which Novalis, like so many other writers attracted
by the esoteric, believes to derive from occult and Cabbalistic traditions
of a Gnostic variety as well as from the mysticism of numbers or from
the visions of a Swedenborg.
With his ‘mysticism of knowledge’, Novalis provides a typical example
of the aspect of German literature that makes it incomprehensible
‘without the mystical doctrine that the essence of self is at one with the
essence of essences — God, Universe, Being — and that the quest for the
true or inward self holds out the promise of proximity or even union
with the divine in the realization of selfhood.’*? On the other hand,
with his visionary intuitions, he is in many ways a forerunner of French
symbolist poetry, so very open to esoteric suggestions and permeated
with mythical Orphic and Cabbalistic memories.*° Gérard de Nerval
was a fervent student of books on the esoteric, magic and theosophy.?!
As a good Mason, he wanted to be initiated into the mysteries of theogony
and destiny. Amélia and Les Chiméres prefigure the Baudelairian ideas
of the later Correspondances. And, of course, there is also Victor Hugo.
His religious ideas ‘are the most grandiose of all Romanticism: we find
there an extremely complicated metaphysics, myths of a Gnostic
tendency, a doctrine of reincarnation.’** There is no point in multiplying
the examples: ‘Beginning with pre-Romanticism, the theme of desolate
nature, considered as the remains, or the marred image of a more
glorious state destroyed by the Fall, runs through Western literature.’??
How many poets in their writings do indeed express a longing for a
pure, harmonious world, to be recovered by a revelation of the type
used by the initiate culminating in experiences that reach the roots of
existence, at the same time maintaining continuous rapport with the
spirits that fill nature, on the wave of a cult of night and death, which
have by now become the metaphysical principles of inspiration?
Even movements such as Surrealism seen to reappear in the lost
paradises of ancient Gnosis, with their Promethean aspect and their
search for an absolute power — a search often pursued by means of
esoteric and Cabbalistic techniques.** Nor does modern crisis literature
xviii Introduction
suffer from any shortage of spontaneous outbursts, with its recurrent
variations on the themes of the absurdity of the world, the omnipresence
of an unavoidable Evil Principle, mutable and. adopting many forms,
the resulting feeling of estrangement, the acute desire to escape from it
by means of impossible flights into. the past world of one’s own
memories. On the Gnostic nature of these themes ‘the work of Kafka,
Faulkner and many other great writers would provide material for very
constructive observations.’?> This brief list of writers could not, of
course, be complete without the name of Hermann Hesse, ‘the clearest
example of Romantic Gnosticism in the twentieth century’.*° One has
only to think of Demian (a youthful work), a typical expression of the
Gnostic sentiment that is at the same time ‘the Romantic sentiment par
excellence: the sentiment of the limits imposed by destiny and the desire
to break through these limits, to destroy the human condition, to break
out of everything.’”
Finally, what is one to say of those attempts of some groups of
scholars who, in their reconstruction of a modern Gnosis as global
knowledge, with no traces of the mystery of the universe and of man,
have tried to see a possible solution to the anxiety and despair that
beset modern man?3®
But it is time to abandon this journey through the metamorphoses of
Gnosis, as fascinating as it is fraught with pitfalls. Indeed, there is a
danger of losing all contact with the historical reality of the object of
one’s research. The term ‘Gnosis’, in many of these cases, instead of
evoking a concrete historical world with its fears and anxieties, hopes
and promises of salvation, conjures up rather the lifeless phantasm of
Gnosis as a universal category of the human spirit, an ‘eternal’ form of
knowledge, a universal label, an empty box refilled with different
contents hurriedly pushed onto the intellectual market by cultural
fashions.*? Might it not be more appropriate to speak of oblivion than
of rediscovery? The terminological uses and abuses of the reappearance
of the term ‘Gnosis’ in the different scientific languages may have been
made possible precisely because the veil of historical oblivion conceals
the concrete reality of ancient Gnosticism.
THE REDISCOVERY OF GNOSTICISM
If one is to speak of rediscovery*® or to speculate on its probable causes

or possible results, one must look in another direction. The question
must be asked whether, behind the renewed interest in Gnosis, there is
not something other than merely a taste for the exotic or the volatile
Introduction xix
search for the esoteric, whether there is not hidden the intuition of a
secret affinity between our age of crisis, riddled with anxiety and at the
same time avid for change and thirsting for novelty, and the historical
period between the second and third centuries ap when ancient
Gnosticism established itself as a religious response to the acute problems
of an ‘age of anxiety’, an original and sometimes victorious response.
A more careful analysis would reveal analogies of situations and
responses that deserve to be treated in greater depth. At a superficial
glance, however, this might appear surprising; but one has only to think
for a moment about the peculiar nature of the modern world, viz. the
secularization imposed by various revolutions as much in the area of
science as in that of industry, as much in politics as in religion.
However, certain religious events in recent years compel one to
reconsider the problems of the divorce of modern cultural values from
religion in other terms. Today some historians are indeed beginning to
ask themselves if it is not more appropriate for European societies
with a Christian heritage to speak of dechristianization.*1 The hasty
identification of Christianity with religion has in fact caused serious
errors of evaluation. And the new religious movements that have emerged
in the last decade have helped to shed more light on this ideological
myopia.**
We are confronted with a situation analogous in some respects to
that characterizing the official religious life of the Roman Empire, in
which polytheism was restored as a result of Augustan reform. For
centuries religion had fulfilled the function of the unification of society.
But, once having transcended national boundaries, it found itself facing
an impossible task. Official paganism was, in fact, throughout the
imperial period the religious ideology of restricted groups of intellectuals,
blockaded in their cultural citadels in defence of values that were no
longer generally acceptable to society. Compared with the present
situation, the striking aspect, apart from the obvious differences due to
the diversity of the social and cultural worlds or to the heterogeneous
nature of the two religious worlds, is the analogous dysfunction which
then, as now, characterized the official religious structures of paganism
and Christianity respectively over a long period. The end of a certain
monopoly of religious goods is at the same time cause and effect of a
radical change in the market for the exchange of holy ideas. Today, as
then, there is clearly a religious pluralism unparalleled in the history of
the West. New faiths come from the East, others are offshoots of official
religion, sometimes breaking the umbilical cord. The trade in faiths is
quite brisk, thanks to a competition in products that promise the same
success, the same health, the same salvation, physical and spiritual, as
xx Introduction
the oriental prophets declared at the time of the Empire. A radical
restructuring of the religious scene*? is taking place. The protagonists
of this change are the children of those silent revolutions, collective and
anonymous, that have been developing over the last two millennia in
periodic waves against the grandiose backdrop of city life. On each
occasion different patterns appear to be sketched against the same
background. As places where goods and ideas are exchanged, urban
centres exude wellbeing and wealth, while at the same time harbouring
acute tensions and contradictions. The old professions are queried, new
trades and new social groups burst upon the scene. Mobility becomes
a distinctive trait in the social microcosm — upward mobility, made
easier by the circulation of wealth, but also sideways, because the change
is due to the abandoning of ancient links and the construction of new
ones. Traditional religion, continuously changing in this universe, loses
its principal function of consolidating origins and traditions. The
emergence of a new sociocultural identity poses problems to which the
replies of traditional religion appear dated and untenable. New religions,
able to respond to the new religious needs, arise and assert themselves.
In the world of late antiquity, which is already beginning to take
shape in the second century, the new religious order appears in the
forms of Christianity, the oriental cults and Gnosticism. These reveal a
scene of contrast in the religious field. At the centre is the individual
with his need for personal salvation, his search for internal experiences,
authentic and guaranteed by an unimpeachable seal of approval: recourse
to techniques of ecstasy, visions, dreams, revelations, the discovery of
sacred writings which, it is hoped, will provide a new basis for one’s
own identity, both individual and social, the invention of new symbols
or the recovery of old, forgotten myths, whose enchantments will help
to commit the vicissitudes of history to oblivion; the attainment of
divinely guaranteed knowledge, complete and definitive, based on a
reality other than that of this world, which will once and for all dispel
the doubts and uncertainties of a reason prey to its own syllogisms and
incapable of renewing itself when confronted by the fantastic world,
rich in emotions, from which the dormant illusions of an immemorial
past flow.
At this point it is not surprising that those who study the new religious
phenomena of the last decade can look with increasing interest and
sympathy at the ancient world of Gnosticism as a historically important
parallel to help them towards a better understanding of the present.
We are in for an interlude during which an increasing number of people
in urban-industrial society will take their bearings in life from the I Ching
and the signs of the zodiac, from yoga and strange contemporary versions
Introduction xxi
of shamanic tradition. The quest for a communal reality assumes the
shape of a massive salvage operation, reaching out in many unlikely
directions. I think it is the greatest adventure of our age and far more
humanly valuable than the ‘race for space’. It is the reclamation and
renewal of the old Gnosis.*#
This opinion may sound odd, coming as it does from a prophet of the
American counter-culture. And yet, beyond historical distortions and
facile generalizations, it sheds light on an actual fact, which constitutes
the raison d’étre of this book. Every phase of modern research into
Gnosticism, beginning with the pioneering work of Gottfried Arnold,**
has seen the problems of its own age reflected in the ancient Gnostics.*¢
Indeed this is quite natural, since all historical research has its origin in
an impassioned, lucid participation in the problems of the present.
Today we are invited to consider the religious world of the ancient
Gnostics as a pertinent guide to those processes of social restructuring,
of ideological transformation, of change in religious sentiment, that
characterize our age also.
But reflection on the changing course in the history of Gnosticism
will enable us to avoid the pitfalls of an archaeological re-examination
(both academic and pointless) only at a price: facing up to the siren
song of Gnostic mythology, allowing it to let loose all its fascination,
but not to force its seductive ways upon us so that we forget the
difference.
Acknowledgement
The publishers wish to thank Sonia Argyle, for her help and expertise
in the editorial preparation of this book.
1
Fragments of a Lost Faith
DISCOVERY
In the month of December! farmers in the area of Nag Hammadi, in

ancient Egypt, situated at the bend of the Nile as it flows north between
Luxor and Assiut, usually fill their camels’ saddlebags with sebakh, a
particular type of soft soil rich in nitrates, with which they fertilize their
fields. At the end of 1945 two brothers, who lived in a hut in the village
of al-Qasr (ancient Chenoboskion, a fourth-century centre of Pachomian
monasticism), like others, saddled their camels to go off in search of
the precious fertilizer. They made for the area near Nag Hammadi, to
Gebel el-Tarif, a hillside with over 150 natural caves, some of which
proved in subsequent archaeological investigations to have been painted
and used as tombs from the time of the Sixth Dynasty (about 4,300
years ago). The two brothers, Muhammad and Khalifah Ali of the al-
Samman tribe, made a strange discovery as they were digging: a jar
about 1 metre high, which seemed to promise all manner of treasures.
Many years later Muhammad again described to his interviewers the
terror that seized him as he broke open the seal of the jar, for fear that
it might have contained a jinnee or local spirit of some sort. But spurred
on by the thought that it might even contain gold, he broke it open
with a pick-axe. Instead of the dreaded spirits or the gold they sought,
from the fragments that poured out, they found books. He and his
brother quickly gathered them together, mounted their camels and
returned to their village.
And so began the travels of the Nag Hammadi library. Thirty years
were to elapse before its final publication. All sorts of circumstances
helped to delay this, from Nasser’s coup d’état to the Suez crisis, the
Arab—Israeli War of 1967, as well as the more banal and petty exchanges
of rivalry and jealousy between scholars engaged in the battle for the
right to publish the precious corpus.
Publication was to have a profound effect on the state of the knowledge
2 Fragments of a Lost Faith
of Gnosticism. In fact, apart from a few authentic documents of uneven
quality, which were difficult to interpret, scholars of previous generations
had to rely on a sufficiently large and systematic heresiological literary
output, the outcome of the struggle of the defenders of Christianity
from the mid-second century, in order to repel what seemed to them a
mortal threat to the life of the Church. The picture that emerges from
it is unavoidably scrappy and distorted. If we want to assess the full
importance of the Nag Hammadi corpus, we must therefore begin with
a préliminary investigation, momentarily leaving the two brothers as
they return to their village with the precious manuscripts. How did the
Gnostic landscape appear to the scholar before this discovery? What
were its principal features, who were its principal inhabitants, its
situation and background? In what colours was it depicted? These are
some of the questions to which we must now turn our attention.
THE GNOSTICS AND THEIR MASK: THE PROBLEM OF THE

HERESIOLOGICAL SOURCES
It is a strange fate to be able to speak only through the mouth of one’s

opponents. And yet it is a widespread fate common to minorities,
dissidents and fringe groups, whether religious or political, whose
writings have been scattered or destroyed by their conquerors and whose
image is thus filtered through, or distorted by, the eye of the opposition.
How is one to overcome this obstacle — the voice of the heresiologist,
the prosecutor in a witch hunt, the conquistador describing the colonized
tribes — which stands between the historian and the actual reality of the
protagonists? How far is it possible to eliminate the errors of perspective
made by these necessary, but distorting and biased, witnesses?
It is a delicate and difficult task. Not least because, as contemporary
research on Gnosticism shows, the same scholars sitting in judgement
on history have not always been slow to display calmness and objectivity.
Gnosticism, the first and most dangerous heresy among the early
Christians, has by no means been a neutral subject. It has provoked
burning theological debates, in which the present has cast its shadow
over the past.
This clearly produces a vicious circle. Critical study of the heresiological
sources* has attempted to break the circle by setting itself essentially
two objectives: to study the mutual interdependence of the anti-Gnostic
writings and to isolate the criteria used by Christian polemicists in their
attacks. The results, however limited, have not been without value and
will be considered here, albeit briefly.
Fragments of a Lost Faith 3
In the first place one could not expect the ancient heresiologist to
offer what he could not offer: scientific objectivity and exactness. Justin,
Irenaeus and Hippolytus were complying with essentially theological
requirements when they wrote their refutations: a defence of the doctrine
of the Church against an attack that threatened to destroy its foundations.
To achieve their goal, they were permitted to use the most diverse
means, provided that they did not violate the accepted norms of
professional ethics. The interpretative views of Gnosticism used by the
heresiologists were prompted, unconsciously and consciously, by the
sole logic of presenting the adversary in the most sinister and unfavour-
able light. Thus it was that Gnosticism was presented as an evil within
the Christian body, to be singled out and expelled. Or on the other
hand, it was an epidemic imported from outside, the virus of the
incurable disease of pagan philosophy. There was even an attempt to
attribute the thousand streams of Gnosticism to a single source: the
Devil. This was followed, almost as a natural corollary, by accusations
of magic, witchcraft, incest and libertinism.
It is now time to enter the gallery containing the family album of this
anti-heretical tradition, which occupies over a millennium. However, we
are in for a surprise. The founding father, who must have been the
model for a fortunate series of successors, is represented only by an
empty frame. In fact, the first work of this kind known to us, the
Syntagma or Compendium against All Heresies, compiled in the mid-
second century by the apologist Justin, who was martyred in Rome
c.165, is no longer extant, and attempts to reconstruct it (now almost
entirely abandoned) have proved unsuccessful.* The position of honour,
therefore, goes to the Adversus haereses of Irenaeus, Bishop of Lyons
(140/50—200), a work in five books, originally written in Greek, but
surviving in complete form only in a Latin translation.* As he states in
the preface, Irenaeus was persuaded to compose this work of refutation
by a friend who wanted to know more about the teachings of the
followers of Valentinus, a particularly important Gnostic school,° and
by his own experience as a bishop, seeing the Church’s dangerous
opponents making relatively good progress in the populous, rich valley
of the Rhone. So he had firsthand knowledge of the Valentinian school
whose theological writings he had read and studied. To attack it at its
roots he tried to trace it — by following a path probably derived from
Justin® — to the heresiarch par excellence, Simon Magus of the Acts of
the Apostles. From this diabolical character, through a succession of
Gnostic teachers and schools; were descended those who had initiated
the various contemporary Gnostics, the most important heirs being the
Valentinians.
Irenaeus is a precious source: ‘Nag Hammadi has done much to
confirm the conclusions already drawn by Forster and Sagnard in
relation to the substantial reliability of Irenaeus.’”? He appears to be
well informed about the Valentinians, Ptolemy and Marcus; but the
genealogical tree that he claims to pass on appears today to be in many
ways an arbitrary ideological reconstruction, which tells us something ©
about the Bishop of Lyons’s intentions, but is far from a trustworthy
guide through the tangled forest of the groups of Gnostics.®
We are indebted to Hippolytus of Rome, a personality who, at the
beginning the third century ap (d. c.235), played an important part in
the Roman community, where doctrinal and ecclesiastical controversy
was rampant and rife. He has left us a heresiological work that is second
in order of time and importance.’ This is the Refutation of All Heresies,
also known as the Philosophoumena (Philosophical discussions), written
in Greek. There were ten books, and thanks to a manuscript discovered
in 1842, we have Books 4—10 (the first book has been known since
1701). The work, probably written after 222 — and its Hippolytan
authorship has been questioned both recently and on several other
occasions!° — revolves around a basic theme: all heresies are merely
travesties and adaptations of pagan philosophy. The first four books
are therefore devoted to an exposition of pagan errors, from philosophy
to magic, from the mysteries to astrology, errors later to be absorbed
by Gnostic sects (thirty-three, to be precise), whose systems Hippolytus
describes in the extant books. For this purpose he uses primary sources,
still valuable today, even though his geography of the Gnostic sects (like
that of Irenaeus) seems artificial.
With the author of the Philosophoumena heresiology can be established
as a genre, on a literary as well as on a doctrinal level. It clearly
presupposes the existence of ‘heresy’.'! And it is no accident that the
Christian writer who has contributed most to the legal definition of the
concept, the great African polemicist Tertullian (c.150—c.225), had made
lengthy, direct attacks against the Gnostics, especially the Valentinians.!?
Like Irenaeus before him, Tertullian testifies in his work to a historical
problem of great importance. The history of the early Church was
profoundly influenced, between the second and third centuries, by the
struggle against the Gnostics. Irenaeus, for example, is impelled precisely
by this confrontation to work out and establish fundamental theological
and doctrinal issues: the doctrine of the visible, public Apostolic
Succession, which he uses to refute the esoteric, unverifiable oral
traditions of the Gnostics: the doctrine of creatio ex nihilo (creation out
of nothing) which he refines and argues, together with the vigorous
defence of the uniqueness of the Creator and the goodness of the cosmos,
in clear contrast to the dualistic theories of his opponents;! the doctrine
of the resurrection of the body, linked with the elaboration of an
anthropological perspective undoubtedly stimulated by the typically
Gnostic attitude of rejecting carnal reality.'* Even Tertullian, who grasps
the essential features of Gnosticism, is prompted by them to confirm
his extremist defence of the primacy of a pistis, or faith, separate from,
and opposed to, ratio, or reason.
A new theme emerges with the Alexandrian school: the intermingling
of ‘odi et amo’, or love and hate, which joins two spiritual worlds,
divergent, but united by certain elective affinities. If Tertullian had
rejected and attacked the influence of pagan culture, asking the
rhetorical question, ‘What has Athens to do with Jerusalem or the
Academy with the Church?’, Clement of Alexandria (140/50—211/15)
takes the opposite position, and in the Protrepticus and the Paedagogus
attempts to recover the positive aspects scattered throughout the pagan
world. So different a perspective entails a new solution to Tertullian’s
problem of the relationship between faith and reason, and this is most
evident in his principal extant work, the Stromateis (Miscellanies).
Clement opposes false Gnosis with the true Gnosis of the Christian.!>
By means of good, healthy living, knowledge of the principles of faith
and growth in the spiritual dimension, the Christian is able to achieve
the status of a true Gnostic, of one who aspires to know God through
the Son. So Clement shows that in many sensitive areas, such as those
of ethics and theology, he is quite familiar with the writings of his
opponents. Indeed, it might be argued that his formulation of a balanced,
moderate position owes something to the criticism of Gnostic ethics
with its extremes of radical asceticism and unbridled libertinism, as is
shown in his discussion of the problems of matrimony in Strom. 3.'°
Origen (who died c.253—4), the greatest thinker and most important
Greek writer of the Church, also had a complex relationship with the
world of Gnosis, with which he established a dialectical relationship,
not without its dangers and misunderstandings.'’ He had perceived an
important historical truth. Thinkers like the Valentinians in their
theological works had laid the foundations for rational reflection on the
Christian God. On the other hand, in his Commentary on the Gospel
of John this same Origen has left us forty-eight passages of a commentary
on the same Gospel by the Valentinian Heracleon (second half of the
second century), the first such commentary on an Evangelist that is
known to us; and in his polemic against the Gnostic teacher, he ends
up adopting the same allegorical principles as his opponent and shares
with him, in addition to interpretative accuracy and virtuosity, a taste
for getting to the bottom of the mystery of the Scriptures, in which he
reads those events concerning the pre-existence of the soul and its fall,
those ‘principles’ of the divine world that are to be found in the same
atmosphere as the reflections of those under his attack.'®
After the Alexandrian School there are one or two gaps in our portrait
gallery. They are not accidental. As we shall see in chapter 10, from
the middle of the third century the Gnostic system as a whole underwent
a gradual process of erosion both for internal reasons and as a result
of attacks from the True Church. Moreover, Christian thinkers began
to turn their attention to more pressing doctrinal problems, such as
those raised by the Trinitarian controversy; while on the horizon was
the ever-increasing threat posed by the institutional crisis of the Empire,
which would help to put in motion the wheels of persecution. Apart
from a few hints that can be found in the Ecclesiastical History of
Eusebius of Caesarea (d. 339), we have to wait until the second half of
the fourth century to find another important writer engaged in the hunt
for heretics, especially Gnostic heretics. This is Epiphanius,!? born c. 315
at Eleutheropolis, not far from Gaza in Palestine. As a young man he
visited the most celebrated monks in Egypt; he returned to Gaza and
founded a monastery, over which he presided for about thirty years.
This helped to provide him with an aura of sanctity, an advantage when
the bishops elected him as Metropolitan in 367. He thus became Bishop
of Constantia (ancient Salamis). And from there he fought his battles,
both theological (he was an implacable opponent of Origen and his
followers) and heresiological.
With his Panarion (Medicine Chest) (374-7) he intended to offer a
reliable antidote to those who had been bitten by the poison of heresy,
as well as protection and encouragement to those who had remained
true to the faith. That heresy flourished at that time there can be no
doubt: one has only to think of the endless theological controversies
begun by Arius. That Gnostic groups continued to flourish is a matter
of less uncertainty. Nevertheless it is significant that Epiphanius in some
cases has had firsthand experience of his opponents (see chapter 11
below). That the heresies from Simon Magus to those of his contemporar-
ies, the Messalians, reappear and are rounded up to the prophetic
number eighty, to which Epiphanius limits them, is a further example
of the ancients’ love of arithmetical speculation (cf. the parallel of the
eighty concubines in Song of Songs 6:8) and certainly not an actual
historical fact. The heresiological material is subdivided or multiplied
according to this numerical scheme, with results and problems for the
modern scholar that may easily be imagined. Moreover, Epiphanius,
with his Tertullian-like hatred of over-audacious philosophical or
theological speculation (to which may be added his failure to understand
it, unlike the African writer), appears as the exact antithesis of modern
scientific method. The heretics are finally consigned to an increasingly
fantastic genealogical pedigree, painted in the gloomiest colours, charged
with the worst sins and condemned to the harshest penalties.?°
The Bishop of Salamis may be considered virtually the last in the
gallery of heresiological masks. Comparable later works, from the
Augustinian De haeresibus (428), to Theodoret of Cyrus (395-466) and
finally the Book of Scholia by Theodore bar Konai (791/2), are essentially -
no more than lists or catalogues of heresies, usually repeating what has
been said before. If they occasionally contain valuable information on
heretical movements that are closer and more familiar to the writer,
they have almost nothing more to say about ancient Gnosticism.
Another mask was put on the face of Gnosticism by those pagan
thinkers and polemicists who fought them just as vigorously as the
Christians whom they hated, for example by Celsus, author of a True
Discourse (c. 178), known to us partly from the attack on it by Origen
in his Contra Celsum (Ap 246).*! But the main critic was Plotinus. The
great philosopher had some Gnostic pupils, he had read their texts and
rejected their dualistic doctrines, in which he saw a systematic attack
on the very principles of the classical vision of the world.?? Plotinus’
evidence is very important, despite the difficulties involved in interpreting
it, because the philosopher spreads his attacks on the Gnostics more or
less by allusion and aims them not so much at individual schools, but
rather more at what we would today call the structure of Gnostic
thought.?? It is precisely through his particular viewpoint and his
contemptuous reaction that we can appreciate how the ‘barbarous’
wisdom of these new intellectuals must have appeared to an educated
Greek of the third century.
This picture partly matches the description of certain ‘new men’ made
towards the end of the third century by Arnobius, an African convert
to Christianity who wrote an attack on paganism, Adversus nationes.**
Arnobius’ ‘new men’ too, like Plotinus’ Gnostics, claim to be the bearers
of a new religious message, which appears formidable and is rejected
on the grounds that it is a new container for the old wine of the religious
world of the second century, a world that appears to the modern scholar
to be tinged with Hermetism.”°
IN SEARCH OF A THEME: GNOSTICISM AND ITS

INTERPRETATIONS
Apart from the few original fragments scattered through the heresiolog-
ical texts, before the discovery at Nag Hammadi, the likelihood of
hearing the actual words of the Gnostics lay in the discovery of a few
original documents in Coptic at the end of the eighteenth century. It is
also true that contemporary religious literature offers some traces of
Gnostic beliefs. Certain themes typical of second-century Gnostic systems
(the preaching of rigorous asceticism_and the consequent rejection of
the body and its passions, aspiration to perfect knowledge, i.e. the desire
for direct attainment of the divine source) were in fact part of the more
general religious atmosphere of the period and are detectable in various
contemporary documents. At first sight there is often a danger of
attributing the label of Gnosticism to material that is not Gnostic simply
because they share a common cultural background and an identical
atmosphere. An example is the Odes of Solomon, a collection of poetry
probably from the second century (whether they were originally written
in Greek or Syriac is disputed), richly evocative in images, which often
echo, but are not identical with, parallel themes in Gnosticism.*® Other
examples are found in the Apocryphal Acts of the Apostles.7” In
particular, the Acts of Thomas*® contains a good example of this type:
the Hymn of the Pearl tells the story of a prince sent by his father to
Egypt (the symbol of evil) to recover a hidden treasure, the Pearl. He
falls prey to worldly pleasures, forgets where he has come from and his
mission and has to be reminded of his task by a messenger. He recovers
the Pearl and is able to put on the royal cloak again, and return once
and for all to his country. Symbolic of the wanderings of the soul lost
in worldly pleasures and forgetful of its divine origin, the story has
often been interpreted as a poetic model of that process of Gnosis
fundamental to Gnostic myths, based on the word of a divine messenger,
whose task is to reawaken in the Gnostic the memory of his origin and
thus to communicate the true Gnosis to him.??
This is quite different from two particular types of original sources:
Hermetism and Mandaeism.
The Corpus Hermeticum?? is a collection of texts attributed to Hermes
Trismegistus (‘thrice greatest’), compiled in Greek between the sixth and
ninth centuries, but originating in the third, or perhaps the second,
century Ab. In the form of gentle, scholarly dialogues in which Hermes
teaches a closed group of disciples, the Corpus contains many themes
typical of contemporary philosophical syncretism, presented in a discur-
sive and unsystematic fashion: the nature of the Supreme God who is
invisible and good; the nature of the cosmos, a beautiful and visible
god; the structure of the cosmos and the relationship between its
elements; the nature of disorderly, irrational matter; the relationship
between the macrocosm and that particular microcosm that is the human
being. They are by no means original themes, and moreover their
presentation is confused and sometimes contradictory, but — as is typical
of contemporary speculation about God — they are imbued with genuine
religious sentiment, a characteristic pietas and an irrepressible desire for
knowledge of God. The ideological structure of the Corpus is eusebeia
meta gnoseos (piety with knowledge), an attitude of genuine, deep
devotion as the way to knowledge of oneself and of God.*!
Many of the documents reflect the traditional conception of the
cosmos as a beautiful ordered world (as the Greek kosmos implies), a
mirror of the invisible God, itself a living God whom one must
contemplate and love. Essentially optimistic, they incline towards a
pantheism that wants God to be present in everything and everything
to be present in God.3* Hermetism is not, however, a coherent
philosophical system; beside these positive expressions of the world and
God, there are in the same collection documents pervaded with a
pessimistic view of life and characterized by a dualistic conception of
the world and of humankind.** The world seems to be ‘the epitome of
evil’. Because it is alien to their true nature, human beings must renounce
it and flee from it in order to be able to return to their heavenly home.
To achieve this aim they must possess Gnosis, be reborn in their true
nature, and be baptized in the cup of knowledge into which the divine
intellect has been poured.*+ The documents containing these themes
represent a typical example of Gnosis, free from Christian influence,
which preaches new, difficult paths towards a rebirth of the Gnostic
type, using Platonic themes.*>
Unlike the Hermetists, of whose social identity we know nothing, the
Mandaeans were an actual, living community. Essentially a Baptist sect,
they produced an enormous literature in a Semitic dialect (eastern
Aramaic) and managed to survive the vagaries of history,*° so that even
now they number about 1,500 initiates, still living as they did on the
banks of the Tigris and the Euphrates. The writings of the Mandaeans
reveal a mythological world and thought structure that is typically
Gnostic. Their publication, which took place largely between the two
wars and is still continuing today,*” has caused some debate and
controversy. Even their assignment to the first century ap?® is now
shown to be hypothetical (in fact the definitive compilation was made
many centuries later). Accordingly, to use them as the basis for
reconstructing the historical framework in which Gnosticism arose and
established itself is, to say the least, problematic. Dated too precipitately
to the beginning of our era, these writings were also used in the historical
explanation of some fundamental conceptions of the Gospel of John.*?
Two further documents must be mentioned, both discovered towards
the end of the eighteenth century and containing original material in
the Coptic language. The Codex Askewianus (named after the English
Doctor Askew), which is in the British Library, was brought to the
attention of the academic public in 1778 by C. G. Woide, though it
was not made more generally accessible until 1851 in a Latin translation
from the original Coptic. Compiled between the fourth and _ fifth
centuries, it contains the Pistis Sophia or ‘Faith Wisdom’, which goes
back to the third century.*° The contents are an interminable, rambling
series of revelations made by the risen Jesus to his disciples. While they
might have gladdened the hearts of theosophists and spiritualists,*! they
left the specialist perplexed, irritated or frankly disappointed. With its
tendency to multiply pleromatic entities and intermediate worlds, the
treatise seems to afford evidence typical of a regressive phase and of the
irreversible decadence of a Gnosticism no longer capable of speculative
originality. As for the other document, the Codex Brucianus (named
after its Scottish owner, J.B. Bruce), now in the Bodleian Library in
Oxford, it contained the Two Books ofJeu, similar in form to the Pistis
Sophia, but even more inclined to regard magical formulae and mystical
cryptograms as the way of gaining access to the divine mysteries, and
an untitled theological treatise, difficult to interpret.*+
Confronted by this situation, scholars of the interwar years found
themselves driven into the clutches of the heresiologists in an attempt
to recover the authentic face of Gnosticism. The critical question that
was bound to be asked had to be formulated in either of the following
ways: is Gnosticism a Christian heresy, risen within the doctrinal
controversies and theological debates of the first two centuries, a
Christian heresy whose content might originate in the most diverse
religious traditions, given its syncretistic makeup, but whose spirit is
rooted and grounded in the gospels? Or must one finally reject this
mask, which some heresiologists have already imposed on a religion
which by its nature had nothing to do with Christianity and whose
origins were independent of, and perhaps earlier than, the gospel message
itself and, indeed — as the Gospel of John seems to show — may even
have influenced it?
The problem of origins is thus clearly interwoven with that of
determining the essence of Gnosticism. In the course of the nineteenth
century a typical interpretative pendulum began to be constructed. It
was F.C. Baur (1792-1860), a Hegelian, founder of the important
exegetic theological school at Tubingen, who initiated modern critical
research on Gnosticism with his publication of Christliche Gnosis in
1835.43 He regarded the Gnostics as the first philosophers of the
Christian religion, the vanguard of a type of reflection that was to
manifest itself many centuries later in the Gnosis of the Hegelian system
Fragments ofa Lost Faith 11
(his work is still a valuable account of the fortunes of Gnosticism). This
interpretation was based on a distinction, destined to become canonical,
between popular Gnosticism as represented in the mythological systems
and a philosophical Gnosticism typical of original, speculative thinkers
like Basilides and Valentinus, who had begun, under the inspiration of
Greek philosophy, to reflect on the mysteries of the Christian message.
This thesis was given a classic formulation at the end of the century
in the History of Dogmas by the great Protestant church historian and
theologian, Adolf von Harnack (1851-1930). He regarded Gnostics as
the first Christian theologians and Gnosticism as the extreme Helleniz-
ation of Christianity,** an anticipation of religious modernism which
had introduced into the citadel of the original message of Jesus the
enemy destined to distort it: Greek rationalism.
This view was not radically overturned until the beginning of this
century (though there had been sporadic indications of a change during
the nineteenth century) by some of the more important members of the
History of Religion School at Goéttingen.*> Stimulated by a renewal of
interest in the phenomenon of folklore and popular culture, they turned
their attention to mythological systems. Their style had nothing in
common with the western speculative tradition; they were products of
the East. And if one wished to discover the origins of Gnosticism, one
had to look towards the East. In the reconstructions of a Bousset*® or
a Reitzenstein,*” Gnosticism consequently appeared to be a non-Christian
religion of eastern origin. But at the same time it is a system of thought
that has nullified the vital spark of this remote influence. The oriental
mythological themes that make up its framework, from the celestial
journey of the soul to belief in the great Mother Goddess, so full of life
and colour in the original Babylonian religion, had, in the religious
syncretism of the imperial period, become lifeless survivals, spectres
flitting about in vain in a world of shades deprived for ever of their life
blood.
Disengaged from the heresiological matrix and no longer viewed from
the perspective of ecclesiastical history, Gnosis could now move in the
less restricted areas of the history of religions, though this was extremely
far-reaching and dangerously unlimited territory. It now assumed a quite
different perspective. Related, if not prior, to Christianity, it had arisen
independently, based on oriental texts and ideas, a genuine religion, in
which the Jogos (word/reason) was the son of the mythos (myth) and
Christianity one of several elements that came together to make a
difficult puzzle.
At this point tension inevitably developed. According to tastes and
specialities, the Gnostic ‘Orient’ fragmented into various directions,
which the individual scholar pursued retrogressively according to his or
her own inclinations, looking now at Babylon, now at Persia and Egypt
as possible sources of mythological Gnostic. material. But how could
these fragments of mythical worlds, light years away from the second
century AbD, continue to be the subject of beliefs and practices? What
gave life to these survivors? The theory of ‘survival’ revealed its limits
in this case too.
A certain section of German youth in the thirties, influenced by
Spengler to regard the crisis of the Weimar Republic as the crisis of the
West and its values, and responding to the promptings of both Nietzsche
and Heidegger to search desperately for an answer to the historico-
political tragedy that was happening before their eyes, began to look to
the East, so precious to an entire German philosophical and literary
tradition;*® in its Gnostic guise, the Orient was able to become a
valuable symbol, an antecedent and at the same time a possible answer
to the existential dramas of their own time. A new life blood flowed
from the East. New conceptions and new ways of existence arrived, and
communication with imaginative forms that an arid, cold Greek
rationalism had suppressed or marginalized.*?
The voice of this Stimmung, or mood, in the field of Gnostic studies
was that of a brilliant young German philosopher, a pupil of Heidegger
trained in the rigorous philological and exegetical school of Rudolf
Bultmann: Hans Jonas. Using the traditional sources, Jonas succeeded,
perhaps better than anyone else, in grasping the originality and specific
nature of the Gnostic world.°° There are several reasons for this. Jonas’s
philosophical training was particularly important. German philologists,
even when, like Dieterich and Reitzenstein, they rejected the exasperated
classicism of Wilamowitz who dominated the scene at that time,
continued to impose rationalist prejudices on the Gnostic Orient. How
is one to assess certain theological constructs? Bousset opposed Harnack
and his interpretation, typical of fin de siécle liberal theology. Bousset
was concerned with similar theological preoccupations, even if they did
reflect a contrary viewpoint: the non-Christian origins of Gnosis and
its possible influence on Christianity were bound to elicit yet another
attempt to study Christian origins from a religious-historical angle,
based on an elaborate theory formulated by Ernst Troeltsch.*!
Jonas approaches the Gnostic world without the aid of these deceptive
screens. A philosopher seduced by the subtle fascination that Heidegger’s
lectures exerted on an entire generation of young German scholars,*?
he aims at penetrating the heart of the Gnostic systems. Abandoning all
misleading theories about the survivors, he seeks to take the inner pulse,
to rediscover the forms of a phenomenon that he regarded as a living
organism and not an archaeological fossil. The secret life blood of the
various Gnostic worlds is a radically dualistic concept, which pits the
body against the spirit, this world of shadows against the world of light;
a vision nurtured by, and rooted in, Dasein, or existence, in a way of
being in which problems and solutions of modern existentialism are
anticipated. The Gnostic is the Stranger par excellence, the ‘alien’
propelled to exist in a cosmos that is strange to him, to live a life that
does not belong to him, because it is rooted in illusion. His is an anxious
search for gnosis, for a knowledge that will save him; this will be
revealed to him as a call from above, a cry that will arouse him from
his existence of sleep and shadows to remind him of his true origins,
which know nothing of becoming and of death, and to show him the
road to salvation. )
With Jonas’s work on Gnosis and the spirit of late antiquity, the
classical period of Gnostic research comes to an end. And not by chance.
Never before, as there is in the juvenilia of this scholar, had there been
any impression that the subject of Gnosticism, freed of so many shadows
accumulated around it by history, was now finally in a position to speak
with its own voice.
A VOICE FROM THE DESERT: THE NAG HAMMADI LIBRARY
Research into Gnosticism had reached this point when the two Ali
brothers made their startling find. What they took back to their village
was a library of Coptic texts. Many of these were Gnostic works,
previously known often only by title and thought to be irretrievably
lost. But a variety of obstacles was still to be erected against the voice
of these records of the past.
Back in the village of the two brothers, the library found itself in the
midst of a blood feud. The father, a night watchman of the irrigation
system for the neighbouring fields, had some months previously surprised
a thief during one of his tours of inspection and killed him. The following
morning, in accordance with a widely held tradition of vendetta, he too
was murdered. About a month after the discovery of the library, Ahmad,
a molasses dealer who was passing through, fell asleep in the midday heat
near the house of Muhammad Ali. A neighbour informed Muhammad Ali
that the unfortunate man was his father’s murderer. Muhammad Ali
thereupon rushed home to tell his brothers and his mother the good
news. The whole family set upon the victim, and literally tore him limb
from limb. The climax of the blood feud was to cut up his heart and
divide it among themselves.
This bloody turn of events had quite an unexpected effect on the
subsequent fortunes of the library. The police issued a warrant for
Muhammad’s arrest and frequently visited his home. Believing these
writings to be Christian because they were written in Coptic script, and
also in order to remove what was beginning to look like the source of
his misfortune, Muhammad thought that they would be safer in the
house of the village Coptic priest until matters improved. Coptic priests
can marry, and the wife of this priest had a brother who gained a living
as a peripatetic teacher of English and history in the neighbouring
schools of the Coptic Church. When he arrived back at al-Qasr, his
sister decided to show him one of the codices, and he immediately
recognized its potential value. He persuaded his brother-in-law to let
him have one of them, Codex III. In Cairo he showed it to an academic
interested in the Coptic language, Georges Sobhi, who in turn took it
to the Department of Antiquities. After lengthy negotiations the codex
was bought by the Coptic Museum in Cairo on 4 October 1946.
Meanwhile Muhammad Ali’s mother, thinking that the books were
worthless, had burned some of them (perhaps Codex XII, of which
only fragments remain). Illiterate Muslims from near by bought the
others at a derisory price. A certain Nashid Bisadah, who had acquired
one of them, gave it to a gold merchant from Nag Hammadi, who sold
it in Cairo and divided the proceeds with his business partner. Most of
the codices were acquired by Bahy Ali, a one-eyed criminal from al-
Qasr, who took them to Cairo with the help of a local antiquities dealer,
Dhaki Basta, to make sure that the maximum amount could be got for
what looked like a promising investment. After an unsuccessful attempt
at selling them to an antiquarian, they finally managed to dispose of
the whole lot to Phocio J. Tano, from whose hands the precious goods
eventually passed to the Department of Egyptian Antiquities. After
Nasser seized power, even the Coptic texts were nationalized. Deposited
at the Coptic Museum in Cairo, they entered upon a new phase of life.
The struggle for their acquisition and preservation was replaced by the
struggle for their publication.
Codex I, the so-called Jung Codex, underwent a separate fate.>> It
fell into the hands of a Belgian art dealer, Albert Eid. Afraid that the
Egyptian government would confiscate it, he had it taken out of Egypt.
Once abroad, it was offered, unsuccessfully, first to the Bollingen
Foundation in New York and then to the Bibliothéque Nationale in
Paris. With the owner’s death, there were then complicated problems
of inheritance. The credit lies with Gilles Quispel for having rescued the
precious document. Thanks to his interest, it was in fact acquired by
the Jung Institute in Zurich on 10 May 1952 and offered to its celebrated
founder as a gift. The text was published and eventually returned to
Egypt after negotiations between the Institute and the Coptic Museum
in Cairo. Today the entire library is one of the major attractions of this
extraordinary Museum.
Many years, however, were to elapse before the completed publication
of the entire library in a photographic edition in 1977, under the
auspices of Unesco.** A whole generation of specialists had been denied
access to these extraordinary sources. This deplorable situation was
caused partly by the rivalry between schools and scholars. The less said
about this the better.
By making the texts more generally available, the photographic edition
put an end to the various monopolies which had been jealously guarded.
Thus, recent years have seen a whole series of editions. There is now a
complete English translation,°*° and many translations of individual
texts. Different projects for a critical edition have reached an advanced
stage.°°
What are the contents of this collection that lay hidden for more than
a thousand years until it was uncovered by Muhammad Ali’s pickaxe?
To whom did it belong? Why had it been so carefully concealed? These
are questions that must be attended to, a necessary stage to pass through
before the impatient reader is allowed to enter the world of Gnostic
mysteries and myths.
The Nag Hammadi library primarily represents a considerable corpus
to the scholar previously accustomed to work upon a few scattered
documents: thirteen books containing fifty-three texts, a total of 1,153
pages (almost 90 per cent of the original).°’ Of these texts forty-one
were previously quite unknown; of the remainder six are either duplicates
of writings already extant, and six were previously known. Many of
those texts (about thirty) have come to us in good condition, and only
ten are particularly fragmentary.
The contents of the library are not specifically Gnostic.°* Apart from
a passage of Plato’s Republic (588 b—589 b in NHC VIS) and a Coptic
translation of the Sentences of Sextus (NHC XII.1), a second-century
Christian text of ascetic origin known to specialists for some time, there
are also the Teachings of Silvanus (NHC VII.4), another example of
Christian wisdom literature, which most probably has a monastic
provenance and which, despite many exegetical attempts to the contrary,
has no specific Gnostic content.*? On the other hand, the ascetic nature
of the teachings might also have attracted the attention of the Gnostic
reader; indeed, one might regard the text as a Trojan Horse designed
to introduce its own religious message into a Christian stronghold
susceptible to ascetic teaching. Similarly, the Acts of Peter and the
Twelve Apostles (NHC VI.1) belongs to the romance genre typical of
the other apocryphal acts, shot through with the elements of the Greek
romance, with travels, disappearances and rediscoveries, though of
course the erotic element of the pagan model was sublimated in the
censored, Christian version, which provided noble examples of virginity
and ascetic practice. In these Acts of Peter there is nothing specifically
Gnostic; but motifs like the journey, the stranger, the hidden pearl,
typical of this work, might well have lent themselves to Gnostic exegesis,
which could easily identify®° them as metaphors and symbols of its own
mythical world.
There are also three Hermetic texts: a partial version of the Asclepius,
previously known from a Latin version (NHC VI.8); a typically
Hermetic prayer (NHC VI.7), previously known from a Greek version
(Papyrus Mimaut) and a Latin translation (Asclepius 41); and On the
Ogdoad and the Ennead (NHC-VI.6) on spiritual regeneration.®!
The specifically Gnostic writings contain a significant variety of
literary genres. Besides the apocryphal texts (e.g. the Apocryphon of
John), which were meant to remain hidden and secret (apokryphon),
and the pseudepigrapha, a common genre favoured in antiquity by a
certain kind of mentality (and a far cry from modern problems of
copyright), which came to be attributed to the revelations of a famous
person of the past, we find epistles, treatises and prayers. Generally
speaking, they are literary fictions,°* which, like modern advertising
slogans, always ultimately conceal the same message — a literary
framework typical of that period in literature. This is the case, for
example, with the apocalypses®? scattered throughout the codices, which
reproduce a literary genre of ancient, noble Iranian origin and not
very successful in the Graeco-Roman world (not naturally given to
eschatological revelation), but well known in the Judaeo-Christian
tradition. It is indeed not surprising that it found new life in Gnosticism,
for by its nature it is revealed soteriological knowledge. On the other
hand, some Gnostic writers even went so far as to invent a new literary
fiction (as if the available ones were not enough): the Gnostic revelation
discourse,°* e.g. the Pistis Sophia, essentially based on a New Testament
topos, or passage. The Gospels record that Jesus spent forty days® with
his disciples after the Resurrection, though the Evangelists say little or
nothing of the particular revelations he is supposed to have made to
them.°* It was the Gnostics’ intention to fill this gap. This period became
a privileged source of possible esoteric traditions. In those days (whose
number could be multiplied at will, up to the twelve years of the Pistis
Sophia), Jesus no longer spoke in parables, in veiled terms that concealed
the truth and were intended for the masses, but openly, communicating
the true Gnosis to the elect.
Finally there are the so-called Gnostic ‘gospels’. As in the case of the well-
known Gospel of Thomas (NHC II.2),°” they are collections of sayings of
Jesus, originally not Gnostic, which nevertheless owe their present form to
the subtle, but clearly recognizable, work of a Gnostic author. Or, as in the
case of the Gospel of Truth (NHC 1.3), we are dealing with a homiletic
exposition of the good news, Gnostic in character.©%
Is this variety of literary forms attributable in its doctrinal content
to definite schools and trends of thought? This is a most difficult and
controversial aspect of the entire Gnostic dossier and, at the present
state of research, it is not yet possible to arrive at a satisfactory reply.
The heresiological sources had provided a fairly broad, well-formed
picture of the Valentinian school. This fixed point of reference has
allowed various writings to be attributed to the Valentinians, the most
important being the Gospel of Truth, the Epistle to Rheginus (NHC
I.4), a short, but important, treatise on the Gnostic concept of
resurrection and the nature of the spiritual body; the long Tripartite
Tractate (NHC 1.5), so called®? because in allusive, cryptic language,
which conveys its esoteric nature, the anonymous author systematically
reflects on the three phases of the Gnostic myth (upper or pleromatic
world: fall of the pneumatic or spiritual principle and formation of the
world and man; and creation of three classes of men and their destiny);
the so-called Gospel of Philip (NHC II.3), a collection of Jesus’ thoughts
and sayings, of which the most important, as we shall see, concern the
sacrament of spiritual marriage; finally, a treatise from Codex XI on
baptism and the eucharist. The school’s influence can therefore be traced
in different stages and steps in other writings in the corpus, which are
further confirmation of the theological relevance, and also of the success
enjoyed by the Valentinians.
Sometimes the writings provide texts whose titles were already known
from the heresiological tradition. For example, the Paraphrase of Shem
(NHC VII.1) may be related to the Paraphrase of Seth mentioned by
Hippolytus;”° in abstruse and often impenetrable language, the origins
of the elements, the fall of the spiritual principle and the history of the
salvation of the elect are outlined. The apocalyptic texts Zostrianus
(NHC VIII.1), Marsanes (NHC X.1) and Allogenes (NHC XI.3) appear
to be related to certain apocalyptic treatises mentioned by Plotinus’”! in
which the mysteries of the upper world are communicated to the
protagonist in the course of a celestial voyage in the customary fashion
of apocalyptic literature.
18 Fragments ofa Lost Faith
However, it has not always been possible to find any correspondence
between external evidence and the Nag Hammadi documents. The
scholar is thus compelled to resort to internal comparison, a necessarily
more hypothetical terrain. This in-depth analysis has revealed that many
of these writings share a common background.’* The Gnostics in
question seem to agree on a common spiritual ancestor in Seth, the
patriarch, Biblical son of Adam; and in identifying the most characteristic
elements of the divine world and in defining the way in which the story
of salvation is unfolded. Thus it has been conjectured that these writings
belong to a common ideological world of a more or less unitary nature
commonly called ‘Sethian’, rather than to clearly identifiable sectarian
groups.
The heterogeneous nature of the library reflects a movement that by
its nature avoided dogmatic systems and rigid divisions. The very
presence of more than one version of the same text, e.g. the Apocryphon
of John,”? which contain significant variant readings, is confirmation
not only that the same text could circulate in different editions, but
that, unlike sacred books subjected to the rigid standardization of the
text, these treatises could easily be enlarged or corrected; and this shows
both the essentially fluctuating nature of the myths and the divergent
theological interests.
The texts that have come down to us are fourth-century translations
in various dialects of Coptic, the language of Christian Egypt, based on
Greek originals of the second or third century.’* Various elements that
can be deduced from the binding of the codices indicate that the
translations were made in a monastic environment in the late fourth
century, a period when Pachomian monasticism was flourishing. An
attempt has therefore been made to see the corpus as the private library
of one of these monasteries.”> It is an enticing hypothesis, but has yet
to be proved. However, these and other texts, perhaps no longer extant,
may have been assembled with the aim of refuting a movement that
was still thriving in the middle of the fourth century; or rather it may
have been a private collection of monks who, zealous predecessors of
modern esoteric specialists, were thus preserving the memory of a
religion that now, two centuries after its heyday, looked like a relic of
the past.’¢
The reader who has been patient enough to follow this survey of the
various problems posed by a study of this library, after looking through
so many side doors, with a fleeting glance at the introductory rooms,
and arriving at the last door, may legitimately ask: Do these writings
reveal the true face of Gnosticism? In cases of this sort one must proceed
Fragments ofa Lost Faith 19
with extreme caution. Today it is possible to outline the Gnostic planet
with more precision and accuracy. We can now distinguish the two
great continents already partially discovered by the History of Religions
School. In addition to a Gnosis that arises and has established itself
upon the very framework of Christianity and draws sustenance from it,
there is clearly another, non-Christian Gnosis.”” The boundary between
the two is still disputed territory. It will certainly be one of the most
difficult tasks of future researchers to explore this no man’s land. It is
also possible to depict more clearly the relationship between this area
and other areas of the ancient religious and cultural world, e.g. the
Graeco-Hellenistic world,’® especially in its Platonic aspects, the Jewish
world”? and oriental traditions, especially those of Iranian origin.8° The
relationship with the True Church in the second and third centuries
may also be examined in greater detail, and some scholars have already
tried to reopen the thorny dossier of the conflicts between orthodoxy
and heresy®*! or the still more delicate question of the relationship
between Gnosis and the New Testament.®?
However, it is above all the internal life of this world that becomes
better known. The first explorers of the Nag Hammadi texts found
themselves confronted by a veritable mythological jungle. But the
achievement of the first attempts to penetrate it are beginning to show
results. The mythological Gnostic world in its rich complexity is one of
the most significant aspects of the history of second-century thought.
Some aspects of the cult life of particular groups are even better known,
even if the present state of our knowledge makes it difficult to attain a
sociologically acceptable understanding of Gnosticism. To some extent,
after all, one can sketch out more solid hypotheses on the actual history
of this movement, on its eventual origins and the principal phases of its
development.
But the true face of Gnosticism must remain for the time being a
mystery. However, we are quite happy to leave this for others to
discover. What we propose here is a more limited task: to lead the
reader to discover the complex problems of the mythical world of
Gnosticism. We shall enter it after a brief reconnaissance of contemporary
religious beliefs, which may help us to sketch the essential framework
of the social and religious universe in which Gnosticism and its mythology
arose and became established.
2
Between Demons and Gods:

an Age of Revelation
A TWO-HEADED JANUS: THE CENTURY OF THE ANTONINES
The Gnostic drama has its own unity, if not of place, at least of time.
History decided to lift the curtain on the drama between the first and
second centuries Ab at the beginning of the Antonine era.
What Gibbon considered an age of indolence, what to many subsequent
historians continued to present itself as an age in decline, concealing
behind the veil of economic development and public munificence the
symptoms of a spiritual canker, an irreversible crisis of classical
enlightenment and rationalism, appears today, in the new perspective
on the late antique world, in a new form and a different light.'
This crucial century was a watershed between the two decisive periods
of imperial history: the Augustan Restoration and the ‘crisis’ of the
third century. Its Janus-like quality becomes clearer when one considers
its religious life.
One of its faces continues to gaze imperturbably at the past. The
traditional forms of civic religion, albeit with the necessary changes and
adaptations entailed by alterations in the power structure, continued
to fulfil an important function within the vast social body of the Empire.
The routine of official cults was now the instrument to ensure social
cohesion of local elites. Generally speaking, and contrary to a widely
held opinion (even of such authoritative witnesses as Plutarch*), the
traditional channels of religious consensus, at least in certain social
classes, still enjoyed widespread respect. Oracles, though consulted less
than previously, still exercised considerable influence, if not on the more
general political events that escaped the control of local gods, certainly
on the everyday life of the many petitioners who thronged to the doors
of prophets and prophetesses in the hope that the ‘god of the day’
might deliver through them answers to the perennial questions and
problems: the outcome of a birth, the fortunes of a marriage, the
prospects for business.* The desire to know one’s destiny and to be able
Between Demons and Gods 21
to control, to evade or to use it is a dimension of the human spirit that
appears to be limitless. The documents provide us with evidence of the
fortunes of astrologers, magicians, fortune-tellers, practitioners of the
occult in a traditional society that was afraid of threatened changes and
in need of both outlet and constraint.* In his workshop the magician
continued to provide ready-made recipes designed to deceive or to
furnish hope to the disappointed lover, to quench the betrayed lover’s
thirst for revenge, to cure aches and pains that had defeated the remedies
provided by conventional medicine.°®
The fashion for the occult that appears to invade Hellenistic cities in
the first centuries of our era (occasionally, as we know from astrology,
in the garb of a pseudo-science) is none other than the urban version
of popular religion typical of the countryside. On the other hand, it is
hardly surprising in a world, physical and cultural, in which the very
cities, even in the period of their greatest expansion and pride, continue
to be islands in a sea of countryside (or desert), that rural religious life,
through yet another change, acquired certain features of its urban
counterpart. It is a face, therefore, that at that time was turned towards
the past, lost in escapist traditions and daydreams, and, when compared
with the other currents of the religious panorama, tranquil and indolent.
Then ripples begin to appear on the peaceful surface, betraying at times
unsuspected tensions and anxieties. One begins to see a landscape
populated by major characters with a new kind of religious temperament.
Lucian,’ an acute andsceptical observer of his time, depicts the changing
‘spiritual climate vividly and with subtle irony. From behind a screen of
disparaging accusations, his ‘group photography’ depicts the typical
representatives of a religious world in ferment. His writings are full of
itinerant preachers, prophets bearing divine messages, Christians thirsting
for martyrdom, ‘theomaniacs’ and ‘holy sinners’. These people have a
new rapport with the divine: they represent a sort of barometer of the
profound changes taking place in religious mentality.
The other face of the century reveals, if not an age of anxiety,® then
certainly the emergence of new problems, questions and shared religious
responses from the rejection of traditional solutions, a newly formed
geography of the realm of the sacred, a different conception of the
biorhythms of religious life and a paradoxical way of imagining, and
giving shape to, the relationship between the human and divine.
22 Between Demons and Gods :
NEW RELIGIOUS HORIZONS
The ancient representation of the world, that of the pre-Socratics as a

flat disc floating in space, was replaced from the beginning of the
Hellenistic period by a new geocentric configuration that was to remain
fundamental to astronomical (and astrological) thought until the modern
revolution of Kepler and Galileo. The earth, centre of the universe, is
surrounded by seven planetary spheres, concentric circles on the ideal
surface of which another seven planets rotate: three (the Moon, Mercury,
Venus) under the Sun and three (Mars, Jupiter, Saturn) above it.” The
eighth sphere, situated beyond the planetary spheres (according to an
opinion also shared by Aristotle), finally supports the heaven of the
fixed stars, so called because, unlike the varied movements of the planets,
it was characterized by a single unitary movement.
This revolution in astronomy had enormous consequences for the
religious geography of the Beyond. Alongside belief in the subterranean
Underworld, the concept of a sublunar Underworld began to emerge,
located between the Earth and the Moon.!° On the other hand, Elysium
itself had also been shifted, moving upwards from distant areas of the
Earth to ever higher regions in the celestial world.!'!
This rearrangement of the mythological landscape is never an end in
itself. The geography of the other world acquires a rich complexity, as
in the famous descent of Virgil’s Aeneas,'? a forerunner of the many
increasingly detailed and complex descriptions of the afterlife in Jewish
and Christian apocalyptic texts. On the other hand, whereas Aeneas,
following the paths of tradition, had to find the entrance to the
Underworld in a cave, the Gnostic Saviour of the second century ap,
making his soteriological descent across the heavens, saw that the
Underworld had changed and become one with the cosmos itself.
This demonization of the cosmos,'? which extends the place of the
Underworld to the planets and the heavens of the fixed stars, is in fact
the barometer of a more general revolution in religious concepts.
Traditional paganism had for centuries been expressed by impersonal
forms, such as the universe itself, mobilizing and conveying emotions
towards objects and sacred rites. Even where Greek pietas seems to
reach its most sublime expression,'* there remains nevertheless the
residuum, irreducible in the classical forms of religion, of a rapport with
a god who continues to confine man within rigid ethical rules of socially
acceptable behaviour. This same impersonal concept of divine power as
expanding energy that penetrates the different parts of the universe,
sometimes in the traditional, familiar forms of the classical pantheon,
sometimes spilling over into the esoteric spheres of magic and astrology
to the point where it reaches the dimensions of cosmic energy pervading
and animating everything,'° continues to represent the basso continuo
of many religious concepts, even during the imperial period.
Jewish apologetics, though with little success, had helped to question
the classical concept of the divine.!° Between the first and second
centuries both the spread of the Christian message and the introduction
of new religious cults based on a more intimately personal relationship
were travelling much of the way in parallel in pursuit of the traditional
relationship between God and human beings.
The drive towards these different traditional religious forms was
fuelled by an actual change in the self-awareness of the individual. Many
experienced the sensation of having something infinitely precious in
themselves, an extraordinary gift that raised them above the anonymous
mass of believers, but also estranged them, sometimes painfully, from
the surrounding world. ‘In interiore homine habitat veritas’ (truth lives
in the inner person): an ancient tradition of thought, going back to
Plato himself, but overlaid with diverse religious and philosophical
elements from the vast sea of Hellenism, had had the effect of
emphasizing, in the same human microcosm, the spiritual and invisible
at the expense.of the material and tangible.
Contact with this delicate, penetrating sensitivity revealed that the
material, empirical human being was an outer covering that with its
suffocating, deceptive coils envelops the chrysalis of a new reality: the
inner person, the true, essential person.'? Endowed with the ability to
taste spiritual reality, to hear celestial harmony, to understand and to
penetrate within the recesses of the divine world, this new anthropological
reality imposed itself at the same time as the promised goal of competing
revelations and the outcome of the ascetic processes of strict self-
discipline and rigid observance.
With regard to the models of the Socratic-Platonic tradition, learning
to know oneself now involved a double shift in emphasis.'? Superimposed
on the ethical dimension of the self was a concrete spiritual reality, an
anthropos (man, human being) who, given a moment’s attention, saw
that he or she was invested with a vitality of his or her own, ready to
emerge into a new life in whoever was prepared to undergo the spiritual
birth-pangs. For this purpose the verbal instruments of Socratic midwifery
proved to be increasingly inadequate. The ‘truth’ that one carried inside
oneself was not an abstract reality, which could be produced aseptically
in scholastic disquisitions or in self-serving meandering reflection. Those
who turned, out of boredom or disgust with the eternal world, to their
own interior microcosm, did so with a new keen sensitivity of the
24 Between Demons and Gods
imagination, that enabled them to respond to the signs of the formation
of a new life, which to many now appeared to be the true one: indeed,
it now partook of the same life as the Godhead, perhaps even coinciding
with it.!?
What had once been the destiny of heroes and demigods now became
the privilege of anyone who succumbed to the blandishments of some
god’s itinerant minstrel or who heeded the persuasive voice of the ‘inner’
person. Classical Greece had established solid barriers between humans
and the gods; to violate them, even in thought, was to commit the
infamous sin of hubris. Now the new spiritual climate positively insisted
that one transcend these barriers and become a hyperanthropos (a super
human).?° This now became the goal in a spiritual contest destined to
attract increasingly numerous and enthusiastic competitors.
This was inevitable. From aristocratic privilege maintained in terms
of philotimia — decorum, honour and respect for the ground rules in a
hierarchical society where the social boundaries were clearly defined —
the assimilation to the divine kata to dynaton (as far as possible) was
tending to become a possibility on offer, at least theoretically, to
everyone, indeed to anyone able to undergo the experiences of spiritual
conversion and rebirth that constituted the principal commodities of
this religious market.
But how was this to be attained? The major obstacle in the new
structure of religious reality was the new place assigned to divine power.
The spiritual principle, which aspired to return to its divine home at
the end of its sojourn on earth, was obliged to make long, tedious
planetary journeys.*! Only after crossing the gate of the Hebdomad, the
traditional seat of the Cosmic God, was it able to enter the limitless
space of the divine kingdom. For this was now inhabited by a God
who, according to the most consistent theory, appeared to be atopos,
without a place that could in any way confine him.??
In reality, an absolute transcendence, like that of the contemporary
Theos agnostos (unknown God), ignores or despises analogia entis
(comparison of being).7? A common language, that of negative theology,
links the God of the Christians, the Gnostics and the Platonists. God
cannot be predicated; or rather, what one can say about him is what
he is not; he is not this or that quality or aspect of being. But while
one surrounds him with negative predicates, the mystique of the
ineffable** builds around him the soft protective barrier of a language
that fends off the attacks of anthropomorphism and removes him to
the recesses of a sovereign solitude.
And yet God was active in history and, moreover, in a world replete
with dark — indeed demoniacal — forces. The problem of theodicy
deepened, to bristle with unusual difficulties. Philo, a Hebrew philosopher
from Alexandria in Egypt, educated as a Greek at the beginning of our
era, was acutely aware of this. If God was the summum bonum, or
highest good, and if, on the other hand, matter, which he had created,
was essentially something negative, because it was by nature subject to
change and corruption, how could God have anything to do with this
world of death — the perceptible cosmos? In view of the origin of
humankind, it was a problem destined to have serious repercussions.
The human’s dual nature, a spiritual principle set within a corruptible
body, and a soul continually deflected from its course towards the
heavenly home by all sorts of longings and desires, compelled one to
reconsider the mystery of original creation. How was it possible for evil
to arise from creation, an intrinsically good divine act?*> Was there, then,
some possibility of mediation between absolute divine transcendence and
the corrupt nature of the world and humankind?
The problem of mediation, which so acutely characterizes the thought
of the time, receives different responses, according to the various
situations. What these responses have in common is the general
multiplication of intermediate principles, powers that mediate between
the ineffable God, unknown and transcendent, and the transitory,
corruptible world of matter. In Philo the monotheistic God of the
Hebrew tradition is obliged to rely on the assistance of hypostases,”°
self-supporting forms of the one divine reality. Their function is to
collaborate in the work of creation, assuming the most delicate and
problematic aspects, e.g. that of the angels who fashion the matter for
the human body.”
The tendency to multiply the intermediate figures between God and
the cosmos, to populate the intermundia (the worlds in between) with
countless divinities, was typical of the period. It was not a matter simply
of finding a provisional and sometimes uncomfortable arrangement
for the company of gods and divinities in the traditional pantheon
unceremoniously evicted from their positions of primacy. As we are told
by Plutarch, and reminded by the Neoplatonic tradition,** the ancient
gods were now called upon to fulfil a new function. Interposing
themselves between human beings and a God who, as in paganism, was
beginning to assume the traits, if not monotheistic, certainly henotheistic,
of a unique principle of the universe, they acted as an image of a
complex divine reality, a mirror which refracted and allowed one to see
the multiplicity of functions and activities that were at work in the
divine world, while presenting a boundary that might not be crossed in
order to preserve the absolute independence and transcendence of God.
Like the deus otiosus, or inactive god, of archaic mythology, the
unknown and unknowable God, who is at the top of the divine pyramid
gives the extra push that sets in motion the great machine of the cosmos
and seems to have retired to his palace, inaccessible to humankind. The
entities generated by him now have the task of realizing concretely the
plan conceived from the beginning of time. From among these entities
there emerges a distinct deuteros theos, a second god, son and perfect
image of the Father: he is the Logos (Word) of the Christians, the Nous
(Mind) of the Middle Platonists and of the Gnostics. He has the dual
function of manifesting and setting up the plan conceived by the Father
within the divine world and of realizing it in the external world.
In the theological systems of the period the Logos becomes the
mediator by antanomosia.*? His fate is bound to the multifaceted
ideological heritage that the concept itself involved. Creation could not
have taken place without the intervention of the word (logos), which is
word-discourse, the principle of order, rationality and programming of
the divine plan, at once destined to find their natural theological
incarnation in the Logos.
In certain cases, the deuteros theos might directly assume the
demiurgical tasks of creation;*° but generally this was a task delegated
to obedient servants. This band of assistants was thus faced with a
thankless job: to fashion matter that was recalcitrant, if not directly
rebellious.*!
In the cosmologies of the period the nature of matter?* constitutes
one of the most obscure and controversial issues. In terms of philosophical
syncretism, though its eternity was not discussed, its essence caused
quite a few problems. The spread of positions was fairly diverse, even
if many subscribed to the belief that its negativity was bound up with
its own nature of an element deprived of Jogos, and consequently
irrational and chaotic, subject to disordered tensions and movements.
How could particles of the divine logos be inserted in matter without
deforming it? Basically, everything depended on the limits imposed on
the presence of this negativity. According to the Hermetic Asclepius,>*
it would have been possible to confine the irrationality of hylé (matter)
to the lowest strata of the cosmos, which was forming in ever more
harmonious, close structures, approaching the very source of harmony,
the vault of heaven, the cosmic God. Evil appeared as a minus habens,
a deficiency of the being and the fullness that were able to subsist in
their ontological purity only at the highest levels of the divine hierarchy.
This solution, destined to find its more solid and rigorous foundation
in the works of Plotinus,** thus had the advantage of solving the actual
problem of evil by denying its ontological consistency.
Among Christians the problem of mediation assumed a position of
decisive importance. It is true that the world was good and could not
be otherwise, as God’s creation. Evil was no longer a natural, but rather
a moral, fact, a consequence of the abuse of free will. However, evil
went to the very root of the history of the world and humans’ own
nature, to such an extent that only intervention from above might have
been able to save humankind from its sinful condition. Hence, the
decisive function of the Saviour, the Mediator par excellence.
Compared with the Hellenistic saviours,*> the Christian Saviour was
able to boast at least two radically new attributes. His act of salvation
aimed at rescuing and preserving the higher spiritual principle of
humankind, of all humanity. He therefore had to be a personal, historical
Saviour, embodying the essence of mediation in his nature of God and
man.
WAYS OF SALVATION
The road to liberation, however, was fraught with all manner of

difficulties. In order to understand the nature of these difficulties better,
a short digression is now necessary.
For those of olden times religion was like an item of clothing, received
at birth and worn on certain ritual occasions, but able to be discarded
in everyday life without any special traumas.*° At the same time it was
an atmosphere, a particular aura, which one learned to breathe early in
life, an ambience in which one was taught to move and behave correctly
by means of an approved series of social and religious initiation
ceremonies.
The first centuries of Hellenism had not known genuine religious
revolutions. Indeed, in the cities of the Diadochoi (the successors of
Alexander the Great), there are signs of a certain attitude of scepticism,
if not of indifference, towards the typical religious problems associated
with death and ways of survival.>” Epicureanism elevated this attitude
to theoretical dignity and a code of behaviour. The traditional world of
belief is characterized rather by the emergence of those typical Hellenistic
divinities, such as Tyche, Fortune, Destiny, Fate, Necessity. Even the
religion of the Stoics is a religion of the intellect or, at most, of strict
will power, but not of the heart.
Religious life continued along traditional lines. Those surviving ecstatic
movements and cults of possession that, like the cult of Dionysus, shook
the routine of Greek religious life in the fifth century sc, had assumed
the easily controllable forms of ‘mysteries’, socially acceptable and legally
recognized religious clubs that required membership and functioned in
accordance with the laws governing spiritual meetings.**
Even when oriental cults began to achieve wider recognition (from
the second or first century Bc) and to attract the interest and attention
of a growing number of followers,*? the mechanism of religious
individualism did not undergo radical change. It was possible to belong
to one of these cults without prejudice to one’s daily life, family affections
or social relationships.*° In certain cases the new gods were openly
petitioned in the hope of improving one’s fortune or of accelerating
one’s cursus honorum, or career. For the rest, these gods were to some
extent the same.*! It was possible to move from one cult to another as
easily (relatively) as it is for today’s soccer fans to adopt a new idol.
But prophetic religions, such as Mazdaism or Judaism, had imposed
different models of religious self-identification. The very nature of Ahura
Mazda or of Jahweh did not tolerate rivals. The decision to belong to
these faiths had therefore a different kind of importance in the life of
the individual. It is also true that such decisions were bound up with
the family, the clan, the group, indeed the ethnos (race), of which these
prophetic religions were a fundamental manifestation. This trait, more
prominent in Mazdaism, which represented to Iranians a means of
ethnic and social identification, is also typical of Judaism. On the other
hand, even if, especially in the Hellenistic period, there is evidence of
proselytism in the Judaism of the Diaspora,** it is still only a marginal
phenomenon. Nor was the life of a proselyte an easy one. He not only
incurred the contemptuous criticism and abusive looks of the outside
world for the Hebrew race, but had also to put up with the innate
suspicion, if not the downright hostility, felt by pious Jews towards any
member who was a stranger or lived on the fringes of the community.
And yet, right in the heart of Judaism, between the second and first
centuries Bc, there is evidence of a radical transformation in religious
consciousness. What we now know of the life and beliefs of the
community at Qumran proves that the model of religious identity had,
in this restricted group, undergone a change fraught with consequences.
Though beset by difficulties, the way of a pagan who had wanted to
convert to Judaism was still characterized by clear symbols: circumcision,
profession of faith, and a certain life-style. But even these signs of
recognition were considered for an interim period too transient and
superficial for the person who expressed the wish to live the revelation
of Jahweh right to the full. So-called ‘inter-testamental’ Judaism is now
regarded by historians as a period of profound religious transformation,
the consequence of the dramatic events that marked the life of the
Chosen People from the second century sc; a world in movement, in
which traditional divisions between factions, groups, sects or parties
were being revised. The very plurality of religious opinion, on the other
hand, helped to reconstruct on a new basis the problem of the authentic
nucleus of the faith. In this multiplicity of messages, who was the real
interpreter of the divine message? To what signs could one appeal as
evidence for the authenticity of inspiration? But this problem, though
long-lasting, received a new solution at Qumran. What the community
offered was the seal of election, the guarantee of predestination. To
acquire this mark of salvation, to enter the community of the ‘Children
of Light’, one now required a conversion, a radical change, interior
rather than external, in one’s own life.**
The idea of election, in itself free from any notion of compromise,
must sooner or later, as we know from its long and troubled history
(from Paul to Augustine, from Luther to Calvin), come to sensible
compromises with actual reality. In an age replete with revelations of
all kinds, what were the signs that permitted the elect to be absolutely
sure of their vocation? Later on we shall see the Gnostics’ reply. At
Qumran, the first sign was the very fact of the decision to enter into
the life of the community with its rules and observances. This common
life was thus the first fundamental guarantee against external enemies,
the Sons of Darkness.** Moreover, divine revelation continued to make
its voice heard through the privileged medium of scriptural exegesis,
which by means of certain exegetic techniques (peser) allowed one to
reinterpret sacred history as the needs of the community required.** But
above all it was necessary to scrutinize one’s inner self: according to a
model we find operating in the Master of Justice himself, God was able
to enlighten the heart of his elect directly, granting them access to the
most hidden mysteries.*°
Charis, or divine grace, thus became a decisive factor in conversion,
the chemical change in the spiritual substance of the individual. Only
thanks to its help and intercession could the obstacles cutting off the
road to rebirth be overcome.*”
These obstacles were of various types. In addition to the usual
difficulties encountered by the pious in their craving for the divine, there
were others, symptomatic of the changing spiritual climate. In the
thoughts and struggles of humanity in search of God, the demons had
finally established themselves as the most dangerous enemies.** In the
religion of the Homeric poems the daimones do not figure prominently.*?
The Pythagorean daimon is more like the Socratic demon, a sort of
protective genius of the individual, than the malevolent spirits of later
generations.°° Only with Hellenism does the daimon begin to assume
exclusively those negative associations destined to characterize it in the
history of western religion.°! There are two possible reasons for this:
the influence of religious trends such as Mazdaism, in which armies of
malevolent demons are deployed in the world in the service of the Lord
of Evil, or the internal transformations of a demonological heritage like
that of Judaism.
Neither pagan nor Christian demons are immune from this contagion.
Among pagan demons there appears a veritable bureaucracy of the
invisible.6* At the lower levels are the malevolent demons, associated
with the most violent, brutal aspects of human nature. As the steps of
the pyramid rise, one begins to breathe a purer air. The higher demons
correspond to the traditional gods, who follow the course of human
events from their celestial homes both actively and passively. It is to
these demons, to their power, that the theurgist turns, he who, in his
capacity as the benevolent instrument of that positive divine power that
descends from the higher demons, wishes to do good; he is the forerunner
of the Renaissance magician who would like to put his natural magic
at the service of mankind.°? On the other hand, the goétes (wizards)
are the precursors of diabolical magic. Malevolent, terrestrial demons,
who find themselves in contact with irrational matter, are the ultimate
source of their power. They turn to them and to their terrible dynamis
(power), confident of obtaining the necessary malign force to work evil
deeds and to practise sorcery.
For their part, the Jewish, and later the Christian, traditions had also
made provision for the imposition of order in this agitated world,
characterized in the interim centuries of the Christian era by an
impressive rate of demographic development. Against the ranks of
malevolent demons are now ranged the equally numerous crowds and
battalions of angels.°* The world becomes a battleground of invisible,
but none the less terrifying, armies. Not only individuals, but groups,
people and nations now have their guardian angels.°* Interpretative
angels appear as celestial messengers in apocalyptic texts to explain
divine revelations about the end of time;°® they intervene in human
history;°’ they accompany the destiny of individuals.°* They are a
counterforce grown up in the shadow of the increasing power of the
demons; the career of certain archangels reveal that they are destined
for speedy, positive promotion in the inner workings of the celestial
bureaucracy.°?
Christian beliefs also played their part in this work of progressive
demonization in the world. The apologists of the second century, even
on the basis of certain statements in the New Testament, testify to us
often of the expansion in the power of malign spirits, which extend and
multiply their functions to the point where they seize control not only
of the physical world, but also of the very heart of humankind.°°
Indeed, this gradual interiorization of the spiritual struggle is perhaps
the most significant characteristic of the transformation of ideas and
beliefs that we have been outlining. The really decisive battle begins to
take place in the wanderings of the individual psyche. Cosmic conflict
between the Archons, lords of this world, and the angelic Christian
forces or the divine Gnostic entities are in fact only an echo or a
reflection, however vivid and dramatic, of a much more terrifying
internal conflict. Having now become the passive scene of a conflict in
which they stand helplessly by, human beings appear incapable of
overcoming the new limitations imposed on religious knowledge. In
order to save themselves they now require divine intervention from on
high: a revelation.
ECSTASY AND REVELATION
The gods were accustomed to communicating with men, to transmitting

their plans and informing them of their intentions. All ancient religions
were familiar, in one form or another, with that special communication
between the divine and human worlds that we call revelation (not always
an appropriate term).°! The technique of these communications, however
rudimentary, was not without effect. In the various forms of divination,
dreams, oracles and visions, there was a speedy, multiform line of
communication (by now well tested), which maintained a continuous
link between the two worlds.
However, access to this line of communication was not vouchsafed
to the ordinary mortal. Rather, one was obliged to rely upon the aid
of appropriate technicians: from intermediaries of the official cults and
priests to prophets, astrologers, magicians and interpreters of dreams.
Even if the god did condescend to speak to the ordinary person in
dreams, it was in such an allusive and cryptic way that the person
required the services of a professional interpreter of dreams.®* Those
who, tired of seeing their attempts at a career impeded, or anxious for
promotion, went in search of a powerful god able to provide a kind of
recommendation in keeping with the times (a particular recipe or
formula), had only to knock at the door of those who were practised
in sacred matters, who often lived in the shadow of famous old temples,
in order to enjoy the privilege of direct communication with the god.®
This search for a vision that would produce direct contact with the
highest point of the hierarchical scale, for an experience that would
guarantee a one-to-one (monos pros monon) meeting with the divine,
even in matters of commercial transactions or problems in one’s career,
is at the same time valuable evidence of a significant change;
communication with the divine was now being sought, a profound
experience to be accomplished in the first person, without assistance
from intermediaries or interpreters. It is on this theme that Hellenistic
mysticism will construct its virtuoso variations.°*
In a famous dialogue Plato had theorized the two fundamental types
of mania or possession.® In its literal sense ‘ecstasy’ means ‘being put
outside oneself’. This could happen in two ways: either by alienating
the actual spiritual principle from the prison of the body to allow it to
unite with the god; or else by allowing the god himself, as in the oracular
tradition, to penetrate the body of the seer, momentarily to subdue him
and to speak through him. In both cases, however, the distance and the
distinctions between human and divine were preserved.
Between the first and second centuries AD in contrast, we witness a
new type of possession. Many of the itinerant prophets and divine men
wandering about the Empire®® claim to incarnate those two aspects of
ecstasy that Philo had previously kept rigidly separate. They were not
simply an instrument of the divinity, because in some sense they were
the divinity. Divine power no longer limited itself to penetrating their
body, using it as an instrument, for the simple reason that the body had
become a permanent residence of the god. The first requirement of these
new professional candidates thus became the capacity, not so much of
having divine power to hand, but more of being the incarnation of
divine power. The proof of this transformation consisted in the
acquisition of special thaumaturgical qualities. Miracles were thus
important, not only for their therapeutic effects (and these were certainly
considerable), but rather because they confirmed that one was dealing
with a divine reality.
At the same time these individuals proposed a new form of mediation,
a type of revelation previously unknown. The ‘true’ revelation had to
be unique and definitive. Instead of the thousands of privileged
communications, many of these people had an experience, unique and
definitive, that radically changed their life. On the other hand, this
revelation had to correspond with a change in the religious landscape.
God had withdrawn from the world, often having no interest in it.
The world had thus become easily susceptible to hostile forces, which
oppressed humankind to such an extent that humans were obliged to
think, as the Gnostics taught, that they were diabolical creatures. The
thirst for the divine could no longer be quenched, in these cases, by
drinking at the traditional fountain of accidental revelations, connected
with the innumerable events of everyday life. They needed something
else for their salvation. The sheet-anchor was intended to save them
once and for all from the catastrophes of the present life.
Thus form and content of the revelations change. Jewish apocalyptic
had already indicated the way to be travelled. For the visionaries of
these apocalypses, almost all of which were composed between the
second century sc and the second century Ap, it was now possible to
contemplate the terrible scenes of the end of the world and to see the
destiny that awaits the just and the wicked.°’ In their celestial journeys
they have the opportunity of a careful study of the topography of
punishment and reward.°*® Some visionaries, like Enoch, might even be
granted the singular privilege of access, not only to the mysteries of the
end, but even to those of the beginnings of human history.°? This is not
surprising, for the destiny that awaits the just is written in a celestial
book in which the history of the world is established.”°
In this way the revelations about the end occasionally reveal a need
destined to appear in Gnostic apocalypses. The content of the revelation
expands to the point where it encompasses beginning and end of
cosmic and individual history. Both are in fact closely connected and
interdependent. The reader of apocalyptic texts knows that ‘mea res
agitur’ (‘this is my concern’): if he or she can make the right decision,
no less than eternal victory is at stake. Human destiny runs parallel to
that of a world that is hurrying to its destruction: to seize the opportunity
has now become an existential problem, in which it is a matter of
spiritual life or death.”!
But not all the many visions and revelations of the period are
equivalent. Contrary to the visionary experiences of Aelius Aristides,
who was accustomed to turn to Asclepius as one might nowadays turn
to a psychoanalyst’ (financial circumstances permitting), what unifies
the visions of Lucius in the Metamorphoses of Apuleius, the Montanist
prophetesses and the Gnostics Valentinus and Marcus is their formative
character.”? A barrier, invisible, but for that reason the more insurmount-
able, was now placed between life before and after, separated by this
new spiritual ridge. Isis, appearing in a dream to Lucius while he is still
in the form of an ass, promises to release him forthwith, with the
warning, ‘Remember, and bear in mind for ever, that the rest of your
life must be dedicated to me up to your last breath.’”* In exchange, he
will have access to the ineffable mysteries that will provide a new basis
for his existence. And this is precisely the point: to lay the foundation
of a new religious and social identity.
The visionary experience thus becomes the ideal meeting-place for a
variety of experiences that may appear at first sight remote, if not
contradictory. Montanus, the second-century instigator of the Montanist
heresy, like Lucius, arrogates to himself the protective hand of a sublime
divinity, of a divinity that guarantees the possession of a sacred reality,
ineffable and infinitely precious.’”*> This communion with the divine is
not a privilege of birth, wealth or education, but rather the heritage of
‘those of goodwill’. The sense of a mysterious call or divine choice may
find in this experience of the numinous an effective confirmation and
its seal of approval. It sets in motion the mechanism of rebirth.”°
Enlightened by the spirit and touched by a particular vision, this divine
humanity can now, according to some Hermetic treatises, drive out the
negative forces so as to allow the new human to enter into them.
IN SEARCH OF A NEW IDENTITY
The new spiritual identity is based on, and helps to nurture, a new
social identity. The protagonists of this decisive internal revolution,
carried out silently in the depths of an intimacy cultivated, loved and
known with vivid recognition, were in fact none other than ‘the rootless
and the weary who had been cut adrift and were searching for a new
life’,’” children of a society that was expanding and continually changing,
a world that was cosmopolitan and open to the most diverse experiences.
It was a world that encouraged travel and trade, but undermined family
ties, bonds of friendship and social relationships to the point of
destruction.
Merchants and businessmen, constantly on the move, now disem-
barked in crowded harbours and made for the great commercial centres,
certain of being able to surmount linguistic differences and ethnic and
cultural barriers in their search for deeper spiritual bonds, visiting
temples and practising cults that went beyond the confines of the old
ethnic religions.’® The initiates of the various oriental cults, soldiers
who felt at home in the military atmosphere surrounding the myths and
ceremonies of Mithraism, or emigrants, former slaves and freedmen
mindful of their eastern origin, who met and knew each other in the
orgiastic celebrations of the followers of Cybele and Attis or in the rites
of Dea Syria (described by Lucian): all moved in the same religious
climate. What they now have is a new identity-card, which enables them
to recognize each other and meet together, a passport that allows them
to surmount ethnic barriers and social differences. The vertical axis of
the divine progeny intersects with the horizontal axis of brotherhood
with fellow believers, spiritual co-ordinates not without effect even at
the social level.
The feminism of the time provides important confirmation of this.
The satirical writers of the early centuries of the Empire frequently
satirize women who want to discuss everything and to occupy themselves
with poetry, dancing and music. It is a pertinent indication of the general
change in the position of women, at least in the leisured classes, which
had affected the life of increasing numbers of women in the Hellenistic
cities.” They ‘were everywhere involved in business, social life, such as
theatres, sports events, concerts, parties, travelling — with or without
their husbands. They took part in a whole range of athletics, even bore
arms and went to battle.’8° And, we might add, they lived a new intense
religious life, free of parental ties or matrimonial duties.
The new techniques of salvation were presented as a privileged way
of confirming and ratifying what society was in its turn bringing about.
In the secret meetings of the oriental cults many women devoted
themselves to Isis or Cybele.’ Christian groups often had to come to
terms with the problem of female inspiration and to try to bring into
line the charisma of prophecy which, according to Paul, apparently
ought to remain a male privilege.** It is no accident that in Montanism,
the terra sacra, or sacred territory, of prophetic inspiration par excellence,
the prophets preferred by Montanus were women.*? The spirit blows
where it will; and the chosen women of the spirit were the various Mary
Magdalenes of the Gnostic cliques. ?
The extensive reshuffling of the social cards in the second century
was bound to affect religion, which then, more than today, was the
area in which the corresponding ideological attitudes were reshaped,
measured and tested. This becomes clearer when one considers the fate
of certain intellectuals.
Some of the heirs of Dio Chrysostom continued to use up their
rhetorical skill and dialectical inheritance celebrating the Establishment,
together with its educational system, of which they were the most solid
support. Others, more restless, curious and mobile, looked out onto the
changing reality that surrounded them. The curiosity of an Apuleius,
typical representative of an intelligentsia on the move, is one example.%*
He seems to be the one called upon to perform the function of cultural
mediation whose religious equivalent we have already discussed. His
birth and education placed him at the boundary between two worlds
which he bridges, but also makes distinct. They are the world of the
provincial African periphery where he was born, between Numidia and
Gaetulia, and the world of the great urban centres, such as Athens,
Alexandria and Rome, which provided him with his education; the
world of Middle Platonist philosophy®* and the mysteries and cults, of
which he became an initiate,®® the world of the calm light of practical
theurgy and the sinister flashes of black magic, which here and there
leave traces on his face.8” This systematic ambivalence, this wavering
between cultural universes and remote social situations, is not really
surprising. Apuleius is a child of his time. Continual travel brought him
into contact with different worlds; his thirst for experience enabled him
to embrace the diverse social worlds; his curiosity pushed him to the
limits of the impossible.
The Metamorphoses themselves reveal the need for mediation. The
form of the Greek novel, which normally performed the function of
diverting and entertaining a largely popular audience, is transformed in
the able hands of the African writer into a form able to respond to the
needs of a new public made up of the well-to-do populace with a
modicum of learning, that constituted a fourth class in contemporary
cities: respectable artisans, prosperous freedmen, citizens who lived in
the shadow of the exclusive aristocracy and wished to emulate them
even at a cultural level, businessmen eager to embellish their social climb
with evidence of cultural know-how. Using a popular narrative form,
Apuleius sets out to reach this kind of public in order to bring to it ‘the
interpretative categories (and the ideological potential) of the doctrinal
system of the elite, because they act as a fixed point in the disorders of
human history and the chaos of the perceptible world.’®*® Because this is
the message of the Apuleian parable: what he presents, against the
background of contemporary social and cultural change, is a redefinition
and a restructuring of the external boundaries and the internal structure
of the concept of the individual. Old cultural models, concepts such as
cosmos and virtue, seem to be experiencing a crisis from which there is
no turning back. As Lucius’ symbolic experiences, which to some extent
illustrate those of Apuleius, reveal, a possible solution lies in the response
that searches for a new identity, which is obtained by rapport with a
new divinity (from a changed perspective) able to provide new certainties.
Even with his obvious individuality and originality, Apuleius seems
to be a typical representative of an important social group, the ‘new
men’ (viri novi): orators, lecturers, teachers who constitute a sort of
turbulent, lively intellectual proletariat. He is characterized by a cupiditas
viarum, an insatiable desire for travel through different cultures in
different countries, intellectual journeys that develop amid philosophical
experiences and religious initiations. In the same way, the philosopher
Justin, later a Christian apologist and martyr, experimented with various
fashionable philosophies before settling on the Christian revelation.®? A
thirst for experiences also characterizes the Gnostic teacher Valentinus,
who was educated in the cosmopolitan worlds of Alexandria and Rome,
open to the influence of mythology and, at the same time, like Apuleius,
ready to use this popular medium to transmit his more subtle tenets of
doctrine.
These new intellectuals, men of the frontier, astute and active
representatives of a century in transition, while reflecting the ambiguities
and contradictions of their age, also indicate some possible solutions. It
is now time to consider one of these solutions: Gnosticism. Its radical
originality will be understood better if it is considered against the
background, both social and ideological, that we have outlined, a
background common to pagan and Christian thinkers and an integral
element in any such consideration. Gnosticism, like the intellectuals who
produced it, is a child of its time: its background is a religious world
in ferment, a cultural universe in which syncretism had become an
ideological garment, in which oriental blood had now been flowing for
centuries in the somewhat anaemic body of the West.
The novelty of the Gnostic message is to be sought neither in the
origins of the mythological material that it borrowed and used from
various sources, nor in any so-called vital force of eastern origin, but
in the solution that it attempted to bring to the problems of its own
time. It is now time for us, like Theseus, to put our trust in Ariadne’s
thread and prepare to enter the mythical maze of the Gnostic labyrinth.
3
The Gnostic Imagination
THE NATURE OF GNOSTIC KNOWLEDGE
Anyone who embarks on a description of the Gnostic fabula or story,

inevitably does so with a growing sense of unease. And this is
understandable. To one familiar with the plastic figures of classical
mythology or to an inquisitive reader of the mythical stories of preliterate
peoples, the mythological Gnostic structure is surrounded by quite a
different atmosphere with its galleries of divine ancestors with pallid,
metaphysical faces; its rooms thronged with lifeless, monotonous shapes
of aeons, entities and hypostases; its Underworld peopled with monstrous
archons and demons.
But, like every labyrinth, the Gnostic one too has a centre from which
flow the vast streams of mythical narrations, thence to mingle and
intertwine. This heart of the mythological body is a reality less remote
and strange than may appear at first sight. What the myths all record
is: the fate of the divine spark present in humanity and its fall into a
hostile world of shadows, where it forgets its true home, while
unconsciously longing to return there; its wanderings and hopes, and
the eventual arrival of a Saviour who will reveal its true origin and thus
enable it to regain consciousness of its essential alienation from this
world of shadows. In other words, do they not perhaps conceal the
secret of acquiring knowledge of the self, the principle of individuation
that has fallen into the fatal embrace of Lethe?
But all foreknowledge, however necessary, inevitably entails some
risks. To avoid, from the outset, the impression of wanting to see the
Gnostics as simple precursors of modern depth psychology, it will be
necessary to consider further several points in order to remove any
ambiguity and to restore the historical difference between the two. In
this sense, the use of the very term ‘Gnosis’ offers us a privileged way.!
In classical Greek the terms gnosis and gigndskO indicate true
knowledge of ‘what is’ (ta onta) in contrast to mere sense perception
The Gnostic Imagination 39
(aisthésis) or opinion whose truth is not guaranteed (doxa). Unlike
epistemeé (understanding), the term is hardly ever used in an absolute
sense, but requires an object in the genitive case: it emphasizes the act
of knowing rather than knowledge itself.
But what sort of cognitive process is meant? In keeping with the
Greek predilection for the organ of vision,” gndsis is presented as
knowledge obtained by discourse and dialectic, beginning with visual,
direct observation. Of course, in the case of invisible realities, knowledge
will come through the eyes of the mind, which are able to grasp the
realities of the ideal world (as, e.g., Plato’s reflections on mathematics
suggest*). To achieve this knowledge one does not require a particular
organ or special method, but simply the coherent, systematic application
of the natural ability to see, to verify and to check the data received
along the way.
In Gnostic vocabulary the term has undergone a profound transform-
ation. Gnosis is now also used in an absolute way to indicate a form
of meta-rational knowledge, which is the gift of the divinity and has in
it the power to save the one who achieves it. It enables one to take
possession of the keys to the cosmic mystery, to solve the enigma of the
universe by absorbing the axis mundi, or world axis, of archaic
cosmogonies into the very essence of one’s being. The sacred strength
of gnosis reveals ‘who we are, what we have become, where we have
been cast out of, where we are bound for, what we have been purified
of, what generation and regeneration are.”
If it is true that the doctrinal content of Gnosticism is also cosmological
and aims at revealing ‘what is upon earth, in heaven, and anything that
is perhaps above heaven’,° it is also true that the acquisition of this
teaching is not an end in itself, but a function of the knowledge of the
mystery of human beings and therefore of their salvation. Gnosis is the
‘redemption of the interior man’,® that is,the purification of the spiritual
being and at the same time knowledge of the Whole. The Gospel of
Truth puts it as follows:
K
Therefore if one has knowledge, he is from above. If he is called, he hears,

he answers, and he turns to him who is calling and ascends to him. And
he knows in what manner he is called ... He who is to have knowledge
in this manner knows where he comes from and where he is going. He
knows as one who having become drunk has turned away from his
drunkenness, and having returned to himself has set right what are his
own.”
In Gnostic texts the term has become synonymous with epignosis,

recognition of one’s own true reality: that is, the ontological self that
40 The Gnostic Imagination
constitutes and is its basis. It would seem to be no more than a revival
of the Delphic ‘Know thyself’ and Plato’s interpretation of it, put into
the mouth of Socrates. But on the contrary, the change could not be
more radical. The ‘self’? of which the Gnostics speak does not refer to
the ethical, practical sphere within the individual consciousness, but is
a concrete reality, which rather runs counter to this consciousness.
The Gnostic self,? the ontological ego, the reality that makes one
divine, must neither be regarded as an impersonal force that, as in ancient
Dionysiac ecstasy and Apolline prophecy, penetrates the individual
and expels the individual ego, suspending the individuality and the
consciousness of the possessed during a period of ecstasy, nor must it
be interpreted, in terms of modern depth psychology or the blandishments
of currently dominant subjectivism, as a reality for the Gnostic within
one’s own consciousness and therefore attainable by a simple act of
inner reflection, a withdrawal into oneself. The ‘return to the self’, the
leitmotif of Gnostic knowledge, is not only a bare movement of the
mind, by means of which the empirical ego, the ‘me’ of everyday
consciousness, the subject immersed in the world of becoming, is able
to intuit and thence to grasp his or her ontological base, but also (and
principally) an objective process, which develops outside the ‘me’, which
fulfils itself upon meeting the self, the divine and celestial counterpart
of the Gnostic (variously named in the Gnostic texts!°), which is the
intermediary of revelation and at the same time its ultimate object and
purpose. The character of subjectivity takes nothing away from the
metaphysical claim to absolute objectivity, which the Gnostic tends to
attribute to this fundamental experience. The visionary moments of
ecstasy in which it takes place are always meetings with reality ‘other
than me’, the empirical ‘me’, the transient ‘me’, with which the Gnostic
is led to identify his consciousness.
It follows that this divine reality cannot be known through the
ordinary faculties of the mind. Illumination, revelation, the intervention
of a celestial mediator is required. He descends from above to call the
Gnostic, to rouse him from earthly sleep and drunkenness, to take him
back to his divine homeland. It is the particular nature of the Revealer
that gives Gnostic knowledge one of its most characteristic traits. The
channel for the communication of Gnosis, the person of the Revealer is
consubstantial with the element present in the Gnostic destined to receive
it. In other words, one could say from the Gnostic point of view that
revelation is possible only because within the Gnostic there somehow
pre-exists a disposition, a capacity, a potential fitted for testing and
getting to know that particular reality. Only like can in fact know like.
Only spiritual beings can perceive, receive and understand the spiritual.
This affirmation, of Platonic origin,'! the basis of ancient and modern
hermeneutics alike,!* is grafted by Gnostic reinterpretation onto a
typically mythical landscape. Indeed, it presupposes the pre-existence of
the ontological basis, the separation and the fall of a part of the self
into the world of darkness, with the resulting ‘finitization’ of this infinite
principle in a finite individual, in whom it now constitutes the precious,
but forgotten, reality.
This process of recognition, which sometimes appears to be confused
with the ancient art of memory (Platonic anamnésis), is quite different
from it in both its subject—object relation and its purpose. If ‘to know’
in Gnosis means ‘to recognize’ one’s true nature and divine origin, this
is possibly only because one is reborn to the true life. Rather than a
cognitive procedure of the intellect alone, Gnostic knowledge is experi-
ence, a lived experience of spiritual regeneration. It is a transforming
knowledge, whose immediate effect is salvation. To know, in fact, is to
know one’s own origin, who one truly was at the beginning. And to
know one’s own arché (beginning) is also to know one’s own telos, or
end; the destiny that awaits will be reunion with the celestial counterpart
of one’s ego, the definitive return to the divine world, one’s real
homeland.
This analysis of terms has allowed us to glimpse a profound change
of attitude, which, with regard to the relationship between knowing
subject and known object, conflicts radically with the picture of classical
gnoseology. “To know’ now means ‘to become that same reality that is
known’, to be transformed through enlightenment into the actual object
of knowledge, overcoming and removing the dichotomy between subject
and object.
If we measure this particular gnoseology against classical rationalism,
we cannot help but feel that the gap that separates them cannot be
filled. But this is not quite right. Not only because the Gnostic way of
knowing has some of its roots in particular currents of the same Greek
thought, but especially because it is a species of the type of knowledge
(certainly more complete and perhaps more radical) found in the thinkers
of the first centuries of the Empire.
The ‘divine’ Plato had already assigned a particular place to intuition
as the suprarational organ of knowledge. Beyond the Jogos, or reason,
there was nous, or intellect, the faculty capable of perceiving the divine,
the instrument par excellence of contemplation.'* His attempt to introduce
traditional methods of achieving mystic knowledge (from prophetic
madness and ecstatic possession up to their secularized version, poetic
ecstasy) into a more complex vision of the cognitive capacity of human
beings did not drive him so far as to confuse intuition with rational
knowledge or to value it more highly. Unlike intuition, rational knowledge
was able to test its basis.!+ In this fashion, however, the way was open
for a full appreciation of mous as an intuitive capacity, to the detriment
of the inductive and discursive faculty par excellence, the logos. Aristotle,
on the other hand, invites us to abandon the old norm of life that confined
the human being within the barriers erected by the divinity.'° In fact, the -
human is ‘quasi mortalis deus’ (almost a mortal god),'® by virtue of
possessing a divine reality, the intellect, capable of approaching God and
enabling him or her to know God. And Zeno, the founder of the Stoic
school, within a rigidly pantheistic framework, pushes this concept to its
extreme: the human intellect not only has an affinity with God, but is
part of the same divine substance in the pure, active state.'”
Substantially homogeneous in spite of their diversity, these various
solutions, put forward to solve the problem of knowledge of the divine,
lost consistency and validity when the divinity, in the classical sense,
was replaced by a God transcendent and unknowable, at least by the
normal methods of reason. With this change in one of the two terms
of the rapport (the actual object of knowledge), the quest for new forms
and cognitive techniques came to prominence, especially if this new
problematic within the tradition of Greek thought was grafted onto a
theological concept, such as the Jewish one, which thinks of the divinity
in terms of an entity not only transcendant, but also personal. In this
sense Philo’s speculations on the intellect assume particular importance.
The dualism between the immutable and incorruptible spiritual world
and the mutable and corruptible terrestrial world actually induces Philo
to postulate the existence of two intellects. The first, created together
with terrestrial beings and bound up with the body and the process of
becoming, is the part of the soul that performs the functions of
perception, memory and reaction to impulses.'* Even where, linking up
with Stoic theory, he makes the intellect a hot, fiery breath,!? a particle
detached from the divine being,*° one has the impression that it is at
most a faculty that, inasmuch as it draws its origin from the World
Soul,?! can intuit the latter by natural affinity. However, in some
passages Philo appears to go beyond these boundaries.?* If it is true
that we can contemplate light by means of light, that we can perceive
God by means of God,?* he sometimes affirms that human intellect, as
an apospasma theion or a divine fragment, is of the same pneumatic
substance as the Higher God.74 It is this substantial identity between
divine pneuma-intellect and human pneuma-intellect that is fundamental
to affinity with God and makes suprarational intuition possible. In this
way, in intuition ‘the spirit is “transformed” into the object to be
understood, “sends out its rays” and in this manner eliminates the
tension between the cognitive subject and the object of cognition.’?5
From this privileged observation point the Gnostic solution to the
problem of knowledge of the divine no longer appears so remote.
Beyond the decisive differences, what links Philo’s theory of spiritual
knowledge to the Gnostic one is the pressure towards overcoming the
subject—object dichotomy by means of a particular doctrine of the
pneuma that establishes and makes possible the identity between subject,
object and the means of knowledge. (Philo’s theory is also based on a
certain dualism and applies to a divine world, which revolves around
the personal God of the Bible.)
Philo’s gnoseology belongs to the intellectualist tradition typical of
Greek thought. And this is quite different from the roots of another
theory of knowledge, which for our purposes is equally important: that
revealed in the Qumran texts.
The centuries that straddle the early Christian period in the Jewish
world are characterized by a very deep need for knowledge, as is evident
from canonical and apocryphal texts. “The Book of Wisdom (7:18—20)
provides us with a picture of the subjects the wise man must know:
zoology, astronomy, the study of the angels, psychology, botany and
pharmacology. The Book of Enoch (2-5 and 72-82) speaks of botany
and astronomy: the ultimate goal of knowledge has become knowledge
of “everything”: that is, not only the knowledge of things, but also of
their meaning and history.’*° The Qumran manuscripts help us to
understand the mechanisms and purpose of this knowledge. Above all,
the change of object, which is no longer confined to the Law, or content
with prophetic warnings or promises, but lays claim to the totality,
raises the question of the primacy of the Mosaic revelation, which is
replaced by the possibility of personal illumination. With the aid of
these, there is the possibility of access to the mysteries of the history of
salvation, established from the beginning in the project of the divine
mind. This particular form of knowledge is the privilege of a pre-
destined few who belong to a select group of ‘the friends of God’. In
this way knowledge tends to be contrasted with faith, where the spirit,
the organ of knowledge, is seen not only as a divine gift, but rather as
a human quality that permits intuition of the Whole.*” As the Rule of
the Community says, ‘From the source of his righteousness comes the
light of judgement in my heart; from his marvellous mysteries in the
eternal present my eye gazes upon a wisdom hidden from men.’?* This
knowledge of the divine mysteries is possible because God himself ‘has
made the light that illumines me spring up from the fount of his
knowledge so that my eye has been able to behold his marvellous deeds,
and the light of my heart the mystery to come.’??
Though not explicit in theoretical terms, it seems possible to grasp
an interpretative principle that Philo holds dear: only the light can know
the light; only because it is illuminated by the divine light can the eye
of the intellect now grasp, instantaneously and wholly, the object in its
totality.
But at Qumran intuitive knowledge remains subordinate to moral
action; and in Philo the gap between creature and God is never abolished.
Some Middle Platonist philosophers of the second century appear to
have overcome this gap.°° For Numenius, as for the author of the
Chaldaean Oracles, God is knowable only by recourse to a special
method.*! He hides in marvellous solitude, ready to appear occasionally
like the little boat lost at sea.3* How can one attain to him, except by
way of intuition? The method of achieving this aim seems to re-echo
certain Buddhist teachings. One must empty the mind of all positive
content and make the intellect void;** only thus can one be absorbed
into God to the point where one can identify with the same Divinity
and ‘deal with the Good on a one-to-one basis’.**
Numenius’ thinking is (even chronologically) so close to that of the
Gnostics that one might be tempted to equate them.** But this would
be wrong. The novelty of Gnostic knowledge consists in its need to fuse
together not only subject and object, but also the means of knowledge
with them both. This is because the cognitive process is grafted
onto a special experience. The intuition of one’s true nature and of
the essence of the divine world is not pure, disinterested contem-
plation, but immersion in the vital, throbbing reality of origins, the
ability to tune into the divine energy, to allow oneself to be pene-
trated by it to the point where one is possessed and transformed by
it. This reaching out for spiritual rebirth, so widespread and typical
of the period, thus receives its specific characteristics in Gnosticism
by means of the umbilical cord that binds it to the desire for total
knowledge, giving rise to a specific gnoseological constellation:
enlightment.°°
The presupposition of the Gnostic theory of enlightenment is a
metaphysics of the light that arises and is established throughout the
Christian era.*” Instead of simply being a means of knowledge, a ‘how’
of existence, as is typical of the classical tradition, the light becomes its
privileged object. It is transformed in fact into a force, a power that is
life, incorruptible, divine life.** Between the divine world, luminous and
resplendent, and this world, dark and shadowy, an ever deeper division
is being opened up. A desire is born, an acute longing to open itself to
that light world of the divine life, to return once again to rest in the
calm, tranquil bosom of primordial light. In its more radical formulations,
this nostalgia for its origins means only the drive to become and to be
light, to participate in that particular life to the point of identifying with
the divine light that constitutes the substance of the world of the pleroma
— that is, of the fullness of divine reality.
To form an idea of this process, let us consider the opening treatise
in the Corpus Hermeticum, the Poimandres. To begin with, Hermes has
a vision: Poimandres, the shepherd of men, the archetypal Nous, appears
to him. Having addressed him, this Intellect suddenly changes its
appearance; and at this point, Hermes says, ‘everything suddenly opened
up before me. And lo, I saw an indescribable vision. Everything became
a calm, joyous light. And when I saw it, I fell in love with it.’3?
Hermes’ cognitive process takes root and ultimately becomes a lived
experience, grounded in the vast depths of the subject. Hermes is
involved in a cognitive act whose protagonists are bound together by
secret affinity. Hermes, or rather his nous, the most sublime and divine
part of his being, is the individual counterpart of the Nous of Poimandres,
the general, universal intellect.4° In this way a hermeneutic circle is
established, based on the identity of subject, object and means of
knowledge. Hermes is able to know his own true nature because he has
the means, his own nous, a particular moment of the general Nous,
which guarantees him substantial identity with the object at which his
thirst for knowledge is directed: the world of the divine intellectual
powers. The light that he contemplates, then, is no longer simply a
means of cognition, but the same substance as the divine world,
primordial, archetypal light. He can now know it and its content.
Indeed, in his intellect Hermes sees ‘the light becoming an incalculable
number of powers and a world without boundaries’.*! What he now
contemplates is the very nature of God in its dynamic dimension. But
since his intellect is in fact part of the divine Nous, which he intuits,
what can all this mean except that he is now seeing his own nature?
Two other Hermetic treatises, ideally related to the Poimandres, reveal
what the vital, emotional stages of this process of spiritual regeneration
are: treatise XIII on regeneration and the Coptic text De Ogdoade et
Enneade. They describe in a wealth of detail (which cannot be included
here)*? the movement of Gnostic knowledge in its profound dimension
of vital experience. The background is typical of this kind of process:
the setting is on a mountain*’ and includes the theme of the expulsion
of the ‘old man’, represented as an agglomeration of dynameis, or
negative forces, and their replacement by a new spiritual reality.**
Hermes insists in his warnings to his disciple Tat on the fact that one
reaches Gnosis by reflection. But this is only a preparatory phase,
however indispensable; discussion with one’s teacher, meditation and
reflection train the will and exercise the intellect.4° But these alone
cannot achieve the goal. Therefore the external intervention of a
luminous power is required to initiate a profound emotional experience.
It is in this phase, crystallized by the mystical silence,*® that regeneration
takes place. Tat now feels a new quickening lifeblood circulating within
him.*7 ‘Incipit vita nova’ (new life begins), a life modelled and condensed
into the image of an essential man, endowed with that consubstantiality
with the divine world that has generated him. Grafted onto this new
life, knowledge can now take shape Gnostically as the recognition of
one’s true essence and hence of the very essence of the divine.*®
To the reader of these texts, the fact that it is not simply a matter of a
psychological process is confirmed by a decisive element: the mythological
framework in which the events are placed, as the Poimandres indicates.
This raises a new problem: the relationship between knowledge and
myth in the structure of Gnostic thought.
MYTH, THOUGHT AND SOCIETY
The privileged object of Gnostic mythology is constituted, as was said

above, by the events of the self, of the most profound ontological reality
of the Gnostic. It is a theme that may, in its simple, elementary details,
be repeated ad nauseam. But at the same time it was the starting-point
for the various Gnostic schools to construct imposing intricate variations
that eventually obscure the elemental nature of the initial accounts.
Indeed, they are typical variations of mythical narrative, which is always
open to the invention of ever new motifs, contrasts, ramblings, linking
events and confusing characters. But one may ask: why on earth did
Gnostics ever have recourse to myth in the construction of their systems?
And it is worth while asking first: what does ‘myth’ mean in this context?
It is no idle question. It actually touches upon one of the fundamental
aspects of the Gnostic system. Gnostic mythology appears, at first sight,
to be a singular phenomenon in the religious panorama of the second
century. According to the accusations of Christian apologists, the pagan
world was able to go on living on myths, but from time immemorial
these had been repeated to no avail. The struggle between mythos and
logos appeared to have been settled in the enlightened Athens of the
fifth century.*? Had not Plato himself expelled myths from his Repub-
lic?®° And had not Aristotle, in his Poetics, perhaps completed an even
more radical, corrosive process of internal clearance, interpreting mythos
as a purely narrative framework?°! Seen in this light, the successive
revivals of mythology can only appear as survivals of a past long dead,
but yet as external excrescences, microbes and infectious germs (here, as
in other parallel cases, of oriental origin), ready to attack the essentially
healthy body of Greek rationalism. In fact, this view is too partial and
one-sided not to provoke radical criticism. Various scholars today incline
to a contrary viewpoint. The structure of mythology did not disappear in
Greece with enlightened criticism of religious traditions. On the contrary,
it pervades the whole of the ancient world, for the simple reason that it
concerns an explanatory mode fit for the human mind and other than
that of logic and discourse.5? This argument, if accepted, is just as
dangerous as the preceding one (perhaps more so°*), but it does have the
undoubted merit, especially in its early and most balanced formulations,
of stating the problem of ancient mythology in new terms.
If we try for a moment to look at the religious world of the
Mediterranean with the eyes of a contemporary, it appears to us, in the
phrase of Plutarch ‘a goblet seething with myths’.°* The oriental cults,
whether applied to Isis and Osiris, Mithras or Dea Syria, were a source
of fascination, in the exotic character of their mythical tales, in the
interest provoked by bloody and dramatic events (e.g. those involving
Attis and Cybele). The encounter with traditional classical mythology
was a foregone conclusion: the lifeless world of Homeric gods and the
Roman pantheon was confronted by a living universe, quickened by
powers and divinities whose activities acquired exemplary value in the
eyes of the believer. On the other hand, even in a rigidly monotheistic
world such as that of Judaism, mythological representation was able to
make itself known by means of appropriate, seductive changes: apocalyp-
tic scenery is filled with material and concepts that reflect a traditional
mythological heritage.°°
Events within the history of classical culture itself had contributed to
the persistence of mythological successes in the early Empire. The
struggle between mythos and logos had an important background: urban
life, literate society, systems of communication and control dealt a
mortal blow to the mythos of oral tradition.°® In this sense the process
is irreversible: in the veins of the polis (city) there runs, however weak
it may be, a blood characterized by the march of progress.*” In contrast
to those forms of reiteration and assurance of existence that distinguished
the mythological beliefs and ritual practices of ancient societies, a world
of continuous change is now being introduced, which must find new
parameters to measure its own growth. The urban origin of the logos
shifts the terms of encounter to a different territory from which there
is no escape, even though the power shift will not be painless and the
new will continue to merge with the old in unforeseeable and surprising
ways, albeit obliquely and elusively.
To cite just a few examples, one need think only of the ideological
function of legitimation that myth, stripped of its most refined, manifestly
sacred values, began to perform once again between the fifth and fourth
centuries Bc in thinkers nostalgic for the past, like Plato, Isocrates
and Demosthenes; it indicated the birthplace of the foundation and
perpetuation of a political ideal in crisis and overwhelmed by events
themselves.°® It seems almost that, through a sort of trick of reason,
the very logos of history will reawaken, by means of an unrealizable,
utopian nostalgia, the ghosts of an irrecoverable past, to the point where ©
‘the reality of myth remains and works within the very core of those
narratives that are presented as explicitly historical.’>? It is a process,
paradoxical only at first sight, of emptying, by means of the logos, a
mythical shell whose substance is at the same time continually taken
up, reread and reconstructed, as one sees in the fifth-century tragedians,
who project upon them the preoccupations and problems of contempor-
ary society.©° This process of metamorphosis experienced a revival under
the Diadochoi, a period in which mythology was enlisted for the
purposes of apotheosis and the legitimation of dynastic power.°! On
the other hand, even the Roman world, though providing few myths,
had its hieroi logoi (scriptures) and sacred events. What else, from this
particular point of view, are Titus Livius’ genealogical reconstructions
if not an attempt (more or less conscious) to provide a mythical and
religious foundation charter for a state that is beginning to extend its
imperial rule throughout the world?%
This secret capacity of mythos, which, taking root in urban soil,
shows its capacity to resist by existing parasitically at the expense of
the logos itself, is also true of the ancient allegory.°* Originally a means
of defending the traditional religious heritage from attacks launched by
rationalists, allegory continued to enjoy an equivocal status. It fragmented
the narrative backcloth of ancient fabulae, or stories, to rediscover, in
the guise of narrative, contents and problems that were the concern of
the interpreter. These might be historical, as in the case of the Euhemerists
(rationalizing interpreters of myth); physical, the struggles between the
gods being no more than the contrast between elements of nature; or
finally moral and symbolic, as in the entire Neoplatonic tradition of
allegory.°* At the same time, however, the allegorist often unconsciously
reversed, in the empty cases that had contained the old mythological
figures, a complete network of symbolic relationships endowed with
new mythical values.
In this connection Philo is an important example, all the more if we
remember that he was a pious intellectual Jew, an enemy of all idolatry
and an ardent defender of the monotheistic faith of his fathers, growing
up in the Diaspora, open to every cultural change, in an intellectually
active ambience like that of Egyptian Alexandria. Inevitably he fought
strenuously against pagan mythological beliefs. Yet ‘there is consistent
evidence in his works of the fact that he was influenced by pagan myth
at a deeper level than that of literary allusion.’®
Philo’s polemic against pagan mythology, under Platonic influence,
turns principally on its patent immorality: the second commandment
forbids not only the construction of idols, images and statues, but also
the acceptance of mythical invention about the births and marriages of
gods, their innumerable scandals and the inexhaustible lasciviousness
associated with them.°®® Criticism is consequently directed against some
aspects of the content, not the mythological process as such. And this,
in fact, becomes quite clear when, as we have seen, Philo’s discussion
of the complicated relationship between God and the world starts to
flag. Philo’s hypostases, such as the Logos or Sophia, do not seem to
be mere abstractions or, even less, interpretative hypotheses; nor can
they be reduced to the type of medieval allegory, but they take shape
more as particular mythological characters now called upon to perform
a new drama: the action of God towards the world.
It is no accident that Philo betrays his Platonic influences in this
particular mythopeeic process, in which the reflective logos of the thinker
has to guide the movement of invention and organization of the
relationships between these particular entities. Of the various factors
that have helped to keep alive a mythological potential in the tradition
of classical and hellenistic thought, the example of Platonic mythopeic
fabrication is among the most significant.
However one evaluates the position of myth in Platonic thought, 67 it
is certain that, through the ancient tradition associated with it, the
mythopceic momentum continued to provide an example of decisive
importance. The mythical stories were a possible means of entry
into being. Apart from their pedagogic, instrumental function, some
narratives, from that of the chariot to the eschatological myth of Er and
the theme of Eros and the androgyne, acquire the function of propaedeutic
metaphysics. To these in some way the logos seems bound to concede
a certain value of ‘reality’. Against the background of individual
imagination the stories make up the scenario intended to stimulate
anamneésis, or recollection, the bridge to the world of ideas. Myth, far
from being simply an ornament or an instrument, acquires in
Plato’s thought a privileged gnoseological status, to the point
where ‘mythical thought is extended in the same measure as it is
transformed.’°8
The Platonic conception of myth was bound to find disciples. Plutarch
is an authoritative witness to this.°? Reviewing the mystic and symbolic
tradition of exegesis of the mythological heritage that had established
itself in his beloved Pythagorean circles, and at the same time foreshadow-
ing later positions of the Neoplatonic school, he approaches the repertoire
of ancient images to inject new life blood into them, One idea dominates
the mythopeeic thought of this pious believer and zealous Platonist: the
myths are no more than a projection of the ‘epic of the soul on its
journey to salvation’.”° But he does not confine himself to rereading
and interpreting the old mythologies; following the master’s model, he
himself will compose three typical eschatological stories on the destiny
of the soul after death.”!
That Plutarch makes use of mythical creation is due not merely to
the categorical imperative of following in Plato’s footsteps. There are
other reasons, mostly connected with contemporary problems. He was
quite conscious that in his self-imposed task of conserving and purifying
the heritage of religious traditions, the mythical story could become a
privileged instrument of secret persuasion to reach the greater mass of
apaideutoi, the illiterate, the social strata that adhered to the persisting
mythical and religious traditions, but were also eager for new myths.”
In addition there was a particular rereading of the Platonic heritage,
consistent with a philosophical tradition of many centuries. Had not
perhaps Plato himself taught that myth intervenes and occurs at the
junction between being and becoming?’* While it takes on a gnoseological
function, this is also a basis for truth. On this point Plutarch is a faithful
witness of an age in which philosophy is open to mysticism and questions
the primacy of the Jogos.’* In short, ‘for a true, proper inversion of the
mental process, reason establishes itself to some extent in myth.’”> Even
where he confines himself to using and reinterpreting pre-existent
mythological material, his exegesis is not an end in itself, but exercises
its logos as if letting itself be guided by a principle of free symbolic
associations, which aim at illuminating, in the mass of traditional
material, vast, harmonious principles on which the universe is supposed
to exist. So for the modern interpreter it is difficult, if not illegitimate,
to separate in this form of thought what for the author is mythical and
symbolic and what in contrast is presented in the forms of an ordered,
rational vision of the cosmos, since the two planes are continually
intersecting, superimposed on each other to the point where they merge.
Thus, to choose only one example, the relation between the sun and
the moon, which in some essays Plutarch treats according to the scientific
canons of the age,’° in other writings appears to be marked by the most
genuine mythological imagination, the same that underlies the widespread
astrological beliefs of the period. The moon is a divinity and a seat of
The Gnostic Imagination $1
the gods. It is a female reality and, as such, receives the seminal power
of the sun,the generator of intellects.7” These images are inserted within
a typical symbolism, whose mythological roots are ancient. Everything
in heaven is arranged as in a human body. Indeed, heaven is a
macroanthropos (large-scale human being), an image and at the same
time a living model of the human microcosm.’® The sun is the heart of
this world. The moon, placed between the earth and the sun, as between
the belly and the heart, is their messenger. Hence its role of intermediary,
attested also by its androgynous nature: ‘it transmits heat here below
from above, while it filters the lower exhalations, purifying them by a
species of cookery, making them rise around it.’’? The great law of
universal sympathy, which binds all the elements of the animate and
inanimate world, establishes between them pseudo-scientific relations
governed by occult laws, which require armies of demons for their
concrete realization.®°
The ambiguity of the status of myth in Plutarch’s thought is, in
conclusion, bound up with its actual function of mediator, of intellectual
placed on a changing boundary line. He looks at the mythical and
religious traditions with a nostalgic, vigilant and conscious eye; he seizes
upon the new ferments of the religious society of his time, exposing
himself to the influence of barbarous myths and _ beliefs.°! Myth
constitutes the bridge for the defenders of tradition, but also for a public
open to, and thirsting for, novelty and with a hunger and desire for
exoticism. A mediator of these forms of popular religion,®* he does not
confine himself to recording the latest kind of change, but to making a
subterranean transformation of it. Myth, a myth profoundly imbued
with reflection and Jogos, now narrates the activities of the god—human
and the divine principle exiled and longing for return to the heavenly
home.
THE NATURE OF GNOSTIC MYTH
The mythological revival of the Gnostics is not an isolated phenomenon

and cannot be explained simply by means of oriental influences. If it is
true that the mythological material on which Gnostic thinkers’ work
derives from the available religious traditions of diverse provenance, it
is equally true that they generally transform them, endowing them with
new meanings. And if it is true that Gnostic myths are myths in their
own right because they are the basis of the realities of this world,
because of their particular narrative form, the structure of their
underlying thought and their characteristic richness and varied symbolic
values, it is equally true that their content is not unrelated to history.
In other words, as structural analysis has shown, myth as the
manifestation of primitive thought possesses an independent form of
expression, which prevents it from being reduced to the level of a mere
mirror of reality or an aetiological explanation. At the same time, above
all in literate societies, it cannot be attributed solely to a combinatory
mechanism endowed with a particular logic removed from the influence
of historical changes. Gnostic myth thus no longer relates the activities
of gods separate from humankind, but only those of that original
Anthropos (human being), from whom individual anthropoi, or humans,
are descended through fragmentation and dispersal. The change of
emphasis is decisive and betrays the centrality that reflection on
humankind has acquired.
In this respect Gnostic myth has only one predecessor: ancient
Orphism.*? This was a religion of the book, inspired by holy scriptures
from which it derived its doctrines and purificatory practices. These
scriptures contain and transmit a mythical story of Dionysus’ assassin-
ation by the Titans** — in a form that reverses the view of traditional
mythology of the type recorded by Hesiod. If the mythical account in
the Theogony develops, as it does, from the indistinct to the distinct,
from the void to the full, from chaos to cosmos, from atemporality to
the affirmation of a chronos, or time, the Orphic myth is inspired by a
contrasting aim to explain, to justify itself and at the same time to
establish the passage from an initial ontological plenitude to the
existential void of the present.*° In this way the Orphics seem to
condemn the traditional mythical structures that are used to affirm the
primacy of existence and to guarantee hierarchies and equilibrium
between humankind and gods, and consequently within humankind
itself.3¢
This transformation acquires greater significance when seen against
its historical background: the changes and contradictions experienced
by the Athenian polis between the sixth and fifth centuries Bc. Since the
Orphics rejected sacrifice (and this is typical of ascetics who make up
a community of ‘saints’), what are they if not a significant indication
of this profound social upheaval, a response that, even though destined
to be marginalized and forgotten, is nevertheless creative and original
in the face of historical change?
Gnostic mythology also adopts this reverse perspective as the result
of its own radical dualism. It is now a matter of understanding, intuiting
and reliving the original drama, the initial situation that provoked the
rise, the establishment and the triumph of evil, an evil that has now
acquired an ontological toughness and substance. This cosmos. is
incurable and must be rejected. Myth thus acquires the functions of
salvation. It describes the way of salvation, reminding the Gnostic of
his true origins and showing him how to escape from the cosmos. But
above all, like all myth, that of the Gnostics is essentially a story of
origins: there lies the key of all that one thinks one possesses. But the
‘origins’ of the cosmos coincide with the pouring forth of Being, a Being
that is the Anthropos, for the human has now become the predicate of
the divine. The manifestation of God to himself: this is the heart of
Gnostic myth, that seeks access, like all theosophy, to the mystery of
that first throb of Being, that initial moment, that original conflagration
from which the pleromatic universe would emerge.
And this manifestation can only take place through the medium of
the imperfect narrative that pertains to the era of myth. As Geschichte,
or history, a succession of archetypal events that proceed from plenitude
to deficiency in order to establish and thereby explain it, this divine
self-manifestation cannot be described in logical and discursive terms.
In the heart of the individual Gnostic it takes shape as an individual
process, which is, however, at the same time a moment in a more general
process and thus in that same manifestation of God to himself. The
mythological narrative form is thus the only channel, the necessary
bridge between Being and its becoming.
On the screen of imaginary myth the Gnostic thus projects divine
events and exiles that to the modern interpreter can appear only as
stages in the search for a new identity, the attempt to refashion a
different basis for a conception of the individual in crisis, to which the
underlying logos of the Gnostic mythos is striving to restore its original
and archetypal unity.
Gnostic mythological accounts reveal a profound cultural transform-
ation. The Gnostics’ is a conscious and reflected mythology. Using pre-
existing material, the Gnostic shuffles them round and gives them a new
task and a purpose both profound and original: by penetrating the
divine mystery to circumscribe and to clarify the same mystery of
humankind.
4
In the World of the Pleroma
GNOSTIC DUALISM
‘The world came about through a mistake. For he who created it wanted
to create it imperishable and immortal. He fell short of attaining his
desire.’! That the world in which one lived might not be the best of all
possible worlds was an opinion, if not widespread, by no means alien
to certain schools of thought in the early centuries of our era.2 While
Plato had already offered in the Timaeus the spectacle of a Creator-
Demiurge of a harmonious, beautiful cosmos,’ in other dialogues he
had helped to introduce serious doubts as to the possibility of human
existence not at odds with the laws of the cosmos, with his doctrine of
a radical opposition between the essential world of ideas and the
transient, corruptible world of appearance. These doubts were translated,
then, into a concept of the human body as, if not a prison, certainly an
obstacle to the free development of the life of the spirit.4
Moreover, we know from some sources, e.g. from Plutarch,° that the
concepts of Mazdaean dualism also were so widespread in this period
that Zarathustra had become one of the most acclaimed ‘prophets of
the Orient’.© According to his teachings, the evil present in the world
is attributable to the existence ab aeterno of two opposing principles:
good and evil; and the world is merely the stage upon which the struggle
between Ahura Mazda, the Lord of Good, and Angra Manyu, the Lord
of Evil, is played out in periods that are varied and complex.’ But still
the world itself is not evil; indeed, it is intrinsically positive. Likewise,
the dualistic element is ethically oriented, and its goal is to restore the
positive nature of the renewed, regenerated cosmos by the definitive
defeat of evil.’
Hellenism had once again taken up the ancient concept of the World
Soul which presides over cosmic events? and to which it seems natural
to attribute the evils that beset the earth.!° With the growth of
astrological beliefs, this concept was reinforced and grafted onto a vision
In the World of the Pleroma 55
of the earth subdivided into zones which, with their climates, influence
for good or evil the events of a world whose positive nature is not
questioned,!!
We have already alluded!* to an important parallel to this theme in
the thought of late Judaism. According to Deut. 32:8, the Supreme God
had established boundaries for the nations in accordance with the
number of his angels. The disorderly nature and squabbles of these
angels, whom Philo significantly identifies with the stars,!3 are made
responsible for wars, rebellions and pestilence, with all their accompany-
ing evils.
But the angels are only subordinate elements; they are not opposed
to the One God of Judaic monotheism, and the world, even in the most
radical forms of apocalyptic pessimism, is not the product of a mistaken
calculation or the failed hope of an ignorant Demiurge.
That Gnostic dualism, with its anti-cosmic stance and uncompromising
rejection of the beauty and positive aspects of the cosmos, is to be
placed at the opposite end of the spectrum of ancient thought, is
confirmed most clearly by the anti-Gnostic polemic of Plotinus: ‘No one
should reproach this world as if it were not beautiful or the most perfect
of corporeal beings.’'* It is true that the cosmos, disturbed by the
presence of matter, can only share in the beauty and the life of the
Supreme Being: indeed, as the product of Divine Providence, it is so
beautiful, according to Plotinus, that there is none more so.'° Hence
the great philosopher’s attack upon the denigrators par excellence of
the cosmos, the Gnostics.'!° They censure and denigrate its authorities;
they identify their ignorant Demiurge with the Platonic World Soul, to
which they attribute the same passions as those of individual souls.!”
In reality, even this cosmos comes from God and reaches out to him.
Thus, those who condemn the nature of the world do not know what
they are saying or where their audacity may lead them. How can a
devout person deny that Providence penetrates into this world and into
all its creatures? Who among such unreasonable and proud people is as
well ordered and provident as the All?'®
And yet Plotinus knows perfectly well the origin of that audacity and
arrogance that he so passionately rejects: ‘Denying honour to this
creation and this earth, they claim that a new earth has been made for
them, a land to which they will turn when they have departed from
here.’?? A new land that is at once their original home, the pleromatic
world of light, which represents for them the one true reality.
Compared with that world, the cosmos appears at best a pale, gloomy
reflection, which is frequently painted in sinister colours: the product
of an ignorant, arrogant Creator, it is for the Gnostic the very incarnation
56 In the World of the Pleroma
of evil. But in this way the Gnostic, in Plotinus’ view, falls victim to a
hopeless contradiction. If the Gnostics think that the cosmos is not the
outcome of a process of continuous, eternal illumination, which
instantaneously and totally originates from the One and is mediated
through the Nous and the World Soul and whose purpose is to maintain
it in its constant, uniform beauty and positive aspect,*° what is the
origin of the evil that is believed by the Gnostics to pervade it?
It is indeed necessary [says Plotinus] that this illumination be according

to nature or contrary to it. But if it is according to nature, it will remain
for ever. If, however, it is contrary to nature, then the unnatural element
will be one of the Intelligibles themselves and evil will predate this world.
Thus, the Intelligibles, and not the cosmos, will be the cause of evil; and
it is not the cosmos, but they (i.e. the Intelligibles) that will be the cause
of evil; and the Soul will not acquire evil from the world, but will itself
be the instrument of bringing evil and the argument will derive the
imperfection of the world from the first principles.?!
‘Unde malum?’ Where does evil come from? The reply given by
Plotinus’ Gnostic opponents, a reply that he understood perfectly well,
could not be more radical. It originates in the very bosom of the divinity,
in the universe, in the Pleroma, the world of plenitude and divine
perfection,** which is the special subject of the speculatively most
audacious of the Gnostic myths. It is to these accounts, their peculiarly
original dualism? and the way in which their narration explains the
origin of evil that we should now turn our attention.
PROLOGUE IN HEAVEN
The Gnostic universe is three-dimensional. Hippolytus givés us the

following account of the teachings of one group, the Peratae:
The universe is one, having three parts. One part of their threefold
partition is as it were a single principle like a great source, which can be
divided by the word into an infinite number of divisions. The first and
most important division in their view is a trinity, and is called ‘perfect
goodness’, a paternal power; but the second part of their trinity is like
an infinite number of powers which have originated from themselves; the
third is the particular. And the first is unoriginate and is good, the second
good [and] self-originate, the third is originate. Hence they explicitly
speak of three gods, three words, three minds, three men.**
The first consequence of this tripartite division is spatial. The

_contemporary opposition between visible and invisible cosmos is reinter-
preted and corrected: there is now an intermediate place, destined to
perform the function of cushion and mediator between two conflicting
and apparently irreconcilable spheres of reality. It is the ‘place in the
middle’ between the world of divine plenitude and the place of deficiency
and non-being. The pleromatic world, ungenerated in the sense that it
derives generation only from itself, is opposed by the world of generation:
between the two is an intermediate world bound to Sophia, the last of
the aeons, whose sin, not by chance, consisted in an attempt to generate
itself. An analogous tripartite structure reappears, as we shall see below,
in the divine hierarchy itself, in its first, most complete manifestation:
the Triad.
The tripartite division also affects the concept of time. The mythical,
basic time of the Beginning is followed by an intermediate time, which
affects the life of the Gnostic, a prelude (however interminable it may
appear) to that final time that precedes the definitive dissolution of time
itself. There is also a triple division of humankind: between the hylic,
or material, part and the pneumatic, or spiritual, part there is in fact
the psychic dimension. It is an anthropological division that reflects a
three-class sociological stratification: the Gnostics, the perfect, destined
for salvation; the hylic, material beings condemned to perdition and
identified with Jews and Gentiles; finally, the psychic, identified by
many Gnostic groups (who were both influenced by, and in dispute
with, the True Church) with Christians themselves.
A single law, however, regulates this universe, which may appear, at
first sight, to be fragmented or stratified into contradictory levels.
Beneath the dualism that (externally and on a vertical axis) separates
this world from the divine Pleroma and (internally and on a horizontal
plane) contrasts pneumatic reality with hylic reality (both present in
humanity) is an underlying tendency of thought that obscures its monistic
inclinations, using and exalting in particular a conceptual figure (and
its mythological correlates) already familiar to us: mediation or, in
Gnostic terms, image. ‘The truth did not come naked into the world,
but in types and images.’*°
This cosmos of ours is a pale, eroded, if not deformed (and upside-
down) image of the true world. The upper world, by means of a series
of agents, imposes its seal upon inert, passive matter, in such a way
that ‘what is manifest has been conceived out of what is hidden.’?°
This is the origin of the particular interest that certain systems of
Gnostic thought, e.g. Valentinian and Sethian, have in the celestial
world. In their depths are concealed the archetypal models according to
which the Demiurge created human beings and shaped the world. So,
to recover the truth in its fullness, one must return to these models,
contemplate these ideal forms and penetrate this divine world.
The process of Gnosis is, in the final analysis, a movement of
penetration into the recesses of the Pleroma, which coincides with an
anachoresis, a return to one’s own. origins, and an epignosis, a
remembering of one’s own celestial home, which lead to the recovery
of the family tree. Allogenes (foreigner, stranger to this world, belonging
to another race), in the treatise of the same name, relates to his son
Messus the revelations received from a celestial character, Youel. This
character (45. 1 — 57.23) first describes the supreme entities of the
Sethian pantheon, dwelling particularly on Barbelo.?” Thus the same
Allogenes (57. 24-64. 19), in accordance with a model typical of Gnostic
apocalypses,** visits the celestial world, ascending the various steps up
to the Supreme Triad. This mystical adventure, destined to transform
Allogenes’ nature by regenerating it, culminates in ecstatic silence: “There
was a stillness of silence within me, and | heard the blessedness whereby
I knew myself as [I am].’*? The vision of the Gnostic pantheon thus has
a decisive effect: how Hermes, Allogenes, knowing his true ego, becomes
the reality that he sees, because he actually is that reality.
The richness and complexity of the pleromatic worlds may bring
surprise and confusion as a result of the special hypostatic nature of
persons that are in it and as a result of the variety of their names,
attributes and functions. If this latter aspect is to be explained by taking
account of the fluid nature of Gnostic theological reflections that put
down their roots in a sociological situation of meetings and small groups
not subject to dogmatic principles, but sometimes expressly in open
dispute with each other,*° it is more difficult to justify the special nature
of the protagonists in Gnostic theogonies.
In one sense, it could be said that Gnostic theology radicalizes
tendencies present in contemporary theological reflection to the point
where they become unrecognizable. Divine unity is affirmed by the
demonstration of the complex, omnipotent nature of God. Those
divinities that in the polytheistic pantheons of classical religions rep-
resented distinct spheres of activity in the world of an impersonal
divinity have been transformed in Gnostic theology into subordinate
modes of the complex manifestation of a unique, substantially unitary,
personal God.
God is, in fact, Anthropos,?! Man/Human, or rather the archetypal
Androgyne, in whose breast take place cognitive, volitional processes
that are a model and at the same time a reflection of structures of
thought and modalities of action typical of the Gnostic. These processes
are actualized mythologically in a series of hypostases and entities, which
Gnostics call ‘aeons’,3* and which represent self-subsisting moments in
the dynamic expansion of divine reality. From a situation of initial stasis
and immobility, which reveals a plenitude in some way unresolved, there
is a sort of explosion, as a result of which the great machine of Gnostic
theogony moves into action.
It has already been pointed out that Gnostic theogony, unlike other
ancient theogonies, begins with an initial plenitude that ends in that
‘crisis’ (the sin of Sophia) that will attack the periphery of the Pleroma.
In this downward movement, which takes place within the Pleroma, a
single protagonist is actually concealed behind a multiplicity of personae,
the masks assumed in the Gnostic drama:7? the pneuma, or divine
spirit,** a formal active dynamic element and at the same time a
luminous, pure, uncontaminated substance. It is from this starting-point
that various pairs of aeons emanate from the divine bosom in accordance
with the divine plan to form that perfect number of entities into which
the Pleroma is divided and whereby it is completed. This process of
emanation,*° of the progressive issue of the divine substance, by means
of which God manifests to himself the totality of his infinite potentialities,
is a process of enrichment, but also of impoverishment. Indeed, only by
the concrete manifestation of the complex articulation of his potential
nature can God truly know himself. But, equally and contradictorily,
this movement entails a flowing of divine substance, which disperses
itself in the pleromatic space and, moving progressively away from its
ideal centre, loses in stability, solidity, strength and vigour. And it is no
accident that the Pleroma experiences, just at its outer periphery, in its
final aeon (generally identified with Sophia), a crisis which threatens its
unity and stability and which will be solved only by the elimination of
the cause of this disturbance, i.e. with the expulsion of an actual part
of spiritual matter as a sort of scapegoat. This will be placed in a region
outside the Pleroma, where it will give rise to a successive phase in the
process: the creation of the world and of human beings. Naturally, in
turn, these successive processes will bring a further degradation of the
spiritual element, now become a prisoner of the world of darkness and
the human body. To recover and to save it, it will be necessary to send
a Revealer, a Saviour, to gather the particles of light dispersed in the
cosmos and to restore them, purified, to their home.*°
THE MYSTERY OF THE ARCHETYPAL ANDROGYNE
Before taking his rest in the calm of divine grace and revelation, the
Gnostic is a being in search of truth,” as the Gospel says. This person
is therefore subjected to doubts about the true nature of the world and
its Creator. The author of the Tripartite Tractate** says that people are
incapable of knowing the course of things. Some appeal to Providence,
basing their reasoning on the stability and conformity of cosmic
movement.’ Others, dissatisfied, consider that there is a principle
outside the cosmos, but they reject the Stoic concept of Providence and |
are once again faced with the difficulty of the problem of evil. Others
again are simply fatalists; they maintain that ‘the things that happen
are destiny.’ The author criticizes other existing opinions. They all have
a common element, however: in their search for causes the philosophers
who hold these opinions draw the line at the visible, the existent. The
wisest of the Greeks and barbarians (among whom the Jews are also
included) never managed to get beyond faith in the Demiurge. And with
good reason: “The powers themselves seem to hinder them, (appearing)
as if they were the Totality.’*° This illusion falsifies every perspective:
‘neither philosophy nor types of medicine nor types of rhetoric nor types
of music nor types of logic’ correspond to the true principles; ‘they are
opinions and theories.’*! Therefore the truth must be re-established.
This is possible only by gaining access to the mystery and the very basis
of reality, the unknown God.
Gnostics like to emphasize his nature of absolute transcendence,
employing doxologies typical of contemporary negative theology. In the
Apocryphon of John Jesus reveals to his disciples:
Nobody dominates the Spirit, for it is a monarchy (that is, it rules alone).
The True God, Father of All, the Holy Spirit, the Invisible, Who is above
all, Who exists in His incorruptibility, He is in the pure light, which the
light of the eye cannot look at. It is impossible to think of the Spirit as
a god or that He exists in a certain mode. For He is above the gods. He
is an arche (principle) and nobody dominates Him. Nobody exists before
Him and He needs nobody. He has no need of life, for He is eternal. He
has no need of anything, for He cannot be perfected, for He has no need
of anything to be perfect. At every moment He is utter perfection. He is
light, He is without boundaries, for there is no pre-existent being to set
boundaries. He cannot be judged, for there is no pre-existent being to
judge Him. He has no measure, for no one else has measured Him. He
is invisible, for no one else has seen Him. He is the eternal, which is
forever. He is indescribable, for no one has apprehended Him to describe
Him. He is the one whose name cannot be pronounced, for there is no
pre-existent being to name Him. He is the immeasurable light, the holy
and pure purity, the unspeakable, the perfect, the indestructible. He is
neither perfection nor happiness nor divinity, but above these things. He
is neither boundless nor bounded, but above these things. Neither
incorporeal nor corporeal. Neither great nor small. He has no measurable
size. No creature or person can comprehend Him. Above all, He is nothing
of that which exists, but is above that.*?
But meanwhile the negations open the way, as is proper in the rhetoric
of the indescribable, to a series of positive attributes that define the
special mode of being of the Gnostic God and prefigure his specific
form of action.
For the author of the Tripartite Tractate, God the Father is a unity,
the first, but also the only one.*% On the other hand, he is not a solitary
individual, but rather reminds one of a root from which the tree with
its branches and fruit grow — that is to say, the Son and the company
of aeons. In strict terms, he is also a pre-Father, for, unlike ordinary
fathers, He knows no father. He is therefore agennétos, ungenerated.
He is thus without beginning and without end, because he is stable and
immutable. More traditionally, he is also the good par excellence,
without any evil. No name can be given to him, even though it is
possible to use all names for his honour and glory. But none of them
can reach his true essence and form.
The idea emerges clearly from other texts that androgyny is the
distinctive trait of this God: ‘I am androgynous. {I am Mother and]
Father since [I copulate] with myself,’** proclaims the Protennoia, the
First Thought of the Father, the protagonist in the treatise, the
Protennoia.
The symbolism of the androgyne, so widespread in the history of
religions and found alive in ancient mythological thought also by virtue
of the particular good fortune enjoyed by the Platonic androgyne,**
tends to express as its most general content the concept of coniunctio
Oppositorum, or joining of opposites,*® to embody the conquest of all
duality in an image that for the most part is constructed on a sexual
paradox, by denying sex itself or affirming the wealth and fruitfulness
of a full sexual life.*”? The androgynous God of the Gnostics is thus
open, in the mystery of his dual nature, to more interpretative possibilities.
A way of imagining the relations between male and female within the
archetypal Anthropos was offered by numerological speculation, which
Neopythagorean opinion had helped to popularize. If the male principle
is seen as monadic, the female counterpart will appear as dyadic.*®
Consider the Three Stelae of Seth (NHC VII.5), a typical Sethian
apocalypse,*? in which the instrument of revelation is represented,
according to a form that was widespread, by three stelae said to have
been composed and hidden by Seth, the Father of the Living Race, and
rediscovered by a certain Dositheus, who communicated them to the
elect. They are devoted to the Divine Triad, the head of the Sethian
pantheon. In increasing order of importance, they contain invocations
to the Son, to the Mother Barbelo, and to the God who is non-being
and pre-existent existence. The text affirms that Barbelo, while remaining
one, has become numerable and therefore subject to division.°° Thus,
the female principle, the Dyad, presents itself as the very possibility of
revealing all the numerical potentialities present in‘ the initial Monad,
which would otherwise remain unexpressed.
An analogous concept emerges in which, to represent the mystery of
the androgyne, recourse is had to the image of logical reflection and
verbal expression, with the help of certain Stoic speculations.°' The
Triad is presented as Thought, Voice and Word. Thought lives in itself,
immersed in light and silence. Its female dimension is imagined as the
Voice of silent Thought. ‘I am a Voice . ... within the Silence’,°* exclaims
the Protennoia. From Voice proceeds the Son, Logos or Word, who has
in himself the Name and hence the possibility of naming the multiplicity
of particular beings destined to be generated.
But the most natural and obvious way of representing this androgyny
is, as has been said, by recourse to sexual imagery. According to
Ptolemy, a Valentinian thinker, there is
in the invisible and ineffable heights a pre-existent, perfect aceon, whom

they also call Pre-beginning, Forefather, and Primal Cause (Bythos). He
is incomprehensible and invisible, eternal and ungenerated, and he has
existed in profound stillness and serenity for infinite aeons. Along with
him there existed also Ennoia (Thought), whom they also name Grace
and Silence (Sige). Once upon a time Bythos determined to produce from
himself the beginning of all things and, like a seed, he deposited this
production which he had resolved to bring forth, as in a womb, in that
Sige who was with him.*?
From this relationship between the Father and his female counterpart
proceeds the Son or Nous.
The spiritual self-fertilization of the archetypal Androgyne is also
represented, in a favourite theme of ancient thought, as contemplation
of the male principle in the female ‘mirror’ that constitutes its vital and
emotional dimension. ‘He is the First Father Who has no beginning.
He sees Himself in Himself, as in a mirror.’5+ That theme,°° which, in
certain mythological traditions, served to highlight the temptations of
narcissism or to take up the Platonic motif of the lifeless nature of the
copy as compared with the original, when it is applied to the pleromatic
world, seeks, on the other hand, to express the perfect identity of the
Father with himself. What reflect him are the pure, luminous, virginal
waters of life that surround him, the spiritual substance from which the
pleromatic world originates. He ‘understands Himself in His own light
that surrounds Him, that is, the source of the waters of life, the light
of full purity.°° The different images transmit the same fundamental
concept. The female counterpart of the androgyne, with which he
copulates, is his vital dimension, his generative potential, a spiritual,
luminous substance, which is at the same time virginal and ‘male’ and
emphasizes the characteristics of purity and the absence of all corruption,
which at this level of being are the mark of generative modalities.°” As
Ennoia or Protennoia, this female dimension will indicate the Father’s
ability to reflect upon himself in order to achieve, by means of the
emanation of the Son (his Nous or Intellect by design) a form of self-
awareness.°®
How could the Father, who is by definition perfectly stable,°? be at
the same time the principle of that movement destined in some measure
to disturb his own stability? At this point the answer ought to be
obvious. Movement is the essential characteristic of his female dimension.
When Allogenes, in his celestial journey towards the First Principle,
reaches Vitality, its female dimension, he stops and stands upright.
Though calm, he is not stable (stability being the nature of the male
principle). And it is at this point that he sees around him eternal
movement, intellectual and undivided: the movement, in fact, of
Vitality.©° It is in fact the movement that moves in every creature,°! the
vital breath that animates all aeons,°? transmitting their life to them.
This basic sketch outlines the complex nature and decisive function
that the female dimension of the Androgyne is called upon to perform.
It is essentially a work of mediation: on the one hand, it questions the
stability, the Father’s situation of est0s, or standing, denying his nature
of solitary and self-subsisting being; on the other hand, it also lays the
foundations on which the process of emanation from the Pleroma is
constructed.°
DIVINE HIERARCHIES: THE STRUCTURE OF THE PLEROMATIC

FAMILY
Compared with that Infinite that is the Father and the infinite possibilities
of realization that the Father contemplates by means of his Ennoia, the
Son is presented as the first basic passage to the finite, the first
determination of the will of the Father. In the Three Stelae of Seth®* he
is Father through a Father, a unity that comes from a unity through a
unity, a word that proceeds from a command. Self-generated® and
thrice male®® to indicate the triple male potential present in the Triad,
which is manifested in him, he is the First Man, or rather the complete,
determined manifestation of the original Anthropos;°®’ he is the name®®
and the Nous of the Father, i.e. his possibility of intellectual knowledge.
This last attribute is especially revealing. To a mode of thought
dominated, as Gnosticism is, by the imperative of immediate, intuitive
knowledge of God, the Son, as Nous, seems the obligatory way to
achieve that goal.©? He is at the same time a barrier interposed between
the Father and other aeons, signifying from a cognitive point of view
the impossibility of exhausting the Father’s infinity.”° Finally, the Son
is the one who possesses knowledge of all the aeons. In the words of
the Tripartite Tractate,
without falsification, [he] is of all the names, and he is, in the proper
sense, the sole first one, [the] man of the Father. He it is whom I call the
form of the formless, the body of the bodiless, the face of the invisible,
the word of [the] unutterable, the mind of the inconceivable, the fountain
which flows from him, the root of those who are planted. . .”'
But the Son, ‘though co-eval with the light that is before him, is not
equal to it in power.’”? This is a delicate point in the formation
mechanism of the pleromatic hierarchies. The divine world is a world
made up of a special substance, the luminous pneuma. Applying an
originally Stoic doctrine of the pneuma,’*? Gnostic thinkers have
nevertheless tried to strip it of its initially material characteristics,
providing it with qualities such as luminosity and purity. But this
spiritualizing operation was only partially successful. If it is true that
the fiery nature of the pleromatic spirit is not to be confused with that
of the cosmic fire, only by acceptance of the relative materiality of this
spirit is it possible to explain how certain authors have been able to
imagine the emanation of the Son. Thus Jeu, in the First Book ofJeu,
the equivalent of the Sethian Son and the Valentinian Nous, describes
his birth: ‘I shone in this small shape as one who proceeds from the
Father. I bubbled up and flowed from that. The latter emanated, and
in this I was the first emanation. I was his entire likeness and image.’”*
Why did the Son bubble up, unless he is the product of a bubbling up,
of an increase and an explosion of the heat and fire that generate life
and animate the movement of the ‘small shape’, the equivalent of the
Ennoia?’°
Moreover, this heat that animates the luminous spirit, that gradually
recedes from its origin, is destined inevitably to lose strength, vigour
and vitality, to cool until it changes first into a psychic, then into a
hylic, element.’® Some texts have rendered this movement by using the
image of ‘perfume’.”” For the author of the Gospel of Truth the sons
of the Father are his perfume, because they emanate from the beauty
of his face. Therefore the Father loves his perfume and reveals it
everywhere. But, when mixed with matter, it becomes cold and thus a
psychic element. Only ‘if a breath draws it’ does it ‘get hot. The
fragrances ... that are cold are from the division.’”*
In this way, the emanation process entails almost of necessity, as in
the case of the Son, an imperceptible, but slow, continuous drop in level
which, as we shall see below, gradually brings about the final crisis
represented by the sin of Sophia.
So far, we have examined, underlining their common features, the
processes by which two Gnostic schools of thought, the Sethian and the
Valentinian, dealt with the mystery of the Initial Triad. This choice was
justified, despite the profound differences that exist between the two
systems, by the similarity in their attempts to present the nub of
theogonic generation. However, when one begins to examine the world
of the hierarchy of the aeons, the differences become clear, despite
certain constant features; and they require separate treatment. The
theological texts that provide the treatises typical of a Sethian type have
not in fact been Christianized, or they have been subjected to merely
superficial Christian influence.”? Although there are important differ-
ences of detail which we cannot go into here, the process of emanation
proceeds in them according to the following instructions.
From the Son four luminaries are sent forth, four aeons called
Harmozel, Oroiael, Daveithe and Eleleth.°° Each one is endowed with
other entities, to indicate the rich variety of their functions and the
extent of their sphere of activity. This Tetrad (or Dodecad, since each
luminary has three aeons) sums up and at the same time prefigures the
stages of the future history of salvation. According to the Apocryphon
of John, this Dodecad ‘of the First Knowledge and the Perfect Intellect’
is followed by ‘the perfect true Man, the first manifestation, through
God and with the agreement of the Great Invisible Spirit and of the
Self-generated One. He called him Adam.’*' Adam is placed in the first
luminary, Harmozel. Adam is followed by Seth, who is placed in the
second light. In the third is placed in turn the seed of Seth, the souls of
the perfect and of the elect, and in the fourth the souls of those who
knew their perfection, but did not repent immediately and persisted for
a while in their sin, until they finally repented.** In this way the four
luminaries are presented as the genetic code, mythically based, that
contains the archetypal model of the protagonists, of the development
and the outcome of the future history of Sethian salvation: the creation
of Adam and Seth (see chapter 5 below) and the destiny of the Elect.
Not to mention the quadruple division of time: we age of Adam, the
age of Seth, the age of the Sethian patriarchs and lastly the present
age.**
The nature and dynamic of the Valentinian Pleroma immediately
reveal the profound influence of Christianity.3* The myth recounts the
activities of a Saviour who is the celestial prototype of the earthly Jesus
with a speculative richness, depth and boldness which we can only hint
at here.
According to the system of Ptolemy, the generation of androgynous
Nous, whose companion is Aletheia (Truth), together with Abyss and
Silence, makes up the primordial Tetrad. Since he possesses Truth and
knows why he has been generated, Intellect in his turn emanates the
pleromatic couple or pair, Logos and Zoe (Word and Life), ‘Father of
all beings said to have come into existence after Him and Beginning
and Formation of the entire Pleroma’.*> In its turn this couple emanates
Anthropos and Ecclesia. Thus is formed the Firstborn Ogdoad, the root
and foundation of all things.
We now witness a double emanation process. In order to glorify the
Father, Logos and Zoe emanate ten more aeons, to which are added
twelve aeons proceeding from Anthropos and Ecclesia: this makes a
grand total of thirty aeons (Ogdoad, Decad, Dodecad).
Strictly speaking, the pleromatic world should not comprehend the
First Tetrad, but only those aeons (starting with the Logos) whose
knowledge of the Father is not intellectual (proper to Nous), but rather,
logical and rational, since it belongs to Logos. In a sense the aeons are
nothing but the projection in hypostatic form within the bosom of the
original Anthropos of a totality of human cognitive, volitional processes,
which range from the emergence of a first thought to the overcoming
of obstacles that it meets on the way to its final realization. The
difference between the First Tetrad and the genuine Pleroma, in
Valentinian terms, is that, while formation according to substance and
formation according to Gnosis coincide in the First Tetrad, for the
Pleroma, formed in respect of substance, Gnosis is the telos, or end, of
a drama that takes place within itself and becomes evident with the
appearance of a certain pathos (a sensation described as cognitive by
the Valentinians and erotic in some Sethian texts). The cognitive tension,
controlled and almost inhibited, is destined, however, sooner or later to
explode in the sin of Sophia.
An interesting aspect of the Valentinian Pleroma is the way in which
it reinterprets the motif of the androgyny of the aeons. Also in Sethian
accounts, the various pleromatic entities, images of the archetypal
Androgyne, are androgynous. But this fruitful theme has been exhausted
in all its rich variety only by Valentinian thinkers. In Ptolemy’s system
the male dimension of the various couples in the Ogdoad (Nous, Logos,
Anthropos) responds to the need to provide a principle of individuation,
a formal criterion that will circumscribe and delimit a female dimension
by itself transient and amorphous. The Logos thus represents the divine
economy projected outwards and the Anthropos represents the personal
individuation of the Nous. In the whole, the Son is thus characterized
in his intellectual, logical and anthropological functions. It should also
be emphasized that there is a fundamental difference between Decad
and Dodecad. The former, an emanation from Logos—Zoe, orchestrates
the perfections of a world that knows neither increase nor decrease in
its completion of rational life, refracting in the various aeons and
synthesizing in their generative pair the perfection of a complete spiritual
economy right from its beginnings. Like the decad of the Apocryphon
of John, it reveals the fullness of the divine attributes in their logical
articulations, in their capacity to think discursively and to articulate the
divine project. The Dodecad, on the other hand, parallel to the Sethian
Dodecad, revolves around the problem of Man (Anthropos/Adam). It
thus appears directly finalized at the specifically human moment to
which the God—Man is directed, epitomizing the spiritual economy of
an Anthropos destined for that development with which every ‘history’
is necessarily familiar. The Pleroma thus contains within itself and, at
the same time, is the basis of the successive history of the world and
humankind.
THE SIN OF SOPHIA
The disharmony, the intimate contradiction that both underlies the life
of the Pleroma and betrays an element of potential deficiency, reaches
the point of no return with the emanation of the ultimate aeon: Sophia.
The paradoxical, yet original, character of the Gnostic Sophia is quite
striking. Contemporary philosophical technique had reshaped Sophia,
in her capacity as knowledge of the divine mysteries,8° as projected
upwards. Her forebears in Wisdom, however, had endowed her with a
dynamism of the opposite sort. As companion of God in the work of
creation, this hypostasis, the ideological twin of the contemporary Anima
mundi, or World Soul, summed up in its functions the divine plan and
action as regards the cosmos.*” As we are about to see, Gnostic Sophia,
Sethian or Valentinian, certainly performs the function of mediator
between God and matter, between the divine economy and its fulfilment.
But her specifically Gnostic feature derives from her special function
and place in the delicate balance of divine kinship structures. The
paradox is just this: Biblical Wisdom has here become the most complete
expression of divine deficiency. The long version of the Apocryphon of
Jobn relates that, when the emanation of the Dodecad is complete,
... the Sophia of the Epinoia, being an aeon, conceived a thought from
herself with the reflection of the invisible Spirit and foreknowledge. She
wanted to bring forth a likeness out of herself without the consent of the
Spirit — he had not approved — and without her consort and without his
consideration. And though the personage of her maleness had not approved
and she had not found her agreement, and she had thought without the
consent of the Spirit and the knowledge of her agreement, yet she brought
forth. And because of the invincible power which is in her, her thought
did not remain idle and a thing came out of her which was imperfect and
different from her appearance, because she had created it without her
consort.*8
Sophia’s fault consists in a particular sin of hubris: the audacity to

generate without the contribution of the male principle. But what drives
her to break the androgynous harmony? The text hints at an invisible
dynamis. The nature of this force is revealed to us by the parallel passage
of the shorter recension. She emanates from herself solely because she
is unconquerably prunikos, or lewd.
This decisive detail leaves no room for doubt about the true nature
of her sin. The term, which generally indicates a situation of prostitution
or lewdness,*®? when applied to Sophia, reveals that the generative force
is concentrated within her and that she is the repository of those aspects
of seduction and courtship typical of a certain concept of the female,
which accompany (secretly, but necessarily) and mark out the activity
of various female hypostases during the formation of the Pleroma.
That this is the situation is confirmed by an interesting series of
parallels. Bronté (The Thunder NHC VI.2)?° is a short treatise, which
in the form of a revelation discourse pronounced by a female entity,
represents, with contradictory, paradoxical statements, a typically Gnos-
tic way of affirming the presence in the cosmos of the spiritual principle,
at the same time emphasizing its absolute transcendence. Using the
stylized form of self-declaration,?! the work begins with these words:
The Thunder, Perfect Mind. I was sent forth from [the] power, and I have
come to those who reflect upon me, and I have been found among those
who seek after me. Look upon me, you who reflect upon me, and you
hearers, hear me. You who are waiting for me, take me to yourselves.
And do not banish me from your sight. And do not make your voice hate
me, nor your hearing. Do not be ignorant of me anywhere or at any time.
Be on your guard. Do not be ignorant of me. For I am the first and the
last. I am the honoured one and the scorned one. I am the whore and
the holy one.?*
The concept of the ‘holy sinner’ that characterizes Bronté serves to

illustrate the paradoxical nature of Gnostic Sophia.”? Irenaeus says of
the so-called Barbelognostics that ‘from the first angel (that stands beside
the Only Begotten) derives the Holy Spirit, which they call Sophia or
Prunikos.’?* Sophia’s spiritual, and therefore virginal and holy, nature
is inextricably bound up with the tendency to sin conceived in terms of
sexuality.
For this reason some Gnostics, Irenaeus’ so-called Ophites, anticipate
a typically Valentinian solution and postulate the existence of two
Sophias. According to them in fact,
... there is a first light in the power of the ‘deep’, blessed and incorruptible
and boundless, which is the Father of All and is called the First Man. His
Ennoia which proceeds [from him] they call the Son of the one who emits
him, and he is the Son of Man, the Second Man. Below these is the Holy
Spirit, and below the Spirit on high the elements are separated, water,
darkness, Abyssus, Chaos, over which they say the Spirit hovers; and they
call it the First Woman. Thereafter, they say, as the First Man rejoiced
with his Son at the beauty of the Spirit, that is the Woman, and illuminated
her, he begot from her an incorruptible light, a third male, whom they
call Christ the Son of the First and Second Man and of the Holy Spirit
the First Woman, since both the Father and the Son lay with the woman,
whom they call the Mother of the Living. Since she was unable to carry
or contain the greatness of the light, they say she was overfull and
bubbling over on the left side; and thus only their son Christ, as being
on the right and lifted up into higher parts, was at once transported with
his mother to the Imperishable Aeon ... The power which bubbled over
from the Woman, having a trace of the light, fell downwards, they teach,
from the Fathers, but by their will retained a trace of light: they call it,
on the left, Prunikos Sophia and Androgyne.”°
Here the task of the seduction of the primordial Anthropos by the

beautiful lady (it should be borne in mind that ‘spirit’ in Hebrew is
feminine) is quite unmistakable: it is necessary for the birth of Christ,
but its negative effects are concentrated in Sophia Prunikos and thus
expelled from the Pleroma.
But perhaps the most important example is provided by the Helen of
Simon Magus’ followers, a myth to which we shall return. Here it is
enough to say that, in the Simon legend, the Ennoia of the Heavenly
Father is none other than the celestial prototype of a certain Helen, a
prostitute from Tyre whom the Father himself, incarnate in Simon, is
said to have liberated. The Simonian Helen, also called Prunikos with
good reason,”© reflects the underlying theme of the myth of the Sethian
Sophia: the spiritual principle can purify itself of any negative residue
only by passing through the dark gates of evil (here seductively attired
as female sexuality).
In the Valentinian reinterpretation, this motif continues to re-echo,””
but against the background of an interpretation now influenced deeply
by Christianity. Sophia is the thirtieth aeon and, as for Christ the arrival
of the thirtieth year coincides with his maturing and with the beginning
of the tragic epilogue, Sophia represents the ripening of pathos, or
suffering, in the Pleroma as it arrives at its moment of crisis, the
need to abandon anonymity in order to fulfil (in this case, beyond the
Pleroma) the mission of salvation conceived and desired by the Father
ab aeterno.
His consort here is Theletos, spontaneous, natural will.?* Thus, at the
lowest level of life in the Pleroma, an androgynous situation is
reproduced, analogous to that of the archetypal Androgyne. Sophia, in
fact, is the equivalent of the Father’s Ennoia, even if (in keeping with
her Biblical origins) she may be a thought of God who looks at the
world. As for Theletos, it represents an essential element in the Gnostic
Pleroma. Will is, in fact, a typical trait of the Valentinian God. In a
passage in the Tripartite Tractate we learn that the will of the Father
is the spirit that breathes in the aeons, inspiring them — that is, providing
them with the thought, the idea of the Unknown God that reawakens
latent possibilities and arouses the desire to know him.?? According to
some Valentinians, then, the Abyss, the Primordial Principle, has two
consorts, Ennoia and Thelesis; for he first thought what he wanted to
produce and willed it to happen.'°° Will, therefore, is a potentiality of
the Father in this divine, sexually divided universe, imagined as male
and thus able alone to set in motion the generative process. According
to a theory that we might define as ‘communicating vessels’, will is also
pneuma, a generative male power and therefore a function capable of
impressing forms on the underlying amorphous female substance.
With respect to the Theletos—Sophia couple, Sophia’s transgression in
the Sethian texts consisted, as has been noted, in the fact of wanting to
generate without the consent of her partner, breaking the androgynous
harmony of the Pleroma. In the Valentinian tradition the cause of the
transgression changes. The passion that now moves Sophia is in fact
the search for the Father, for she wishes to understand his greatness.!°!
According to Ptolemy, the reason was that ‘she was unable to undertake
this impossible task and was suffering because of the immensity of the
depth and the inscrutability of the Father and her love for him, constantly
stretched forward because of his sweetness. In the end she would have
been absorbed and dissolved in the universal substance’,!°? had it not
been for the intervention of a power, Horos (Limit), placed by the
Father to guard his inscrutability.!°
A vague hint of Oedipal conflict inevitably underlies the pathological
family relations in which Sophia’s act is submerged. The desire to imitate
the Father in fact conceals a libido for sexual union, which is made
clear by the motif of ascending to the Abyss and the corresponding
brusque rejection by the Limit. At ail events, what counts from the
Gnostic point of view is that Sophia has broken the basic rule in the
games of kinship: indeed in generated beings the female element produces
the substance and the male element the form.!°* Thus the product of
her sin cannot be other than an abortion.
For the moment let us leave the ‘formless entity’ produced by Sophia
to its own fate. What happens now to the lost aeon? Thanks to the
intervention of Horos, the male entity which, as we have seen, performs
the double function of impassable boundary to protect the mystery of
the Father and stabilizing element for Sophia, she puts aside her
enthymeésis, or intention, destined in turn to become a new hypostasis,
Sophia beyond the Pleroma. The abandoning of this guilty intention
coincides with the conversion of pleromatic Sophia. Her plea to be
pardoned and restored to her original position is also supported by the
other aeons, especially by Nous. The Father agrees, and Sophia is
restored to her partner.
With the cause of her passion expelled, formation according to Gnosis
can now take place. According to the Father’s plan, the Only Begotten
produces another couple, Christ and Holy Spirit, quite deliberately.
Indeed, the Gnosis of the Father, which coincides with the spiritual
formation of the Logos, can only reach the genuine Pleroma from an
entity outside it: as the Holy Spirit descended from above upon Jesus
to anoint and sanctify him on his thirtieth birthday.
The function of Christ is to teach the aeons
the nature of their partnerships, that they, being begotten, could not
understand the unbegotten one; and he proclaimed among them the
knowledge of the Father. That he cannot be understood or comprehended,
that he cannot be seen or heard, but is known only through the Only-
begotten one; and that the reason for the eternal permanence of the others
is the fact that the Father is incomprehensible, and that the reason for
their origin and formation is that which is comprehensible in him, that
is, the Son.!°°
In keeping with a teaching that, aiming at the vision of God and

beatific union with him, puts hearing before seeing and the kerygmatic
‘message and teaching before contemplation, Christ instructs the aeons,
preparing the way for the intervention of the Holy Spirit. His task is to
illuminate them, definitively shaping them in the Gnosis of the Father
and introducing them to true repose. What he performs is not a process
of substantial transformation (the aeons already have substantial form),
but a qualitative one.!°° Within the Pleroma every difference disappears.
Equal in form and will, the male elements have all become Intellects,
Logoi, Anthropoi; the female elements have become Truths, Lives,
Churches. !°7
The underlying idea is simple and profound. The life of the Pleroma
is guided by a double movement: expansion and contraction (diastolé
and systolé). In its centrifugal momentum the Firstborn Anthropos
expands, revealing the internal richness of the divine plan and at the
same time emphasizing its fundamental unity, for the same syzygial
relationship is repeated at lower levels in the pleromatic world. The
point of arrival of this movement, the expulsion from the Pleroma of
the most amorphous spiritual substance, coincides with the projection
of the life of the God, of his female dimension, into the void, the
kenoma. Movement in the opposite direction, of the (so to speak) male
nature, will then tend to return to unity. When distinctions and
oppositions are overcome, the archetypal Androgyne will be able to lie
in himself, in definitive repose, stable and calm for ever.
The pleromatic activities of the Valentinian Sophia are therefore the
paradigm of the activity of the Gnostic: it is the mythical basis and
dramatic representation of those internal processes of conversion that
have made him susceptible to the message of revelation and the
communication of Gnosis.
2)
The Arrogance of the Demiurge
and the Creation of the World
SOPHIA’S DISRUPTIVE BEHAVIOUR
Plotinus was right. For the Gnostics the origins of evil are to be found
in the life of the Pleroma itself, in the process of emanation and of
inevitable decay, which takes place within it. The gradual cooling of
the spirit is paralleled, on the subjective level,! by the crisis the last
aeon, Sophia, undergoes: pathos, the negative element in the pleromatic
life, is given concrete expression and then expelled.
But, as the Valentinian myth of Sophia Achamoth? reveals, it is a
matter of negativity sui generis; the Intention of pleromatic Sophia being
none other than the spiritual seed, destined by the Father to be cast into
this world so that she may return to the Pleroma after purification from
her contact with matter.
Sophia’s first task, after being thrown out of the Pleroma, is to
supervise the formation of hylé, primordial matter, and the generation
of the Demiurge, the divine craftsman charged with shaping it and
forming the world in which the Church of the Spiritual beings will be
established.
At this point in the myth, certain texts make use of a theme well
known in antiquity, the cosmogonic veil.» In On the Origin of the
World (NHC II.5), whose treatment of the origin of the world is clearly
at odds with traditional cosmogonies, we learn that
After the nature of the immortals was completed out of the boundless
one, then a likeness called ‘Sophia’ flowed out of Pistis. (She) wished
(that) a work (should) come into being which is like the light which first
existed, and immediately her wish appeared as a heavenly likeness, which
possessed an incomprehensible greatness, which is in the middle between
the immortals and those who came into being after them, like what is
74 Arrogance of the Demiurge and the Creation
above, which is a veil which separates men and those belonging to the
[sphere] above.*
The Sophia in our text, who corresponds more or less to the

Valentinian Sophia Achamoth, is given the task of generating the cosmos.
The veil that she forms has a dual function: it is a place of separation
and a place of joining between the upper and lower worlds. It seeks in
fact to separate the luminous world of the Pleroma from external
darkness, a darkness that in this type of Gnostic thought tends to acquire
an ontological dimension. But it also joins the two worlds. As an image
of the upper world, the veil contains the types, the models, the archetypal
principles from which the lower cosmos can be formed. Sophia’s task
is to transmit to unformed, dark matter those luminous seals, those
ideal traces of the Pleroma from which, by a sort of inverted law of
example,° by the play of distorting mirrors, our world will be generated,
an abortive cosmos, a pale image, a distorted reflection of the harmonious
beauty of the pleromatic world.
The protagonists in the cosmogonic drama have entered the stage.
Above, waiting for her celestial seat, Sophia—Anima mundi; below,
formless, chaotic darkness. What will Act I of this drama bring?
In this type of system the darkness performs (even when it changes
its nature) a typical ‘female’ function, analogous to that of the primordial
waters of life. It contains within it the substance of this world, but is
incapable of generating it itself, since it does not possess its form.
Therefore the first decisive step must be taken by the male principle
active at this level, that of Sophia.® She reveals herself to the darkness,
illuminating it.
This is no mere repetition of the creative theme of ‘fiat lux’, or ‘let
there be light.’ Cosmogonic (like pleromatic) illumination obeys the laws
of a particular generative concept of the period,’ here adapted to the
proper needs of Gnostic myth. Sophia, revealing herself to the darkness,
spiritually fertilizes it, transmitting to it the dynamis, the spiritual
principle, the genetic code that contains the forms of the pleromatic
world.
The first effect of Sophia’s illumination is the formation of primordial
matter from dark chaos. The second effect, the product of the second
illumination, will be the generation of the Demiurge.
But, it will be said, in illuminating the underlying darkness, is there
not a risk that the divine principle will be captured and swallowed up,
as it were, by Chaos? The answer to this question, in the structure of
Gnostic thought, is of a strategic importance. Let us return to Plotinus’
objections. The Sophia of his Gnostic opponents appears there in a
Arrogance of the Demiurge and the Creation 75
logically contradictory situation. After having thought the cosmos,
elaborated the project and established the concept, she bends down to
the lower world, illuminating its darkness. This bending down entails a
‘local’, i.e. a spatial, movement. To illuminate the darkness, Sophia is
obliged to move towards it. Plotinus’ Gnostics, however, maintain that
she remains where she is and does nothing when confronted by darkness.®
This contradiction is not an invention of Plotinian polemic. Plotinus
was criticizing mythical accounts. A characteristic of mythic symbolism
is its variety, its capacity for using certain pregnant images in order
to represent plastically what seems irreconcilable with logic. The
representation, then, of relations between Sophia and darkness derives
from an Aristotelian concept of the relations between a male and a
female element.? The male principle in generation is the giver of
movement, but, above all, the bringer of form. It finds itself confronted
by a female principle conceived as the element providing the substance.
Moreover, the male principle is a dynamis, a fertilizing power, which,
in its meeting with the female substratum, is limited to activating it
without loss or diminution of its own nature.
Equally, in the process of illuminating the darkness, Sophia (here
represented in her male dimension of fertilizing power, as Philo had
already taught) confines herself to emitting a dynamis, an effluvium,!°
a luminous seed, which penetrates the matrix of lower matter (this is
the local movement); but this does not mean a union with darkness or,
worse still, a change in her nature. Fertilized by this spiritual spark, the
primordial waters of Chaos are now ready to generate the various
elements.
This typically mythological way, characteristic of Sethian systems, of
depicting the creation of matter appears to constitute the background
upon which Valentinian cosmogonic reflection probably drew. In chapter
4 we left Sophia Achamoth outside the Pleroma at the moment when,
alone and abandoned, she was reflecting on her destiny.
Separated as a result of her passion, she began to seethe,'! hot spiritual
matter waiting to be fertilized, but by herself without form or appearance,
like an abortion. At this point, the intervention of Christ becomes
necessary. He forms her first of all according to substance; he orders
and arranges that basic material, leaving it with a suggestion of
immortality, a hint of the divine world. Thence he returns immediately
to the Pleroma. Achamoth, thus formed, becomes conscious. However,
suddenly abandoned, she sets off in search of the light. But she is
stopped by the Limit, because she is still too consumed by passion:
‘abandoned alone outside, she fell into all sorts of suffering which has
many forms and varieties: she experienced sorrow, because she had not
comprehended; fear, lest he might abandon her, as light had done; and,
in addition, perplexity. All these [she suffered] in ignorance.’!? Purified
of these passions, Sophia Achamoth now experiences a new fundamental
disposition: that of conversion, of return to the Logos, to the Christ
who had given her life.
From the passions of Achamoth, a manifestation beyond the Pleroma
of the internal pathos pervading it, matter was formed; and from matter
the world emerged. In contrast, in the conversion, as a positive act,
originates the psychic element and its representative par excellence, the
Demiurge. The other elements arise from fear and pain:
Indeed, from her tears was born all wet substance, from her laughter all
luminous, from her pain and consternation all the corporeal elements of
the world. Indeed, at times she wept and was in pain, as they say, because
she had been abandoned alone in the darkness and void; at times, however,
she thought of the light which had abandoned her, took comfort and
laughed, then again she felt pain and at other times she was seized by
uneasiness and astonishment.!*
Thus Achamoth’s passions reproduce the higher Sophia’s passions in

a pattern now familiar, according to which the same event is repeated
at gradually descending levels of reality, an indication of the substantial
unity of the divine world; but equally of the gradual receding of the
pneuma, or spirit, until real ‘crises’ break out, taking the form of
substantial changes. In the case of Sophia Achamoth, the passions
provoke more than a simple change inside the same pneumatic substance;
they provoke a contrast, which is the symbol of the mixture (between
hylic and spiritual, by means of the psychic), representative of the actual
Gnostic situation.'4
As for the effects of the passions, they are the outcome of the action
of that particular spiritual Demiurge, the Christ—Logos. Indeed, by his
intervention he brings form and distinctiveness to the potentialities and
virtualities that reside in Achamoth, shapeless spiritual matter. Thus,
the elements from which our cosmos will be formed are already present;
a cosmos destined to become familiar with the activities of its lord,
spiritual humanity.
As a result of her conversion, Sophia Achamoth is now ready to
return to the Pleroma. It is the moment of formation according to
Gnosis. She pleads with the light that has abandoned her, namely
Christos. He then sends her the perfect fruit of the Pleroma, the Paraclete
or Comforter promised by the Gospel, who comes down upon Achamoth,
surrounded by his angels: ‘Seized with reverence, Achamoth first covered
her face with shame, but, having seen him with all his fructifying power,
she ran to him and received strength from his appearing.’!>
Achamoth, symbol of the soul of every Gnostic, after being converted
to the spiritual principle is thus able to rejoin her consort and, purified
of all pathos, to reconstitute the primordial union. This spiritual marriage
generates ‘a spiritual product born like the companions of the Saviour’,!®
the seed that, cast into matter, will make up the church of the spiritual.
As for the Saviour, he completes the work of consolidation of incorporeal
matter, distinct at two levels: psychic substance capable of conversion,
and hylic substance, destined to perdition.!7 Thus everything is ready
for the appearance of the Lord of this world, the Demiurge.
“WOMAN BORN OF WOMAN’: THE BIRTH OF THE

DEMIURGE
The Demiurge is a central figure in Valentinian and Sethian mythology.

While he may be completely absent'® or of secondary importance in
other systems,'? in the myths under examination here he is presented
as a complex figure, whose origins, through Sophia, are traceable to the
very life of the Pleroma.
The antecedents of this figure, generally identified with the God of
the Old Testament, are, like other figures in Gnostic mythology, multiple,
and not traceable to a single cultural tradition.*°
Greek thought had devised a theory of demiurgic activity, in which
it is not difficult to detect reflections of quite precise social situations.
The Demiurge is the artificer, the artisan who gives order to matter that
is, by itself, without spirit; he injects into it a form that is superior to
it. As Plato shows with the example of the divine artificer of the
Timaeus,*' and Aristotle emphasizes with his observations on technical
work,** the creation itself is for ancient humankind more perfect than
the Creator, and humans are smaller than their work. Contrary to what
we might now be tempted to think, neither the spirit of initiative nor
the capacity for reflection is required of artisans: their function and
virtue, according to Aristotle, consist in obedience.”? This is the point:
the artisans are not the producers of the ‘form’ that they impose on
matter; rather, the form, as beginning and end of the process, in a sense
overcomes the artisans.
In every demiurgic production the artisan is the driving force: he acts on

a material (a material cause) to give it form (a formal cause), which is
that of the finished work. At the same time this form constitutes the end
of the whole operation (final cause). It is this that directs the whole of
demiurgic activity: the true causality of the operation process does not
reside in the artisan, [but in the one who sends him].?*
This concept, typical of the ancient division of labour, was boldly

applied by the Gnostics to God the Creator, of the Old Testament.
Jahweh, far from being the single Lord of creation, is its simple artificer,
uncouth and ignorant. Moreover, boasting of being the only god and
believing himself to be the true Creator, he does no more in his arrogance
and stupidity than emphasize his blind folly. In reality, he is for the
Gnostics the simple instrument of a complex divine plan, whose formal
cause is represented by Sophia, who in her turn is moved by the final
cause of the whole process, that is to say, the soteriological plan of the
Father, understood and manifested by his Intellect, the Son.
The distinctive trait of the Sethian and Valentinian Demiurge is that
of being the abortive outcome of the sin of Sophia. ‘Woman born of
woman’** was a widespread concept of the time, which regarded the
abortion not as a failed man, but as mulieris portio,*® a part of a
woman; it was a concept that lent itself (by analogy), as we learn from
parallels in Plutarch, to regarding cosmogony itself as a failure.*’
On the other hand, the outcome of Sophia’s conception could not be
other than formless and destined to failure; for she is a woman who
dared to generate without the contribution of her consort. This is
repeated over and over again by certain cosmogonic Sethian texts. The
short recension of the Apocryphon ofJohn relates that when, no longer
able to contain the passion that was in her when she conceived, ‘her
thought could not remain inactive, and the product of her work came
forth, incomplete and odious in its form, for she had generated it
without her partner. He did not have the form of the mother; he had
another form ... He had the form of a serpent and a lion. His eyes
cast a light of fire.’*8
Certainly, in the construction of this image, whose eyes shine like fire
and whose body has the monstrous appearance of a serpent and a lion,
there are elements drawn from more ancient traditions, e.g. the Orphic??
(and this is typical of mythical bits and pieces). It is also probable that
some Biblical reminiscences favoured the idea of a Demiurge transformed
into an abortive product.*° But what matters is the new significance
that this material has assumed in the Gnostic construction. The Demiurge
is part of the Mother. When she sees the product of her thought in that
horrible form, she moves it away from herself because none of the
immortals can perceive it, except the Holy Spirit, destined, as we shall
see, even at the point of contact, to perform a soteric function towards
it. The name he receives is Ialdabaoth.*! He is the First Archon, who
has in himself the power of the Mother.*2
To put a further stage between the pleromatic world and the demiurgic
product, some Sethian texts seem to want to attribute the formation of
the Demiurge to an entity intermediate between Sophia and Ialdabaoth;
they favour a multiplicity of plans typical of Gnostic thought. According
to the Hypostasis of the Archons (NHC II.4), a short but important
cosmological treatise, which recounts the origin of the lords of this
world. Sophia, wanting to create something on her own, without her
consort, forms a veil between what is above and the lower aeons, ‘and
Shadow came into being beneath the veil; and that Shadow became
Matter; and that Shadow was projected apart. And what she had created
became a product in the Matter, like an aborted fetus. And it assumed
a plastic form molded out of Shadow, and became an arrogant beast
resembling a lion.’%? This androgynous being is the Demiurge, who
appears not as the abortive product of Sophia, but that of her shadow.
But who conceals this shadow?
In Gnostic thought the theme of the shadow is a substitute for the
theme of the image.** Like the image, the shadow may have a positive
value and constitute the perfect copy, in some way degraded in the
identity of substance, of the Urbild, the archetypal model.*° In some
cases, however, the shadow, like the image, refers to a deformed
reproduction, to a mirror that reveals and disfigures the features reflected
in it.°° In the case in question, there is little doubt about its potentially
negative values. If in some respects it appears to recall Philo’s Logos,
‘the shadow of God ... of which He has made use in order to create
the world’,*” the shadow in the Gnostic text is presented as a degraded
hypostasis of Sophia. This hypostasis must in all likelihood be identified
with Samael, an angel on whose activities the text will subsequently
dwell.3* The whole of the extract seems to contain a Gnostic interpret-
ation of a Jewish myth, that of the origin of the Nefilim or giants,
frequently found in Old Testament apocryphal literature.*? The fall of
the angels and their sin with the daughters of men had become a
favourite theme in some apocryphal texts, which discovered in them an
answer to the basic question of the origin of evil. The Gnostics, with
the sin of Sophia, provided a celestial predecessor to this drama. For
the author of the Hypostasis of the Archons the creation of the celestial
veil which Sophia performs (and in which, one might think, the positive
angelic powers took up their residence) is paralleled by the second
creation, the work of the Shadow. Having materialized, the shadow
descends from the veil into the lower world. The product of this
encounter with matter is the Demiurge in leonine shape.
In the parallel text, On the Origin of the World, on the other hand,
the generation of the Demiurge is preceded by that of hyle, matter, in
a more systematic and coherent way. It will:be recalled that here too
cosmogony begins with the formation by Pistis of a cosmogonic veil.
That automatically brings into existence the lower shadow, which
corresponds to the Chaos of traditional ancient cosmogonies, the Abyss,
from whose midst matter will be formed in successive stages. In other
words, the lower Triad of Shadow, Darkness and Chaos takes shape as
the negative correlate of the celestial cosmogonic veil: a totality in the
purely potential state, matter which waits like a woman (this reveals its
ill-fated potentiality) to be activated and fertilized by a higher power.
This is Pistis’ task. One of her first manifestations causes the birth of
those negative hypostases that constitute a recurrent theme in descriptions
of the primordial world. This is the case with envy:*° like a spiritless
abortion, envy is born in the same watery substance from which hylé
later emerges: ‘Just as all the useless afterbirth of one who bears a little
child falls, likewise the matter which came into being from the shadow
was cast aside.’*! The scene is now set for the psychic element to emerge
from hylé in its representative par excellence, the Demiurge. In fact, one
is witnessing a final manifestation of Pistis, this time to hylé, lying
immersed in boundless darkness and water. The outcome is a lifeless
abortion. Pistis follows it. When she decides that ‘the one who had no
spirit [should] receive the pattern of a likeness and rule over the matter
and over all its powers, a ruler first appeared out of the waters, lion-
like in appearance, androgynous, having great authority within himself,
but not knowing whence he came into being.’4?
The synthetic nature of our exposition prevents us from pursuing
those variants that constitute the elusive object of all mythological
analysis. One might ask: why is it Sophia who acts in one text, Pistis
in another? What lies behind the various accounts of the genesis of the
Demiurge? In fact, behind these variants there are different theological
traditions, controversies within groups and factions, which were express-
ing themselves in a different, competing interpretation of this or that
detail of a common mythical heritage. One must remember that in the
particular texts under review we are dealing with true mythical accounts,
which, as has already been confirmed, prefer the vivid richness of
symbols and the fascination of a narrative rich in pathos to the rigorous
logic of a theoretical treatment.
In contrast, these aspects tend to disappear in the Valentinian re-
elaboration of the figure of the Demiurge. The depth of theological
reflection, the search for a theoretically coherent and convincing answer,
leave little room for mythical imagination. The multiplicity of symbols
is replaced by a precise, penetrating exegesis of myth, but one that violates
its intimate nature. Ptolemy merely affirms that Sophia Achamoth, after
being formed according to Gnosis and after giving birth to the spiritual
substance, ‘from the psychic substance she formed the Father and king
of all those things which are of the same nature as he is, that is, the
psychics, which they call the Right.’*? The author of the Tripartite
Tractate notes that the Logos—Sophia established an Archon—Lord over
all creatures, an emanation of the Logos as the representation of the
Father of the aeons; and thus the Demiurge is equipped with every name
and every glorious quality and property as a copy of the heavenly
Father.*4
The Valentinian authors thus make explicit in their reflections a theme
that, in the mythological web of the Sethian accounts, was presented in
allusive form and lent itself more easily to divergent interpretations. The
Demiurge, as an abortion of Sophia, continues to possess it or (according
to some variants in which he is formed after hylé) receives it later from
the Mother (usually without his knowledge), a part of the Mother’s
spiritual substance. And it is precisely by virtue of this participation in
the spiritual world that he can now tackle his appointed task: the
formation of the cosmos.
SETHIAN AND VALENTINIAN COSMOGONIES
The lower world is created in the image of the pleromatic. Sethian

cosmogony thus gives notice of a theme that will appear at its most
relevant at the moment of the creation of human beings. The cosmos
is created in the image of the pleromatic world and in the likeness of
the substance of the Demiurge and his Archons.
According to the Apocryphon of John, Jaldabaoth withdraws, once
he has been generated and powerfully equipped by his Mother. He
builds for himself an aeon of fire in which he decides to live. He then
unites with his companion, Aponoia (lack of sense), the negative
counterpart of the archetypal Ennoia and symbol of the Demiurge’s
intellectual blindness.*° The cosmos that he creates is superficially not
unlike the one familiar to the ancients. The great difference is its nature:
instead of being the living image of the living God, it is the deformed
copy of an abortive God.
The stages in the cosmogony are to some extent inevitable. They are
confined to a negative reinterpretation of the origin of the basic elements
of contemporary Hellenistic cosmology, from astral bodies to the
formation of Earth and Tartarus, the underlying lower world.*® But
now between Tartarus and the celestial spheres there is no longer a
substantial difference: both are the outcome of the irrational creation
of Jaldabaoth. First of all he generates twelve angels, each according to
the model of the incorruptible aeons.*” Of these, seven command the
planetary spheres and five the chaos of the lower world. To each of
these angels, who have barbarous names and a horrific appearance,**
are given seven more angels. Moreover, each angel is assigned three
powers and other beings, a total of 360, ‘in agreement with the
manifestation of the pre-existing model’.*? Thus there is the formation
of both space and time, with its basic units of division. When the work
of creation is finished, the Demiurge can now exclaim, ‘I am God and
there is none other beside me.”*°
This recurring exclamation of arrogance, a Gnostic reinterpretation
of Isaiah 45:6, seeks to emphasize the essential characteristic nature of
the Demiurge. He has created a world under the misapprehension that
he is the only true artificer. This is the lie behind the statements of the
Old Testament God. And it is the mystery that the Gnostic, in the light
of his revelations, is now in a position to uncover. The God of the Jews,
creator of a cosmos threatened at its roots by incurable disease, is
nothing but an unconscious puppet manipulated by the invisible strings
of higher powers.
The image of the Demiurge usually portrayed in the Sethian texts is
negative. Apart from anti-Jewish and anti-Christian polemic, there are
internal reasons for this, specifically the function of the psychic element
represented by the Demiurge. This element is not, as for Valentinians
and other Christians Gnostics, the seat of free will, but a moment (that
of animation) in the hylic dimension and, like it, destined to perdition.*?
This is the radical difference from the Valentinian Demiurge, the latter
being representative of a psychic element that is also called upon to
participate in the work of salvation.
Devoid of scarifying characteristics, Ptolemy’s Demiurge is simply the
Creator of the Seven Heavens, who lives above them. What the
Valentinian scholar wishes to emphasize is the deep meaning of the
Demiurgic myth:
They say that the Demiurge believed that he had created all this of himself,
but in fact he had made them because Achamoth had prompted him. He
made the heaven without knowing the heaven; he formed man without
knowing him; he brought the earth to light without knowing it. And, in
every case, they say, he was ignorant of the ideas of the things he made,
and even of his own mother, and imagined that he alone was all things.**
If the Demiurge is the Lord of the Hebdomad, the Devil or Cosmocrator

is the Lord of the terrestrial world. Like all the other elements, he
derives from one of the passions of Sophia, the conversion.°*+ As has
been said already, the elements of this world are born from other
passions:
The corporeal elements of the universe sprang ... from the terror and
perplexity, as from a more permanent [the Greek reads ‘more ignoble’,
but has to be emended] source: earth, as a result of the state of terror;
water, as a result of the agitation of fear; air, as a result of the congealing
of sorrow. Fire is inherent in all these elements as death and decay, just
as they also teach that ignorance is hidden in the three passions.°*°
The scene is now set for the appearance of the Lord of the Cosmos;
humankind. But we must first consider how other Gnostics, sometimes
differing greatly from the systems of thought considered so far, portrayed
the origin of the world.
GNOSTIC VARIATIONS ON COSMOGONIC THEMES
Gnostic thinkers did not always see the creation of the world as the
negative result of the process of emanation within the Pleroma. In some
cases (not frequent, but none the less important), they postulated the
existence ab aeterno of two principles: Light and Darkness.°° The
clearest example is that of the so-called Sethians, described by Hippo-
lytus,°’ whose type of dualism has been confirmed in a Nag Hammadi
text, the Paraphrase of Shem (NHC VII.1). It contains the revelation
that Derdekeas, the son and image of the Supreme Entity, the pleromatic
Light, has been allowed by the Light to grant to Shem:
My mind which was in my body snatched me away from my race. It took

me up to the top of the world, which is close to the light which shone
upon the whole area there. I saw no earthly likeness, but there was light.
And my mind separated from the body of darkness, as though in sleep.
I heard a voice saying to me, ‘Shem, since you are from an unmixed
power and you are the first being upon earth, hear and understand what
I shall say to you first concerning the great Powers who were in existence
in the beginning, before | appeared. There was Light and Darkness and
there was Spirit between them. Since your root fell into forgetfulness —
he who was the unbegotten Spirit — I reveal to you the truth about the
Powers. The Light was mind full of attentiveness and reason. They were
united into one form. And the Darkness was wind in [...] waters. He
possessed the mind wrapped in a chaotic fire. And the Spirit between
them was a gentle, humble light. These are the three roots. They reigned
each in themselves, alone. And they covered each other, each one with
its power.°®
This concept is substantially the same as that attributed by Hippolytus

to certain Sethians. The universe here consists of three separate principles,
each one provided with an unlimited number of powers: Light, Darkness
and, between them, Pure Spirit.°? A characteristic feature of these two
systems is that Darkness, depicted as a product of threatening waters,
is not without an intelligence of its own. It does its best to retain this
element, thus clashing with the task of Light, which aims to restore to
their proper dignity the particles of Nous that belong to the Darkness.
In the Paraphrase of Shem Light is replaced by the soteriological figure
of Derdekeas.®° As for the genuine cosmogony, it is the outcome, in the
case of the Hippolytan Sethians, of the mutual impact that the powers
of the three principles experience at a certain point. They leave their
imprint and their form on lower matter. Thus, the first impact produces
a great seal shape, that of the sky and the earth, formed like a matrix
with the umbilical cord in the middle. From successive impacts further
seals are formed, in accordance with which are shaped innumerable
creatures, including humans, who populate our world.°!
A distinctive feature of this cosmogony, therefore, is the opposition
of two principles right from the beginning, in a scheme that foreshadows
Manichaean dualism and, like Manicheism, tends to conceive the shades
of Darkness as a mobile, active principle.°?
But like other Gnostic cosmogonies, it insists upon the triple division
of the universe: ‘He who says that the universe proceeds from one
principle is mistaken; he who says that it is from three, speaks the truth
and will give the description of all.’°* This is the belief of the Naassenes
of Hippolytus. We have already mentioned the triple division of the
Peratae. Their world consists of the Perfect Good, the Self-Generated
and of what is generated and particular. The Self-Generated, or
intermediate principle, moves between the Supreme God and Matter.
He has the features of a serpent: assuming for himself the powers of
the Father, this Ophite Logos, without form or quality, descends to
impress the seals of the Father upon matter. He then recovers those
formal principles to bring them back to the Father. Thus there seems
to be a self-generating process of circularity, in which nothing is created
and nothing destroyed,°* a process that is well illustrated by the ancient
image of the serpent biting its tail®° or, as in the case of the Naassenes,
symbolized by the movement of the Ocean descending from above to
below, to bring its currents back to the original source.°°
The image of the cosmos thus derived is far from negative. It is the
passive receptacle of the divine forms, the place of their manifestation.
The theme recurs, with its triple division, in the Apophasis Megalé,
a ‘great revelation’ attributed by Hippolytus to the followers of Simon
Magus.°” We have here a unique infinite power, which stands upright,
immobile and facing only itself. It manifests itself in three aeons: ‘those
which stand upright are indeed there.’°* The divine element ‘who stands
on high in the unoriginate power, who took his stand below in the
chaos of waters when he was begotten in the image, who will stand on
high with the blessed infinite power if he be fully formed.’®?
The first manifestation of the infinite power, the second aeon, consists
of six roots born in couples: Intellect and Thought, Voice and Name,
Reason and Reflection. As is typical of Gnostic thought, these couples,
which express the forms in which the world is realized by the operation
of a unique principle (which meditates when forming a thought, speaks
when giving a name, reasons when generating reflections), also contain
the outcome of the creative process: ‘Now of the six powers ... he
calls the first pair mind and thought, [or] heaven and earth ... But
“voice” and “name” mean sun and moon; “reflection” and “conception”
mean air and water.’”° In them the higher power is present and diffused.
It operates until the spiritual elements mature in their earthly sojourn,
changing into perfect images of the infinite power. As for the earth, it
is far from being the seat of evil, ‘while the earth below receives her
kindred intelligible fruits brought down to earth from heaven.’”!
This weakened form of dualism finds its most original expression in
the system of Basilides (an acute Gnostic thinker who lived in the first
half of the second century), as Hippolytus tells us. When the non-
existent God’? wanted to create the world, he hurled down the seed
that contained all the semen for the world, i.e. he emitted the immaterial
substratum from which three principles emerged: Basilides calls them
‘sonships’, and they were in every way consubstantial with God.”> The
first, the most subtle, returned straightway to the non-existent God (it
represents the paternal Nous). The second, more opaque and unable to
return above, provided itself with wings; Basilides calls it the Holy
Spirit, thus Christianizing an originally Platonic motif. However, this
Spirit, unlike the Spirit in the Sethian system, is not consubstantial with
the Father. So when the second sonship, which corresponds to the
Anima mundi, returns to the non-existent God, the Spirit cannot follow
it, but stops near the blessed place of God, keeping within itself the
virtue of sonship, the odour of its perfume. Like the cosmogonic veil in
some Sethian systems, it constitutes an intermediate space separating
the upper and lower worlds, the firmament placed between the
supramundane and mundane regions. As for the third sonship, the most
opaque, it represents the spiritual substance in need of purification, ‘that
has remained in the huge mass of seeds to make and receive benefits.’”*
At this point the creation of the world can take place. Basilides
duplicates this creation. According to the plan and the will of the non-
existent God, two Demiurges are in fact created from the seed, the first
charged with creating the Ogdoad, the heaven of the fixed stars and
the planets, helped by a Son who is superior to him; the second creator
of the Hebdomad, i.e. the sublunar world. The great Archon, the Head
of the world is ‘greatness, beauty, inexpressible power’.”> Inasmuch as
he is unaware of the existence of the non-existent God, his characteristics
are certainly not those terrifying and despicable characteristics of the
Sethian Ialdabaoth.
When creation is over, the work of salvation begins. The gospel
descends in the form of a hypostasis from the upper world and first
illuminates the Demiurge, then descends in turn upon Mary and becomes
incarnate in Jesus, whose duty it will be to form spiritually the third
sonship. In the eschatology of the text one receives a clearer idea of the
more positive traits of Basilidian cosmology: ‘When the whole Sonship
thus arrives [above], he says, and is beyond the boundary, the Spirit,
then the creation will receive pity ... God will bring on the whole
world the great ignorance, so that everything may remain in accordance
with [its] nature, and nothing desire anything contrary to its nature.’”°
Bathed thus in eternal oblivion, the creatures of this world not destined
for eternal salvation will not know the final destruction that characterizes
the eschatology of other systems. It is possible to detect in this cosmology
definite echoes of Greek concepts of the eternity of the cosmos. However
much it may have been devalued, the cosmos, the seat of purification
of the elect, seems worthy of divine compassion.
There are also traces, even in Sethian texts, confirming the possibility
of a more positive evaluation of the cosmos. Marsanes, a typical Gnostic
visionary, in the eponymous apocalyptic text, enters into possession of
the divine mysteries during a celestial journey. Among other revelations
he learns that ‘in every respect the sense-perceptible world is [worthy]
of being saved entirely.’”” This is probably a late development of Gnostic
dualistic cosmology which, influenced by Christianity or, as here, by
Neoplatonic ideas,’* brought out more clearly in the third century the
monistic, optimistic themes already present in authors and systems of
the second century.
The stage is now set for the central act of the demiurgic operation:
the creation of humankind.
6
And God Said, ‘Let Us Make Man
in Our Image and Likeness’
INTRODUCTION
‘In the final analysis Gnosis is anthropology: man stands at the centre
of Gnostic interests.’! This statement, which since the time of Feuerbach
can be applied to all religions, is certainly true of Gnosticism. Precisely
because the Gnostics made central to their myths the creation of Adam,
on whose story the way to salvation is mythically based and revealed,
they have also been able to place a God Anthropos at the top of the
divine hierarchy.
Seen in this perspective the cosmogonic stories appear as the framework
in which the true drama takes place, the backdrop erected just in time
for the entrance of the principal actor: the human being.
As is typical of Gnostic thought, there is an event at the basis of the
creation of human beings which repeats, at the anthropogonic level, a
process verified already both theogonically and cosmogonically. The
Demiurge, Creator of humankind, the Creative God now surrounded
by a cohort of faithful Archons, is a simple artificer. He shapes hylic
and psychic matter, whose forms he does not possess, but which he
derives, by way of illumination, from the upper world. In the creature
thus shaped he will insert, at a favourable point, the strength inherited
from the Mother, which will be the spiritual substance of Adam. For
the possession of this substance there will henceforth be war between
malevolent and luminous forces. The malevolent forces, made aware of
the superiority of Adam, will be struggling to destroy the divine seed
and its progeny. The luminous forces will be endeavouring to restore
to the Pleroma the fallen luminous substance which, in the Gnostic
history of salvation, is the leaven of the important events of this world.
Adam’s actions, his spiritual seed, his wanderings and his salvation
are grafted onto a structurally dichotomous anthropology in the Sethian
88 ‘Let Us Make Man in Our Image’ ~
accounts. The psychic dimension, the principle animating Adam’s

material body, has no real autonomy. As in Adam the pneumatic reality
that proceeds from the upper world is opposed to his carnal dimension,
thus the two irreconcilable realities coexist in humankind. More
generally, there are two classes, two groups of people: the elect, the
pneumatic, destined for salvation, and the material, the hylic, doomed
to perdition.
At first sight it seems that the Gnostic has mercilessly plundered
Genesis material to construct his various anthropogonic accounts.* More
than the cosmogonic accounts, the anthropogonic texts seem to provide
an exegesis, however unique, of the first chapters of Genesis. But this
is only partly true. It is no surprise that some Gnostics regarded these
as a privileged source. Classical mythology is poor in anthropogonic
accounts, and those that did exist were unable to compete with the
fascination and richness of detail found in the Biblical account. In
addition to which one might mention the familiarity of these anonymous
reporters with the Old Testament and the apocryphal and legendary
traditions, as well as with speculations on the celestial Adam.’ These
and other particulars must not, however, obscure a specific element of
the Sethian anthropogonic accounts. Far from being exegeses (however
much they claim to be) of the Biblical text, they are put forward as the
true Bible, containing the new, or rather the only true, myths of origins,
while the Biblical accounts are merely false, deceptive distortions.*
THE CREATION OF ADAM AND EVE
Here too, as for cosmogony, we shall prefer to use the two Sethian texts
for their narrative continuity and richness of detail: the Apocryphon of
John and the Hypostasis of the Archons. Here and there we shall take
into account important similarities and variants provided by other
Sethian texts. Finally, we shall compare them with the Valentinian
interpretation.
That these Sethian accounts deal with an actual myth is shown by
the way in which the two basic Genesis texts on the creation of
humankind are used: Gen. 1:26 and 2:7. Exegesis of these texts in
Jewish and Christian circles has given rise to many different interpret-
ations. Philo, for example, in accordance with his Biblical Platonism,
interpreted the text of Gen. 1:26—7 (‘Then God said, “Let us make man
in our image and likeness ... and God created man in his own image;
in the image of God he created him; thus he created male and female’)
as the creation of the ideal archetypal human, who as such is androgynous
‘Let Us Make Man in Our Image’ 89
and perfect.> Gen. 2:7 (‘Then the Lord God formed man from the dust
of the ground and breathed into his nostrils a life-giving breath, and
man became a living creature’) came, as a result, to be referred to the
later formation of material, distinct and particular man. Moreover, and
this is an important detail, Philo interpreted the plural of the Septuagint
translation (poiésOmen: ‘let us make’) to refer to the angels, celestial co-
workers whose job is to perform the lower demiurgic functions of giving
form to corruptible mud.’
The Christian exegetical tradition remained for the most part faithful
to Philo’s foundation of dual creation,® even if in the interpretation of
Gen. 1:26 it saw, according to a typological scheme, the formation ‘in
the image’ as the starting-point of a spiritual progress that should
culminate, for Christians, in their most complete spiritual formation as
children of God in the likeness of the Father.?
Our Gnostics move along different lines. The anthropogonic phase is
introduced by the arrogant assertion of the Demiurge: ‘I am God, and
there is no other beside me.’ Stupid blasphemy and likewise a provocative
challenge that seem to have been prearranged by the puppeteer above
who manipulates the invisible strings that move the actors in this event.
Thus, a voice from above is suddenly heard crying to the Demiurge:
“There exists Man and the Son of Man.’ The voice proceeds from
Incorruptibility; and this is not surprising in systems where the Voice
is a hypostasis of the same divine triad.
This voice has the task of preparing the way for the manifestation of
the supreme divinity, Anthropos. This is the central moment of Gnostic
anthropogony: the epiphany of a luminous image.!'° In the longer
recension of the Apocryphon of John:
And a voice came forth from the exalted aeon-heaven: “The Man exists
and the Son of Man.’ And the chief archon [laldabaoth] heard (it) and
thought that the voice had come from his mother, and he did not know
from where she (or it) came. And the holy Mother-Father taught them,
and the perfect, complete foreknowledge, the image of the invisible one
who is the Father of the all through whom everything came into being,
the first Man, for he revealed his appearance in a human form.
And the whole aeon of the chief archon trembled, and the foundations
of the abyss shook. And of the waters which are above matter, the
underside was illuminated by the appearance of his image which had been
revealed. And when all the authorities and the chief archon looked, they
saw the whole part of the underside which was illuminated. And through
the light they saw the form of the image in the water.!!
In this way the higher Anthropos reveals his appearance, not directly,
90 ‘Let Us Make Man in Our Image’
but in a distorting mirror, through the waters of chaos, thus providing
the Demiurge with the external form that will be the model for the
formation of Adam.
The reaction of the Archons to this appearing of light is varied. It
might be a reaction of amazement, as we have already seen; in other
cases it comes in the form of lustful desire or greed for the beautiful
forms of the higher Anthropos. In the Hypostasis of the Archons, when
the likeness of Incorruptibility appears in the waters: ‘. . . the Authorities
of the Darkness became enamored of her. But they could not lay hold
of that Image, which had appeared to them in the waters, because of
their weakness — since beings that merely possess a soul cannot lay hold
of those that possess a Spirit; for they were from below, while it was
from above.’!?
That the Archons in this treatise desire to be united with the Anthropos
is not surprising. They are depicted as having the bodies of women —
that is, they incarnate sexual desire in the pure state: and the appearance
of the beautiful male forms can only arouse their greed. When they see
the image escaping them, the Archons hold a council and decide to form
a creature ‘in the image and likeness’. At this point the various editors
have indulged in jokes over the possible interpretations offered by the
ambiguous nature of the verse in Genesis. The Archons model Adam
according to their body and according to the image of the Anthropos
seen in the waters. Given Adam’s androgynous nature and taking into
account the fact that this text deals with Adam’s creation out of mud
and earth, one must conclude that they form the female part of Adam
in the image of their bodies, while the male dimension is formed in the
likeness of the beautiful male parts of the higher Anthropos. The
progenitor therefore brings concupiscence into himself right from the
beginning: this is to be identified with his female dimension, of demonic
origin. Accordingly, his salvation is possible only through rejection of
this female source.
The longer version of the Apocryphon of John is different: the text
does not deal with the hylic, but the psychic, formation of Adam, and
the verse from Genesis is therefore interpreted as follows: ‘Let us make
a man [say the Archons in their council] according to the image of God
and according to our likeness, that his image may become a light for
us.’!? The higher Anthropos here provides the model for the androgynous
Adam in his completeness, not only in his male part. What the Archons
contribute is their likeness, their natural identity and their psychic
substance itself.
The longer recension of this same text reveals a particularly pessimistic
conception of the nature of the First Man. In a long digression (NHC
II.1. 15.14-19.10) the account inserts a detailed description of the
formation not only of the psychic, but also of the material body of
Adam.'* It supplies us with the most precise example of Gnostic
anatomy. It is therefore worth considering it in order to understand
more fully how a Gnostic actually regarded the body, which he was
inclined to see as the seat of every evil.
The seven Archons, placed in relation to the planetary spheres, form
a psychic hypostasis in accordance with a widespread conception that
each planet intervenes in the formation of the human psyche, adding its
own particular contribution.'!* Despite some variations in the names of
Archons,'° both recensions contain an identical list of the seven parts
that make up Adam’s psychic hypostasis: soul out of bone, nerves, flesh,
marrow, blood, skin and eyelids.'” After the Archons, then come the
demon-angels: it is their task to form the material body. Thus a first
list catalogues the names of those demons responsible for the formation
of the parts of the body from the head to the toe-nails:
The first one began to create the head: Eteraphaope-Abron created his
head; Meniggestroeth created the brain; Asterechme the right eye;
Thaspomocha the left eye; Yeronumos the right ear; Bissoum the left ear;
Akioreim the nose; Banen-Ephroum the lips; Amen the teeth; Ibikan the
molars: Basiliademe the tonsils: Achchan the uvula; Adaban the neck;
Chaaman the vertebrae; Dearcho the throat; Tebar the left shoulder;
Mniarchon the left elbow; Abitrion the right underarm; Evanthen the left
underarm; Krys the right hand; Beluai the left hand; Treneu the fingers
of the right hand; Balbel the fingers of the left hand; Kriman the nails of
the hands; Astrops the right breast; Barroph the left breast; Baoum the
right shoulder joint; Ararim the left shoulder joint; Areche the belly;
Phthave the navel; Senaphim the abdomen; Arachethopi the right ribs;
Zabedo the left ribs; Barias the left hip; Abenlenarchei the marrow;
Chnoumeninorin the bones; Gesole the stomach; Agromauma the heart;
Bano the lungs; Sostrapal the liver; Anesimalar the spleen; Thopithro the
intestines; Biblo the kidneys; Roeror the sinews; Taphreo the spine of the
body; Ipouspoboba the veins; Bineborin the arteries; Atoimenpsephei,
theirs are the breaths which are in all the limbs. . .'*
The list continues as far as the demons who have formed the toe-
nails. Of this long, tedious survey of diabolical anatomy the most
interesting passage comprises the intervention of the demons in charge
of the formation of the genital organs. Bedouk forms the right womb,'?
Arabei the left penis, Eilo the testicles, Sorma the aidoia,*° a Greek term
commonly used to indicate the pudenda, both male and female. The
presence of the left penis leaves no room for doubt that the demon
Sorma is in charge of the formation of the female parallel to the penis,
the clitoris. For students and those interested in Hermaphroditism, this
is another example to be added to the iconographic and literary collection
the ancient world has bequeathed to us on this difficult, but suggestive,
topic.
Androgynous Adam therefore has an entirely demonic body. But there
is more to come in a second anatomical list.*! It catalogues the demons
who activate these parts of the body. Apart from certain differences the
two lists recount the anatomical areas in the same way: head, neck,
shoulders and upper extremities, chest and torso, genitals and lower
extremities. It is followed by a list of the demons that govern perception,
reception, the capacity for representation, and the impulses of the body:
‘And the origin of the demons that are in the whole body is ordained
to be [divided into] four: heat, cold, wet and dry. But the mother of all
of them is matter.’*+
At this point the author supplies another detailed catalogue of the
various demons in charge of these elements. The mother of all the
demons, Onorthocrasi, sits in the middle of them; she has no defined
limit?3 and is mingled with all of them. She is truly matter, which here
has acquired demonic traits. She nourishes the four chief demons:
Efememphi, who belongs to pleasure; locho, who belongs to greed;
Nenentophni, who belongs to pain; Blaomen, who belongs to fear. The
special mother of these latter is Estensisonch-Epiptoe. And from each
of these demons originate the various passions that unceasingly rend
the human body. Ennoia, the Thought of their Truth, is ‘the head of
the material soul’.?*
The demonization of the body could not be more radical or total. In
the particular microcosm that man represents, the error and the horror
of the formation of the macrocosm are repeated. A hierarchy of demons,
servile and ready, is continually at work in everyone’s body, transformed
into a remorseless inferno in miniature. Far from being a passive,
secondary element vis-d-vis the spiritual, the demonic represents an
active power, charged with negative energy. Over and above the cosmos,
humanity has become the true place where the battle is fought, decisive
for every individual, between the forces of good and evil.
Thus, there is a varied account, if not various accounts, of the
formation of Adam’s body. He lies prostrate on the ground, incapable
of standing up straight.*° It is now time to animate him. In Gen. 2:7
the Gnostic exegesis finds material for a rich, diversified interpretation
that conforms with the presuppositions about the generation of the
Demuurge.
According to the Apocryphon of John, when the Mother decided to
take possession of what she had given to the First Archon, she sent him
five luminaries to advise him, if he wanted Adam’s body to rise, to
breathe part of his spirit upon the progenitor’s face.*® In this way,
however, the Mother’s power passed from Ialdabaoth to Adam’s body.
The First Man thus became the instrument with which the Mother (and
through her the celestial kingdom) succeeds in tricking the Demiurge.
Adam can now rise, shining with light.2”7 The Archon Powers realize
that they have made a mistake: they have created a being superior to
them. Their countermove is to relegate Adam again to the lower regions
to be imprisoned in the material body.
In the Hypostasis of the Archons, in which we have already
encountered the Adam of mud and earth, the breathing of the Demiurge
corresponds in turn to his psychic, not to his pneumatic formation. The
latter will be achieved directly by the upper world when it introduces
spiritual force into him later on.?*
The narrative now proceeds, adhering more strictly to the stages of
the account in Genesis: the formation of Eve, the ‘sin’ of the progenitors,
the birth of Cain and Abel and the birth of Seth.
The Apocryphon of John recounts that the Metropator, seized with
compassion?’ for the power of the Mother imprisoned in the progenitor’s
body, decides to send help to Adam, lost in the lower regions of matter
and prey to the jealousy and envy of the Archons, in the form of a
divine hypostasis, the Epinoia of Light,°° also called Zoe or Vita (Life).
She hides in Adam’s body, a power waiting to fulfil her work of
salvation. In fact, she ‘works on all creation, taking trouble with it and
establishing it at its own perfect temple and instructing it about the
descent of its deficiency and teaching it about its ascent.’?! The moment
of her entrance, however, has not yet arrived.
Meanwhile, in response to the divine act of mercy, the Archons
imprison Adam in the body of death and then place the mortal result
of their work in Paradise. They then send him to eat of the Tree of
Life. But this is a trap. This tree is an archontic creature, distilling the
bitter liquid of their life:
Its fruit is poison, and against it there is no remedy; it promises death

for [Adam]. But their tree has been planted as the tree of life. I shall tell
you the secret of their life: it is the counterfeit spirit, which originates in
them, so as to make him deviate from his path and not recognize his
perfection. This tree is made thus: its root is bitter; its branches are the
shadow of death; its leaves are hatred and deception; its sap (resin) is the
unction of evil and its fruit is the wish for death; its seed drinks from
those who taste it; its resting place is the lower world.**
And now we have the creation of Eve.** The Epinoia of Light is

hidden in Adam. The Demiurge would like to extract it, by removing
Adam’s rib. She then flees, but pursuit is hopeless. The Chief Archon
is thus obliged to compromise. He decides to form another creature in
the likeness of the Epinoia that he had seen: terrestrial Eve. When Adam
sees the woman next to him, the luminous Epinoia appears to illuminate
him. She frees him from the veil of ignorance covering his mind and
from the intoxication of darkness. It is the moment to taste of the Tree
of Knowledge. Adam is instructed by an eagle which appears on the
tree (a further manifestation of Epinoia) to eat of it and attain knowledge.
Ialdabaoth then metes out his punishment: Adam and Eve are driven
out of Paradise.
The following scene is dedicated to the birth of Cain and Abel. In
the Gnostic interpretation, they are the fruit of a purely carnal union,
regarded by Gnostics as an act of impurity: the union of Jaldabaoth
and Eve.** The higher powers, which had foreseen that act, had removed
the spiritual life from her in anticipation. The product of this spiritless
carnal union are Elohim and Jahweh. The first, corresponding to the
Biblical Cain, has the face of a bear and is a just God who presides
over fire and wind; the second, corresponding to Abel, has the face of
a cat, is unjust and presides over the two lower elements, earth and
water. It is the aim of Elohim and Jahweh alike to deceive mankind.*>
Contrasted with the carnal birth of Cain and Abel, sons of concupis-
cence and the counterfeit spirit, is the spiritual birth of Seth. Adam, in
generating him, unconsciously interprets the celestial script assigned to
the pleromatic generation of Adamas and Seth. In fact there is a union
with Epinoia—Zoe, the mother of spiritual life who has returned for the
occasion in Eve.*¢ In this way the Seth of the Sethians appears from the
outset as a fully spiritual reality, called upon with his purity to found
the race of the spiritual beings par excellence: the Sethians.
THE UNWAVERING RACE: SETH AND HIS DESCENDANTS
Even the reader who is not entirely familiar with the Biblical texts will
be struck by the way in which the Gnostic editors manipulate the sacred
text in order to make it suit their purposes.?” In certain cases, it is a
simple matter of retouching. However, this can change the sense of a
passage profoundly. Consider just one example: the editor of the
Hypostasis of the Archons states of Adam and Eve, ‘they recognized
that they were naked of the Spiritual Element’,** deliberately adding to
the Biblical ‘and they understood that they were naked.’ In other cases
the author interferes directly with the text and chooses a different
translation from the ‘canonical’ Septuagint.*? In others again, the order
of events is changed*° or new actors are introduced.*!
These interventions, however, are only corrections and necessary
patches put onto a garment that is too narrow. The unique God of
Genesis is replaced by the cohort of Archons whose tasks sometimes
give rise, as we have seen in the anatomical list of the Apocryphon of
John, to an impressive increase in the strength of this angelic bureaucracy.
Among them, as in any self-respecting hierarchy, there is a rigid
distinction of roles. It is the task of the Protarchon to breathe into
Adam the vital, and in certain cases the spiritual, principle; that of the
seven planetary Archons is to prepare the framework of the human
machine; that of the angels is to set in motion the assembly line destined
to produce Adam’s body.
In certain cases, moreover, the same character is duplicated. Thus,
there are two Eves: the carnal Eve, mother of Cain and Abel, and the
spiritual one, mother of Seth and of the race of the spiritual beings. But,
in fact, the two Eves are merely the garments employed, in a constantly
changing game, which comes dangerously close to deceiving not only
the Demiurge, but also the modern reader, by the true protagonist in
the account: the hypostasis of the light, the envoy from the light world.
In the human world the developments and chains of events that
characterize the pleromatic world are in fact repeated. A single entity
of light, variously named, enters upon the scene of history, with a single
task: to recover the spiritual substance dispersed in matter. For this it
is ready to run risks and undertake adventures, from time to time
assuming the guise of different characters, but never quite managing to
conceal her own features successfully.
We shall deal more fully with the soteriological powers of this entity
in chapter 7. We must now resume the story of Seth and his line. With
Seth’s birth the second period in sacred Gnostic history is concluded.
The following period is dominated by a cataclysm: the flood.*? It is the
age of the Sethian patriarchs, a period of ignorance and terror. Indeed,
the Demiurge, having established a plan with the Archons, first creates
heimarmené, blind fate and necessity, producer of all sin and injustice.**
But that is not enough to exterminate the race of the elect. Warned by
the light of the flood to which Ialdabaoth has recourse, Noah and the
elect manage to survive, but not in the ark; covered by a luminous
cloud, they take refuge in a preordained place.** The Demiurge then
devises another plan:
He sent his angels to the daughters of men, that they might take some of
them for themselves and raise offspring for their enjoyment. And at first
they did not succeed. When they had no success, they gathered together
again and they made a plan together. They created a despicable spirit,
who resembles the Spirit who had descended, so as to pollute the souls
through it. And the angels changed themselves in their likeness into the
likeness of their [the daughters’ of men] mates, filling them with the spirit
of darkness, which they had mixed for them, and with evil. They brought
gold and silver and a gift and copper and iron and metal and all kinds
of things.*°
The effects of this action are deception, sickness and death. In this way
‘the whole creation became enslaved forever from the foundation of the
world until now.’*¢
This last deception of the Demiurge concludes the third period of the
history of Sethian salvation. The stage is now set for the entrance of
the Saviour, the incarnation of Seth himself, who inaugurates and also
concludes the fourth age, the present one, in which the potential Gnostic
lives. But this will be dealt with in chapter 7.
The Epinoia of Light, Adam’s teacher, his spiritual companion, the
one sent from the kingdom of light to save the ancestors of the elect in
emergency situations, is compared in the Hypostasis of the Archons
with another typically Gnostic heroine, Norea.*’” She is the spiritual
daughter of Eve, the female counterpart of Seth. She too appears at the
crucial moments in this particular version of the history of Sethian
salvation. Sent into the world after the birth of Seth, she helps men to
multiply and to adorn themselves.*® When the Archon tries to enslave
the Sethian Noah and his children, she intervenes to free him, but the
Archon seems to emerge victorious from this first stage of the battle.*4?
She continues to struggle, without any apparent success, against the
Archons who want to oppress her.°° But when she calls for help, the
angel Eleleth, in accordance with the divine plan and will, manages to
bring her the knowledge of salvation.*!
That this heroine is actually of divine origin is confirmed elsewhere
by a short, but important, text (NHC IX.2), in which she invokes the
celestial Triad to grant her revelations and promises of salvation.°? The
historical roots of this mythical figure, which are to be found in the
legendary heritage of the Judaic Haggadah,*? ill fit their Gnostic
transformation, which tends to make her substantially a parallel to
Sophia, in her double role of saviour of the elect line and also the one
who is saved, female spiritual substance awaiting her consort, the
Illuminator.°*
The Illuminator is also the protagonist of that particular interpretation
of the history of Sethian salvation, the Apocalypse of Adam (NHC V.5).
A composite work, in which various traditions of Iranian and Jewish
origin are gathered and distilled, it represents a typical document of
Sethian Gnosis devoid of significant Christian influence.°> Of the
different apocalypses contained in the Nag Hammadi library, it is
certainly the closest in form and content to the late-Judaic apocalyptic
genre. It contains the revelations that Adam, at the age of 700, is
supposed to have made to his son Seth.
Adam and Eve originally lived in a spiritual condition similar to that
of the eternal angels, who were superior to their Creator by virtue of
the Gnosis that Eve is supposed to have communicated to her com-
panion.°® But the Demiurge’s wrath is aroused; he divides the androgyn-
ous aeon. The glory that was in their hearts abandons them, together
with Gnosis. Having become mortal and forgetful of their true nature,
they serve the Demiurge like slaves: “We became darkened in our hearts.
Now, I slept in the thought of my heart.’°”
The following scenario is a familiar one: the moment in which the
enemy seems to triumph is actually the moment in which his defeat
begins to show. Three celestial creatures appear to Adam, to announce
Gnosis to him and to reveal to him the destiny of the elect seed of
Seth.°* These are the revelations, containing the future history of the
Sethians, that Adam undertakes to transmit as his testament to Seth
before dying.°?
The first revelation concerns the way in which the people of Gnosis
were saved from the flood. While Noah (in this case, excluded from the
Sethian race) saves himself and his family in the ark, great angels of
light bring the elect to safety in a secure place where the spirit of life
is.©° In the sequel, the people of Gnosis return with Noah. But the
Demiurge becomes angry with Noah, accusing him of having created a
generation to ridicule his power. Noah reassures him, but the people of
Gnosis will have to find themselves another safe place, a holy place
where they will live for 600 years.°!
The earth, meanwhile, has been divided among Noah’s sons, who
respectfully serve the Demiurge. But 400,000 descendants of Shem and
Japheth join the people of Gnosis. Saklas (the ‘fool’), the Demiurge,
then tries a second time to exterminate the elect in an act of destruction
reminiscent of that of Sodom and Gomorrah. Humankind will be saved
this time from the fire, sulphur and asphalt by the intervention of
Abrasax, Sablo and Gamaliel, who will descend on great clouds of light
and carry them to higher aeons, where they ‘will be like those angels,
for they are not strangers. to them, but they work in the imperishable
seed.’6? At this point, a third intervention is introduced, that of the
Illuminator of Knowledge,®* the soteric entity in this text. He ‘will
redeem their [the descendants’ of Noah] souls from the day of death.
For the whole creation that came from the dead earth will be under the
authority of death. But those who reflect upon the knowledge of the
eternal God in their hearts will not perish.’°* At the same time he works
miracles and prodigies to defeat the Demiurge and his powers.
There follows a digression on the thirteen earthly kingdoms.® But
only the generations without a king, the Gnostic descendants of Seth,
will know the true Illuminator: ‘God chose him from all the aeons. He
caused a knowledge of the undefiled one of truth to come to be [in]
him. [He or It] said, “[Out of] a foreign air, [from a] great aeon, the
great illuminator came forth.”’°°
With the fourteenth kingdom the time of the End has arrived,
coinciding with the repentance of sinners and the judgement of the
responsible angels. Only the Gnostics will be saved.°” The Apocalypse
ends with these words: “These are the revelations which Adam made
known to Seth his son. And his son taught his seed about them. This
is the hidden knowledge of Adam, which he gave to Seth, which is the
holy baptism of those who know the eternal knowledge through those
born of the word and the imperishable illuminators.’°® It is worth
pointing out that, behind the mise en scéne of the various illuminators,
the fundamental conception of the uniqueness of the illuminator principle
is also at work here and is probably to be identified with Seth himself.°?
THE ANTHROPOGONY OF THE VALENTINIAN SCHOOL
Valentinus too regards the human body as the home of demons:
For many spirits dwell in it and do not permit it to be pure; each of them
brings to fruition its own works, and they treat it abusively by means of
unseemly desires. To me it seems that the heart suffers in much the same
way as an inn: for it has holes and trenches dug in it and is often filled
with filth by men who live there licentiously and have no regard for the
place because it belongs to another.”°
Only by the revelation of the Son can the human heart return to a
state of purity and sanctification. In the individual the process experienced
by Adam, the first man, is repeated. The demiurgic powers had created
him according to their own image. But that creature said things above
its own condition, because a spiritual force had been introduced into it,
‘the seed of higher substance’. The fragment of Valentinus states, in
fact, that ‘Adam, formed in the name of Man, aroused the fear of pre-
existent Man.’7!
This detail is not unimportant. Here too the model for the creation
of Adam is supplied by the higher Anthropos, the celestial archetype of
terrestrial humankind. But it is no longer the image of the Anthropos
that manifests itself to the Archons.
The anthropogonic account of the Ophites in Irenaeus helps towards
an understanding of how the Valentinian expression ‘in the name of
Man’ is to be interpreted. When Ialdabaoth, at the end of his demiurgic
activity, exclaims, ‘J am the Father and God, and there is no other
beside me’, Sophia the Mother, hearing him, cries out:
‘Do not lie, Ialdabaoth, for there is above you the Father of all, the First
Man, and the Man the Son of Man.’ When all were thrown into confusion
at the new voice and the unexpected proclamation, and were asking where
the cry came from, to divert them and keep them with him, they say that
Jaldabaoth said: ‘Come, let us make a man in our image.’ When the six
powers heard — their mother gave them the thought of man, so that
through him she might empty them of their original power — they came
together and fashioned a man, of enormous length and breadth.”*
The reaction of the Archons is merely to listen, for the theme of the
appearing and the luminous image is missing. What now disturbs them
is not seeing the forms, but hearing the name of the higher Anthropos.
Thus, every possibility of anthropomorphism, which inevitably
accompanies the theme of God—Anthropos is avoided. The Archons
form psychic Adam. The purpose of this formation does not conceal
within it (unlike the Sethian anthropogonic texts) any intention of attack
or capture of the light that has appeared.’?
The true, if not the only, protagonist has now become the Mother.
The Demiurge appears, guided, so to speak, from within: as in a
technically sophisticated robot, the ‘program’ of creation is put into him
via the abstract symbol of the idea. Thus, the way is open for a still
purer and more immaterial creation ‘in the name of Man’.
Valentinus’ disciples pushed to its limits this tendency to remove the
inner mythical content from the anthropogonic account. In their attempt
to arrive at a clear, unequivocal exegesis of the myth, they had to
sacrifice to the clarity of the logos typical features of the Sethian
anthropogonic accounts: the effective tonal quality of the chief characters,
the correlative emotional dynamic, the dramatic vitality of the scene,
the multiplicity of symbols. This is how Ptolemy presents the creation
of man, in a precise but dry, pedantic fashion:
When [the Demiurge] had formed the world, he made the choice man,
not out of this present dry land, but out of the invisible substance, the
liquid and flowing part of matter, and into him he breathed the psychic
man, and this is he who came into being ‘after the image and likeness’:
‘after the image’ means the material similar to God, but not of the same
substance; ‘after the likeness’ is the psychic man, whose substance is also
called ‘spirit of life’, deriving from spiritual emanation.’*
That this is not simply a distorted view of the heresiological source is

confirmed by a brief comparison with parallel passages of the Tripartite
Tractate. The Logos—Sophia uses the Demiurge like a hand, to beautify
and to make the things of the lower world ready.”> The Demiurge
pronounces the things, and they come into existence as images of
spiritual beings.”° The same procedure is repeated in the creation of
man. The Demiurge is moved invisibly by the spiritual world, which in
this way brings its plan to fulfilment.”” “Those of the right’ and ‘those
of the left’, the psychic and hylic elements, participate in the formation
of man, while Adam’s spiritual soul is added by the breath of the
unwitting Demiurge.’”® The first man is therefore a mixed creation, a
deposit of ‘those of the right’ and ‘those of the left’. But at the same
time, with the substance from which he derives his being, he possesses
a spiritual reality.
Ji
Mysterium Coniunctionis: The
Gnostic Saviour
THE DATA
In the Gospel of Philip the Lord invites the disciple to Gnosis with these
words: ‘Go into your chamber and shut the door behind you and pray
to your Father who is in secret, the one who is within them all. But
that which is within them all is the fullness. Beyond it there is nothing
else within it.’! The fullness of Gnosis is, therefore, within reach of the
Gnostic, provided that he is able to close the door behind himself, that
is, to abstract himself from the senses, the preoccupations, the deceptive,
illusory, daily battles, immersing himself in that inwardness in which
the secret of his true nature and origin is hidden.
The Book of Thomas the Contender (NHC II.7),? a dialogue between
the resurrected Jesus and Judas Thomas, contains an invitation from
Jesus to Thomas? to Gnosis, which symbolizes the process whereby
every Gnostic is to be illuminated:
Examine yourself that you may understand who you are, in what way
you exist, and how you will come to be. Since you are called my brother,
it is not fitting that you be ignorant ... you have already come to know,
and you will be called the ‘one who knows himself’. For he who has not
known himself has known nothing. But he who has known himself has
. already achieved knowledge about the Depth of the All.*
An interior process, Gnosis appears in these passages at the same time

as a process of self-redemption. In a text transmitted by Hippolytus, the
Epistle to Theophrastus, which he attributes to a certain Monoimus the
Arab, a typical representative of the so-called triadic systems and a lover
of arithmetical speculation, we read:
102 Mysterium Coniunctionis: The Gnostic Saviour
Cease to seek after God and creation and things like these, and seek after
yourself of yourself and learn who it is who appropriates all things within
you without exception and says, ‘My God, my mind, my thought, my
soul, my body’. And learn whence comes grief, and rejoicing and love
and hatred, and waking without intention, and sleeping without intention,
and anger without intention, and love without intention. If you consider
these things carefully, you will find yourself within yourself... and will
find the outcome of yourself.°
Monoimus could not have been clearer. Like the Saviour to Thomas,
he recalls to the Gnostic that salvation depends on oneself. The same
revelation is made to Zostrianos (in the text of that name) during his
celestial voyage by Ephesek, a pleromatic entity who describes the
confused situation and obscurity in which the Gnostic finds himself
before interior illumination.® The true being of Zostrianos is, in fact,
dispersed in the thousand streams of becoming: ‘instead of becoming
one, he assumes many forms once again.’’ To turn to the existent means
to seek things that do not exist in reality and to undergo a process of
reification: ‘When he falls down to these in thought and, being powerless,
knows them in another way, unless he receives the light, he becomes a
product of nature.’® In this way, though having in himself an eternal
power, the Gnostic becomes a slave of the body: ‘he is always bound
with cruel and cutting chains, through every evil breath, until he acts
again and approaches being in himself.’
The soul of the Gnostic, who lives and suffers the pains and sufferings
known to every soul, to every believer, seems therefore to possess a
distinctive trait which lies in its potentiality to find in itself that power
and those wings that will enable it to transcend the illusory passions of
this world. Gnosis, cultivated therefore in its constituent soteriological
potentiality, seems not to be unaware of the need for the redeemer figure
of a Saviour.
Thus we come to perhaps the most difficult, delicate and complex
problem in the entire Gnostic dossier: the nature, functions and origin
of the Gnostic Saviour. That a Saviour figure appears in many texts (as
we have mentioned already and shall see later) is not surprising. It is
clear from the Valentinians that the figure has his origins in the Christian
Saviour. But in the case of non-Christian or only superficially Christian
texts, the question is a little more difficult.
The question is far from having found a clear, satisfactory answer.!°
If Gnosis is a form of saving knowledge, such as to render superfluous
the figure of a Saviour, Gnostic knowledge can certainly appear as a
variant, though perhaps the most radical and logical, of a cognitive
Mysterium Coniunctionis: The Gnostic Saviour 103
ethos typical of Hellenistic thought, the most complete expression of its
mystique of inwardness.!!
The figure of a personal Saviour, which was introduced later, would
therefore not belong to the original nucleus of the system and so ought
not to obscure the original outlines of the structure.
This argument, put forward on several occasions, some years ago
found a particularly effective formulation in A. Nygren’s Agape and
Eros.'2 The point of departure was a lively polemic against those
tendencies of the history of religions that, at the beginning of the century,
had interpreted Christian origins in the light of the religious traditions
contemporary with and prior to them, immersing the specific features
of the Gospel, by means of parallels that were too often mere guesswork
or superficial, in the great magma of Hellenistic religions. Nygren
attempted to recover the peculiar nature of the Christian message by
means of the conceptual pair erds and agapé, erotic and spiritual love.
Only the second type of love was properly Christian, while the first
revealed, in its most complete Platonic expression, the pagan conceptions
of divine love. Gnostic soteriology was now characterized by erds, not
by agapé. It is true that for Gnostics Jesus Christ is the only Redeemer:
. and so they can lay claim to be reckoned as Christians. On the other

hand, the Christian element would be overestimated, if the part played
here by Christ the Saviour were supposed to indicate a Christian conception
of salvation. The whole Gnostic doctrine is built upon the Eros scheme,
and the thought of Christ is introduced without destroying this scheme.
Salvation means nothing but the deliverance of the spirit from the toils
of matter ... Power to ascend to the divine life exists already in the
imprisoned human spirit; it only needs to be awakened and made more
effective.!*
Nygren has gone straight to the heart of the problem. Gnosis appears
to him to be a kind of typically erotic knowledge, directed above, as it
were from below, able to provide itself with the wings, the passion and
force necessary to raise it up to the kingdom of the divine.
But who will reawaken and activate this potentiality? Here theological
prejudice played a cruel trick on Nygren (and on many other interpreters).
The primacy and uniqueness of the Christian Saviour did not allow
contrasts or possible rivals. But do Gnostic texts really go in this
direction?
As in many other historiographical controversies, the problem of the
Gnostic Saviour may well be a false problem. From a methodological
point of view, it is above all a problem of definition. What exactly
should we understand by the term ‘saviour’? If this entity is defined in
purely Christian terms, i.e. how God became incarnate to redeem
mankind of its sins, one obtains a definition able to fit only into a
Christian situation or one deeply influenced by Christianity. But this
situation is too narrow for the historical reality under discussion. Indeed
one cannot ignore the fact that, in the historical-religious context in
which Gnosticism arose and developed, various sotér, or saviour, figures
existed that were not assimilable to the Christian sotér. And non-
Christian Gnosticism possessed its own soteric figures too.'* To these
we must now turn our attention, once again allowing the texts to speak
for themselves.
It will be remembered that Ephesek had revealed to Zostrianos that
he had to become Gnostic in order to free himself from the cruel
bondage of evil, i.e. to reach genuine being by an inner process of his
own. The invitation extended to Zostrianos must not, however, be
considered in isolation: doesn’t Zostrianos perhaps receive revelations
coming from a higher being? Doesn’t the rapport with Ephesek exemplify
perhaps that between the Gnostic and his Revealer-Saviour? And indeed,
Ephesek continues, recalling to Zostrianos the existence of powers
responsible for saving the Gnostics:
. these same powers exist in the world. Within the Hidden Ones
corresponding to each of the aeons stand glories, in order that he who is
in [the world] might be safe beside them. The glories are perfect thoughts
living with the powers; they do not perish because they are models of
salvation by which each one is saved when he receives them. He receives
a model and strength through the same (power), and with the glory as a
helper he can thus pass out from the world.!°
This is the hidden part of the Gnostic soteriological iceberg. The

process of salvation, which is revealed in the very heart of the Gnostic
through the acquisition of a knowledge that is certainly in itself salvific,
is placed in being, if, and only if, a revealing, illuminating force intervenes
from outside. For Gnosis is principally a cry from above, light from the
light world of the Pleroma. By himself the Gnostic is incapable of
salvation. Gnosis is revealed knowledge, divine charis, or love, charity,
which springs from the compassionate heart of the Father. It therefore
requires a Revealer, the Gnostic ster.
All this will become clearer if we turn briefly to the existential situation
of the Gnostic. By their anthropological constitution they are prisoners
of demonic powers. Equally, one can say of their cosmic Dasein, or
existence: cast down to live, not only in a body, but also in a cosmos
dominated by hostile, clever forces continually seeking their destruction,
how could they escape from this closed universe except through the
intervention of an external power? The Authentikos Logos relates that
the soul is food for malevolent, diabolical powers. How could it be
freed from the net in which it is enmeshed unless the Father’s pity
intervened?! Using the image of spiritual matrimony, the Exegesis of
the Soul (NHC IL6) recounts this particular myth. The soul repents of
having prostituted itself to the powers and passions of this world:
But since she is female, by herself she is powerless to beget a child. From
heaven the Father sent her her man, who is her brother, the first-born.
Then the bridegroom came down to the bride. She gave up her former
prostitution and cleansed herself of the pollutions of the adulterers, and
she was renewed so as to be a bride. She cleansed herself in the bridal
chamber; she filled it with perfume; she sat in waiting for the true
bridegroom.'”
The descent of Nous Illuminator is the necessary counterpart of the

ascent of the soul. The Gnostic concept of soteriology is the result of
these two vectors and these two poles in continuous tension; of a will
predisposed, longing for salvation, and of a soteriological function
destined to realize it.
These two components make up Gnostic soteriology and at the same
time enable it to remain distinct from contemporary ideas of salvation.!8
The movement from above, mythologically expressed in the theme of
the call and the descent of a Revealer, helps to distinguish it from the
typical features of Hellenistic soteriology, in which the gods did not
intervene except at the request of humans:
In his misfortune he sought gods who were able to bring him good
fortune; no longer good fortune due to chance, but that which was
acquired by personal merit. A man had to be able to follow the divine
example, otherwise he would be excluded from salvation; he must have
complete faith and trust in the deity who, in his turn, demanded service
from a slave or soldier, certain ethical standards and, from the intellectual,
the knowledge necessary to enter into closer contact.!?
Even in a case like this, which may appear privileged and more
spiritualized, the relations with the divine world did not tend for this
reason to become personalized, or the content to change in substance.
We have seen that the period was bursting with revelations. But these
continue to develop in a quite earthly horizon, helping, as they do,
towards the liberation from contingent evils and not from evil as such.
And also in the case of a purer religiosity, such as that of the mysteries,
the relations of the initiate with God ‘do not differ in their nature from
traditional relations. The gift of God is not God himself.’*°
Even where pagan wisdom, as in Epictetus, seems to reach its most
conscious, profound expressions in its submission to the divine, it is
always a conception of salvation dominated not by a personal God,
who is compassionate to humankind and willing to descend among
them, but by an abstract, impersonal philosophical principle.*! The God
of the Gnostics is different from the God of Epictetus and Marcus
Aurelius. And this difference is the reason for the divergent soteriological
conceptions. Even in the Neoplatonic doctrines, which develop a concept
of salvation as liberation from matter and ascent to the higher world
through successive stages of psychological ‘stripping’, exemplified in the
celestial journey of the soul, there remain essential differences.?7 For the
Gnostic the ascent is made necessary by the fall into matter of the
spiritual substance that now has to be recovered. The sending of a
Revealer and Saviour is necessary for this.
Moreover, the predisposition of the spiritual substance to be saved?*
and its natural affinity with the substance of the Saviour constitute as
many differences between Gnostic and Christian soteriology. The Gnostic
Saviour does not come to reconcile humankind with God, but to reunite
the Gnostic with himself. He does not come to pardon a sin that the
Gnostic cannot have committed, but to rectify a situation of ignorance
and deficiency and to re-establish the original plenitude. The Gnostic
Saviour comes to save himself.?*
In the opening scenes of Pistis Sophia the Apostles surrounding Jesus
find themselves in a special relationship with him. Jesus has come to
save them. But how? And why? The reply is given by Jesus himself:
because they are originally part of his own strength. This is what the
Gnostic Saviour reveals to the astonished disciples, after ascending to
heaven to put on the garment of light that contains all the mysteries of
the Supreme Being, the Ineffable One, a garment he had been obliged
to abandon in order to become incarnate in the earthly Jesus.*> The
Revealer had in fact from the beginning chosen the Apostles as assistants
in his mission of salvation, in accordance with the will of the First
Mystery.2° Thus, when he had come down into the world, he had
brought with him twelve forces (which come from the twelve pleromatic
saviours) and introduced them into the bodies of the earthly mothers
of the Apostles:
These forces were given to you before all the world, because it is you
who will save the world and so that you may be able to bear the threat
of the archons of the world and the sufferings of the world and its dangers
and persecutions that the archons above will bring upon you... All men
who are in the world have received souls from the strength of the archons
of the aeons, but the strength which is in you comes from me.?”
Enlightening his disciples and forming in them the pneumatic reality

that represents the Man of Light,?* the Gnostic Saviour of the Pistis
Sophia does no more than recover that part of himself, his spiritual
substance, that had fallen prisoner to the darkness.*?
If this example helps to clarify the nature of Gnostic soteriology, it
still leaves unsolved the question of the relationship between the Gnostic
sotér and his Christian counterpart. To find an answer to this problem,
we must now turn to the Poimandres, the first treatise in the Hermetic
corpus, a typical example of pagan Gnosis devoid of Christian influence,
with which the Corpus Hermeticum opens.
THE CASE OF POIMANDRES
We have already mentioned the typically Gnostic structure of thought

that underlies the opening vision. The revealer, Poimandres, is the
general and archetypal Nous, to whom Hermes’ nous is only a particular
manifestation. What Hermes sees in his mind is therefore a reality that
he possesses potentially within himself, the world of divine powers that
now appears to him unfolded in all its richness. This vision is the source
of a truly mythical account, as evocative as it is original.
The first God, Nous or Intellect, is androgynous. Light and Life, male
function and female substance, coexist in him. His goodness itself makes
him generate a second God, a most beautiful Anthropos, with whom
he falls in love and to whom he entrusts all his creatures.*° This is the
preface to the later anthropological drama. As to cosmology, the use of
certain creation themes?! conceals typically Gnostic elements. The ideal
world of the divine powers, analogous in this respect to the world of
Platonic ideas, though differing from it in the dynamic character of the
powers that form it, will supply the exemplar of the cosmos. Matter
originates in an internal process of schism.*? A gloomy, terrifying
darkness, like a serpent, is formed and occupies the lower regions. It is
primordial matter; it is damp, hurled about in an unspeakable way,
exhales smoke and utters inarticulate cries; it is proof of the irrationality
of the physis, or the natural, awaiting the logos, to make order, and
the intervention of a demiurge.** And in fact the cosmogonic process is
entrusted to two divine hypostases: the Logos, representing and synthesiz-
ing the rationality of the divine plan, and the Demiurge, the instrument
entrusted with its fulfilment.
As heir to this Platonic tradition, the Hermetic Demiurge is not
burdened with the same negative traits as his Gnostic counterpart. First,
he forms the seven governors, the seven planetary spheres, ruled by
heimarmené, or fate. Set in motion, these spheres in their turn are
responsible for later generations in the lower elements: irrational animals,
birds, fish, wild and domestic beasts.** Thus the eee is ready to
receive its ruler: the man.
The creation of the man is the outcome of the fall of Anthropos from
the celestial spheres into the seductive, but mortal, embraces of Physis,
lower Nature. But why does he abandon the kingdom of light? The
answer to this basic question is both simple and complex: because this
was his role in the divine plan and because he could not help falling.
Like the heroes in magical fables, the Hermetic Anthropos has a bundle
of obligations written into his script: leaving the family home, meeting
the adversary, seduction and oblivion. Only when all is lost, when the
hero appears to have reached the depth of despair, can the machine
that will save him be set in motion.
In the Poimandres, characteristically, what sets off the process of the
fall of Anthropos is his desire to imitate the Demiurge. Thus from the
outset his natural propensity towards the cosmic sphere is clear. When
he arrives among the seven governors, they fall in love with him and
each one gives him part of his own state. The planetary qualities he has
assumed meanwhile have the inevitable effect of making his descent
possible.*° Cosmogonic er6s, which animates him, is at this point fatal
to him. He then
leant out across the celestial spheres, after having pierced the outer
covering that envelops them and showed lower nature the beautiful form
of the god. When nature saw the Man, who had in himself the beauty
that can never satisfy and all the active force of the ministers of the
heavens, together with the divine form, she smiled with love, because she
had discerned in the water the form of the marvellous beauty of Man
and the shadow of it on earth. Man, in his turn, having seen this form
like himself, present in nature and reflected in the water, fell in love with
it and wanted to live there. In the same moment that he wanted something,
it happened. He descended thus to live in the form without reason.
Nature, having welcomed the loved one, enveloped him completely and
they became one, for they burned with love for each other.*°
Eros, the hidden protagonist of the story, thus transformed himself

imperceptibly from the positive strength that had bound the Father to
the Anthropos, through a series of falls, into the potentially negative
element that binds immortal Anthropos to Nature. Rather, the eros that
pushes Anthropos down seems to be a narcissistic eros. And, in fact, the
seduction scene that takes place before our eyes conceals various motifs
that are interwoven to the extent that they merge into the symbolic
multiplicity and the pregnancy of mythical images.*” Man shows to the
lower powers his image reflected in the waters; it is the theme, already
known to us, of an epiphany of an image of the Anthropos. Even now
it performs an anthropogonic function; the outcome of this epiphany
will, in fact, be union with Nature and the generation of seven primordial
androgynes, founders of the human race. After them that fundamental
unity of androgyny will be broken to which from now on man will
have to aspire to return.
Enter the narcissistic motif. Anthropos seems to want to unite with
himself: or rather, to the female part of himself that he sees projected
in the waters, a symbol of the female generative capacity. He thus
becomes present and absent in Nature; present, because part of him is
now prisoner here; but absent, in that his divine reality is not
compromised by it. On the other hand, in this strange game of mirrors,
Nature receives only the reflected forms of Man. And their embrace
seems to recall the embrace of Amor and Psyche, who were allowed to
unite, but only on condition that Psyche did not see directly the radiant
beauty of her lover, for she was unable to cope with it. This is the
contradictory situation of humanity after the Fall. Though humans are
immortal and have dominion over everything, they suffer from the
mortal condition, subject as they are to destiny. Their intellect, which
comes from the Light of the Father, is male; their psyche, which comes
from Life, is female; their body, which is a product of Nature, is
mortal.38
In this tripartite anthropology the soul functions as the seat of free
will. On the one hand are humans, capable of recognizing themselves
and rediscovering in themselves the presence of nous, an intellect of
divine origin, which everybody, according to a line of thought typical
of the Greek philosophical tradition, is potentially capable of possessing.
On the other hand, those who have preferred the body instead, the
product of love’s error; they are destined to remain in the darkness,
‘wandering and suffering in their senses what is associated with death’.*?
But how is it possible to recognize in oneself the presence of nous,
the source of knowledge? The reply to this question contains the solution
to the problem that concerns us: is there a Saviour figure in the
Poimandres and what is his nature? At first the reply appears too
obvious. Who is Poimandres if not the very intellect of Hermes caught
in its archetypal nature? What is the vision of Hermes if not the
projection onto the auxiliary screen of myth of a process of inner
excavation, in which the intellect of the individual succeeds in recognizing
that it belongs to a more general reality, the universal and archetypal
Intellect? Accordingly, is not the movement of Gnosis a mechanism of
inner self-recognition, in which the figure of Poimandres is a narrative
copy and not a concrete soteriological reality? This reasoning, however,
is only partly convincing.
The basic revelation received by Hermes is riot only a subjective
experience, as might appear to a modern psychological interpretation.
The meeting with the self is always, for the ancient Gnostic, a meeting
with the Other Than Me. If it is true that the general Intellect comprises
the particular intellects, the opposite is not true. Only by encountering
a reality that transcends them (as they believe, and find by experiment)
are the Gnostics in turn able to transcend this world of contingency,
starting with the particularity and individuality of their intellect.
Therefore Poimandres appears to Hermes to be, and really is, a soteric
figure.
He is a special type of sotér. We are certainly not dealing with a
historical person seen in the richness of his concrete humanity. Poiman-
dres’ soteric virtues are quite different from those of the Christian
Saviour. But is it necessary to define the Saviour figure only in terms
of Christianity?
The case of the Poimandres teaches us that, in a religion of salvation
such as Gnosis, the figure of the Saviour can also be presented in more
or less abstract forms, figures and functions that correspond better to
requirements that may be purely intellectual, but are not without their
mythical concreteness or ability to affect the life of the individual
Gnostic. And it is with this hypothesis that we can now try to broach
the intricate question of the Saviour in the mythical accounts of the
Sethians.
SETH THE SAVIOUR
The first chapters of the book of Genesis in which Seth is mentioned

come from two sources, according to modern criticism: P (Priestly
Codex) and J (Jahweh Codex).4° P comprises Gen. 1:1—2: 4a, which
deals with the creation of heaven and earth in six days; chapter 5 contains
the genealogy of Seth from Adam, who fathered a son in his image and
likeness after 130 years, to the birth of Shem, Ham and Japheth, the
sons of Noah; finally, chapter 6:9ff. tells the story of Noah the Just.
P does not mention Cain and Abel, but speaks instead of Seth as the
only son of Adam, whose descendants end with Noah and his sons.
J comprises chapter 2:4b—4:26: it is the story of Adam’s life in Paradise,
the origin of Eve, the Fall, the expulsion from Paradise, the birth of
Cain and Abel and the death of Abel. Gen. 4:25 adds that God
then gave Adam a new seed with the birth of Seth. Both traditions seem
to attribute an important role to Seth. And this must also have been
true of the ancients, who knew nothing of modern Biblical criticism.
There are various indications of the privileged position that Seth must
have occupied in the theological reflections and speculations of certain
groups of so-called inter-testamental Judaism, both Palestinian and of
the Diaspora.*! The origins of the Gnostic Seth are to be found in this
world.*? The importance of this figure in the present line of enquiry
obliges us to consider one or two more points.
It is clear from the anthropogonic accounts that ancient interpreters
too had some difficulty with the discrepancies and contrasts in the text
of Genesis, which modern Biblical criticism has assigned to two sources.
There are similar difficulties also about the interpretation of Adam’s
descendants. We must now consider both these and the special nature
of Seth.
While the Greek translation of the Septuagint rendered the original
text literally with sperma heteron (other seed), certain Targumim contrast
the genealogies of Cain (Gen. 4:17—24) and of Seth (Gen. 5:6-32). This
creates significant differences of interpretation. For example, Targum
Jonathan 5.1—3 does not consider Cain to be a son of Adam and seems
to regard the genealogy of Seth as the only true one. This interpretation
seems to be confirmed further in some passages of Genesis Rabbah,
according to which Cain and Abel were really the sons of the Devil and
Seth was the only true son of Adam.* In the Pirké of Rabbi Eliezeer
it is further maintained that Samael was joined to Eve, who then
conceived. Cain, the fruit of this marriage, was the father of a wicked
race.*© Rabbi Simeon says that ‘from Seth were born and descended all
the generations of the just. From Cain were born and descended all the
generations of the wicked.’*” There seems to be a similar conception
underlying 1 Enoch 85—90. It is the description of a vision in which Enoch
sees the beginning of history, from the time of the creation of the world
to the coming of the Messiah. In the symbolism typical of the apocalyptic
genre, animals represent humans. In the antediluvian period, which
concerns us here, Seth is described as a white bull and the people of
Israel as nation of white bulls, and the Messiah too is a white bull. But
the rest of humanity is symbolically represented as a collection of black
oxen,*® which ‘suggests that Seth is regarded as the Father of the chosen
race and, ultimately, of the Messiah.’*?
Elsewhere Seth is also considered to have had special knowledge of
the events preceding the expulsion of Adam from Paradise. This is what
the Books of Adam and Eve tell us. It must, however, be remembered
that, according to the texts, this knowledge was not transmitted to
Seth’s generation.°°
It is not surprising that echoes of these traditions recur in a typical
representative of Hellenistic Judaism such as Philo of Alexandria. Several
times in De posteritate Caini he touches upon thé. nature of Seth and
the generation that follows him. From Cain only the wicked could have
descended. Therefore (a typical allegorical interpretation) all lovers of
virtue are descendants of Seth.>! Indeed, he is the ‘seed of human virtue’,
sown by God.°? Thus, the descendants of Seth are not confined merely
to the antediluvian, but in fact include the whole of humanity. This
interpretation seems in some way to anticipate, even if on a purely
ethical level, the divisions of caste within humanity favoured by the
Gnostics.
The Apocalypse of Adam is a good example of how Gnostic reflections
on Seth are based on traditions like those of so much Jewish apocryphal
literature, in which Seth appears as the repository (but not yet the
revealer) of esoteric knowledge.
But in the Apocryphon of John hierarchical promotion has already
taken place. It will be recalled that Christ created four luminaries.
Adamas, prototype of Adam, is placed in the first; Seth in the second;
his descendants in the third. Only in the Gospel of the Egyptians,
however, does Seth rise to a role of the first rank and is clearly identified
with the Saviour. This text, represented in the Nag Hammadi collection
by two versions,°? is a typical mythological treatise in which, after the
description of the pleromatic world, the history of the salvation of a
Sethian group is outlined. It was the divine Seth himself who composed
this esoteric work:
The great Seth wrote this book with letters in one hundred and thirty
years. He placed it in the mountain that is called Charaxio, in order that,
at the end of the times and eras, by the will of the divine Autogenes and
the whole pleroma, through the gift of the untraceable, unthinkable,
fatherly love, it may come forth and reveal this incorruptible holy race
of the great savior, and those who dwell with them in love, and the great
invisible eternal Spirit and his only begotten Son, and the eternal light
and his great, incorruptible consort, and the incorruptible Sophia and the
Barbelon and the whole pleroma in eternity. Amen.**
The place occupied by Seth in the pleromatic hierarchy of the text is

not unlike that assigned to him in the Apocryphon of John. What the
text specifies and emphasizes is his salvific role. After the initial triad
of the Father, Mother/Barbelo, Son (each of whom has an ogdoad of
powers, all of them surrounded by Domedon Doxomedon, an aeon that
envelops the world of light) comes from Christ, the thrice male; then
the male virgin, Youel, and the child Esephech. Finally, the Logos, the
son of the great Christ, appears. He generates Mirotheo, who in his
turn produces Adamas of Light: ‘The incorruptible man Adamas asked
for them a son out of himself, in order that he (the son) may become
father of the immovable, incorruptible race.’°*> Then Manifestation
appears, the aeon whose job it is to generate the four luminaries
Harmozel, Oroiael, Davithe, Eleleth and the ‘great incorruptible Seth,
the son of Adamas, the incorruptible man’.*°
Among the events that will mark the stages of the history of the
salvation of the group, the text specifies those events that pose a threat
to the seed of Seth. A flood will be sent
for the consummation of the aeon. But it will be sent into the world
because of this race. A conflagration will come upon the earth. And grace
will be with those who belong to the race through the prophets and the
guardians who guard the life of the race. Because of this race famines
will occur and plagues. But these things will happen because of the great,
incorruptible race. Because of this race temptations will come, a falsehood
of false prophets.°”
The great Seth, aware of these dangers to his seed, calls upon the
higher powers to give him guardians to protect the ancestry of the elect.
Four hundred angels are sent, with the great Seth himself at their head.
He endures the three parousiae, or presences (flood, conflagration and
judgement of the Archons) ‘to save her [the race] who went astray,
through the reconciliation of the world and the baptism through a
Logos-begotten body which the great Seth prepared for himself, secretly
through the virgin.’°* Seth, thus represented as the living Jesus, is ready
for the Passion. By the crucifixion of Jesus he defeats the archontic
powers of the thirteen aeons and equips his followers with an invincible
Gnosis.
The figure of the Saviour here is clearly influenced by Christian
soteriology, but at the same time the idea that Jesus could be only one
of the manifestations of Seth confirms the statements, however confused,
recorded by the heresiologists.°? The idea of a saving power of pleromatic
origin, which assumes various forms throughout the history of salvation,
is not specifically Christian.°° On the contrary, it is traceable in other
Sethian texts, thus confirming a soteric dynamism written into the very
logic of the system and independent of possible Christian influence.
An example of this is found in the Apocryphon of John. The real
protagonist of the Genesis story is substantially the Epinoia of Light.
Both Adam and the Archons appear as puppets whose strings are
manipulated by this heavenly messenger of the Father’s mercy. She is
Epinoia, an intellectual hypostasis responsible for carrying out the
project conceived by the Father in his pronoia, or forethought, before
all time and applying it to humankind. Is it any wonder that some
Gnostics once again invested with divinity the mental functions and
faculties through which the process of Gnosis is realized and which they
conceive as the reflection in the human mind of all that happened at
that time in the mind of God? And more: the Epinoia in our text moves
simultaneously on two levels: as salvator, or Saviour, and as salvanda,
or the one to be saved.:As salvator she witnesses the whole of creation.
But whom else does she awaken to Gnosis if not herself? The Tree of
Knowledge, in fact, is Epinoia herself. Eating of it, Adam learns of his
superiority to the Demiurge. Thus, Epinoia has a countermove to every
attack made by the Archons on the First Formed and the spiritual
substance in him. Epinoia is a quick-change artist, able to assume the
most diverse roles, from eagle to Eve. She also conceals herself in Adam
as his spiritual substance in its female dimension of life.
This last characteristic confirms her androgynous nature. As salvanda,
as the spiritual dimension and substance present in man, she is passive
in the female sense, the bride awaiting the arrival of her spiritual
bridegroom, that is, her male dimension responsible in his illuminating
function for the recovery of the scattered spiritual substance.
The treatise, in its longer recension, concludes deliberately with a
doxology on Epinoia, which deserves to be quoted: ‘I, therefore, the
perfect Pronoia of the all, changed myself into my seed, for I existed
first, going on every road. For I am the richness of the light; I am the
remembrance of the pleroma.’¢! She therefore came down to thé kingdom
of darkness, the prison of the Archons, which ultimately coincides with
the body. Reawakening the First Man, she has fulfilled the original
revelation, of which those that follow are only repetitions scattered in
time:
And I said, ‘He who hears, let him get up from the deep sleep.’ And he
wept and shed tears. Bitter tears he wiped from himself and he said, ‘Who
is it that calls my name, and from where has this hope come to me, while
I am in the chains of the prison?’ And I said, ‘I am the Pronoia of the
pure light; I am the thinking of the virginal Spirit, he who raised you up
to the honored place. Arise and remember that it is you who hearkened,
and follow your root, which is I, the merciful one, and guard yourself
against the angels of poverty and the demons of chaos and all those who
ensnare you, and beware of the deep sleep and the enclosure of the inside
of Hades.’
We could give more examples, but the substance would be the same.
In the Sethian texts there are different figures of the Revealer—Saviour
called upon to perform an identical function: to illuminate that part of
the spiritual substance fallen into the world of darkness. In the Hypostasis
of the Archons the great angel of light, Eleleth, introduces himself to
Norea with these words: ‘I ... am Eleleth, sagacity, the Great Angel
who stands in the presence of the Holy Spirit. I have been sent to speak
with you and save you from the grasp of the Lawless. And I shall teach
you about your Root.’*? Equally, Zostrianos is illuminated by the
messenger of the Knowledge of Eternal Light, which reminds him of his
origin as father of the elect race and invites him to make the celestial
journey.°*
This idea finds its most evocative expression in one of the most
interesting of the Coptic texts, the Trimorphic Protennoia (NHC
XIII.1).°° The Protennoia is none other than that primordial thought,
the first Ennoia, as a reflection of which the Father thought and
conceived his plan. Thus she is invisible and visible at the same time:
invisible, because concealed in the thought of the Invisible; visible,
because, as the spiritual breath that moves and activates every creature,
she represents the most complete manifestation of the Father:
I am the life of my Epinoia that dwells within every power and every
eternal movement and (in) invisible Lights and within the Archons and
Angels and Demons and every soul dwelling in [Tartaros] and (in) every
material soul. I dwell in those who come to be. I move in everyone and
I delve into them all. I walk uprightly, and those who sleep I [awaken].
And IJ am the sight of those who dwell in sleep ... Within my Thought,
it is I who am laden with the Voice. It is through me that knowledge
comes forth. [I] exist in the ineffable and unknowable ones. I am perception
and knowledge, uttering a Voice by means of Thought. [I] am the real
Voice. I cry out in everyone, and they know that a seed dwells within
[me]. I am the Thought of the Father and through me proceeded [the]
Voice, that is, the knowledge of the everlasting things. I exist as Thought
for the [All]. I am joined to the unknowable and intangible Thought. (It
was) I (who) revealed myself within all those who know me, for I am the
one joined with everyone within the hidden Thought and in an exalted
Voice.*°
The Protennoia descends moreover into ‘the world of mortals for the
sake of my portion that was in that place’®’ and completes the work
of salvation:
I shall tell you an ineffable and indivulgeable mystery from my Forethought:
Every bond I loosed from you, and the chains of the Demons of the
underworld I broke, these things which are bound on my members as
restraints. And the high walls of darkness I overthrew, and the secure
gates of those pitiless ones I broke, and I smashed their bars. And (as
for) the evil Force and the one who beats you, and the one who hinders
you, and the Tyrant, and the Adversary, and the one who is King, and
the real Enemy, indeed all these I explained to those who are mine, who
are the Sons of the Light, in order that they might nullify them all and
be saved from all those bonds and enter into the place where they were
at first.
I am the first one who descended on account of my portion which is
left behind, that is, the Spirit that (now) dwells in the Soul, but which
originated from the Water of Life. And out of the immersion of the
mysteries I spoke, I together with the Archons and Authorities. For I went
down below their language and I spoke my mysteries to my own — a
hidden mystery — and the bonds and eternal oblivion were nullified. And
I bore fruit in them, that is, the Thought of the unchanging Aeon, and
my house, and their [Father].°*
The various metamorphoses of the Protennoia also end in the meeting

with the earthly Jesus, whom she impersonates, freeing him from the
accursed cross and re-establishing him in the Father’s mansion.®? As in
other Sethian texts, this trespassing into the territory of Christian
soteriology is deceptive. Jesus is only one of many manifestations of a
revealing power, an illuminating dynamis, a soteric entity whose names
can change, whose epiphanies can vary, but whose substantial reality
remains the same in its structure. This structure is not Christian, because
its base is a God whose female dimension and spiritual substance
(scattered through the darkness) are waiting to be impregnated, enlight-
ened, regenerated by a saving male power. By uniting with his power,
the female dimension will be able to recover its own identity.
THE VALENTINIAN JESUS
The Sethian myths, then, reveal soteric functions and entities that arise
independently of any Christian influence and are embedded in the very
logic of a system that has arisen and established itself outside Christianity.
If there has been Christian influence, the meeting with the figure of the
Christian Saviour seems to have provided an opportunity to add one
more name to the list of soteric manifestations. Thus, the celestial Christ,
his pleromatic prototype, has been superimposed on the earthly Jesus.
Only in some cases has the influence been more profound and produced
effects that betray a major eschatological tension,”° a deepening of the
Saviour figure whose relations with the disciples acquire more purely
personal value.”!
The impression left by the Sethian texts is therefore one of radically
dualistic soteriology. Only the unwavering race,”* the race that knows
no king,’”* the seed of Seth’* has the promise of salvation from the
beginning. On the other hand, there is the anonymity of the psychics
and the hylics, the massa perditionis, or doomed mass, which has no
chance of escape. The intervention of different soteric figures has a
unique function in this context: to save the seed of the elect, the spiritual
descendants of Seth, from the irrevocable condemnation awaiting the
Demiurge and his creatures.
The encounter with the Christian Saviour, however, has profoundly
influenced the soteriology of other Gnostic groups: in particular, the
Valentinians. We learn from Hippolytus that a vision of the Logos
Christ is supposed to be fundamental to the teachings of the group’s
founder, Valentinus.”°> Hippolytus also reports a famous Valentinian
psalm: ‘Harvest.’® I see that everything is suspended for the spirit. I
observe that everything is transported through the spirit. Flesh is
suspended from the soul. The soul is transported by air. The air is
suspended from the ether. Fruits come forth from the abyss. An infant
comes forth from the uterus.’””
This reverse chain of being, against a typically Stoic background,’®
imagines the various elements of the sublunar world (‘flesh’, i.e. hylic
elements) and the Hebdomad (‘soul’, i.e. the psychic element, ‘air’, i.e.
the spiritual element outside the Pleroma, from which it is separated by
the limit, which is ether) chained to each other by the pneuma and
dependent on the pleromatic world. The fruits coming from the Abyss
and its matrix are none other than the Saviour, the perfect fruit of the
Pleroma, the népios, or infant, who spoke to Valentinus in his
fundamental visionary experience.
The figure of Jesus appears from time to time in the few extant
Valentinian fragments.’? But how very important he was in Valentinian
thought can be seen clearly in the Christological speculations of his
disciples.8°
Let us consider the structure of the Valentinian Pleroma. It is pervaded
by a key notion. The thirty aeons represent none other than the complex
personality of the Son in his articulations: the intellectual as Nous, the
logical as Logos, the anthropological as Anthropos. A manifestation of
the unknown, infinite, simple, formless Father, the Son, is distinguished
from him by his character of ‘person’. The aeons, psychologically distinct
and hierarchically ordered, reveal the real wealth of his perfections.
Their development, according to a rigorous order in rank, reveals from
the start the paradigmatic nature of the life of the higher Christ, which
will be made manifest in the life of the earthly Jesus.
The pre-existent Christ is the nerve centre, the heart of the secret life
of Valentinian Christology. It is guided by a basic idea, which must
always be taken into account if one is to pinpoint ‘its most important
difference (beyond or beneath the countless analogies and various points
of contact) from the Christological speculations of the second-century
church Fathers: the earthly life of Jesus is a visible manifestation of a
mysterium magnum, or great mystery, the clues to which are hidden in
the pleromatic myth. But there is also a fundamental difference with
regard to the ideas of salvation examined above. Valentinian Christology,
with its theological issues and psychological acuteness, is the product
of mature reflection, guaranteed by a brilliance in the sphere of Biblical
exegesis unparalleled in the second century. His is the Jesus of
the Gospels, the Jesus already foretold to some extent by the Old
Testament.®!
This interpretation naturally presupposes that for the Valentinians the
Old Testament does not have to be rejected as the work of a blind,
malevolent Demiurge, even if, unlike that of other Gnostics, their view
of Holy Writ does not extend to an altogether positive evaluation of
it.8? In a letter to Flora, a Gnostic follower, Ptolemy speculates:°? Who
is the author of the Law? The Supreme God, as some Christians would
have it, or the Devil? Neither, he replies. To prove this he adduces, as
is typical of his exegesis as that of a Christian Gnostic, ‘our Saviour’s
words, which alone permit us to approach without error the knowledge
of things’.8* If we leave the parts attributable to Moses and human
legislation, the author of the Law is the Demiurge, the just God, who
has given us a Law divided into three parts:
the pure legislation which is not mixed with evil, which is therefore
properly called ‘law’, which the Saviour came not to destroy but to fulfil
(Matt. 5:17] ... the law which is intertwined with baseness and injustice,
which the Saviour destroyed because it was not consonant with his nature.
The third division is that law which is exemplary and symbolic, that
which is ordained according to the image of the spiritual and transcendent
things. This the Saviour changed from being perceptible (to the senses)
and phenomenal into the spiritual and invisible.**
In the perspective of the Valentinian history of salvation, the phase

of the Old Testament dispensation represents the psychic moment in
which the plan of salvation is still transmitted to humanity indirectly,
through images and symbols, a phase that will be replaced by the coming
of Jesus which will institute the beginning of the pneumatic dispensation.
But actually in the Old Testament one can already find hints and
foreshadowings of the coming of the Saviour. The Jesus of the New
Testament, however, is not simply.one of the many manifestations of
impersonal pleromatic entities, but the only true definitive Saviour. Only
with him does the pneumatic dispensation begin.
On this point the Valentinians were certainly not far from contempor-
ary positions held in the True Church. The New Testament offered
them the framework of the principal external and historical events in .
the life of Jesus within which to assemble Christological reflections, even
if, as we have seen, the premisses from which they started and the
consequences of their exegesis were different from those of the Fathers.
Only Christ, the Son of God, appeared in their eyes to be capable of
liberating humanity and revealing Gnosis to them. This was the task
preordained for him by the Father. It was also a mission beyond the
competence of Sophia. Matter, however spiritual, being typically female
and therefore passive, was quite unable to perform the active, formative,
dynamic role of the Saviour. As the moon is confined to receiving the
sun’s rays, Sophia Achamoth had received in her encounter with the
Saviour-Sun his rays of light, the seeds of light that he had transmitted
to her. As for the satellite angels accompanying him, like the rays of
the sun, they are far from representing individuals or self-sufficient
entities, but they symbolize the dynamic richness of Jesus. They contain
within themselves the multiple celestial male images with which the
female spiritual substance, disseminated within Gnostics, was invited to
reunite, following the example of Sophia, in order to reconstitute the
original androgynous unity.°°
The Son therefore descends into the world to save the Church of the
Spiritual ones. He comes to struggle against the powers of evil,°” to
correct a situation of fundamental disorder,**® to triumph once and for
all over destiny. Indeed, heimarmené, or fate, rules over humankind:
[It] is the meeting of many, opposing powers. These are invisible and do
not appear; they regulate the course of the stars and govern through them
... through the fixed stars and the planets the invisible powers, which
are transported on them, administer and survey births .. . Every being is
born at a precise moment of its own through these powers, since the
dominant element fulfils the conditions of nature either at the beginning
or within sight of the end.*?
Theodotus, a Valentinian whose teachings have been preserved by

Clement of Alexandria in his Excerpts from Theodotus, does not diverge
in his astrological beliefs from common opinion: the stars regulate
human life through the coming together of occult powers. But he is not
a fatalist. In fact ‘the Lord offers us peace and frees us from such strife
and conflict between the powers. ...For this the Lord came down, to
bring the peace of heaven to those on earth.’”°
The first definitive defeat of the powers of destiny thus coincides with
the descent of the Saviour. The theme of the descent through the
seven heavens was very widespread in contemporary mythology and
philosophy.?! The Valentinians brought something new to it: he who
arrived, descending through the seven heavens, was the Saviour of the
world. The theme also helped, from the Valentinian point of view, to
underline the complex nature of the Saviour. To come down through
the various spheres necessarily involved (according to the pagan model
of the descent of the soul, of which we have already seen clear traces
in the psychology of the Poimandres) the assimilation of the powers
and qualities symbolized by the various planets, whose nature he
assumed. In the case of the Gnostic Jesus, this dynamic meant that he,
passing through the Ogdoad (the spiritual world of Sophia Achamoth),
the Hebdomad (the psychic world of the Demiurge and his planets) and
the sublunar zone (corresponding to the kingdom of matter), took upon
himself the elements that were supposed to make up his body.
‘Totum redemptum quod assumptum’ (all that is assumed is redeemed).
This golden rule of Christian soteriology applied also to Valentinian
soteriology. But with a fundamental difference. In his journey to the
world Jesus became a perfect microcosm, encapsulating in hierarchic
order the three elements that are mingled and confused in the world.
He came to save them, indeed to separate them, eliminating the confusion
and medley, in order to re-establish every element in the place assigned
to it by the laws of nature.”* The mysterium coniunctionis, or-mystery
of union, that was thus celebrated in the person of the Saviour did not,
however, prejudice his unity. It was a unique and identical Saviour who,
conceived in the bosom of the Father as the Only Begotten, sent forth
as the First Begotten of creation, took it upon himself to be born of
Mary and become man. There is thus a return to the triadic rhythm
popular in Gnostic thought. The Saviour, one person in three distinct
forms, possesses both in his cosmic dimension and in his anthropological
constitution a triple nature: pneumatic, psychic and hylic.
But, it might be asked, what relations could there ever have been
between the Saviour and matter? In reality, the various directions of the
Valentinian school, though diverging on many individual points, were
agreed in maintaining that the Saviour had assumed a body able to
render him visible, like earthly beings. But there was still the question
of what particular kind of body. Some thought that the body of Jesus
was psychic in nature. Thus Ptolemy: ‘For the fulfilment [of the
dispensation] he assumed a body that is psychic in substance, but made
with ineffable skill so as to be visible, perceptible and capable of
suffering. He assumed nothing hylic, however, for matter cannot receive
salvation.’?? But others who belonged to the oriental branch of the
school (according to Hippolytus) considered that Christ’s body was
purely spiritual:?* a further echo of the potential devaluation of the
psychic element, which is, however, a positive factor in the reflections
of thinkers of the western branch.
At the end of his descent from the heavens, the Saviour was ready to
be born of Mary. In some sense, he became incarnate. But behind the
term ‘flesh’, as is true of other terms the Gnostics shared with the True
Church, there are profoundly different conceptions. In the Valentinian
perspective the incarnation was not the goal, the culmination of a
mysterious divine process, but a part (and not even the most important
part) in the global mystery of the assumption, distinction and conser-
vation of substance and nature. So when the Gnostics spoke of Christ’s
sarx, or flesh, they simply meant his becoming human and making
himself a visible man. This process was not, however, an end in
itself. In the Valentinian dispensation of salvation it was rigidly and
hierarchically subordinate to the two more important moments of the
spiritualization of the Saviour — that is, of the assumption of spiritual
substance; and of his animation — that is, of the appropriation of the
soul or rational psyche.
In this way the Christian conception of the incarnation was finally
overturned. The end became the means of a more complex spiritual
dispensation. ‘And the Word was made flesh’ of John 1:14 did not
mean of course that Jesus was also made of a body and will of flesh,
but more simply that he assumed the visible body necessary for the
earthly phase of the saving dispensation of the Logos. From the Gnostic
point of view then, the problem of the incarnation was not posed as a
mystery of the personal communion of the Logos with human nature.
Before the virginal conception, which takes place in Mary’s womb, the
Logos was already united personally with psychic and spiritual sub-
stances, at the same time making itself spiritual and psychic man.”°
The crucial passage in Luke 1:35, in which the angel of the Lord,
announcing the birth of a son to Mary, adds, “The Holy Spirit will come
upon you and the power of the Most High will overshadow you’, merely
confirmed this interpretation. The Most High was none other than the
God of the Old Testament, the Demiurge; he provided the Saviour with
the psychic dimension, while the intervention of the Holy Spirit
guaranteed him the assumption of the pneumatic nature.”°
Thus the curtain could be raised on what to the Gnostic appeared
not the first, but the last, act of a cosmic drama: the assumption of a
visible body. By itself the problem of the Virgin Birth did not raise
special difficulties. Gnostically, the factor of virginity emphasized, in
both the pleromatic and the human worlds, the assumption of typically
male functions and qualities.?” More delicate and -bound to provoke
discussions and controversies was the evaluation of Mary’s contribution.
For some (and this can be said of most Christian Gnostics) Jesus was
truly born of Mary.?® If he had appeared in human form on earth with
the aim of saving man, he did so by assuming a real body and nature,
even if they were sui generis. As a result, his passion and death were
equally real, though they affected only the physical Jesus. This conception,
contrary to what the heresiologists maintained, was not docetist; Jesus
had not suffered in appearance only.?? However little the human element
in itself interested the Gnostics (for it was always doomed to be lost
because of its nature as adjunct and instrument), the carnal nature of
their Saviour was not the less real, even though it may have been
fleeting and transitory. But Jesus had not come to redeem it, but to
restore it to its true origin.
Some Valentinians, like Ptolemy, in contrast, did not accept the physical
birth of Jesus. Making use of an image from folklore traditions,!°° the
Valentinian doctor maintained that Christ ‘passed through Mary as
water passes through a tube.’!°! Thus Jesus’ human nature came to be
devalued. His body was not material, like that of the Virgin. His human
nature was therefore apparent and bound to deceive the Archons.
This disharmony between the various tendencies of the school did not
apply to the event in Jesus’ life that became central to the Gnostic
reinterpretation: the baptism in the waters of the Jordan. Only then did
the Saviour, whatever the true nature of his body was, assume in its
fullness the nature of Gnostic Redeemer.
Let us return to the events related of the pleromatic Son. They describe
the progressive fall of the higher Christ; in Gnostic terms, the systematic
triumph of his female dimension, which is celebrated by the sin of
Sophia. Jesus instigates a movement in the opposite direction which
aims to restore the original equilibrium. Thus if the movement in the
Pleroma starts from the virginal pneuma of the Father (essentially male)
and leads to the abortive movement of Sophia (exclusively female), the
life of Jesus will unfold in reverse order of perfection a minore ad maius,
_ or from the smaller to the greater. In the virgin birth Sophia intervenes
| as the Holy Spirit; this is the formation in substance. In the baptism in
_the Jordan the Spirit of the Father will appear in the form of a dove;
‘it is the moment of formation according to Gnosis.!°* After the ane
years of private life corresponding to, and modelled upon, the thirty
aeons of the Pleroma, Jesus is now ready to fulfil his work of redemption.
Thus baptism assumes a strategic importance in the Gnostic perspec-
tive: ‘Jesus revealed [on the banks of the Jordan] the fullness of the
kingdom of heaven.’!° ‘The Saviour was a bodily image of the unitary
one. He is the totality in bodily form.’!°* Upon Jesus the dove, a symbol
of the Son descends — Nous, who alone knows the Father and henceforth
can fulfil the task of salvation assigned to him: to transmit the knowledge
of the Father, for only the Son knows him.
The scene on the Jordan becomes a typical example of illumination.
Once again, in the heart of Jesus, the ideal Gnostic anthropos, there is
a repetition of the enlightening process already familiar to us. Before
the Jordan he is in a typically female state of passivity, weakness,
without form. The dove that descends on him illuminates him, forming
him and enabling him to acquire the ‘male’ dimension that will henceforth
determine his actions.
Seen in this perspective, the passion and death that crowned his
earthly life appear less important. What counts once again is the fact
that the Valentinians regard these events symbolically. The passion of
Jesus is not important either in itself or in its redemptive value, but
rather in the pleromatic reality it reflects, i.e. the passions of the Mother,
Sophia. Thus too the Cross is significant inasmuch as it reflects and
repeats the functions of the pleromatic Cross: the function of limit,
belonging to its horizontal dimension, which is also the function of
saving the human nature of Christ, which has been given back to its
destiny of death and corruption; and the opposing function, belonging
to its vertical dimension, of reuniting the lower with the higher
pneuma.'°°
This was also the Gnostics’ response to a possible objection. Had the
Saviour suffered? He had both suffered and not suffered. The physical,
human Christ died a real death on the Cross. But the higher Christ had
left him before that death. The pneumatic part of the Saviour had thus
become uniform with the rhythm of systolé and diastolé, or contraction
and dispersion, animating the spiritual circulation of the pleromatic
Anthropos. Having spread over Jesus at the time of the Jordan, the
pneumatic power now becomes concentrated and withdraws, receding
from the physical Christ abandoned to his mortal fate. Not that the
pneuma is separated substantially from Jesus; as the rays of the sun at
evening return to their source, ready to illuminate the earth again on
the following day, so the spiritual rays of the pleromatic world, having
withdrawn from Jesus at the moment of his passion and death, are now
ready to shine on the Resurrected One.'°°
The Resurrection thus conceals the final mystery of the Valentinian
Saviour. With the various natures restored to their origin, he who now
speaks to the disciples (the Valentinians liked to extend this period to
eighteen months) is the Gnostic Saviour in his spiritual purity and
perfection. If during his earthly ministry he still spoke in parables, in
keeping with his complex nature, from now on he will speak openly
and without any concealment. The mysterium coniunctionis is finally
dissolved.
OTHER GNOSTIC CHRISTOLOGIES
The Valentinian conception of the Saviour is imposing in its coherence,

profundity and systematization. The Valentinian texts at Nag Hammadi
have simply enriched and filled in the details of a design already known
in outline.'°7
Some of the other groups of Christian Gnostics, such as the Ophites
of Irenaeus, opened the way, with their speculation to the Christological
conceptions of the Valentinians themselves;'°* others, like Basilides,
took an independent, but, as we shall see, substantially parallel, line;
others, finally, are clearly indebted to Valentinian ideas.'!°? Given the
wealth of evidence here, the analysis will be confined to some important
texts now taking into account the variety of schools and tendencies and
adopting a more analytical approach.
The Apocalypse of Peter (NHC VII.3)!'° is of particular importance.
The Gnostic work, which has nothing to do with the second-century
Christian apocalypse of the same name, is a typical apocalypse,!"!
containing the report of a revelation to Peter while he was with the
Saviour, who interpreted it to him. Like the other texts found at Nag
Hammadi, the apocalypse directs a lively polemic not only against the
psychics of the True Church ‘who name themselves bishops and
deacons’,'!* but also against other Gnostic groups, ‘blind ones who
have no guide’.!!%
The first scene deals with the groups of hostile priests and with the
people who want to kill Jesus.!!'* The Saviour had come down to this
world without the knowledge of the Archons (and without forewarning
from the other prophets) to bring Gnosis to Peter, whom he had
chosen,'!° and to the other disciples. He had also come to warn him
of the traps that the Adversary, the Counterfeiter of Justice, had laid
for them. Peter is thus warned so that he can understand the tragic
events that are about to take place. The second scene!!° describes Peter’s
vision of the crucifixion. Those who come to kill Jesus do not actually
touch him. Peter asks who it is that is smiling on the Cross and who is
the other being tortured instead. The Saviour explains to him that the
one who is mocking is the living Jesus,!!” while he who is crucified is
a substitute, he who was born in the likeness of the living Jesus, but
whose body is doomed to death and corruption. The third, final vision!!®
concerns the Resurrection of Jesus in the Gnostic reinterpretation. Peter
now sees someone approaching the Apostles who resembles the one
smiling at the Archons from the Cross. He is the Saviour, filled with
the Holy Spirit, surrounded by a great, ineffable light, blessed by ranks
of invisible angels. Jesus interprets this text too, as follows:
Be strong [he says to Peter], for you are the one to whom these mysteries
have been given, to know them through revelation, that he whom they
crucified is the first-born, and the home of demons, and the stony vessel (?)
in which they dwell, of Elohim, of the cross which is under the Law.
But he who stands near him is the living Savior, the first in him, whom
they seized and released, who stands joyfully looking at those who did
him violence, while they are divided among themselves. Therefore he
laughs at their lack of perception, knowing that they are born blind. So
then the one susceptible to suffering shall come, since the body is the
substitute. But what they released was my incorporeal body. But I am the
intellectual Spirit filled with radiant light. He whom you saw coming to
me is our intellectual Pleroma, which unites the perfect light with my
Holy Spirit.!!?
Although it is not Valentinian, the Christology in this apocalypse is

a clear confirmation of the Valentinian view. Far from being docetist,
this Christian Gnostic emphasizes the reality of the sufferings of Jesus’
physical body, but of a Jesus who was momentarily abandoned by the
spirit of his Father.!7° The Son as such has not suffered, nor could it
be otherwise; for his nature is distinguished by impassibility and therefore
does not know the material laws of pathos, or suffering.
A variant of this scheme, in itself not theologically important, but
indicative of the solutions that Gnostic schools were able to provide for
the same problem, is already known to us from Irenaeus on Basilides.
Christ is also for him the Intellect of the Father, sent on earth to save
man:
... to liberate those who believe in him from those who made the world.
To their [the angels’] nationshe appeared on earth as a man and performed
miracles. For the same reason also he did not suffer, but a certain Simon
of Cyrene was compelled to carry his cross for him. And this [Simon]
was transformed by him [Jesus] so that he was thought to be Jesus himself,
and was crucified through ignorance and error. Jesus, however, took on
the form of Simon and stood by laughing at them.!?!
This interpretation is confirmed today in the Second Logos of the Great

Seth (NHC VII.2).!?? This text, whose-Sethian nature is disputed,!*> is
presented as a typical revelation dialogue, in which Jesus tells a group
of ‘the perfect and incorruptible’ his true story, from the celestial origin
to the death, resurrection and return to the Pleroma. Coming down
without allowing himself to be recognized by the Archons, he fought
them with their own weapon: deceit. When they crucified him, they
believed that they had defeated him once and for all. In fact, Simon of
Cyrene was the one to carry the Cross and wear the crown of thorns:
‘But I was rejoicing in the height [of Heaven] over all the wealth of the
archons and the offspring of their error, of their empty glory. And |
was laughing at their ignorance.’!?*
The conception underlying these accounts does not change. It is not
the Saviour in his spiritual dimension who suffers, but his carnal nature,
which is not an illusion. The Saviour’s physical body or that of his
substitute is, from the Gnostic point of view, a decoy, a trap set for the
Archons. Hence the Saviour’s liberally triumphant laughter: laughter of
both joy and ironic derision at the powers who believed that they had
imprisoned the Redeemer and who now persist in tormenting the outer
wrapping of the body.
Examples of this kind might be multiplied. The Letter of Peter to
Philip'*> (NHC VIII.2) is a short treatise, the work of a Christian
Gnostic, which, in the form of a letter from Peter to Philip, makes
certain revelations that Peter is supposed to have received from the
Resurrected One, Christ the Illuminator: ‘Our illuminator, Jesus, [came]
down and was crucified. And he bore a crown of thorns. And he put
on a purple garment. And he was [crucified] on a tree and he was
buried in a tomb.’!?° But ‘Jesus is a stranger to this suffering, but we
are the ones who have suffered at the transgression of the mother.’!27
The reality of the Gnostic Jesus is therefore only apparently paradoxi-
cal. He was both true man and at the same time true God. His human
dimension cannot be denied, but at the same time it cannot be forgotten
that it did not join the divine nature to the point where it could no
longer be recognized distinctly, but, according to a typical Stoic
doctrine,'?* it only mingled with it, and at a suitable time and place
these natures separated.
This is clearly the teaching of Basilides as reported in Hippolytus.
The gospel, the cognitive, generative power of the higher Son, descends
upon Jesus, the son of Mary. Thus illuminated, he receives ‘the power
of separation’. His task is in fact to separate the elements. Illuminating
the third sonship, the Church of the Spiritual ones, dispersed in the
world, he purifies it and forms it in accordance with Gnosis. It is thus
able finally to ascend on high, returning to its celestial home, the
Pleroma. But the intervention of the Saviour also has a cosmic dimension.
Indeed, he is ‘the first fruits of a division, according to their kind, of
the elements that were confused in the world’.!?? And the passion took
place for no other reason than ‘in order to separate the confused
elements according to their kind. In the same way that all sonship,
which had been left shapeless to give and receive benefits, had to be
divided according to its kind, so also Jesus was divided according to his
kind.’!3°
In Christ therefore not only is the mystery of the joining of the various
elements celebrated, but also of their final separation, of their return,
each to its own nature ‘so that every creature may remain in its natural
condition and none desire anything that is against nature.’!?!
8
Waiting for the End
THE NATURE OF GNOSTIC ESCHATOLOGY
In the presentation of the great themes and motifs of Gnostic ‘myth’,

we have so far given pride of place to Sethian texts and those of the
Valentinian school, at the risk of paying less attention to a historically
more complex fabrication, whose subtle variations and shades are
becoming more evident from the increasingly deep analysis of the Nag
Hammadi texts. On the other hand, if there is a moment in the mythical
account in which the various Gnostic traditions appear not only to run
parallel, but almost to converge in the same doctrinal stream that, if it
does not impede them, renders minute and detailed distinctions superflu-
ous, that moment is the ‘end of time’.!
It is true that eschatological beliefs per se tend to constitute a
doctrinally homogeneous complex. In the myths about the end, more
than in those about the beginning perhaps, cultural sterotypes and
models emerge that in a sense are obligatory, rigidly codified by tradition
and reinforced, for every generation, by the suffering and inéscapable
experience of the individual. Here the rule seems to be one of repetition.
What could be more monotonous than certain eschatological doctrines?
Death liberates a spiritual principle able to survive its challenge. A
destiny of rewards and punishments, more or less ethically distributed,
awaits him. The world too has its own goal: destruction, renewal and
return.
And yet from this slight amount of material various religions have
been able to derive an impressive number of variations.” The traditional
motifs of every eschatology (destiny of the individual after death, destiny
of humanity, places and nature of retribution, destiny of the world),
which appear at first sight substantially identical in the most diverse
religious traditions, in fact undergo profound inner changes. These are
revealed in all their importance only in the long term as the result of
repeated minute shifts in emphasis.?
Waiting for the End 129
Gnostic eschatology is no exception to this rule. On the whole, it is
the child of Roman imperial eschatology* (of which we have already
mentioned some important aspects). The changes in celestial geography
were paralleled by changes in the society of the elect. Religious
democracy, which had opened the way to Paradise for everyone, though
it may have achieved its most complete expression in Christianity, had
known indicative parallels in the eschatological beliefs of the mystery
religions.° In contrast, in other cases, one sees an aristocratic type of
exclusion: only the noble in spirit can get through the gate of
Heaven, the most convinced ascetics, the experts in the ‘inner search’.
Neoplatonism is, in this connection, a clear example of how eschatolog-
ical beliefs and problems of social prestige and cultural differentiation,
typical of aristocratic elites in decline, could proceed in parallel.®
An aristocratic concept of merit also seems to characterize individual
Gnostic eschatologies. One is born better; one does not become
better. Perhaps Max Weber’ was right to see the Gnostic teachers as
representative of a marginalized intelligentsia of the Roman provinces,
without effective political power and in search of effective ideological
alternatives through new forms of redemption and flight from a world
that had become increasingly alien to them. Eschatological beliefs, if
they also reveal a more general sociological situation, nevertheless appear
to be constructed according to the individual’s view of the fundamental
imperative of Gnostic propaganda: disengage yourself from the mass
doomed to perdition; disengage yourself from those groups, the psychics,
who claim to regulate the salvation of the masses; become one of us,
join this club of elect souls predestined to salvation. For certain social
groups therre could be no more religiously effective invitation.
The blood of syncretism also runs through the body of the eschatolog-
ical beliefs. Consider the doctrine of metempsychosis. This concept, of
Indian origins,® had found an important Greek parallel in Orphism?
and was widespread in the imperial period.'!° Some Gnostics took it
over and adapted it to the particular needs of their systems. Basilides,
for instance, believed in it. Origen reports that in his commentary on
the Pauline passage ‘I died ... indeed sin began to be imputed to me’
(Rom. 7:9) Basilides is said to have understood it not as a reference to
the dispensations of the law, but rather to metensomatosis, or incar-
nation: ‘He says, “Indeed the Apostle said: Once I lived without the
law’ [ibid.]. That is, before I came into this body, I lived in a sort of
body that did not come under the law, the body of a beast or bird.”’!!
The beings of the world are united by a sort of cosmic bond. To reach
the summit of the ladder of evolution necessarily involved overcoming
the different grades of being. As a microcosm, humankind combines
130 Waiting for the End
within itself all levels of reality tested in different rebirths. Only Gnosis
will allow it, according to one of Basilides’ ideas (as Hippolytus reports),
the definitive separation of the natures acting within it.
Without Gnostic features, the doctrine of metempsychosis could thus
assume different functions. According to Irenaeus, the Carpocratians
are said to have used it as the basis and explanation ‘of their depravity.
Their guiding principle is a radical antinomianism, a contemptuous
rejection of all law, both divine and human:
They say that conduct is good and evil only in the opinion of men. And
after the transmigrations the souls must have been in every kind of life
and every kind of deed (if a man does not in one life do at one and the
same time all that is not merely forbidden for us to speak or hear but
may not even enter into the thoughts of our minds, nor may one believe
if men in our cities do anything of the sort) so that, as their scriptures
say, their souls have been in every enjoyment and when they depart from
the body they are deficient in nothing; but they must labour lest perchance,
because something is lacking to their freedom, they be compelled to be
sent again into their bodies.!*
For the Carpocratians metempsychosis therefore became the means of

asserting their own freedom from the Demiurge and his laws. Only by
violating the law does one demonstrate its inconsistency and emptiness.
The Gnostic syncretistic way is also clear in the descriptions of the
places of punishment in the Underworld, typical of the inexhaustible
stock of folklore of Hellenistic nekyiai,'? or funeral ceremonies, that
were to reappear in the horrific scenes of infernal punishment that
enliven some Christian apocalypses. It is no accident that one of these
scenes is to be found in the Apocalypse of Paul (NHC V.2).'* The first
of the four apocalyptic texts in Codex V, this writing describes Paul’s
journey through the ten heavens!> (developing the famous Pauline
reference to the ascent to the third heaven in 2 Cor. 12:2-4),
accompanied by an infant, a symbol of the Spirit of the Son, depicted
in his virginal purity. In the fourth heaven Paul witnesses a scene of
judgement and punishment, recalling similar descriptions in Jewish
apocalyptic texts.'® In the fifth heaven ‘I saw a great angel .. . holding
an iron rod in his hand. There were three other angels with him, and I
stared into their faces. But they were rivalling each other, with whips
in their hands, goading the souls on to the judgment.’!”
Still more traditional in its gloom is the picture of destiny awaiting
the condemned, outlined by the Saviour in the Book of Thomas the
Contender:
... he will be handed over to the Ruler above who rules over all the
powers as their king, and he will turn that one around and cast him from
heaven down to the abyss, and he will be imprisoned in a dark narrow
place. Moreover, he can neither turn nor move on account of the great
depth of Tartaros and the [heavy bitterness] of Hades that besets [him.
They are imprisoned] in it in [order that they might not escape] — their
[madness] will not be forgiven. [And the Rulers who will] pursue you
[will] deliver [them over to the ] angel Tartarouchos [and he will take
whips of] fire, pursuing them [with] fiery scourges that cast a shower of
sparks into the face of the one who is pursued. If he flees westward, he
finds the fire. If he turns southward, he finds it there as well. If he turns
northward, the threat of seething fire meets him again. Nor does he find
the way to the East so as to flee there and be saved, for he did not find
it in the day he was in the body, so that he will find it in the day of
Judgment.!*
The threat could not but be felt by all those insecure people unable
to resist the animal pleasures of the body and the seductive enticements
of woman. In Gnostic terms it might refer to those who were somehow
predestined by their nature to the eternal fire. There was therefore no
need to waste time in constructing new types of dwelling places and
infernal pleasures for them, when the popular religious traditions of the
time offered such refined, attractive products!
A similar tendency to borrow is the basis of certain apocalyptic scenes
of the end of the world. Themes recur, such as the signs of the end, the
judgement, the punishment of the condemned who had been hurled
into the abyss, typical of Jewish apocalyptic.'? In the Trimorphic
Protennoia the Gnostic divinity has the task of revealing, among other
things, the end of this aeon to the Sons of Light: ‘And I shall tell them
of the coming end of this aeon and teach them of the beginning of the
aeon to come, the one without change, the one in which our appearance
will be changed. We shall be purified within those aeons .. .’*°
This typical doctrine of the two aeons involves almost inevitably an
equally widespread reflection on time: the present aeon is complete; its
times, hours, days and months have passed.*! To this belief there is
added the following speculative elements, more properly Gnostic: the
Archons, who have achieved knowledge, through the voice of the
Protennoia, of the imminent end of this aeon, realize that they have
been deceived by their Lord. The Demiurge is not the only God. In
reality he is condemned to perdition. The Archons weep bitterly over
the inexorable conclusion of the aeon. The times have been cut back,
the days shortened. The moment of the end is approaching for the
Archons too.??
132 Waiting for the End +
The destiny of the Archons, of the Demiurge and of the world cannot
give rise to doubt. They are destined to defeat and destruction. It is not
important, from the doctrinal point of view, if this end is described in
gloomy apocalyptic terms or, as in Valentinian teaching, by means of
the Stoic theory of universal conflagration.2? On the contrary, what
matters to the Gnostic is not so much the destiny of the conquered as
the reward awaiting the victors and the eventual obstacles that stand in
the way of their final victory. But to reveal all this, to tell of the
luminous blessedness of the future aeon, not even the suggestive
descriptions in Jewish apocalyptic were sufficient. It was necessary to
make up an eschatological product that would allow a glimpse of the
reality of the final promises and unleash the fascination of unknown
horizons of happiness.
The first element in the newness and also in the unity of individual
Gnostic eschatology is reflected in the very activities of the Saviour.
Whether it is a question of an anonymous, impersonal function, like
the Sethian Saviour or the Jesus Christ of Christian Gnostic groups, in
the activities of the Revealer and I|luminator there appears in some way
the eschatological quintessence of Gnostic myth. We have already
mentioned that the Protennoia reveals to the Sons of Light the ineffable
secret of her descent: the final liberation of those who belong to her.
This is echoed by the Christian Saviour in the Psalm of the Naassenes,
a masterpiece of Gnostic hymnology on the fate of the soul and recorded
by Hippolytus.?*
First-born Nous was the law that engendered all

Next to the first-born was the outpoured chaos
Thirdly the soul received a law as it worked [?as it was made]
Hence clad in the form of a stag(?)
It labours captive, as a spoil for death.
Now with royal (honour) it sees the light,
Now cast out into misery, it weeps.
Now it is wept for, it rejoices,
Now it is judged, it dies,
. and without escape the wretched soul
enters a labyrinth of evils in its wanderings [text uncertain].
But Jesus said, ‘Father behold:
Pursued by evils here upon earth
There roams the (work) of thine own breath.
It seeks to escape the bitter chaos
But knows not how it shall win through.
Therefore send me, Father.
Bearing the seals I will descend,
I will pass through all the Aeons,
I will disclose the mysteries
I will show the forms of the Gods
And the hidden things of the holy way,
Called Gnosis, I will impart.’*°
On the other hand, if it is true that the ‘way of ascent is like that of
the descent’, as the editor of the Three Stelae of Seth crisply puts it,?°
the model of this double movement is offered precisely by the activities
of the Saviour. Jesus had received Gnosis at the moment of baptism,
but only with passion and death had he truly closed the cycle of his
earthly actions. Death was therefore a passage, perhaps for the Gnostic
not altogether threatening, but always necessary. One must not forget
that only at the moment of death could one achieve discretio naturarum,
the definitive decision and separation of substances that conceals a
fundamental aspect of Gnostic soteriology.
That individual Gnostic eschatology is built on a typical tension
between ‘already’ and ‘not yet’, between the acquired possession of a
Gnosis that cannot, however, be total and definitive, is confirmed by
other elements.
For many Christian Gnostics the world too has its own function in
the divine dispensation of salvation; a purely negative function, if you
like, of an element destined to purify the Church of the Spiritual ones,
but necessary none the less. Basilides maintains this, as will be noted.
The Naassenes maintain it in their interpretation of the Pauline passage
(1 Cor. 10:11): ‘We are the publicans “who have been overtaken by
the end of the world”. Indeed the end is the seed sown in the world by
the being without shape, thanks to which the whole world is perfected.
Indeed it was through them that it began to come into existence.’*”
By means of a pun (the Naassenes call themselves ‘publicans’, i.e.
telonai, because they are able to understand the tele, the last things),
these Gnostic Christians reveal a fundamental idea. The world, as the
area in which the seeds of the Spiritual Church have been put, becomes
an element necessary to the dispensation of salvation, like the winter
soil which receives the seed. The Valentinian author of the Gospel of
Philip is thus able to assert: “Those who sow in winter reap in summer.
The winter is the world, the summer the other aeon.’** Only with the
end of the world, therefore, can the drama of Gnostic salvation be
fulfilled. On the other hand, the end of the world coincides with the
end of the mingling of light and darkness, of the collection of particles
of light scattered in matter that constitutes the collective dimension of
an eschatology at first sight purely individualistic.*?
These themes are brought together in the eschatological passages in
On the Origin of the World. At the completion iethe aeon the revealers
will appear and reveal the type of incorruptibility that has risen from
the murky mass of matter, descending into the very inside of the cosmos
and of humanity, an invisible form of what is visible, a dimension
hidden, but the more true, of what is clear, though apparent and
transient.°° Then
the light will [cover the] darkness and it will wipe it out. It will become
like one which had not come into being. And the work which the darkness
followed will be dissolved. And the deficiency will be plucked out at its
root (and thrown) down to the darkness. And the light will withdraw up
to its root. The glory of the unbegotten will appear and it will fill all the
ACOSs aint
Projected onto the cosmic, collective scale, the fraction of time that lies
between the reception of Gnosis and the death of the individual is now
extended to acquire the dimension of the ‘time of the Church’.
THE TIME OF THE CHURCH
The Church of the Spiritual beings, exiled in this world, suffers the
birthpangs of which the beginning is known and the end, one hopes, is
imminent. The arc of this time thus helps, by delimiting it, to constitute
the Church.
How is this possible? Isn’t time a creation, a trap and a trick of the
Archons? Shouldn’t the Gnostic rather break this chain of minutes,
hours and days, which binds him as a prisoner in the cosmos? ‘The
birth cries [out; hour] begets hour, [and day [begets day]. Thé months
made known [the month. Time] has [gone round] succeeding [time].’>2
To break the bars of this invisible cage, shouldn’t the Gnostic be
ready to renounce time? There is much evidence for this. The time of
the Gnostic, his real time, seems to be mythical time par excellence.?*
A ray of light falls from above into the darkness. The sequence of
moments, monotonous and repetitive, is unexpectedly broken. Gnosis
presents itself in the guise of illumination — an unexpected, instantaneous,
total flash of lightning, breaking the connected thread of cosmic time
to propel the Gnostic into that particular wavelength: timeless, mythical
time.
And yet an interpretation that gave precedence to this vertical
dimension of time in Gnosis, breaking as it does the historical continuum,
would be too one-sided. For mundane time is still a copy, however pale
and deceptive, of pleromatic time. Eugnostos* says that cosmic time is
a type, a copy of the First Generator. Thus, the twelve months are
modelled on the twelve aeons; the 360 days of the year on the 360
powers revealed by the Saviour. Finally, the hours and minutes find
their pleromatic counterparts in the countless angels populating these
worlds.
Rather than eliminate time and break this continuous line enveloping
them with its threatening silence, Gnostics must learn to understand
what is really happening behind the temporal organism. The time of
the divine will shall then be revealed to him, the salvific line measured
out by kairoi, moments of revelation, whose reassuring succession directs
the Gnostic to a safe landing: first individual, then collective, salvation
which is final.*>
Gnostic eschatological tension may appear as tension towards an end
that, in fact, coincides with the beginning. According to the Tripartite
Tractate,*° arché (beginning) and telos (end) perhaps coincide to form
not so much a progressive straight line of kairoi as a curved line
that tends to end in a circle. However, this is merely an appearance.
Even where, as in the Sethian systems, Christian influence of a particular
conception of time seems lacking or indecisive, according to the original
formation of their history of salvation, the texts clearly point to a linear,
and not to a cyclical, view of time.?” The ‘not yet’ is the period of the
assembly of the seeds of light dispersed in the world. The end will
coincide, thus, with the restitutio, or restoration, of the original
spiritual body, whose members are dispersed in the darkness. But this
apokatastasis,?* this re-establishment of original fullness, is also a
renovatio, or renewal, of the initial condition. Gnostic nostalgia for
origins is not satisfied by the simple return to the original Paradise.
What would have been the point of the exile of the Gnostic Church?
Was it not perhaps aiming at the elimination of that potential deficiency
and congenital incontinence in the very life of the Pleroma, expressed
in the sin of Sophia? And in fact, in its trials of exile, crossing the
frightful threshold of evil, experiencing and suffering the pangs of
spiritual birth, the Gnostic Church matures individually and collectively.
Evil can be defeated finally only if it is objectified in the work of
creation. And when the Pleroma is renewed internally, it will know true
repose. And not only that. Some thinkers, such as Ptolemy, who had
revalued the psychic element as the seat of free will, consequently were
unable to drive it back into no man’s land, non-being, which awaited
matter as a result of the final conflagration. Though it may not guarantee
a privileged place, even the Demiurge and the psychics have their ticket
to watch the spectacle of eternal beatitude. While Sophia enters the
Pleroma to celebrate her eternal nuptials with the Saviour, followed by
the Church of the Spiritual beings, which is finally reunited with its
male counterpart, the angels of the Saviour, ‘the Demiurge will also
be transferred to the place of the Mother Sophia — that is, the Inter-
mediate Region. The souls of the just will also find repose in the
Intermediate Region. Indeed, nothing psychic can enter the Pleroma.’*”
The time of the Church is, therefore, important for the Gnostic,
especially for the Christian Gnostic. It is a time of trials, conflicts and
decisions. Gnosis does enable the Gnostic to revive somehow, but this
inner illumination prefigures and anticipates, but does not replace, the
final liberation, which will take place for the individual only at the
moment of death and, for the great body of Gnostics, at the moment
of their final reconstitution.
The Pistis Sophia affords an important, singular interpretation of this
theme. Jesus has come to save souls. The psyche is in fact subject to
the influence of two forces, equal, but opposite: divine luminous power
and its antagonist, the antimimon pneuma, the counterfeit spirit, the
cup of forgetfulness that the Archons, after forming the soul, forced it
to drink.*° The soul would therefore appear to find itself in a situation
of perfect free will, of risky, but tempting, equilibrium. In fact, the
power of the counterfeit spirit seems to have the upper hand. Thus, the
intervention of the Saviour is necessary. He is the bringer of a Gnosis
understood as knowledge and possession of the supreme mysteries,
celebrated by Gnostic mythology: pleromatic hierarchies, the dualism
of light and darkness, the origin of the mingling. Characteristically,
however, possession of these mysteries does not conclude the process of
salvation: final, complete knowledge is actually deferred until the end.*!
We have already mentioned, apropos of the Apostles, a typical feature
of our text: the theme of the Saviour saved. But the subject is common
to all the Gnostics. The supreme mystery of the Ineffable is none other
than the mystery of Jesus. The soul that possesses him is liberated at
the moment of death from the material body made by the Archons; it
is transformed into a flow of light, which quickly returns to its source;
the Saviour himself.42
Possession of the mysteries is therefore decisive. They ‘are merciful
and forgive at all times.’*3 Salvation is not, however, a mechanical
process, nor is it decided once and for all. Not for nothing is the third
book of the Pistis Sophia devoted almost entirely to a case study in
minute detail of the possibility of relapse. Possession of the pleromatic
mysteries does not cancel out individual responsibility. There is the
extreme case of the one who receives them and continues to sin and
dies without repentance. For that individual there is no salvation, but
only damnation (though not a final damnation). There is always the
possibility of escape, even if only through the intervention of a friendly
soul already saved. At worst, the impenitent soul, which does not
succeed in clinging to any of the spiritual life-belts, will once again be
cast into a body where new possibilities of salvation will be offered to
ita
But even the patience of the First Mystery, apparently infinite, has a
limit. The time in which the mysteries can be received, the time of the
salvation of the Gnostic Church of the Pistis Sophia is, in fact, limited.
This apparently inexhaustible series of possibilities will finally come to
an end with the completion of the ‘number of perfect souls’.4° This is
a limit that cannot be passed. When this number is complete, the gates
of the Kingdom of Light will finally be closed, and no one will be able
to enter.
Thus Jesus repeatedly invites his disciples to be missionaries, so that
they may communicate to everybody those mysteries that are not the
inheritance of a restricted elite.4° And it must be done quickly. No one
knows the exact number of perfect souls and so it cannot be foreseen
when it will be complete. There is need for vigilance so as not to miss
what might be the last chance of eternal salvation.
This is one of the many possible examples of how New Testament
themes and motifs have been added and adapted to a mythological,
typically Gnostic theological scheme.*” Not only is the apostle consub-
stantial with his Saviour, who reveals to him his celestial origin, but
also the mission, however open and ecumenical, is written in a
programmed logic in which the closed number with access to the higher
world is determined by the typical requirements of the Gnostic system.
But above all, as in most Gnostic texts, this prolix treatise helps to
emphasize an important idea for a more exact evaluation ofeschatological
conceptions. The Gnostic Church too has its own time, a time of
mission, dangers, threats and decisions. Not everything in fact is decided
together with the acquisition of Gnosis. Indeed, interior illumination
requires confirmation and proof up to the final decisive challenge, which
even the Gnostic will sooner or later be called upon to face: death.
GNOSTIC ACCOUNTS OF THE ASCENT OF THE SOUL
With his death and resurrection, Christ showed the Gnostic the definitive
way of liberation. But death had been preceded by the Passion. For the
Gnostic this meant abandonment, however momentary, of the Spirit. It
was a frightening test on the threshold of final victory: the ultimate,
distressing, but unavoidable, rite of passage.
There is a great deal of talk in modern society about death. This may
be an unconscious, subtle defence mechanism for a society that no
longer understands ‘experienced death’.*® Death has been banished,
forbidden and, in daily life, has become an unmentionable subject. Its
domestication has passed through a funereal conspiracy of silence.
Where it appears and is not to be suppressed, it is exorcized through ~
the filters of the television screen or dressed up in the substantial garb
of official ceremonies. It is not ‘my’ or ‘your’ death, but anonymous
death, at most a death spectacle. It is pointless to insist on the differences
in the theories about death in archaic and pre-modern societies.*? It
may be interesting to emphasize some themes in this brief reawakening
of interest in a world of experiences and thoughts once familiar and
commonplace. One has only to think of a recurrent motif in modern
literature on the subject of death, especially in America, of medical
origin.°° What happens to the person in a coma? Is it possible to
photograph (or, in more fortunate cases, to interview those who have
experienced) the moments before the great irretrievable step and to
understand the state of mind and the thoughts that accompany them?
Reduced to arid scientific curiosity, or worse, to the publicity hype of
a new ‘bestseller’, it may appear simply as a further act of cruelty to
an invalid who has become a guinea pig. But in terms of religious history
it takes on a more human light and a different cultural dimension. It is
the theme of the Zwischenzustand, the twilight zone, those eternal
moments, the fine bridge between time and its cessation, an area explored
and wonderfully described by so many religious spirits.°! It is enough
to glance through that extraordinary volume, the Tibetan Book of the
Dead, to detect some surprising aspects, of relevance to the contemporary
situation.°? The central theme is that of the bard: a minute, lucid, almost
obsessive, analysis of the representative states violating inexorably and
mercilessly the aseptic moment of transition. Buddhist meditation has
rigorously analysed them and ordered them hierarchically in a sort of
spiral; and it is necessary to ascend this spiral, with all its menace, in
order to reach the desired goal: the final abandonment of those illusions
(however vivid and resistant) against which humans are called to fight,
and the resulting dissolution of those representations (menacing, but
captivating) that, in the Renaissance Books of the Dead, are translated
into endless struggles between devils and angels on the bed of the dying,
the lost and the helpless.°?
Even our Gnostics recognized this singular challenge. Their ascents
of the soul, the celestial journeys awaiting the souls immediately after
death, are the most illuminating example of how they experienced the
problem of the intermediate stage. They constitute their reply to the
problem confronting every society: how to institutionalize and to
regulate, how to make socially tolerable, if not productive, an event in
itself so dangerously destructive.
Roman imperial society offered a surprisingly wide range of answers
to this inevitable question. They include the exasperated individualism
of some Stoic philosophers and the universalism typical of mystery
and salvation religions, which altered the intellectual, mythical and
architectural geography (one thinks, e.g. of the catacombs or Christian
cemeteries).°* The Gnostic response, as far as we know, represents a
middle way. Indeed, it celebrated the ‘victory over death’, typical of
redemptive religions. Cerberus had been tamed and domesticated. Death,
even though able to cast one into the caves of hell, could now, more
importantly, open the way to the irresistible seductions of a promised
land where an eternal life of happiness triumphed. From being an end,
it had become a means, a docile instrument that could be acquired by
means of ascetic disdain or unthinking indulgence in pleasure, an
instrument that would accelerate the process of embracing everlasting
happiness.
But it was not a mechanical, painless event. Or, at least, death should
not always be regarded as a moment that had been already resolved.
We deduce this from the fact that some groups practised a sort of
reassuring rite of extreme unction: they poured over the head of the
dying or the dead oil and water or a special perfume mixed with water,
accompanied by invocations, so that the soul of the dying might be able
to withstand the final test: the ascent through the menacing heavens of
the Archons.°>
A Nag Hammadi text contains a prayer that seems to be representative
of the prayers to be said by the dying or by those watching over them
at the moment of death. It is recited by James just before his martyrdom.*°
In its all-consuming invocations anxiety about the imminent test and
joyful confident abandon are merged poetically:
My God and my Father, who saved me from this dead hope, who made
me alive through a mystery of what he wills, do not let these days of this
world be prolonged for me, but the day of your [light ...] remains in
[...] salvation. Deliver me from this [place of] sojourn. Do not let your
grace be left behind in me, but may your grace become pure. Save me
from an evil death. Bring me from a tomb alive, because your grace—
love is alive in me to accomplish a work of fullness. Save me from sinful
flesh, because I trusted in you-with all my strength! Because you are the
life of the life, save me from a humiliating enemy! Do not give me into
the hand of a judge who is severe with sin! Forgive me all my debts of
the days (of my life)! Because I am alive in you, your grace is alive in
me. I have renounced everyone, but you I have cokes Save me from
evil affliction! But now is the [time] and the hour. O Holy [Spirit], send
[me] salvation [...] the light [...] the light [...] in a power [...].°”
The individual soul, encouraged in this way, was ready to approach

the great journey. This was organized in a scheme that we find fully
illustrated in the Poimandres. Hermes asks how the soul ascends to
heaven and Poimandres replies:
First, at the dissolution of the material body you surrender this same
body to change, and the form you have disappears, and you surrender
your character to the demon, now ineffectual. And the bodily senses
return, each to their own sources; they become separate parts and are
compounded again for effectiveness. And passion and desire go into the
irrational nature. And so the creature then goes upwards through the
harmony of the spheres; and in the first circle it gains the capacity to
grow and to diminish; in the second evil machinations, guile, unexercised;
in the third the deceit of lust, again unexercised; in the fourth the
ostentation of command ... not exploited; and in the fifth impious
boldness and the rashness of audacity; in the sixth the evil urges for
riches, unexercised, in the seventh the lurking lie.°*
In Christian Gnostic texts this passage of instructions assumes a more

menacing aspect. Unlike the Hermetic planetary governors, the Archons
are implacable customs officials and border guards. One needs special
passports to get across the various planetary borders. In certain situations
the proud self-awareness of the Gnostic seems to be enough to overcome
the truculent arrogance of the Archons. This is true of certain Marcosians.
They have a formula, which they are obliged to recite after death in
front of every power:
‘I am a son of the Father, the pre-existent Father, and now a son in the
pre-existent Father.°? I have come to behold all things, both what is
strange and what belongs to me. But they are by no means totally strange,
but belong to Achamoth, who is female and who has made these things
for herself. I derive my being from him who was pre-existent, and I go
again to that which is my own, whence | came forth.’ And according to
them, when he says this, he eludes and escapes from the powers. He then
comes to those who are about the Demiurge and says, ‘I am a precious
vessel, more precious than the female which made you. If your mother
does not know her origin, | know myself and am aware whence I am,
and I invoke the incorruptible Sophia, who is in the Father, mother of
your mother, who has neither father nor any male consort. A female
sprung from a male made you, and she did not know her mother, but
believed that she existed all alone. But I call upon her mother.’ When
those around the Demiurge hear this, they become greatly confused and
pass judgement on their origin and the race of their mother. But he
proceeds to his own, after casting away his chain, the soul.®°
Elsewhere the malevolent power of the Archons is defeated by more

open recourse to mysterious seals and magical passwords. In the Second
Book of Jeu Jesus patiently instructs his disciples how to behave on
their celestial journey. When they leave the body and reach the First
Aeon:
The Archons of this aeon come before you; they seal you with this seal.
Their name is z0zezé. They hold the number 1119 in both hands. When
they have finished sealing you with this seal and have given their name
once only, do you say these words of protection: ‘Away with you, Proteth,
Personiphon, Chous, Archons of the First Aeon, for I call upon Eaza,
Zé6zaz, ZOzedz.’ But when the Archons of the First Aeon have heard
these names they will be greatly terrified and will retreat and flee to the
west leftwards and you will be able to continue.*!
This scene is repeated up to the Eleventh Aeon (only the seals and
the Archons change). At the Twelfth Aeon the Pleroma of the Invisible
and Ungenerated God begins. But even here the Gnostic soul will have
to continue to provide the angels with heavenly seals, numbers and
magical names, until he reaches the Fourteenth Aeon, the sancta
sanctorum, or holy of holies, of this system, which can be entered only
by the possessor of the mystery of forgiveness of sins.
Thus the Gnostic reaches the end of his long, perilous journey. What
awaits him is the last repose, the final conquest of struggles, dissensions
and lacerations. To express this concept, the various traditions of the
Gnostic movement employ different themes and images. Whether it is
the spiritual marriage of the Valentinians or the motif of the celestial
garment, the underlying idea is the same. The individuals, reconstructed
in androgynous unity, can now rest in themselves, because the soul ‘has
found her rising. She came to rest in him who is at rest. She reclined in
the bridechamber. She ate of the banquet for which she has hungered.
She partook of the immortal food. She found what she had sought after.
She received rest from her labors.’©? Then finally there will be ‘penetration
into what is silent, where there is no need for voice nor for knowing
nor for forming a concept nor for illumination, but (where) all things
are light which does not need to be illuminated.’®?
9
Simon Magus and the Origins of
Gnosticism
GNOSIS AND GNOSTICISM
‘The perfect conceptual definition cannot stand at the beginning, but

must be left until the end of an enquiry ... that is, inherent in the very
essence of the formation of historical concepts, which as its goal does
not seek to classify reality in abstract generic concepts, but rather to fit
it into generic patterns of a specific individual colours.’! With this
statement Max Weber, in his Protestant Ethic, undertook a complex
work of historical research and reconstruction, the thankless task of
delimiting the difficult concept of the ‘spirit of capitalism’. Having
completed our survey of the principal Gnostic myths, we too must now
address the inescapable problem of definition.
Anyone unwilling to consider methodological questions can skip this
paragraph. But anyone who, on the other hand, likes to pursue these
intricate paths that all too often are in danger of becoming ‘labyrinths
with no exit or, worse still, intellectually narcissistic mirror games; or
anyone who, more commonly, considers them an unpleasant, but
indispensable, part of historical research, will have to agree with the
judgement of the great sociologist. However, whether, following his
suggestion, the definition of historical concepts is placed only at the end
of a long, complex journey of discovery or, in contrast, is postulated,
still partially and provisionally, at the beginning of the research as an
indispensable working hypothesis, the object of research has always to
be identified.* The advantages of a correct definition certainly outweigh
the disadvantages.
What then do we mean by the terms ‘Gnosis’ and ‘Gnosticism’? In
an earlier chapter we traced the principal stages in the history of gnOsis
and recalled the particular significance that this term had acquired in
the world of the Gnostics. So to speak of ‘Gnosis’ (and of ‘Gnostics’)?
Simon Magus and the Origins of Gnosticism 143
means using terms and employing concepts made by the very builders
and inhabitants of this particular conceptual world. The margin of
difference between our perspective and the ancient one should be
minimal. According to some scholars, this way is a faithful reflection
of historical reality and is the only possible one within the framework
of a terminological analysis.*
The origins of the term ‘Gnosticism’ are, however, different. As in
the case of similar linguistic formations,> we are dealing here too with
a term coined by modern scholars.° There is no linguistic equivalent in
the vocabulary of the ancients. The procedure, which may at first seem
incorrect, is in fact quite legitimate in terms of the formation of historical
concepts. For these are not simply lifeless photographic frames of the
past, but are nurtured by awareness of the difference, the consciousness
of a gap, an empty space in which historical intelligence can delineate
itself. And the historical concepts of this ‘drama’ are an indispensable
factor, provided of course that one knows how to respect the rules of
historical writing. But they must be used with appropriate finesse,
because only in this way is it possible to identify and delimit the
continuous magmatic, transitory reality of history.
The Congress of Messina (1966), on the theme of the origins of
Gnosticism,’ formulated a terminological proposal that still retains a
nucleus of validity. In the final protocol it was decided to use the term
‘Gnosis’ to mean ‘knowledge of the divine mysteries reserved for an
élite’.8 In contradistinction to this extended use of ‘Gnosis’ is the
restricted term ‘Gnosticism’, chosen to indicate a specific historical
phenomenon and, in particular, the Gnostic systems of the second
century, which appear historically well documented. The document
continues:
The Gnosticism of the second-century sects involves a coherent series of

characteristics that can be summarized in the idea of a divine spark in
man, deriving from the divine realm, fallen into this world of fate, birth
and death, and needing to be awakened by the divine counterpart of the
self in order to be finally reintegrated. Compared with other conceptions
of a ‘devolution’ of the divine, this idea is based ontologically on the
conception of a downward movement of the divine whose periphery (often
called Sophia or Ennoia) had to submit to the fate of entering into a crisis
and producing, even if only indirectly, this world, upon which it cannot
turn its back, since it is necessary for it to recover the pneuma, a dualistic
conception on a monistic background, expressed in a double movement
of devolution and reintegration.”
Second-century Gnosticism is therefore characterized by a particular

144 Simon Magus and the Origins of Gnosticism
Gnosis (inasmuch as this is not detectable in other Gnostic forms), based
on the divine communal nature of the divine spark, the luminous,
pneumatic element, which must be reawakened and reintegrated into
the divine world. It is a circularity that implies identity of substance
between the subject of knowledge (the Gnostic), the object (the divine
substance of their ontological ego) and the means by which the subject.
knows, Gnosis as a revelation in the form of a call from above effected
by a Saviour figure or a particularly esoteric, divinely guaranteed
tradition.
The definition proposed by the protocol of the Congress of Messina
undoubtedly refers to a particular type of system, such as the Sethian
or the Valentinian, a dynamism that develops in a crisis in the Pleroma.
There is a danger that other systems may be excluded from this
definition; though undoubtedly Gnostic, they may be considered from
other doctrinal perspectives.'° But it would be even more perilous to
aspire to a definition that claimed to embrace all the elements characteriz-
ing the various second-century systems. It would be easy to prove that
none of these systems possesses all the elements at the same time.
The clear merit of the Messina proposal consists rather in having
recalled an elementary truth, with its definition based on a typology
that belongs to the historically concrete. The Nag Hammadi documents
have not substantially altered the nature of the question,'! and up to
now most of our information is in fact about systems that can for the
most part be dated to the second century. All the documents labelled
‘Gnostic’ and assigned to earlier periods owe this definition to more or
less established hypotheses.
Thus emerges the most delicate, controversial question. What do we
know of the origins of Gnosticism? Is it actually possible, and to what
extent, to speculate on the origins of this phenomenon? This last
question, which theoretically precedes the first, is not otiose. Many
scholars have maintained that the origins of Gnosticism cannot be
located. Indeed, this point of view has quite a lot to be said for it.
Gnosticism is not a multicoloured Harlequin costume whose patches
can be taken apart to reveal the origin of each one, but a historical
constellation endowed with an internal principle and equipped with
direction, coherence and autonomy. Thus the problem of origins becomes
one of determining its essence. To grasp the specific, identifying element
of this historical world means in fact to approach the problem of origins
on anew basis, because, as an independent historical quantity, Gnosticism
could not but have in itself its own origins. To adopt this criterion does
not, however, mean that we have to give up the search for motifs and
traditions that might have, if not anticipated, in some sense prepared
the way for the great second-century systems. They must have started
somewhere. This research, then, instead of being the ultimate objective
of the enquiry, merely becomes a dependent variable.
Whatever the value of this line of enquiry, its importance is undeniable,
for it has overturned the traditional principle of interpretation in favour
of the questions that seek to recover the ‘structure’, the internal patterns
in the Gnostic system.
How productive this position can be even today, compared with
research into origins that is too often simply directed at itself, will
become clear from the following example. Many scholars propose a
Jewish origin for Gnosticism,'* a position that has many distinguished
champions’? and a great deal to be said in its favour. The Nag Hammadi
texts have confirmed the importance of Jewish influence, which is clearly
present in the reinterpretation of the events in Genesis, the speculations
on Adam in Paradise and the connections with the world of the
apocalypse and with wisdom speculations. These and other probable
influences have induced divers scholars to see the historical origins of
second-century Gnostic systems in a particular Jewish world on the
fringes of official Judaism and identified in a variety of ways.'4
This hypothesis, which today appears historically more reliable in the
light of the new documents, is not, however, without certain weaknesses.
The scholars who defend it presuppose that, in the variegated world of
inter-testamental Judaism, there were currents and thinkers who, as a
result of subsequent intellectual development or violent religious and
political crises such as the destruction of the Temple,'* had worked out
a religious vision that was permanently at odds with official Rabbinical
Judaism, in which the relations between God and the world were so
markedly dualistic that they implied a radical critique of the Old
Testament God in some irritable language. But what precisely do
‘heterodox’ and ‘official’ Judaism mean, when the religious world in the
centuries that straddle the Christian era is characterized by the absence
of a genuine orthodoxy and by a shadowy, ambiguous ideological
universe, complex and still not sufficiently understood in its most
characteristic features? There is once again a danger of trying to explain
obscure matters in obscure terms. Or, what is worse, of projecting the
concepts of the second-century Gnostic systems onto texts and fragments
of earlier centuries that themselves have nothing that is certainly Gnostic.
‘There are many stones scattered all over the Jewish field, and when the
mason gathers them, he will be able to build any house he likes with
them.’!© The same may be said of those particular stones that comprise
Old Testament material. The mere use of them proves nothing.'” In
some cases they have been used by Christian Gnostic groups as polemic
against the positive value given to the Old Testament by the True
Church.!® As for other texts — the Apocalypse of Adam’? explains —
the date (hotly disputed) has been brought down by some to the third
century Ab. Thus their connection with Judaism becomes much more
tenuous and fleeting.
However, all these interpretations face one obstacle that is difficult
to overcome. In fact, Gnosticism took shape in an atmosphere of violent,
total rejection of Judaism, a characteristic of certain anti-Jewish Christian
circles rather than of any Jewish group known to us. Moreover, if it is
true that radical ‘anti-cosmism’ and ‘anti-somatism’ are distinctive
features of the Gnostic world, how is one to explain the fact that these
are almost entirely absent from the Jewish texts known to us??° As for
the supposed influence of traumatic events such as the destruction of
the Temple, it is too easily forgotten that, after its destruction in ap 70,
the Jewish world continued to believe that it would be rebuilt and this
new hope nurtured obedience to the Law. Even those who see the
-wisdom schools and the scepticism that characterized them, and the ’
cosmopolitan intellectuals who attended them as a likely Jewish milieu
for the sources of Gnosticism are unable to point to passages in Gnostic
texts where the influence of these schools can be proved definitively.
We do not wish to bore the reader with these arguments. If we have
dwelt on the case of Judaism, it is because of the value of its example.
To argue that inter-testamental Judaism contains elements leading to
Gnosticism (arguments of pre-Gnosticism) or, absolutely, to already
independent forms of pre-scriptural Gnosticism (proto-Gnosticism) seems
to infer too much from too little. These conclusions may be applied,
with greater reason, to hypotheses that argue a Greek or Iranian origin
for Gnosticism.
However it may be delimited or defined, what appears to be a
constituent element of Gnosticism in its various forms and systems is
that new mental focus, the katégoriales novum, or new category, that
emerges with it on the religious scene at the beginning of late antiquity
(whether expressed as the meeting with the self, radical anti-cosmism,
the Saviour saved, or the pleromatic crisis). Far from being the parasitic
aspect of a movement lacking in originality, its striking feature is that
it cannot be reduced to pre-existing motifs. If it is true that ‘the
history and connection of individual motifs can be investigated from a
philological point of view, the origin of genuine Gnosis cannot be
explained.’?!
Though it might in some sense owe much to the complex, shifting
background of Hellenistic syncretism; though it might have been
influenced in various ways, not always easy to assess, by other cultural
traditions; though it might be related in some (as yet unknown) way to
certain circles that, like the Judaism of the Diaspora, came to act as a
receptacle or, like the classical philosophical tradition (in particular, the
Platonic), provided the indispensable analytical tools and conceptual
framework to organize and explain the divine world, nevertheless
second-century Gnosticism in all its variety appears as the original fruit
of a plant rich in numerous vital juices.
IN SEARCH OF THE ORIGINS: SIMON MAGUS AND THE MYTH

OF HELEN
Perhaps the best example of the methodological and interpretative

problems concealed behind the quarrel about the origins of Gnosticism
is Simon Magus, the forerunner of Goethe’s Faust.** Simon and his
mythical companion, Helen, were destined to become the model of every
ideal Gnostic couple. In fact, he is a somewhat shadowy, elusive,
historical figure.
The ancient defenders of the Christian faith regarded him as the
heresiarch par excellence, the incarnation of evil, who in his own way
succeeded in spreading the discord of heresy,*? according to a cliché
that was to endure for centuries.?*
When modern historians have tried, with the help of original source
criticism, to reconstruct a historical Simon from the lifeless figure of
heresiological interpretation, theological controversy and legendary
embellishment, they find themselves confronted with a thankless task.?>
The available sources are now few, of disputed interpretation and
sometimes difficult to date. The most ancient is the short notice in the
Acts of the Apostles 8:9-12. Composed towards the end of the first
century,”° it bears witness to the existence in Samaria of ‘a man called
Simon, who performed magic and amazed the people of Samaria,
claiming to be a great man. Everybody, great and small alike, paid
attention to him, saying: “This man is the power of God that is called
great.” They paid attention to him because for quite a long time he had
amazed them with magical tricks.’
Converted and baptized by Philip, he is full of wonder at the sight
of prodigies and miracles performed by the Apostles. He is particularly
struck by the laying on of hands performed by Peter and John. He offers
them money in an attempt in-turn to acquire the power of transmitting
the Spirit. Peter curses him and, we must deduce, expels him from the
community. From this brief report derive both the sin of simony and
the age-long tradition of Simon the Magician.
By itself the report tells us nothing of possible Gnostic aspects of
Simon’s teaching. That a person called Simon existed in Samaria about
the middle of the first century ap may be taken as historical fact. The
description ‘magician’ is not necessarily to be regarded as an editorial
addition.*” Simon appears with the typical attributes of the divine man.
He practises magic arts and is generally known by the widely attested
title ‘Great Power’.2® Some would regard him as the object of a
syncretistic cult in which he was linked with Zeus.*? It is, however,
difficult (and methodologically incorrect) to read this brief report in the
light of the Simonian system, Gnostic in type, which developed in the
second century, attributing to the Simon of the Acts the nature of a
Gnostic Saviour in competition with the Christian Saviour and regarding
the Lucan text as confirmation of the existence of a non-Christian, pre-
Christian Gnosis, an alternative to (if not indeed an influence upon)
nascent Christianity.°°
The two later reports of Justin and Irenaeus bear witness to a
profoundly different situation. Justin?! confirms the existence of a certain
Samaritan Simon, native of a village called Gitton, who is said to have
performed his miracles in the reign of Claudius (ap 41-54). But he also
introduces a very new element: the myth of Helen. Adored by practically
all Samaritans as the paramount God, Simon wanders about with a
certain Helen, a whore who claims to have been redeemed by him and
whom the followers of Simon called the First Thought emitted by him.
If therefore the Simon of Justin is transformed into the Supreme God,
his companion, Helen, is the earthly counterpart of the Gnostic entity
already known to us: Ennoia or the First Thought of the Father. That
she is called Helen is clear evidence of the syncretistic character now
assumed by the cult. There is also archaeological evidence of this.*?
Helen, the female Eternal One, is also a Greek designation of a female
divinity of obviously oriental provenance. Like Selene, the Moon,
companion of the Sun, Simon’s companion bears witness to the
androgynous nature of the First Principle.2? But she is also the female
dimension of the divinity fallen into the world of matter, the soul cast
down to prostitute itself before repenting and being saved by Nous, her
intended bridegroom and consort (according to certain Nag Hammadi
texts that would seem to show echoes of Simonian Gnosis).34
Irenaeus’ longer report?> deals with the most properly Gnostic phase
in the development of the Simonian system. A cult originally probably
Samaritan in origin and linked with the figure of the divine man,
Simonianism is transformed into a typical Gnostic system under. the
decisive influence of Christianity.
The pre-existent God emits a Thought, the First Ennoia, ‘the Mother
of All, by means of whom he had planned at the beginning, in His
mind, to create angels and archangels’.7° This Thought, knowing the
will of the Father, descends to generate the creative powers of this
world. Thus, Simon’s Ennoia performs a dual function, but already
attested by Justin: she is the partner of the pre-existent God and is
Sophia Anima mundi. There is no mention, at least in this report, of a
more articulated division of the pleromatic world, nor is there any
concept of an internal crisis in the Pleroma or of a Demiurge who is
the monstrous product of the sin committed by the last aeon.
After creating angels and archangels, Ennoia is imprisoned by them
out of envy, because they did not wish to be considered descendants of
anyone; they are unaware of the existence of a God superior to them.
This is a theme typical of the Gnostic cosmogonies already examined.
Falling prisoner thus to the powers that she herself has generated, Ennoia
is enclosed in a human body. Journeying across the centuries from one
female body to another (among them that of Helen of Troy), she
experiences every kind of suffering. Finally she becomes a whore in a
brothel in Tyre, in Phoenicia. And here the pre-existing God, in the
guise of Simon, descends to redeem her for ever.
The pre-existent God of the Simonians, according to their reinterpret-
ation of the Christian Trinitarian mystery, descended first as the Son
among the Jews. He later appeared, in the guise of Simon, as the Father
in Samaria. Finally, as the Holy Spirit, he descended on other nations.
Simon is the universal Saviour and Redeemer. In liberating Helen, he
actually liberates the soul dispersed in matter and reveals himself as he
really is: the True God. Moreover, he also descends to re-establish the
world situation, which is badly governed by the angels. The message
that he is said to have announced, at first as Jesus (a Jesus who, among
other things, is supposed not to have really suffered), then as Simon, is
one of total liberation. Whoever believes in him is safe from this world,
which is destined for destruction. The Gnostic is now free to act in
accordance with the criteria of a sovereign liberty, no longer subject to
mundane norms and conventions.
Even if the Simonian system, in what might be called the second (or
third) phase, seems to be unaware of typical Gnostic elements such as
the Demiurge or self-knowledge, there can be no doubt of its structure.
In the background can be seen themes such as the breaking of the unity
of the archetypal androgyne; the progressive estrangement of its female
dimension, whose duty is characteristically that of genetrix mundi or
World Mother; the fall of this principle into a world in dualistic
opposition to the upper world; the consequent need for redemption and
liberation by means of a Saviour figure who, in this case coincides with
the pre-existent God Himself. The story of Helen and Simon symbolizes
the story of the soul fallen into this world of darkness and ignorance,
a whore, but ready to be converted and to receive her heavenly spouse,
her liberator and Saviour. The charms of the eternal female and the
magic arts of the male counterpart combine so cleverly as to produce a
model and a legend destined to last for centuries. ©
It is difficult to establish a connection between this report in Irenaeus
and the system attributed to the Simonians by Hippolytus, who derives
it explicitly from the Megalé Apophasis, or Great Revelation.*” The
concept of the divine that characterizes this work is monistic. An infinite
Divine Power pervades and gives form and life to everything. Initially
upright, since the divinity is absolutely transcendent, it then unfolds, in
a series of hypostases, into the realities of the microcosm and the
macrocosm. Everyone has an image of this power in themselves. It is
their job to become an image, to realize the divine potential that is
within them, to recover the ontological fullness of their being. There is
no doubt about the Gnostic nature of the system. Consider, for example,
the following passage from Hippolytus:
To you then I say what I say and write what I write, this writing (that
follows): there are two offshoots of all the aeons, which neither begin
nor end, proceeding from a single root, the power of which is silence,
invisible, incomprehensible. One of these appears on high, namely the
great power which is in the universe, which governs all things, (which is)
male; and the other below, a great conception, which is female, which
generates all things. Therefore being each other’s counterparts they form
a pair and exhibit the space between them, the intangible air which has
neither beginning nor end. Within it is the Father who upholds all things
and nourishes the things that begin and end. This is he who stands, took
his stand and will stand, being a male-and-female power like the pre-
existing infinite power, which neither begins nor ends, existing in
isolation.*®
The pre-existent principle produces as an image of itself an entity that

is also androgynous. According to its male dimension, it is Nous or
Intellect, which governs everything; according to the female dimension,
it is the Thought whose responsibility it is to give birth. Thus we find
a duplication of the functions attributed by the Simonians of Irenaeus
to Ennoia: cognitive power within the Father of his own mystery
and generative power towards the world. Together these functions
reconstitute the perfect image of the Father, whose direct intention is
to save the created world and Man. This entity, which is, was and will
be upright, offers the ideal model for the perfect Gnostic. To become
an image: that is, in the particular language of this revelation, to achieve
Gnosis means in fact to make straight the true human, the essential
human who still lies supine within us.
By virtue of its decidedly syncretistic nature, its strongly monistic
tendency and its deep debt to the tradition from which it draws a long
series of topoi, or topics, the Megalé Apophasis is an important witness
to the third (or fourth) phase of the Simonian movement, which is by
now detached from the figure, historical or legendary, of Simon. Having
abandoned the symbolism hidden behind the Ennoia—Helen myth, the
Simonian of this generation appears to reflect more optimistically and
rather more universally on the very essence of the Gnostic myth: the
meeting with the self as an attempt to reconstruct the original androgyn-
ous unity.??
The final phase of the Simon story is given in the Apocryphal Acts
of Peter and the pseudo-Clementine romance.*° By now legend has
taken over. According to the rules of the narrative romance typical of
these narratives, Simon, who has become Peter’s enemy par excellence,
engages in a series of contests with the apostle to demonstrate their
respective magic powers and is inevitably defeated, having become
possessed by a ceaseless, masochistic delirium for power which results
in tragi-comic self-destruction.*! The biographical details contained in
these sources are as follows: his parents were called Anthony and
Rachel; he received a classical education at Alexandria and a Christian
education with John the Baptist.42 The details, on the whole, are
unreliable. This may not, however, be the case regarding his connection
with Dositheus, a shadowy figure who appears to have had some part
in the beginnings of a Gnostic movement in Samaria.*? Similarly the
statement that insists on his Roman travels may have some claim to
historical veracity. Even if Simon was not active towards the middle of
the second century in Rome, a Simonian community certainly was (as
we know from Justin), in lively competition with (and dependent upon)
the local Gnostic communities.
What conclusions can we draw from this brief analysis of the principal
testimonies concerning the Simonian movement? There appear to have
been different phases of development. From a local cult of Jewish origins,
but syncretistic in tendency and lacking specifically Gnostic features,
revolving around a Samaritan holy man, it became in the second century
a typical Gnostic movement. The impact of Christianity was decisive in
the sense that Simon was transformed into a Gnostic Saviour. The
encounter with pagan philosophy provided further elements of confirm-
ation and added depth to the mythological nucleus. This nucleus has
features in common with (though not necessarily derived from) the myth
of the archetypal Androgyne and his Ennoia, which we know from
other sources. Simonianism demonstrates the ability to adapt and change,
typical of certain mythical themes in the course of a long history. Even
if it tells us little (and that much of questionable value) about the origins
of Gnosticism, its internal development raises a problem to which we
must now direct our attention: the history of the Gnostic movement
itself.
10
Visionaries, Prophets and Divines:

Towards a History of Gnosticism
ECSTASY, POSSESSION AND REVELATION
Simon Magus is an emblematic figure. Whatever his historical reality

may have been (and this is now lost to us), the features accorded to
him by the heresiologists are so many indicators of the way in which
his opponents perceived and experienced the dangers of Gnosticism.
Irenaeus accuses the Simonians of practising exorcism and incantations,
singing erotic hymns, confecting love potions, invoking those demon
companions (typical of Greek magic) who send dreams, and generally
making use of every sort of magic.’ The purpose of this sort of accusation
is clear: to discredit the opponent in whatever way. The history of
opposition to sectarian movements furnishes so many examples of this
sort that the historian must be on his guard against them. Indeed,
Christians themselves were liable to be the victims of similar accusations.
And yet it is permissible to ask whether the easy cliché of the
accusation of magic does not conceal, at least in this case, a significant
nucleus of historical truth. This does not mean literally trying to establish
the value, the function and the nature of magic in Gnosticism? (a
problem made more difficult by the fact inter alia that magic in the late
antique world was more widespread and less easy to define than one is
now inclined to believe*). Identical actions were subject to opposing
ideological interpretations. Celsus regarded the miracles of Jesus as an
example of negative magic. Origen objected to them in that those
thaumaturgical acts could never be regarded in this way, because they
had been performed for good by a man of exceptional, irreproachable
morality, who would certainly not stoop to using evil demons.*
Equally ambivalent are the miracles performed by Apollonius of Tyana.
Philostratus,*> his biographer, is anxious to demonstrate, with arguments
not unlike those of Origen, that his enemies’ accusations of his practice
154 Visionaries, Prophets and Divines
of diabolical arts are unjustified, because Apollonius seeks to do good
and his hero’s thaumaturgical power originates in a divine source.°®
Against this background the case of Simon Magus deserves further
consideration. We have already mentioned the profound religious
revolution in the marketing of religious goods at the dawn of the
Christian era. In an age of prophets and holy men who had pushed
back the frontiers of the sacred world, one had to adapt oneself to the
new cultural models if one wished to make a success in that particular
profession. But what were the distinctive signs that the public, with its
insatiable appetite for novelty, expected from these novi viri, or new
men? They had to be signs capable of proving them, both socially and
religiously, to be representatives of the world above, at the same time
increasing sources of their fortune.
Weber intentionally used the phrase ‘charismatic power’ to define the
leaders of every sacred cosmos, attributing to them a divine origin. The
ancient world endorses this view. The most striking example in the area
of the Fertile Crescent, where ancient civilizations sprang up, consists
in the so-called phenomenon of sacred kingship,” which has significant
parallels in politico-religious phenomena investigated by anthropologists
among pre-literate societies, especially in Africa.® If the king is, by birth
or election, the legitimate source of a power that derives from the
divinity, the priestly caste, in its various historical manifestations, is the
mediator par excellence of this power. Ancient societies, including Greek
and Roman, display a tendency towards strict regulation of the use of
sacred power. Such power is vested in well-defined, hierarchically
ordered institutions; regulated by rites enveloped in the protective
cocoon of inviolable traditions and immobilized by subtle codification
worthy of the most refined casuistry, whose secret is possessed by
restricted elites; wisely administered in temples and sacred places erected
to the glory of the divinity and frequently inclined to become genuine
centres of political and economic power and to confer prestige on those
who run them; controlled in this way, the sacred had finally become
domesticated. The collective phenomena of the ‘undomesticated sacred’
that do not conform to this picture are rare indeed. As the case of the
Dionysiac religion shows, they are for the most part mere functional
cracks in an edifice that preserves its secular solidity intact.
The traditional boundaries between human and divine were well
garrisoned, even in the most difficult frontier zones. Take, for example,
the case of ancient prophecy.” There are certainly profound differences
between the Biblical and the pagan prophet. The Biblical prophet does
not lose his personality in the will of God, but speaks in his place,
announcing to the chosen people a divine message, now of liberation,
Visionaries, Prophets and Divines 155
now of ruin.'° The pagan prophet or prophetess, e.g. the Pythian,
empties him- or herself of their own personality to become a vehicle of
the divine power, which uses the person to transmit not ethical messages,
but all sorts of announcements and promises.!! Nevertheless, the Biblical
prophet and the pagan prophet share a fundamental attribute: they both
underline the difference between human and divine.
Thus the theios anér, the holy man, from this perspective, testifies to
a decisive change in attitude, as we have already seen. The stereotype
of Simon Magus is excellent corroboration of this. He is a fusion of
human and divine. And this difficult union, whose subtle balances are
bound to vary, but of which there can be no doubt, is actually his
strength. Humanity is no longer the temporary, but the permanent,
residence of the divinity. Indeed, they actually are the divinity. And the
leader is merely the example of a process that every one of the elect can
verify and realize within him- or herself.
Was the inner conviction of the holy man or woman enough to
provide reassurance of their acquisition of this new divine dimension?
They were confronted by a public eager for concrete proof and used to
men and women prepared to legitimize the proper cursus of religious
honours by means of visions and trances. Isn’t success measured in some
degree by its effects? So weren’t the magical practices of certain Gnostic
groups perhaps the inevitable price to pay for confirming, on a
psychological, but also objective, level, the success achieved by the
acquisition of this new benefit?
The exclusive, uncontrolled possession of sacred power can, however,
play cruel tricks. The Apostle Paul was well aware of this when in his
letters he castigated the Corinthians, the same community that he had
founded himself a few years earlier.!* Religious enthusiasm — and Paul
knew very well what he was talking about — could lead to unfortunate
conclusions. The Corinthians regarded themselves as ‘pneumatic’ and
‘perfect’,'* and took pride in a ‘knowledge’ that allowed them to do
anything. Possessors of the Spirit, they considered themselves already
resurrected.!° The very membership of the community became proof
and evidence that they belonged to the Spirit.'©
The recipients of these letters do not betray any sort of improbable
Gnostic leanings,!” but they are an important sign of the times; they
bear witness to a charismatic spirit, to which the Gnostic leaders will
also lay claim.
That the psychological origins of Gnosticism cannot be detached from
phenomena of possession and religious enthusiasm typical of the period
is also confirmed by the sparse evidence available to us. Some Valentinian
leaders experienced a fundamental vision. We have already mentioned
the case of Valentinus. Irenaeus tells us that one of his disciples, Marcus
the magician, had a similar experience. In a vision the Supreme Tetrad
descended from invisible, unnameable places in the Pleroma in female
form to reveal to him something never before revealed to God or man,
who he really was and how he came into being.!® .
Marcus’ visionary experience, akin to that of Valentinus, displays
some interesting features. The vision is a means of divine revelation.
Full detailed studies of its importance, diffusion and typology are now
available.!? Ancient literature, Biblical and classical, contains many
examples,”° but there is no space to examine them here. In the
Hellenistic period, in step with the process of the individualization and
spiritualization of religion, the vision tended to acquire a new status
and a different function. It is transformed from a means of attaining
definite goals of material benefits?! (through incubation, astrology or
magic) into an internal spiritual experience, which proves a decisive
turning-point in the life of the individual. In this sense Valentinus’ vision
is not unlike that of Paul; it is a meeting with Christ, which radically
transforms the life of the visionary. The epopteia, or vision, thus
becomes an end in itself. The vision loses its thaumaturgical function
and acquires a redemptive one.
In the case of Valentinus and Marcus, he who appears to the visionary
is not immersed in sleep, but awake and alert, the Supreme Divinity
himself in his role as Saviour of humanity. Unlike the apocalyptic visions,
whose Sybilline allegory inevitably features a particular intermediary
(usually an angel), in these Gnostic visions the divinity is revealed
directly, because this is the only way in which it can reveal to the
Gnostic the umbilical cord that unites the Gnostic to himself, his own
ontological reality. The vision proper is followed by an explanation in
the form of the recital of a myth,?* a paradigm with which we are
already familiar. It is at the root of the visionary experience of Hermes
in the Poimandres. Its ‘Gnosticism’ consists in the fact that, as a result
of this particular pneumatic vision, Gnostics become what they see.
We find indirect confirmation of this strange mystical union in the
Sitz im Leben, or situation implied in a certain Gnostic literary genre
of revelation discourse. We have already often encountered this genre
in documents such as the Pistis Sophia or the Apocryphon of John.
With only one or two variations, the scene is always the same. The
perfect Saviour, the risen Jesus, reveals to the circle of chosen disciples
total, definitive gnosis. In many cases the means of revelation is the
vision. This happens to Mary Magdalene in the Gospel of Mary? and
to the disciples in the Wisdom ofJesus Christ.2* The experience of John
in the eponymous Apocryphon is significant. The Supreme Triad25
appears to him. The vision of the divine in many forms?° enables him
thus to understand and to grasp intuitively the very nucleus of the
system. The resulting explanation, in the form of a mythical account,
is intended merely to express and, as it were, to unfold, on the level of
logical-discursive and spatio-temporal co-ordinates, a reality already
perceived and possessed in its constituent nucleus.
So if a particular psychological origin for Gnosticism is required, it
must be located in experiences like those of Valentinus, events that
moreover had to be widespread, as the experiences concealed in a
literary genre such as the revelation discourse confirm. ‘The Spirit blows
where it will.’ But the Gnostics now knew that this liberty was in deep
knowledge and intuition of the Father’s will itself, of which the Spirit
was the most complete manifestation.*”
SECOND-CENTURY GNOSTIC DOCTORS
But who really were the Gnostics? It has taken so long to arrive at this
inevitable question for the simple reason that the documents, though
they tell us much about their doctrines and ideas, only tell us a little
about the personalities and biographical data on the founders and
heads of the schools. For the most part, we have to rely for this on
information provided by the heresiological sources. The picture that
emerges, though fragmentary and partial, covers the second century. In
addition to the names of Basil and Valentinus, already mentioned, there
are others who deserve closer attention.
Irenaeus (who, together with Clement of Alexandria, is our principal
source for Gnostic prosopography) tells us that Simon’s successor was
one Menander, also a Samaritan accused of magical practices.?® Like
Simon, he preached the existence of a First Power, an unknown and
absolutely transcendent God, said to coexist with Ennoia, who brought
forth the angels who created this world. Unlike his presumed master,
however, Menander, who also identified himself with the Saviour sent
by the Invisible Ones for the salvation of humankind, is said not to
have identified himself with the Supreme Power. A new, interesting
feature is that his disciples can obtain resurrection, and hence immortality,
in this life by means of baptism in the name of the founder. This seems
to indicate, in the earliest forms of Gnosticism, the existence and the
importance of certain ritual. practices.
The information given by Irenaeus about Menander is difficult to
assess. It is unique in the mass of heresiological literature. If taken
literally, it would bring us forward to the generation after Simon
6

(c. Ab 80). Irenaeus seeks to show Menander’s dependence upon Simon
and attributes to him doctrines similar to. those of the arch-heretic
himself. But we saw in chapter 9 above that Simonianism as known to
the Bishop of Lyons has to be placed in the middle of the second
century, not of the first. On the other hand, the simplicity of this system
may be seen as an indication in favour of an earlier date. The Gnostic
myth seems to be reduced to a few essential elements: a Supreme God,
Ennoia—Sophia the mother of the angels who create this world, a Saviour
figure who promises a Gnosis drenched in magic, and baptismal practices
that aim to reassure and confirm the proselyte. The most likely hypothesis
is that Menander represents one of the first links in the Gnostic chain.
It is significant that the area in which this Gnostic teacher was active
was Antioch, for this would confirm the probable Jewish origins of his
teaching and the function of Jewish Christianity as a privileged channel
of its diffusion.*?
Menander is said to have been succeeded by Saturninus (or Satornilus,
an Antiochene from Daphne) and Basilides, in Syria and Alexandria
respectively.°° Like Menander, Saturninus is said to have taught the
existence of an unknown God, himself the creator of the archangels,
angels, power and dominions.*! The world was created by seven angels,
who also made humankind, for
When a shining image appeared from the supreme power above, which
they were not able to detain, he says, because it immediately sped back
upwards, they exhorted one another, saying, ‘Let us make a man after
the image and likeness.’ When this was done, he says, and their creation
could not stand erect because of the powerlessness of the angels, but crept
like a worm,** then the power above took pity on him because he had
been made in his likeness and sent a spark of life which raised the man
up, equipped him with limbs and made him live.**
We are now in full Gnostic myth and in a period that can probably
be dated between ap 120 and 130 (Saturninus is contemporary with
Basilides). The many Gnostic parallels with Saturninus’ anthropogony
remove any doubt about the reliability of Irenaeus’ report. Saturninus
taught a typical Gnostic theory of dual creation. Fashioned on the
physical plane according to the forms of a luminous divine image (an
interpretation of Gen. 1:26), Adam is nevertheless unable to stand
upright. The Supreme God infuses into him directly the spark of life
that constitutes his spiritual principle (an interpretation of Gen. 2:7). In
this version there is no mention of the Ennoia—Sophia myth theme or
that of Demiurge. The spark of life, at the moment of death, will return
to the divine reality consubstantial with it, while the body will
disintegrate.
Clearly Jewish in origin, the movement, perhaps in a second phase
known to Irenaeus, seems to have been influenced by Christianity.
Hostile to the God of the Jews, who was identified with one of the
seven creator angels, Saturninus taught that Christ the Saviour — for
him ungenerated, incorporeal and with no form, in accordance with the
rules of a rigorous docetism — had come to destroy the God of the Old
Testament and to save those who had the spark of life, which comes
from him. To speed up the process of salvation, his disciples practised
extreme asceticism, abstaining from meat and sexual intercourse. They
considered that matrimony and procreation were of Satanic origin.>4
In Basilides we encounter for the first time the embodiment of a truly
profound and original Gnostic thinker.*° It is quite unlikely that he was
a disciple of Menander or that his dualism was Persian in origin.*° But
it is certain that he was dependent upon the tradition of Greek thought,
and his residence in Alexandria may be considered confirmation of
this.3” He lived in the first half of the second century. Of his enormous
output (including twenty-four books of Exegetics on the Gospels and
on odes and psalms) only a few fragments survive in the works of
Clement of Alexandria. There are also two notices about him in Irenaeus
and Hippolytus, but they disagree with each other. His work was
continued by his son (perhaps in the spiritual sense), Isidore, about whose
works (Ethics, A Treatise on the Temporary Soul, An Interpretation of
the Prophet Parchor) we know something from Clement.
Basilides was a Christian Gnostic. According to Hippolytus he derived
his teaching from oral, esoteric traditions going back to the Apostle
Matthew,?® or (according to Clement) to Glaucias, a disciple of Paul.°?
He began a tradition that is found again in other Christian Gnostic
writers.4° He sought to relate his teachings to eyewitness accounts of
the life of Jesus, the privileged generation of Apostles and first disciples.
In an age in which oral tradition still retained its prestige intact,*’ there
was perhaps no more authoritative method, in Christian circles,*? of
legitimating their own doctrines.
From the fragments of Clement and Origen there emerges an
impressive, if somewhat partial, picture of the person, and it reinforces
the originality and vigour of Basilides’ thought. The starting-point seems
to have been the problem of evil.*° And the fragments are imbued with
a profound pessimism about the intrinsic sinfulness of the human soul.
Even the child who has not sinned has in itself the inclination to sin;
and even the perfect human being does not escape this paradoxical
situation.** Isidore explained this congenital tendency to evil by the
doctrine of the appendages of evil:*+° ‘The desire for evil things is born
as a result of the stength of the appendages.’ To explain this one might
think of the widespread conception (already mentioned) according to
which the soul, in its descent to the world through the planetary spheres,
receives specific negative characteristics. Or, even better, a doctrine like
that of the antimimon pneuma, or counterfeit spirit, in the Apocryphon
of John or the Pistis Sophia. However that may be, the doctrine of the
attachments of the soul is merely a variant of dualist anthropology
typical of Gnosticism. Evil is innate, dwells in human beings and lives
and acts in them. Far from the detailed and horrifying descriptions of
the demons at work in the human body provided by the Apocryphon
of John, Basilides’ anthropology, equally pessimistic, finds in the
redemptive action of Jesus (interpreted ina profoundly ethical way) the
means of liberating the soul from the cycle of reincarnation. The first
precept ‘of the will of God [is] to love everything, for everything is
interrelated; and the second is not to desire anything; the third is not
to hate anything.’*° This ethic of compassion and non-violence, whose
evident similaries have led some to consider (improbable) Buddhist
influence,*” must be seen against the background of the information
about Basilides presented by Irenaeus and Hippolytus.
In fact, it is difficult to reconcile the two reports. We have already
mentioned Basilides’ original system as described by Hippolytus, which
revolves around the idea of a non-existent God from whom the seed
of the world comes and who contains a triple Sonship. The tendency
towards monism and optimism in this system makes one think (rightly)
of a later phase in Basilides’ thought,*® in opposition to the original
dualistic pessimistic nature of the system, as it appears in Clement’s
fragments and Irenaeus’ report. Indeed the Basilides of Irenaeus is said
to have made a greater division between the cosmos and the pleromatic
world.*? Apart from the ungenerated Father, the divine universe of
Basilides’ system is said to come ready made from the Nous, Logos,
Thought or Phronesis, Wisdom and Power. From the last two aeons
come virtue, Archons and angels, which form the various heavens, up
to a total of 365, so as to make a perfect correspondence between
celestial space and the cycle of the year.°° The angels that are in the
Last Heaven are those that created everything that is in the world,
including humankind. Their king is the God of the Jews. Among them
is a continual struggle for predominance. This explains the evils that
afflict the world and its peoples.
The ungenerated Father then sends his own Nous, also called Christ,
to liberate ‘all who believed in him from the power of the angels who
had created the world.’>! His suffering, however, is only apparent. It
will be remembered that Simon of Cyrene really suffered in his place.
None of the theories proposed to reconcile these two statements is
very convincing. As we have said, that of Hippolytus represents an
optimistic, universalistic phase in the development of the master’s
thought, a phase that should be attributed to a Basilidian school at the
beginning of the third century, in keeping with a general tendency in
the Gnostic movement of that century.
Carpocrates was also a contemporary of Basilides.°* Some doubt has
been expressed (wrongly) about this person’s historicity,>? for the simple
reason that almost no details of his life have come down to us. Clement
of Alexandria does tell us a little about his son, Epiphanes, whom he
actually identifies as the true founder of the movement. Born at Same,
in the island of Cephalonia, he is said to have died there at the age of
seventeen. A temple was built there in his honour and he was worshipped
in it as a god.>* Still, Clement records a few extracts from his On
Justice;>> they do not prove it to be a Gnostic work, though they
indicate that it belongs to the utopian, libertarian tradition. Appealing
to the ancient opposition between nature and law, already posed by the
Sophists, Epiphanes affirms the natural community of material wealth,
repudiating the concept of private property as a product of human law.
The inevitable consequence of this antinomianism is typically depraved
behaviour:
In common for all he made the vines which refuse neither sparrow nor
thief, and likewise the corn and the other fruits. Fellowship and what
belongs to equality when violated gave birth to a thief of creatures and
of fruits. In that God made all things in common for man and brought
together the female with the male in common and united the animals
likewise, he declared righteousness to be fellowship with equality. But
those thus born rejected the fellowship which had brought about their
birth and say: ‘Who marries one, let him have her’, when they could all
share in common, as the rest of the animals show.°*®
Epiphanes was thus obliged to attack the Mosaic Law also, whose
injunction not to desire the goods or the wife of one’s neighbour ‘turned
what was communal into private property’.°’ This veiled attack, not
against the God of the Old Testament (Epiphanes recognizes a single
providential God), but against his legislator, seems to be the only point
of contact with Gnosticism.°*
Irenaeus’ statement on the Carpocratians provides a picture of a more
expressly Gnostic system.°” There is the figure of Marcellina, otherwise
162 Visionaries, Prophets and Divines ‘
unknown. Irenaeus says only, however, that she came to Rome during
the papacy of Anicetus (c. ap 160). One wonders if in this case too
Irenaeus’ statement does not reflect a later stage of development in the
Carpocratian system, whose early embryonic phases are said to go back
to Epiphanes.
The importance of the doctrine of metempsychosis for these Gnostics
has already been mentioned. The soul, of divine origin and cast down
into this world, a prisoner of the body created by the malevolent
Archons, had to try every kind of sin to be able to aspire to liberation.
Here too antinomianism and libertinism are bound inextricably together
in confirmation of the superiority of the Gnostic compared with human
and demiurgic laws.
Jesus the Saviour is actually only a man. The son of Joseph, he was
the most just of men. At a specific moment the ungenerated God instilled
into him a superior power. It was this power that spoke with the
disciples, revealing to them the secrets of Gnosis in private converse. To
be the possessor of Gnosis is to be equal, if not superior, to Jesus. This
Christology presents characteristics typical of certain groups of Jewish
Christians, who regarded Jesus merely as a man (albeit a superior one).°°
It underlines the presence and the importance of the Judaic element. On
the other hand, the Carpocratians known to Irenaeus had assumed
purely syncretistic features, according to him. In addition to practices
such as that of branding the back of the right earlobe, they worshipped
images, some of them painted, including that of Christ (they believed it
went back to the time of Pilate, who is said to have had it made during
the trial), which they displayed together with those of the great
philosophers Pythagoras, Plato, Aristotle and others. This confirms the
link with the Greek philosophical tradition that appears in the fragments
of Epiphanes.
Marcion, also a contemporary of the Gnostic thinkers of the first half
of the second century,°! deserves a special section to himself. It was his
destiny to be born in a land of great religious traditions: Asia Minor,
at Sinope (modern Sinop) on the Black Sea. His father was a bishop
and his family must have belonged to the highest social class in that
lively, important commercial city. In his life, in his original profession
as shipowner and merchant (naukléros), he travelled widely; his
geographical travels tended to merge with his spiritual ones (as they did
for other religious leaders of the time). We do not know the date of his
birth, but it must be placed towards the end of the first century ap. It
was not ancient custom to profile childhood or adolescence, as modern
writers do, and the Christian polemicists®* tended to concentrate on the
acme of Marcion’s career, the time when his personality came to
maturity. This was the time of his arrival in the Rome where Valentinus
was carrying out his mission as a teacher. He had grown up in the
Christian tradition, driven out perhaps by the rivalry of his father,
perhaps by disagreements with his own community,® probably after
spending some time in the coastal cities of Asia Minor, such as Ephesus
and Smyrna.*%* Polycarp of Smyrna calls him the ‘firstborn of Satan’.®
Marcion made his way to Rome, an almost obligatory goal in his
wanderings (c.139—40).°° There, according to Irenaeus,°” he became the
disciple of Cerdon the Syrian,®* who lived in Rome during the papacy
of Hyginus (136-40). Marcion learned from him that ‘the God
proclaimed by the Law and the prophets is the Father of Our Lord
Jesus Christ, for the one is known and the other is unknown, one is
just and the other is good.’°?
In addition to having a strong personality, Marcion possessed a lively
ambition, a quality that was compatible with an intense, radical
religiosity like his. More than a prophet, he seems to be a logical
believer, a sort of Occam whose razor-sharp reasoning exposes
contradictions and rejects every possibility of compromise.
At first he joined the community of Roman believers and sought to
expound his doctrines at a synod. But they were rejected, and he was
expelled in 144,7”° a decisive date for the Marcionite church, which later
was to take it as that of its own hegira, or expulsion. He must have -
regarded the expulsion as a sign from destiny. It was time to replace
the false church with the real one. Thus, after his estrangement from
the Roman church, he founded his own, with a hierarchy of bishops,
priests and deacons, in competition with the model of the True Church,
from which it diverged by virtue of the possibility of a career in the
priesthood, which it offered to women.”!
The vision of an opportunity to establish an ecclesiastical organiza-
tion as an alternative to the True Church was evidently successful. A
few years later Justin bears witness to its success,’* and Tertullian, his
fierce adversary, was compelled to admit that Marcion’s church had
‘filled the entire world.’’? While Gnostic schools and conventicles began
to disperse in later centuries as a result of internal disputes and under
pressure from the triumph of both Christianity and Manichaeism,
Marcionite churches diffused throughout Italy, Egypt, Mesopotamia and
Armenia were still flourishing in the fourth and fifth centuries, according
to the lively polemic of the great Syrian father, Ephraem.’*
Before Mani, Marcion had understood that if one wanted to compete
with the True Church or to replace it, it was necessary to beat it at its
own game: organization. This meant an efficient, functional hierarchy,
a lively, attractive liturgy, as well as clear and precise doctrines. In
support of his doctrine Marcion therefore compiled a corpus, a sort of
embryonic canon of New Testament texts uniquely valid for his church,
including the Gospel of Luke and ten Pauline letters. He had also exerted
a form of censorship, to remove all Jewish elements from these texts.’°
His reasons for this censorship were dictated by his theological system,
about whose interpretation there has been some lively controversy. We
now propose, therefore, to examine his doctrine.
Its distinctive feature is that, though it is not strictly within the Gnostic
system, it is difficult to understand it without reference to this religious
area. In one way Marcion follows the path opened up by Paul. What
struck him about Pauline teaching and what he sought to explore more
deeply was the mystery of grace and its relation to divine justice. The
unavoidable dialectical polarization, which constitutes the originality
and profundity of the Apostle’s thought left Marcion perplexed and
dissatisfied. He saw justice and grace not as two aspects able to coexist
in one God, but as irreconcilable modalities of two different gods.
Theological dualism thus led him to a ditheistic formula with its resultant
anti-cosmism, both strongly bound up with Gnostic doctrines. “The
Marcionites impudently turn up their noses at creation and reject the
work of the Creator. “This world? A truly magnificent piece of work,
well worthy of its creator,” they say’, is what Tertullian has to say
about them.’°
The Creator and his world reflect and condition each other. If the
body is doomed to perdition and the world is the seat of evil, its Creator,
the Spirit of this world, cannot be positive. Not that the Demiurge is
arrogant or malevolent, as in many Gnostic systems. He simply has
nothing in common with the Good God, the alien God accessible only
to the Son. ;
In a lost work, the Antitheses, Marcion systematically laid out the
points of opposition between the two Gods.’” One is the artisan, the
God of creation and generation, the ruler of this Aeon; he can be
predicated, because he is known, and known from his own real work,
the world. The other is the hidden God, unknown and incomprehensible.
In the latter case the predicates typical of contemporary apophatic
theology recur, but with a different emphasis. Marcion’s God, an alien
par excellence to this world, is above all the New God, the Good God.
In contrast to the Gnostic systems, humankind and the world are utterly
alien to him. It is an important point: the nature of God is quite different
from that of man, just as it is different from that of the world. The
human is made of corruptible body, and of soul, but this soul is not a
spark of the same substance as the divinity. Marcion’s God, therefore,
is not the Gnostic God, who is obliged in some way (even in his infinite
liberty and unknowable will) to reveal himself to the elect, because by
saving the elect he saves himself. The revelation made by the Son of
God to humanity is an act of pure, total and unfathomable grace: ‘This
single work is sufficient for our God, Who has liberated man through
His supreme, superlative goodness.’’* This statement conceals the nucleus
of Marcionite theology. The intervention of divine grace cannot in any
way be conditioned by humans. God does not intervene to liberate them
from sin or guilt or misfortune, as Paul taught; still less, to recover his
own parts, which have been dispersed in matter, as the Gnostics required.
Marcion’s grace is ‘a grace that has no past ... the paradox of an
incomprehensible grace, unsought, unprecedented ... a profound mys-
tery of divine goodness as such.’”?
It is against this background that his Christology must be interpreted.
It is not docetist. Christ really did suffer, even if it was in a particular
body. It teaches that the Saviour redeemed men as strangers ‘because
no one ever buys those who belong to him.’8° And the price of the
redemption was his blood. It was not offered for the remission of sins
or in vicarious expiation, but to cancel the Demiurge’s claim on his
creatures once and for all.8! The adopted souls that listen to, and accept,
the message of the Stranger God are saved by their own experience of
faith, not because they receive some sort of Gnosis.’
So is Marcion a Biblical theologian or a Gnostic doctor? The answer
to this question depends largely, of course, on what is meant by
Gnosticism. If anti-cosmism is regarded as its essence, it is difficult to
deny Marcion the hallmark of Gnosticism. This position has been argued
authoritatively by Jonas,*? but nevertheless contradicts the evidence of
all the factors that point in the opposite direction. Marcion does not
have the actual concept of Gnosis as a doctrine of the meeting with the
self. Accordingly, its necessary mythological correlate is absent, that is
to say, the minute anatomy of the self projected onto the mythical screen
of the mental processes that take place in the pleromatic Anthropos by
means of the action of his cohort of hypostases. Even where clearly
analogous elements can be seen, as in the figure of the Demiurge, these
actually function and can be explained in different ways. It is true that
in Marcion the polemic against the Old Testament, its God and its
prophets reappears. But this treatise alone is not enough to label a
system of thought as Gnostic. Even Marcion’s asceticism has its own
roots:
Not wanting to help to populate the world made by the Demiurge, the
Marcionites declare their refusal to marry, challenging their Creator and
hastening towards the Unique Good, which has called them and which
(they say) is God in a different sense. Therefore, not wanting to leave
anything of themselves here, they become continent, not for any moral
principle, but out of hostility to their maker and because they do not
want to avail themselves of his creation.**
This refusal is therefore not dictated by an ethical principle, but rather

by the wish not to collaborate in any way with the work of the
Demiurge, in a ‘metaphysical alignment’, which is a distinctive feature
of Marcionite thought: a radical Paulinism carried to its extreme, whose
presuppositions are far from both the tradition of the True Church and
the Gnostics.®°
That there is a ene difference, though not an insuperable one,
between Marcion and Gnosticism (though they are in some ways linked)
may also be deduced from what we know of his disciple, Apelles.*° He
probably came into contact with Alexandrian Gnosticism and broke the
fascinating, but very delicate, doctrinal balance of the master. He
resolutely explored the Gnostic possibilities virtually embedded in his
system. The Demiurge became explicitly a creature of the Supreme
God.’” The Old Testament, which Marcion considered to be simply a
religiously worthless document, becomes a work of deception, whose
lies Apelles sets out to refute in his Syllogisms.88 Unlike Marcion, who
put himself forward in the guise of an exegete and theologian, Apelles
(according to’ Eusebius) adapted himself to the genetic model of Gnostic
knowledge and allowed himself to be convinced ‘by the oracles of a
virgin possessed, Philomena’,®? and he wrote down these revelations in
a (no longer extant) work, the Revelations. But a more significant
feature, which also represents a radical departure from the psychology
of the master is that Apelles recognized in souls a pre-existence with
the Good God, that is, a divine origin, which predestined them to
salvation, according to the model of the viri novi of Arnobius.?°
The second half of the century is dominated by the Valentinian school,
whose mythological and theological systems have been fully treated. We
now have to confine ourselves to the few biographical data that we
have of its founder and his most important disciples.
We know that Valentinus came to Rome during the papacy of Hyginus
(136-40), but rose to the peak of his teaching career in the time of Pius
(150—S).?! Egyptian by birth, he received his education at Alexandria,
where he probably came into contact with the Gnostic writings and
mythological stories that he used as the basis of his own Christian
Gnostic system. We know of his success as a teacher in Rome from
Tertullian. He was put up for the papacy, but passed over in favour of
Pius the Martyr. He then broke with the community, which later rejected
him as a heretic.”* But he must have continued his activity in Rome for
many years, because he was still active under Anicetus (154—65).?%
Even his enemies concede that he had an outstanding personality,°*
a religious genius, visionary and mystic (his initiation into Gnosticism
is an example), a poet and a shepherd of souls. The extant fragments
of his work seem to reflect the impetus and depth of the founder of the
religious community. He addresses his disciples in a prophetic tone in
a homily:
From the beginning you are immortal and children of eternal life. You
wished to take death to yourselves as your portion in order that you
might destroy it and annihilate it utterly and that death might die in you
and through you. For when you destroy the world, you yourselves are
not destroyed, but you are lords over the whole creation and over all
decay.”°
Critics have taken pains to reconstruct the system probably devised

by Valentinus.?° The almost insurmountable difficulty has been that
heresiological literature presents it in such diverse and irreconcilable
ways. Moreover, some of the Valentinian texts from Nag Hammadi
have been attributed (on rather flimsy evidence) to Valentinus himself.?”
The hypothesis (though not admitted) of many of these reconstructions
is that the Gnostic systems developed from the simple to the complex.
Accordingly, one must hypothesize that the original founder’s system
was extremely simple. On the other hand, Valentinus was active for a
long time during which he probably introduced variations and corrections
into his own system.
Hippolytus tells us that Valentinus’ disciples were divided into two
schools: the western or Italian, with Ptolemy and Heracleon; and the
eastern or Anatolian, with Theodotus, Assionicus and Marcus.?® The
reason for this schism was, as we have already explained, a Christological
controversy about the nature of the body of Christ, considered by the
western branch to be psychic, and by the eastern one to be pneumatic.
The former continued the work of the master in Rome and extended it
to south Gaul. A central feature of this Italian branch seems to have
been, if the Christological controversy is any indication, the positive
evaluation of the psychic element. We have already mentioned this in
connection with Ptolemy, the author of the Epistle to Flora and the
deviser of the system expounded by Irenaeus in the long account he
devotes to the Gnostics: ‘It rivals the system of Mani in [its] conceptual
compactness and is superior to it in depth of thought.’??
The same tendency is evident in Heracleon,'°° according to Clement
of Alexandria, the most esteemed of Valentinus’ disciples.'°' He was
the author of a commentary on St John’s Gospel of which Origen quotes
many passages in order to refute them in his own commentary on the
same work. It is the first known continuous commentary on a Gospel.
Heracleon uses the technique of allegory to discover the underlying
principles of Gnostic anthropology, on which he concentrates his
attention. The importance of this work is confirmed by the fact that
Origen himself, in his meticulous rebuttal of it, is actually influenced by
it, especially in its exegetical technique.
We know nothing of Theodotus. Clement of Alexandria composed a
work called Excerpta ex Theodoto'°? or, more precisely, Extracts from
the Work of Theodotus and the Oriental School at the Time of
Valentinus. But it is actually a complex work, in which it is not always
easy to distinguish Clement’s observations from the quotations from
Theodotus and in which the doctrines of the western and eastern schools
are intermingled. The work is an indispensable document for the study
of the Valentinian system.
We are better informed about Marcus the magician.!°? An oriental
from Asia Minor, or perhaps even Egypt, he moved to the West, as far
as the Rhéne Valley, where his activities came to the attention of
Irenaeus, who hastened to pour scorn on what he considered to be
Marcus’ real motives: ‘He is especially interested in women, particularly
in wealthy, elegant women, whom he frequently attempts to seduce.’!°*
The fascination with which certain types of women regard some religious
leaders is certainly not an invention of Irenaeus, who makes an easy
game of being ironical about the adventures of this Gnostic Casanova.
But the comments he makes in his report help us to understand the
Gnostic aspect of this seduction.'°° Marcus interprets the symbolism of
spiritual matrimony in a quite literal way. By means of the material
seed, Marcus, the envoy of the Supreme Tetrad, transmits the seed of
light to his victim in turn. In this way the reunion between male and
female is anticipated, as is that of angel and image, intellect and psyche,
that will finally take place in the Bridal Chamber of the Pleroma.
Against this background it is easy to understand the spate of cultic
activity that took hold among some groups of Marcosians. Another
feature of Marcosian Gnosis is the predilection for arithmetical specul-
ation and number mysticism, widespread in contemporary culture,
which the Marcosians used in order to reinterpret the mysteries of the
pleromatic world.'°°
Beyond the most representative exponents of the Valentinian school,
we must admit once again that we know little or nothing of other
Gnostic figures. Hippolytus has left us an intriguing document: the Book
of Baruch, by the Gnostic Justin.'°”? The text expounds a typical triadic
system: a transcendent principle, the Good; a second principle inferior
to it, the Father of All, or Elohim; a female principle inferior to both,
Eden, or Earth, who is half woman and half beast, because she
participates in both upper and lower worlds. Humans are the fruit of
the union of Elohim with Eden, from whom they receive spirit and soul,
respectively. But then Elohim returns to the Good. Eden, angry and
jealous, scatters her angels, especially Naas (the serpent), against what
remains of her lover in the world, the Spirit. The redemptive process
then breaks forth. Baruch, an angel of Elohim who opposes Naas, sends
liberators (Moses, some prophets, including a pagan one, Heracles,
whose presence confirms the syncretistic nature of the system), who
nevertheless fail in their mission. Only Jesus will succeed in the work
of redemption, ensuring the return of the human spirit to its original
principle.
An original document, even in the variety of its borrowings (especially
from Judaism),!°° the Book of Baruch in its compactness reveals the
intervention of a creative figure. But the heresiologist’s discretion has
left us only the name of this figure.
Hippolytus also mentions the system of a certain Monoimus the Arab,
in which arithmetical speculations are prominent.'°? We are now at the
end of the second century, a period to which the activities of Prodicus,
a libertine Gnostic mentioned by Clement of Alexandria, should probably
besreterred:11°
RESISTANCE AND SURRENDER
The statements of heresiologists allow us to reconstruct the visible part

of an iceberg. We have some idea of the complexity and vastness of the
submerged part, but we cannot be specific about it. What are the spatio-
temporal co-ordinates that we have to use to assess many of the Nag
Hammadi texts? How can we arrange them without resorting to
convenient labels that will help us to classify their content but not to
assess their historical value? Take the case of the texts we have defined
as Sethian. The theological systems illustrated by them undoubtedly
present structural affinities and analogies. But to conclude from these
affinities that there were certain groups who called themselves ‘Sethians’
is historically quite a long step, and it is not always possible to be
certain about it.!!!
What can be documented historically is, rather, the gradual disappear-
ance or the slow submersion into third- and especially fourth-century
society of groups and communities that had played an important social
and religious role in second-century society. The very structure of
Gnostic associations contributed significantly to this phenomenon of
gradual dissolution — their character as clubs, ‘confined and restricted
to intellectuals, to esoteric communities programmed to exclude the
external world, often in conflict with each other, lacking organization
or institutions.!!2 What appeared in the second century as strongly
binding elements had been changed into points of weakness.
Second-century Gnosticism was the expression of an economically
expanding and socially mobile provincial society. Its cosmopolitan
aspects, with its syncretistic tendencies, its cultural flexibility, its ability
to realize an aristocracy of the spirit on the religious level, its use of
mythological, symbolic languages to satisfy popular and intellectual taste
(it was both profoundly theological and speculative) were able to contain
the tensions of the newly emerging social groups and to provide an
outlet for the uprooting and social-religious crisis experienced by
traditional groups as a result of acute economic and social change. In
this situation the openness of the communities, their internal fluidity
and egalitarianism were strong points, but they proved to be short-
lived. They were to pay dearly for the absence of real organization and
the rejection of institutional roots.
When Gnostics adhered to more traditional structures or created their
own alternatives, they developed and lasted longer. We have already
mentioned the case, albeit anomalous, of Marcion’s church. The fortunes
of the Valentinian school afford a more relevant example.''? Divided
as it was internally by doctrinal disputes, it nevertheless had the
advantage of being able to graft itself on to existing and widely tested
structures. The organizational tradition of Schulbetrieb, or schooling,
and the elite school revolving around the figure of a recognized master
and attended by select, faithful pupils,''* though not perhaps a strong,
cohesive element, enabled it to survive. It was a not inconsiderable life-
support to be grasped in the treacherous, dangerous crises of the third
century. The subsequent history of Valentinianism, however relative, for
several centuries is proof of this.
The hostile attacks of Plotinus''’ and Origen'!® prove that the
Valentinian tradition was still thriving in the third century. There is
even more significant evidence of its survival after the Diocletianic
revolution. Epiphanius mentions Valentinian groups in Egypt in the
second half of the fourth century when he records in his Panarion that
‘the seed of Valentinus is still in Egypt today,’!!” a statement confirmed
by the privilege the curators of the Nag Hammadi corpus have afforded,
within it, to the school’s writings. Even Didymus the Blind (d. 398),
active in Alexandria, bears witness to the survival of Valentinian
anthropology and Christology. He attacked both them and their ‘many’
adherents repeatedly.!18
At Antioch John Chrysostom, in a series of works at the end of the
fourth century, directly attacked the Valentinians, who continued to
enjoy a certain prestige, on the subject of asceticism.!!?
Imperial policy also has provided us with an important document.
An edict of 362 (of Julian the Apostate) tells us that there were
disagreements between Arians and Valentinians!?° at Edessa under
Constantius. Ambrose tells of reprisals c.388 against Valentinians at
Kallinikon,'*’ an important Roman fortress and commercial city on the
Euphrates in Osrhoene. At the instigation of the local bishop, monks
had attacked first the synagogue and then the Valentinian cult centre.
They were also the target of imperial religious policy. They are especially
mentioned in the anti-heretical law of Constantine in 326.'22 That this
is no mere cliché (Valentinians are constantly found in lists of heretics)
is clear from the fact that under Theodosius they enjoyed a tolerant and
protective silence. For the axis of religious policy has shifted against
more immediate dangers, such as Arianism on one side and Manichaeism
on the other. But under Theodosius II the edict of 30 May 428 once
again reveals the Valentinians as heretics ‘forbidden to assemble and to
pray on Roman territory.’!%
This evidence is enough to provide a picture of how enduring and
widespread the school was. Isolated traces survive into the seventh and
eighth centuries, but only a pale echo of the great flowering of the
second century. These fleeting references should not, however, deceive
us. If the third century was a period of resistance, the fourth century
was one of surrender. The previous century testifies to a discreet
florescence of texts and treatises. Many of the Coptic texts must have
been composed during this period in their original Greek: e.g. the texts
of the Askew and Bruce codices and the speculations of Arnobius’ viri
novi can be assigned to the third century.
Some scholars have posited a devolutionary phase in Gnosticism,
whose beliefs are marked by a proliferation of entities and pleromatic
worlds and whose cultic practices show a significant increase in magic. !?°
It is difficult to support this hypothesis. Moreover it requires a more
certain dating of many of the Nag Hammadi treatises. In any case one
must remember that some second-century systems (e.g. the 365 heavens
of Basilides) had begun to multiply the intermediaries and that magical
formulas and arithmetical speculation were already being cultivated by
some groups, such as the Marcosians.
Rather, if there is a tendency evident in the third-century texts, it is
that the monistic aspect implicit in second-century dualist systems!*°
becomes more marked by a process of reaction (and adaptation) vis-a-
vis the increasing success of the Neoplatonic theory of emanation and
the optimism and universalism of the True Church.
Epiphanius is almost our only source for the pockets of fourth-century
resistance, provided by groups of Archontics (a type of Gnosis like that
of the Sethians)!*” or libertine Gnostics, whom: we shall discuss in
chapter 11. But by now the evidence is isolated and historically irrelevant.
The Gnostic adventure was coming to an end.
Lg
Ascetics and Libertines
TOWARDS A SOCIOLOGY OF GNOSTICISM
Tertullian’s caustic pen gives a rare glimpse of the internal life of a

Gnostic community:
First, one does not know who is a catechumen or a believer. They enter
on equal terms, they listen on equal terms, they pray on equal terms...
they do not care if they profess different doctrines, provided that they all
help to destroy the truth. All are proud, all promise knowledge. The
catechumens are perfect before being instructed. And heretical women,
how brazen they are! They dare to teach, to dispute, to exorcize, to
promise cures, even perhaps to baptize. Their ordinations are improper,
superficial, changeable. Now they appoint neophytes, now those attached
to secular life, now apostates from our faith [Christianity], so as to bind
with vainglory those whom they cannot bind with the truth. Nowhere is
it easier to obtain promotion than among the enemy, where simply being
there is considered an achievement. And so, today one man is a bishop,
tomorrow another. Today one is a deacon who tomorrow will be a lector.
The presbyter of today is the layman of tomorrow. Even members of the
laity are charged with the duties of a priest.'
Even if in this polemic the African writer associates the practices and
behaviour that seem to belong to different groups, to Marcionites as
well as Valentinians, his sardonic, lively group portrait is still valid.
Tertullian is an institutionalist. What he finds intolerable is the anti-
institutional aspect of the Gnostic movement. The existence of roles,
which are apparently observed, is continually subject to discussion by
the implicit possibility of changing them at will. The protective umbrella
of a hierarchical order is constantly threatened by an indiscriminate
egalitarianism, which makes catechumens and initiates equal, while
traditional male superiority is threatened by the snares of impudent,
uncontrolled feminism.
Tertullian’s description, however, confines itself to the external and
174 Ascetics and Libertines .
generic data of a fundamental sociological problem: the nature, internal

structures and mechanisms of co-opting and exclusion that are central
to Gnostic communities.2 With the available data the problem appears
almost insoluble: difficulties of internal order, such as the esoteric nature
of the groups in question, the absence of direct, or at any rate easily
usable, references, the lack of epigraphical or archaeological material,
which usually helps to fill in the lacunae of the literary documentation,
and the scarcity of heresiological evidence all seem to militate against a
purely sociological investigation.
Various elements seem, nevertheless, to emphasize the probable
egalitarian structure that must have characterized the community in the
awareness of its members and in its daily life. Gnostics were brothers
and sisters,> a generation and a race of the perfect,* children of the
same Father. They live in a house of ideal peace, where dissension is
unknown.° The same caste structure, distributed in more or less rigid
anthropological hierarchies, helped to confirm the egalitarianism of the
group of the elect.
On the other hand, some exhortations raise the question of what
these images conceal. Are they not perhaps ideal representations, which
seek to portray the opposite of what is actually the case? Dissension
and polemic within and between the various schools are well known.®
And it is unlikely that egalitarianism was rigid and absolute. Irenaeus
speaks of the imexpertiores, ‘somewhat inexperienced’ in connection
with those who were first to fall into the Gnostic trap, the rudes, or
‘simpletons’.’ It may be inferred from this that there were different
levels of followers in certain cases. Of course, this also depended on the
consistency of the group. There did not, however, have to be many
members; as Basilides warns, one in a thousand is capable of attaining
the Gnostic mysteries.* Within these small groups self-consciousness was
also a cohesive element. To define onself as the ‘seed of Seth’, ‘the
unwavering race’, ‘the race that knows no sovereign’, earthly or heavenly,
implied, at least, theoretically, a group that was more rigid and compact
internally, in total retreat from the surrounding world.? This is proved
indirectly by the more ambiguous, flexible encounter of the Valentinians
with the world. They glimpsed the possibility of mediation. They reached
out to the psychics of the True Church. All in all, they did not have
the rigid, intolerant, exclusive conception of salvation typical of the
average Gnostic conventicle, which was closed to the world.
The relations of the group with the outside world were influenced by
their adopted model of aggregations and associations. A scholastic type
of structure, such as that of the Valentinians, placed the initiate in a
particular teaching tradition at a high level, which, while creating an
Ascetics and Libertines 175
intellectual type of hierarchy, at the same time encouraged a special
spiritual communion between disciples and master, the sort that existed
between Plotinus and his disciples (in a very different context).
But in other situations the prevailing model must have been that of
the thiasoi of the mystery cults, clubs of those who adhered to particular
initiations, mostly recognized in or tolerated by law.!° These were
especially widespread in the Hellenistic period. They exude the same
cosmopolitan atmosphere; they contain individuals looking for religious
well-being as a personal possession; they practise rites of passage that
guarantee the initiate a new religious and social licence.
It would, however, be dangerous to overdo the comparison. While
we are reasonably well informed about, for example, the Mithraeans,
and their structure, initiation rites and hierarchical scale,!! we know
little or nothing about analogous Gnostic cult places and what we do
know must be treated cautiously.!*
We shall say a little more about cult practices in the next section. But
we must emphasize the difficulty of drawing an outline of the Gnostic
communities. It is not unlikely that there were certain levels of spiritual
perfection (as, for example, among the later Manichaeans), but this
differentiation on the basis of the nature of the members must not be
forced or interpreted solely in the sense intended by Irenaeus. There are
different sources of evidence of a certain cultural homogeneity in the
Gnostic communities. Whoever uses their writings will become the
possessor of an elementary scholastic baggage full of the sort of
philosophical notions to be found in handbooks (at least).!3 Their
compilers, with good reason, betray the influence of the Hellenistic
school.!* Even the existence of genuine translation schools is a valuable
piece of evidence.
To support these little translation schools was no small economic
undertaking. Eusebius?» tells us that a Valentinian called Ambrose, later
converted to Christianity, was able to finance the costly work of
stenography and calligraphy for his master Origen, simply because he
was very wealthy. This significant detail in turn raises two questions.
The first concerns the social background and economic status of the
initiates. Here too the sources are obstinately scarce. We have already
mentioned Marcus the magician, who liked the company of rich,
beautiful women. It would, however, be misleading to generalize on the
basis of this isolated fact. It is true that, at least in the case of leaders
like Basilides and Valentinus, they probably were of a wealthy socio-
economic origin. They must have completed their entire study course,
an accomplishment that in those days involved considerable expense
and required a large fortune, with its travels and residence in the most
famous schools. It is significant that Marcion (though not strictly

Gnostic) belonged to a wealthy Sinope family. But it is unlikely that the
well-to-do classes were the only ones to be recruited. Gnostic Christians
exploited the same territory as the Christian missionaries, whose activity
is widely attested in the principal economic and commercial centres of
the Empire. Only rarely did they recruit from among the well-to-do
classes. It is true that they were active among a socially stratified group,
but this was largely the petit bourgeoisie (to use an equivalent modern
term).!°
This is not surprising. The Hellenistic polis, with its varied markets,
its racial crossroads, cultural outlets and the myriad possibilities of
openings for upward social mobility and religious and cultural change,
became a melting pot for old and new religious movements. It had
already encouraged a certain expansion in Judaism. Paul’s mission had
also passed through the synagogues. And Christian communities (as in
the case of Valentinus) might shed their skin to reveal a Gnostic serpent.
That women occupied a privileged place in Gnostic communities can
be deduced from several sources.'” The egalitarian and anti-institutional
nature of the Gnostic communities is one indication: they sought to
reinforce the new social prestige of women emerging in society or to
mitigate, if not to abolish, their traditionally subordinate role in society
and the family. True society now became the spiritual one, composed
of brothers and sisters; the other society was merely a pale imitation
or, worse, a degenerate illusion.
The burial inscription of Flavia Sophé, a Gnostic, reads:!*
You who long for the Fatherly light, sister and spouse, my Sophé, anointed
in the baths of Christ with incorruptible, pure oil, you hasten to look
upon the divine faces of the heroes, the great angel of the great council
[the Saviour], the true son, as you enter the bridal chamber and rise
[immortal] to the bosom of the Father.
One thinks immediately of the privileged role of Mary Magdalene,

revamped in the esoteric Gnostic tradition. She occupies a prominent
position in the revelation discourses.'? In the Pistis Sophia she is, apart
from the Saviour, the principal actor. Conscious of her superior nature,
she continually intervenes to question Jesus or reply to his most difficult
questions. All this bears witness to her pneumatic superiority.2° A
Gnostic gospel is directly connected with her revelations.2! And in the
Gospel of Philip she appears as the Saviour’s terrestrial companion, the
counterpart of celestial Sophia.*+
Thus Tertullian’s picture of heretical, impudent women who ‘dare to
teach, debate, carry out exorcisms and promise cures’ was not far from
the truth. Marcellina was a Carpocratian leader. Apelles received
revelations from the prophetess Philomena. The women who agreed to
sexual intercourse with Marcus received the gift of prophecy denied to
them by the True Church. The circle closes.
Here too, however, one must not force these data too much. The
Gospel of Thomas finishes with this lapidary verdict, which should
discourage any interpretation trying to be too ‘modern’: ‘Simon Peter
said to them, “Let Mary [Magdalene] leave us, for women are not
worthy of Life.” Jesus said: “I myself shall lead her in order to make
her male, so that she too may become a living spirit resembling you
males. For every woman who will make herself male will enter the
Kingdom of Heaven.” ’?3
The invitation, couched in a gentle, persuasive form, as here and in
parallel cases,** or in contrast in a brusque, threatening way and in
openly, violently misogynistic language,*> nevertheless conceals the same
thought: women as such cannot enter the kingdom of heaven. This
conviction underlies both the inscription of Flavia Sophé and the
relationship of Marcus with his prophetesses. Some Valentinians, as we
shall see later, instituted a sacrament, spiritual matrimony, to confirm
a central feature of their theology on the level of ritual practice. The
female function is essentially generative, and generation inevitably means
a progressive ontological impoverishment. Therefore the female element
is the cause, however indirect, of the creation of the world and of
humankind. By itself, however, it is incapable of aspiring to the heights.
The process of salvation, in this sense, is essentially male; a process, as
it were, of masculinization. The final equilibrium re-established in the
bosom of the archetypal Androgyne will therefore be an equilibrium in
which the male is destined to triumph. Indeed, this was inevitable in a
society still profoundly patriarchal, which had not experienced the
boldness of modern feminism.
The second question raised by Eusebius’ statement about the Valentin-
ian Ambrose concerns the economic bases of Gnostic communities. This
is a matter likely to remain unresolved. It is a subject about which we
know, unfortunately, almost nothing; the sources of income, the amounts
involved, the use of resources, payment of taxes and the means of
internal distribution are all unknown. Were there common funds that
paid for missionary activity, translations, upkeep? Or were these purely
spiritual communities, whose members did a normal job in the outside
world to support themselves? The absence of internal information makes
any comparison with possible parallels useless, whether with, e.g. the
self-sufficient communities like those of the Essenes described by Philo
178 Ascetics and Libertines
(who lived on the edge of cities) or the ‘spiritual clubs’, like the
Hellenistic thiasoi.
We must therefore leave to one side this intriguing question, which
is likely to remain hypothetical, and examine another aspect about
which we are better informed: the cult.
RITUAL PROCESSES
For the ancients religion was primarily cult observance and ritual
practice. Even at the beginning of the second century the devout Plutarch
expressed this deeply rooted conviction in the Moralia:
When travelling you can find cities without walls, writings, kings, houses,
property, that have no need of money, without any idea of a gymnasium
or theatre. But a city without a sacred place or gods, that has no prayers,
oaths, oracles, sacrifices for thanksgiving or rites to ward off misfortune,
has never been or ever will be seen by any traveller.*°
The Gnostic tendency to undermine the traditional religious institutions

of the polis was also at work in the cult. A ‘left’ wing of the Valentinians,
consistent with its uncompromising logic of genuine theological and
political dualism, considered that true perfection had no need of any
external ceremony:
... one ought not to celebrate the mystery of the ineffable and invisible
power by means of visible and corruptible created things, the inconceivable
and incorporeal by means of what is sensually tangible and corporeal.
The perfect redemption is said to be the knowledge of the imeffable
‘Greatness’. From ignorance both deficiency. and passion derived; through
knowledge will the entire substance derived from ignorance be destroyed.
Therefore this knowledge is redemption of the inner man. And this is not
corporeal, since the body perishes, nor psychic, because the soul also
derives from the deficiency and is like a habitation of the spirit. The
redemption must therefore be spiritual. The inner spiritual man is redeemed
through knowledge. Sufficient for them is the knowledge of all things.
This is the true redemption.?”
This perfect ‘pneumatic equation’, distinguished by its radical nature,

helps to illuminate a profound change in religious behaviour at the
beginning of the Christian era. In pagan mystery cults theology develops
from ritual. In the new religious movements, however, unless it is
expressly rejected, ritual becomes an expression of theology. The change
is quite important, even if historical reality has amused itself by weaving,
from the traditional situation depicted by Plutarch and the radical
solutions of certain Valentinians, a more variegated and faded texture
reflecting the complexity of human reality more accurately.
Gnostic ritual might be classified according to three types.** There
were the rites that had acquired an exclusively symbolic value and did_ /
not require external verification.A typical example is provided by the
fourth treatise in the Corpus Hermeticum, The Crater, which belongs
to the pessimistic dualistic trend. It describes the acquisition of intellect
(which means that it is not a natural possession) as being immersed in
a kratér, or mixing bowl (in which wine was mixed with water). The
messenger of Gnosis announces in fact to humans: ‘Immerse yourself,
you who can, in this kratér, you who believe that you will return to
him who sent the kratér here, you who know why you were born.’??
In this way all those who heard the message and immersed themselves
in the kratér ‘were made to participate in knowledge and became
perfect???
Is it possible, as some interpreters think, that this symbolism conceals
genuine practising of ritual immersion??! It seems most improbable:
‘The Hermeticists occupied the position among the ancient religiously
minded distinctive of the Quakers today, inasmuch as their faith
necessitated no fixed cult and dispensed with sacraments and their
concomitant sacerdotalism’, is an observation made, not without a
certain anti-catholic irony, by Angus in 1929.° His remark is still
valid today as far as Hermetic ritual practice is concerned. This Hermetic
ritual is an Idealritual,>> which takes shape in an atmosphere of mystical
participation in the mysteries of personal rebirth and solitary encounters
(requiring no external apparatus) with the divinity. Against this back-
ground some of the statements in Gnostic pein in which the act of
Gnosis is seen as a baptism** or an unction,*° can be better understood.
It is a mistake to want to see in them more or less veiled hints of genuine
cult practices — and also because the texts are quite specific when they
discuss actual rites.
The second type of ritual is marked by the presence of a specific J
ceremonial. In some cases the rites preserve a strong symbolic value; in &
others they are simply reduced to the gestural act.
Many of these rituals had been taken up by various contemporary
institutions, both the True Church and the mystery cults. Baptism is
attested among the Valentinians,*° who evidently derive it from the
Christian cult. Those like Marcus,*’ who believed in the usefulness of
a tangible rite, appealed to the baptism of Christ. There were two
baptisms: the first, imperfect and used by members of the Church in
connection with the remission of sins, was the baptism of the earthly
Saviour, the visible Jesus, announced by John the Baptist for repentance;
the second, the Gnostic type, was spiritual baptism, the redemption
brought by Christ for perfection.*® In this second case, the neophyte
was led to the water and baptized with these words: ‘In the name of
the Father unknown to all, in the Truth, Mother of All, in the One
Who came down upon Jesus, in the union, redemption and communion:
of powers.’ In order to impress the listener, others added Hebrew words,
meaning: “Through all the power of the Father I invoke you, you who
are called light, good spirit and life, because you have reigned in the
body.’3? Forms of unction and of the eucharist are also attested*° as
sacraments (as we have:already seen) that were to attend the demise of
the believer.
But the Gnostics also invented new ritual forms: for instance two
parallel, but opposing, rites: the ceremony of the bridal chamber, a
Valentinian conceit, and the orgiastic cults of some libertine groups,
mentioned by Epiphanius. The first in particular deserves our attention.
Its rich symbolism, with its mixture of the themes of continence,
matrimonial sexuality and the function of woman, throws a penetrating
light on a certain type of Gnostic mentality.
The Coptic version of the Hermetic Asclepius depicts the mystery of
sexual union as follows:
And if you wish to see the reality of this mystery, then you should see
the wonderful representation of the intercourse that takes place between
male and female. For when the semen reaches its climax, it leaps forth.
In that moment the female receives the strength of the male; the male for
his part receives the strength of the female, while the semen does this.
Therefore the mystery of intercourse is performed in secret, in order that
the two sexes might not disgrace themselves in front of many who do not
experience that reality. For each of them [the sexes] contributes its (own
part in) begetting. For if it happens in the presence of those who do not
understand the reality, (it is) laughable and unbelievable. And, moreover,
they are holy mysteries, of both words and deeds, because not only are
they not heard, but also they are not seen.*!
The sexual union that is consummated in marriage between gods or

between gods and humans is at the heart of the rituals belonging to
many religions.*? In the ancient world the ceremonial hieros gamos, or
sacred marriage, is widely attested in Egypt and Mesopotamia.** Even
ancient Israel was not unaware of its mythological nuances, but
significantly retraces and sublimates the relationship between Jahweh,
the husband, and Israel, the unfaithful wife, even if in texts such as the
Song of Songs the mystical background continues to be filled with
ancient erotic imagery.**
In the Hellenistic world the theme returns in the mysteries, even if
the interpretation of certain passages remains disputed.** As for primitive
Christianity, the New Testament itself is rich in nuptial images that
concentrate on the relationship between Christ and his Bride, the
Church.*® The image is susceptible of various interpretations. And in
the ascetic Christian tradition it tended to legitimate both the ideal of
chaste marriage or the spiritual ideal of a woman and of a church, a
virgin and a new Eve, able to make up for the sin of the mother.*”
It is not surprising that the theme of spiritual marriage had, for the
Valentinians, a significant function not only in myth, but also in cult.
Reasons of general and specific order combined. The millennial history of
ascetic movements, of Christian heresies and generally of nonconformist
religions presents as an underlying theme polemic against, criticism and
rejection of, the institution of marriage, which in the medieval and
modern period, eventually came to be identified with Christian matri-
mony. The great variety of solutions proposed (complete rejection of
marriage by the Encratites,*® unconsummated marriage among certain
Christian ascetics,*? mystical celibacy,°? Mormon patriarchal polyg-
amy,°' ‘marriage’ with several partners, as practised in certain nineteenth-
century American settlements,°* and the matrimonial Nicodemism of
certain Russian sects**) converges, however, on one point: criticism of
the institution of marriage, with its regimentation and its sexual
hierarchy, its cultural models and, not least, its economic bases. The
official microcosm contained in it and the genetic code imposed on it
by society must be replaced by other embryonic germs of the new world.
We have often mentioned that the theme of the union of Nous and
Psyche, of the angel and its image, to restore the original androgynous
unity, is central to the Valentinian myth. It constitutes a bond between
the beginning and the end of this great mythological epic. On the other
hand, if one considers the risks implicit in an individual ritual practice
of a purely spiritual kind unconstrained by social control, it will come
as no surprise that the Gnostics had found in this myth support for a
genuine ritual. Indeed, it is not given to everyone to control his/her
sexuality alone without some residual danger. There is always the
lurking risk that rejection of a public ritual may be transformed into a
menacing display of obsessive, neurotic and ultimately destructive private
ritual. The ritual process therefore imposes itself with all its force. It is
true that one might still resort to the seductive strategy of Marcus the
magician: the private realization of the act. But, apart from other
considerations, it was a matter of individual practices, not easy to codify,
182 Ascetics and Libertines ¥
of an art of seduction not always available to everyone. Those who

denied themselves and were thus not able to pursue this avenue had to
resort to periodical social control of their instincts, intentions and acts;
and, more precisely, to the social force of the ritual process, which was
able to adapt and periodically to refashion the individual biopsychic
being in accordance with the norms of the behaviour code that the »
group imposed on itself.°* Only in this way was it possible to tame, to
control and to channel those dark, savage forces of sexuality identified
(significantly) by Gnostics with the bestial side of human nature — in
general with its female dimension. An event such as matrimony, charged
with the mysterious sacredness of sexual intercourse, might open itself
to various possibilities, from its denial to the socially controlled
sublimation of the individual libido. The dangers of perilous, inevitable
temptation and deviation were avoided by the force of the symbolic
process. The energies and impulses, both sexual and aggressive, unleashed
in the clear symbolism of the ritual kiss,°> became embroiled in new
pregnant symbols representing the values and virtues on which the
structural order (and hence the community itself) depended.
Thus, Irenaeus tells us, some Valentinians ‘prepare a bridal chamber
and perform a mysterious initiation with invocations for the initiates
and define these actions of theirs as spiritual marriages in imitation of
higher unions.’°° The Gospel of Philip helps us to understand the sense
of this restraint by means of symbolism and this religious control of
sexuality. Indeed, ‘the bridal chamber is not for the beasts or for slaves
or for impure women, but for free men and virgins.’°’ The author refers
several times to his model of matrimonial relationship. Adultery must
be rejected.°* To achieve this, control over one’s impulses is essential:
The children a woman bears resemble the man who loves her. If her
husband loves her, then they resemble her husband. If it is an adulterer,
then they resemble the adulterer. Frequently if a woman sleeps with her
husband out of necessity, while her heart is with the adulterer with whom
she usually has intercourse, the child she will bear is born resembling the
adulterer.°?
Thus spiritual matrimony is not dictated by pleasure, but by the will.°°

Underlying these statements is a typically Valentinian concept: the
truth is not present in this world naked and pure, but in types and
images. The Gnostic therefore has to pass through an image of the ideal
celestial reality. This image, stripped of its most material features, is in
fact spiritual matrimony, anticipation of the perfect, definitive spiritual
union that will take place in the Bridal Chamber of the Pleroma. Then
‘the wedding feast, common to all who have been saved, will take place,
until all are made equal and know each other.’°! Then ‘the souls put
to one side, the spiritual elements, accompanied by the Mother who
leads the bridegroom, will themselves lead in the bridegrooms (that is,
their angels) and enter the Bridal Chamber within the Limit. They will
come in sight of the Father, having become intellectual Aeons, for the
intellectual, eternal marriage of the syzygy.’°*
However one interprets the cult, it helps to illuminate the internal
history of Valentinianism. Unlike the first generation, the second ‘seemed
able to attain the intellectual act too easily and not with enough
certainty. That which is concrete, the gesture, the sign, the words, the
formulas, all of this acquires greater certainty.’°? This tendency will
become clearer in some third-century documents. The Pistis Sophia and
the Books of Jeu affirm clearly that ‘it is no longer Gnosis, but
sacramental practice that is decisive for salvation.’°*
What can happen when ritual control of sexuality is no longer
practised is clear from the spermatic, orgiastic cults described by
Epiphanius. The future bishop of Salamis, at the happy age of twenty
(c.335) decided to go to Egypt, the chosen land of monasticism and
asceticism, where he was overtaken by misfortune. We do not know
exactly how he came into contact with a Gnostic sect which openly
rejected asceticism and paradoxically exalted those dark forces that he
wanted to learn how to control and suppress. Lascivious women tried
to seduce him, initiating him into the rites and written works of the
group. It apparently took him some time to realize what was going on.
Frightened by the abyss opening up before him, he betook himself to
the bishops of the city, denounced the Gnostics and engineered
the excommunication of ninety Gnostic converts masquerading as
Christians.°°
Despite all this, Epiphanius’ account seems reliable. However coloured
it might be, the very prudishness of the account guarantees the substantial
truthfulness of the picture of the heretics that he presents:
First, they have their women in common. And if a stranger comes to their
sect, they have a sign of recognition, the men for the women and the
women for the men: when they stretch out their hand, by way of greeting,
they make a tickling stroke beneath the palm of the hand, indicating that
the new arrival belongs to their cult. After this recognition of each other
the proceed to a feast at once. They serve up lavish helpings of wine and
meat, even if they are poor. When they have had their drink and filled
their veins, as it were, to bursting point, they give themselves over to
passion. The husband withdraws from his wife and says to her: ‘Rise up,
make love with your brother.’ The miserable wretches then indulge in
promiscuous intercourse. And, though it truly shames me for the disgraceful
things they did (as the Apostle said, ‘it is shameful to speak of them’),
nevertheless I shall not recoil from saying what they did not recoil from
doing, so as to arouse in my readers a shuddering horror of their
scandalous behaviour.
After copulating, as if the crime of their whoredom were not enough,
they offer up their shame to heaven. The man and woman take the man’s
sperm in their hands and stand looking up to heaven. With this impurity
in their hands, they pray in the manner of the Stratiotici and Gnostics,
offering to the natural Father of the Universe what is in their hands,
saying, ‘We offer you this gift, the body of Christ.’ And so, they eat it,
partaking of their own shame and saying, ‘This is the body of Christ, and
this is the Passover. And’so our bodies suffer and are compelled to confess
the passion of Christ.’ Similarly with the woman’s emission at her period:
they collect the menstrual blood whichis unclean, take it and eat it
together, and say, ‘Behold the blood of Christ ...’ And while they
fornicate, they deny that it is for procreation. They practise the shameful
act not to beget children, but for mere pleasure, while the Devil is playing
with them and dishonouring the divine creature. They take their pleasure
to its conclusion and take for themselves sperm of their impurity so that
it will penetrate no further and produce children, then they eat the fruit
of their shame. If one of them happens to allow the sperm to penetrate
the woman and make her pregnant, listen to the outrage that they dare
to perform. At the right moment they extract the embryo with their
fingers and take this aborted infant and crush it with pestle and mortar;
when they have mixed in honey, pepper and other spices and perfumed
oils to lessen their nausea, they all assemble to the feast, every member
of this troop of swine and dogs, each taking a piece of the aborted child
in the fingers. And so, when they have finished their cannibal feast, they
end with this prayer to God: ‘We have not been deceived by the Archon
of lust, but we have retrieved our brother’s transgression.’ And this they
consider the perfect Passover.°°
The ideological presuppositions of these practices must be sought in

the myths of these groups, who, apart from a few variants, are
substantially very similar.°” There are two opposing forces in the world:
the power of the Supreme God who generated Barbelo, the cause of
everything, and then made her fertile; and the power of the Lord of this
world. A part of the divine substance fell into the world; it had to be
gathered together and set free. This classic scheme was reinterpreted by
Epiphanius’ Gnostics in the light of a particular concept of the pneuma.
According to these Gnostics, “all that was stolen from the Higher Mother
(Barbelo) by the Archon who made this world and by all the other gods
who are with him and angels and demons must be gathered together
by the power which is in the bodies by means of the emissions of seed
by men and women.’®
This myth is based on a conception of the pneuma also found in
contemporary medicine,°? in which it was the carrier of the semen vitae,
or seed of life, in Gnostic terms the semen luminis, or seed of light, and
so the bearer of spiritual life. Human sperm thus transmits that of the
divine. “To gather up the membra [parts]’, the typical Gnostic theme at
the root of the Gospel of Eve,’ one of the group’s texts, involves the
emission and recovery of all the generative matter that contains and
transmits the seeds of light.”! At the same time, it implies the attempt
to put an end to the generative cycle that contributes to the dispersion
of the luminous substance.
Epiphanius’ statement, though it refers only to isolated groups living
in Egypt in the first half of the fourth century, raises a question that
goes to the heart of Gnostic ethics: were the Gnostics ascetics or
libertines?
ASCETICS OR LIBERTINES? THE DILEMMA OF GNOSTIC

ETHICS
‘The history of religion in general, even of Christianity for all its

predominant asceticism, offers too many instances in virtually every
century of the combination of cultic rites with sexual activities not
acceptable in ordinary society.’’* The nineteenth-century Catholic priest,
Boullan, of Lyons, taught his women and his disciples that, if they
wanted to ascend the spiritual ladder, they would do well to sleep with
him. This was clearly one of the many reincarnations of Marcus the
magician. Boullan performed obscene ceremonies and pornographic
rites, in which the host was combined with male sperm and menstrual
blaads They seem to be a epantAmED Es: unconscious echo of the orgiastic
rites of Epiphanius’ Gnostics.”
Early Christianity had, however, often been threatened by movements
of this sort in its anxious search for a more rigid asceticism. In the
fourth century the Messalians of Syria and Asia Minor, a spiritual
movement of ascetic tendency, were accused of wild promiscuity. There
is a revealing passage in the homilies of pseudo-Macarius. The author
warns the faithful Messalian’* against taking the image of the soul as
a wife too literally. The flesh is weak: and the text seems to suggest
that, at least in certain cases, the excitement caused by excessive spiritual
exaltation might run the risk of resulting in nothing but carnality.
Irenaeus accuses the Valentinians of depravity. His reasoning presup-
pe that the Gnostics are, in modern terms, amoral, if not nihilistic.
above every legal and ethical convention: ‘the spiritual element ...
cannot be corrupted, whatever it may be involved in.’’> He notes three
practices: eating flesh consecrated to idols; participating in every pagan
festival, including the theatre and the circus; corrupting the women to
whom they teach their doctrines. The first two accusations are clearly
specious. As far as we are concerned, it is only the’third that qualifies
as depravity. This type of classification, however, highlights Irenaeus’
methodology (and his belief in it): everything that violates Christian
standards is a sign of the Gnostics’ antinomianism and anti-legalism.
Depravity is merely a logical consequence.
This procedure is certainly not isolated. Plotinus also adopts it in his
critique of Gnostic ethics.”° Having established correct ethical positions,
he then draws the logical conclusions, accusing the Gnostics of
immorality.’”
Are the criticisms of these external observers about Gnosticism justified
by the original texts? However surprising and paradoxical it may be,
the answer is ‘No’. Not a single Gnostic Nag Hammadi text contains
any hint of immoral behaviour or, even worse, of any incitement to
immoral behaviour. There could not be a more radical contrast between
external sources and direct documentation. To return to Irenaeus, the
charge of sexual depravity is made not only against the Valentinians,
but also against the Simonians, the Basilidians, the Carpocratians and
the Cainites. If we consider other heresiologists, the list inevitably
becomes longer.”® This may indicate merely heresiological prudishness
born of mistrust, inadequate critical acceptance of oral tradition or
inventions pure and simple, whose purpose it was to warn the disoriented
flock of impending danger.
If it is true that the original sources confirm the hypothesis of a
militant asceticism in the Gnostic groups, it would nevertheless be
mistaken to deny the heresiological evidence any historical value.
Independently, authors otherwise reliable, such as Irenaeus and Clement
(not to mention the particularly youthful experience of Epiphanius),
adequately prove the existence, in the ethical Gnostic pendulum, also
of depraved attitudes and behaviour, which must have run counter to
the prevailing sexual ethic. However, that this is not simply a matter of
a merely heresiological topos, is sufficiently shown by the actual internal
disputes in Gnostic groups, an example of which is provided by the
accusations in the Pistis Sophia against immoral practices of some
Gnostics, not to mention more general reasons, which may be ascribed
to the very logic of human behaviour (and of which we have already
given examples).7?
Rather, if the Nag Hammadi texts have shown an important new
aspect of Gnostic ethics, it is that their nature is susceptible to control
and is not wholly deterministic. It is significant that non-Gnostic texts
such as the Sentences of Sextus are found in the library.8° The Sentences
are a collection of wisdom sayings, which were very popular in Christian
circles in the early centuries, extremely ethical and ascetic in tendency.
The dominant theme is control of the passions as a means of approaching
God and becoming his children. One must avoid the temptations of this
world and its overlord and live a pure life illuminated by reason in
order to turn to the Good. It is the traditional theme of the two ways,
presented here in ascetic and Encratite terms. The soul should always
be alert when confronted by bodily passions (95 and 391), whose
demands may be satisfied only in so far as they are conducive to good
health (78). All sexual impulses should be repressed by the soul that
aspires towards God (230-3), even when the believer is married (239).
If one should then become aware of not being able to overcome them,
it is better to castrate oneself, for only in this way will one escape the
fires of hell (13 and 273). Accordingly, it is advisable not to marry: it
will be easier to approach God (230a).
The practice of continence (enkrateia) was then made to apply to
other perils apart from sex (which was identified with woman, and was
the enemy) such as greed, luxury and wealth. Not of themselves Gnostic,
it is nevertheless understandable that these prohibitions proved acceptable
to certain Gnostic groups who had made rejection of this world and its
pleasures their ethical imperative and their normal daily conduct. Other
features of the Sentences too, the proud consciousness of belonging to
an intellectual elite or the privileged rapport with God reserved for the
continent,®! must have appealed to Gnostic mentality, especially if, as
some think, the collector of these books belonged to a monastic or
ascetic movement.®
The same might be said of the Teachings of Silvanus,®° which contain
exhortations to lead a life of abstinence (employing the style of Greek
wisdom literature) and to reject the passions, especially the sexual ones.
The author advocates struggle in the name of reason and with the help
of Christ, the Light who illuminates the mind.
This situation of a struggle of the senses, which requires a conscious
choice, is similar to that found in other Gnostic texts in the library.
Rigid determinism is followed by a more elastic, malleable freedom of
choice. In the Authentikos Logos the soul, a prey to continual tension,
finds itself having to face up to a fundamental decision: to choose the
life or the death of the spirit. Night and day it is attacked remorselessly
by many enemies because it is their inextinguishable desire not to allow
them any peace, constantly goading them. The author compares the
Adversary par excellence, the Devil, to a fisherman. He casts his nets
as traps. To be caught in one of them is to be damned: ‘And we will
be taken down into the dragnet, and we will not be able to come up
from it because the waters are high over us, flowing from above
downward, submerging our heart in the filthy mud.’** The nets that the
Adversary casts into this world are interwoven with desires:
First he injects a pain into your heart until you have heartache on account
of a small thing of this life, and he seizes (you) with his poisons. And
afterwards (he injects) the desire of a tunic so that you will pride yourself
in it, and love of money, pride, vanity, envy that rivals another envy,
beauty of body, fraudulence.*°
Of these dangers the most treacherous is ignorance, accompanied by a

certain spiritual apathy. But the soul can escape these traps and recognize
that passions are transient and illusory.
It will then adopt a new way of life: ‘Afterwards she despises this
life, because it is transitory. And she looks for those foods that will take
her into life.’8¢
This open situation of liberty and responsibility, which is not resolved
into a single act, but requires continual reassurance, has its parallels in
the Apocryphon of John and the Pistis Sophia and is also documented
in other Gnostic writings.”
At the end of our Gnostic odyssey, we find ourselves confronted by
a final question frequently asked, but difficult to answer exhaustively
or definitively. Isn’t the Gnostic saved by nature?** Isn’t it precisely the
awareness of this eternally preordained salvation that makes possible
its ambivalent ethics, torn between two extremes: an asceticism that
seeks to cancel out the very root of our desires and a depraved
antinomianism that mocks the laws of this world and its rulers?
Perhaps Jonas was right to emphasize the anarchic and nihilistic
character of a naturally rebellious ethic in search of a metaphysical
liberty, which exists absolutely, in itself.*? It is legitimate to ask, however,
if this fascinating modern interpretation really catches the variety, the
richness and (why not?) also the contradictory nature of ethical behaviour
that appears to us, in concrete terms, more complex and variegated. If
a modern enquiry were possible, it would be even more interesting to
know how self-aware the average Gnostic was. This person, who is not
simply a statistical ghost, free from the excesses of the orgiastic cults
and the heroism of the virtuous in death, sensitive to the subtle,
exhilarating fascination of predestination, but also more inclined in
behaviour to live with the perception of a situation still fluid and open,
was perhaps content with simpler motivations than those assigned to
him or her by modern interpreters: *... return to your divine nature’,”?
is the message in the teachings of Silvanus, ‘Live according to the mind.
Do not think about the things pertaining to the flesh.’?’ “You shall be
inai.’7-
Only by living to the full his human adventure was the Gnostic able
to realize his dream of freedom.
Notes
INTRODUCTION
This happened to traditionalists such as René Guénon, Frithjof Schuon

and Aldous Huxley. Underlying their work is an idea of ‘Gnosis’ as a
mystery reserved for elites (see ch. 9), a mystery revealed at the dawn of
history and handed down through the centuries in different religious
traditions via esoteric channels; see A. Huxley, The Perennial Philosophy
(London, 1947) and E. Schuré, Les Grands Initiés (Paris, 1954).
For example, the great German exegete and theologian Rudolf Bultmann
was subjected to accusations of being a ‘new Gnostic’; see G. L. Borchert,
‘Is Bultmann’s theology a new Gnosticism?’, Evangelical Quarterly 36
(1964), 222-8; J.E. Burkhart, ‘Gnosis and contemporary theology’,
McCormick Quarterly 18 (1965), 43-9; K. Primm, Gnosis an der Wurzel
des Christentums? (Salzburg, 1972), pp. 24ff.
On Jung’s relationship with Gnosis see G. Quispel, ‘Jung und die Gnosis’,
Er] 37 (1968), 277-98. In many of his works, beginning with the
fundamental Symbols of Transformation (1911), Jung used materials taken
directly from Gnostic sources. In this respect Aion (1951) is especially
important; after examining a number of Gnostic documents, Jung came
to the conclusion that many Gnostics were no less than psychologists
(p. 222). His memoirs are very informative about the period (1918-26)
when he not only studied ancient Gnostics, but also underwent ‘Gnostic’
experiences and wrote the Septem Sermones ad Mortuos. For details of
Jung’s works in English see R. F. Hull (trans.), The Collected Works of
C. G. Jung (London, 1902ff.), 20 vols.
The conferences, beginning in 1933, are published in Eranos Jahrbiicher.
Among the scholars of the various types of Gnosis, ancient and modern,
who have taken part in them, one might mention H. Corbin, G. Scholem
and E. Benz. Mircea Eliade has written vividly about the atmosphere of
these meetings in his Journal (London, 1978).
Gnosis als Weltreligion (Zurich, 1951).
He has written a lively, interesting autobiographical account in ‘A
Notes 191
retrospective view’ in G. Widengren (ed.), Proceedings of the International
Colloquium on Gnosticism. Stockholm, August 20-25 1973
(Stockholm—Leiden, 1977), pp. 1-15, Jonas’s bibliography is presented in
B. Aland (ed.), Gnosis, Festschrift fiir Hans Jonas (Gottingen, 1978). See
also I. P. Culianu, Gnosticism e pensiero moderno: Hans Jonas (Rome,
1985). On the relationship between Heidegger and Gnosis see S. A. Taubes,
‘The Gnostic foundation of Heidegger Nihilism’, Journal of Religion 34
(1954), 15Sff.
‘Gnosticism and modern Nihilism’, Social Research 19 (1952), 430-52
and The Gnostic Religion” (Boston, 1963), pp. 320ff.
According to E. Benz, Les Sources mystiques de la philosophie romantique
allemande (Paris, 1968), ch. 1, the four mystical sources of Romantic
German philosophy are: German mysticism from Meister Eckhart; the
thought of Jacob Bohme; the work of Emanuel Swedenborg; the discovery
of Indian thought. For different reasons all these strands of thought
contain, from a phenomenological point of view, important Gnostic
themes. Swedenborg (1688-1772) should really be treated separately; he
is a central figure in the eighteenth-century esoteric theosophical tradition,
a complex amalgam of scientist and mystic, whose visions are replete with
Gnostic themes. He had a profound influence on contemporaries noted
for their contribution to cultural life: “No other mystic had such a profound
influence on nineteenth-century French literature as Swedenborg. Balzac,
Baudelaire, Nerval and Georges Sand owe him much, as do Strindberg
and many other great writers’ (A. Faivre, L’Esotérisme au XVIIIe siécle
(Paris, 1973), p. 104). With Louis de St Martin, the ‘unknown philosopher’,
he represents one of the most important links in historical transmission
through the esoteric and generally theosophical medium of the doctrines
of Bohme and the Cabbala, which in their turn constitute a further source
of speculative idealism.
At the beginning of the last century F. C. Baur (1792-1860), a disciple of
Hegel and founder of the Tubingen School, began to see the speculative
theology of German Idealism as a sort of superior Gnosis; see Die
christliche Gnosis (Tiibingen, 1835), pp. 668-735. Liigert too regarded
Hegel as a ‘conscious Gnostic’; see G. Kriiger, ‘Die Aufgabe der Hegelfor-
schung’, ThRu (1935), 294-318. As for Schelling, see Baur, Christliche
Gnosis, pp. 611ff., and E. Benz, ‘Theogonie und Wandlung des Menschen
bei F. W. J. Schelling’ in his Urbild und Abbild (Leiden, 1974), pp. 69ff.
10. There are not many attempts: H. Cornelis and A. Léonard, La Gnose
éternelle (Paris, 1959), who examine the theosophy of Mme Blavatsky,
the traditionalism of Guénon, Jung and westernized Hinduism; J. Zandee,
‘Oude en niuewe vormen van Gnostiek’, Neederlandish Theologish
Tijdschrift 22 (1968), 161-84, who examines Bohme, the Rosicrucians,
theosophy, the anthroposophy of Rudolf Steiner, and contemporary
theologians such as J. A. T. Robinson and Paul Tillich; E. Samek Lodovici,
Metamorfosi della gnosi (Milan, 1979), who examines Hans Kiing and
various currents of contemporary thought; G. Hanratty, ‘Gnosticism and
192 Notes
modern thought’, Irish Theological Quarterly 47 (1980), 3-23 and 119-32;

ibid. 48 (1981), 80-92, who examines Hegel and Marx, Nietzsche and
Heidegger’s existentialism, Jung and Simone Weil, etc. It is clear that
Christian esotericism offers an obligatory and historically solid channel
through which certain Gnostic traditions have been metamorphosed and
transformed: see A. Faivre, ‘L’ésotérisme chrétien’ in H.C. Puech (ed.),
Histoire des religions, vol. 2 (Paris, 1972), pp. 1304-62.
hike In addition to the picture provided by Baur, Gnosis, pp. 544ff., see also
E. H. Schmitt, Die Gnosis, II Die Gnosis des Mittelalters und der Neuzeit
(Leipzig, 1907), and S. Hutin, Les Gnostiques (Paris, 1963). On the
persistence of Gnosticism in the Middle Ages, including Bogomils, Paulic-
ians and Cathars, see H. C. Puech and A. Vaillant, Le Traité contre les
Bogomiles de Cosmas le Prétre (Paris, 1945); S. Runciman, The Medieval
Manichee (Cambridge, 1947); M. Loos, Dualist Heresy in the Middle Ages
(Prague-The Hague, 1974); G. S. Gasparro, ‘Sur l’histoire des influences
du gnosticisme’ in Aland (ed.), Gnosis, pp. 316-50.
12. F. Secret, Les Kabbalistes chrétiens de la Renaissance (Paris, 1964).
13. W.E. Peuckert, Das Rosenkreuz* (Berlin, 1973); S. Hutin, Histoire de
Rose-Croix? (Paris, 1971); F. A. Yates, The Rosicrucian Enlightenment
(London, 1972).
14. G. Wehr, Alle Weisheit ist von Gott (Gutersloh, 1980).
Ss A. Koyré, Mystiques, spirituels alchimistes du XVle siécle allemand (Paris,
1971).
16. Id., La Philosophie de Jacob Bohme (Paris, 1929).
17, ‘The history of the influence of Jacob BOhme on European philosophy is
one of the most exciting chapters in the history of the European spirit’,
according to Benz, Sources mystiques, p.17. See also S. Hutin, Les
Disciples anglais de Jacob B6hme (Paris, 1960). For a list of the translations
of Bohme’s works into various European languages see W. Buddecke,
Die Jacob Bohmes Ausgaben. Ein beschreibendes Verzeichnis, Il Die
Ubersetzungen (Gottingen, 1955).
18. G. Quispel, ‘Faust: symbol of Western Man’, Er] 33 (1966), 241-65;
R. G. Zimmermann, Das Weltbild des jungen Goethe (Munich, 1970).
19: Hegel’s Dutch friend, P. G. van Ghert, offered the philosopher a complete
edition of the works of Bohme, two folio volumes (Theosophia Revelata,
Amsterdam, 1715), acknowledged in a letter of thanks by Hegel from
Nuremberg, 15 Oct. 1810.
20. E. Benz, Swedenborg in Deutschland (Frankfurt, 1948).
ae: On Baader see E. Susini, Franz von Baader et le romantisme mystique,
I-III La Philosophie de Franz von Baader (Paris, 1942); on the relationship
with Bohme see Benz, Sources, pp. 19ff.
po Benz, Sources, pp. 7ff.
Zo. K. Marx and F. Engels, On Religion (New York, 1964; repr. from
Moscow, 1957), pp. 24, 291 and n.
Notes 193
24: E. Topitsch, Sozialphilosophie zwischen Ideologie und Wissenschaft”
(Luchterhand, 1966), pp. 261-96.
Din L. Pellicani, I rivoluzionari di professione. Teoria e prassi dello gnosticismo
moderno (Florence, 1975); A. Besancon, Les Origines intellectuels du
léninisme (Paris, 1973); R. Aron, ‘Remarques sur la gnose léniniste’ in
The Philosophy of Order, ed. P.J.Opitz and G. Sebba (Stuttgart, 1981),
pp. 263-74.
26. The paraphrase comes from E. Vogelin, Order and History, 1V The
Ecumenic Age (Baton Rouge, 1974), p. 19. See also his New Science of
Politics (New York, 1952) and ‘Marx: the genesis of Gnostic socialism’
in J. Hallowel (ed.), From Enlightenment to Revolution (Chapel Hill, NC,
1975), pp. 273-302. On Vogelin see G. Sebba, ‘History, modernity and
Gnosticism’ in Opitz—Sebba Philosophy, pp. 190-241.
2; S. Givone, William Blake. Arte e religione (Milan, 1978), p. 16. On the
relations with ancient Gnosis see ch.1. On Blake’s sources, which
range from Hermetism to Orphism, from Neoplatonism to theosophical
esotericism and Hinduism see K. Raine, Blake and Tradition (Princeton,
1968), 2 vols. See also J. Roos, Aspects littéraires du mysticisme philoso-
phique: W. Blake, Novalis, Ballanche (Paris, 1951). On the fate of Blake
in modern culture see Givone, Blake, pp. 17ff.
28. On Novalis see H. J. Mahl, Die Idee des goldenen Zeitalters im Werk des
Novalis (Heidelberg, 1965).
Zo, P. Heller, Dialectics and Nihilism (Cambridge, Mass., 1966), p. 289.
B. Juden, Traditions orphiques et tendances mystiques dans le romantisme
francais (Paris, 1971).
Shs J. Richer, Gérard de Nerval et les doctrines ésotériques (Paris, 1947).
a2. Hutin, Gnostiques, pp. 121-2; A. Viatte, Victor Hugo et les illuminés de
son temps (Paris, 1943).
SOF Faivre, Esotérisme, p. 190.
34. M. Carrouges, André Breton et les données fondamentales du Surréalisme
(Paris, 1950).
San Hutin, Gnostiques, p. 125. A recent example of how ancient Gnostic
myths can directly inspire contemporary narrative is H. Bloom, The
Journey to Lucifer (New York, 1979), who takes his inspiration from
Valentinus and Nag Hammadi texts. See P. Perkins, The Gnostic Dialogue
(New York—Toronto, 1980), pp. 209ff.
36. Hanratty, ‘Gnosticism’ (1980), II. 129ff. See G. Quispel, ‘Hermann Hesse
und die Gnosis’ in Aland (ed.), Gnosis, pp. 492-507. Other examples are
given by C. Colpe, ‘The challenge of Gnostic thought for philosophy,
alchemy and literature’ in B. Layton (ed.), The Rediscovery of Gnosticism,
2 vols (Leiden, 1980-1), 1. 32-56 (Proust, Joyce, Musil, Mann).
aT. S. Pétrement, Le Dualisme chez Platon, les gnostiques et les manichéens
(Paris, 1947), p. 129.
38. R. Ruyer, La Gnose de Princeton. Des savants a la recherche d’une religion
(Paris, 1974); and the proceedings of the colloquium held at Paris in June
194 Notes
1978, Les Yeux de chair et les yeux de feu. La science et la Gnose (Cahiers
Univ. St Jean Jérusalem, 5 (1979), 1-244).
39% Cornelis—Léonard, Gnose éternelle.
40. e.g. the Conference, Rediscovery of Gnosticism (1978).
41. J. Delumeau, Le Catholicisme entre Luther et Voltaire (Paris, 1971),
pp. 293ff. :
42. G. Filoramo, ‘Nuove religioni: problemi e prospettive’ RSLR 15 (1979),
445-72.
43. On the concept of the ‘religious field’ see P. Bourdieu, ‘Génése et structure
du champ religieux’, Revue francaise de sociologie 12 (1971), 295-334.
44, T. Roszak, Where the Waste Land Ends. Politics and Transcendence in
Post-Industrial Society (New York, 1972), p. 262; see F. W. Haack,
Geheimreligion der Wissenschaft. Neugnostische Bewegungen (Stuttgart,
1966); P.H. Hartman, ‘Social dimensions of occult participation: the
Gnostica study’, British Journal of Sociology, 27 (1976), 169-83; J. M.
Robinson in the introduction to his edition of The Nag Hammadi Library
in English? (Leiden etc., 1988), p. 1.
45. G. Arnold, Unpartetische Kirchen- und Ketzerhistorie (Frankfurt, 1729).
On Arnold see E. Seeberg, Gottfried Arnold, die Wissenschaft und die
Mystik (Meerane, 1927).
46. K. Rudolph (ed.), Gnosis und Gnostizismus (Darmstadt, 1975) and
L. Cerfaux, ‘Gnose’, DB Sup Ill. 659¢.
CHAPTER 1 FRAGMENTS OF A LOST FAITH
This account is based on the following works by J. M. Robinson, Nag

Hammadi Library in English, pp. 1ff.; ‘The discovery of the Nag Hammadi
codices’, Biblical Archaeologist 42 (1979), 206-24; ‘From cliff to Cairo’
in B. Barc (ed.), Colloque International sur les Textes de Nag Hammadi
(Quebec—Louvain, 1981), pp. 21-58. As a result of first-hand investigations
Robinson was able to improve on earlier accounts usually based on
J. Doresse, The Secret Books of the Egyptian Gnostics (London, 1960).
R. A. Lipsius, Die Quellen der altesten Ketzergeschichte (Leipzig, 1875);
A.von Harnack, ‘Zur Quellenkritik Geschichte des Gnostizismus’,
Zeitschrift fiir die historische Theologie (1874), pp. 143-226; A. Hilgen-
feld, Die Ketzergeschichte des Urchristentums (Leipzig, 1884).
The Liber contra omnes haereses is mentioned by Justin himself (1 Apol.
26). An attempt to reconstruct it was made by P. Prigent, Justin et l’Ancien
Testament (Paris, 1964).
The full title of the work is A Scrutiny and Refutation of what is Falsely
Called Gnosis. This title, discussed by A. Rousseau and L. Doutreleau,
Irénée de Lyon. Contre les hérésies (Paris, 1979), 1. 31ff., indicates that
the work is divided into two parts: the first, contained in Book 1, discusses
a series of Gnostic doctrines, especially the Valentinian; the second,
contained in Books 2-4, ‘overturns’ them, refuting them with arguments
Notes 195
based on reason (Bk 2), the doctrine of the Church, God and Christ (Bk 3)
and the words of the Lord (Bk 4). Book 5 deals almost exclusively with
the resurrection of the flesh, denied by the Gnostics, and concludes with
a profession of millenarian faith.
=" For a fuller discussion see especially ch. 10.
On the relationship between Irenaeus and the Syntagma see Hilgenfeld,
Ketzergeschichte, pp. 21ff. and 46ff.
R. McL. Wilson, “Twenty years after’ in Barc (ed.), Colloque, p. 61.
P. Perkins, ‘Irenaeus and the Gnostics’, VigChr 30 (1976), 193-200; E. P.
Meijering, God Being History (Amsterdam, 1975), pp. 31-8; R. Greer,
‘The dog and the mushrooms: Irenaeus’ view of the Valentinians assessed’
in Layton (ed.), Rediscovery I. 146ff.
E. Hamann, ‘Hippolyte’, DTC VI. 2487-511; V. Loi, ‘La problematica
storico-letteraria su Ippolito’ in Ricerche su Ippolito (Rome, 1977),
pp. 9-16.
10; The Hippolytan authorship of this and other works has been contested
on several occasions by P. Nautin, Hippolyte et Josipe (Paris, 1947); ‘La
controverse sur l’auteur de l’Elenchos’, RHE 47 (1952), 5-43. For an
assessment of his methodology see K. Koschorke, Hippolyts Ketzerbe-
kampfung und Polemik gegen die Gnostiker. Eine tendenzkritische
Untersuchung seiner ‘Refutatio Omnium Haresium’ (Wiesbaden, 1975).
14, On the concept of ‘heresy’ see the classic work of W. Bauer, Rechtglaubig-
keit und Ketzerei im altesten Christentum~ (Tibingen, 1934, with additions
by G. Strecker, 1964). See also H. E. W. Turner, The Pattern of Christian
Thought (London, 1954), and H. Schlier, atpeous, TW I. 180-2.
12 In his two works Adversus Valentinianos and Adversus Marcionem.
133 His concept of God provides the basic motif of his thought and the
organizational principle of his attack; see Greer, ‘Dog and mushrooms’.
See also N. Brox, Offenbarung, Gnosis und gnosticher Mythos bei Irendus:
zur Characteristik der Systeme (Salzburg—Munich, 1966); and B. Aland,
‘Gnosis und Kirchenvater’ in Aland (ed.), Gnosis, pp. 163ff.
14. See in general A. Orbe, Antropologia de S. Ireneo (Madrid, 1969).
15. W. Volker, Der wahre Gnostiker nach Clemens Alexandrinus (Leipzig,
1952). For a discussion of the radical evangelical roots of this ideal of
Gnosis see J. Dupont, Gnosis. La Connaissance religieuse dans les Epitres
de Paul (Paris, 1949) and I. L. Bouyer, La Spiritualité du Nouveau
Testament et des Péres (Paris, 1960), pp. 292ff.
16. F, Bolgiani, ‘La confutazione di Clemente Alessandrino’, Atti dell’ Accade-
mia Scientifica di Torino 96 (1961-2), 537-664.
17. H. Jonas, Gnosis und spdtantiker Geist, 1.1 Von der Mythologie zur
mystischen Philosophie? (Gottingen, 1966), 171ff.; G. Quispel, ‘From
mythos to logos’, Er] 39 (1970), 161ff., and ‘Origen and Valentinian
Gnosis’, VigChr 28 (1974), 29-42. For a contrary view see J. Daniélou,
Message évangélique et culture hellénistique (Tournai, 1961), pp. 427ff.
18. Daniélou, Message, pp. 103ff.
196 Notes ‘
19; W. Schneemelcher, ‘Epiphanius von Salamis’, RAC 5.909-27.
20: The Panarion is the most complete ancient survey of heresies. The work
is divided into three volumes containing seven books (vol. 1 contains Bks
1-3; vol.2 has Bks 4-5; vol. 3 has Bks 6-7). The number of eighty
heresies appears for the first time in Ancoratus 12-13, an earlier work.
When Acacius and Paul, having read Ancoratus in aD 375, asked Epiphanius
for a more detailed analysis and a refutation of the eighty heresies,
Epiphanius had already begun the Panarion (1.2), which he must have
completed during 377: see P. Fraenkel, ‘Histoire sainte et hérésie chez
Saint Epiphane de Salamine’, RevThPh (1962), 175—91. On the structure
of the work see J. Dimmer, Die griechischen christlichen Schriftsteller.
Geschichte, Gegenwart und Zukunft (Berlin, 1977), pp. 74ff. On the
sources of Epiphanius see R. A. Lipsius, Zur Quellenkritik des Epiphanius
(Vienna, 1865), and, for a contrary view, J. Dimmer, ‘Die Gnostiker im
Bilde ihrer Gegner’ in P. Nagel (ed.), Studien zum Menschenbild in Gnosis
und Manichdismus (Halle—Saale, 1979), pp. 247ff.
2H. We are indebted to Celsus for the famous diagram of the Ophites, a
systematic representation of the world of the Gnostics (Origen, Contra
Celsum Vl. 24-38). See T. Hopfner, ‘Das Diagramm der Ophianer’ in
Charisteria ftir R. Rzach (Reichenberg, 1930), pp. 86-98; G. Bornkamm,
‘Ophiten’, PW XVIII. 654-8; H. Leisegang, Die Gnosis (Leipzig, 1924),
pp. 111ff. On the polemic see N. Brox, ‘Antignostische Polemik bei
Christen und Heiden’, Minchener Theol. Zeitschrift 18 (1967), 265-91.
On Celsus see C. Andresen, Logos und Nomos. Die Polemik des Celsus
wider das Christentum (Berlin, 1955), and K. Pichler, Streit um das
Christentum. Der Angriff des Kelsos und die Antwort des Origenes
(Frankfurt, 1980).
22. The fundamental texts of Plotinus’ polemic against the Gnostics are
translated with commentary by V. Cilento, Paideia antignostica (Florence,
1971). See also D. Roloff, Plotin. Die Gross-Schrift III, 8—V, 5-II, 9
(Berlin, 1970).
22% C. Elsas, Neuplatonische und gnostische Weltablehnung in der Schule
Plotins (Berlin-New York, 1975), and F. G. Bazan, Plotino y la Gnosis
(Buenos Aires, 1981).
24. A.-J. Festugiére, Hermétisme et mystique paienne (Paris, 1967),
pp. 261-312, and M. Mazza, ‘La dottrina dei viri novi nel secondo libro
dell’ Adversus Nationes di Arnobio’, Helikon 3 (1963), 11-169.
2a: Elsas, Neuplatonische Weltablehnung, pp. 41ff.
26. W. Bauer, “Die Oden Salomos’ in E. Hennecke and W. Schneemelcher
(eds), Neutestamentliche Apokryphen’* II (Tiibingen, 1971), 576-625. On
the hypothesis that this text was written by a Gnostic author, Bauer
observes (p. 577): ‘“Gnostic” here is to be understood in its broadest
sense.’ See also J. H. Charlesworth (ed.), The Odes of Solomon (Oxford,
1973). Charlesworth is against a Gnostic authorship; see his ‘The Odes
of Solomon, not Gnostic’, Catholic Biblical Quarterly 31 (1969), 357-68.
Notes 197
On the Jewish-Christian nature of this composition see J. Daniélou,
Theéologie du Judéo-Christianisme (Paris, 1961), pp. 12ff.
Lith The thesis of a Gnostic origin was first formulated by R. A. Lipsius,
Die Apokryphen Apostelgeschichten und Apostellegenden (Braunschweig,
1883-90), pp. 4ff.
28% In general see G. Bornkamm, Mythos und Legende in den Apokryphen
Thomasakten (Gottingen, 1933). According to Bornkamm (in Hennecke-
Schneemelcher, eds, Apokryphen II. 300), ‘the view of salvation central to
the Acts is that of Gnosis.’ He believes this to be true especially of the
two hymns: Hymn of the Pearl and Marriage Hymn of the First Praxis
(ch. 6ff.). Here, as elsewhere, the greatest difficulty consists in defining the
‘Gnostic’ nature of the various motifs with an ascetic background that
recur in the Acts and suggest Encratite rather than Gnostic influence; see
the justifiable reservations of J. D. Kaestli in F. Bovon et al., Les Actes
Apocryphes des Apdétres (Geneva, 1981), pp. 54-5.
22 See P. H. Poirier, L’Hymne de la Perle des Actes de Thomas (Louvain,
1981).
30. For the critical edition see A.D. Nock and A.-J. Festugiére, Hermés
Trismégiste J-IV (Paris, 1980). The studies of Festugiére are basic work,
in particular, La Révélation d’Hermés Trismégiste, 4 vols (Paris, 1944-54)
and the review by H. Dorrie, Platonica Minora, ed. V. Buchheit (Munich,
1976), pp. 100-11.
cae Festugiére, Hermétisme, pp. 38-9.
32. J. Kroll, Die Lehren des Hermes Trismegistros (Munster, 1914) suggested
dividing the tracts of the corpus according to doctrine. W. Bousset, however,
in an important review of Kroll republished in his Religionsgeschichtliche
Studien (Leiden, 1979), pp. 97ff., sees religion itself as the criterion for
dividing the texts and suggests two main religious influences: an optimistic
one of Greek origin and a pessimistic-dualist one of oriental origin.
3D. CH V and, in general, A.-J. Festugiére, Le Dieu cosmique (Paris, 1949).
D4. In particular, treatises IV, VI and VII.
35. Nock—Festugiére, Hermeés Trismégiste, I.vii.
36. See the collection in W. Forster (ed.), Die Gnosis II] (Zurich, 1971).
173-418 (English trans. by R. McL. Wilson, Gnosis, Oxford, 1972).
oY. On the sources see R. Macuch, Zur Sprache und Literatur der Mandder
(Berlin, 1976), pp. 147-70. On the various stages of the well-documented
research see K. Rudolph, Die Mandder, 1 Prolegomena: Das Mandderpro-
blem (Gottingen, 1961); ‘Zum gegenw4rtigen Stand der mandaischen
Religionsgeschichte’ in K. Troger (ed.), Gnosis und Neues Testament
(Berlin—Gitersloh, 1973), pp. 121-48 and ‘Der Mandaismus in der neueren
Gnosisforschung’ in Aland (ed.), Gnosis, pp. 244-77.
38. K. Rudolph, ‘Quellenprobleme zum Ursprung und Alter der Mandaer’ in
J. Neusner (ed.), Christianity, Judaism and other Graeco-Roman Cults.
Studies for Morton Smith at Sixty (Leiden, 1975), pt 4, pp. 112ff., regards
the third century as the period in which the earliest Mandaean texts can
be dated, even if certain traditions might seem to be earlier.
198 Notes
a7. R. Bultmann, ‘Der religionsgeschichtliche Hintergrund des Prologs zum

Johannesevangelium’ and ‘Die Bedeutung der neuerschlossenen man-
daischen und manichaischen Quellen fiir das Verstandnis des Johannesevan-
geliums’, both republished in his Exegetica, ed. E. Dinkler (Tubingen,
1967), pp. 10-35 and 55-104.
40. C. Schmidt, Koptisch-gnostische Schriften, 1 Die Pistis Sophia. Die beiden
Biicher des Jeu. Unbekanntes altgnostisches Werk, ed. W. Till (Berlin,
1962). In his preface Till sketches the principal stages in the fortunes of
this text. See also H. Leisegang, ‘Pistis Sophia’, PW XX. 1813-21.
41. This is what happened to the English translation; the translator himself
belonged to theosophical circles: G. R. S. Mead, Pistis Sophia: A Coptic
Gnostic Gospel* (London, 1921). See also C. W. King, The Gnostics and
their Remains (London, 1887), who studied the text as a source of
mysteries and esoteric Christianity. In France Amélineau’s translation
(1895) underwent a similar fate; see J. M. Riviére, Histoire des doctrines
ésoteriques (Paris, 1940), pp. 190ff.
42. The PS and the two books of L] were republished by V. Macdermot,
Pistis Sophia (Leiden, 1978) and The Books of Jeu and the Untitled Text
in the Bruce Codex (Leiden, 1978); the text is that of Schmidt, the
translation of Macdermot.
43. For the earlier period see H. Rossel’s well-documented study published
in H. Rossels theologische Schriften, ed. A. Neander (Berlin, 1874),
pp. 179-249. On Baur see P. C. Hodgson, The Formation of Historical
Theology: A Study of F. C. Baur (New York, 1966), and H. Harris, The
Tiibingen School (Oxford, 1975), pp. 11ff.
44, A. von Harnack, Lehrbuch der Dogmengeschichte,* | (Freiburg—Leipzig,
1894), 211ff. On Harnack see K. Neufeld, A. von Harnack. Theologie auf
der Suche nach der Kirche (Paderborn, 1977).
45. On the School see J. Hempel, ‘Religionsgeschichtliche Schule’, RGG
V.991-4, and A.F. Verheule, Wilhelm Bousset: Leben und Werk
(Amsterdam, 1975), pp. 271ff.
46. His fundamental work is Hauptprobleme der Gnosis (Gottingen, 1907,
repr. 1973); and his article ‘Gnosis Gnostiker’, PW VII. 1503-47.
47. See the following works by R. Reitzenstein: Poimandres (Leipzig, 1904);
Das iranische Erlosungsmysterium (Gottingen, 1921); and Die hellenis-
tischen Mysterienreligionen® (Leipzig, 1927). See also C.Colpe, Die
religionsgeschichtliche Schule (Gottingen, 1961).
48. H. von Glasenapp, Das Indienbild deutscher Denker (Stuttgart, 1960).
49. H. Jonas, The Gnostic Religion? (Boston, 1963), pp. 3ff.: ‘What we do
witness at the period coinciding roughly with the beginnings of Christianity
is an explosion of the East. Like long pent-up waters its forces broke
through the Hellenistic crust and flooded the ancient world, flowing into
the established Greek forms and filling them with their content, besides
creating their own new beds’ (p. 23). Jonas clearly states that the life-
giving roots of this conception, typical of their Lebensphilosophie, are
Notes 199
attributable to the influences of Spengler, ‘the clever dilettante’ Die
mythologische Gnosis? (vol.1 of his Gnosis und spdtantiker Geist
(Gottingen, 1964), p. 73). On the relationship between the two see
G. Sebba, ‘History, Modernity and Gnosis’ in Opitz—Sebba (eds), Philos-
ophy of Order, pp. 19Sff.
50. See above, n. 6 to the Introduction.
Ss E. Tréltsch, ‘Die Dogmatik der religionsgeschichtlichen Schule’ in his
Gesammelte Schriften, 2 (Tubingen, 1912-15), 500-24. On Trdltsch see
G. Cantillo, Ernst Troeltsch (Naples, 1979), pp. 135ff.
ove H. G. Gadamer, Kleine Schriften, II (Tubingen, 1972), 202-11.
Js J. M. Robinson, ‘The Jung Codex’, Religious Studies Review 3 (1977),
17-30.
54. The Facsimile Edition of the Nag Hammadi Codices, published under the
auspices of the Egyptian Antiquities Department and Unesco in Leiden
between 1972 and 1977.
Jdis See above, n. 44 to the Introduction.
56. M. Krause, ‘Die Texte von Nag Hammadi’ in Aland (ed.), Gnosis,
pp. 227ff., and K. W. Tréger, ‘Zum gegenwartigen Stand der Gnosis und
Nag Hammadi Forschung’ in K. W. Troger (ed.), Altes Testament-
Friihjudentum-Gnosis (Berlin—Gitersloh, 1980), pp. 11ff.
Ds These figures are far from certain, given the fragmentary state of Codices
XII and XIII; see Krause, ‘Texte’, in Aland (ed.), Gnosis, pp. 223ff.
58. A complete index of editions and translations is to be found in D. M.
Scholer, Nag Hammadi Bibliography 1948-1969 (Leiden, 1971) with
annual supplements in Novum Testamentum.
ees J. Zandee, ‘Die “Lehren des Silvanus” als Teil der Schriften von Nag
Hammadi’ in M. Krause (ed.), Essays on the Nag Hammadi Texts (Leiden,
1975), pp. 239-52.
60. M. Krause, ‘Die Petrusakten in Codex VI in M. Krause (ed.), Essays on
the Nag Hammadi Texts (Leiden, 1972), pp. 36-58, and A. Guillaumont,
‘Des nouveaux actes apocryphes: les Actes de Pierre et des Douze Apéotres’,
RevHR 196 (1979), 141-52.
61. J.P. Mahé, Hermés en Haute Egypte. Les Textes hermétiques de Nag
Hammadi et leurs paralléles grecs et latins (Quebec, 1978).
62. M. Krause, ‘Das literarische Verhaltnis des Eugnostosbriefes zur Sophia
Jesu Christi. Zur Auseinandersetzung der Gnosis mit dem Christentum’ in
A. Stuiber and A. Hermann (eds), Mullus. Festschrift fur Th. Klauser
(Minster, 1964), pp. 215ff.
63. G. Filoramo, ‘Gli apocrifi gnostici: il genere letterario delle apocalissi’,
Aug 23 (1983), 124ff.
64. K. Rudolph, ‘Der gnostische Dialog als literarisches Genus’ in P. Nagel
(ed.), Probleme der koptischen Literatur (Halle—Wittenberg, 1968),
pp. 85-107; and Perkins, ‘Gnostic Dialogue.
65. H. Nibley, ‘Evangelium quadraginta dierum’, VigChr 20 (1966), 1ff.
66. W. Bauer, Das Leben Jesu im Zeitalter der neutestamentlichen Apokryphen
(Tiibingen, 1909), pp. 258ff.
200 Notes .
67. J. E. Ménard, L’Evangile selon Thomas (Leiden, 1975).

68. G. Filoramo, ‘Il problema della rivelazione nel Vangelo di Verita’, Atti
dell’Accademia Scientifica di Torino 108 (1973), 607, n. 1.
69. On the title and structure see H.M. Schenke, ‘Der sog. Tripartitus
Tractatus und die in den Himmel projizierte ceases Anthropologie’ in
Nagel (ed.), Studien, pp. 147ff.
70. J. M. Sevrin, ‘A propos de la Paraphrase de Shem’, Muséon 88 (1975),
66-96; D. A. Bertrand, ‘Paraphrase de Shem et Paraphrase de Seth’ in J. E.
Ménard (ed.), Les Textes de Nag Hammadi (Leiden, 1975), pp. 146-57;
M. Krause, ‘Die Paraphrase des Seem und der Bericht Hippolyts’ in
Widengren (ed.), Proceedings, pp. 101-10.
74. Porphyry, Vita Plotini 16; J. Sieber, ‘An introduction to the tractate
Zostrianos’, NT 15 (1973), 237ff.
Tas H. M. Schenke, ‘Das sethianische System nach Nag Hammadi Handschrif-
ten’ in P. Nagel (ed.), Studia Coptica (Berlin, 1974), pp. 165-72.
7D. M. Krause and P. Labib, Die Drei Versionen des Apokryphon des Johannes.
im koptischen Museum zu Alt-Kairo (Wiesbaden, 1962). In addition to
the example cited above in n. 62 there is also EvAeg, NHC III.2 and IV.2.
See R. McL. Wilson, “One text, four translations: some reflections on the
Nag Hammadi Gospel of the Egyptians’ in Aland (ed.), Gnosis, pp. 441-8.
74. J. W. B. Barns, ‘Greek and Coptic papyri from the covers of the Nag
Hammadi codices: a preliminary report’ in Krause (ed.), Essays (1975),
pp. 9-17 (with an important addendum on p. 17 by E. G. Turner). This
interpretation must be revised in the light of that addendum and the
remarks of J.C. Shelton in J. W.B. Barns, G.M. Browne and J.C.
Shelton, Nag Hammadi Codices. Greek and Coptic Papyri from the
Cartonnage of the Covers (Leiden, 1981). On the complex problems of
translation into Coptic see R. McL. Wilson, ‘The trials of a translator:
some translation problems in the Nag Hammadi texts’ in Ménard (ed.),
Textes, pp. 32ff., and M. Krause, ‘Die Texte von Nag Hammadi’ in Aland
(ed.), Gnosis, pp. 230ff. On the original language of the text see A. Bohlig,
‘Report on the Coptological work’ in R. McL. Wilson (ed.), Nag Hammadi
and Gnosis (Leiden, 1978), p. 133: ‘I myself consider all the documents
as translations from Greek.’
15% F. Wisse, “Gnosticism and early monasticism in Egypt’ in Aland (ed.),
Gnosis, pp. 431-40.
76. According to T. Save-Sdderbergh, ‘Holy scriptures or apologetic document-
ation? The Sitz im Leben of the Nag Hammadi texts’, in Ménard (ed.),
Textes, pp. 3-14, the codices constitute a heresiological library assembled
by the ‘orthodox’ monks for the purposes of refutation. See also his survey
of the discussion of the problem: “The pagan elements in early Christianity’
in Bare (ed.), Colloque, pp. 71ff., and Krause, ‘Texte’ in Aland (ed.),
Gnosis, pp. 241-3.
Hie For a classification of the texts according to this criterion see F. Wisse,
‘The opponents in the New Testament in the light of Nag Hammadi
writings’ in Barc (ed.), Colloque, pp. 101ff.
Notes 201
78. A. Bohlig and F. Wisse, Zum Hellenismus in den Schriften von Nag
Hammadi (Wiesbaden, 1975), and J. Ries (ed.), Gnosticisme et le monde
hellénistique (Louvain, 1982).
79 R. McL. Wilson, ‘Jewish “Gnosis” and Gnostic origins: A survey’, Hebrew
Union College Annual 45 (1974), 179-89, and W. C. van Unnik, ‘Gnosis
und Judentum’ in Aland (ed.), Gnosis, pp. 65-86.
80. K. Rudolph, ‘Gnosis und Gnostizismus: ein Forschungsbericht’, ThRu 36
(1971), 48ff., and C. Colpe, ‘Irans Anteil an Entstehung und Ausgang des
antiken Synkretismus’ in Tréger (ed.), Altes Testament, pp. 327-43.
81. K. Koschorke, Die Polemik der Gnostiker gegen das kirchliche Christentum
(Leiden, 1978); E.Pagels, The Gnostic Gospels (London, 1980);
M. Krause, ‘Christlich-gnostische Texte als Quellen fiir die Auseinanderset-
zung von Gnosis und Christentum’ in M. Krause (ed.), Gnosis and
Gnosticism (Leiden, 1981), pp. 47-65.
82. Troger (ed.), Gnosis; W.Schmithals, ‘Gnosis und Neues Testament’,
Verktindigung und Forschung 21 (1976), 22-46; G. MacRae, ‘Nag
Hammadi and the New Testament’ in Aland (ed.), Gnosis, pp. 144-57.
CHAPTER 2 BETWEEN DEMONS AND GODS
P.R.L. Brown, The World of Late Antiquity (London, 1971).

Id., The Making of Late Antiquity (Cambridge, Mass., 1978), pp. 27f.
De def. or. 411 Dff.
M. Caster, Lucien et la pensée religieuse de son temps (Paris, 1937), p. 26,
eer
writes: “The taste for oracles is a dominant feature of second-century
society. It is to be found among philosophers (except Epicureans and
Sceptics, of course) and was rife among both upper and lower classes.’
See M. Nilsson, Geschichte der griechischen Religion* (Munich, 1961),
II.467ff. POxy 1477 (end of 3rd cent. ap) provides us with a series of
typical questions put to oraclces: ‘(72) Shall I receive my salary? (73) Shall
I remain in the place where I am going? (74) Shall I be sold? (75) Shall I
receive favours from my friend? (76) Am I allowed to make a contract
with so and so? (79) Shall I obtain money? (80) Is the wanderer still alive?
(87) Shall I be made ambassador? (88) Shall I become a senator? (89) Will
there be any obstacle to my flight? (90) Must I divorce my wife? (91)
Have I been poisoned?’ It is clear that the questions come from the most
diverse social strata. In a time of political insecurity, when the performance
of honorific offices such as ambassador or senator required considerable
financial outlay, it is not surprising that the oracles were consulted about
one’s personal cursus honorum, or career.
J. Ferguson, Religions of the Roman Empire (London, 1970), p. 107.
The principal source book of Hellenistic magic is K. Preisendanz (ed.),
Papyri Graecae Magicae (Leipzig, 1928). An English version of these and
the principal Egyptian Demotic texts has recently been published: H. D.
Betz (ed.), Greek Magical Papyri in Translation, Including Demotic Spells
(Chicago, 1986). See also A.-J. Festugiére, L’Idéal religieux des grecs et
202 Notes x
l’Evangile (Paris, 1932), pp. 280ff.; M.P. Nilsson, Die Religion in den
griechischen Zauberpapyri (Lund, 1948); A.D. Nock, ‘Greek magical
papyri’ in his Essays on Religion and the Ancient World, ed. Z. Stewart
(Oxford, 1972), 1. 176-94.
Caster, Lucien.
See the interpretation of E.R. Dodds, Pagan and Christian in an Age of |
Anxiety (Cambridge, 1965).
F. Boll, C. Bezold and W. Gundel, Sternglaube und Sterndeutung* (Leipzig,
1931), pp. 44ff.
10. The assimilation of the infernal world to the sublunar region has been
attributed to various philosophical trends and to more or less controversial
figures such as Heracleides Ponticus or Poseidonius. See I. P. Culianu,
‘“Démonisation du cosmos” et dualisme gnostique’, RevHR 120 (1979),
16ff.
11. A famous Pythagorean akousma, or oral instruction, recorded in lam-
blichus, Vita Pythagorei 18, says that the Islands of the Blessed are
connected with the sun and the moon. See Culianu, ‘“Démonisation”’,
p. 125s SO:
1 E. Norden, P. Vergilius Maro Aeneis Buch VI* (Stuttgart, 1957), pp. 270ff.
13. J. Kroll, Gott und Holle (1932, repr. Darmstadt, 1963), pp. S8ff.
14. A.-J. Festugiére, Personal Religion Among the Greeks (Berkeley, 1954).
Is Nilsson, Geschichte, pp. 534ff.
16. H. Wolfson, Philo*, 1 (Cambridge, Mass., 1962), 26ff.
17; There is a full collection of texts with commentary in A.-J. Festugiére, Le
Dieu inconnu (Paris, 1954), pp. 225-41.
18. H. D. Betz, ‘The Delphic maxim gnothi seauton in Hermetic interpreta-
tions’, HThR 63 (1970), 465-84, and J. Haussleiter, ‘Deus internus’, RAC
111.79 9ff.
19: R. Bultmann, ‘Caw’, TW II. 833ff.; H. Conzelmann, dws, TW IX. 343,
n. 328.
20. Brown, Making of Late Antiquity, p. 25.
Pa The so-called ‘celestial journey’ of the soul. See W. Bousset, ‘Die Himmels-
reise der Seele’, ARW 4 (1901), 136ff. and 229ff., and C. Colpe, ‘Die
Himmelsreise der Seele ausserhalb und innerhalb der Gnosis’ in U. Bianchi
(ed.), Le origini dello gnosticismo (Leiden, 1967), pp. 421ff.; I. P. Culianu,
Psychanodia | (Leiden, 1983), and Expériencees de l’extase (Paris, 1984).
pitas W. R.S. Schédel, ““Topological” theology and some monistic tendencies
in Gnosticism’ in Krause (ed.), Essays (1972), pp. 88ff.
fs H. Dorrie, ‘Die Frage nach dem Transzendenten im Mittelplatonismus’ in
Entretiens sur l’antiquité classique, V (Geneva, 1960), 191-223.
24. M. Harl, ‘Le langage de l’expérience religieuse chez les Péres grecs’, RSLR
13 (1977), 5-34.
aSs R. McL. Wilson, The Gnostic Problem? (London, 1964), and W.D.
Hauschild, Gottes Geist und der Mensch (Munich, 1972), pp. 259ff.
Notes 203
26. H. Dorrie, ‘Hypostasis, Wort- und Bedeutungsgeschichte’ in his Platonica
Minora, pp. 13-69; H. Koster, réotactf, TW, VIIS7I1ff.
aie Wilson, Gnostic Problem, pp. 42ff.; M.Simon, ‘Eléments gnostiques
chez Philon’ in Bianchi (ed.), Origini, pp. 366ff.; R. Arnaldez, Philon
d’Alexandrie: De opificio mundi (Paris, 1961), pp. 122ff.
28. Apart from Iamblichus there is also Porphyry; see F. Romano, Porfirio di
Tiro (Catania, 1979), pp. 131ff.
os H. M. Kleinknecht, \6yof, TW VI1.1220ff.; Daniélou, Message, pp. 335ff.;
R. A. Norris, God and World in Early Christian Theology (London, 1966).
30. Philo is a typical example. Two elements are combined in his notion of
Logos: both the revealed divine word and, as the Stoics taught, the force
that drives the world. See E. Bréhier, Les Idées philosophiques et religieuses
de Philon d’Alexandrie (Paris, 1925), p. 101.
ok, This is the case with the angels of Philo in De opificio mundi 72ff., to
whom the plural poiésomen (‘let us make’) of Gen. 1:26 in the Septuagint
translation is applied. See Wolfson, Philo 1.272ff.
32. H. Happ, Hyle (Berlin-New York, 1971).
32. Asclepius 16 and the observation on the passage by Festugiére, Hermés
MESES olga koe
34. P. Merlan, ‘Greek philosophy’ in A. H. Armstrong (ed.), The Cambridge
History of Later and Early Medieval Philosophy (Cambridge, 1970),
pp. 26-7, on the theory of reduplicated matter in Plotinus. For a genetic
explanation of his theory see H. C. Puech, Plotin et les gnostiques (Paris,
1958), p. 184.
35. C. Andresen, ‘“Erlésung’, RAC VI.54ff.
36. A. D. Nock, Conversion (Oxford, 1961), pp. 122-3.
er Festugiére, L’Idéal, pp. 142ff.
38. F. Cumont, Oriental Religions in Roman Paganism (London, 1911),
pp. 27-8.
a9. Cumont, Oriental Religions, pp. 21ff.
40. Nock, Conversion, p. 7.
41. Ibid., pp. 18ff.
42. M. Simon and A. Benoit, Le Judaisme et le christianisme antique (Paris,
1968), pp. 75ff.
43. G. Maier, Mensch und freier Wille (Tubingen, 1971), pp. 165ff.
44, Whether among the Essenes or at Qumran there were, as frequently
happens in sectarian groups, different grades of initiation that might last
for years. Only at the end did one become a fully fledged member of the
community of ‘saints’. See M. Simon, Les Sectes juives au temps de
Jésus (Paris, 1960), pp. 42-73 and 105-13; M. Hengel, Judentum und
Hellenismus* (Tiibingen, 1973), pp. 394ff.; E. Schirer, The History of the
Jewish People in the Age of Jesus Christ, ed. G. Vermes, F. Millar and
M. Black (Edinburgh, 1979), II.555ff. The sources on the Essenes have
been collected by A. Adam, Antike Berichte tiber die Essener (Berlin,
1961). For a guide to the enormous literature on Qumran see B. Jongeling,
204 Notes 2
A Classified Bibliography of the Finds of the Desert of Judah (Leiden,
WSTARE
45. O. Betz, Offenbarung und Schriftforschung in der Qumransekte (Tubingen,
1960), pp. 96ff.
46. See) ch/.3.
47. G. Wetter, Charis (Leipzig, 1913), and H.Conzelmann, xapif, TW
IX.363ff.
48. On ancient demonology see J. Tambornino, De antiquorum demonismo
(Giessen, 1909); W.Bousset, ‘Zur Demonologie der spateren Antike’,
ARW 8 (1915), 134ff.; P. Boyancé, ‘Les dieux démons personnels dans
lantiquité Revue Philologique 61 (1935), 189ff.; S.S. Jensen, Dualism
and Demonology: The Function of Demonology in Pythagorean and
Platonic Thought (Copenhagen, 1966); Daniélou, Théologie, pp. 146ff.
49. T. Hopfner, Griechisch-dgyptischen Offenbarungszauber (Leipzig, 1921),
p. 4.
50. M. Detienne, De la pensée religieuse a la pensée philosophique: La notion
de ‘Démon’ dans le pythagorisme ancien (Paris, 1963).
Sf; ‘With the demons late antique men found themselves flanked by an
invisible society that shared with them all the incongruities and the tensions
of their own visible world’, says Peter Brown in The Making of Late
Antiquity, p. 20. On the particularly important demonological thought of
Plutarch see G. Soury, La Démonologie de Plutarque (Paris, 1942), and
Nilsson, Geschichte, pp. 401ff., 407ff. and 446ff.
ays T. Hopfner, ‘Mageia’, PW XIV.301ff.
33; On theurgy see T. Hopfner, “Theurgie’, PW VI.258ff.; S.Eitrem, ‘La
théurgie chez les Néoplatoniciens’, Symbolae Osloenses, 22 (1942), 49ff.;
E.R. Dodds, ‘Theurgy and its relationship to Neoplatonism’, JRS 37
(1947), SSff.
54. J. Michl, ‘Engel’, RAC VI.60ff. and 109ff., and A. Szabo, ‘Die Engelvorstel-
lungen vom Alten Testament zur Gnosis’ in Tréger (ed.), Altes Testament,
pp. 143-52.
oie Daniélou, Théologie, p. 143, and J. P. Culianu, ‘Les anges des peuples et
la question du dualism gnostique’ in Ries (ed.), Gnosticisme, pp. 133-7.
56. D.S. Russell, The Method and Message of Jewish Apocalyptic
200 BC-AD 100 (Philadelphia, 1974), pp. 244ff.
57: The angelology of the Dead Sea Scrolls is important in this sense. See
L. Moraldi (ed.), I manoscritti di Qumran (Turin, 1971), pp. 313-14, on
the subject of I QS XII.1ff.
58. G. Quispel, ‘Das ewige Ebenbild des Menschen’ in his Gnostic Studies
(Istanbul, 1974) 1.140ff.
89. e.g. Enoch is transformed into an angel and identified ‘with the angel
Yahoel or Yoel, who occupies an important and sometimes dominant
position in the earliest documents of throne mysticism and in the
apocalypses. The most important characteristics of this angel are now
transferred to Metatron’ according to G. Scholem, Major Trends in Jewish
Notes 205
Mysticism (Jerusalem, 1941), p.67. For other examples see Michl,
‘Engel’, pp. 243ff. Perhaps the most characteristic example of hierarchical
promotion is the identification of Christ as an angel; see J. Barbel, Christos
Angelos (Bonn, 1941), and Daniélou, Théologie, p. 167.
60. H. Wey, Die Funktionen der bosen Geister bei den griechischen Apologeten
des zweiten Jahrhunderts nach Christus (Winterthur, 1957).
61. The crypto-teleological use of the term is rightly criticized by W. Batke,
‘Aufgabe und Struktur der Religionswissenschaft’ in G. Lanczowski (ed.),
Selbstverstandnis und Wesen der Religionswissenschaft (Darmstadt, 1974),
pp. 134—S.
62. T. Hopfner, “Traumdeutung’, PW VI.2233-45; D. del Corno, ‘I sogni e
la loro interpretazione nell’eta dell’ Impero’ in Aufstieg und Niedergang
der romischen Welt 16.2.1605-18, and Artemidoro. I Libri dei Sogni
(Milan, 1975). Artemidorus’ book is the most famous ancient work of
dream interpretation. See also Dodds, Pagan and Christian, pp. 38ff.
63. A.D. Nock, ‘A vision of Mandulis Aion’ in Essays 1.371ff. A good
example is Thessalus: having tried to acquire medical knowledge by
following the traditional schools of dialectic doctors or leafing through
books of magical and astrological medicine, Thessalus receives, thanks to
a priest belonging to an Egyptian temple, and in a private revelation from
Asclepius, the medical expertise that will make him outstanding among
men. See Festugiére, ‘L’expérience religieuse du médecin Thessalos’ in
Hermétisme, pp. 141ff.
64. Festugiére, Hermétisme, pp. 13ff.
65. Ion 533 dff. and Phaedrus 254 a and 265 b; H. Lewy, Sobria Ebrietas
(Giessen, 1929), pp. 45ff.
66. Nilsson, Geschichte, pp. 527-8.
67. P. Volz, Die Eschatologie der jtidischen Gemeinde im neutestamentlichen
Zeitalter (Tubingen, 1934), pp. 147ff.
68. W. Bousset and H. Gressman, Die Religion des Judentums im spdathellenis-
tischen Zeitalter> (Tubingen, 1926), pp. 147ff.
69. XLI 1ff. P. Scacchi, Apocrifi dell’Antico Testamento (Turin, 1981), p. 449,
observes: ‘Enoch is essentially an intermediary between the transcendent
God and other beings, whether they live in or out of time ... indeed he
is a man (XII.1—2), but he lives in the world of the spirit. He can therefore
see invisible reality and reveal it to men with a “tongue of flesh” (XIV.2).’
70. Russell, Method and Message, pp. 107ff.; L. Koep, Das himmlische Buch
in Antike und Christentum (Bonn, 1952); Daniélou, Théologie, p. 150.
vd, W. Schmithals, Die Apokalyptik (Gottingen, 1973).
Tes Dodds, Pagan and Christian, pp. 39ff.
Wer ‘We have plenty of illustrations for the desire to be informed of something
by a vision’, says A.D. Nock, ‘Mandulis Aion’, p. 372. Festugiére,
Hermétisme, pp. 23-4, makes a useful distinction between a self-referential
vision and a vision as a means of achieving a purpose. For a list of visions
of the first type in the ancient world see F. Pfister, ‘Ekstasis’, RAC 1.971ff.
206 Notes
In general see J. Lindblom, Gesichte und Offenbarungen. Vorstellungen
von gottlichen Weisungen und iibernatiirlichen Erscheinungen im dltesten
Christentum (Lund, 1968), and E. Benz, Die Vision. Erfahrungsformen
und Bilderwelt (Stuttgart, 1969).
ih Met. XI1.6. ¢
AY. Oracles 1-4 in K. Aland, Kirchengeschichtliche Entwiirfe (Gutersloh,
1960), and the comment on pp. 111-12. On the fundamental vision of
Priscilla see K. Froelich, ‘Montanism and Gnosis’ in Essays in Honour of
Florowski (Rome, 1973), pp. 104—S.
76. J. Dey, Palingenesia (Minster, 1937).
lee Brown, Making of Late Antiquity, ch. 1.
M. J. Vermaseren, ‘Hellenistic religions’ in C. J. Bleeker and G. Widengren
(eds), Historia Religionum (Leiden, 1969), 1.495.
29. J. Leipoldt, Die Frau in der antiken Welt und im Urchristentum (Leipzig,
1953); K. Thrade, ‘Frau’ RAC VIII.197—269; S. A. Pomeroy, Goddesses,
Whores, Wives and Slaves (New York, 1975).
80. L. J. Swidler, “Greco-Roman feminism and reception of the Gospel’ in
B. Jaspert (ed.), Traditio-Krisis-Renovatio (Marburg, 1976), pp. 41ff. The
process of women’s emancipation had begun, in the great urban centres,
with the first Hellenism (see C. Schneider, Kulturgeschichte des Hellenismus
(Munich, 1967) 1.78ff.) and continued throughout the Empire; see
J. Carcopino, Daily Life in Ancient Rome (London, 1947), p. 106.
81. Cumont, Oriental Religions, p. 41.
82. E.S. Fiorenza, ‘Word, spirit and power: women in the early Christian
communities’ in R. Ruether and E. McLaughlin (eds), Women of Spirit
(New York, 1979), pp. 39ff.
83. L. Zscharnack, Der Dienst der Frau in den ersten Jahrhunderten der
christlichen Kirche (Gottingen, 1902); P. Labriolle, La Crise montaniste
(Paris, 1913), pp. 23ff.
84. On Apuleius see A. Pennacini, P. L. Donini, T. Alimonti and A. Monteduro
Roccavini, Apuleio letterato, filosofo, mago (Bologna, 1979).
85. On Apuleius and Middle Platonism see Donini in Pennacini et al., Apuleio,
pp. 103-11.
86. J.-P. Mahé, ‘Quelques remarques sur la religion des Métamorphoses et les
doctrines gnostiques contemporaines’, RevSR 46 (1972), 1ff.
87. Alimonti in Pennacini et al., Apuleio, esp. p. 125.
88. G. F. Gianotto, ‘Reductio ad fabulam. Sintesi e mediazione culturale nelle
Metamorfosi di Apuleio’ in I canoni letterari (Trieste, 1981), p. 61.
89. Dial c. Tr. 1-2; N. Hyldahl, Philosophie und Christentum (Copenhagen,
1966), pp. 88ff.
CHAPTER 3 THE GNOSTIC IMAGINATION
R. Bultmann, ywookw, TW, 1.688ff.

mee Heracl. fr. 101a; Herod. 1.8; Plato, Phaedr. 250 d and Republic VI. 507 c.
Notes 207
Gorgias 508 a.
Excerpta ex Theodoto 78.2
Kroll, Lehren, pp. 350ff.
Irenaeus, AH 1. 21.4.
ee NHC 1.3.22.3. All Nag Hammadi texts are cited with reference to codex,
Seon
tract, page and line; the translation is that of J. M. Robinson, Nag
Hammadi Library.
co Apol. 38 a.
For what follows see H.C. Puech, ‘Doctrines ésotériques et thémes
gnostiques dans |’Evangile selon Thomas’, Annuaire. Collége de France,
63 (1963), 199ff.; 66 (1966), 259ff.; 68 (1968), 292.
10. As syzygos, or partner, image and angel. In the Hymn of the Pearl it is
the celestial garment that the prince puts on in his father’s kingdom before
going to Egypt. The theme of the garment recurs in the Pistis Sophia.
See Bousset, Hauptprobleme, p.303, and G. Quispel, Makarius, das
Thomasevangelium und das Lied von der Perle (Leiden, 1967), pp. 57-8.
dt. Plato, Laws 716 c. See A. Schneider, ‘Der Gedanke der Erkenntnis des
Gleichen durch Gleiches in antiker und patristischer Zeit’ in Festgabe fur
Cl. Baumker (Minster i.W., 1923), pp. 65-76.
12. J. Wach, Das Verstehen (Tiibingen, 1926) 1.38, n. 2.
iy Festugi¢re, Dieu inconnu, pp. 131-2.
1A. E.R. Dodds, The Greeks and the Irrational (Berkeley, 1951), pp. 236ff.
iS, Ethica Nichomachea 1177-1178".
16. Fr. 61.
NR H. von Arnim (ed.), Stoicorum Veterorum Fragmenta (Leipzig, 1903),
1.146.
18. Leg. All. 1.31ff.
i), Fug, 133.
20. Leg. All. 3 161.
2h Mut. 223.
aide. On the topos in Hellenistic literature see J. Pépin, Idées grecques sur Dieu
et sur l’homme (Paris, 1981), p. 86, n. 3.
23% Praem. 4S.
24. Rer. div. 55; Spec. leg. 4.123 Op. mundi 135-44.
25% F.N. Klein, Die Lichtterminologie bei Philon von Alexandrien und in den
hermetischen Schriften (Leiden, 1962), p. 42.
26. P. Sacchi, Storia del mondo giudaico (Turin, 1976), pp. 156-7.
Pee E. Schweitzer, mvedua, TW VI.387ff.; R.J. Mortley, ‘Gnosis’, RAC
X.485-6.
28. 1 QS XI.5-6.
a. 1 QS XI.3-4.
30. J. Dillon, The Middle Platonists (London, 1977), pp. 231ff.; P. L. Donini,
Le scuole l’anima l’impero: la filosofia antica da Antioco a Plotino (Turin,
1982), pp. 100ff.
Si, Festugiére, Dieu inconnu, pp. 128ff., 134ff.
208 Notes
32: E. des Places, Oracles chaldaiques (Paris, 1971), p. 43.
33, Festugiére, Dieu inconnu, p. 133.
34. Des Places, Oracles, p. 43, fr. 2.
Sey For possible Gnostic afocnios see A. H. ensceeone: ‘Gnosis and Greek
philosophy’ in Aland (ed.), Guosis,. p. 109.
36. G. Filoramo, Luce e gnosi (Rome, 1980).
eve R. Bultmann, ‘Zur Geschichte der Lichtmetaphysik im Altertum’ in his
Exegetica, pp. 323ff.
38. G. P. Wetter, Phos (Uppsala, 1915), pp. 7-8, 12ff.
32: CH 1.4.
40. CEICNG:
41. GH 1.7;
42. For the Coptic tract see Mahé, Hermés; for CH XIII W. C. Grese, Corpus
Hermeticum XIII and Early Christian Literature (Leiden, 1979).
43. CH Xiil.1.
44. CH XIII.8—9. See Festugiére, Dieu inconnu, pp. 221ff.
45. Filoramo, Luce, 25-6.
46. CH XIill. 8.
47. CH XML.
48. CH XIII.10: ‘You have known, my son, the manner of regeneration in us
[says Hermes to Tat]. Spiritual regeneration has taken shape in us ... and
we have become divine, thanks to this birth.’
49. The traditional thesis according to which the logos of the lonian
philosophers broke with earlier mythological tradition and opened the
way to later scientific, rational thought is supported by, among others,
W. Nestle, Vom Mythos zum Logos (Stuttgart, 1940), and B. Snell,
Entdeckung des Geistes. Studien zur Entdeckung des europdischen Denkens
bei dem Griechen* (Gottingen, 1975). A radical critique, which illuminates
the more complex relationship between mythos and logos is given by F. M.
Cornford, Principium Sapientae: The Origins of Greek Philosophical
Thought? (New York, 1965); cf. W. Jaeger, The Theology of the Early
Greek Philosophers (Oxford, 1947). Fundamental to the understanding of
the transformations of mythos are the works ofJ.-P. Vernant, Les Origines
de la pensée grecque (Paris, 1962), and Mythe et pensée chez les grecs
(Paris, 1965). In general see G. S. Kirk, Myth. Its Meaning and Function
in Ancient and Other Cultures (Cambridge, 1970), and the anthology of
interpretations edited by M. Detienne, I/ mito greco. Guida storica e critica
(Rome—Bari, 1975).
50. Republic Il. 377 b-378 c.
51. Poetics V1.6-IX.5.
ad: J.-P. Vernant and M. Detienne Les Ruses de l’intelligence. La meétis des
grecs (Paris, 1975).
53: For a radical critique of this structuralist scheme see V. di Benedetto and
A. Lami, Filologia e marxismo. Contro le mistificazioni (Naples, 1980).
54. Def. or. 421 A.
Notes 209
Ses K. Koch, Ratlos vor der Apokalyptik (Gitersloh, 1970), p. 23.
56. J.-P. Vernant, Mythe et société en Gréce ancienne (Paris, 1974), pp. 196ff.
D7. E. R. Dodds, The Ancient Concept of Progress (Oxford, 1973), pp. 1-26.
58. See the anthology edited by G. F. Gianotti, Mito e storia nel pensiero
greco (Turin, 1976), pp. 183ff.
a7. Ibid., p. 185.
60. Vernant, Mythe, p. 213; Kirk, Myth, p. 187.
61. Nilsson, Geschichte, pp. S6ff.
62. D. Sabatucci, Lo stato come conquista culturale (Rome, 1975).
63. J. Pépin, Mythe et allégorie (Paris, 1958).
64. F. Buffiére, Les Mythes d’Homére et la pensée grecque (Paris, 1956),
pp. 392¢f.
65. R. A. Baer, Philo’s Use of the Categories ‘Male’’and ‘Female’ (Leiden,
1970), p. 10.
66. Dec. 156.
67. P. Frutiger, Les Mythes de Platon (Paris, 1930); W. Hirsch, Platons Weg
zum Mythos (Berlin-New York, 1971).
68. Vernant, Mythe et pensée, pp. 51-78.
69. For what follows see Y. Verniére, Symboles et mythes dan la pensée de
Plutarque (Paris, 1977), ch. 2.
70. Ibid., p. 118.
ahs The three myths are in Plutarch’s mature works De fac., De sera num.,
De gen. See the apposite analysis of Verniére, Symboles, ch. 2.
Hes Verniére, Symboles, p. 267.
Ls Pépin, Mythe, p. 73; Frutiger, Mythes de Platon, p. 223.
74. Nock, Conversion, pp. 120ff.
IDs Verniére, Symboles, p. 75.
76. Ibid., p. 173.
Tele De fac. 994E and De Is. 367 CD.
78. See in general Festugiére, Dieu cosmique.
the De fac. 943 EF.
80. A.-J. Festugiére, L’Astrologie et les sciences occultes (Paris, 1944), pp. 90 ff.
81. Such is the case of the dualistic myths related in De Iside.
82. On the origins, fate and limits of this category see F. Bolgiani, ‘Il concetto
di “religione popolare” in F. Bolgiani (ed.), Strumenti per richerche delle
classi popolari (Turin, 1981), pp. 11-30, and ‘Religione popolare’, Aug
21 (1981), 7ff.
83. W.K.C. Guthrie, Orpheus and Greek Religion? (London, 1952), and
Nilsson, Geschichte 1.678ff.
84. M. Detienne, Dionysos mis a mort (Paris, 1977), pp. 161ff.
85. G. Carchia, Orfismo e tragedia. Il mito trasfigurato (Milan, 1979),
pp. 15ff.
86. Detienne, Dionysos, pp. 166f.
210 Notes
CHAPTER 4 IN THE WORLD OF THE PLEROMA
NHC II.3.75.3ff. On the history of the term ‘dualism’ see J. Duchesne-

Guillemin, ‘Dualismus’, RAC IV.334—-50, and ‘Gnosticisme et dualisme’
in Ries (ed.), Gnosticisme, pp. 89ff. :
Dodds, Pagan and Christian, pp. 3ff.
A. E. Taylor, Plato (London, 1926), pp. 436ff. On the different interpret-
ations of the Platonic Demiurge see H. Schwabl, ‘Weltschopfung’, PW
suppl. IX.1540; W. Theiler, ‘Demiurg’ RAC III.694-711. On the fate of
this interpretation see M. Baltes, Die Weltentstehung des platonischen
Timaios nach den antiken Interpreten (Leiden, 1976).
See the famous passages condemning the body in Phaedo 66 c, 67a, 94e
and Cratylus 400 c, 414 a. On dualism in Plato see U. Bianchi, Prometeo,
Orfeo, Adamo (Rome, 1976), pp. 42ff.
In De Iside, ‘the first treatise of comparative religion that was at the same
time a treatise on dualism’ (Bianchi, Prometeo, p. 46). See also J. Ries,
‘Plutarque historien et théologien des doctrines dualistes’ in Ries (ed.),
Gnosticisme, pp. 146-63.
J. Bidez and F. Cumont, Les Mages hellénisés (Paris, 1938), 1.3-163.
See in general U. Bianchi, Zaman i Ohrmazd. Lo zoroastrismo nelle sue
origini e nella sua essenza (Turin, 1958); R. C. Zaehner, The Teachings
of the Magi: A Compendium of Zoroastrian Beliefs (London, 1975);
M. Boyce, Zoroastrians. Their Religious Beliefs and Practices (London,
1979).
Bianchi, Prometeo, pp. 95ff., 108ff.
P. Moreau, L’Ame du monde de Platon aux stoiciens (Paris, 1939, repr.
Hildesheim, 1965).
10. Merlan, ‘Greek philosophy’, pp. 25-6.
AS F.Cumont, L’Egypte des astrologues (Paris, 1937), pp. 204ff., and
W. Gundel, ‘Astrologie’, RAC I. 817. {
1: See above, ch. 2, n. 55.
13s De somn. II.114. On the term ‘angels of the nations’ see E. Peterson,
Friihkirche, Judentum and Gnosis (Rome, 1959), pp. 51ff. On the number,
seventy or seventy-two, see Bousset, Hauptprobleme, pp. 358-60, and
H. Bietenhard, Die himmlische Welt im Urchristentum und Spatjudentum
(Tubingen, 1951), pp. 109ff.
14. PHN. 23%.
1S. Enna. 2.12:
16. On the nature of these Gnostics see Filoramo, Luce, p. 69, n. 8.
is Enn. il. 6.
18. Enn. Il. 13-16.
19. 24a | Ban
20. W. Beierwaltes, ‘Die Metaphysik des Lichtes in der Philosophie Plotins’,
Zeitschrift ftir philosophische Forschung 15 (1961), 334ff.
4s Enn. Il 9.12 and 30-9.
Notes 211
az V. Macdermot, ‘The concept of the Pleroma in Gnosticism’ in Krause
(ed.), Essays (1981), pp. 76-81.
23. In the terminology proposed by Jonas, Gnostic Religion, pp. 236-7, this
type of Syrian dualism is contrasted with the Iranian variety (Mazdaism
or Manichaeism), in which evil exists ab aeterno as the principle opposed
to good.
24. Ref. V.12.1ff.
25. NHC I1.3.69.9ff.
NHC II.4.87.10-11. On the theme of examplarism see J. Zandee, ‘L’exem-
plarisme du monde transcendant par rapport au monde visible dans le
Tractatus Tripartitus du Codex Jung’, Revue d’Egyptologie 24 (1972),
224-8.
le On this entity see J. H. Sieber, ‘The Barbelo Aeon as Sophia in Zostrianos
and related tractates’ in Layton (ed.), Rediscovery 2.788-95, and M. Sco-
pello, “Youel et Barbelo dans le Traité de l’Allogéne’ in Barc (ed.), Colloque,
pp. 374-82. On the etymology see H. M. Schenke, ‘The phenomenon and
significance of Gnostic Sethianism’ in Layton (ed.), Rediscovery 2.624.
Zo. F. T. Fallon, “The Gnostic Apocalypses’ Semeia 14 (1979), 123ff.
ZY. NHC XI. 3.60.13ff. ‘Silence’, as we shall see, plays a central role in
Valentinian mythological accounts: see A. Orbe, En los albores de la
exegesis iohannea (Rome, 1955), p.31, n.73, and Hacia la primera
teologia de la procesion del Verbo (Rome, 1958), p. 65, n. 36; p. 349,
n. 23. As a condition of the initiate see Des Places, Oracles, no. 132
with comment on p. 143. See also H. Schlier, Religionsgeschichtliche
Untersuchungen zu den Ignatiusbriefen (Giessen, 1929), pp. 38ff., and in
general O. Casel, De philosophorum graecorum silentio mystico (Giessen,
1919). For ethnological parallels see M. Detienne, Les Maitres de Vérité
dans la Gréce archaique (Paris, 1967), p. 22, n. 69. See also G. Mensching,
Das heilige Schweigen (Giessen, 1926).
30. Koschorke, Polemik, pp. 152ff.
Sik. On the subject of Anthropos, central to Gnosticism, see Bousset, Hauptpro-
bleme, pp. 160-223; K. Rudolph, ‘Ein Grundtyp gnostischer Urmensch-
Adam Spekulation’, ZRGG 9 (1957), 1-20; H.M. Schenke, Der Gott
‘Mensch’ in der Gnosis (Gottingen, 1962). For an overall view of the
problem see F. Borsch, The Christian and Gnostic Son of Man (London,
1970).
325 J.-E. Ménard, L’Evangile de Vérité (Leiden, 1972), p. 175. On the concept
of ain in Hellenism see Kroll, Lehren, pp. 67—71, and Festugiére, Dieu
inconnu, pp. 152, 176ff. On the law of development of the aeons of the
Gnostic Pleroma see A. Orbe, La teologia del Espiritu Santo (Rome, 1966),
pp. 130ff.
Jae On the term prosOpon, or face, in Gnostic texts see R. Kasser et al.,
Tractatus Tripartitus (Berne, 1973), pp. 330-2; in Manichaeism see PCol
17.7ff.; F. Altheim, ‘Persona’, ARW 7 (1929), 36-52; M. Nédoncelle,
‘Prosopon et persona dans l’antiquité classique’, RevSR 22 (1948), 277-99;
Vernant, Mythe et pensée, pp. 233ff.
212 Notes :
34. On Gnostic pneumatology, apart from the basic work of Orbe, Teologia,
see Hauschild, Gottes Geist, pp. 151ff., 224ff.
B55 On the Gnostic concept of emanation and how it differs from Neoplatonic
emanation see K. Kremer, ‘Emanation’, Historisches Worterbuch der
Philosophie Il. 445-8.
36. H. Jonas, ‘Delimitation of the Gnostic phenomenon’ in Bianchi (ed.),
Origini, pp. 94-104.
Bae K. Koschorke, ‘“Suchen und Finden” in der Auseinandersetzung zwischen
gnostischen und christlichen Christentum’, Wort und Dienst 14 (1977),
Sit.
38. NHC 1.5.109.3ff. In Gnostic texts there is frequently polemic against
worldly wisdom, which is occasionally contrasted with the simplicity of
Gnostic wisdom; see NHC VIII.1.2.25ff.; X.6.17ff.; VIII.2.134,19ff.;
1.3.19.21ff.; I1.7.140.9ff.; 1.4.43.25ff. See also H. Martin, Jun. “The anti-
philosophical polemic and Gnostic soteriology of the Treatise on the
Resurrection’ Numen 20 (1973), 20-37.
39. Cf. NHC III.3.70.1ff.
40. NHC I1.5.110.3ff.
41. NHC I.5.110.11f.
42. BG.22.19ff.; see also NHC XI.3.61.32ff.
43. NHC 1.5.51.8ff.
44. NHC XIill.1.45.2-3.
4S. E. L. Dietrich, ‘Der Urmensch als androgyn’, ZKG 55 (1939), 297ff; R. A.
Bullard, The Hypostasis of the Archons (Berlin—NY, 1970), pp. 75ff. See
also W. A. Meeks, ‘The image of the androgyne: some uses of a symbol
in earliest Christianity’ HR 13 (1970), 165ff. In Valentinian and Sethian
texts androgyny is a basic element of the pleromatic world. Thus, in
accordance with the theory of the image, in which the Demiurge and his
cohort of Archons are images, however abortive, of the Upper World,
these too appear as androgynous entities: NHC II.1.5.4-11; BG 27.4 and
18-28; NHC II.5.102.1-11; BG 94.9-11 for the primordial Anthropos,
and NHC I1.4.94.18/33—5; 95.3ff.; 115.100. 5—7; 101.10-12. 22-5 (see
also 102.1-11) for the androgyny of the Archons and the Demiurge. This
androgyny is typical, as we shall see, also of the First Man, Adam; it is
also an attribute of the soul, which before its fall into this world ‘was
virgin and androgynous’ (NHC II.6.127.19ff.). The myth of the androgyne
is typical of various esoteric Christian hymns; see E. Benz, Adam. Der
Mythus vom Urmensch (Munich, 1955). On the Platonic origins (in the
famous myth in the Symposium) and fate of the androgyne and the
related motif of the hermaphrodite see O. Jessen, ‘Hermaphroditos’, PW
VIII.714-21; M. Delcourt, Hermaphrodite. Mythes et rites de la bisexualité
dans l’antiquité classique (Paris, 1958), and ‘Utrumque-neutrum’ in
Mélanges Puech (Paris, 1974), pp. 117-23. On contemporary biological
theories that explained the phenomenon see E. Lesky, Die Zeugungs- und
Vererbungslehren der Antike und ihre Nachwirken (Wiesbaden, 1951),
Notes 213
pp. 86ff. On the diffusion of the theme in the history of religions
see A. Bertholet, Das Geschlecht der Gottheit (Tibingen, 1934), and
H. Baumann, Das doppelte Geschlecht (Berlin, 1955).
46. M. Eliade, Méphistophélés et l’Androgyne (Paris, 1962), pp. 121ff.
Bs Baer, Philo’s Categories, pp. 34ff.
48. J. Heldermann, ‘Isis as Plane in the Gospel of Truth?’ in Krause (ed.),
Essays (1981), p. 39.
49. On the text and its apocalyptic content see M. Tardieu, ‘Les trois stéles
de Seth: un écrit gnostique retrouvé a Nag Hammadi’? RSPhTh 57
(1973), 545—73. On Dositheus see Hilgenfeld, Ketzergeschichte, pp. 155ff.;
R. McL. Wilson, ‘Simon, Dositheus and the Dead Sea Scrolls’, ZRGG 9
(1957), 21-30; E. Yamauchi, Pre-Christian Gnosticism (London, 1973),
p. 57; Tardieu, ‘Trois stéles’, p. 551, n. 360
50. NHC VII.5.122.8ff. On the theme of the Triad see Bousset, Hauptprobleme,
pp. 333-4; K. Beyschlag, Simon Magus und die christliche Gnosis
(Tubingen, 1974), p. 164, n. 70; J. M. Robinson, ‘The Three Stelae of
Seth and the Gnostics of Plotinus’ in Widengren (ed.), Proceedings,
pp. 133ff.; Tardieu, ‘Trois stéles’, pp. 562-3; A. Bohlig, ‘Triade und
Trinitat in den Schriften von Nag Hammadi’ in Layton (ed.), Rediscovery
2.617-34.
one This is the famous distinction that underlies the reflections on the Logos
of Philo and many other Church Fathers between logos endiathetos
(residing in the mind) and logos prophorikos (uttered): see H. A. Wolfson,
The Philosophy of the Church Fathers’ (Harvard, 1970), pp. 177ff., and
M. Pohlenz, Stoa* (Gottingen, 1970), index II.
a2; NHC XIII.1.35.32ff.
a3; Irenaeus, AH I.1.1. Cf. a parallel passage of another Valentinian document,
Epistula dogmatica (Epiph. Panarion, 31.5.5), from which we learn that
Ennoia, wishing to break the eternal chains that bound her to the male
principle, ethélyne his megethos: ‘magnitudinem libidinis illecebris ad sui
consuetudinem inflexit’, i.e. she seduced him). If the initiative has passed
from the male element to the female in this document, in other Valentinian
texts there is a tendency (third possibility) to eliminate the female dimension
of the Father altogether: ‘Indeed, some wish to preserve the Pythagorean
purity of the Valentinian doctrine and to maintain that the father lacks a
female element and alone.’ (Ref. VI.29.3)
a4. BG 91.4ff.
535; On the theme of the mirror see G. Filoramo, ‘Dal mito gnostico al mito
manicheo’ in Trasformazioni della cultura nella Tarda Antichita (Turin,
1984).
56. BG 26.15.
a7 Orbe, Teologia (index).
58: Ibid., p. 126. On Ennoia in Gnosticism see G. Liidemann, Untersuchungen
zur simonianischen Gnosis (Gottingen, 1975), pp. 65-71.
ee Filoramo, Luce, p. 57, n. 48. See also M.A. Williams, ‘Stability as a
214 Notes
soteriological theme in Gnosticism’ in Layton (ed.), Rediscovery 2.819ff.,
and B. Aland, ‘Gnosis und Philosophie’ in Widengren (ed.), Proceedings,
pp. 54-6.
60. NHC XI1.3.60. 19ff.; 59.14-16.
61. NHC XIII.1.35.2-3; 12ff.
62. NHC I.5.72.1ff. On the nature of this sigh or breath see G. Filoramo,
‘Pneuma o conoscenza in alcuni testi gnostici’ in Ries (ed.), Gnosticisme,
pp. 236-44.
63. The female element performs a similar function in certain cabbalistic
traditions; see Scholem, Major Trends, pp. 283ff., and Sabbatai Sevi
(London, 1973), pp. 61-2.
64. NHC VII.5.120.26ff.
65. On autogennétos, or self-generated, see J. Whittaker, ‘Self-generating
principles in second-century Gnosticism’ in Layton (ed.), Rediscovery
1.176-89.
66. On the Gnostic parallels of this name, which deliberately recall the triadic
nature of the primordial entity, see Y. Janssens, La Protennoia Trimorphe
(Quebec, 1978), p. 63.
67. In certain texts he is called the ‘First-Appearing One’ (NHC VIII.1.13.4
and 15.9ff.) or ‘Protophanes’ (NHC XI.3.45.36ff.)
68. A central theme, particularly developed in the Gospel of Truth: see S. Arai,
Die Christologie des Evangelium Veritatis (Leiden, 1964), pp. 67ff., and
J. D. Dubois, ‘Le contexte judaique du “nom” dans |’Evangile de Vérité’,
RThPh 24 (1974), 188-216. In general see F.G. Untergassmair, Im
Namen Jesu. Der Namensbegriff im Johannesevangelium (Stuttgart, 1974),
pp. 188ff.
69. Orbe, Teologia, pp. 126ff.
70. Irenaeus, AH 1.2.1.
Ake NHC 1.5.66.8ff.
FZ. BG 91.14 ff.
73; G. Verbeke, L’Evolution de la doctrine du pneuma des stoiciens a
St Augustin (Paris—Louvain, 1945), pp. 18ff., and H. Saake, ‘Pneuma’, PW
suppl. XIV.393ff.
74. 1 L] 44.
ies Filoramo, ‘Pneuma’ in Ries (ed.), Gnosticisme, pp. 240-1.
76. A typical theory of ancient psychology: the soul, psyché (whose name is
thought to derive from psychos, ‘cold’; see A. Dihle, wyn, TW IX.606)
is the result of a gradual process of ‘cooling’ (anapsyxis) of the spirit, the
breath of life, which was originally warm: see Tertullian, De anima 25.2
and 27.5 and the comment by J.H. Waszink, Tertulliani De anima
(Amsterdam, 1947), pp. 321, 329-30, 351. See also A.-J. Festugiére, Les
Doctrines de l’ame (Paris, 1953), pp. 186ff.
Ui NHC 1.3.34.1ff. and the comment by Ménard, Evangile, pp. 158ff. See
also P. Meloni, Il profumo d’immortalita Apo! 1975), pp. 44ff.
78. NHC 1.3.35.25ff.
Notes 215
TDs The texts used by Schenke to create his ‘Sethianische System’ in Nagel
(ed.), Studia Coptica, are Allog, AJ, HA, EvAeg, ApcAd, StelSeth, Zostr,
Melch, Nor, Prot. For further details see Filoramo, Luce, p. 43, n. 1, and,
in general, the papers on Sethianism in Layton (ed.), Rediscovery 2 . If
we accept the division proposed by Krause, ‘Texte von Nag Hammadi’ in
Aland (ed.), Gnosis, pp. 238ff., we find (1) non-Christian texts (which
does not mean pre-Christian): Zostr, Allog, Nor; (2) Gnostic-Christian
texts that were originally not Christian: HA, AJ, ApcAd or already
regarded as Gnostic-Christian: Melch, Prot, StelSeth.
80. On these four lights see G. Filoramo, ‘Phoster e salvatore in alcuni testi
gnostici’ in U. Bianchi and M.J. Vermaseren, La soteriologia dei culti
orientali (Leiden, 1982), p. 869.
81. BG 34.19ff.
82. On this latter aspect, which is a little odd for Gnostic eschatology, see
Hauschild, Gottes Geist, pp. 225ff., and my observations on Pistis Sophia
in ch. 8.
83. Schenke, ‘Sethianisches System’, 168.
84. Apart from Orbe, Teologia, see also F. M. Sagnard, La Gnose valentinienne
et le témoignage de S. Irénée (Paris, 1947).
85. Irenaeus, AH [.1.1.
86. On the problem in general see H. Hegermann, Die Vorstellung vom
Schopfungsmittler im hellenistischen Judentum und Urchristentum (Berlin,
1961); U. Wilcken, codia, TW VII.465—528; B.L. Mack, Logos und
Sophia. Untersuchung zur Weisheitstheologie im hellenistischen Judentum
(Gottingen, 1973). On the origins of Gnostic Sophia there are disagree-
ments, and these are related to the question whether Sophia or Anthropos
comes first; Bousset, Hauptprobleme, p. 217, believes that Sophia is later
than the Urmensch, or original man, whereas G. Quispel, ‘Der gnostische
Anthropos’, Er] 22 (1953), 223, believes that Sophia is a central figure,
of Jewish origin. In general, see Wilson, Gnostic Problem, pp. 197ff.;
C. Colpe, ‘Gnosis I’, RAC XI.574; G. W. MacRae, ‘The Jewish back-
ground of the Gnostic Sophia myth’, NT 12 (1970), 86-101; K. Rudolph,
‘Sophia und Gnosis’ in Troger (ed.), Altes Testament, pp. 221-37; I. P.
Culianu, Feminine versus Masculine, in H. G. Kippenberg, Struggles of
Gods (Berlin—New York, 1984).
87. Cf. A. Orbe, ‘Spiritus Dei ferebatur super aquas’, Greg 44 (1963), 717.
88. NHG-M.1,9.25¢f.
89. On the recurrence of the term in Gnostic texts see N. A. Dahl, ‘The arrogant
Archon and the lewd Sophia’ in Layton (ed.), Rediscovery 2.708, n. 47. Dahl
disputes the interpretation of M. P. Nilsson, ‘Sophia-Prunikos’, Eranos 45
(1947), 169-72, and argues that the term possesses ‘clearly sexual connotations
(lewd, unchaste, lascivious, voluptuous or something of the sort), but it is not
a term for a prostitute or a promiscuous woman.’ On the other hand,
G. Quispel, ‘Jewish Gnosis and Mandaean Gnosticism’ in Ménard (ed.),
Textes, pp. 82-122, relates the term to the myth of the Simonian Ennoia
216 Notes
who was found in a brothel and in this way reconstructs a background
of sacred prostitution of the variety known in the Near East.
90. R. Unger, ‘Zur sprachlichen und formalen Struktur des gnostischen Textes
“Der Donner: vollkommener Nous”’. Oriens Christianus 59 (1975),
78-107. On this title see M. Tardieu, ‘Le titre du deuxiéme écrit du
Codex VI’, Muséon 87 (1974), 523-30; 88 (1975), 365-9; and H. M.
Schenke, ‘Die Tendenz der Weisheit zur Gnosis’ in Aland (ed.), Gnosis,
p. 352, n. 5. On the Gnostic character of the text see G. W. MacRae,
‘Discourses of the Gnostic revealer’ in Widengren (ed.), Proceedings,
pp. 121-2.
oT: MacRae, ‘Discourses’, pp. 111ff.
92, NHC VI.2.13.1ff.
93. G. Quispel, ‘Hermann Hesse und Gnosis’ in Aland (ed.), Gnosis,
pp. 494 ff.
94. AH 1.29.4. On the connection between this statement and the system
described in AJ see C. Schmidt, ‘Irenaus und seine Quelle in Adv. Haer.
1,29’, Philothesia P. Kleinert dargebracht (Berlin, 1907), pp. 315-36;
H. C. Puech, ‘Gnostische Evangelien’ in Hennecke—Schneemelcher (eds),
Neutestamentliche Apokryphen 1.229ff.; H. M. Schenke, ‘Das literarische
Problem des Apokryphon Johannis’, ZRGG 16 (1962), 56-63.
AH 1.30.1-2.
Panarion 21.2.
Panarion 31.5.
On the difference between thelema and boulema see A. Orbe, ‘Teologia
bautismal de Clemente Alejandrino’, Greg 35 (1955), 423, n. 50.
See above, n. 61.
AH |. 12.1. Cf. the notké boulésis, or intellectual wish, of the Epistula
dogmatica in Epiphanius, Panarion 31.5.9. The theme recurs frequently
in the Coptic texts: NHC II.3.82.7—8; VII.1.1.4-6; 4.15 et passim;
VII.5.126.30-2; 3.80.24-6. In general, see E. Benz, Marius Victorinus
und die Entwicklung der abendlandischen Willensmetaphysik (Stuttgart,
1932); Wolfson, Philosophy, pp. 197ff.; Beyschlag, Simon Magus,
pp. 141ff. 3
101. According to Hippolytus, Refutatio VI.30.7, Sophia is moved by the
desire to imitate the Father and, like him, to generate alone.
102. AH L2.2.
103. On the limit see Sagnard, Gnose valentinienne, pp. 254ff., and Orbe,
Teologia, pp. 276ff., 603ff.
104. Refutatio V1.30.8.
10S. Addel 2S:
106. Orbe, Teologia, p. 400.
107. AH 1.2.6.
CHAPTER 5 THE ARROGANCE OF THE DEMIURGE
ie NHC 1.5.75.35ff.: ‘Indeed, this free-will which was generated with

the Totalities [the aeons] ensured for this one [the Logos-Sophia] that
Notes” 2:17.
he accomplished everything he wanted without there being any obstacle

in his way.’
On the etymology of Achamath see Colpe, ‘Gnosis’, p.573. On the
Valentinian myth of Sophia see G. C. Stead, ‘The Valentinian myth of
Sophia’, JTS 20 (1969), 75—104.
M. Tardieu, Trois mythes gnostiques (Paris, 1974), p. 57, n. 48, for other
Gnostic parallels. See also Q. Hofius, Der Vorhang vor dem Thron Gottes
(Tubingen, 1972), pp. 28-48, for the Jewish background; Detienne and
Vernant, Ruses, pp. 67ff. for the Greek parallels; R. Eisler, Weltenmantel
und Himmelszelt (Munich, 1910), for religious and historical parallels.
NHC II.5.98.11ff. and BG 118.18ff.
That is, if various elements in the celestial world are formed ‘in the image’
of the model, the archetype or Urbild, in accordance with a law of
exemplarism by which they reproduce the quintessential image of original
man (if not distorted, then increasingly faded). When he leaves the Pleroma,
he takes part in a different process: the cosmos, from the Demiurge
downwards, is a reverse (and therefore negative) image of the perfection
of the Upper World; see J. Jervell, Imago Dei (Gottingen, 1960),
pp. 122-70. On the law of exemplarism see Sagnard, Gnose valentinienne,
pp. 244f.
Sophia’s androgyny is understood by Philo, De fuga et inv. 51: Sophia is
female in name, male in nature.’ See Bréhier, Idées philosophiques,
pp. 115ff. and Baer, Categories, pp. 62-3. Evidently her male function
consists in sowing the Jogoi of the world in chaotic and shapeless matter.
Lesky, Zeugungs- und Vererbungslehren, and Filoramo, Luce, pp. 48ff.
Enn. Il.9.11.
Lesky, Zeugungs- und Vererbungslehren, pp. 129ff.
The technical term is aporrhoia, or effluence, from astrology (see Reitz-
Celie!
enstein, Poimandres, p. 16, n. 14) and is widespread in magical texts (see
Hopfner, ‘Mageia’, p. 321, and Festugiére, Idéal religieux, pp. 296-7),
indicating, within the more general law of universal sympathy, the
influences exercised by the different forces, especially those of astral origin,
on the terrestrial world and man. For the Gnostic contexts see Filoramo,
buces-po 76, n. LOS.
a. Orbe, Teologia, pp. 313ff.
ie AH 1.4.1.
TS: AH 1.4.2.
15, AH 1.4.5.
16. Ibid.
‘We Ibid.
is. This is true of Simonian systems (cf. ch. 9) and those of Menander and
Saturninus (cf. ch. 10).
19: e.g. in the so-called triadic systems, about which Hippolytus tells us; see
218 Notes
Bianchi (ed.), Origini, p. 18.
20. ‘He is always a problematical and never a venerable figure’, says Jonas in
‘Delimitation’, p. 96. This figure is unlikely to originate in a single tradition
of thought, consisting as it does of Jewish elements (see Wilson, Gnostic
Problem, pp. 191-2; A. F. Segal, Two Powers in Heaven (Leiden, 1977),
pp. 244ff.; Dahl, ‘Arrogant Archon’, pp. 690-1; B. Barc, ‘Samael-Saklas-
Yaldabaoth. Recherche sur la genése d’un mythe gnostique’ in Barc (ed.),
Colloque, pp. 123-50); of Orphic elements (see G. Quispel, ‘The Demiurge
in the Apokryphon of John’ in Wilson (ed.), Nag Hammadi, pp. 1-33);
or, more generally, of Graeco-Hellenistic elements (see Theiler, ‘Demiurg’,
p. 708: Demiurge = anima mundi; see also G. Quispel, ‘Gnostische
Anthropos’, Gnostic Studies 1.210ff.) But, in this matter of origins, it ought
to be borne in mind always that ‘the Valentinian and, generally speaking,
the Gnostic Demiurge is a metabasis eis allo genos (transition to another
genus)’, according to U. Bianchi, ‘Religio-historical observations on Valenti-
nianism’ in Layton (ed.), Rediscovery 1.109.
ZAR V. Goldschmidt, Le Systéme stoicien et l’idée de temps* (Paris, 1969),
pp. 146ff.
2p Met. Z 9. 1034* 20ff.
Pie Pol. Ill. 1277> 28-30; 1282? 17ff.
24. Vernant, Mythe et pensée, pp. 196ff.
2: AH 1.30.3.
26. J. H. Waszink, ‘Abtreibung’, RAC 1.57.
Lis Plutarch, De Iside 19.65. On the Valentinian ektroma, or untimely birth,
see Schlier, Relig. Untersuchungen, p. 156, and K. Miller, Beitrage zum
Verstandnis der valentinianischen Gnosis (Gottingen, 1920), pp. 230ff.
The theme becomes central in Manichaean anthropogony, indicating the
rejection of procreation; see H. C. Puech, Le Manichéisme (Paris, 1949),
P.173, 0. 250,
28. BG 37.12ff.
29. Quispel, ‘Demiurge’, p. 22.
30. Dahl, ‘Arrogant Archon’, p. 690.
Bd. Various etymologies have been proposed for the name; see G. Scholem,
‘laldabaoth reconsidered’ in Mélanges Puech, pp. 405—21; Barc, ‘Samael’,
pp. 141ff.; F. T. Fallon, The Enthronement of Sabaoth (Leiden, 1978),
pp. 29ff.
S23 BG 38.14ff.
33: NHC II. 4.94.11ff.
BR NHC VII. 5.121.3ff.; 124.2ff. In general, see V. W. van der Horst, ‘Der
Schatten im hellenistischen Volksglauben’ in M.J. Vermaseren (ed.),
Studies in Hellenistic Religions (Leiden, 1979), pp. 23-6.
36. AH 1.4.1; see I. P. Culianu, ‘La femme céleste et son ombre’ in his Iter in
silvis (Messina, 1981), pp. 77-96.
Notes 219
G7. Leg. All. Ill. 96.
38. B. Barc and M. Roberge (eds), Hypostase des archontes et Noréa (Quebec,
1980), p. 31.
32. M. Scopello, ‘Le mythe de la chute des anges dans l’Apocryphe de Jean’
RevSR 54 (1980), 220-30.
40. H. Schlier, ‘Das Denken der friihchristlichen Gnosis’ in Neutestamentliche
Studien fiir R. Bultmann* (Berlin, 1957), p. 71.
41. NECHES 99.174
42. NHG.11.5.100.2ff.
43), Add Sl,
44, PACS, 100.1 98f:
ass NHC JI.1.10.20ff.
46. K. Rudolph, Die Gnosis (Géttingen, 1978), pp. 75ff. (Eng. version ed.
R. McL. Wilson, 1983.)
47. BG 39.6ff.
48. R. M. Grant, Gnosticism and Early Christianity? (NY—London, 1966),
pp. 46ff.; W. Fauth, ‘Seth-Typhon, Onoel und eselkopfige Sabaoth. Zur
Theriomorphie der ophitisch-barbelo-gnostischen Archonten’, Oriens
Christianus 57 (1973), 79-120; A. J. Welburn, ‘The identity of the Archons
in the “Apocryphon Johannis”’, VigChr 32 (1978), 241-54.
49. BG 39.16-18.
50. BG 44.14-15.
SL: A list of the Gnostic texts is given by H. G. Bethge, ‘Die Ambivalenz
alttestamentlichen Geschichtstraditionen in der Gnosis’ in Troger (ed.),
Altes Testament, p. 94, n. 16; Schenke, Gott ‘Mensch’, pp. 87-92; Dahl,
‘Arrogant Archon’, pp. 693-8.
JZ. The Demiurge’s task is to breathe psyché (i.e. breath of life) into the body
of Adam, which is incapable of standing up straight. On the status of the
psychic element, which does not enjoy real autonomy and therefore tends
to be either absorbed into the spiritual or, as here, into the hylic, see Jonas,
Mythologische Gnosis, p. 212, and M. Simonetti, ‘Psyché e psychikos nella
gnosi valentiniana’, RSLR 1 (1961), 1ff.
53% AH 1.5.3.
54. AFF 1.5.1.
Lee AH 1.5.4.
56. Hegesippus, Acta Archelai 67.7-8, on the subject of Basilides; Orbe, Hacia
la primera, pp. 246ff.
D fee Refutatio V.19.1-22.
58. NHC VII. 1.1.7ff.
32. Refutatio V.19.1ff.
60. F. Wisse, ‘The redeemer figure in the Paraphrase of Shem’, NT 12 (1970),
130-40; M. Roberge, ‘Le réle du mous dans la Paraphrase de Sem’ in Barc
(ed.), Colloque, pp. 328—9.On the meaning of ‘paraphrase’ see B. Aland,
‘Die Paraphrase als Form gnostischer Verkiindigung’ in Wilson (ed.), Nag
Hammadi, pp. 75-90.
220 Notes
61. Refutatio V.19.1-13.
62. On Manichaean darkness see Puech, Manichéisme, p. 164, n. 298.
63. Refutatio V.8.1.
65. Leisegang, Gnosis, p. 19.
oF Refutatio V1.9.3—18; see also ch. 9.
68. Refutatio VJ.17.1.
69. Ibid.
70. Ibid. VI.13.
71. Ibid.
72. On the God (ouk On, who does not exist, of Basilides see Orbe, En los
albores, pp. 302-3; H. A. Wolfson, ‘Negative attributes in the Church
Fathers and the Gnostic Basilides’, HThR 50 (1957), 145-56; J. Whittaker,
‘Basilides on the ineffability of God’, HThR 62 (1969), 367-71.
73. On the system of Basilides according to Hippolytus and its connection
with the statements of other heresiologists see J. H. Waszink, ‘Basilides’,
RAC1.1217-25; G. Quispel, ‘L’homme gnostique (la doctrine de Basilide)’,
Er] 16 (1948), 89-139; W. Foerster, ‘Das System des Basilides’, NTS 9
(1969), 233-55.
74. Refutatio VII.22.16.
Ibid. VII.23.3.
76. Ibid. VII.27.1.
(oe NHC X.1.5.22-6.
78. B. A. Pearson, “The tractate Marsanes (NHC X) and the Platonic tradition’
CHAPTER 6 AND GOD SAID, ‘LET US MAKE MAN ...’
Quispel, Gnosis als Weltreligion, p. 29.

RR P. Nagel, ‘Die Auslegung der Paradieserzahlung in der Gnosis’ in Troger
(ed.), Altes Testament, pp. 49-70.
E. Peterson, Friihkirche, Judentum und Gnosis (Rome—Freiburg—Vienna,
1959), pp. 107ff.; J. E. Ménard, ‘Le chant de la Perle’, RechSR 42 (1968),
291, n. 5; Daniélou, Théologie, pp. 382-3.
G. Filoramo and C. Gianotto, ‘L’interpretazione gnostica dell’ Antico Testa-
mento’, Aug 22 (1982), 69ff.
Op. mundi 72-5; Conf. ling. 168ff.; De fuga 68ff.; R. McL. Wilson, ‘The
early history of the exegesis of Gen. 1.26’ in Studia Patristica (Berlin,
1957), 1. 423.
Leg. All. 1.38, and L. Schotroff, Der Glaubende und die feindliche Welt
(Neukirchen—Vlyn, 1970), pp. 4ff. See also Hauschild, Gottes Geist,
pp. 256ff.
The plural was explained in various ways in Rabbinic circles; see Schenke,
Gott ‘Mensch’, pp. 124ff.
Notes 221
C. Kannengiesser, ‘Philon et les Péres sur la double création de l'homme’
in Philon d’Alexandrie (Paris, 1967), pp. 272-96.
P. Schwanz, Imago Dei (Halle, 1970).
On the concept of ‘epiphany’ see E. Pax, Epiphaneia (Munich, 1955). Of
the various ways in which the phenomenon can happen, the most common
here seems to be actio and reactio; these are due to the particular
concreteness and ‘reality’ that one wishes to attribute to the scene.
ef. NHC II.1.14.13ff. (BG: 47.14ff.).
12. NHC II.4.87.14ff. This is the theme of the ‘seduction of the Archons’. It
is no accident that one finds it among the libertine sects; see Epiphanius,
Panarion 21.2.5 (Simonians); 25.2.2—4 (Nicolaites); 26.1.3 (Phibionites).
On the theme of cosmogonic erds in OrigMund see Tardieu, Trois mythes,
pp. 144-65; on the Manichaean parallels see F..Cumont, Recherches
sur le Manichéisme, 1 La Cosmogonie manichéenne (Brussels, 1908),
pp. 54-68.
ig NHC II.1.15.2-4. The parallel text in BG 48.1-4 merely says: ‘Let us
make a man according to the image and likeness of God.’ In the long
version the purpose of demiurgic creation emerges more clearly: to capture
the elusive light by means of sympathetic magic.
er: P. Nagel, ‘Anatomie des Menschen in gnostischer und manichaischer Sicht’
in Nagel (ed.), Studien, pp. 67-94.
15. J. Flamant, Macrobe et le néo-platonisme latin, a la fin du IVe siécle
(Leiden, 1977), pp. 557ff., and J. Dillon, ‘The descent of the soul in Middle
Platonic and Gnostic theory’, in Layton (ed.), Rediscovery 1. 357-64.
16. S. Giversen, Apokryphon Johannis (Copenhagen, 1963), pp. 243-5.
ive Nagel, ‘Anatomie’, pp. 70-1.
18. NHC II.1.15.29-17.6.
‘9, The meaning of the Coptic tete is uncertain.
20. NHC II.1.16.28-30 = NHC IV.1.26.3-S.
48 NHC J1.1.17.8-29 = NHC IV.1.26.20-27.12.
Due NHC IL.1.18.2ff. Cf. Test. Reub, U-IIl, in Testaments of the Twelve
Patriarchs.
Mss NHC II.1.18.3; attoss, which corresponds to the Greek aoristos (see W. E.
Crum, A Coptic Dictionary (Oxford, 1939), 449B) is the equivalent of
the Neopythagorean and Middle Platonist ‘unlimited’ matter.
24. NHC II.1.18.33—4.
25;, According to a model widespread in late Judaism, the Adam of earth is
gigantic and creeps like a worm; see G. Scholem, ‘Die Vorstellung von
Golem’, Er] 22 (1953), 240ff., and Jervell, Imago Dei, pp. 99ff.
26. BG 51.Iff.
Zils On the importance of the status erectus, or standing upright, see
M. Simonetti, ‘Note sull’ ‘interpretazione gnostica dell’ Antico Testamento’,
VetChr 9 (1972), 358-9.
28. NHC II. 4.88.10ff.
222 Notes 3
29; The theme of ‘compassion’ is linked with the female dimension of God;
see Orbe, Teologia, pp. 199ff.
30. Epinoia is of central importance in Gnostic. ‘mythology of reflection’,
indicating the externalization of internal thought (see C. A. Baynes, A
Coptic Gnostic Treatise Containedin the Codex Brucianus (Cambridge,
1933), p. 11, n. 11). In NHC XIII.1.35.13ff. and 39.19, etc. she is one of
the manifestations of Ennoia (to be precise, the second), when she appears
as a woman (see Janssens, Protennoia, p. 60). See also NHC IX.2.28.2
and Refutatio V1.18.6—7. Plotinus criticizes this concept of ‘reflection’,
which he considers typically Gnostic; according to him, in the formation
of the world nothing comes from logical consequence or reflection, but
everything is before it (Enn. V.8.7 and 41ff.). For Origen’s use of the term
see H. Crouzel, Origéne et la ‘connaissance mystique’ (Brussels, 1961),
pp. 389-91.
a1. BG 53.10ff.
32. BG 56.7ff.
LES BG 59.6ff.
34. Bethge, Ambivalenz, pp. 90-2.
Sie BG 62.8ff.
36. BG 63.14 ff.
ve Barc—Roberge (eds), Hypostase, pp. 26-7.
Sp NHC II.4.90.17.
32. e.g. NHC II.4.90.16, where in the phrase, ‘their eyes will be opened’
(Gen. 2:7) the word ophthalmoi (eyes) is replaced by kakia (evil). There
is some doubt in this passage as to whether the verb after kakia means
‘be opened’, ‘become manifest’ or ‘arise from’; see Barc—Roberge (eds),
Hypostase, p. 100.
40. The presentation of animals to Adam takes place before the entry into
Paradise.
41. Or the existing ones reduplicate, as the history of the Gnostic Eve shows.
42. For Gnostic parallels see Bethge, Ambivalenz, pp. 94-8.
43. BG 72.3ff.
44. BG 73.2ff.
45. NHC II.1.29.17ff.
46. NHC II.1.30.4-7.
47. B. A. Pearson, “The figure of Norea in Gnostic literature’ in Widengren
(ed.), Proceedings, pp. 143-152.
48. NHC IL.4.92.3ff.
49. NHC II.4.92.8ff.
50. NHC I.4.92.18ff.
be NHC II.4.92.32ff. On Eleleth see Barc-Roberge, Hypostase, pp. 115-16;
Janssens, Protennoia, pp. 68-9; A. Bohlig and F. Wisse, Nag Hammadi
Codices III,2 and IV,2. The Gospel of the Egyptians (Leiden, 1975),
pp. 196-7.
Barc—Roberge, Hypostase, pp. 151-71.
Notes 223
583 Pearson, ‘Norea’, pp. 147ff.
54. On this distinction see K. M. Fischer, Tendenz und Absicht des Epheser-
briefes (Gottingen, 1973), pp. 182ff.
Sha For a survey of the principal interpretations of this controversial text
see K. Rudolph, ‘Forschungsbericht’?’ ThRund 34 (1969), 161ff., and
E. Yamauchi, ‘Pre-Christian Gnosticism in the Nag Hammadi texts’,
Church History 48 (1979), 130-5.
According to a model found in other texts; see Barc-Roberge, Hypostase,
pp. 91ff.
NHC V.5.65.21ff.
See the model in Gen. 18:1ff.
G. W. E. Nickelburg, ‘Some related traditions in the Apocalypse of Adam,
the Book of Adam and Eve and 1 Enoch’ in Layton (ed.), Rediscovery
2.549.
NHC V.5.69.19ff.
NHC V.5.71.10ff.
NHC V.5.76.3ff.
On the term phostér see A. Bohlig, Mysterion und Wahrheit (Leiden,
1968), pp. 150-60.
NHC V.5.76.15ff.
NHC V.5.77.27-83.4.
NHC V.5.82.21ff.
L. Schotroff, ‘Animae naturaliter salvandae’ in W. Eltester (ed.), Christen-
tum und Gnosis (Berlin, 1969), pp. 65-97.
NHG V.5.0.5_198.
B. A. Pearson, ‘The figure of Seth in Gnostic literature’ in Layton (ed.),
Rediscovery 2.496ff.
Clem. Alex. Stromateis II. 114.3-6.
Ibid. 36.4.
AH 1.30.6.
Unlike what happens in AJ. See n. 13 of this chapter.
AH 1.5.5.
NHC 1.5.100.3 1ff.
NHC 1.5.100.36; 101.6ff.
NHC I.5.101.3ff.
NHC 1.5.104.31ff.
CHAPTER 7 MYSTERIUM CONIUNCTIONIS
NHC II.3.68.10ff.
J. D. Turner, The Book of Thomas the Contender (Missoula, 1975), and
Perkins, Gnostic Dialogue, p. 100. Essentially this is an encratite text: the
mysteries revealed by the Saviour to his favourite disciple are the mysteries
of the eternal fire that punishes licentious malefactors and the mysteries
of the pleromatic light that will be enjoyed by the elect.
224 Notes
On the figure of Thomas, who does not have a central role in the New
Testament (see John 9:16; 15:14; 20:24—9; and Acts 1:13), but is important
in later traditions, e.g. the apocryphal Acts of Thomas, in which he appears
as Judas Thomas Didymus; see J. Doresse, L’Evangile de Thomas (Paris,
1959), pp. 38-40, and Ménard, Evangile selon Thomas, p. 76.
NHC II.7.1.138.8ff. See R. Kuntzmann, ‘L’identification dans le Livre de
Thomas |’Athléte’ in Barc (ed.), Colloque, pp. 278-87.
Refutatio VIII.15.1-2.
NHC VIII.1.45.9ff.
NHC VIII.1.45.24ff.
NHC VIII.1.45.27ff.
NHC VIII.1.46.10ff:
ae
ON
PO There is still no comprehensive treatment of the delicate, complex,
rises
and decisive problem of Gnostic soteriology; see Andresen, ‘Erlosung’;
W. Forster cwtnp, TW VII.1005—21; Wilson, Gnostic Problem, pp. 218ff.;
Rudolph, Gnosis, pp. 130-48; Colpe, ‘Gnosis’, pp. 613ff.
Lt A. D. Nock, ‘The milieu of Gnosticism’, Gnomon 12 (1936), pp. 611-12;
Quispel, ‘Gnostische Anthropos, pp. 224-34 (on the background of his
interpretation there are analyses of Jung; see Aion, pp. 184ff.); Ménard,
Evangile de Vérité, pp. 17ff. Ménard, ‘La gnose et les textes de Nag
Hammadi’ in Barc (ed.), Colloque, pp. 16-17, observes: “External salvation
and the doctrine of Heilsgeschichte, where God reveals Himself and leads
His people to salvation and the Saviour, are quite alien to the Gnostic.’
125 A. Nygren, Agape and Eros (London, 1938).
ee Ibid., p. 85.
14. H.M. Schenke, ‘Die neutestamentliche Christologie und der gnostische
Erléser’ in Troger (ed.), Gnosis, pp. 211ff.; Fischer, Tendenz und Absicht,
p. 190, n. 45; Rudolph, Gnosis, pp. 141-2. This position is based on an
acute observation of Bousset, Hauptprobleme, p. 238.
15, NHC VIII.1.46.16ff.
16. Some doubt has been expressed as to the Gnostic nature of this text; see
F. Wisse, ‘On exegeting the Exegesis of the Soul’ in Ménard (ed.), Textes,
pp. 68ff.; R. van den Broeck, ‘The Authentikos Logos: a new document
of Christian Platonism’, VigChr 33 (1979), 260ff. For a contrary opinion
see Koschorke, ‘““Suchen und Finden”’, p. 51, n.3 and p.57, n. 37;
S. Arai, ‘Zum “Simonianischen” in Authentikos Logos und Bronte’ in
Krause (ed.), Gnosis (1981), p. 9, n. 19.
is NHC II.6.132.6ff. See W.C. Robinson, ‘The Exegesis on the Soul’, NT
12 (1970), 102-17.
18. Andresen, ‘Erlésung’, pp. 119ff.
19: Vermaseren, ‘Hellenistic Religions’, p. 505.
20. Festugiére, Idéal religieux, p. 135.
24, Nilsson, Geschichte, p. 399.
mae Ibid., pp. 727-8.
23° On the traditional interpretation (e.g. that of Clement of Alexandria),
Notes 225
which defends the deterministic interpretation of the three natures see
W. Forster, Von Valentin zu Herakleon (Giessen, 1928), pp. 22-3; Sagnard,
Gnose valentinienne, pp. 387ff., 567-8 and 606-7. For a contrary
viewpoint see H. Langerbeck, Aufsdtze zur Gnosis (Gottingen, 1967),
pp. 38ff.; Schotroff, ‘Animae’, pp. 92-3; Rudolph, Gnosis, pp. 134-5.
24. The theme of the ‘Saved Saviour’ is central to Manichaeism and Mandaeism,
but it is rare in the Gnostic texts: NHC II.3.54.35ff.; 72.34 ff. and the
comment of Ménard, L’Evangile selon Philippe, p. 201; NHC 1.3.42.37
and, in general, the soteriology of the Pistis Sophia.
Pee See ch. 6.
26. For an analysis of the Pistis Sophia system see Leisegang, ‘Pistis Sophia’.
27s See ich. 7:
28. Filoramo, Luce, pp. 28ff. The ‘man of light’ (prome mpouoein) is a
technical expression, which indicates the new reality generated in man as
a result of illumination; see Pistis Sophia 113, 125 and 132; BG 71.11-12
= NHCIII.1.36.25; NHC II1.5.151.19; 155.26—7; NHC V.5.83.1-8; NHC
1.2.10.4; NHC II.2 = POxy 655.24, and the comment of Puech, ‘Doctrines
ésotériques’, Ixix (1969), 272ff. Puech recalls other contexts that are not
specifically Gnostic (the alchemist Zosimus). See also Schenke, Gott
‘Mensch’, p. 7. According to J. Munck, ‘Bemerkungen zum koptischen
Thomasevangelium’ Studia Theologica 14 (1960), 142-3, the Gnostic
theory derives from a ‘democratization’ of the speculations about the
Adam of Light.
Zo, In contrast to other conceptions of the Apostolate held by Gnostic groups
like the Valentinians, this theory presupposes that the Apostles are perfect
from the outset; Rousseau-Doutreleau, Irénée de Lyon. Contre les Hérésies
II] (Paris, 1952), 46-9; W.Schmithals, Das kirchliche Apostelamt
(Gottingen, 1961), pp. 103ff.; M. Krause, “Der “Dialog des Soter” im
Codex III in Krause (ed.), Gnosis (1977), pp. 29ff.
30. CH I.12. For an overall view of the text see H. Gundel, ‘Poimandres’, PW
XXI.1193ff.; E. Hanchen, ‘Aufbau und Theologie des Poimandres’, ZThK
53 (1956), 149-91; Jonas, Gnostic Religion, pp. 147-63.
ile C. H. Dodd, The Bible and the Greeks” (London, 1954), pp. 99-209.
32 CH 1.4. and the observations of Festugiére, Dieu inconnu, 41-2, on the
interpretation of en merei gegenémenon.
oo: CH 1.4.
34. CH 1.9-11.
BAS CH 1.13. On the Platonic theme of the fall of the soul underlying this
myth see Festugiére, Doctrines de l’dme, pp. 63ff.
36. CH I.14.
af Jonas, Gnostic Religion, pp. 156ff.
38. CH 1.15:
ao: CHALAg:
40. The sources on Seth have been collected by A. F. J. Klijn, Seth in Jewish,
Christian and Gnostic Literature (Leiden, 1977).
226 Notes
41. Klijn, Seth, pp. 4-32.
42. Ibid., p. 112; Pearson, ‘Figure of Seth’, pp. 496 and 503.
43. Klin; Seth, pp. 4-S.
44, Ibid., p. 6.
45. Genesis Rabbah 24.6: ‘Rabbi Shimon said: “In the 130 years since Eve
separated from Adam, male spirits became passionate for her, and she
generated from them; female spirits became passionate for Adam, and
generated from him.”’ (See A. Ravenna, Commento alla Genesi (Turin,
1978), ‘p..193).
46. In PRE 22 it is stated explicitly, in reference to Gen. 5:3, that Cain is not
the seed of Adam, either in his likeness or image. It is therefore nor
surprising that the generation of Cain has been identified by some (see
Klijn, Seth, p. 9, about Rabbi Meir = PRE 22) with an immoral generation
or by others with the ‘daughters of men’ of Gen. 6:2, who had (sexual)
relations with the ‘sons of God’ of Gen. 6:1; see P.S. Alexander, “The
Targumim and early exegesis of “Sons of God” in Gen. 6’ Journal of
Jewish Studies 23 (1972):60—71. As for Samael (the etymology of which
is disputed; see Klijn, Seth, p.3, n.6), he appears in various Jewish,
Christian and Gnostic apocrypha (see Bullard, Hypostasis, pp. 52-4, and
Barc—Roberge, Hypostase, pp. 34-5). The figure who, according to Ps.
Jon. Gen. 3.6, was the angel of death and, according to Genesis Rabbah
10.110, was the leader of all the devils, from the third century ap was to
become ‘the main figure in Jewish demonology, both Rabbinic and
Cabbalistic, who embodies all previous demonological traditions’ (Barc,
‘Samael’, p. 136). On the fate of Samael in Bogomilism see Loos, Dualist
Heresyjope92,.n. 7:
47. PRE 22 (see Klijn, Seth, p. 8).
48. Enoch 85:8ff.: ‘And, after this, she bore another white bull and, after it,
she bore black bulls and cows. I saw in my sleep that white bull, how it
likewise grew and became a large white bull, and from it came many
white bulls; and they were like it. And they began to beget many white
bulls, which were like them, one following the other’ (H. D. F. Sparks
(ed.), The Apocryphal Old Testament (Oxford, 1985)).
49: Pearson, ‘Seth’, p. 491.
50. Klijn, Seth, pp. 16-18; see also M. E. Stone, ‘Report on Seth traditions in
the Armenian Adam books’ in Layton (ed.), Rediscovery 2.468-9.
aL. De post. Caini 42.
52. De post. Caini 173; see R. Kraft, ‘Philo on Seth’ in Layton (ed.),
Rediscovery 2.457-8.
dU: The critical edition is that of Bohlig—Wisse, Gospel of the Egyptians. See
also Wilson, ‘One text’.
54. NHC III.2.68.10ff.
ook NHC IlI.2.51.5ff. = NHC IV.2.62.30ff. On Adamas see Bohlig—Wisse,
Gospel of the Egyptians, p. 173 and Barc—Roberge (eds), Hypostase: 154.
56. NHC III.2.51.20ff. = NHC IV.2.63.15ff.
Notes 227
Ss NHC III.2.61.3ff. = NHC IV.2.72.11ff.
58. NHC III.2.63.8ff. = NHC IV.2.74.22ff.
59: Ps. Tertullian Adv. omnes haer. 2 (Christ is ‘tantummodo [virtually] Seth’.
For an overall view of the heresiological statements see Klijn, Seth,
pp. 82-90.
60. This concept, of Jewish origin, is due to the fusion of eschatological
expectation of one prophet only and the theological reflection that since
all the prophets basically announced the same truth, there was only one
who became incarnate in a succession of various people (see O. Cullmann,
The Christology of the New Testament (London, 1963), pp. 38-50; and
John 1:21, in which the Jews asked the Baptist: ‘Are you the prophet?’).
It re-emerges in the so-called Gospel of the Hebrews (see Jerome, In Isaiam
Prophetam 11.2: the Holy Spirit says to Jesus when He comes out of the
water after baptism: ‘I have waited for you in all the prophets, that you
should come and | should rest in you’) and especially in the Pseudo-
Clementines; see Hom. JII.17.1 and 20.2 and H.J. Schoeps, Theologie
und Geschichte des Judenchristentums (Tubingen, 1949), p. 98. G. Strecker
rightly insists on the Gnostic background of the concept; see
Hennecke—Schneemelcher, Apokryphen II.67—-8. It is no accident that the
theory of continuous revelation is present in Manichaean, as well as in
Sethian, Gnostic texts; see Puech, Manichéisme, pp. 61-3 and n. 241.
61. NHC I1.1.30.11.
62. NHGUIEN-3 2.5.
63. NHC II.4.93.8ff. On Eleleth see Barc-Roberge, Hypostase, pp. 113-14 and
Janssens, Protennoia, pp. 68-9.
64. NHC VIII.1.3.30ff.
65. For the text see Janssens, Protennoia. See also R. McL. Wilson, ‘The
“Trimorphic Protennoia”’ in Krause (ed.), Gnosis (1981), pp. 50-4. The
text has been interpreted by some as a possible Vorlage of the prologue
of the Gospel of John; see C. Colpe, ‘Heidnische jiidische und christliche
Uberlieferung in den Schriften von Nag Hammadi’, JAC 17 (1974), 122-4,
and J. M. Robinson, ‘Sethians and Johannine thought’ in Layton (ed.),
Rediscovery 2.642-62.
66. NHC XIIL1.35.12¢f.
67. NHC XIII.1.40.12-14.
68. NHC XIll.1.41.2ff.
69. NHC XIII.1.50.12ff.
70. Colpe, ‘Gnosis’, pp. 552-3.
ia G. Filoramo, ‘Aspetti del processo rivelativo nel “Logos di Rivelazione”
gnostico’, Atti dell’Accademia Scientifica Torino 109 (1974), 114-15.
HOR BG 22,15 7.65.25 1593 720; BB.9.
AS F. T. Fallon, ‘The Gnostics: the undominated race’, NT 21 (1979), 271-8.
Hes NHC III.2.54.10 = NHC IV.2.65.30. On the other self-designation see
F. Siegert, ‘Selbstbezeichnung der Gnostiker in den Nag Hammadi Texten’,
ZNW 71 (1980), 129-32.
228 Notes
Loe ‘Indeed Valentinus says he saw a small child recently born and asked him
who he was. The child replied that he was the Logos. Valentinus then tells
a tragic myth and tries to derive it from the sect that bears his name’
(Refutatio V1.42.2).
76. On the reading @€pos (harvest) see M. Simonetti, Testi gnostici cristiant
(Bari, 1970), p. 130, n. 10. On the concept of ‘spiritual harvest’ see
Heraclitus, frr 32-3. ’
77. Refutatio V1.37.6-8. The interpretation of pneumati is disputed; see
B. Herzhoff, Zwei gnostische Hymnen (Bonn, 1973), pp. 41ff.
78. Herzhoff, Zwei Hymnen, p. 48.
oa See fr.3 in Clement of Alexandria, Stromateis III.59.3: ‘Jesus bore
everything and was.master of himself; he behaved in a divine manner,
eating and drinking in a divine manner; he did not evacuate the food from
his body. Such was his self-mastery that the nourishment within him did
not decay, for he could not tolerate corruption.’
80. The following passage relies on the fundamental work of A. Orbe,
Cristologia gnostica, 2 vols (Madrid, 1976). See M. Simonetti, ‘Note
di cristologia gnostica’, RSLR 5 (1969), 529-53, and J.D. Kaestli,
‘Valentinianisme italien et valentinianisme oriental: leur divergence a
propos de la nature du corps de Jésus’ in Layton (ed.), Rediscovery
1.391—403.
81. Orbe, Cristologia 1.55ff.
82. Filoramo, ‘Interpretazione gnostica’, pp. 58-9.
83. The letter has been preserved in Panarion 33. 3-7; see G. Quispel,
Ptolémée. Lettre a Flora (Paris, 1949).
84. Panarion 33.3 and 8.
85. Panarion 33.5:1-2.
87. Orbe, Cristologia, pp. 134ff.
88. Ibid., 153ff.
89. Excerpta ex Theodoto 68-71.
90. Ibid., 72.1 and 74.1.
D1. C. Schmidt, Gesprache Jesu mit seinen Jiingern nach der Auferstehung
(Leipzig, 1919), pp. 281ff.; Daniélou, Théologie, pp. 228ff.; Beyschlag,
Simon Magus, pp. 172ff.; C.H. Talbert, “The myth of descending-
ascending redeemer in Mediterranean antiquity’, NTS 22 (1975), 418-40.
a2. According to the traditional meaning of sOteria as ‘preservation’ of a
certain condition; see Andresen, ‘Erlésung’, p. 126.
93: AH 1.6.1.
95; Orbe, Cristologia 1.322.
96. Ibid., 330ff.
98. NHC IX.3.33.11; 39.29-31; 45.9-11.
99. There are many texts in which it is stated that Christ suffered before
Notes 229
dying: NHC 1.3.20.10-30; 31.4-6, and Arai, Christologie, pp. 90 and

93-4; NHC 1.4.44.21-34; 45.14-15; 46.16ff., and M.L. Peel, The
Epistle to Rheginus (Philadelphia, 1969), p.121, n. 21, pp. 159-60,
172; NHC 1.5.113.32-8; 114.33-115.11; NHC XI.1.20.10ff.; NHC
IX.1.5.1-11, and H. M. Schenke, ‘Die jiidische Melchisedek Gestalt als
Thema der Gnosis’ in Tréger (ed.), Altes Testament, p. 124. What these
texts affirm is that the suffering of Jesus is real, but it does not affect
the Saviour as such, merely the particular part of his body that is capable
of suffering; see Koschorke, Polemik, p. 44, and E. Pagels, ‘Gnostic and
orthodox views of Christ’s passion: paradigms for the Christian’s response
to persecution?’ in Layton (ed.), Rediscovery 1. 262-83.
M. Tardieu, ‘“Comme 4 travers un tuyau”. Quelques remarques sur le
mythe valentinien de la chair céléste du Christ’ in Barc (ed.), Colloque,
pp. 151ff.
Ail, 72s
A. Orbe, La uncidn del Verbo (Rome, 1961), pp. 229ff., 345ff.
NHC 1I1.3.70.34ff.
NHC 1.5.116.29-33.
Orbe, Cristologia 2.294ff.
Ibid., 242ff.
This much becomes clear from an examination of such texts as EvVer,
Rheg, TracTrip. On the Christology of EvPh see H. G. Gaffron, ‘Studien
zum koptischen Philippusevangelium unter besonderen Beriicksichtigung
der Sakramente’ (Ph.D. thesis Bonn, 1969), pp. 202-3.
108. AH 1.30.12-14.
LOS. Cf. the Christology of the Pistis Sophia.
tO, On the structure of the text see Koschorke, Polemik, pp. 11ff.
£th. J.D. Dubois, ‘Le préambule de |’Apocalypse de Pierre’ in Ries (ed.),
Gnosticisme, p. 384.
Piz. NHC VII.3.79.24-6.
113: Ibid. 72.10ff.
114. Ibid. 71.15ff.
els On the place of Peter in the Gnostic texts see J. E. Ménard, La Lettre
de Pierre a Philippe (Quebec, 1977), pp. 6-7, and Perkins, Gnostic
Dialogue, pp. 113ff.
NHC VIII.3.81.3-14.
G. Broker, ‘Lachen als religidses Motiv in gnostischen Texten’ in Nagel
(ed.), Studien, pp. 111-185.
NHC VIII.3.82.4-16.
Ibid., 82.18ff.
Matt. 27:50.
AH 1.24.4.
P. Painchaud, Le Deuxiéme traité du Grand Seth (Quebec, 1982).
thids p. 21:
NHC VII.2.56.14ff. and Painchaud, Deuxiéme traité, p. 18.
Ménard, Lettre.
NHG Vill.2.139.1 56.
Ibid. 139.21ff.
Orbe, Cristologia 1.380ff.
230 Notes
129. Refutatio VII.27.8.
130. Ibid. 27.12.
£31. Ibide2 71,
CHAPTER 8 WAITING FOR THE END
On Gnostic eschatology in general see M. L. Peel, ‘Gnostic eschatology

and the New Testament’, NT 12 (1970), 14ff., and Rudolph, Gnosis,
pp. 184-219. The category ‘eschatology’ has recently been criticized; see
J. Carmignac, Le Mirage de l’eschatologie (Paris, 1979), pp. 136-7. We
use it to indicate the complex of final events that affect the destiny of
humankind and the world.
E. Smiess, Entwicklungsgeschichte der Vorstellung vom Zustande nach
dem Tode (Jena, 1887); J. G. Frazer, The Belief in Immortality and the
Worship of the Dead, 3 vols (London, 1913-24) and The Fear of the
Dead, 3 vols (London, 1933-6); C. Clemen, Das Leben nach dem Tode
im Glauben der Menschheit (Leipzig, 1920); K.T. Preuss, Tod und
Unsterblichkeit im Glauben der Naturvolkern (Tubingen, 1930); H. J.
Klimkeit (ed.), Tod und Jenseit im Glauben der Volker (Wiesbaden,
1978); G. Stephenson (ed.), Leben und Tod in der Religion (Darmstadt,
1980). For a phenomenological treatment see C.J. Bleeker, “Types of
eschatology’ in Bleeker (ed.), The Sacred Bridge (Leiden, 1963), 250ff;
G. Widengren, Religionsphdnomenologie (Berlin-NY, 1969), pp.
440-50.
Qo J. le Goff, The Birth of Purgatory (Chicago, 1984).
The basic works are F. Cumont, Afterlife in Roman Paganism (New
Haven, Conn., 1922), Recherches sur le symbolisme funéraire des romains
(Paris, 1942), Lux Perpetua (Paris, 1949). See also Nilsson, Geschichte,
pp. 543-58, and Ferguson, Religions, pp. 100-17; I. P. Culiant, Psychan-
odia 1 and Expériences de l’extase.
O. Kern, ‘Mysterien’, PW XVI.1253, and B. Gladigow, ‘Jenseitsvorstel-
lungen und Kulturkritik’, ZRGG 26 (1974), 301ff.
Nilsson, Geschichte, pp. 147 and 457-8. He observes rightly (p. 549)
that ancient ‘popular’ representations, linked to a concept of the survival
of the body after death, continue to be widely attested under the Empire,
even if scholars prefer to concentrate on the more aristocratic doctrines
such as the celestial voyage of the soul.
Wirtschaft und Gesellschaft? (Tubingen, 1925), I. 287.
F. Heiler, Erscheinungsformen und Wesen der Religion (Stuttgart,1961),
pp. 520-1.
Guthrie, Orpheus, pp. 164-71.
Festugiére, Doctrines de l’dme, pp. 119ff.; H. Dorrie, ‘Kontroversen um
die Seelenwanderung im kaiserzeitlichen Platonismus’, Hermes 85 (1957),
414-35.
Notes 231
it, Origen, Commentationes ad Rom. V.1; see Leisegang, Gnosis, p. 207.
12. AH 1.25.4. For other references see Hilgenfeld, Ketzergeschichte, and
Beyschlag, Simon Magus, p. 153 and n. 47.
13, A. Dieterich, Nekyia? (Leipzig—Berlin, 1913, repr. Stuttgart, 1969); L. Ra-
dermacher, Das Jenseits im Mythos der Hellenen (Bonn, 1903).
14. Text and translation by W.R. Murdock and G.W. MacRae, Nag
Hammadi Codices V,2—5 and VI (Leiden, 1979), pp. 47-63.
15. On the ten heavens see G. Fliigel, Mani, seine Lehre und seine Schriften
(Berlin, 1862), pp. 218 and 220; Cumont, Recherches 1.28, n. 2; Bieten-
hard, Himmlische Welt, p. 6. Ten is the perfect number from the earliest
reflections of the Pythagoreans; see Kroll, Lehren, p. 205, and Philo, Spec.
leg.. 4.105.
16. Murdock—MacRae, NHC V, 2-5 and VI, p. 48.
£7 NIG! V2122:2: j
18. NHC II.7.142.30ff.
19: Bousset—Gressman, Religion des Judentums, pp. 289ff.; Volz, Eschatologie,
pp. 147ff.; Russell, Method, 263ff.
20. NHC XIII.1.42.19ff.
20. Ibid. 42.27ff.
2; Ibid. 44.1ff.
AH 1.7.1; see M.Spanneut, Le Stoicisme des Péres de l’Eglise (Paris,
1957), pp. 92-3, 357ff; on cosmic Gnostic eschatology see also R. Haardt,
‘Das universaleschatologische Vorstellungsgut der Gnosis’ in K. Schubert
(ed.), Von Messias zum Christus (Vienna, 1964), pp. 315-36.
24. Herzhoff, Zwei Psalmen, pp. 80ff.
25% Refutatio V.10.2.
26. INH@ Wiis 127.20.
I Refutatio V.8.28.
28. NHC ID.3.52.25ff.
eos Peel, ‘Gnostic eschatology’, pp. 157ff.
30. See our observations on the dialectic between ‘hidden’ and ‘revealed’ in
‘Aspetti del dualismo gnostico’, Memorie dell Accademia Scientifica di
Torino 5.2 (1978), 239-307, esp. 289ff.
an NHC JI.5.126.35ff. But see also the preceding apocalyptic description
125.32ff. See NHC VII.1.43.28—45.31 and V1.4.43.28ff. For a comparison
with the parallels of Jewish apocalyptic see Russell, Method, pp. 271-6.
cee NHC XIII.1.42.30ff.
33. H. C. Puech, ‘La gnose et le temps’, Ev] 20 (1951), 57-113.
34. NHC III.3.83.21ff.
335 H. 1. Marrou, ‘La théologie de Vhistoire dans la gnose valentinienne’ in
Bianchi (ed.), Origini, pp. 215-25.
36. NHC 1.5.127.23-4.
Orbe, Uncion, p. 407; Rudolph, Gnosis, p. 212. See also Jonas, ‘Delimita-
tion’, p. 92. For a cyclical interpretation of Gnostic time see also J. Zandee,
‘Gnostic ideas on fall and salvation’, Numen, 11 (1964), 19, 41, 47, 49-51
232 Notes
¥
and 66-8.
38. A central concept of both Gnostic and ecclesiastical eschatology; see
C. Lenz, ‘Apokatastase’, RAC 1.510-16; P.Siniscalco, ‘I significati di
“restituire” e “restitutio” in Tertulliano’, Atti dell’ Accademia Scientifica
di Torino 1 (1951), 45ff. and ‘atoxatéatacts and aTokabioTyme nella
tradizione della Grande Chiesa fino ad Ireneo’ Studia Patristica (1961),
pp. 380-96; N. A. Dahl, ‘Christ, creation and the Church’ in his The
Background of the New Testament and its Eschatology (Cambridge, 1956),
pp. 422ff., identifies seven types of relationship between the first and
second creations: restitution, transformation, identity, conservation of
certain aspects, perfection of the old reality in the new, and pre-existence
in the mind of God of certain elements that will be revealed only at the
end of time. For Gnostic circles in general see Andresen, ‘Erlosung’, p. 123,
and G. Filoramo, ‘Rivelazione ed escatologia nello gnosticismo cristiano
del secondo secolo’, Aug 18 (1978), 82, n.13. See also A. Méhat,
‘Apokatastasis chez Basilide’ in Mélanges Puech, pp. 365-75.
a9, AH 1.7.1; see D. Devoti, ‘Temi escatologici nello gnosticismo valentiniano’,
Aug 18 (1978), 47-61.
40. For the following account see C. Gianotto, ‘Il processo salvifico delle
anime e il loro destino finale nella Pistis Sophia’ in Ries (ed.), Gnosticisme,
pp. 377-83.
41. Ibid., pp. 379-82.
42. Pistis Sophia 96.
43. C. Schmidt, Pistis Sophia (Copenhagen, 1925), p. 304.
44, On the unlimited mercy typical of the soteriology of this text see C. Schmidt,
Pistis Sophia. Ein gnostisches Originalwerk des 3. Jahrhunderts aus dem
koptischen tibersetzt (Leipzig, 1925), pp. xxix—xxx.
45. W. C. van Unnik, ‘Die “Zahl der vollkommenen Seele” in der Pistis Sophia’
in Festschrift fiir Otto Michel (Leiden, 1960), pp. 467-77.
46. Gianotto, ‘Processo’, p. 380.
47. Ibid., p. 383.
48. P. Ariés, L’7Homme devant la mort (Paris, 1977), pp. 553ff.
49. An impressive amount of material has been collected in R. W. Habenstein
and W.M. Lamers, Funeral Customs the World Over (Milwaukee,
1960); see also the judgement of the thanatologist L. V. Thomas, The
Anthropology of Death (London, 1970).
50. ‘Death’, Continuum 5.3 (1976), 459-601, and G. Heuse, Guide de la mort
(Paris, 1975).
ae See n. 2 of this chapter.
2, K. Sagaster, ‘Grundgedanken des tibetanischen Totenbuches’ in Klimkeit,
Tod und Jenseit, pp. 175-89.
be A. Tenenti, I] senso della morte e l’'amore della vita nel Rinascimento
(Turin, 1957), p. 443 and fig. 40.
54. Aries, L’Homme devant la mort, pp. 41f.
Notes 233
Ss AHMN.24:5:.
56. W. P. Funk, Die zweite Apokalypse des Jakobus aus Nag Hammadi Codex
V (Berlin, 1976).
OTs NHC V.4.62.16ff.; Funk, Apokalypse Jakobus p. 211, and, for Gnostic
parallels to this prayer of James, 214-17; see also M. Tardieu, ‘Les Trois
Stéles de Seth’, RSPhTh 57 (1973), 557-8.
58. CH 1.25. The order of planets that makes up the background of this ascent
of the soul is the so-called ‘Chaldaean’ order: Moon, Mercury, Venus,
Sun, Mars, Jupiter and Saturn; see F. Boll, Kleine Schriften zum Sternkunde
des Altertums (Leipzig, 1950), pp. 183, 213 and 218; and Culianu,
Psychanodia 1, passim.
a7, A. Orbe, Los primeros herejes ante la persecucion (Rome, 1956), p. 138,
prefers the reading €v T Ovtr to Ev 7 Tapovtt, basing this on the Latin
‘filius autem in eo qui ante fuit’. The accuracy of this reading is confirmed
by the parallel passage of NHC V.3.32.29 — 35.25.
60. AH 1.21.5. :
61. 2 L] ch. 52. Pre-Nag Hammadi Gnostic texts have been collected and
studied by Bousset, ‘Himmelsreise’, and Colpe, ‘Himmelsreise’. See also
I. P. Culianu, ‘L’ascension de l’4me dans les mystéres et hors des mystéres’
in Bianchi (ed.), Soteriologia; and Culianu, Psychanodia 1, and Expériences
de l’extase.
62. NHC VI.3.35.8ff.
63. NHC 1.5.124.21ff. For a collection of Gnostic parallels see P. Pokorny,
‘Uber die sogenannte individuelle Eschatologie in der Gnosis’ in Nagel
(ed.), Studien, p. 128, nn. 6 and 7. On the concept of anapausis (rest) see
P. Vielhauer, ‘Anapausis. Zum gnostischen Hintergrund des Thomasevan-
gelium’ in Aufsadtze zum Neuen Testament (Munich, 1965), pp. 215-34;
J. E. Ménard, ‘Repos et salut gnostique’, RevSR 51 (1977), 71-88.
CHAPTER 9 SIMON MAGUS
M. Weber, ‘Die protestantische Ethik und.der “Geist des Kapitalismus”’,

Archiv fiir Sozialwissenschaft und Sozialpolitik 20-1 (1904-5), para. 3 of
"Geist .
On the complex problems of definition see R. Robinson, Definition
(Oxford, 1950), and W.P. Alston, Philosophy of Language (Englewood
Cliffs, 1964), ch. 6.
On the use of these terms by Gnostics as self-designations see M. Smith,
‘The history of the term “Gnostikos” in Layton (ed.), Rediscovery
2.796-807.
This is Smith’s argument, ibid., n. 3.
For example, the term ‘Orphism’, which has been rejected by some on the
grounds that it tends to create a fictitious ideological unity in quite
heterogeneous documents; see the critical remarks of U. Wilamowitz-
Moellendorff, Glauben der Hellenen (Berlin, 1931), 2.199, who prefers
234 Notes
the term ‘Orphik’ as an appropriate translation of the Greek ta orphika
(Orphic things/matters), and does not accept a corresponding orphismos.
Smith, ‘Term “Gnostikos”’, p. 798. On the terminological problems and
theoretical difficulties see the various articlesofUgo Bianchi, most recently
‘Le gnosticisme: concept, terminologie, origines, délimitation’ in Aland
(ed.), Gnosis, pp. 33-64, and R. McL. Wilson, ‘Slippery words, II: Gnosis,
Gnostic, Gnosticism’, Expository Times 89 (1978), 296-301.
Bianchi (ed.), Origini.
or Ibid. xx.
_ Ibid. xxvi—xxvii.
Rudolph, ‘Forschungsbericht’, pp. 15ff.
ikibe Wilson, ‘Twenty Years After’, pp. 64—5.
1 Apart from the works cited in ch. 1, n. 79, see in general Trdger (ed.),
Altes Testament, esp. pp. 155-68.
13: The nineteenth-century works are H. Graetz, Gnosticismus und Judentum
(Krotoschin, 1846); A. Honig, Die Ophiten: Ein Beitrag zur Geschichte des
jtidischen Gnosticismus (Berlin, 1889); P. Friedlander, Der vorchristliche
judische Gnosticismus (Gottingen, 1898).
14. The thesis put forward by H. Jonas, ‘Response to G. Quispel’s Gnosticism
and the New Testament’ in J.P. Hyatt (ed.), The Bible and Modern
Scholarship (Nashville, 1965), pp. 279-93. He maintains that Gnosticism
took shape in Samaria in circles that were Jewish in origin, but anti-Jewish
in ideology. This explains the acute anti-Semitism of various Gnostic texts.
On this latter aspect see K. W. Troger, “The attitude of the Gnostic religion
towards Judaism as viewed in a variety of perspectives’ in Barc (ed.),
Colloque, pp. 86-98.
ily The argument of Grant, Gnosticism and Early Christianity.
16. I. Griinwald, ‘Aspects of the Jewish—-Gnostic controversy’ in Layton (ed.),
Rediscovery 2.714-15 and ‘Knowledge and vision’, Israel Oriental Studies
3 (1979), 63¢f.
17. Van Unnik, “Gnosis und Judentum’ in Aland (ed.), Gnosis, pp. 80ff.
18. Koschorke, Polemik, pp. 109ff.
1: W. Beltz, “Bemerkungen zur Adamapokalypse’ in Nagel (ed.), Studia
Coptica, p. 159.
20. Van Unnik, ‘Gnosis und Judentum’, p. 86.
24, C. Colpe, ‘Gnosis’, RGG? I1.1649.
22. P. M. Palmer and R. P. Moore, The Sources of the Faust Tradition from
Simon Magus to Lessing (New York, 1936).
D3 Hilgenfeld, Ketzergeschichte, pp. 163ff. and 453ff., and H. Waitz, ‘Simon
Magus in der altchristlichen Literatur’, ZNW 5 (1904), 121-43.
24. E. M. Butler, The Myth of the Magus (Cambridge, 1979).
25. Beyschlag, Simon Magus (esp. pp. 79-98); Liidemann, Untersuchungen;
Leisegang, Gnosis, pp. 60ff.; E. Hanchen, ‘Gab es eine vorchristliche
Gnosis?’, ZThK 49 (1952), 316ff.; L. Cerfaux, ‘La gnose simonienne’ in
Recueil Cerfaux (Paris, 1954), pp. 191ff.; Grant, Gnosticism, pp. 7Off.;
Notes 235
Quispel, Gnosis als Weltreligion, pp. 45ff.; Jonas, Gnostic Religion,
pp. 103ff. See also W. A. Meeks, ‘Simon Magus in recent research’, RSR
3 (1977), 137-42; K. Rudolph, ‘Simon Magus oder Gnosticus? Zum Stand
der Debatte’, ThRu 42 (1977), 279-359.
26. E. Hanchen, ‘Simon Magus in der Apostelgeschichte’ in K. W. Tréger
(ed.), Gnosis und Neues Testament (Berlin, 1973), pp. 267ff.
Li. In the sense that he is a typical ‘divine man’; see Bieler, Theios Anér,
pp. 83ff., and Beyschlag, Simon Magus, p. 122.
28. On the problems raised by this much-discussed formula see R. Bergmeier,
‘Quellen vorchristlicher Gnosis?’ in G.Jeremias (ed.), Tradition und
Glaube (Gottingen, 1971), p. 204; Liidemann, Untersuchungen, pp. 42ff.;
Beyschlag, Simon Magus, pp. 106ff.
22; Lidemann, Untersuchungen, pp. 49ff.
The thesis of Hanchen, ‘Vorchristliche Gnosis?’
31. 1 Apol. 26.1-3.
32. L. H. Vincent, ‘Le culte d’Héléne 4 Samarie’, RevBib 45 (1936), 221ff.
33. Quispel, Gnosis als Weltreligion, pp. 61ff.
34. S. Arai, ‘Simonianische Gnosis und die “Exegese iiber die Seele”’ in
”»>
M. Krause (ed.), Gnosis and Gnosticism (Leiden, 1977), pp. 185-203, and
‘Zum “Simonianischen”’, pp. 3-15.
35: AH 1.23.1-S.
36. AHEN23.2;
373 J. Frickel, Die ‘Apophasis Megale’ in Hippolyts Refutatio (Rome, 1968),
and J. M. Salles-Dabadie, Recherches sur Simon le Mage (Paris, 1969).
Se Arai, ‘Simonianische Gnosis’, pp. 188—9. Even though the hypothesis of
Frickel and Salles-Dabadie that the Apophasis is an early writing of
Simonian Gnosis datable to the first century AD may seem unfounded, it
is difficult to agree with Beyschlag and Aland in rejecting its Gnostic
character.
40. C. Schmidt, Studien zu den Pseudo-Clementinen (Berlin, 1929), pp. 47ff.
41. Acta Petri 7-29.
42. Homilies 11.22.1-4 and 23.
43. Beyschlag, Simon Magus, pp. 58ff.
CHAPTER 10 VISIONARIES, PROPHETS AND DIVINES
AH 1.23.4 = Refutatio V1.20.1 (see also Tertullian, Apol. 23.1). The same
accusation is made about Basilides (AH J.24.5) and the Carpocratians (AH
1.25.3 and Eusebius, HE IV.9.7). Tertullian also makes the connection
between magic and libertinism in De praescriptione 43.1. On the one
hand, there are various indications that we are dealing here with a typical
heresiological topos that is, in fact, without any foundation. Thus, the
epithet magos (magician, magical) is also attributed to Menander because
he is considered to be a disciple of Simon (AH 1.23.5 and HE III.26.3).
236 Notes
Hippolytus (Refutatio 1X.14.2) accuses the Elcasaites of practising magic,
though this turns out (Ref. X.29.3) to be no more than simple divination.
This raises the more general problem (see below, n. 3) of what is to be
understood as ‘magic’ in these religio-historical contexts. On the other
hand, there are various clear indications within the texts of a resort to
magical practices; in addition to the texts assembled by W. Anz, Zur Frage
nach dem Ursprung des Gnostizismus (Leipzig, 1897), pp. 5-8, there are’
also the voces mysticae, or mystical voices, and arithmetical speculations
of NHC X (the whole of the second part; see Pearson, Marsanes, p. 380);
NHC XIII.1.38.25ff.; X1.3.53.32; VI.6.56.17ff. and 61.10ff. .
Even if it is true that certain Gnostic texts (Pistis Sophia 18; NHC
II.5.123.8ff.) polemicize against magical practices and that Gnosis is soteric
knowledge, these do not seem to us (as they do to others, e.g. W. Forster,
‘Das Wesen der Gnosis’, Die Welt als Geschichte (1955)2.113) adequate
reasons for maintaining that magic is unknown in Gnosis. As W. Ullmann,
‘Bild- und Menschenbild-Terminologie in koptisch-gnostischen Texten’ in
Nagel (ed.), Studien, p. 54, points out, ‘thus magical tendencies in Gnosis
deserve to be taken more seriously than hitherto.’
J. Beattie, Other Cultures (London, 1964), p. 212: ‘In fact, however we
formulate the distinctions, beliefs and practices which are usually called
religious often contain a magical element, even in Western cultures.’ See
also A. Brelich, “Tre note’ in Magia. Studi in memoria di Raffaela Galosi
(Rome, 1976), pp. 103ff., and A. A. Barb, ‘The survival of the magical
arts’ in A. Momigliano (ed.), Paganism and Christianity in the Fourth
Century (Oxford, 1963), p. 101.
Origen, Contra Celsum 1.6; II.50-1, and G. Bardy, ‘Origéne et la magie’,
RSR 18 (1928), 126-42.
M. Mazza, ‘L’intellectuale come ideologo: Flavio Filostrato ed uno specu-
lum principis del terzo secolo’ in I] comportamento dell’intellettuale nella
societa antica (Genoa, 1980), pp. 33-66. ‘
Vita Apolloniti V.12 and esp. VII.39, where Philostratus intervened
personally to defend his hero from this infamous accusation.
H. Frankfort, Kingship and the Gods (Chicago, 1948); The Sacral Kingship
(La regalita sacra) (8th International Congress for the History of Religions,
Rome, 1955) (Leiden, 1959); E. O. James, The Ancient Gods (London,
1960), pp. 107-34.
W. Fagg, Divine Kingship in Africa (London, 1971); Uomini e re
(Rome—Bari, 1971).
G. Fohrer, ‘Neuere Literatur zur alttestamentlichen Prophetie’, ThRu 19
(1951), 277-346; 20 (1952), 193-271.
10. This is, though true of classical prophecy in Israel, no longer the case for
the figure of the nabi, or prophet, who does undergo possession and
experiences loss of personality; see G. Fohrer, ‘Prophetie und Magie’ in
Studien zur alttestamentlichen Prophetie (Berlin, 1967), pp. 242-64.
11. Dodds, The Greeks and the Irrational, pp. 70-5.
Notes 237
12 E. Fascher, Der erste Brief des Paulus an die Korinther. Erster Teil (Berlin,
1975), pp. 40ff.
13: 1 Cor. 8:1-3.
14. 1 Cor. 10:23.
1 1 Cor. 15:29-32.
16. 1 Cor. 14:2-19.
7: W. Schmithals, Die Gnosis in Korinth (Gottingen, 1956).
18. AH 1.14.1 = Refutatio V1.42.2.
19. Benz, ‘Vision’; V. Macdermot, The Cult of the Seer in the Ancient Middle
East (Berkeley, 1971).
20, On visions in dreams or in a state of waking, see Dodds, The Greeks and
the Irrational, p. 119; A. Wilkenhauser, ‘Die Traumgeschichte des Neuen
Testaments in religionsgeschichtlicher Sicht’ in Pisciculi. F. J. Doelger
dargeboten (Minster, 1939), pp. 320-33; S. Zeuitlin, ‘Dreams and their
interpretations from the Biblical period to Tannaitic times’, Jewish
Quarterly Review 66 (1975), 1-18.
21). See’ above, ch: 2, n. 73:
oe. In other words, these two visions present certain significant features: they
are not allegorical, but direct; the auditory element is important; the nature
of the soteric message is fundamental. These place them among the type
known as Lebrvisionen or teaching visions, whose chief characteristic is
their ability to bring about a profound change in the life of the individual.
On the authenticity of these visions see Pfister, ‘Ekstasis’, p. 937, and
G. Quispel, ‘La conception de l’homme dans la gnose valentinienne’, Er]
15 (1947), 250.
23: BG 10.10ff.
24. BG 91.10ff.
5%. BG 21.3-13.
26: In fact John sees a child first, then an old man. But we learn from the
later declaration of the revealer that he also saw a woman or mother
figure. By means of the polymorphy of Christ (see the texts collected by
H. C. Puech in Annuaire. Ecole Pratique des Hautes Etudes 74 (1966-7),
128-30, and Quispel, ‘Demiurge in Apocryphon of John’, pp. 1-5) the
Divine Triad is thus made manifest in its Father-Mother—Son form.
27. We have already seen in ch. 4 that the spirit is the inspiring breath of the
Pleroma. Thanks to the spirit (en pneumati) the Gnostic has his pneumatic
vision, which is merely the predecessor of the beatific vision of the celestial
world; see NHC XIII.1.38.27; VIL5, passim; VI.3.22.21; VI.6.57.6;
VII.2.51.17ff.
28. W. Forster, ‘Die ersten Gnostiker Simon und Menander’ in Bianchi (ed.),
Origini, pp. 190ff.
29: R. M. Grant, ‘Jewish Christianity at Antioch’, RSR 60 (1972), 98-9.
a0: AH 1.24.1.
ak: AH 1.24.1: see S. Pétrement, ‘Le mythe des sept archontes créateurs’ in
Bianchi (ed.), Origini, pp. 460ff.
238 Notes
gue For parallels see above ch. 6, n. 25.
CEE AH 1.24.1. On Saturninus (or Satornilus) see Hilgenfeld, Ketzergeschichte,
pp. 194-5; Grant, Gnosticism, pp. 108ff.; Wilson, Gnostic Problem,
pp. 103ff.
34. F. Bolgiani, ‘La tradizione eresiolagica sull’ encratismo I: Le notizie di
Ireneo’, Atti dell’ Accademia Scientifica di Torino96 (1956), 343-419.
BS. Apart from the works cited above, ch. 5, n. 73, see Hilgenfeld, Ketzerge-
schichte, pp. 195ff.; Leisegang, Gnosis, pp. 195ff.; Grant, Gnosticism,
pp. 142ff.
36. Hegemonius, Acta Archelai 67.4—12.
Das Eusebius, HE IV.7.
38. Refutatio VII.20.
39: Clem. Alex. Stromateis V1.6.53.
40. A. Orbe, ‘Ideas sobre la tradici6n en la lucha antignostica’, Aug 12 (1972),
19-32.
41. T. Klauser, ‘Auswendiglernen’, RAC 1.1031ff.; H. Karpp, ‘Viva Vox’ in
Stuiber and Hermann (eds), Mullus, pp. 190ff.
42. Some scholars believe that Gnostic thinkers were the first to work out the
theological concept of paradosis (tradition); see M.Hornschuh. ‘Die
Apostel als Trager der Uberlieferung’ in. Hennecke-Schneemelcher, Neute-
stamentliche Apokryphen 11.43; Brox, Offenbarung, p. 132; for a contrary
view see J. Daniélou, ‘Traditions secrétes des Ap6tres’, Er] 31 (1962), 204.
43. Panarion 24.6; U. Bianchi, ‘Basilide o del tragico’ in his Prometeo,
pp. 163-71.
44. Clem. Alex. Stromateis 1V.82.1-2.
45. Ibid. 11.113.4.
46. Ibid. IV.86.1.
47. Bianchi, Prometeo, pp. 166-7.
48. Wilson, Gnostic Problem, pp. 126-7.
49. AH 1.24.3-7.
50. AH 1.24.5.
Lye AH 24.4.
52. Hilgenfeld, Ketzergeschichte, pp. 397ff., and Leisegang, Gnosis, p. 200.
53. H. Kraft, ‘Gab es einen Gnostiker Karpokrates?’, TZ 8 (1952), 434-43.
54. Stromateis III.5.2-3.
535i Ibid. 6.1-8.
56. Ibid. 7.4~-8. On the importance of the model of Platonic communism see
J. Bidez, La Cité du monde et la cité du soleil chez les Stoiciens (Paris,
1932); Andresen, Logos und Nomos, pp. 248ff.; Schneider, Geistesge-
schichte 1.680.
Orie Stromateis III.9.2.
58. F. Bolgiani, ‘La polemica di Clemente di Alessandria control gli gnostici
libertini nel terzo libro degli “Stromati”’ in Studi in onore di A. Pincherle
(Rome, 1967), p. 95, n. 13.
oY. AH 1.25 = Refutatio VII.32.
Notes 239
60. Daniélou, Théologie, p. 81.
61. On Marcion see A. von Harnack, Marcion. Das Evangelium vom fremden
Gott? (Leipzig, 1924); E. C. Blackman, Marcion and his Influence (London,
1948); Jonas, Gnostic Religion, pp. 137ff.; B. Aland, ‘Marcion’, ZThK 70
(1973), 420-7.
62. Harnack, Marcion, pp. 3-30.
63. Ibidkpe23,
64. Ibid., p. 24.
65. AH Iil.3.4.
66. Harnack, Marcion, pp. 25-6.
67. AF 1.27.1:
68. Harnack, Marcion, pp. 30-9; Grant, Gnosticism, pp. 124—S.
69. AH 27.2.
70. On this date see A. von Harnack, Die Chronologie der altchristlichen
Literatur 1 (Leipzig, 1897), 296ff. and 306ff.
ZL. Panarion 42.3-4.
72. 1 Apol. 26.58.
Woe Tertullian, Adversus Marcionem V.19; Harnack, Marcion, pp. 153ff. and
314ff.
74, Harnack, Marcion, pp. 156ff. and 356ff.
rey Ibid., pp. 35ff. and 149ff.
76. Adv. Marcionem 1.13.
AT Harnack, Marcion, pp. 74ff. and 256ff.
78. Adv. Marcionem |.17.
ek Jonas, Gnostic Religion, pp. 150ff.
80. Aland, ‘Marcion’, pp. 438-9.
81. Harnack, Marcion, pp. 131ff.
82. Ibid., pp. 196-7, n. 1.
83. Gnostic Religion.
84. Stromateis II.4.25.
85. Aland, ‘Marcion’, pp. 445—6. She reinterprets Harnack’s thesis critically.
For a contrary interpretation see Pétrement, Dualisme, p. 142, n. 18. See
also U. Bianchi, ‘Marcion: théologien biblique ou docteur gnostique?’,
VigChr 21 (1967), 141-9.
86. Harnack, Marcion, pp. 177ff. and 404ff.
87. Ibid., p. 188.
88. Ibid., pp. 178-9.
89. Eusebius, HE V.13.2-4; Harnack, Marcion, pp. 177f., 408f.
90. Tertullian, De anima 23.
21. AH III.4.3. For patristic sources see Hilgenfeld, Ketzergeschichte, pp. 283ff.
OL, Tertullian, Adv. Valentinum 4.
93. AH II.4.3.
94. Adv. Valentinum 4, and Jerome, In Hoseam II.10.
Pe Stromateis IV.89.1-3.
96. G. C. Stead, ‘In search of Valentinus’ in Layton (ed.), Rediscovery 2.
240 Notes
75-95. Tertullian (Adv. Val. 4) tells us that Valentinus did not create his
system from nothing. On its relationship to that of the Revelation of John,
see G. Quispel, ‘Valentinian Gnosis and the Apokryphon Johannis’ in
Layton (ed.), Rediscovery 1.118ff.
I7% This is true of EvVer and Rheg.
Refutatio V1.35.3-7.
9? W. Forster, ‘Grundziige der ptolemaischen Guosie? SNES 61959) 182
100. On Heracleon see A. E. Brooke, The Fragments of Heracleon (Cambridge,
1891); Y. Janssens, ‘Héracléon’, Muséon 72 (1959), 100ff. and 277ff.;
M. Sine. ‘Eracleone e Origene’ VetChr 3 (1966), 111ff. and 4
(1967), 23ff.; E. Muhlenberg, ‘Wieviel Erlosungen kennt der Gnostiker
Herakleon?’, ZNW 66 (1975), 170ff.; B. Aland, ‘Erwahlungstheologie
und Menschenklassenlehre’ in Krause (ed.), Gnosis (1977), pp. 148-81;
D. Devoti, ‘Antropologia e storia della salvezza in Eracleone’, Atti
dell’Accademia Scientifica di Torino 2 (1978).
101. Stromateis IV.71.1.
102. F. M. Sagnard, Clément d’Alexandrie. Extraits de Théodote (Paris, 1948).
103. Leisegang, Gnosis, pp. 326-49.
104. AH 1.13.3.
105. Filoramo, Luce, pp. 102ff.
106. Sagnard, Gnose valentinienne: 358ff. We know nothing of the other
disciples mentioned in the heresiological sources (Secundus, Theotimus,
Assionicus). As to (B)Ardesianus (Ref. VI.35.7), he does not have to be
identified, as some think, with Bardesanes (d. 222), who lived at the
court of Abgar the King of Edessa (179-216); see H. J. Drijvers, Bardaisan
of Edessa (Assen, 1966).
107. E. Hanchen, "Das Buch Baruch’, ZThK 50 (1953), 123ff., and M.
Simonetti, ‘Note sul libro di Baruch dello gnostico Giustino’, VetChr 6
(1969), 71ff.
108. Grant, Gnosticism, pp. 19ff.
109. Refutatio VIII.12-15.
110. Bolgiani, ‘Polemica di Clemente’, pp. 117-21.
Ha Klijn, Seth, p. 112, and F. Wisse, ‘Stalking those elusive Sethians’ in Layton
(ed.), Rediscovery, 2.575. But see also Schenke, ‘Gnostic Sethianism’,
pp. 607ff. and Pearson, ‘Figure of Seth’, p. 504, n. 113.
112. See cho11.
113. For the following account see K. Koschorke, ‘Patristische Materialien zur
Spatgeschichte der valentinianischen Gnosis’ in Krause (ed.), Gnosis
(1981), pp. 120-39.
114. W. Bousset, Jiidisch-christlicher Schulbetrieb in Alexandrien und Rom
(Gottingen, 1915); Donini, ‘Filosofia antica’, pp. 31ff. and S8ff.
AIS. Assuming, of course, that the Gnostics attacked by Plotinus were
Valentinians; see Elsas, Weltablehnung, pp. 27ff.
116. A.le Bolluec, ‘La place de la polémique antignostique dans le Peri
Archon’, Origeniana (1975), pp. 47-61.
Notes 241
es Panarion 31.7.
118. Didymus, Comm. in Psalmos 20.1.
119. John Chrysostom, Sermo I.3 in Genesim; De sac. IV 4; De verg.3.
120. Julian, Epistula 3.
121. Ambrose, Epistula 41.1.
2y. Eusebius, Vita Constantinii III.4.
123. Codex Theodosianus XVI.5.65.
124. Koschorke, ‘Patristische Materialien’, p. 125.
125. E. de Faye, Gnostiques et Gnosticisme? (Paris, 1925), pp. 476ff.; F. C.
Burkitt, Church and Gnosis (Cambridge, 1932 repr. NY, 1978), pp. 40ff.
126. In texts such as the Pistis Sophia, OrigMund, Mars; see also Schenke,
‘Phenomenon’, pp. 614-15.
a27, H. C. Puech, ‘Archontiker’, RAC 1.63343.
CHAPTER 11 ASCETICS AND LIBERTINES
— Tertullian, De praescriptione 41.2-6.

E. Mendelsson, ‘Some notes on a sociological approach to Gnosticism’
in Bianchi (ed.), Origini, pp. 668-75; H. Kippenberg, ‘Versuch einer
soziologischen Verortung des antiken Gnostizismus’, Numen 17 (1970),
211-31; P. Munz, ‘The problem of “Die soziologische Verortung des
Gnostizismus”’, Numen 19 (1972), 4-15 (a critique of Kippenberg);
H. A. Green, ‘Suggested sociological themes in the study of Gnosticism’
VigChr 31 (1977), 169-80, and The Economic and Social Origins of
Gnosticism (Missouri, 1985); K. Rudolph, ‘Das Problem einer Soziologie,
soziologischen Verortung und Rolle der Gnosis in der Spatantike’ in
Nagel (ed.), Studien, pp. 19-29; K. Koschorke, ‘Gnostic instructions on
the organization of the community: the tractate “Interpretation of
Knowledge”’ in Layton (ed.), Rediscovery 2.762-3.
See the criticisms of Plotinus, Ennead JI.9.18, and the observations of
Jonas on the ethics of brotherhood in Mythologische Gnosis, pp. 170ff.
Rudolph, Gnosis, pp. 220-1.
NHC. La 25t1 9%:
See above, ch. 4, n. 30.
AH'J;*praef. 1.
AH 1.24.6.
SO
ON,
OIE For this model of the ‘sect’ see B. Wilson, ‘An analysis of sect development’
American Sociological Review 24 (1959), 3-15, and Magic and the
Millennium (St Albans, 1973), pp. 9-30. On the present limits of the use
of the category ‘sect’ with regard to this historical period see the justifiable
reservations of E. Tréltsch, Die Soziallehre der christlichen Kirche und
Gruppen (Tubingen, 1912), pp. 353ff. See also L. Berger, ‘The sociological
study of sectarianism’, Social Research 21 (1954), 467ff.
10. P. Pokornyi, ‘Der soziale Hintergrund der Gnosis’ in Troger (ed.), Gnosis,
pp. 77ff.
242 Notes
.
ft M.J. Vermaseren, Mithras the Secret God (London, 1963), pp. 37ff.;
129ff.; 138ff.
12s On the Hypogeum of the Aurelii and related inscriptions see J. Carcopino,
De Pythagore aux Apétres (Paris, 1956), pp. 85ff.
tS. Bohlig, "Zum Hellenismus’, pp: 16ff.
14. Ibid., pp. 30-1.
15. Eusebius, HE VI.23.1ff.
16. M. Hengel, Eigentum und Reichtum in der friihen Kirche (Stuttgart, 1973),
pp. 44. and 65ff.
AW Rudolph, Gnosis, pp. 288-90.
18. G. Quispel, ‘L’inscription de Flavia Sophé’ in his Gnostic Studies 1.58ff.
19. C. Schmidt, Gnostische Schriften in koptischer Sprache aus dem Codex
Brucianus (Leipzig, 1892), pp. 452ff.; Perkins, Gnostic Dialogue, pp. 132ff.
20. Acta Philippi 94, where she is referred to as eklelegmené gynaikOn (chosen
of women); Bornkamm, Mythos und Legende, pp. 97ff. In the Manichaean
Psalm Book (192.21 and 194.19) she appears described as pneuma tés
Sophias (spirit of Sophia). She is also important for the Cathars; see
A. Borst, Die Katharer (Stuttgart, 1953), p. 164.
Pat EvMar; see Perkins, Gnostic Dialogue, pp. 133-7.
pyc Ménard, Evangile selon Philippe, pp. 150-1; on the relationship with the
myth of Sophia see W.Henss, Das Verhdltnis zwischen Diatessaron,
christlicher Gnosis und ‘Western Text’ (Berlin, 1967), pp. 46-7.
raef NHC II.2.51 log. 114; see also ibid., log. 22, 61, 76, 105, 106.
24. Refutatio V.8.44 (Naassenes); Excerpta ex Theodoto 79; BG 9.20.
Se NHC II.7.144.8-10; I.5.144.15; VI.2.65.24; VIII.1.131.5ff. See also
VII.1.27.2-6; VIII.1.1.10ff.
26. Moralia 1125 p-r.
ae AH 1.21.4.
28. Rudolph, Gnosis, pp. 233ff.; J. Sevrin, ‘Les rites et la gnose d’aprés
quelques textes gnostiques coptes’ in Ries (ed.), Gnosticisme, pp. 440-50.
A wide-ranging survey of interpretations is given by Gaffron, Studien,
pp. 76-99.
29. CH IV.4.
50) Ibid.
Sf: K. W. Troger, Mysterienglaube und Gnosis in Corpus Hermeticum XIII
(Berlin, 1971), pp. 56-57.
32; S. Angus, The Religious Quest of the Graeco-Roman World (London,
1929), p. 340.
33: G. van Moorsel, The Mysteries of Hermes Trismegistus (Leiden, 1955),
pewels
34. NHC V.5.85.25; 11.6.131.34.
35: NHC J1.4.144.33ff.
36. This does not include the discourse on eschatological baptism, which will
take place in the pure waters of light and is contrasted, in various Sethian
texts (see F. Morand, ‘L’Apocalypse d’Adam de Nag Hammadi’ in Krause
Notes 243
(ed.), Gnosis (1977), pp. 38-41, and Schenke, ‘Phenomenon’, pp. 602-6
and non-Sethian texts (Jervell, Imago Dei, p.160, n.41, and Arai,
‘Simonianische Gnosis’, p. 197, n. 54), with terrestrial baptism, against
which there is fierce polemic e.g. ApcAd; see Bohlig, Mysterion und
Wahrheit, p. 152.
Bis Ald 1212s
38. Orbe, Teologia bautismal, pp. 423-4.
3? AT 213.
40. Bousset, Hauptprobleme, pp. 297ff.; Krause, ‘Christlich-gnostiche Schrif-
ten’, pp. 6-65; Rudolph, Gnosis, pp. 244-8.
41. NHC VI.8.65.15ff. See J. P. Mahé, ‘Le sens des symboles sexuels dans
quelques textes hermétiques et gnostiques’ in Ménard (ed.), Textes,
pp. 123-45.
42. M. Eliade, Traité d’histoire des religions (Paris, 1949), pp. 211ff., and
Heiler, ‘Erscheinungsformen’, pp. 243-8.
43. J. Schmid, ‘(Heilige) Brautschaft’, RAC II.528-64, and James, Ancient
Gods, pp. 77-106.
44, Schmid, ‘Brautschaft’, pp. 543-4.
45, A. Dieterich, Eine Mithrasliturgie> (Leipzig—Berlin, 1923), pp. 122-34;
Reitzenstein, Mysterienreligionen, pp. 34-7, 100-1, 242-52; Nilsson,
Gechichte, p. 691. The mystical union preached by the followers of Attis
remains the subject of controversy: Clem. Alex. Protrepticus II.15. See
D. Cosi, ‘Salvatore e salvezza nei misteri di Attis’, Aevum 50 (1976), 58-9.
46. R. A. Batey, The New Testament Nuptial Imagery (Leiden, 1971).
47. J. Bugge, Virginitas (The Hague, 1975).
48. P. F. Beatrice, ‘Continenza e matrimonio nel cristianesimo primitivo
(secc. I-III)’ in R. Cantalamessa (ed.), Etica sessuale e matrimonio nel
cristianesimo delle origini (Milan, 1976), pp. 3-68.
AS: G. Kretschmar, ‘Ein Beitrag zur Frage nach dem Ursprung der frih-
christlicher Askese’ ZThK 61 (1964), 27ff.
30. J. Fontaine, ‘Valeurs antiques et valeurs chrétiennes dans la spiritualité des
grands propriétaires terriers a la fin du IVe siécle occidental’ in J. Fontaine
and C. Kannengiesser (eds), Epiktesis. Mélanges patristiques offerts au
Cardinal Jean Daniélou (Paris, 1972), pp. 571ff.
SL, T. O’Dea, The Mormons (Chicago, 1957), p. 35.
a2. H. Desroche, Gli Shakers americani (Milan, 1960), p. 196.
So G. Welter, Histoire des sectes chrétiennes (Paris, 1950), p. 233.
54. V. Turner, The Forest of Symbols (Ithaca, NY, 1967), p.58, and The
Ritual Process (Boston, 1970), p. 94.
is It is no accident that the interpretation of the ritual kiss in the sacrament
of matrimony is disputed. Some (see Gaffron, Studien, pp. 214ff.) tend to
diminish its importance. Others rightly emphasize its conspicuous symbol-
ism, some tending to identify the ritual kiss with matrimony itself (H. M.
Schenke, ‘Das Evangelium nach Philippos’, ThLZ 84 (1959), 5, and
E. Segelberg, ‘The Coptic-Gnostic Gospel according to Philip’, Numen 7
244 Notes
(1960), 188), while others separate the two moments of the kiss and
spiritual union; see J. Sevrin, ‘Les noces spirituelles dans |’Evangile de
Philippe’, Muséon 87 (1974), 181ff. Against the latter interpretation should
be remembered the rich symbolism of the kiss; see C. Trautmann, “La
parenté dans |’Evangile de Philippe’ in Barc (ed.), Colloque, pp. 272-3.
56. AH 1.21.3. -
Ove NHC I1.3.69.1ff.; see R. M. Grant, ‘The mystery of marriage in the Gospel
of Philip’, VigChr 15 (1961), 129-40; A. Orbe, ‘Los valentinianos y el
matrimonio espiritual’, Greg 58 (1977), S—S3.
58. NHC II.3.63.1ff.
af NHC II.3.78.12ff.
NHC IIL.3.82.8.
61. Excerpta ex Theodoto 63.2.
62. Ibid. 64. For other Gnostic parallels see Krause, ‘Dialog des Soter’,
pp. 33-4.
63. J. E. Ménard, ‘L’Evangile selon Philippe et l’Exégése de |’Ame’ in Ménard
(ed.), Textes, p. 57.
64. Gaffron, Studien, p. 198.
65. Panarion 26.17.4.
66. Ibid. 26.4—S.
67. L. Fendt, Gnostische Mysterien (Munich, 1922), pp. 4ff.; J. Dummer ‘Die
Angaben iiber die gnostische Literatur bei Epiphanius, Panarion 26’ in
P. Nagel (ed.), Koptologische Studien in der DDR (Halle—Wittenberg,
1965), pp. 191-219; S. Benko, ‘The libertine Gnostic sect of the Phibionites
according to Epiphanius’, VigChr 21 (1967), 103-19.
68. Panarion 26.1 and 9.
69. M. Wellmann, ‘Die pneumatische Schule’, Philosophische Untersuchungen
14 (1895), 148ff.
70. H.C. Puech, ‘Gnostische Evangelien’ in Hennecke—Schneemelcher (eds),
Neutestamentliche Apokryphen 1.166-8.
7h. Leisegang, Gnosis, p. 187.
02: H. Chadwick, ‘The Domestication of Gnosis’ in Layton (ed.), Rediscovery
5 ff
SS R. Griffiths, The Reactionary Revolution: The Catholic Revival in French
Literature 1870-1914 (London, 1966), ch. 7.
74: B 63.
7a AH 1.6.2.
76. Ennead 11.9.5.
Whe F. Wisse, ‘Die Sextus-Spriiche und das Problem der gnostischen Ethik’ in
Bohlig—Wisse, Hellenismus, pp. 62ff.
78. K. W. Troger, “Moral in der Gnosis’ in Nagel (ed.), Studien, pp. 95-106.
leg PS 147 and 2 LJ 43.
80. A partial Coptic translation of a text whose entire Greek original has
survived; see H. Chadwick (ed.), The Sentences of Sextus (Cambridge,
1S59):
Notes 245
Wisse, ‘Sextus-Spriiche’, p. 75.
See above, ch. 1, n. 75.
J. Zandee, ‘Les “Enseignements de Silvain” et le platonisme’ in Ménard
(ed.), Textes, pp. 158-79.
NHC VI.3.29.10ff.
Ibid. 30.28ff.
Ibid. 31.31 ff.
Wisse, ‘Sextus-Spriiche’, pp. 81ff.
Pétrement, Dualisme chez Platon, pp. 244ff.
Mythologische Gnosis, pp. 234ff.
NHC VII.4.90.29ff.
Ibid. 93.3ff.
Ibid. 108.14.
Select Bibliography and: Further
Reading
Full bibliography in D.M. Scholer, Nag Hammadi Bibliography,

published in NT 13-29 (1971-87); see also bibliography in the Oxford
Dictionary of the Christian Church? (ed. and rev. F. L. Cross and E: A.
Livingstone (Oxford, 1974), s.v. Gnosticism. The author’s own revised
bibliography appears in I/ risveglio della gnosi ovvero diventar dio
(Laterza, Rome—Bari 1990).
Facsimile Edition of the Nag Hammadi Codices, 13 vols (Leiden, 1978).

Critical edition in progress: The Coptic Gnostic Library, 11 vols (Leiden,
1975 ff.)
Translations: J. M. Robinson (ed.), The Nag Hammadi Library in

English? (Leiden—New York—Copenhagen—Cologne, 1988), from which
many of the passages in this book are taken. A selection of Gnostic
texts from secondary sources in R. McL. Wilson’s English translation
of W. Forster’s Gnosis (Zurich, 1969; Oxford, 1972); some of these
translations are also used in this book. Editions and translations of
individual texts are given in the Oxford Dictionary of the Christian
Church. See also Bentley Layton, The Gnostic Scriptures (London,
1987); and translations in The Coptic Gnostic Library (above).
Aland, B., ‘Marcion’, ZThK 70 (1973), 420-7.

(ed.), Gnosis, Festschrift fiir Hans Jonas (Gottingen, 1978).
Andresen, C., ‘Erl6sung’, RAC VI.54ff.
Logos und Nomos. Die Polemik des Celsus wider das Christentum (Berlin,
1955):
Angus, S., The Religious Quest of the Graeco-Roman World (London, 1929).
Anz, W., Zur Frage nach dem Ursprung des Gnostizismus (Leipzig, 1897).
Arai, S., Die Christologie des Evangelium Veritatis (Leiden, 1964).
Arnaldez, R., Philon d’Alexandrie. De Opificio Mundi (Paris, 1951).
Baer, R. A., Philo’s Use of the Categories ‘Male’ and ‘Female’ (Leiden, 1970).
Barc, B. (ed.), Colloque International sur les Textes de Nag Hammadi
(Quebec—Louvain, 1981).
and Roberge, M., Hypostase des Archontes et Noréa (Quebec—Louvain,
1980).
Barns, J. W. B., Browne, G. M., and Shelton, J.C., Nag Hammadi Codices.
Greek and Coptic Papyri from the Cartonnage of the Covers (Leiden, 1981).
Bauer, W., Rechtglaubigkeit und Ketzerei im dltesten Christentum (Tubingen,
1934), with addition by G. Strecker (1964); Eng.: Orthodoxy and Heresy in
the Earliest Church (Philadelphia, 1971).
Baumann, H., Das doppelte Geschlecht (Berlin, 1955).
Baur, F. C., Die christliche Gnosis (Tubingen, 1835).
Baynes, C. A., A Coptic Gnostic Treatise in the Codex Brucianus (Cambridge,
1933).
Bazan, F.G., Plotino y la gnosis (Buenos Aires, 1981).
Benko, S., “The libertine Gnostic sect of the Phibionites according to Epiphanius’,
VigChr 21 (1967), 103-19.
Benz, E., Adam. Der Mythus vom Urmensch (Munich, 1955).
Die Vision. Erfahbrungsformen und Bildwelt (Stuttgart, 1969).
— Urbild und Abbild (Leiden, 1974).
Betz, H. D., ‘The Delphic maxim gnothi seauton in Hermetic interpretations’
HThr 63 (1970), 465-84.
(ed.), Greek Magical Papyri in Translation, including Demotic Spells
(Chicago, 1986).
Beyschlag, K., Simon Magus und die christliche Gnosis (Tubingen, 1974).
Bianchi, U., ‘Marcion: théologien biblique ou docteur gnostique?’, VigChr 21
(1967), 141-9.
— Prometeo, Orfeo, Adamo (Rome, 1976).
Le origini dello gnosticismo (Leiden, 1967).
and Vermaseren, M.J. (eds), La soteriologia dei culti orientali (Leiden,
1982).
Bidez, J., and Cumont, F., Les Mages hellénisés, 2 vols (Paris, 1938).
Bieler, L., Theios Anér. Das Bild des gottlichen Menschen im Spdtantike und
Frithchristentum (Vienna, 1935-6).
Blackman, E. C., Marcion and his Influence (London, 1948).
Bleecker, C.J., and Vermaseren, M.J. (eds), Historia Religionum (Leiden,
1969).
Bloom, H., The Journey to Lucifer (New York, 1979).
Bohlig, A., Mysterion und Wahrheit (Leiden, 1968).
— and Wisse, F..Nag Hammadi Codices III,2 and IV, 2. The Gospel of the
Egyptians (Leiden, 1975).
Zum Hellenismus in den Schriften von Nag Hammadi (Wiesbaden,
975):
Bolgiani, F., ‘La tradizione eresiologica I: Le notizie di Ireneo’, Atti dell’
Accademia Scientifica di Torino 91 (1956), 77ff.
248 Select Bibliography and Further Reading
‘La tradizione eresiologica II: La confutazione di Clemente Alessandrino’,
ibid. 96 (1961), 1-128.
—— ‘La polemica di Clemente Alessandrino contro gli gnostici libertini nel III
libro degli Stromati’, in Studi in onore di A. Pincherle (Rome, 1967),
pp. 86-136. é
Borchert, G.L., ‘Is Bultmann’s theology a new. Gnosticism?’ Evangelical
Quarterly 36 (1964), 222-8.
Bornkamm, G., Mythos und Legende in den Apokryphen Thomasakten
(Gottingen, 1933).
‘Ophiten’, PW XVIII.654-8.
Borsch, F., The Christian and Gnostic Son of Man (London, 1970).
Bousset, W., ‘Gnosis—Gnostiker’, PW VII.1503-47.
Hauptprobleme der Gnosis (Gottingen, 1907).
Religionsgeschichtliche Studien (Leiden, 1979).
Boyce, M., Zoroastrians. Their Beliefs and Religious Practices (London, 1975).
Bréhier, E., Les Idées philosophiques et religieuses de Philon d’Alexandrie (Paris,
1925).
Broeck, R. van, “The Authentikos Logos: a new document of Christian
Platonism’, VigChr 33 (1979), 260ff.
Brown, P.R.L., The World of Late Antiquity (London, 1971).
The Making of Late Antiquity (Cambridge, Mass., 1978).
Brox, N., Offenbarung. Gnosis und _ gnostischer Mythos bei Irendus
(Salzburg—Munich, 1966).
Bullard, R. A., The Hypostasis of the Archons (Berlin, 1970).
Bultmann, R., yuyvooxw, TW 1.68 ff.
Exegetica, ed. E. Dinkler (Tubingen, 1967).
Burckhart, J. E., ‘Gnosis and contemporary theology’, McCormick Quarterly
18 (1965), 43-9.
Burkitt, F.C., Church and Gnosis (Cambridge, 1932).
Butler, E. M., The Myth of the Magus (Cambridge, 1979).
Carmignac, J., Le Mirage de l’eschatologie (Paris, 1979).
Caster, M., Lucien et la pensée religieuse de son temps (Paris, 1937).
Cerfaux, L., ‘Gnose’, DB Sup. III.659.
Charlesworth, J. (ed.), The Odes of Solomon (Oxford, 1973).
Cilento, V., Paideia Antignostica (Florence, 1971).
Colpe, C., ‘Gnosis’, RGG? II. 1649ff.
— ‘Gnosis II (Gnostizismus)’, RAC XI.537-659.
‘Heidnische, jiidische und christliche Uberlieferung in den Schriften aus
Nag Hammadi’, JAC 15 (1972)—23 (1980), nine articles, one in each issue.
Die religionsgeschichtliche Schule (Gottingen, 1961).
Cornelis, H., and Léonard, A., La Gnose éternelle (Paris, 1959).
Culianu, I. P., Iter in Silvis (Messina, 1981).
‘Recherches sur les dualismes d’Occident’ (microfiche -Lille-Théses, Doct.
d’Etat, 1986); Italian trans. Milan, 1989; French: Les Gnoses dualistes
d’Occident, Paris, 1989.
Cullman, O., The Christology of the New Testament (London, 1963).
Cumont, F., Afterlife in Roman Paganism (New Haven, Conn., 1922).
—— L’Egypte des astrologues (Paris, 1937).
—— Oriental Religions in Roman Paganism (London, 1911).
—— Recherches sur Manichéisme, | La Cosmogonie manichéenne (Brussels,
1908).
Recherches sur le symbolisme funéraire des romains (Paris, 1942).
Daniélou, J., Message évangélique et culture hellénistique (Tournai, 1961).
Théologie du judéo-christianisme (Paris, 1961).
Delcourt, M., Hermaphrodite. Mythes et rites de la bisexualité dans l’antiquité
classique (Paris, 1958).
Des Places, E., Oracles chaldaiques (Paris, 1971).
Detienne, M., Dionysos mis a mort (Paris, 1977).
— Les Maitres de vérité dans la Gréce archaique (Paris, 1967).
Devoti, D., ‘Antropologia e storia della salvezza in Eracleone’, Memorie
dell’Accademia Scientifica di Torino 2 (1978).
“Temi escatologici nello gnosticismo valentiniano’, Aug 18 (1978), 47-61.
Dey, J., Palingenesia (Minster, 1937).
Dillon, J., The Middle Platonists (London, 1977).
Dodds, E. R., The Greeks and the Irrational (Berkeley, 1951).
—— Pagan and Christian in an Age of Anxiety (Cambridge, 1965).
Dorrie, H., ‘Kontroversen um die Seelenwanderung im kaiserzeitlichen Platonis-
mus’, Hermes 85 (1957), 414-35.
Platonica Minora, ed. V. Buchheit (Munich, 1976).
Donini, P. L., Le scuole, l’'anima, limpero: la filosofia antica da Antioco a
Plotino (Turin, 1982).
Doresse, J., L’Evangile de Thomas (Paris, 1959).
The Secret Books of the Egyptian Gnostics (London, 1960).
Drijvers, H. W.J., Bardaisan of Edessa (Assen, 1966).
Dubois, J., ‘Le contexte judaique du “nom” dans |’Evangile de Vérité, RTHPh
24 (1974), 188-216.
Duchesne-Guillemin, J., ‘Dualismus’, RAC VI.344—S0.
Dimmer, J., Die griechischen christlichen Schriftsteller. Geschichte, Gegenwart
und Zukunft (Berlin, 1977).
Dupont, L., Gnosis. La connaissance religieuse dans les Epitres de Paul (Paris,
1949).
Elsas, C., Neuplatonische und gnostische Weltablehnung in der Schule Plotins
(Berlin—New York, 1975).
Eltester, W. (ed.), Christentum und Gnosis (Berlin, 1969).
Fallon, F. T., The Enthronement of Sabaoth (Leiden, 1978).
—— ‘The Gnostic apocalypses’, Semeia 14 (1979), 123ff.
‘The Gnostics: the undominated race’, NT 21 (1979), 271-8.
Fauth, W., ‘Seth-Typhon, Oroel und eselképfige Sabaoth. Zur Theriomorphie
der ophitisch-barbelo-gnostischen Archonten’, Oriens Christianus 57 (1973),
79-120.
Faye, E. de Gnostiques et gnosticisme” (Paris, 1925).
Fendt, L., Gnostischen Mysterien (Munich, 1922).
Festugiére, A.-J., L’Astrologie et les sciences occultes (Paris, 1944): Le Dieu
cosmique (Paris, 1949); Les Doctrines de l’ame (Paris, 1953); Dieu inconnu
(Paris, 1954). :
— L’Idéal religieux des grecs et l’Evangile (Paris, 1932).
—— La Révélation de hermes Trismegiste, 4 vols (Paris, 1944-54)
—— Personal Religion among the Greeks (Berkeley, 1954).
Hermétisme et mystique paienne (Paris, 1967).
Filoramo, G., ‘Aspetti del dualismo gnostico’, Memorie dell’Accademia Scientifica
di Torino 2 (1978), 239-307.
— ‘Rivelazione ed escatologia nello gnosticismo cristiano’", Aug 18 (1978),
70-95.
—— ‘Nuove religioni: problemi e prospettive’, RSLR 15 (1979), 445-72.
— Luce e Gnosi (Rome, 1980).
— ‘Gli apocrifi gnostici: il genere letterario delle apocalissi’, Aug 23 (1983),
124ff.
—— and Gianotto, C., ‘L’interpretazione gnostica dell’Antico Testamento’, Aug
22 (1982), 69ff.
Flamant, J., Macrobe et le Néo-Platonisme latin a la fin du IVe siécle (Leiden,
LOTT
Forster, W., Von Valentin zu Herakleon (Giessen, 1928).
‘Das Wesen der Gnosis’, Die Welt als Geschichte, (1955-2), pp. 100ff.
— ‘Grundziige der ptolemaischen Gnosis’, NTS 6 (1959), 18ff.
—— ‘Das System des Basilides’, NTS 9 (1969), 233-55.
(ed.), Die Gnosis, 2 vols (Zurich, 1969-71); Eng. version, ed. R. McL. Wil-
son, Gnosis (Oxford, 1972).
Fossum, J. E. The Name of God and the Angel of the Lord (Tubingen, 1985).
Frickel, J., Die Apophasis Megale in Hippolyts Refutatio (Rome, 1968).
Funk, W. P., Die zweite Apokalypse des Jakobus aus Nag Hammadi. Codex V
(Berlin, 1976).
Gaffron, H., ‘Studien zum koptischen Philippusevangelium unter besonderen
Beriicksichtigung der Sakramente’, Bonn Ph.D. thesis, 1969.
Giversen, S., Apokryphon Johannis (Copenhagen, 1963).
Gladigow, B., ‘Jenseitsvorstellungen und Kulturkritik’ ZRGG 26 (1974), 301ff.
Grant, R. M., ‘The mystery of marriage in the Gospel of Philip’, VigChr 15
(1961), 129-40.
— Gnosticism and Early Christianity? (New York, 1966).
‘Jewish Christianity at Antioch’, RSR 60 (1972), 98ff.
Green, H. A., The Economic and Social Origins of Gnosticism (Missoula, 1985).
Grese, W. C., Corpus Hermeticum XIII and Early Christian Literature (Leiden,
1979).
Griinewald, I., ‘Knowledge and vision’, Israel Oriental Studies 3 (1979), 63ff.
Haack, F. W., Geheimreligion der Wissenschaft. Neugnostische Bewegungen
(Stuttgart, 1966).
Hallowel, J. (ed.), From Enlightenment to Revolution (Chapel Hill, NC, 1975).
Haman, E., ‘Hippolyte’, DTC VI.2487-511.
Hanchen, E., ‘Gab es eine vorchristliche Gnosis?’, ZThK 49 (1952), 316ff.
‘Das Buch Baruch’, ZThK 50 (1953), 123ff.
— ‘Aufbau und Theologie’, ZThK 53 (1956), 141-91.
Hanratty, G., “Gnosticism and modern thought’, Irish Theological Quarterly 47
(1980), 3-23 and 119-32; 48 (1981), 80-92.
Happ, H., Hyle (Berlin, 1971).
Harnack, A. von, “Zur Quellenkritik der Geschichte des Gnostizismus’, Zeitschrift
fiir historische Theologie (1874), 143-226.
Lehrbuch der Dogmengeschichte’, | (Freiburg—Leipzig, 1894°).
Marcion. Das Evangelium vom fremden Gott? (Leipzig, 1924?).
Hauschild, W. D., Gottes Geist und der Mensch (Munich, 1972).
Heiler, F., Erscheinungsformen und Wesen der Religion (Stuttgart, 1961).
Hennecke, E., and Schneemelcher, W., Neutestamentliche Apokryphen*, 2 vols
(Tubingen, 1971); Eng. version New Testament Apocrypha (London, 1963-5).
Herzhoff, B., Zwei gnostische Hymnen (Bonn, 1973).
Hilgenfeld, A., Die Ketzergeschichte des Urchristentums (Leipzig, 1884).
Hodgson, P. C., The Foundation of Historical Theology: A Study of F. C. Baur
(New York, 1966).
Hutin, S., Les Gnostiques (Paris, 1963).
Hyldahl, N., Philosophie und Christentum (Copenhagen, 1966).
Institutum Historicum Augustinium, Ricerche su Ippolito (Rome, 1976ff.).
Janssens, Y., ‘Heracléon’, Muséon 72 (1959), 10ff. and 277ff.
— La Protennoia trimorphe (Quebec, 1978).
Jaspert, B. (ed.), Tradition-Krisis-Renovatio (Marburg, 1976).
Jensen, S.S., Dualism and Demonology: The Function of Demonology in
Pythagorean Thought (Copenhagen, 1960).
Jervell, J., Imago Dei (Gottingen, 1960).
Jessen, O., ‘Hermaphroditos’, PW VIII.714-21.
Jonas, H., Gnosis und spatantiker Geist, 1 Die mythologische Geist (Gottingen,
1939, 19547, 1964) ILI: Von der Mythologie zur mystischen Philosophie
(Gottingen, 1954, 19667).
— ‘Gnosticism and modern nihilism’, Social Research 19 (1952), 430-52.
The Gnostic Religion” (Boston, 1963).
Jung, C. G., Collected Works in English (trans. R. F. Hull), 20 vols (London,
1902ff.)
Kirk, G. S., Myth. Its Meaning and Function in Ancient and Other Cultures
(Cambridge, 1970, repr. Cambridge—Berkeley, 1971-4).
Klijn, A. F.J., Seth in Jewish, Christian and Gnostic Literature (Leiden, 1977).
Klimheit, H. J. (ed.), Tod und Jenseits im Glauben der Volker (Wiesbaden,
1978).
Koep, L., Das himmliche Buch ‘in Antike und Christentum (Bonn, 1952).
Koschorke, K., ‘“Suchen und finden” in der Auseinandersetzung zwischen
gnostischen und christlichen Christentum’, Wort und Dienst 14 (1972), 51ff.
—— Hippolyts Ketzerbekampfung und Polemik gegen die Gnostiker (Wiesbaden,
1975).
— Die Polemik der Gnostiker gegen das kirchliche Christentum (Leiden,
1978).
Kraft, H., ‘Gab es einen Gnostiker Karpokrates?? TZ 8 (1952), 43443.
Kramer, H. J., Der Ursprung der Geistesmetaphysik? (Amsterdam, 1967).
Krause, H., Gnosis and Gnosticism (Leiden, 1977, 1981).
(ed.), Essays on the Nag Hammadi Texts (Leiden, 1972, 1975).
and Labib, P. Die drei Versionen des Apokryphon Johannis im Koptischen
Museum zu Alt-Kairo (Wiesbaden, 1962).
Kroll, J., Die Lehren des Hermes Trismegistos (Minster, 1914).
Langerbeck, H., Aufsdtze zur Gnosis (Gottingen, 1967).
Layton, B. (ed.), The Rediscovery of Gnosticism, 2 vols (Leiden, 1980-1).
Leipoldt, J., Die Frau in der antiken Welt und im Urchristentum (Leipzig, 1953).
Leisegang, H., Die Gnosis (Leipzig, 1924).
—— ‘Pistis Sophia’, PW XX. 1813-21.
Lenz, C., ‘Apokatastase’, RAC I. 510-16.
Lesky, E., Die Zeugungs- und Vererbungslehren der Antike und ihre Nachwirken
(Wiesbaden, 1951).
Lipsius, R. A., Die Quellen der dltesten Ketzergeschichte (Leipzig, 1875).
Lewy, H., Sobria Ebrietas (Giessen, 1929).
Loos, M., Dualist Heresy in the Middle Ages (Prague-The Hague, 1974).
Liidemann, G., Untersuchungen zur simonianischen Gnosis (Gottingen, 1975).
Macdermot, V., The Cult of the Seer in the Ancient Middle East (Berkeley,
1971).
—— Pistis Sophia (Leiden, 1978).
—— The Books of Jeu and the Untitled Treatise in the Bruce Codex (Leiden,
1978).
Mack, B.L., Logos und Sophia. Untersuchung zur Weisheitstheologie im
belletistecben Judentum (Gottingen, 1973).
Macrae, G. W., ‘The Jewish background of the Gnostic Sophia Myth’, NT 12
(1970), 86-101.
Mahé, J.-P., Hermés en Haute Egypte. Les textes hermétiques de Nag Hammadi
et leurs paralléles grecs et latins (Quebec, 1978).
Martin, H., ‘The anti-philosophical polemic and Gnostic soteriology of the
Treatise on the Resurrection’, Numen 20 (1973), 20-37.
Mead, G. R. S., Pistis Sophia (London, 1896).
Meeks, W. A., ‘The image of the androgyne: some uses of a symbol in earliest
Christianity’, HR 13 (1970), 165-208.
—— ‘Simon Magus in recent research’, RSR 3 (1977), 137-42.
Ménard, J.-E., L’Evangile selon Philippe (Paris, 1967).
— L’Evangile de Vérité (Leiden, 1972).
— L’Evangile selon Thomas (Leiden, 1975).
— La Lettre de Pierre a Philippe (Quebec, 1977).
—— ‘Repos et salut gnostique’, RevSR 51 (1977), 71-88.
— (ed.), Les Textes de Nag Hammadi (Leiden, 1975).
Mensching, G., Das heilige Schweigen (Giessen, 1926).
Moorsel, G. van, The Mysteries of Hermes Trismegistos (Leiden, 1955).
Moreau, P., L’Ame du monde de Platon aux stoiciens (Paris, 1939).
Mortley, R., ‘Gnosis’, RAC X.485ff.
Mihlenberg, E., “Wieviel Erlosungen kennt der Gnostiker Herakleon’, ZNW 66
(1975\6.4.7 OFF:
Miiller, K., Beitrdge zum Verstdndnis der valentinianischen Gnosis (G6ttingen,
1920).
Munck, J., ‘Bemerkungen zum koptischen Thomasevangelium’, Studia Theo-
logica 14 (1960), 140ff.
Murdock, W.R., and Macrae, G. W., Nag Hammadi Codices V,2—5 and VI
(Leiden, 1979).
Nagel, P., Studia Coptica (Berlin, 1974).
Studien zum Menschenbild in Gnosis und Manichdismus (Halle—Saale,
1979).
Nag Hammadi Codices Facsimile edn, 13 vols (Leiden, 1972-7).
Nautin, P., Hippolyte et Josipe (Paris, 1947).
‘La controverse sur l’auteur de l’Elenchos’, RHE 47 (1952), 5-43.
Nilsson, M., ‘Sophia-Prunikos’, Eranos 45 (1947), 169-72.
— Geschichte der griechischen Religion? (Munich, 1961).
Nock, A. D., Conversion (Oxford, 1961).
—— Essays on Religion and the Ancient World, ed. Z. Stewart, 2 vols (Oxford,
OZ):
and Festugiére, A.-J., Hermés Trismégiste, J-IV (Paris, 1980).
Norris, R. A., God and World in Early Christian Theology (London, 1966).
Nygren, A., Agape and Eros (London, 1938).
Opitz, P. J., and Sebba, G., The Philosophy of Order (Stuttgart, 1981).
Orbe, A., En los albores de la Exegesis lohannea (Rome, 1955).
Los primeros herejes ante la persecucion (Rome, 1956).
— Hacia la primera teologia de la procesion del Verbo (Rome, 1958).
— La uncion del Verbo (Rome, 1961).
—— ‘Spiritus Dei ferebatur super aquas’, Greg 44 (1963), 712ff.
— La teologia del Espiritu Santo (Rome, 1966).
— Antropologia de S. Ireneo (Madrid, 1969).
— ‘Ideas sobre la tradicién en la lucha antignostica’, Aug 12 (1972), 19-32.
— Cristologia gnostica, 2 vols (Madrid, 1976).
‘Los valentinianos y el matrimonio espiritual’, Greg 58 (1977), 5-53.
Pagels, E., The Gnostic Gospels (London, 1980).
Adam, Eve and the Serpent (New York, 1988).
Painchaud, P., Le Deuxiéme Traité du Grand Seth (Quebec, 1982).
Pax, E., Epiphaneia (Munich, 1955).
Pellicani, L., I rivoluzionari di professione. Teoria e prassi dello gnosticismo
moderno (Florence, 1975).
254 Select Bibliography and Further Reading :
Pépin, J.-P., Mythe et allégorie (Paris, 1958).
Idées grecques sur l'homme et sur Dieu (Paris, 1971).
Peel, M. L., The Epistle to Rheginus (Philadelphia, 1969).
‘Gnostic eschatology and the New Testament’, NT 12 (1970), 14ff.
Perkins, P., ‘Irenaeus and the Gnostics’, VigChr 30 (1976), 193-200.
—— The Gnostic Dialogue (New York, 1980).
Peterson, E., Friihkirche, Judentum und Gnosis (Rome, 1959).
Pétrement, S., Le Dualisme chez Platon, les gnostiques et le manichéens (Paris,
1947).
Le Dieu séparé. Les origines du Gnosticisme (Paris, 1984).
Pohlenz, M., Stoa* (Gottingen, 1970).
Poirier, P. H., L’Hymne de la Perle des Actes de Thomas (Louvain, 1980).
Preisendanz, K. (ed.), Papyri Graecae Magicae (Leipzig, 1928).
Prigent, P., Justin et l’Ancien Testament (Paris, 1964).
Primm, K., Gnosis an der Wurzel des Christentums (Salzburg, 1972).
Puech, H. C., ‘Archontiker’, RAC I. 633-43.
Le Manichéisme (Paris, 1949).
—— Plotin et les gnostiques (Paris, 1958).
‘Doctrine ésotériques et themes gnostiques dans l’Evangile selon Thomas’,
Annuaire. Collége de France 63 (1963), 199ff.; 66 (1966), 259ff.; 68 (1968),
292¢f.
(ed.), Histoire des religions (Paris, 1970-2).
and Vaillant, A., Le Traité contre les Bogomiles de Cosmos le Prétre (Paris,
1945).
Quispel, G., ‘La conception de Homme dans la Gnose Valentinienne’, Er] 15
(1947), 250ff.
— L’homme gnostique (la doctrine de Basilide)’, Er] 16 (1948), 89-139.
— Ptolémée. Lettre a Flora (Paris, 1949).
— Gnosis als Weltreligion (Zurich, 1951).
—— ‘Faust: symbol of western man’, Er] 33 (1966), 241-65.
— Makarius, das Thomasevangelium und das Lied von der Perle (Leiden,
1967).
—— ‘Jung und die Gnosis’, Er] 37 (1968), 277—-98.
—— ‘From mythos to logos’, Er] 39 (1970), 161ff.
— Gnostic Studies, 2 vols (Istanbul, 1974).
‘Origen and Valentinian Gnosis’, VigChr 28 (1974), 29-42.
Reitzenstein, R., Die hellenistischen Mysterienreligionen*® (Leipzig, 1927).
Poimandres (Leipzig, 1904).
Ricerche su Ippolito: see Institutum Historicum Augustinianum.
Ries, J. (ed.), Gnosticisme et monde hellénistique (Louvain, 1982).
Robinson, W. C., ‘The Exegesis of the soul’, NT 12 (1970), 102-17.
Roloff, D., Plotin. Die Gross-Schrift III,8; V,8; V,5; II,9 (Berlin, 1970).
Rousseau, A., and Doutreleau, L., Irénée de Lyon. Contre les Hérésies (Paris,
1952-79).
Rudolph, K., Die Mandder, | Prolegomena: Das Mandderproblem (Gottingen >
1961).
— ‘Gnosis und Gnostizismus: ein Forschungsbericht’, ThRu 34 (1969),
121-75, 181-231, 358-61; 36 (1971), 1-61, 89-124; 37 (1972); 289-360;
38 (1973), 1-25.
— Die Gnosis (Gottingen, 1978); Eng. Gnosis, ed. R.McL. Wilson
(Edinburgh, 1983).
(ed.), Gnosis und Gnostizismus (Darmstadt, 1975).
Ruether, R., and McLaughlin, E. (eds), Women of Spirit (New York, 1979).
Russell, D. $., The Method and Message of Jewish Apocalyptic (Philadelphia,
1974).
Ruyer, R., La Gnose de Princeton. Des savants a la recherche d’une religion
(Paris, 1974).
Saake, H., ‘Pneuma’, PW Suppl. XIV. 399ff.
Sagnard, F. M., La Gnose valentinienne et le temoignage de S. Irénée (Paris,
1947).
Clément d’Alexandrie. Extraits de Théodote (Paris, 1948).
Salles-Dabadie, J. M. A., Recherches sur Simon le Mage (Paris, 1969).
Samek Lodovici, E., Metamorfosi della gnosi (Milan, 1979).
Schenke, H. M., ‘Das literarische Problem des Apokryphon Johannis’, ZRGG
16 (1962), 56-63.
Der Gott ‘Mensch’ in der Gnosis (Gottingen, 1962).
Schlier, H., Religionsgeschichtliche Untersuchungen zu den Ignatiusbriefen
(Giessen, 1929).
— ‘Das Denken der frithchristlichen Gnosis’ in W. Eltester (ed.), Neutesta-
mentliche Studien ftir R. Bultmann? (Berlin, 1957).
au.peoif, TW 1.180-2.
Schmidt, C., Gesprache Jesu mit seinen Jiingern nach der Auferstehung (Leipzig,
1919).
— Pistis Sophia (Copenhagen, 1925).
—— Koptisch-gnostische Schriften, | Die Pistis Sophia. Die beiden Bucher des
Jeu. Unbekanntes altgnostisches Werk, ed. W. Till (Berlin, 1962).
Schmithals, W., Die Gnosis in Korinth (Gottingen, 1956).
— Die Apokalyptik (Gottingen, 1973).
— ‘Gnosis und Neues Testament’, Verkiindigung und Forschung 21 (1976),
22-46.
Schmitt, E. H., Die Gnosis, I] Die Gnosis des Mittelalters und der Neuzeit
(Leipzig, 1907).
Schneemelcher, W., ‘Epiphanius von Salamis’, RAC V.909-27.
Scholem, G., Major Trends in Jewish Mysticism (Jerusalem, 1941).
‘Die Vorstellung von Golem’, Er] 22 (1953), 240ff.
Scholten, C., Martyrium und Sophiamythos im Gnostizismus nach den Texten
von Nag Hammadi (Minster, 1987).
Schotroff, L., Der Glaubende und die feindliche Welt (Neukirchen, 1970).
Schirer, E., The History of the Jewish People in the Age of Jesus Christ (trans.
G. Vermes, F. Millar and M. Black, 2 vols (Edinburgh, 1973-9).
Schwabl, H., ‘Weltschopfung’, PW Suppl. IX.1540..
Schwanz, P., Imago Dei (Halle, 1970).
Scopello, M., ‘Le mythe de la chute des anges dans |’Apocryphe de Jean’, RevSR
54 (1980), 220-30. j
Secret, F., Les Kabbalistes chrétiens de la Renaissance (Paris, 1964).
Segal, A. F., Two Powers in Heaven (Leiden, 1977).
Sevrin, J. M., ‘Les noces spirituelles dans l’Evangile de Philippe’, Muséon 87
(1974), 181ff.
‘A propos de la Paraphrase de Shem’, Muséon 88 (1975), 66-96.
Sieber, J., ‘An introduction to the tractate Zostrianos’, NT 15 (1973), 237ff.
Siegert, F., ‘Selbstbezeichnung der Gnostiker in den Nag Hammadi Texten’,
ZNW 71 (1980), 129-32.
Simonetti, M., ‘Psyche e psychikos nella gnosi valentiniana’, RSLR 1 (1961),
1ff.
— ‘Note di cristologia gnostica’, RSLR 5 (1969), 529-53.
— ‘Note sul libro di Baruch dello gnostico Giustino’, VetChr 6 (1969), 71ff.
— Testi gnostici cristiani (Bari, 1970).
—— ‘Note sull’ interpretazione gnostica dell’ Antico Testamento’, VetChr 9
(1972), 358ff.
Spanneut, M., Les Péres de l’Eglise (Paris, 1951).
Spark, H. D. F., The Apocryphal Old Testament (Oxford, 1985).
Stead, G. C., ‘The Valentinian myth of Sophia’, JTS 20 (1969), 75-104.
Stroumsa, G. A. G., Another Seed: Studies in Gnostic Mythology (Leiden, 1984).
Talbert, C. H., “The myth of the descending—ascending redeemer in Mediter-
ranean antiquity’, NTS 22 (1975), 418-40.
Tardieu, M., “Les Trois Stéles de Seth: un écrit gnostique retrouvé a Nag
Hammadi’, RSPhTh 57 (1973), 545-73.
Trois mythes gnostiques (Paris, 1974). Z
—— ‘Le titre du deuxiéme écrit du Codex VI’, Muséon 87 (1974), 523-30; 88
(1975), 365-9.
—— Ecrits gnostiques. Codex de Berlin (Paris, 1984).
and Dubois, J.-D., Introduction a la littérature gnostique | (Paris, 1986).
Taubes, S. A., “The Gnostic foundations of Heideggerian nihilism’ Journal of
Religion 34 (1954), 155f.
(ed.), Gnosis und Politik (Munich, 1984).
Taylor, A. E., Plato (London, 1926).
Theiler, W., ‘Demiurg’ RAC IJIJ.694—711.
Thomas, L. V., The Anthropology of Death (London, 1970).
Topitsch, E., Sozialphilosophie zwischen Ideologie und Wissenschaft?
(Luchterhand, 1966).
Troger, K. W., Mysterienglaube und Gnosis in Corpus Hermeticum XIII (Berlin,
1971).
(ed.), Gnosis und Neues Testament (Berlin, 1973).
(ed.), Altes Testament-Friihjudentum-Gnosis (Berlin, 1980).
Turner, H. E. W., The Pattern of Christian Thought (London, 1954).
Turner, J. D., The Book of Thomas the Contender (Missoula, 1975).
Unger, R., ‘Zur sprachlichen und formalen Struktur des gnostische Textes “Der
Donner: vollkommener Nous”’, Oriens Christianus 59 (1975), 78-107.
Verbeke, G., L’Evolution de la doctrine du Pneuma des stoiciens a St Augustin
(Paris—Louvain, 1945).
Verheule, A. F., Wilhelm Bousset: Leben und Werk (Amsterdam, 1973).
Vermaseren, M. J., ‘Hellenistic religions’ in C. J. Bleecker and M. J. Vermaseren,
Historia Religionum 1. 495-532.
—— Mithras the Secret God (London, 1963).
— (ed.), Studies in Hellenistic Religions (Leiden, 1979).
Vernant, J.-P., Les Origines de la pensée grecque (Paris, 1962).
—— Mythe et pensée chez les grecs (Paris, 1965; London—Boston, 1983).
—— Mythe et société en Gréce ancienne (Paris, 1974).
—— and Detienne, M., Les Ruses de l’intelligence. La Métis des grecs (Paris,
1974).
Verniére, Y., Symboles et mythes dans la pensée de Plutarche (Paris, 1977).
Vincent, L. H., ‘Le culte d’Héléne a Samarie’, RevBib 45 (1936), 221ff.
Vogelin, E., Order and History, 1V The Ecumenic Age (Baton Rouge, 1974).
Volker, W., Der wahre Gnostiker nach Clemens Alexandrinus (Leipzig, 1952).
Volz, P., Eschatologie der jtidischen Gemeinde im Neutestamentlichen Zeitalter
(Tubingen, 1934).
Waitz, H., ‘Simon Magus in der altchristlichen Literatur’, ZNW 5 (1904),
121-43.
Waszink, J. H., Tertulliani De Anima (Amsterdam, 1947).
Wehr, G., Alle Weisheit ist von Gott (Gitersloh, 1980).
Welburn, A. J., “The identity of the Archons in the “Apokryphon Johannis”’,
VigChr 32 (1978), 241-54.
Wetter, G. P., Charis (Leipzig, 1913).
Phos (Uppsala, 1915).
Whittaker, J., ‘Basilides on the ineffability of God’, HThR 62 (1969), 367-71.
Widengren, G. (ed.), Proceedings of the International Colloquium on Gnosticism
Stockholm August 20-25 1973 (Stockholm—Leiden, 1977).
Williams, M., The Immovable Race (Leiden, 1985).
Wilson, R. McL., ‘Simon, Dositheus and the Dead Sea Scrolls’, ZRGG 9 (1957),
21-30.
—— The Gnostic Problem* (London, 1964).
— ‘Jewish “Gnosis” and Gnostic origins: a survey’, Hebrew Union College
Annual 45 (1974), 179-89.
— (ed.), Nag Hammadi and Gnosis (Leiden, 1978).
Wisse, F., ‘The redeemer figurein the Paraphrase of Shem’, NT 12 (1970),
130-40.
Wolfson, H. A., ‘Negative attributes in the Church Fathers and the Gnostic
Basilides’, HThR 50 (1951), 145-56.
—— The Philosophy of the Church Fathers (Harvard, 1956, 1970%).
Yamauchi, E., Pre-Christian Gnosticism (London, 31973).
‘Pre-Christian Gnosticism in the Nag Hammadi texts’, Church History 48
(1979), 130-5.
Les Yeux de Chair et les Yeux de Feu. La Science et la Gnose. Colloque tenu
a Paris (Cahiers, no. 5, Université St Jean: Jerusalem, 1979).
Zaehner, R. C., The Teachings of the Magi (London, 1975).
Zandee, J., “Gnostic ideas on fall and salvation’, Numen 11 (1964), 19-68.
‘L’exemplarisme du monde transcendant par rapport au monde visible
dans le Tractatus Tripartitus du Codex Jung’, Revue d’Egyptologie 24 (1972),
224-8.
Index
Abel 94, 95, 111 angels 25, 30, 55, 149, 160; and
abortions 78, 184 creation 26, 82, 89; see also Eleleth;
Abrasax (angel) 97 Samael
Abyss 62, 66, 69, 70, 80, 117 Angra Manyu 54
Achamoth see Sophia anima mundi 42, 54, 55, 67, 85
Acts of the Apostles 147-8 anthropocentrism of Gnosticism 87
Acts of the Apostles, apocryphal 8, Anthropos 58, 64, 87; epiphany of
i16A54, 89-90, 99, 109; Hermetic 107;
Adam 65, 66, 87, 88-94, 114, 212 Valentinian 66, 117
Adam, Apocalypse of 96-8, 112, 146 antinomianism 130, 161, 185-6
Adam and Eve, Books of 111-12 Antioch, Syria 158, 171
Adamas 112, 113 Antonine age xviii-xx, 20-1, 35-7, 170
Aelius Aristides 33 Apelles 166, 177
Aeneas’ descent to Underworld 22 apocalypses 16, 17, 33, 58, 131, 145;
Sins Pika9 AAD; 85,117 18),.135; see also Marsanes; Seth, Three Stelae
160; hierarchy of 65; two, doctrine of; and Apocalypses of: Adam; Paul;
of 131; see also Sophia Peter
agape 103 apokatastasis 135
age, Gnosticism as product of own Apollo: prophecy 40, 155
xvili-xx, 20-1, 35-7, 154, 178-9 Apollonius of Tyana 153-4
Ahura Mazda 54 Aponoia 81
Alexandria 5—6, 159, 166 Apophasis Megalé 85
Ali, Bahy 14 aporrhoia 217
Ali, Muhammad and Khalifah 1, 13 apostles 106-7, 147: see also
alienation 13, 32, 58 individual names
allegory 48, 168 Apostolic Succession 4
Allogenes 17, 58, 63 Apuleius 33, 35-6
Ambrose (Valentinian) 175, 177 arché see beginning
anachorésis 58 Archons 92-3; androgyny 90, 212;
anamneésis 41, 49 and creation 90, 91, 92-3, 114, 136;
androgyny: archetypal Androgyne 58, and end of aeon 131-2; Christ and
59-63, 70, 72, 149, 151-2; first 124, 126; Great 86; judgement of
human 88-9, 91-2; Hermetic 107; 113, 139, 140-1; Sethian 95; see also
restoration after death 141; Sethian Hypostasis of the Archons;
66-7, 114; Simonian 148, 149; Ialdabaoth
throughout Pleroma 70, 212; Archontics 172
Valentinian 67, 181 Arianism 6, 171
260 Index
aristocratic concept 24, 129, 170 Cabbalistic traditions xv, xvii
Aristotle 22, 42, 46, 77-8, 162 Cain 94, 95, 111
arithmetical speculation 61, 141, 168, Cainites 186
169471; Cairo: Coptic Museum 14, 15
Arnobius 7 and see ‘new men’ Calvin, John 29
Arnold, Gottfried xxi Carpocrates and followers 130, 161-2,
asceticism 15, 159, 165-6, 171, 181, 19/9 ;
185, 186-9 Cathar myths xv
Asclepius, cult of 33 Celsus 7, 153
Asclepius 16, 26, 180 cemeteries, Christian 139
Askew codex 10, 171 Cerdon the Syrian 163
Assionicus 167 Chaldaean Oracles 44
associations, Gnostic 170, 173-5 change, era of xviii-xx, 20-1, 35-7,
astrology 54-5, 119-20, 156 154, 178-9
astronomy 22 Chaos 69, 74-5, 80, 89-90
Athens 52 Chenoboskion (al-Qasr) 1
Attis, cult of 34, 47 Christ: and aeons 71-2; and apostles
Augustine of hippo 7, 29 106-7; baptism 122-3; Carpocratians
Authentikos Logos 105, 187-8 on 161; generation of 69, 71, 121-2;
incarnation 120-2, 129, 167; Jewish
Baader, Franz von xvi Christians on 161; as Logos 76;
Babylonian religion 11, 12 miracles of 153; sacred marriage to
baptism 17, 122-3, 157-8, 179-80; Church 181; as Saviour 26-7, 66,
eschatological 242-3n. 102, 107-27, 137; and Sophia
Barbelo 58, 62, 112, 184 Achamoth 75, 76; Valentinians on
Barbelognostics 69 17-18, 66, 71, 86, 102, 117, 122,
Baruch Book of 168-9 167; see also Crucifixion; docetism;
Basilides 11, 158, 159-61,
171, 174; Passion; Resurrection; Saviour
on creation 85—6; eschatology 133; Christianity xix, xx, 11; anti-Jewish
on evil 159-60; followers 186; on 146; apologists on myth 46-7;
metempsychosis 129-30; on salvation asceticism 181; Cabbalistic xv;
86, 124, 125-7; social background cemeteries 139; demons 30-1; on evil
175-6 27; Gnostics within 19, 133, 159;
Basta, Dhaki 14 Jewish 158, 161; Logos 26; optimism
Baur, F.C: 10-11, 191 86; as psychic element 57; Saturninus
beginning and end: coincidence of and 159; Sethian independence of 65,
135; knowledge of own 33, 39, 41 97, 113, 116-17; and Simonianism
Bisadah, Nashid 14 151; transcendence of God 24; and
Blake, William xvi Valentinians 17-18, 66, 102, 117
body: demonization of 91-2, 98; women 35; see also: Christ;
nature of Christ’s 120-2 heresiology; John, Gospel of; Paul
Bogomil myths xv Clement, pseudo-: romance 151
Bohme, Jacob xvi, 191 Clement of Alexandria 5, 157, 159,
Bosch, Hieronymos xvi 160, 161-2, 186; Excerpts from
Boullan, Fr (of Lyons) 185 Theodotus 119-20, 168
Bousset, W. 11, 12 clubs (thiasoi) 175, 178
bridal chamber see marriage Codices: Askewianus 10, 171;
Bronte 68-9 Brucianus 10, 171; I (Jung) 14;
Bruce, J. B.; Codex Brucianus 10, 171 Jahweh 110-11; Priestly 110
Buddhism 44, 160 Comforter (Paraclete) 76-7
Bythos (primeval cause) 62 communication with God 23, 31-4
Index 261
Conflagration, universal 97, 113, 132 demons (daimones) 22, 29-31, 90;
Constantine I, Emperor 171 and creation of man 91-2, 95, 98
continence 187 Derdekeas 83, 84
contraction (systolé) 72, 123 deus otiosus (inactive god) 25
conversation 28, 29; of Sophia deuteros theos 26
Achamoth 71, 76, 83 Devil 82-3
Coptic sources 8, 9-10, 171, 180; Diadochoi, time of 27, 48
Asclepius 16, 26, 180 Diaspora, Jewish 28, 111, 147
Corinth 133, 155 diastolé (expansion) 72, 123
Corpus Hermeticum 8-9, 45-6, Didymus the Blind 170-1
107-10, 179; see also Poimandres Dieterich, A. 12
Cosmocrator (Devil) 82-3 Dio Chrysostom 35
cosmos: creation 17, 59, 73-6, 81-6, Dionysus, cult of 27, 40, 154
107, 158, 160; demonization 22; discretio naturarum 126-7, 133
eschatology 133; evil see dualism; dissension 173, 174, 186
good 4-5, 9, 27, 160, 161, 172 divination 31
Crater, The 179 docetism 125-6, 149, 161, 165
creation: angels and 26, 82, 89; eros doctors, Gnostic 157-69
and 108; ex nihilo 4; Hermetic 107, Dodecad of aeons 65, 67, 106-7, 135
108, 109;Saturninus on 158; Sethian Domedon Doxomedon 113
81-2, 88-98; Valentinian 82-3, Dositheus 61, 151
98-100; see also Genesis and under dreams 31
cosmos; female; hylé; male; man dualism: Gnostic 13, 54-6, 86, 117,
Crucifixion 113, 122, 123, 124-5, 143, 159-60; Hermetic 9;
125-6, 137; docetism 125-6, 161, Manichaean xv, 84; Marcionite 164;
165 Simonian 149; see also evil
cult life 19; see also asceticism;
libertinism; ritual Ecclesia 66
Cybele, cult of 34, 35, 47 economic base 175-6, 177-8
ecstasy 32, 40, 58
egalitarianism 173, 174
daimones see demons Egypt 170-1, 180, 183; Nag
darkness 74, 83-5, 87 Hammadi finds xiii, 1-2, 13-15
Daveithe (aeon) 65, 113 Egyptians, Gospel of the 112-13
Dea Syria, cult of 34 Eid, Albert 14
Dead, Books of 138 elect 29, 65, 88; egalitarianism 173,
death 133, 137, 138, 139; judgement 174; Sethian myths 17, 95-6
113, 139, 140-1; rituals 180 Eleleth 65, 96, 113, 115
Decad 66, 67 elements, four 92
decline of Gnosticism 6, 169-72 Eliezeer, Pirké of Rabbi 111
Delphic oracle 155 Elohim 94, 125, 169
Demiurge: Apelles on 166; arrogance emanation, theory of 172
78, 82, 89; and creation of man 87, Encratites 181
93, 94, 97, 100; deception 95-6; and end see beginning; eschatology
eschatology 131-2, 135-6; and fate enkrateia (continence) 187
95; generation of 23, 74, 76, 77-81; Ennoia 62, 63, 64, 70, 92, 143; first
Hermetic 107-8; Marcion on 164; (Protennoia) 61, 62, 115; Simonian
perceived as God 60, 78, 82; in Plato 148-9, 151-2
54; as psychic element 80, 120; Enoch 33, 43, 111, 204
Valentinian 118, 121; see also Ephesek 102, 104
creation; Ialdabaoth Ephraem Syrus 163
262 Index
Epictetus 106 Gamaliel (angel) 97
Epicureanism 27 garment, celestial 141, 207
epignosis 39-40, 58 Gebel el-Tarif 1
Epinoia of Light 93-4, 96, 113, 114 Genesis, Book of 90, 94-5, 110-11,
Epiphanes, son of Carpocrates 161-2 145; 1:26 88, 89, 158; 2:7 88, 89,
Epiphanius 6—7, 170, 172, 180, ODIs
183-5, 186, 196 Genesis Rabbah +111
epiphany of Anthropos 89-90, 99, geocentricity, Hellenistic 22
109 ; Germany xiv, xvi, 12
episteme 39 giants (Nefilim) 79
epopteia 156 gignoskO 38-9
eros 103, 108 Gitton, Samaria 148
eschatology 128-41; ascents of soul Glaucias (disciple of Paul) 159
137, 138-41; metempsychosis Gnosis 19, 38-9; Christian 19;
129-30; Saviour in 132-3; Hermetic 9; Gnostic 32-46, 104,
syncretism 129-31; time of the 142-3, (and salvation) 41, 101-2,
Church 134-7 103; pagan 107-10; of self 23-4, 29,
Essenes 177-8, 204 32, 40, 110
ethics 185-9 Gnosticism: definitions 142-7; see also
eucharist 17, 180 individual aspects
Eugnostos 134-5 God: as good 61; inactive 25; non-
Euhemerists 48 existent 85, 160; personal 42; second
Eusebius (Bishop of Caesarea) 6, 166, 26; stability 61, 63, 72;
1p odWAP transcendence 24—5, 42, 60-1;
Eve 93-4, 95, 111 ungenerated 61; see also androgyny
Eve, Gospel of 185 (archetypal Androgyne); Father; Triad
evil 24-5, 26, 52, 56, 79, 159-60 gods of pantheon 25, 26, 58
exegesis, scriptural 17-18, 29 goeétes (wizards) 30
Exegesis of the Soul 105 Goethe, Johann Wolfgang von xvi
exile of Church, purpose of 135 gospel as hypostasis 86
existentialism xiv, 13 gospels, Gnostic 17; see also Gospels
expansion (diastole) 72, 123 of: Egyptians; Eve; Mary; Philip;
Thomas; Truth
Gottingen, University of 11, 19
faith and reason S$ grace, Pauline concept of 164, 165
fate (heimarmené) 95, 108, 119 Greece: philosophy 11, 12, 41, 86,
Father 60-1, 62, 63, 70-1, 122, 149 159, 161, (see also individual
Fathers, Church 118, 163; see also philosophers); possible origin of
individual names Gnosticism 146; religion 24, 154
female element: and creation 67-72, Guitton, Jean xvi
73-7, 78, 99, 100, 149, 177, 213;
inferiority 90, 177; lewdness 68-9, Haggadah 96
90; needs male saviour 105, 116, Hardenberg, Friedrich von xvi-xvii
119; see also Sophia; women Harmozel (aeon) 65, 113
feminism, second-century 35 Harnack, Adolf von 11, 12
fire see conflagration heavens, numbers of 120, 130, 160,
firmament see intermediate region 171
Flavia Sophé: epitaph 176, 177 Hebdomad 24, 86, 120
Flood 95-6, 97, 113 Hegel, G. W. F. xv, xvi, 10
fourth-century society 169-72 Heidegger, Martin xiv, 12
Index 263
heimarmené 95, 108, 119 intermediate region 25, 57, 85-6, 120
Helen, myth of 69-70, 147-51 intermundia 25
Heracleon 5, 167-8 intuition, Plato on 41-2
heresiology 2-7, 10, 17, 157, 167, Iran 19, 96-7, 146
186; see also individual authors Irenaeus 3-4, 4-5, 157; on
Hermaphroditism 91-2 Barbelognostics 69; on Basilides
hermeneutics 41 125-6, 159, 160; on Cainites 186;
hermeticism xv, 7, 8-9, 16, 45-6; see on Carpocratians 130, 161-2;
also Corpus Hermeticum charges of sexual depravity in 186;
Hesiod 52 on inexpertiores 173, 174; on
Hesse, Hermann xviii Marcellina 161-2; on Marcion 163;
Hippolytus 3, 4, 17, 83-5; on on Marcus the magician 156, 168;
Basilides 126-7, 159, 160; Epistle to on Menander 157-8; on Ophites 99,
Theophrastus 101-2; on Peratae 56, 124; on Ptolemy’s system 167; on
84; Psalm of the Naassenes 132; on Saturninus 158-9; on Simon Magus
Simonianism 150; on Valentinus 117 148-50; on Simon’s followers 153,
History of Religion School 11, 19 158, 186; on spiritual marriage 182;
holy men 7, 32, 36, 154-5, 166, 171 on Valentinians 185—6
Holy Spirit: Ophite 69; Simonian 149; Isaiah, Book of 82
Valentinian 71; 85-6, 117, 121, 122; Isidore (son of Basilides) 159-60
see also pneuma
Homer 29 Jahweh 78, 82, 94, 180
Horos (Limit) 71, 75, 123 Jahweh Codex (J) 110-11
hubris 24, 68 James, prayer of 139-40
Hugo, Victor xvii Japheth 97
Humanism xv Jesus see Christ
hyle (matter) 26; creation of 26, 73, Jeu, Books of 10, 64, 141, 183
74, 80; hylic dimension of universe Jews 19; Christian 158, 161; see also
57, 88 Judaism
hymns, esoteric Christian 213 John (apostle) 147
hyperanthropos 24 John, Apocryphon of 16, 18, 156-7;
hypostases 25, 49, 58, 95, 107 on creation 65, 67, 68, 78, 81-2, 88,
Hypostasis of the Archons 79, 88, 90, 89, 90-4, 95, 112; on ethics 188;
93596, 115 soteriology 113-15; on transcendence
of God 60-1
Jaldabaoth 79, 81-2, 86, 89, 92-3, John, Gospel of 5, 9, 10
94, 99 John Chrysostom 171
idealism, German classical xiv Jonas, Hans xiv, 12-13, 165, 188
identity, conversion and 34-7 Judaism 19, 28-9; angels 30, 55;
Illuminator 96, 97-8 apocalypses 33, 96-7. apologetics 23;
image 57, 79; 191,182 Book of Baruch and 169;
immutability of God 61, 63, 72 Carpocratians and 161; demons 30;
incarnation of divine: Christ 120-2, Diaspora 28, 111, 147; God, nature
129, 167; holy men 32, 155 of 42; Marcionites and 164;
Incorruptibility 89-90 Menander and 158; myths 47, 79;
incubation 156 origin of Gnosticism? 144-6;
India 129 Saturninus and 159; Sethians and
inexpertiores 173, 174 111-12; see also: Jahweh
intellect see Nous Judas Thomas 101
intellectualism of Gnostics 129, 170 judgement see under Archons
264 Index .
Julian the Apostate 171 Manicheism xv, 84, 175

Jung, C. G. xiv, 14-15, 190 Manifestation 53, 113
Jung Codex (Nag Hammadi Codex 1) Marcellina 161-2, 177
14 Marcion 162-6, 176; church 163-4,
justice, divine: Paul on 164 170, 173
Justin (Gnostic) 168-9 Marcus the magician 4, 33, 156, 167,
Justin (Martyr) 3, 36, 148, 151, 163 168, 179-80; followers 140-1, 168,
171; and women 175-6, 177, 181
kairoi 135 marriage, spiritual 17, 141, 177,
Kallinikon, Osrhoene 171 180-3
kategoriales novum 146 Marsanes 17, 86
kingdoms, thirteen earthly 98 Marx, Karl xvi, 192
kingship, sacred 154 Mary (mother of Jesus) 86, 121-2
kiss, ritual 182 Mary, Gospel of 156, 176
knowledge 42-4, 46-51; self- 23-4, Mary Magdalene 176, 177
29, 32, 40, 110; see also Gnosis matter see hylé
krater 179 Mazdaism 28, 30, 54
mediation 25-7, 32-3, 40, 51, 57;
law 118, 161, 185-6 female and 63, 67; see also
leaders, Gnostic 157-69 hypostases
Leninism xvi medicine, ancient 185
lewdness of Sophia 68-9 Megalé Apophasis 150-1
libertinism 161, 162, 168, 172, 180, memory see anamneésis; epignosis
183-6, 221 Menander 157-8, 218
Life (Zoe) 66, 93, 94 Mesopotamia 171, 180
light: and creation 74; and darkness Messalians 6, 185
87; existence ab aeterno 83-5; messenger, divine 8
Hermetism on 45; hypostasis of the Messina, Congress of 143-4
95; metaphysics of 44-5, 44-6; metempsychosis 129-30, 137, 162
pleroma as world of 55; in Qumran metensomatosis 129
texts 43; Saviour recovers 59, 95, Mimaut Papyrus 16
106-7 mind see Nous
Limit (Horos) 71, 75, 123 miracles 32, 153-4, 155
Logos 11; Christian 26, 76; Hermetic Mithras, cult of 34, 175
107; Philo 79, 213; Platonic 41-2; mobility 34, 36, 162, 170
Sethian 62, 113; urban origin 47; modern era xviii—xx
Valentinian 66, 76, 117, 160 monasticism, Pachomian 18
love 103, 108 monism 160, 171-2
Lucian 21, 34 Monoimus the Arab 101-2, 169
Luther, Martin 29 Montanism 33, 34, 35
Mormons 181
Macarius, pseudo- 185 Mother 87, 92-3, 99
magic 153-4, 155, 156, 158, 171 mysteries, pleromatic 136, 137
male element; in Christ’s baptism 123; mysterium coniunctionis 120, 124
in creation 75, 76, 78; in salvation mystery religions 27-8, 105, 129, 139,
105, 116, 1195 177 178, 181; thiasoi 175, 178
man: creation of 17, 59, 87-100, 108, myth: Christians on 46-7; deus
109, 158 and see Adam otiosus 25; Helen 69-70, 148-50;
Mandaeism 8, 9 History of Religion school on 11;
Mani 163, 167 Judaic 47, 49; and knowledge 46-51;
Index 265
orgiastic cults 184-5; Platonic 49-51; Old Testament 118-19, 145-6,
recital in visions 156, 157; variety of 154-5, 166, 181
symbolism 75; see also myth, Gnostic Ophites 69, 84, 99, 124
myth, Gnostic 32, 51-3; androgyny optimism 4-5, 9, 27, 160, 161, 172
181; appeal to 2nd century 170; oracles 20-1, 31, 32, 155
complexity 19; of creation 17, 83-6, organization, religious 163-4, 170-1,
88—94; dualism 56; in Menander 173-5, 177-8
158; messenger, divine 8; in Novalis orgiastic cults 180, 183-5
xvii; pleroma, fall from 17, 32, 41; ‘Orient, Gnostic? 11-12, 19
and salvation 32, 40, 53; self, oriental cults xx, 28, 34, 47
knowledge of 32, 41; three stages 17; Origen 5-6, 7, 153, 168, 170, 175;
see also Sophia on Basilides 129, 159
Origin of the World, On the 73-4,
Naas (serpent) 169 80, 133-4
Naassenes 84, 133 origins of Gnosticism 144-7
Nag Hammadi library xiii, 13-19; Oroiael (aeon) 65, 113
contents 15-17, 124; dating 171; Orphism 52, 78, 129
doctrinal content 17-18, 167, 170;
effect on scholarship 4, 17, 144;
Judaic influence 145 Pachomius see monasticism
Name 85 paganism 7; Gnosis 58, 107-10; see
narcissistic motif 108, 109 also gods of pantheon
Nefilim, Jewish myth of 79 Papyrus Mimaut 16
negative theology 60-1 Paraclete 76—7
nekyiai 130 Paradise 93
Neoplatonism 25, 48, 50, 86, 106, paradosis (tradition) 159
IDS 2, parousiae 113
Neophythagoreanism 61 Passion, Christ’s °122,123,).125, 137,
Nerval, Gérard de xvii 149, 165; see also docetism passions
‘new men’ (viri novi) 7, 36, 37, 154, of Sophia Achamoth 70, 75-6, 83,
166, 171 123
Nicolaites 221 pathos 66, 70, 125
Nietzsche, F. W. 12, 192 patriarchs, Sethian 66, 95—8, 112
nihilism xiv, xvi, 185-6, 188 Pawlint29335," 12901569 and
Noah 95, 96, 97 Corinthians 133, 155; on grace 164,
Norea 96, 115 165
Nous 45: deuteros theor 26; Greek Paul, Apocalypse of 130
philosophy 26, 41-2, 42-3; Hermetic Pearl, Hymn of the 8, 207
107; Son as 63, 64; Valentinian 62, Peratae 56, 84
63, 66, 85, 117, 160, 181 perfection: Corinthians 155: Gnostic
Novalis (F. von Hardenberg) XVI-XVIi 65, 137
Numenius 44 Peter (apostle) 147
numerology 61, 141, 168, 169, 171 Peter, Apocalypse of 124-5
Nygren, A. 103 Peter and the Twelve Apostles, Acts of
15-16, 151
occult xv, 21; see also magic Peter’s Letter to Philip 126
Oetinger, Friedrich xvi Phibionites 221
Ogdoad 66, 86, 120 Philip (apostle) 147
Ogdoad and Ennead, On the 16, Philip, Gospel of 17, 101, 133, 176,
45-6 T7782
266 Index .
Philo of Alexandria 25, 112; on angels power, sacred 22-3, 74, 75, 154, 160
55; on creation story 88-9; on prayers 16, 139-40
ecstasy 32; on Essenes 177-8; on predestination 29, 43, 131; see also
knowledge 42-3, 44; on Logos 79, elect
203, 213; and myths 48-9; on priesthood 154
Sophia 75 Priestly Codex (P) 110
philologists, German 12 Prodicus 169
Philomena (prophetess) 166, 177 prophecy 33, 35, 40, 154-5
philosophical Gnosticism 11 Protennoia 61, 62, 63, 115
philosophy 67; see also under Greece Protennoia 61
Philostratus 153-4 Providence, Stoic concept of 60
Pistis 73-4, 80 provincial setting of Gnosticism 129,
Pistis Sophia 10, 16, 106-7, 156, 176, 170
183, 207; antimimon pneuma 136, prunikos (lewd) 68-9, 70
160; eschatology, 136-7; on ethics psychic element 57, 135-6, 181, 219;
186, 188 creation 80; Demiurge represents 76,
Plato 19, 147; on androgyny 61; 80, 82; Saviour’s body as psychic
anima mundi 54, 55, 67, 85; 120
Demiurge 54, 77; Hermeticism and Ptolemy 4, 167; on aeons 66, 67; on
9; knowledge 23, 40, 41-2; on logos androgyny 62, 67; on creation of
and nous 41-2; on mathematics 39; man 99-100; on Demiurge 81, 82-3;
and myth 46, 48, 49-50; Nag eschatology 135; on Jesus’
Hammadi text 15; on possession 32; incarnation 121, 122; on Law 118;
and Philo 49 on psychic element 135; on sin of
Platonism 24, 147; Middle 26, 36, 44; Sophia 71
and myth 49-51; and see Pythagoreanism 29, 50
Neoplatonism Pythian oracle 155
Pleroma 17, 55, 56-9, 63-7;
androgyny throughout 70; bridal al-Qasr 1
chamber 182; fall from xvii, 17, 38, Quispel, Gilles xiv, 14
41, 59, 72, 105, 106, 143, (of Qumran community 28, 29, 43-4,
Saviour) 120, 122, 133 204
Plotinus 7, 17, 26, 55-6, 74-5, 170,
175, 186 rationalism, Greek 11, 12, 41
Plutarch 20, 25, 54, 78, 178; and reason 5, 85
myths 47, 49-51 recollection see anamneésis; epignOsis
pneuma 17 antimimon 136, 160; redemption 53, 120, 156, 183; Gnosis
Gnostic 17, 57, 59, 64, 70, 143; as process of self- 101-2, 103;
leaves soul at death 137; medical Neoplatonic 106; see also Saviour
concept 185; orgiastic cults 184—S; reincarnation 129-30, 137, 162
Stoic 64; Valentinian 17, 117, 121; reintegration 53, 135, 141, 143
see also Holy Spirit; spiritual Reitzenstein, R. 11, 12
principle relapse, possibility of 136
Poimandres 45, 46, 140; myth 156, relationship with divine 23, 31-4
157; soteriology 107-10, 120 religious setting of Gnosticism
polemic, Gnostic 173, 174 xviii-xx, 20-8, 154, 178-9
Polycarp 163 Renaissance xv
polygamy 181 Resurrection 5, 123-4, 125, 137
popular Gnosticism 11 Revealer 40, 59, 104, 105
possession 23-4, 32, 155-7 revelation 31-4
Index 267
revelation discourses 16-17, 68-9, Hippolytan 83-5; on Noah 95, 96;
126,456, 176 patriarchs 66, 95—8, 112; on pleroma
Rhegius, Epistle to 17 57, 65—6; on Sophia 68, 70, 78;
ritual 27, 157-8, 171, 178-85 soteriology 96, 110-17; and time
romance genre 16, 151 135; on Triad 61-2; withdrawal
Romanticism, German xvi from world 174
Rome 151, 163; myth 48; religion Sextus, Sentences of 15, 187
xix, 20-1, 129, 139, 154 sexual cults see libertinism
Rosicrucians xv shadow, theme of 32, 79
Roszak, T. xx—xxi Shem 97
Rule of the Community (Qumran) 43 Shem, Paraphrase of 17
Russian sects 181 Silence (Sigé) 62, 66, 150
Silvanus, Teachings of 15, 187, 189
Sablo (angel) 97 Simeon, Rabbi 111
St Martin, Louis de 191 Simon of Cyrene 125-6, 161
Saklas (Demiurge) 97 Simon Magus 3, 6, 147-52, 153, 154,
salvation see redemption; Saviour 155; and Helen 69-70, 148-50
Samael 79, 111 Simonianism 85, 148-9, 151-2, 153,
Samaria 147, 148, 151 157-8, 186, 218, 221
Saturninus (Satornilus) 158-9, 218 Sobhi, Georges 14
Saviour 32, 101-27; data on Gnostic social setting of Gnosticism xviii—xxi,
101-7; descent 120, 122, 133; in 20-37, 175-6
eschatology 132-3; female element Socrates 23, 29, 40
needs male 105, 116, 119, 177; Solomon, Odes of 8
Hellenistic 105; Hermetic 107-10; Son 62-3, 63-5, 117-18, 149
mysterium coniunctionis 120, 124; Song of Songs 181
nature of body 120-2; recovers light Sophia (Achamoth) 23-7, 143; and
in cosmos 59, 95, 106—7; Revealer Ogdoad 120; in Marcosian formula
40, 59, 104, 105; saves himself 140; and Demiurge 81, 82; and
106-7, 136, 165; separation of Helen myth 149; and intermediate
elements 126—7, 133; Sethian 96, world 57; conversion 71, 76, 83; and
110-17; Simonian 151; Valentinian creation 74, 99, 100; Mary
66, 117, 102, 120-2, 124, 125-7; Magdalene as counterpart 176;
see also Christ mediation 67; as Mother 99; needs
Schelling, F. W. J. von xv, xvi male saviour 119; passions 70, 75—6,
scholarship, history of 7-13 83, 123; in philosophy 67; Sethian
self: concept of xiv, 23, 31, 36, 68, 70; sin of 59, 66, 67-72, 78,
39-40, 41, 110; -knowledge 23-4, 122, 135; Valentinian school 70-2,
29, 32, 40, 110 oO mG
separation of substances 126-7, 133 soul: androgyny 212-13; ascents of
Seth 18, 65, 110-13; age of 66; birth 137, 138-41; attachments of 159-60;
of 93, 94, 95, 110-11; descendants descent 160; Hermeticism on 109;
95-6, 95-8, 112; as Saviour 112-13 World 42, 54, 55, 67, 85
Seth, Paraphrase of 17 sources 2-10, 110-11; see also
Seth, Second Logos of the Great 126 Codices: Corpus Hermeticum;
Seth, Three Stelae of 61-2, 63-4, 133 heresiology; Nag Hammadi
Sethians 169; on aeons 65-7; on Spengler, Oswald 12
androgyny 61-2, 65; and Christianity Spirit see Holy Spirit; pneuma
65, 97, 113, 116-17; on creation 75, spiritual principle 57; fall xvii, 17, 38,
77, 81-2, 88-98; dualism 86, 117; 41, 59, 72, 105, 106, 143;
268 Index
oa
restoration 24, 40, 53, 59, 72, 95, Tripartite Tractate 17, 60, 61, 64, 81,
106-7, 135, 143 100, 135
Stoicism 27, 60, 64, 117, 126, 132, tripartition of universe 56-7, 84
139 Troeltsch, Ernst 12
Succession, Apostolic 4 Truth, Gospel of 17, 39, 65
super being (hyperanthropos) 24 twilight zone 138
Surrealism xvii types 182
Swedenborg, Emanuel xvii, 191
symbolist poets, French xvii unction. 139) "1797 180
syncretism 146; apocalypses 131; understanding 39
Book of Baruch 169; Carpocratians Underworld 22, 130-1
161; eschatology 129-31; unity, restoration of 53, 135, 141, 143
Simonianism 148-9, 151 universalism 161, 172
systolé (contraction) 72, 123 urbanization xx, 47
utopian tradition 161
Tano, Phocio, J. 14
Targum Jonathan 111
Targumim 111 Valentinian school 4, 5-6, 166-8; on
Temple, destruction of 145, 146 aeons 117-18; androgyny 62, 67;
Tertullian 4, 5, 163, 164, 166, 173, baptism 179-80; charges of depravity
176-7 185-6; Christian influence 17-18,
Tetrad, First 66 66, 102, 117; Christology 17-18, 66,
Thelesis, Theletos (natural will) 70 71, 102, 117, 122, 167; creation
Theodore bar Konai 7 82-3, 98-100; Demiurge 77, 80-1,
Theodoret of Cyrus 7 121; eschatology 132; exegesis
Theodosius I, Emperor 171 17-18; Holy Spirit 71, 121;
Theodosium II, Emperor 171 marriage, spiritual 141, 177, 180-3;
Theodotus 119-20, 167, 168 mediation 174; Nag Hammadi texts
theology and ritual 178-9 17, 167, 170; organization 170-1,
Thessalus (doctor) 205 174-5; pleroma 57, 66-7; ritual 178,
thiasoi 175, 178 179, 180-3; Saviour 71, 102, 120,
third century 169-72 167; Sophia 23-7, 70-2; survival
Thomas, Acts of 8 170-1; Triad 120; visions 155-6
Thomas, Gospel of 17 Valentinus 3, 11, 36-7, 166-7, 175-6,
Thomas the Contender, Book of 101, 193; ‘new Valentinus’ xvii; vision 33,
130-1 117, 155-6
Thought 62, 85, 115, 160 veil, cosmogonic 73-4, 79, 80
Thunder, The (Bronté) 68-9 Virgil 22
Tibetan Book of the Dead 138 Virgin Birth of Christ 121-2
time 134-7 viri novi see ‘new men’
Topitsch, Ernst xvi visions 117, 155-6
tradition (paradosis) 159 Vogelin, Eric xvi
transcendence 24-5, 42, 60-1 Voice 4620800 Ils
translation schools 175
travel 34, 36, 162 waters at creation 69, 89, 108, 109
Tree of Knowledge 94, 114 Weber, Max 129, 142, 154
Tree of Life 93 ‘ Wilamowitz-Moellendorff, U. von 12
Triad 57, 61-5, 120, 156-7 will: free 27, 109, 135; natural 70
Trimorphic Protennoia 115-16, 131 Wisdom, Book of 43
Index 269
Wisdom of Jesus Christ 156 Word see Logos
wisdom speculations 145, 160, 187 world see cosmos
wizards (goétes) 30
Woide, C. G. 10 Zarathustra 54
women 35; Christian 35; Gnostic 173, Zeno 42
176-7; Marcionite 163; Marcus and Zeus 148
168, 175-6, 177, 181; prophecy 33, Zoe (life) 66, 93, 94
35; and salvation 176-7; see also Zostrianos 17, 102, 104, 115
female Zwischenzustand 138
A055 758
aaa aa 4%, ad
Pics.
/ BT
1390 Filoramo, Giovannie
eF5513 [Attesa della finee English ]
1990 A history of Gnosticism / Giovanni
Filoramo ; translated by Anthony
Alcocke -- Oxford, UK $; Cambridge,
Masse, USA : Be Blackwell, 1990.
XxXi, 269 pe 5; 24 cme
Translation of: Ltattesa della finee
Includes bibliographical references
(pe [190 ]-258) and indexe
ie Gnosticisme Ie Title
AosS5 755 Nee

xy29
si
ee
oses
kek
A
as
Ay
Sev ONtaS,
Aeieie
es
Pans
Kn
PAP ies
leasaoes Peo SP i é A At, ey ass
ys
nex. Dae more
Mee (ph
Steir
ios
K
=e
IUS 9
SIR
Wwse3t3
shoes
rh SRS as,
< a RS BREE a
eS.
Rig
SES eae $ %
Besecesens
SRS
WRN Niet )
RotSs
ot
tnPeo
ee
Aa
G 23wr Sek boar
ie
ove Poe ; ;
:
oS Crentbs Daaeies
aeppeeoe Pe
thane : Seaepeaearstatiee
erat ateth ths Pa
ee & : CSRS
~ eae
ES Set
ore
Peetethet peaks
Hee ays pes, ere
ibebytinhcort ees
Le
z Was)
Care
ae RSS
Soe ~:
SSS
ae Saeetees 3 ee
ee. SETS IES
=
Bi
rn
Kee25s
ites 4
fare
55*ywotsf ey«z Kan
UF aeaiatse,
+ Cetaieprt
ohz 20 stats ees
63" pees
oe! ee tees Cocke’
‘< POGER
é Cnyeieyey aie as
Crh
oieCsMiter! tet eqeebdsine
> vA Watts
:aceé “behest
OG Tye
wee
aee Rae
: ee ie
Os4 - a 0 4 v4-
die
Oe
os Sere pereee)
“ee
Brot
-oe @

Filoramo G A History of Gnosticism

Uploaded by

Copyright:

Available Formats

Filoramo G A History of Gnosticism

Uploaded by

Document Information

Original Title

Copyright

Available Formats

Share this document

Share or Embed Document

Sharing Options

Did you find this document useful?

Is this content inappropriate?

Copyright:

Available Formats

Filoramo G A History of Gnosticism

Uploaded by

Copyright:

Available Formats

What is the book about?

What is the book about?

What time period does it cover?

What time period does it cover?

A History of Gnosticism

Translated by Anthony Alcock

First published 1990

Basil Blackwell Ltd

Basil Blackwell, Inc.

British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data

Library of Congress Cataloging in Publication Data

Fragments of a Lost Faith

Between Demons and Gods: an Age of Revelation

The Gnostic Imagination

In the World of the Pleroma

(S) The Arrogance of the Demiurge and the Creation of the

‘ 6/ And God Said, ‘Let Us Make Man in Our Image and

\ 7) Mysterium Coniunctionis: The Gnostic Saviour 101

8) Waiting for the End 128

9 Simon Magus and the Origins of Gnosticism 142

10 Visionaries, Prophets and Divines: Towards a History of

ig! Ascetics and Libertines 1735

Select Bibliography and Further Reading 246

NHC Nag Hammadi Corpus

Individual treatises in NHC

BG Berlin Gnostic Codex 8502

SJCH The Sophia of Jesus Christ

GNOSIS AND MODERN CULTURE

Are we witnessing a rediscovery of Gnosis? To judge from the many

THE REDISCOVERY OF GNOSTICISM

If one is to speak of rediscovery*® or to speculate on its probable causes

In the month of December! farmers in the area of Nag Hammadi, in

THE GNOSTICS AND THEIR MASK: THE PROBLEM OF THE

It is a strange fate to be able to speak only through the mouth of one’s

IN SEARCH OF A THEME: GNOSTICISM AND ITS

A VOICE FROM THE DESERT: THE NAG HAMMADI LIBRARY

Between Demons and Gods:

A TWO-HEADED JANUS: THE CENTURY OF THE ANTONINES

NEW RELIGIOUS HORIZONS

The ancient representation of the world, that of the pre-Socratics as a

The road to liberation, however, was fraught with all manner of

ECSTASY AND REVELATION

The gods were accustomed to communicating with men, to transmitting

IN SEARCH OF A NEW IDENTITY

THE NATURE OF GNOSTIC KNOWLEDGE

Anyone who embarks on a description of the Gnostic fabula or story,

Therefore if one has knowledge, he is from above. If he is called, he hears,

In Gnostic texts the term has become synonymous with epignosis,

MYTH, THOUGHT AND SOCIETY

The privileged object of Gnostic mythology is constituted, as was said

THE NATURE OF GNOSTIC MYTH

The mythological revival of the Gnostics is not an isolated phenomenon

In the World of the Pleroma

It is indeed necessary [says Plotinus] that this illumination be according

The Gnostic universe is three-dimensional. Hippolytus givés us the

The first consequence of this tripartite division is spatial. The

THE MYSTERY OF THE ARCHETYPAL ANDROGYNE

in the invisible and ineffable heights a pre-existent, perfect aceon, whom

DIVINE HIERARCHIES: THE STRUCTURE OF THE PLEROMATIC