The Apocryphal Gospels_A Very Short Introduction
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The fullest witness to the Gospel of Mary is a Coptic translation, purchased in 1896 by Carl Reinhardt from a dealer in Cairo, which has been dated to the 5th century. This copy is, however, incomplete. The page numbering suggests that the text occupied the first 19 pages of the codex, of which only pages 7–10 and 15–19 survive. The end of the text is clearly present on page 19, so the ending is certain, but although likely, it is impossible to be sure that this text commenced on page 1 of the codex. The dating of the composition of the text is uncertain. It must be placed before the surviving Greek fragments, which themselves date from around the early 3rd century. It does not reflect some of the more developed mystical soteriological systems of Gnostic texts known by Irenaeus, who wrote around AD 180. The text also appears to show knowledge of the canonical gospels, so it must be later than the 1st century. Perhaps the most likely date range is some point within 25 years either side of AD 150, i.e. AD 125–175. Publication of the Coptic papyrus was greatly delayed; the tragedy of a burst water main in a printing house in Leipzig in 1912 meant that the originally prepared edition of the text was destroyed before going to press in 1912. The intervention of two world wars delayed publication further until the text was finally printed in 1955.
Contents
The text falls into two main sections, with a bridging framework between that links the two major parts. This apparent editorial framework also resurfaces at the end of the text. First, there is a dialogue between the risen Jesus and his disciples (7.1–9.5). This ends with a note of the risen saviour’s departure from the disciples followed by the introduction of Mary Magdalene (9.5–10.9). The remaining text preserves Mary Magdalene’s report of a vision she had of the Lord (10.10–23; 15.1–17.9) and the ensuing debate between Mary and three other disciples about the validity of her vision (17.10–19.5).
The opening section is wide-ranging, but contains a clear cosmological focus. It discusses the nature and the conservation or destruction of matter, the origin of sin, and the appearance of ‘the Good’ as a restorative force. This is followed by a call to obedience, and a series of sayings from the risen Jesus that are reminiscent of material in the canonical accounts, that commend peace, warn against straying from the teachings of Jesus, caution against false claims of the Son of Man’s return, promise that seekers will find him, command the preaching of the gospel, and prohibit the introduction of any rules beyond those given by Jesus, especially ‘laws’ like those given by the ‘law-giver’. This dialogue could be responding to a number of ecclesial situations around the middle of the 2nd century. There could be disquiet over developing hierarchical forms of church leadership, especially with standardization of practice. The last concern over promoting laws like those given by Moses may also be a reference to Jewish–Christian groups advocating adherence to the Jewish law. The exact situation against which these injunctions might be warning is uncertain, but the spirit of the dialogue is to uphold variety and to guard against an overly structured form of discipleship.
The transitional material contained in Gos. Mary 9.5–10.9 serves to introduce a new dynamic in the text. Upon the departure of Jesus, the disciples weep and wonder out loud how they will preach the gospel to the Gentiles since they did not spare Jesus. Unlike certain non-canonical gospels that shift the blame for the death of Jesus on to the Jews, this text sees the Gentiles as responsible for his death. In response to the grief of the disciples, Mary (not previously mentioned in the extant portion of the text) arises and greets them. After comforting the disciples, it is stated that: ‘When Mary said these things, she turned their hearts to the Good, and they began to discuss the words of the Saviour’ (Gos. Mary 9.21–24). Before Mary launches into her speech, Peter addresses her, revealing two important perspectives. First, it is acknowledged by Peter himself that ‘the Saviour loved you more than the rest of women’, and second, that she is the possessor of knowledge of hidden sayings of the Saviour which were not disclosed to the disciples: ‘Tell us the words of the Saviour which you remember, which you know but we do not, and which we have not heard’ (Gos. Mary 10.4–6). Thus the narrative is set up to introduce the report of Mary’s visionary conversation with the Lord, having acknowledged the legitimacy of this vision through the apostolic authority of Peter.
The opening section of the reported vision is brief, caused by the large lacuna in the text of four missing pages. It does discuss the medium through which visions occur. In response to Mary’s question, the Saviour answers that the one who sees a vision ‘does not see through the soul, nor through the spirit, but the mind which is between the two sees the vision and it…’ (Gos. Mary 10.20–24). When the text resumes, it is in the middle of a discussion about ‘powers’. The soul, presumably of some representative believer, is engaged on a journey through the realms of the spheres occupied by these powers. Here ‘desire’ is being discussed as the second in a list of four powers. ‘Desire’ is personified and is in conversation with ‘the soul’. Acknowledging that ‘desire’ considers the soul as only a garment, the soul departs from the presence of ‘desire’. Next it encounters the third power – ‘ignorance’. The primary fault of ‘ignorance’ is that it passes judgement without understanding. The soul admits that previously it was bound, although it did not itself bind anybody. This may resonate with the warning in the first section not to ‘give a law like the law-giver lest you be bound by it’ (Gos. Mary 9.3–4). Upon overcoming the third power, the soul continues its upward journey, coming into contact with the fourth power – which, although not initially named, appears like some multi-headed hydra, having seven forms. These forms are named as darkness, desire, ignorance, jealousy of death, the kingdom of the flesh, foolish understanding, and wrathful wisdom. It is only after this description of the seven forms that the text states that ‘these are the seven powers of Wrath’ (Gos. Mary 16.12–13). Thus it appears that the climactic fourth power is ‘wrath’, but this subdivides into seven entities which are themselves designated as powers.
Such fragmentation of entities is a common feature of Gnostic cosmologies, often with certain pieces of a higher-order being falling to a lower realm and resulting in a more derivative and partial mode of existence. It is interesting that the second and third forms of the fourth power, ‘wrath’, are the same entities that are described as the second and third powers in their own right, namely ‘desire’ and ‘ignorance’. If this pattern holds, then the first power, which presumably was mentioned on the missing pages of the text, could likely have been ‘darkness’. The soul responds to ‘wrath’ that it has gained release from the world and from henceforth it will reside in ‘the rest of the time of the season of the aeon in silence’ (Gos. Mary 17.5–7). Having outlined the escape and restoration of the soul from the various powers, Mary’s vision ends, and as if to underline the purity and insight of her own soul, she falls silent.
The response of the named disciples to Mary’s vision may symbolically represent the reaction of apostolic Christianity to mystical branches of the movement. Andrew declares that he is unconvinced by Mary’s visionary account.
But Andrew answered and said to the brethren, ‘Say what you wish to say about what she has said. I myself do not believe that the Saviour said this. For these teachings seem to be giving different ideas’. Peter answered and spoke about the same things. He asked them about the Saviour: ‘He did not speak with a women without our knowing, and not openly did he? Shall we turn around and all listen to her? Did he prefer her to us?’
(Gos. Mary 19.10–22)
As in the Gospel of Thomas and the Gospel of Philip, here also Mary Magdalene is presented as a figure of resistance against apostolic Christianity, especially in the form represented by Peter and other named apostles. She seems to offer an alternative kind of authority stream, and therefore is claimed as a valid source of tradition that stems back to the risen Jesus. The portraits of both Peter and Andrew are used to subvert the authority structures that claim to be derived from these figures in the 2nd-cent
ury Church. Mary’s reaction is that of an aggrieved and grieving individual, who cannot believe that the validity of her vision of the Saviour has not been accepted: ‘My brother Peter, what do you think? Do you think that I thought this up in my heart, or that I am lying about the Saviour?’ (Gos. Mary 18.2–5). The next figure to appear in the narrative is a certain Levi, whose status is not explained, although he appears to be one of the disciples of Jesus. He may be understood as the same person who is mentioned in the two accounts of the tax-collector Levi who is called to follow Jesus (Mark 2.13–17 and Luke 5.27–32). Levi takes a mediating position, although he is more clearly convinced by Mary’s vision. He accuses Peter of ‘hot-headedness’, and acknowledges that the Saviour did indeed love Mary more than the disciples. Levi counsels that rather than engage in bickering, they should ‘put on the perfect man’ in order that they might ‘preach the gospel, not laying down any other rule or law beyond what the Saviour said’ (Gos. Mary 18.18–21). The narrative ends with the disciples going out to preach in accordance with Levi’s injunction. Finally, the title of the document is written at the end in Coptic: ‘The gospel according to Mary.’
Purpose
What is to be made of this complex text? The clear difference in tone between the first and second major section, the dialogue between the risen Jesus and his disciples (7.1–9.5) and the account of Mary’s vision (10.10–23; 15.1–17.9) has led to the suggestion that the text as it is preserved is a composite which knits together two originally discrete documents. The character of the vision is very different to the dialogue, and Mary plays no part in the opening section. While not minimizing these highly significant differences or necessarily wishing to exclude the theory of a composite text, it can be noted that there are certain affinities in both of the large sections, especially in terms of not being bound by either legalistic perspectives (9.4), nor allowing the soul to be bound by the powers (16.17). This may suggest that it is not impossible to maintain that the text may have been written as a unified composition.
Peter’s attack on Mary is framed in terms of her womanhood. This has led to the suggestion that the text is an intentional tool of feminist resistance. While such a womanist perspective has been theologically appealing in some quarters, it is uncertain whether the text will actually bear the weight of this agenda. First, Andrew’s attack against Mary’s teaching is not gender-related, but stems from the different quality of her teaching. Although Peter may speak with the androcentric perspective of his time, his primary concern is said to be the same as that of Andrew, namely the source of this previously undisclosed teaching. Second, if Mary’s gender were the issue in relation to her status among the apostles, it is strange that the text keeps her voiceless and instead allows Levi to present her defence. This is surely not the vehicle of feminist resistance. Rather, the issue appears not to be that of gender or the status of individual figures; instead the text promotes the status of secret or personal revelations which seem to add new elements to the received tradition. It appears that in many ways the ancient question the Gospel of Mary was seeking to address was similar to the one that has been the basis of much of the discussion throughout this book: namely, what is the ‘gospel’ and how are the boundaries of that category established?
Nonetheless, the Gospel of Mary does not represent a totally closed division between apostolic Christianity and the mystical type of belief promoted in Mary’s vision. This may provide evidence for seeing this text written at an early stage of the dispute between these opposing views, when there was still hope of a rapprochement of the type advocated by the literary figure of Levi. Thus, perhaps more than any other of the non-canonical gospels, the Gospel of Mary may allow one to more fully appreciate what lay at the heart of the division between emergent orthodox Christianity and developing Gnostic versions of that faith. Specifically, the difficulty was the validity of ongoing visionary encounters with the risen Jesus, and the problems of accommodating such new perspectives within existing understandings of faith. For the traditionalists, the core of the Christian faith had been fixed by the apostolic traditions received and transmitted through recognized significant authority figures. However, for Gnostic believers, visions could be received by any soul that was seeking escape from the constraining powers of the physical universe.
The significance of secret revelations and dialogue gospels
Sociologists of new religious movements in the 20th and 21st centuries have highlighted the spread and appeal of charismatic forms of belief, which promise direct unmediated access to the divine. Personal search and personal journey are important aspects, albeit within the context of a community of like-minded co-religionists. The opportunities for creativity and spontaneous expression of religious fervour freed from the fixity of liturgical forms and the rigidity of hierarchies has resonated with many who feel alienated by institutional religion. Although still a relatively new phenomenon, by the 2nd century Christianity had formed many settled structures, it was developing standardized patterns of worship and had begun to regulate its leadership around a local bishop. This tendency to ‘routinize the charisma’, as it is described in scholarly literature, may have been necessary for the long-term survival of the movement as an empire-wide phenomenon. However, it also left many feeling alienated and hankering after the golden age when the Jesus movement provided a close-knit familial community. In its place they may have felt the early Church was evolving into a somewhat colder and autocratically regulated belief system. Both to resist these developments and to legitimize one’s own desires, visions received directly from the Saviour allowed for the creation of the space in which to practise the type of religion that permitted a more direct encounter with the divine and a more active participation in the quest for personal salvation. The gospel-like texts that gave insights through communication with the risen Jesus were products of this larger spiritual impulse.
Chapter 6
Insights from the non-canonical gospels
What is a ‘non-canonical’ gospel?
In the introductory chapter the question was raised concerning what the terms ‘non-canonical’ and ‘gospel’ actually denoted. Hesitant answers were provided. After considering various non-canonical gospels, those answers have probably not become any less hesitant, but perhaps the reasons for hesitancy have become clearer. The range of texts to which both ancient and modern scholars have attached the label ‘gospel’ is in some ways amazing. Starting with the four canonical gospels, while Matthew, Mark, and Luke are extremely similar, no doubt due to the literary dependence between these texts, the fourth gospel, John’s account, already shows a diversity of form, language, and theology. Yet these differences appear relatively minor when compared with other writings outside the confines of these four canonical texts. Perhaps those texts that cover the same phase of Jesus’ life as the canonical accounts show the most commonality with the four gospels of the New Testament. Thus the Gospel of Peter or the fragmentary stories in Papyrus Oxyrhynchus 840 and Papyrus Egerton 2 appear to cohere with familiar accounts of Jesus’ life. While such texts are easier to appropriate under the title of ‘gospel’, this does not say anything about their authenticity, nor does it automatically support claims that they may be a repository of alternative traditions about Jesus. Rather, with the three non-canonical texts mentioned above, it was argued that in different ways they were all derivative upon the New Testament gospels and that they probably preserved little if any independent historical details that could be traced back to the historical Jesus.
Similarly, the infancy gospels only further problematize the understanding of the category of ‘gospel’. These were seen as being essentially gap-filling exercises which sought to satisfy the curiosity of the pious. Yet even texts as bizarre as the Infancy Gospel of Thomas with its maverick and deadly boy-Jesus could be labelled as a ‘gospel’. The Protevangelium of James circulated in antiquity without the term ‘gospel’ being attached. That categorization was applied by its modern rediscover
er. Nag Hammadi texts differed greatly in form and content, yet four of the texts in that collection bear the term ‘gospel’ in their titles. One of these, the Gospel of Thomas, is the least speculative among this group of texts. Yet it is different to the narrative-type gospels in that it consists of a series of 114 sayings which seem to have little structural organization beyond being a compendium of words of Jesus. With the other Nag Hammadi gospels one enters into a different world of theology and thought. This combined with the variations in literary genre makes one realize how stretched the term ‘gospel’ had become. Therefore, perhaps the most that can be concluded is that texts which appear to have some link with Jesus and also relate an understanding of ‘good news’ or salvation, seem to have had the potential to be classified as gospels.
The category of ‘non-canonical’ is at one level much easier, since by definition it describes any text not in the canon of the New Testament. However, the foregoing discussion of specific texts demonstrated that the distinction is perhaps not simple. When considering the Protevangelium of James, it was noted that this was a widely circulating text, which in the Greek-speaking church was generally regarded as being ‘orthodox’ in its theological outlook and hence was used to supplement mainstream beliefs. Others regarded the theological value of this text as virtually nil – from such a perspective the text was deemed to be non-canonical. Thus the classification of a text as being ‘canonical’ presses one to ask the question, ‘canonical for whom?’ The Nag Hammadi library represents a highly varied collection of manuscripts, yet this corpus of texts may well have functioned as an authoritative collection for the readers of those texts – or was it no more than a chance miscellany of literary works? Therefore the classification of texts as ‘canonical’ or ‘non-canonical’ is an arbitrary and perspectival choice. Perhaps the best reason for retaining the distinction is simply that it preserves the traditional categories and thus it can be employed for ease of reference.