One salient characteristic of early Judeo-Christian spirituality is the importance given to aplótès,86 or “simplicity of soul,” as contrasted with dipsukia. Because the latter involves convolutions and twists of memories with which we identify, it is the work of an entire lifetime to find the path of simplicity of soul. Miriam, in her confident and passionate abiding with the Presence of the Teacher, becomes simple in this sense, for she practices and embodies his teachings. She is able to console and strengthen the wavering step of her brothers by reminding them that the grace of Yeshua accompanies and protects them. She shows them that they will not go far by relying on their personal strength and abilities apart from the Source. On the other hand if they stay with the Source, they will know that something other is at work in them. A lightness, a grace, even a gratuitousness (these two words have the same etymology) reigns at the heart of their very real problems and reckonings. This lightness both enlivens and truly protects them.
There is certainly insufficient protection for our body, with its delicate immune system, when the soul has lost its confidence. Divisions in the soul weaken the body, whereas confidence and simplicity (aplótès) restore its strength and integrity. Though the Gospel of Mary is not a medical treatise, it does remind us of the serious consequences to the physical body—and to the social and cosmic bodies that surround and penetrate it—when human desire becomes disoriented, losing its “unwrinkled”bond to the presence of Being. This can be cured only by a rediscovery of fundamental confidence in the Anthropos that lives within us. It is this which makes communion between our mortal and immortal natures possible.
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16 “Instead, let us praise his greatness,
17 for he has prepared us for this.
18 He is calling upon us to become fully human [Anthropos].”
19 Thus Mary turned their hearts toward the Good,
20 and they began to discuss the meaning of the Teacher’s words.
In the face of adversity, with fear and dissension among the disciples, Mary reminds them of the unifying power of praise:
“Instead, let us praise his greatness . . .”
As long as we are able to praise God for being God, whether manifest or unmanifest, the seeds of peace will be able to grow in us.
But the space for praise and gratitude that we withhold in ourselves will be quickly taken over by doubt or sadness—in old-fashioned language, by the Devil, the Diabolos, meaning the divider who introduces dualism into us.
This does not imply any sort of willed gaiety or joy. Praise, like worship (which is silent praise), is a way of restoring things to their proper place, of reconnecting with a sense of value and discrimination as to what is truly essential for our life and what is not. In the present situation, Miriam asks the disciples to center themselves in the greatness of God, rather than in their small, troubled selves. This is to leave egocentrism and return to theocentrism.
The ancients sometimes said that the worst sin is ingratitude, which is a forgetting of the greatness, beauty, truth, and goodness of the Source that is constantly creating us—in other terms, a forsaking of Being, and of the Good.
And yet,
“. . . he has prepared us for this.”
His mission and teaching among us was a ceaseless recollection, using both ancient scriptures and entirely new situations, of that which is our true nature:
“He is calling upon us to become fully human.”
This way of translating the deep significance of Anthropos, which we discussed earlier, reminds us of that archetype of synthesis that the Teacher himself incarnated. Irenaeus, following John, said that “he became a man so as to show human beings what being human really means, in the image and likeness of God.”87 We are this Anthropos—both “already” and “not yet”—just as the acorn is both already and not yet the oak tree in all its splendor.
This recalls logion 114 from the Gospel of Thomas:
Simon Peter said to him:
“Let Mary leave us,
for women are not fit for the Life.”
Jesus answered:
“See, I have been guiding her
so as to make her into a human [Anthropos].
She, too, will become
a living breath, like you.
Any woman who becomes a human
will enter the Kingdom of God.” 88
The error of many translators is to render this as having something to do with being male. It is clear from the original Greek that the meaning is that of anthropos (human being in the general sense), and not of andros (man in the masculine sense). It is true that in order to become whole, a human being must integrate in herself or himself the complementary gender. And this work or realization of wholeness is certainly not something that only or especially women have to do—we each have our own work of becoming an Anthropos, a fully human being.
Among the various texts of ancient Christianity, we might also mention the writings of the Pseudo-Clementine Homelies, as well as those of Theodotus and Asclepius, all of whom identify the Kingdom as presence of the Anthropos in his or her full humanness.89
These texts also speak of the “inner” or “essential” Man—the ontos Anthropos. For Jacques Ménard, the most suggestive example would seem to be that passage from the Pistis Sophia where Mary Magdalene is said to feel this inner human in herself, and when she identifies this as her true self, she understands everything.90
The term anthropos is also richer than the term androgyne, which is sometimes used as the translation of the former, for sexual and psychic polarities form only a part of what must be integrated in becoming fully human.
This recalls a passage from the Gospel of Matthew:
But he said to them, “Not all men can receive this saying, but only those to whom it is given.
For there are eunuchs who have been so from birth, and there are eunuchs who have been made eunuchs by men, and there are eunuchs who have made themselves eunuchs for the sake of the Kingdom of heaven. He who is able to receive this, let him receive it.” 91
Some scholars have detected here the hand of an editor who was influenced by some sort of dualistic or ascetic teaching, one that was to influence Christianity’s monastic departure from Old Testament teachings. Indeed, it does seem implausible that Yeshua would advocate destroying the work of the Creator. How could he who claimed to be One with the Father advocate such mutilation of his creatures?
Others explain this by an improper translation or transmission of Yeshua’s words. The word eunuch should be replaced by the word androgyne. Unfortunately the latter word (like so many others) was and still is often misunderstood and reduced to a sexual meaning that evokes some sort of freakish bisexual mixture that is neither male nor female—hardly an advantage for someone who is already having difficulties in finding his or her identity!
As in so many other domains, one can only transcend that which one has fully known and accepted. One must live one’s own sexuality in one’s own body before speaking of a higher state of androgyny. As in psychotherapy, one must first have an ego that is as sane and stable as possible before pretending to have access to what is often (perhaps too often) called the Self.
This is why the authors of the Gospel of Mary considered it so important that Yeshua really lived his masculine sexuality, perhaps with Miriam, perhaps with another woman. This was necessary in order for him to become the archetype of synthesis, the Anthropos that he was. I prefer the term anthropos to androgyne because the former word still leads to confusion today, in spite of a widespread contemporary appreciation of the value of spiritual integration and balance of male and female polarities in us. Rather than defending the literal translation of the original word used in certain early Christian texts, it is preferable here to defend, through the word we choose as its translation, the truth and richness of meaning in what the original word communicates.
What is important is to become whole. This is what makes us able to truly love, not from our sense
of lack, but from our plenitude, as Yeshua himself loved us.
In the same way, we can say that it is because Miriam of Magdala fully lives her feminine sexuality, and because she fully accepts and integrates the masculine dimension of her being, that she is able to speak with authentic knowledge of the Word—though today, as during her time, there are still those who would deny her this. But it is only after the long and slow work of becoming fully human that she can legitimately speak, as an Anthropos, of the fullness of a humanity that, like Yeshua’s, is open to the Divine and transparent to its clear light—the most invisible and subtle of lights.
Thus Mary turned their hearts toward the Good . . .
Her words are a recollection of the essential. Inviting the disciples to abandon vain talk and false rhetoric, she turns their hearts toward the Good, reorienting their minds and desires towards that living Anthropos within them to which the Teacher had urged them to bear witness.
...and they began to discuss the meaning of the Teacher’s words.
His words are a lamp shining upon the darkness of the road. Together, they enlighten each other by discussing them. Like the disciples on the road to Emmaus, they hear and feel the meaning of the words: Did our hearts not burn within us while he talked to us on the road, and opened the scriptures to us?92
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1 Peter said to Mary:
2 “Sister, we know that the Teacher loved you
3 differently from other women.
4 Tell us whatever you remember
5 of any words he told you
6 which we have not yet heard.”
Having been consoled and had his spirits restored by Miriam, Peter now asks her to reveal the Teacher’s words known to her alone. His attitude suggests a certain deference and respect for her, both because of her special intimacy with Yeshua, and because of the peace of the Son of Man that she has just manifested. This deference, however, is not to last for long when she actually began to comply with his request. . . .
The character of Miriam of Magdala as revealed in this gospel is fascinating, and deserves an entire study in itself. Nevertheless, we must also consider her in the context of how the other gospels, and early Christianity in general, viewed her.
Some scholars have argued that there are three different Marys in the gospels: Mary the sinner, Mary of Bethany, and Mary Magdalene. Whatever conclusion we may draw, their arguments are not irrelevant, for the stories of these three Marys are indeed those of three different women. But according to the ancient exegesis, this does not literally mean three women, but one woman depicted at different stages of her evolution: sinner, contemplative, and intimate friend of Yeshua.
Miriam is, in fact, much more than three women. Just as she is capable of embodying seven demonic aspects of femininity by obstructing (shatan, in Hebrew) the manifestation of Being through dividing it (diabolos), she is equally capable of embodying seven angelic—or at least more fully human—aspects of femininity as she draws ever nearer to the Anthropos, the Man-God embodied by her teacher.
Thus we see that the early exegetes gave priority to an archetypal reading of Miriam’s words, deeds, and gestures. Making use of the canonical Gospels, they considered her as a feminine archetype at work in all human beings, and one whose mutations can shed light on each person’s path.
We can distinguish at least seven images, or feminine archetypes, that come into play in the specific scenes from the canonical Gospels where Miriam appears. A major one is the archetype of the lover whose desire is disoriented or disturbed. This interpretation of the repentant sinner whom we find at Yeshua’s feet in Simon the Pharisee’s house93 has become the dominant popular image of recent centuries—yet there is nothing in the passage itself about the nature of her sin.
We have already noted that her transgression could also be related to her thirst for knowledge, her desire to engage in studies reserved for men only in those days. This would certainly be enough to make her a dangerous woman, even an outlaw. Curiously enough, there is nothing in any of the four Gospels that states that she was ever a prostitute. Of course, lust might be one of the seven possessing demons of which Yeshua cures her. If so, it certainly isn’t the only one, nor the deadliest. The canonical Gospels offer no information as to the specific nature of the seven demons or spirits that initially possess Miriam—that is to say, alienate her from her freedom. However, we might make some surmises about them by referring to other texts that were current in those times. According to Evagrius Ponticus, who made a thorough study of such matters,94 these logismoï (his term for “negative or destructive thoughts”) act to destroy a person’s orientation toward the nous, and then the orientation of the nous toward the Pneuma. In other words, they act to obstruct peace, contemplation, and the Presence of the Son seeking to establish itself in the person. Lists of such demonic spirits vary. In the West they later become known as the seven deadly or cardinal sins: gluttony, fornication, covetousness, sadness, anger, vainglory, pride.95 Evagrius adds accidie 96 to the list, meaning a kind of despondency or apathetic rejection of spiritual realities.
Such negative thought forms (logismoï) make human beings ill, and this sickness is indeed a kind of possession, which can also be interpreted as pathologies that cause alienation from our true nature—such as oral, anal, and genital fixations (which are often linked to vices such as greed, violent temper, and so forth). They are the elements of the pathology of the ego, which is centered upon itself and its own pleasure and gratification. Only an awakening to authentic love—which is also an encounter with the Other (i.e., the Real)—can deliver us from such possession.
In the Corpus Hermeticum,97 it is said that these demons are the malignant offspring of our harmful actions. They are like torturers whose punishment is intended to drive us back to awareness:
The first torturer is ignorance; the second is sadness; the third is self-indulgence; the fourth is lust; the fifth is injustice; the sixth is greed; the seventh deceitfulness; the eighth craving; the ninth fraud; the tenth anger; the eleventh haste; the twelfth ill will.98
Here we have twelve demons instead of seven—the number is not so important, for there are endless ways of analyzing the incredible forms of suffering of which human beings are capable, all of which block their simplicity and peace of mind. We might note that all these lists of demons or pathologies would seem to have some sort of relation to the Ten Commandments of the Torah, describing the unhappy consequences of making bad use of one’s freedom.
Let us now turn to the Shepherd of Hermas and the Testaments of the Apostolic Fathers, a text contemporary with the canonical Gospels:
Slander is a turbulent demon [ . ...] Keep far away from him. Presumptuousness and complacency are a powerful demon. Anger is a very malicious spirit. Covetousness is a savage one, and very difficult to tame. Doubt is an earthly spirit that is of the devil. And sadness is the most harmful of all the spirits.99
Thus, even though the Gospels do not specify Miriam of Magdala’s demons, we have grounds for trying to learn something by imagining them. Undoubtedly there are demons or pathologies peculiar to the male or female sex. The most useful thing for us to know is the power of our own shadow. Without this knowledge, any of us is capable of being taken over by the worst of our worst aspects, and finding ourselves behaving in a fashion that is rightly called inhuman.
The presence of incarnate love frees Miriam from these powers that are said to have inhabited her. She feels recognized, yet not judged, in the very darkness of her shadow. After this, the luminous dimensions of her being can awaken within her. This is what gives her access to the best of her best aspects, which allows her to become fully human, rather than taking the road that ultimately leads to the inhuman. Even more, she enters the path of becoming an Anthropos herself, in the image of the One who has truly loved her in her entirety.
This enables her to embody another feminine archetype—that of the contemplative, dwelling in a ground of silence, listening with tota
l attention to the Teacher.100 From this contemplation, compassion can then be born. Miriam was thus to become the feminine archetype of spiritual intercession, often to aid sick and dying people. In fact, with her prayers, she participated in the revival of her brother Lazarus.101
This contemplation and compassion leads her little by little toward that visionary gift that manifests in her foreknowledge of the impending death of Yeshua.102 She follows him to the cross and as far as death itself, and is the first to see him in his risen form. Her presence at his death on the cross103 also suggests the archetype of the midwife who accompanies others in their great passages, especially that of death. Furthermore, because she accompanies him at his death she is able, in a sense, to accompany him beyond death and be privileged as the first witness of the Resurrection. It is as such that she has been called “the apostle of apostles,”104 whose mission is to announce the Good News (“gospel,” or euangelion) of the love that is stronger than death.
Through this process of initiation she ultimately becomes the Sophia wedded to the Logos, the revealer of mysteries. This aspect of Miriam, though only suggested in the canonical Gospels, are quite developed in the gospels of Thomas, of Philip, and of Mary. It is our feeling, however, that we should not dissociate this grand and ultimate archetypal aspect of Miriam of Magdala from the other faces of the feminine that she embodies, from the most physical to the most spiritual. This would do an injustice to the long road of healing and integration that she symbolizes. It would be like cutting up the robe that the Teacher intended for her to wear—a seamless one like his own.
I noted in the introduction that in the Gospel of Philip, for example, that she is presented as the literal consort of Yeshua—he often “kissed her on the mouth” (nashak, in Hebrew). In Jewish tradition this can also mean a sharing of the same breath or spirit, and hence the same Word and gnosis.
Philip’s gospel also tells us that Miriam is Christ’s sister and mother as well as his companion (koinonos). 105 She is not confined to a single role in her relationship with Yeshua. He is also her rabbuni, as mentioned in John 20:16. Rather than continuing to translate this as merely “my rabbi” or “my master,” it would be more accurate, in this light, to render this as “my beloved master,” with all the tenderness, intimacy, and respect implied by such words.
The Gospel of Mary Magdalene Page 10