Gnosis, Witness, and Early Christian Identities:

The “True” Martyr in Clement of Alexandria and Gnostic Traditions

Pamela Mullins Reaves

A dissertation submitted to the faculty of the University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill
in partial fulfillment of the requirements for the degree of Doctor of Philosophy in the
Department of Religious Studies

Chapel Hill
2013

Approved by:

Elizabeth A. Clark

Bart D. Ehrman

David Lambert

Zlatko Plese

Randall G. Styers
 Abstract

PAMELA MULLINS REAVES: Gnosis, Witness, and Early Christian Identities:

The “True” Martyr in Clement of Alexandria and Gnostic Traditions
(Under the direction of Dr. Bart D. Ehrman)

This project examines three early Christian texts that reflect diverse approaches to

suffering and martyrdom in the late second and early third centuries—Clement of

Alexandria’s Stromateis, Book IV; the Coptic Apocalypse of Peter (NHC VII,3); and the

Testimony of Truth (NHC IX,3). These texts question the value of suffering and construct

distinctive means of “witnessing” Christ, which do not prioritize or promote a suffering

death. Seeking a basis for these perspectives, this project considers the Christological

views of each author as well as evidence for emerging, diverse Christian identities in the

texts. In all cases, Christ reveals the proper path for the “true” Christian, but suffering is

not central to it; his own distance from suffering confirms this. Limiting the significance

of his death, each author emphasizes Christ’s instruction, centered on individual progress

toward gnosis. Strom. and Testim. Truth, specifically, promote control of the passions as

a central aspect of the development of the Christian self. Such interior practices,

combined with a limited interest in ecclesiastical matters, including rituals that reflect and

sustain group identity, also contribute to each text’s related evaluations of martyrdom. In

addition, the three texts also show how responses to potential suffering surface in the

context of intra-Christian debate; views of other Christians are described and condemned

as each author presents his “correct” version of the faith. Corresponding with the
heresiological efforts of Tertullian and other proto-orthodox Christians, this trend reveals

that perspectives on martyrdom were critical in the evolution of group boundaries,

progressively solidified via discourse of “orthodoxy” and “heresy.” At the same time, the

nature of such debates illustrates the interaction of diverse Christian groups within a

broad Christian community. Social identity theory serves as a useful framework for

understanding how the prospect of martyrdom contributed to the emergent Christian

identities and related intra-group tensions apparent in all three texts.

ii
 Acknowledgements

In the years spent researching and writing this dissertation, I was fortunate to find

encouragement and support from numerous individuals. I am especially grateful for the

support of my advisor, Bart Ehrman. Over the course of my project, he showed incredible

patience, while offering excellent feedback, encouragement, and, on occasion, much-

needed humor. I also thank Zlatko Plese for substantial written comments on early drafts

as well as fruitful conversations, which always challenged me to consider my material

from new perspectives.

As I presented portions of my chapters in various contexts, including the Society

of Biblical Literature Annual Meetings and the International Conference on Patristic

Studies, I also benefitted from questions, comments, and encouragement of colleagues. In

addition, I am very appreciative of the feedback I received at various stages from friends

in the UNC-Duke Christianity in Antiquity reading group.

Finally, I am grateful for the ongoing support of my family, immediate and

extended, who helped in numerous ways as I completed this project. I feel special

appreciation for my spouse, Peter, who provided emotional support, generously shared

parental duties, and offered periodic pep talks, all of which helped me complete the

project. I also thank my parents, Keith and Susan Mullins, who encouraged me to begin

this journey and continued to offer support along the way.

iii
 Table of Contents

List of Abbreviations…………………………………………………………………….vi

Chapters

1. Multiple Martyrdoms and Early Christian Identities…………………….1

The Prominence of Martyrdom in Early Christianity………………………...4

Gnosis and Martyrdom…………………………………………………........14

Gnosis and Early Christian Group Dynamics…………………………….….21

Early Christian Discourse via a Social Identity Lens…………………….….26

2. The Gnostic Witness: Superior Martyrdom in Clement

of Alexandria’s Stromateis…………………………………………………37

Multiple Martyrdoms………………………………………………………..40

Gnosis and Christian Community…………………………………………...52

Christ as Divine Instructor…………………………………………………..57

Care of the Christian Self: Clement’s Gnostic Life…………………………70

3. Peter as Witness in the Coptic Apocalypse of Peter (NHC VII, 3)………88

Apocalypse of Peter as Apocalypse…………………………………………98

Group Identities in Apocalypse of Peter…………………………………...104

Peter’s Christological Visions……………………………………………..122

Peter as “Martyr”…………………………………………………………..129

iv
 4. Martyrdom without Sacrifice: The Silent Witness in the
Testimony of Truth (NHC IX,3)……………………………………...…134

Misguided Martyrdom……………………………………………………144

The Son of Man vs. the Jordan………………………………………..….147

Christian Practice and Intra-Group Debate in the Testimony of Truth…...153

Revising Ritual…………………………………………………………...159

Intra-Group Fluidity……………………………………………………...166

5. Self and Social Identities: Group Relations in Early Christianity…...174

Refining Gnostic Social Groups………………………………………….178

Intra-Group Conflict and the Rise of Orthodoxy……………………....…182

Bibliography………………………………………………………………………….185

v
 List of Abbreviations

1 Apoc. Jas. First Apocalypse of James (NHC V,3)

1 Apol. Justin, First Apology
1 Clem. 1 Clement
2 Apoc. Jas. Second Apocalypse of James (NHC V,4)
2 Apol. Justin, Second Apology
Acts Pet. Acts of Peter
An. Tertullian, De anima
Apoc. Adam Apocalypse of Adam (NHC V,5)
Apoc. Paul Apocalypse of Paul (NHC V,2)
Apoc. Pet. Apocalypse of Peter (NHC VII,3)
Apol. Plato, Apology
Comm. Jo. Origen, Commentarii in evangelium Joannis
Disc. Epictetus, Discourses
Fug. Tertullian, De fuga in persecutione
Gos. Thom. Gospel of Thomas
Haer. Irenaeus, Adversus haereses
Hist. eccl. Eusebius, Historia ecclesiastica
Ign. Eph. Ignatius, To the Ephesians
Ign. Smyrn. Ignatius, To the Smyrnaeans
Ign. Trall. Ignatius, To the Trallians
Ign. Rom Ignatius, To the Romans
Mart. Ascen. Isa. Martyrdom and Ascension of Isaiah
Mart. Pol. Martyrdom of Polycarp
NHC Nag Hammadi Codex
NRSV New Revised Standard Version
Paed. Clement of Alexandria, Paedagogus
Pass. Perp. Passion of Perpetua and Felicitas
Phil. Polycarp, To the Philippians
Protr. Clement of Alexandria, Protrepticus
Quis div. Clement of Alexandria, Quis dives salvetur
Scorp. Tertullian, Scorpiace
Strom. Clement of Alexandria, Stromateis
Testim. Truth Testimony of Truth (NHC IX,3)
Treat. Seth Second Treatise of the Great Seth (NHC VII,2)

vi
 Chapter 1
Multiple Martyrdoms and Early Christian Identities

Likening false Christians to scorpions that sting in subtle, yet destructive ways,

Tertullian claims in his invective-filled Scorpiace that it is precisely during times of

persecution, when the faith is most tested, that the behavior of the “heretics” diverges

from that of the “true Christians.” Writing in Carthage, North Africa around the turn of

the third century, he reports, “the gnostics break out, then the Valentinians creep forth;

then all the opponents of martyrdom bubble up.” Tertullian further points out that while

he and his fellow Christians are experiencing the “intense heat” of persecution, involving

fire, swords, torture, imprisonment and so forth, the “heretics go about as usual” (Scorp.

I.5.7). It seems that some among the Christian community remain unscathed by Roman

officials. Tertullian posits fear as the explanation of their behavior; such Christians are

essentially weak and seek escape from persecution accordingly. He also suggests that

their failure to experience, or perhaps celebrate, a martyr’s death calls their allegiance to

the faith into question. For Tertullian, responses to persecution distinguish “false” from

“true” Christians.

It is, of course, possible and perhaps likely that fear as well as certain beliefs

compelled a fair number of Christians to avoid or easily escape encounters with Roman

authorities and thus avoid martyrdom. But certain early Christian texts permit a closer

look at the evidence for this distinctive behavior and, more specifically, the discourse
associated with it. Tertullian’s comments reflect a broader trend in early Christian

literature that associates approaches to martyrdom with proper Christian identity. By

examining texts that reflect alternative voices in this significant early Christian debate,

the current project seeks to better understand what prompted such less-than-enthusiastic

approaches to martyrdom and how they intersect with emerging group identities and

related boundaries in early Christianity.

Three early Christian texts that reflect diverse approaches to suffering and

martyrdom in the late second and early third centuries—Clement of Alexandria’s

Stromateis, Book IV; the Coptic Apocalypse of Peter (NHC VII,3); and the Testimony of

Truth (NHC IX,3)—serve as the basis for this project. I am especially interested in the

ways the authors evaluate the threat of persecution, question the value of suffering, and

construct distinctive means of witnessing Christ, which do not promote or prioritize a

martyr’s death. These constructions are examined in relation to the author’s broader

conception of what it means to be a “true” Christian, particularly in terms of one’s social

identity. In all cases, Christ reveals the proper path, but suffering is not central to it; his

own distance from suffering confirms this.

The combination of these three texts has certain advantages, drawn from

differences as well as commonalities among them. First, given their range, a parallel view

of the three traditions illustrates the variety of early Christian responses to persecution,

even among voices that reject the supreme significance of martyrdom. A consideration of

Clement of Alexandria’s work alongside two texts from Nag Hammadi appropriately

complicates the traditional binary of “orthodoxy” and “heresy.” The writings of Clement

of Alexandria and the two Nag Hammadi texts offer certain ideas that diverge from

2
classic “orthodox” perceptions of martyrdom, prevalent in both ancient literature and

modern scholarship.1 By highlighting this distinction between prominent “orthodox”

understandings of martyrdom and the traditions I examine, my project appropriately

diversifies our portrait of early Christian approaches to martyrdom and, relatedly, early

Christian identity.

Second, certain parallels among the texts allow me to highlight their common

engagement in the process of crafting early Christian identities. In all three traditions,

assertions about appropriate responses to suffering surface in the context of intra-

Christian debate; views of other Christians are described and condemned as the author

presents his “correct” version of the faith. This trend corresponds with the efforts of

Tertullian and other proto-orthodox voices and suggests that perspectives on martyrdom

were critical in the evolution of group boundaries, eventually solidified via the discourse

of “orthodoxy” and “heresy.” At the same time, the presence of such debates illustrates

the interaction of diverse Christian groups within a broad Christian community; in other

words, boundaries were not yet clear.

Finally, all three texts highlight individual progress toward the divine. Strom. and

Testim. Truth, specifically, promote control of the passions as a central aspect of the

development of the Christian self. Such “interior” practices, combined with a limited

interest in ecclesiastical matters, including rituals that reflect and sustain group identity,

correspond with their related evaluations of martyrdom.

1
A fuller portrait of these early orthodox perspectives appears below.

3
 The Prominence of Martyrdom in Early Christianity

My analysis of the discourse regarding appropriate martyrdom within Strom.,

Apoc. Pet., and Testim. Truth relies on a firm understanding of the alternative, seemingly

dominant perspectives on persecution and martyrdom in early Christianity.2 Through a

selective survey of early Christian martyr texts and related scholarship, I highlight three

prominent elements that are relevant to my project. First, early Christian texts regularly

depict martyrdom as the supreme imitation of Christ. Second, early Christian martyrs

often appear as motivated participants in their experience. And, third, martyrdom marks

the supreme reflection of Christian identity, an act that carries communal significance.

Along the way, I illuminate relevant aspects of Roman persecution of Christians. This

essential overview establishes the basic context in which Clement and the authors of

Apoc. Pet. and Testim. Truth wrote, as well as, to some extent, the situation to which they

responded by promoting different modes of imitation and rejecting deliberate martyrdom.

Christ as the Model Martyr

In the context of his attack on heretics, Irenaeus of Lyons indicates his conception

of martyrs—“those who are slain on account of the confession of the Lord, and who

suffer all things predicted by the Lord, and who in this respect strive to follow the

2
My brief survey of ‘proto-orthodox’ sources is primarily intended to expose basic tendencies. It is
necessarily selective and general, and therefore not intended to be a comprehensive evaluation or definition
of the ‘proto-orthodox’ view; the situation is too complex to neatly categorize materials, as Candida R.
Moss reminds us, in The Other Christs: Imitating Jesus in Ancient Christian Ideologies of Martyrdom
(Oxford; New York: Oxford University Press, 2010); and her more recent, Ancient Christian Martyrdom:
Diverse Practices, Theologies, and Traditions, The Anchor Yale Bible Reference Library (New Haven:
Yale University Press, 2012).

4
footprints of the Lord’s passion, having become martyrs of the suffering one” (Haer.

3.18.5).3 The experience of a suffering imitation appears central to his perception of

martyrdom. Through this passage, Irenaeus highlights multiple facets of this parallel

experience: confession of Christ can prompt death, this sort of suffering should be

anticipated, and martyrs actively engage in this process.

At the beginning of the second century, the captive Ignatius of Antioch, traveling

to Rome under Imperial guard, similarly characterizes his experience. Anticipating his

own martyrdom, he writes letters to various Christians communities along the way. To

the Trallians, he emphasizes his desire to “follow the example of the passion of my Lord”

(Ign. Trall. 10.1).4 The imitatio Christi ideal is apparent in a number of Ignatius’ letters,

especially in the form of physical suffering and death. Concerned about their potential

interference on his behalf, he urges the Christians at Rome to “allow [him] be a imitator

(mimhth/n) of the suffering (pa/qouj) of my God” (Ign. Rom. 6.3). Ignatius repeatedly

emphasizes how the reality of Christ’s suffering justifies his own pending fate. Ignatius is

one of many early Christians who promote a martyr’s death as an ideal imitation of

Christ; in these occasions, a belief in Christ’s own suffering supports the martyr’s

experience. This connection is especially critical for Ignatius, who aligns his pending

bodily pain with that of Christ’s.

3
He also repetitively points to Christ’s actual suffering and resurrection. In addition, according to Irenaeus,
Christ calls us to take up the cross and suffer like him. This, for Irenaeus, is not meant metaphorically, as
some Gnostics assert; rather, he maintains that Christ spoke of “the suffering which he should himself
undergo first, and his disciples afterwards,” 3.18.5; translation is from Alexander Roberts and James
Donaldson, eds., The Ante-Nicene Fathers, Vol. I: The Apostolic Fathers, Justin Martyr, Irenaeus, Reprint
(Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans, 1985).
4
Ign. Smyrn. 4.2 expresses a comparable desire to endure and suffer with Jesus.

5
 Ignatius’s contemporary Polycarp, in his letter to the Philippians, expresses a

comparable view. In reference to Christ, he writes, “Therefore we should be imitators

(mimhtai\) of his endurance, and if we suffer (pa/sxomen) for his name, we should glorify

him. For he set this example (to\n u9pogrammo\n) for us through what he did, and we have

believed it” (Phil. 8.2). The narrative of Polycarp’s own martyrdom similarly emphasizes

the imitative action of the martyr. The narrator characterizes the bishop’s death as

“martyrdom in conformity with the gospel” (Mart. Pol. 1.1). The story emphasizes this

significant parallel throughout; as examples, “Polycarp waited to be betrayed, as also did

the Lord, that we in turn might imitate him” (Mart. Pol. 1.2), and the not-so-coincidental

name of the police chief, Herod (Mart. Pol. 6.2) highlights the common experience. The

conclusion of the narrative further emphasizes the element of imitation, as Polycarp is

celebrated as “a superb martyr,” whose “martyrdom...everyone desires to imitate, since it

occurred in conformity with the gospel of Christ” (Mart. Pol. 19). Here, a cycle of

imitation is proposed, rooted in Polycarp’s faithful following of the exemplary path of

Christ.

The association of a martyr’s death with Christ’s is one of the more obvious and

expected facets of early Christian martyr literature. In The Other Christs, Candida Moss

offers a full portrait of this theme in early Christian literature, highlighting its diverse

expressions.5 Robin Darling Young also discusses the imitative elements in her portrait of

martyrdom as a public liturgical sacrifice.6

5
Moss, The Other Christs: Imitating Jesus in Ancient Christian Ideologies of Martyrdom.
6
Robin Darling Young, In Procession Before the World: Martyrdom as Public Liturgy in Early
Christianity, The Père Marquette Lecture in Theology 2001 (Milwaukee, WI: Marquette University Press,
2001); Lieu also briefly discusses the “intertextual threads” that link the early Christian martyrs to Christ,
yet notes that they are less extensive than one might expect, Neither Jew nor Greek, 221-222.

6
The Motivated Martyr

The concept of imitating Christ is often complemented in early Christian sources

by an active zeal for a martyr’s death. In her recent study of early Christian martyrdom,

Moss offers a useful discussion of the notion of “voluntary martyrdom.” She persuasively

shows that, in spite of assumptions otherwise, this mode of martyrdom should not be

understood as a distinct, peripheral practice in early Christianity.7 Rather, the eagerness

to stay the course is a celebrated aspect of the experience.

Pagan sources frequently remark on the deliberate nature of early Christian

martyrdom. In The Passing of Peregrinus, for instance, the second-century Greek satirist

Lucian notes with regard to Christians, “most of them take death lightly and voluntarily

give themselves up” (13.27).8 The perspective of Lucian, combined with other

comparable pagan sources, leads Judith Perkins to observe that “if Christianity was

known at all, it was known for its adherents’ attitude toward death and suffering.”

Marked by an eagerness for death, this point of view represents a striking element of

7
Ancient Christian Martyrdom, 149ff. I generally agree with Moss’ assessment, though opt not to use the
designation “voluntary.” To me, it implies that early Christian martyrs initiated their experiences. I am not
convinced that this was generally the case. Rather, based on what we know from early Christian and
Roman sources, it seems that martyrs were often given a choice in the matter. Since the Christian texts
highlight the resolve of the martyrs, in spite of this choice, I prefer to characterize their approaches to
martyrdom as “motivated,” “deliberate,” or “eager.”
8
Marcus Aurelius’ Meditations XI.3 offers further evidence of this Christian practice, which he relates as
the inappropriate approach to death: “But the readiness must spring from a man’s inner judgment, and not
be the result of mere opposition [as is the case with the Christians]. It must be associated with deliberation
and dignity and, if others too are to be convinced, with nothing like stage heroics.” Translation from C. R.
Haines’ Loeb Classical Library edition (London: Heineman, 1930).

7
early Christian ideology.9 While the historical realities of such an approach are debatable,

the perspective is certainly predominant in early Christian literature.

Early proto-orthodox sources, in fact, consistently promote an eagerness for the

martyr’s death. In addition to depicting himself as an imitator of Christ, Ignatius of

Antioch expresses a zeal for death. He looks forward to fighting with the beasts at Rome,

which will enable him to be a “true disciple,” and instructs the Roman congregation to

whom he writes to not obstruct this desired outcome (Ign. Eph 1.2).10 Rather, he

consistently reiterates the deliberate nature of his pending situation. To the Romans,

Ignatius writes “desiring death,” and claims, “I am dying willingly for God’s sake” (Ign.

Rom 7.2; 4.1). In his letter to the Trallian community, he reiterates, “I desire (or love) to

suffer” (Ign. Trall. 4.1.)

Similarly, the Martyrdom of Polycarp, though often cited as a cautionary tale

against those who volunteer for martyrdom, nevertheless praises an eager dedication to

death. The narrator reports that the “most noble” Germanicus, in spite of the attempt of

the governor to dissuade him, “with a show of force dragged the beast on top of him,

intending to be freed all the more quickly from this unjust and lawless life” (Mart. Pol.

3).11 His fervent desire to escape the present life echoes Ignatius’ desire for death.

9
Judith Perkins, The Suffering Self: Pain and Narrative Representation in the Early Christian Era (London
New York: Routledge, 1995), 18–20.
10
Ignatius urges the Romans, “Grant me nothing more than that I be poured out to God, while an altar is
still ready…,” 2.2.
11
In addition, the narrator claims that the martyrdoms described “took place in accordance with God’s
will,” 2. The author does not, however, based on lapsed volunteers, approve of those who voluntarily turn
themselves over, 4. Agathonike, who “threw herself joyfully upon the stake (cu&lon),” represents another
example of eager imitation, in Martyrdom of Saints Carpus, Papylus, and Agathonike 42-44. Herbert
Musurillo, tran., The Acts of the Christian Martyrs, Oxford Early Christian Texts (Oxford: Clarendon Press,
1972).

8
 Other early Christian writers reflect the sentiments of Ignatius and the author of

the Mart. Pol. For instance, in his 2 Apol., Justin Martyr, in the mid-second century,

reports two instances of motivated martyrs. The first, Lucius, approaches a Roman

official, promptly confesses, and is led away. Justin highlights Lucius’ gratitude, “And he

professed his thanks, knowing that he was delivered from such wicked rulers, and was

going to the Father and King of the heavens.” An additional witness, according to Justin,

consequently came forward and was condemned.12

Considering such episodes from early Christian martyrdoms, G. W. Bowersock

concludes that the texts suggest that for “many, if not most, martyrs and would-be

martyrs, their enthusiasm for death comes very close to a desire to commit suicide—a

suicide to be arranged by an external agent but with the clear complicity of the victim.”13

Perkins similarly summarizes, “Clearly some Christians did understand their membership

in the Christian community to entail their seeking death. Not all martyrs were voluntary.

But Christian texts with their representation of death as the desired and happy ending

obviously had an effect on Christian praxis.”14 Thus, as Perkins understands it, this

receptive approach to martyrdom is a celebrated marker of Christian identity.

12
2 Apol. 2.19-20. Roberts and Donaldson, The Ante-Nicene Fathers. As we might expect, Tertullian also
insists that martyrdom is both required and worthwhile. He directly asserts, “I stoutly maintain that
martyrdom is good, as required by God,” Scorp. 5. For additional impressions of Tertullian’s conception of
martyrdom, see An. 55, which stresses that the exclusive “key to Paradise” is one’s own blood; also,
Scorp.1, 7.
13
Martyrdom and Rome (Cambridge; New York: Cambridge University Press, 1995), 61.
14
Perkins, The Suffering Self: Pain and Narrative Representation in the Early Christian Era, 31. She also
considers Apocryphal Acts, which along with the Martyr Acts and second-century apologists “scripted as
ideal for Christians a life centered on death and suffering,” 31f.

9
Excursus: Roman Persecution of Christians

A brief consideration of a few relevant aspects of Roman persecution of

Christians further supports the portrait of early Christian martyrs as motivated and also

reveals the central role that confession of Christian identity played in the process. Prior to

the mid-third century, persecution of Christians in the Roman Empire appears to have

been relatively localized and sporadic.15 The available evidence from the period suggests

that Christians were essentially brought to trial on the accusation that they were

Christians. The primary players in the persecution of early Christians appear to be the

local populace, aroused by dislike or suspicion of Christians, in conjunction with local

Roman officials, who were interested in keeping order.

Two specific aspects of the process of Roman persecution are worth highlighting

here, particularly as they surface in early Christian texts and relate to the active approach

to martyrdom and its association with Christian identity. First, in most cases, it seems that

Roman officials were at liberty to deal with Christians as they saw fit. This coincides

with early Christian evidence that suggests that imperial authorities occasionally offered

Christians a way out and, at times, appeared eager to do so. As examples, Mart. Poly. and

The Acts of the Scillitan Martyrs illustrate repeated attempts by the authorities to dissuade

the martyrs-to-be from their experiences.16 In his letter to the emperor Trajan in the early

second century, Pliny the Younger, an imperial administrator in the province of Bithynia-

Pontus, also indicates his practice of offering multiple opportunities for those accused to

15
Though Nero may have harassed Christians in Rome in the mid-first century, he apparently failed to
establish any imperial precedent.
16
Mart. Pol. 4; 8.2; 9.2; The Acts of the Scillitan Martyrs 1; 3; 10-11; 13; in the final passage, the proconsul
Saturninus offers the Christians thirty days to reconsider. Their definitive reply, affirming their Christian
identity leads to their execution.

10
deny their Christian identity (Letter 10.96). Trajan’s reply affirms Pliny’s overall

procedure (Letter 10.97).

Related to this potentially easy exit is the second key point: allegiance to the

nomen Christianum seems to have been the essential “crime.” Based on the

correspondence between Pliny and Trajan as well as early Christian literature, it appears

that, rather than from a solid legal basis, Christians, during the first and second centuries,

were essentially persecuted simply because they called themselves Christians—that is,

maintaining a Christian identity might be considered a crime.17 It seems reasonable to

view the procedure outlined by Pliny and Trajan as dominant in dealings with Christians

prior to Decius. In most cases, the name Christian alone appears to have been the basis

for conviction. Pliny notes that denial of the name, followed by appropriate prayers and

other offerings, allowed for acquittal, suggesting that those accused were not guilty of

any other crimes.18

Glimpses of Roman procedure in early Christian literature also support this

conclusion. For instance, Justin Martyr, in 1 Apol. (ca. 150), argues against the

17
A. N. Sherwin-White makes the argument that Christians were found guilty of contumacia, as their
refusal to participate in pagan worship was read as civil disobedience, “Why Were the Early Christians
Persecuted?: An Amendment,” Past and Present 27 (1964): 23–27. G. E. M. de Ste. Croix challenges this
claim as a legal issue in the trials of Christians. He argues that, though Christians were certainly obstinate
in their refusal to offer sacrifice to pagan gods, such obstinacy itself was not the crime. Moreover, when the
option to sacrifice was not provided until after the Christians were accused (as the letter of Pliny to Trajan
reports), this notion of contumacia does not account for why Christians were brought to trial in the first
place, “Why Were the Early Christians Persecuted?: A Rejoinder,” Past and Present 27 (1964): 28–33.
Rather, de Ste. Croix affirms his position that maintaining Christian identity in the course of interrogation
or trial was generally the issue, “Why Were the Early Christians Persecuted?,” Past and Present 26 (1963):
6–31.
18
Moss cautions against overstating the “precedent” status of the Pliny correspondence, Ancient Christian
Martyrdom: Diverse Practices, Theologies, and Traditions, 10–12. Still, de Ste. Croix notes that although
Trajan’s reply with not officially binding, most officials, with few exceptions, appeared to follow it, “Why
Were the Early Christians Persecuted?,” 16. See also W. H. C. Frend, “Persecutions: Genesis and Legacy,”
in Cambridge History of Christianity, Volume 1, Origins to Constantine, eds. Margaret M. Mitchell and
Frances M. Young (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2006), 507–508.

11
accusations of Christians in name alone; rather, he encourages the emperor to search for

actual evidence of crimes. The various martyr acts of the period, including the Mart. Pol.,

also report that the confession, “I am a Christian,” determined the punishment, while

denial of such an identity with a corresponding imperial oath and/or sacrifice earned

one’s release.

Combined, these points—the flexibility of Roman legal proceedings and the

centrality of the confession for punishment—suggest that early Christians had some

choice in their fate when presented with the prospect of martyrdom. Following arrest, in

the absence of a committed crime, one could deny their Christian status and apparently

escape punishment.19 This element of choice contributes to the portrait of early martyrs as

eager participants in the process. And the critical role played by the confession, “I am a

Christian,” in martyr narratives further affirms the connection between martyrdom and

Christian social identity.

Martyrdom: Supreme Reflection of Christian Identity

In the written account of her trial and martyrdom, Perpetua, a young Christian

woman in Roman Carthage, rejects her father’s pleas for her to avoid suffering; rather,

she resolutely affirms her Christian identity. Claiming that a vase cannot be called by any

other name, Perpetua asserts, “so too I cannot be called by anything other than what I am,

a Christian” (Pass. Perp. 3.2).20 Lieu thus asserts that the confession, “I am a Christian,”

19
Lieu describes this critical element as the “power of choice” (in relation to Perpetua); she also notes
tendencies of imperial authorities who attempt to “deflect those apparently determined on their own death-
course” (referencing Mart. Poly, 9), Neither Jew Nor Greek? Constructing Early Christianity, Studies of
the New Testament and Its World (New York: T&T Clark, 2002), 214; 216.
20
Musurillo, The Acts of the Christian Martyrs.

12
“sets the martyrs and the memorializing of their deaths at the centre of the construction of

Christian identity.”21

Early Christian martyrdom is essentially a public performance of identity that

carries a significant social function. Regardless of how many Christians actually

experienced martyrdom, the production and popularity of literature associated with it was

sufficient to project the identity of Christians as willing to suffer and die. In addition,

certain Christians, including Tertullian, celebrated the efficacy of this public expression

of identity, by noting conversions to the faith among other potential benefits.

Rooted in close readings of early martyr acts and related patristic literature, a

number of recent studies emphasize the importance of martyrdom in the construction of

early Christian identity. Perkins asserts that Christian texts of the late first and second

centuries “almost without exception assiduously project the message that to be a

Christian was to suffer and die.”22 When suffering was the Christian norm, according to

Perkins, martyrdom marked the ultimate achievement. Other recent scholarly studies,

including Lieu’s Neither Jew nor Greek and Elizabeth Castelli’s Martyrdom and

Memory, also stress the central role of martyrdom in defining and sustaining early

Christian communal identity.23 Lieu specifically highlights the significance of the

21
Lieu, Neither Jew Nor Greek? Constructing Early Christianity, 212.; She elaborates, “…it is the
textualizing and memorializing of the trials, the often extended suffering, and the deaths of believers which
becomes determinative for not only the idea of ‘the martyr’ and martyrdom, but also of what it is to be
among those who can say, ‘I am a Christian,’” 212.
22
The Suffering Self: Pain and Narrative Representation in the Early Christian Era, 24.
23
Elizabeth A. Castelli, Martyrdom and Memory: Early Christian Culture Making, Gender, Theory, and
Religion (New York: Columbia University Press, 2004).

13
martyr’s confession as “emphatically a public moment, and a public identity.”24

Martyrdom and, to some extent, suffering were thus prominent in constructions of early

Christian identity.

Gnosis and Martyrdom

As Tertullian’s passage at the start of the chapter reveals though, not all early

Christians were eager participants in the experience of persecution and martyrdom. The

rhetoric of Tertullian, as well as Irenaeus, accuses “heretical” groups, often of the

“Gnostic” variety, of rejecting martyrdom.25 Though there may be some basis to these

reports, recent scholarship appropriately highlights the range of perspectives on

martyrdom.

Beyond acknowledging varied perspectives, it is worth inquiring further how and

why certain early Christians voiced concern over martyrdom and what role responses to

persecution played in delineating groups, particularly those traditionally understood as

Gnostic. Why did certain early Christians dismiss the enthusiastic approaches to suffering

and martyrdom and, at times, argue against it?

“Gnostic” Experience of Persecution

In one early, intriguing attempt to explain the apparent lack of martyrdom among

24
Lieu, Neither Jew Nor Greek? Constructing Early Christianity, 213. Robin Darling Young also
emphasizes the public context of martyrdom, describing a martyr’s death as a “public and deliberative self-
offering in the context of Roman ceremonial,” In Procession Before the World: Martyrdom as Public
Liturgy in Early Christianity, 9; 11–12.
25
Haer. 1.24.6; 3.15.5; 4.33.9; Scorp. 1.5; 1.8; 15.6; also, Eusebius, Hist. eccl. 4.77.

14
Gnostic Christians, W. H. C. Frend takes on the perspective of Roman authorities.26

According to Frend, the public perception of the Gnostic groups—specifically their

resemblance to mystery religions and their continued acceptance of certain aspects of

pagan life—made them less threatening to Greco-Roman sensibilities than typical

Christians. Based on the evidence offered by their proto-orthodox peers, Frend

preliminarily concludes that in the first and second centuries, “the Gnostics were not

generally molested, and the fact was sufficiently apparent to impress itself on

contemporary Christians.”27 The evidence Frend outlines, however, does not make this

lack of molestation apparent. There is nothing to suggest that Romans distinguished

groups of Christians and persecuted accordingly.28 To an outsider, and likely even to

many insiders, doctrinal divisions would hardly have been perceptible. In addition, Frend

suggests that a Gnostic’s first priority, “protection of his mystery,” would have led him to

avoid confrontation with the authorities at all costs.29 In light of more recent

examinations of the Gnostic tradition, this reasoning no longer seems valid. There is little

evidence of Gnostic Christians exclusive, secretive groups. Moreover, it is not clear how

an encounter with authorities would threaten access to the “mystery.” Ultimately, Frend’s

reconstruction fails to fit with what we do know of circumstances at the time, both in

26
“The Gnostic Sects and the Roman Empire,” Journal of Ecclesiastical History 5 (1954): 25–37.
27
Ibid., 28.
28
An exception might be an interest in rounding up Christian leaders; Klaus Koschorke notes that Frend’s
argument would not apply to groups like the Valentinians, who consider themselves fully members of the
Christian church, Die Polemik der Gnostiker gegen das kirchliche Christentum: Unter besonderer
Berücksichtigung der Nag-Hammadi-Traktate “Apokalypse des Petrus” (NHC VII,3) und “Testimonium
Veritatis” (NHC IX,3), Nag Hammadi Studies (NHS) (Leiden: Brill, 1978), 132–36.
29
Frend, “The Gnostic Sects and the Roman Empire,” 30–31; he also suggests that gnostic writers of
apocryphal works would have been fearful, 29, a point I do not entirely agree with, given that they likely
were not read among non-Christians.

15
terms of Roman persecution and the nature of Gnostic Christians. More significantly,

Frend does not sufficiently address the heresiological claims— sustained by Gnostic

Christian literature—that Gnostic Christians did not simply avoid martyrdom, but also, in

some cases, argued against its value.

An alternative scenario that does not depend on clear distinctions among

Christians from the Roman perspective seems more likely. Even if initially targeted

among their fellow Christians, certain Gnostic Christians were apparently willing and

able to avoid punishment by death. There is indirect evidence for this sort of behavior,

particular for the followers of the mid-second-century teacher, Basilides. Irenaeus writes

that the followers of Basilides “are prepared to deny; or, rather, they are not even

susceptible to suffering on behalf of the name” (Haer. 1.24.6). Eusebius also mentions a

refutation by Agrippa Castor, who reported, “[Basilides] taught that there was no harm in

eating things offered to idols, or in light-heartedly denying the faith in times of

persecution” (Hist. eccl. 4.6.7).30 Through reports like these, we get the impression that

certain Gnostic Christian groups took an indifferent stance toward pagan sacrifices, the

very thing that could allow an early Christian to escape the fate of martyrdom. That said,

one might reasonably be suspicious that the orthodox-inclined interests of Irenaeus and

Eusebius encouraged them to fabricate or exaggerate such behavior among their

opponents. But a comparable perspective appears in Testim. Truth; the author also

associates the rejection of martyrdom with the futility of sacrifice.31 This need not mean

30
Frend himself mentions this reference, Ibid., 31.
31
In addition, Paul’s indifferent assessment of idol meat in 1 Cor 8:7-8 might also have prompted the
perspective attributed to Basilides and his followers; though this parallel by no means confirms the
heresiological reports, it does make them more comprehensible.

16
that such Christians eagerly participated in pagan activities; it could simply mean that in a

situation of life or death, the insignificance of the pagan cult outweighed any perceived

significance of a martyr’s death.

If one accepts this sort of persecution scenario, the question remains, why were

certain Christians willing to find an escape (which, in some instances, the Romans appear

to have offered), while others were, in many cases, enthusiastically accepting their fate

and celebrated for doing so? An inherent interest in self-preservation is certainly one

possible reason. But such an explanation fails to take into account the alignment of these

views with particular early Christian groups’ own justifications for avoiding and, at

times, rejecting martyrdom.

Studies by Klaus Koschorke and Elaine Pagels, among others, appropriately

highlight the range of approaches to martyrdom among groups traditionally classified as

“Gnostic” and identify possible grounds for such views. Koschorke corrects the typical

portrait of Gnostic Christians as universally opposed to martyrdom by highlighting three

distinct approaches apparent in Nag Hammadi and patristic literature. He characterizes

the first as criticism of “vulgar” conceptions of martyrdom. This perspective, represented

by Heracleon and Basilides, takes issue with the promises of reward and glorification,

rather than martyrdom itself.32 Other Gnostic Christians do advocate a rejection of the

practice, reflecting the second approach noted by Koschorke. As Tertullian reports in

Scorp. 1, such Christians find the notion of blood testimony to be incompatible with the

will of God. Their view that Christ did not offer testimony in a physical sense further

32
He asserts that criticism of the ecclesiastical understanding need not mean refusal of martyrdom as such,
Die Polemik der Gnostiker gegen das kirchliche Christentum: Unter besonderer Berücksichtigung der
Nag-Hammadi-Traktate “Apokalypse des Petrus” (NHC VII,3) und “Testimonium Veritatis” (NHC IX,3),
134–35.

17
contributes to this rejection of martyrdom. According to Koschorke, a third perspective

involves those who value martyrdom as liberation, based on their ascetic tendencies.

Moreover, Koschorke acknowledges that criticism of the ecclesiastical celebration of

martyrdom does not necessarily mean absolute rejection of the practice. Against this

traditional interpretation, Koschorke offers a more nuanced assessment: “On the whole, it

is less the greater reluctance of Gnostics against martyrdom, but rather their different

understanding, which forms the boundary between Gnostics and ecclesiastical

Christianity.”33 As my project shows though, the divergent understandings often

contribute to this “greater reluctance.”

Following Koschorke, Pagels seeks to find some basis for this range of responses

to martyrdom. She asks, “what attitude do gnostics take toward martyrdom and on what

grounds?”34 She argues that different interpretations of Christ’s passion guide divergent

evaluations of martyrdom in early Christianity. After describing a consistent celebration

of martyrdom among orthodox writers, Pagels details the variety of approaches to

persecution and martyrdom among Gnostic texts. She maintains that each view

corresponds to each group’s understanding of Christ. Gnostic texts that offer a docetic

Christology, in which Christ only appears to suffer, maintain a related approach to

persecution—since Christ did not actually suffer, there is no benefit in a Christian

suffering. As Pagels reminds us though, not all Gnostic writings maintain this ideology;

some depict a suffering Savior and consequently validate bodily martyrdom. Valentinian

33
Ibid., 134–36.
34
“Gnostic and Orthodox Views of Christ’s Passion: Paradigms for the Christian’s Response to
Persecution,” in The Rediscovery of Gnosticism, Vol. I, The School of Valentinus, ed. Bentley Layton
(Leiden: Brill, 1980), 271. See also Elaine Pagels, The Gnostic Gospels (New York: Random House, 1979),
chap. IV.

18
traditions, the focus of much of Pagel’s attention, reveal an intermediate position. Christ

really suffered and died, but only in the physical (psychic) sense; a Christian’s imitation

of his death is also purely physical, rather than spiritual (pneumatic), and thus limited.

Pagels’ attention to the intersection of perspectives on martyrdom and Christology is

instructive. The texts I examine further support this connection.35 In addition, Pagels

appropriately shows that responses to persecution are not exclusively rooted in doctrine,

but involve “social and political factors” as well.36

The recent appearance of Codex Tchacos, including the much-discussed Gospel

of Judas, has revived interest in diverse early Christian approaches to martyrdom. In her

most recent, thorough examination of the material, Karen L. King considers the attention

to suffering in the initial three texts of the codex, specifically, the Gospel of Judas, the

Letter of Peter to Philip, and the First Apocalypse of James. She characterizes them

collectively as “preparation for martyrdom,”37 which involved “articulat[ing] a set of

practices aimed at training potential martyrs.” She identifies four typical elements

associated with this preparation, including models for imitation; emphasis on mastery of

the passions, particularly fear; focus on joys of eternal life; and the related goal of

salvation through suffering.38

35
The connection in Clement of Alexandria is especially striking, as I show in Chapter 2, especially in light
of the typical view, reflected in Pagels, that the “orthodox” side offered a consistent approach to
martyrdom.
36
Pagels, “Gnostic and Orthodox Views of Christ’s Passion: Paradigms for the Christian’s Response to
Persecution,” 265. In her examination, this involves the particular ecclesiology associated with Valentinian
versions of Christianity.
37
Karen L. King, “Martyrdom and Its Discontents in the Tchacos Codex,” in Codex Judas Papers:
Proceedings of the International Congress on the Tchacos Codex Held at Rice University, Houston, Texas,
March 13–16, 2008, Nag Hammadi and Manichean Studies 71 (Leiden: Brill, 2009), 24.
38
She acknowledges that the strategies are employed differently in each of the three texts she examines,
Ibid., 25–26.

19
 Much of King’s parallel analyses of the Tchacos texts is persuasive and

enlightening. One issue though, from my perspective, is her broad, admittedly

“capacious” definition of martyrdom. Her summary of the goals of this preparation—

“people had to be trained well in the true teaching, learn to overcome fear, imitate

laudable models from the past, and keep their eyes firmly fixed on the goal of

salvation”—says little about the actual death and suffering of the trainees. Rather, these

outcomes could fit a range of early Christian texts.39 That the authors offer minimal to no

attention to the actual deaths is especially striking in light of the texts’ apparent interest in

persecution and suffering and the existing traditions associated with the deaths of Jesus

and James. King acknowledges this absence in her discussion of the Gospel of Judas.

Noting that the Gospel ends with Judas’ betrayal, she writes, “No account of his arrest,

trial, death or resurrection is given—and none is needed. While it is possible to think that

Christian readers of the second century didn’t need the rest of the story because they

already knew it well, I think it is rather the case that everything necessary for salvation

had already been said.” To summarize, “Jesus’s death is not central to salvation for the

Gospel of Judas.”40 The admission that Jesus’ death is secondary actually suggests a

perspective that would minimize martyrdom, rather than focus on training for it. Judas’s

stance against “the kind of Christianity being authorized in the name of the Twelve in the

second and third centuries” also suggests that the author takes issue with the same

39
Ibid. This assessment stands even if one accounts for the difference in genre between the Tchacos
material, understood as revelation dialogues, and the martyr acts.
40
Jesus’s revelations, rather than the sacrifice of “the human who bears Jesus,” brings salvation, Ibid., 35–
36.

20
group(s) of Christians who would have promoted martyrdom.41 Contrary to King’s

analysis then, the Gospel of Judas might reflect another early Christian voice that

challenged reigning perspectives on martyrdom.

Gnosis and Early Christian Group Dynamics

Dispelling the notion that all so-called “heretics” reject martyrdom is part of a

larger effort in early Christian studies to revise understandings of group dynamics.

Scholarly examinations of the nature of “Gnosticism,” seemingly the most prevalent

“heresy,” are especially prominent in this regard. Since two of the texts I examine in this

project are traditionally designated as “Gnostic”—Apoc. Pet. and Testim. Truth—and the

third, Strom., employs “gnosis” as an ideal, a consideration of recent approaches to

Gnostic traditions and their relevance for my project is in order. As it happens, the

discovery and subsequent publication of the Nag Hammadi codices has complicated,

rather than clarified, our understanding of Gnostic tradition. Current discussion debates

not only on the parameters of what we understand as Gnosticism, but also the usefulness

of the category itself. King remarks, “Surprisingly enough, one of the most serious

problems in Gnosticism studies continues to be simply defining the term ‘Gnosticism.’”42

41
Ibid., 37. This assumes that this brand of Christianity, “in the name of the Twelve,” aligns approximately
with proto-orthodoxy. Furthermore, Judas’s anti-sacrificial stance limits parallels with the traditions that
advance martyrdom.
42
“The Origins of Gnosticism and the Identity of Christianity,” in Was There a Gnostic Religion?, ed. Antti
Marjanen, Publications of the Finnish Exegetical Society 87 (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2005),
103.

21
 The various efforts to define “Gnosticism” are often lacking in one way or

another.43 One issue is the difficulty in fitting all the evidence traditionally associated

with Gnosticism into a single, encompassing definition. Currently, there is some

agreement that the term can be appropriately applied to a specific early Christian tradition

represented by texts that roughly correspond with the tradition that scholars designate as

“Sethian.”

Given the limits of various definitions of Gnosticism, the usefulness of the

category itself also comes into question. Michael A. Williams has been especially vocal

in this regard. In Rethinking Gnosticism, he objects to the application of “Gnostic” and

“Gnosticism” to a wide range of texts and traditions.44 His study appropriately highlights

the diversity of traditions encompassed, problematically, by “Gnostic” terminology. He

also effectively dispels traditional stereotypes associated with “Gnostic” movements,

including their penchant for protest-oriented exegesis, their exclusive and anti-social

behavior, and their universal hatred of the body. Given the stereotypes associated with

“Gnosticism,” Williams advocates dismissing the label in favor the designation “biblical-

demiurgical,” which references the common belief among these traditions in an inferior

creator god, rooted in interpretation of the Jewish Scriptures. Though this alternative

label has failed to catch on, William’s study has been successful in encouraging greater

attention to use of the category and the diversity of related traditions.

43
For a current, concise discussion of recent approaches to defining Gnosticism, including their limitations,
see David Brakke, The Gnostics: Myth, Ritual, and Diversity in Early Christianity (Cambridge, MA:
Harvard University Press, 2010), 20–26.
44
Michael A. Williams, Rethinking Gnosticism: An Argument for Dismantling a Dubious Category
(Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1996).

22
 Unsatisfied with William’s alternative category, King, in What Is Gnosticism?,

reveals the baggage associated with Gnosticism as a scholarly category, specifically its

origins within heresiological and later Protestant discourses. Rather than jettison the term

altogether though, she accepts its continued, yet cautious, usage. Like Williams, King

demonstrates the inappropriateness of many aspects of the traditional typology; in doing

so, she reveals the rich diversity of literature associated with “Gnosticism,” which defies

simple classification. Her effort also highlights the need to shift away from a misguided

search for the origins of Gnosticism and the related assumption of a “pure,” original

Christianity.45 She exposes how such interests have derailed the study of Gnosticism. To

resolve such issues, she encourages scholars to seek different ends in their practice of

historiography.46 King writes, “An alternative approach is to reconceive religious

tradition and identity in terms of continuity in difference.” This notion “affirms that

tradition and identity are not pure and fixed but constantly in processes of formation,

deformation, and reformation.”47 Such fluidity diminishes the usefulness of a singularly

defined category. Williams thus encourage an approach that considers “several discrete

traditions,” rather than a singular religion.48

45
Specifically, she demands that scholars abandon “certain inherited assumptions,” including the
association between truth and chronology; the notion that truth is pure and syncretism reflects
contamination; and the misguided premise that orthodoxy is uniform, while heresy is diverse, What Is
Gnosticism? (Cambridge, MA: The Belknap Press of Harvard University Press, 2003), 228–29.
46
Ibid., 219; King calls for “a shift in historical-critical and literary methods away from the search for
origins to the analysis of practice,” 228.
47
Ibid., 229–30.
48
“Was There a Gnostic Religion? Strategies for a Clearer Analysis,” in Was There a Gnostic Religion?, ed.
Antti Marjanen, Publications of the Finnish Exegetical Society 87 (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht,
2005), 68; emphasis added.

23
 For the purposes of my project, I see no benefit in classifying Apoc. Pet. or

Testim. Truth as representative of a distinct Gnostic religion.49 That said, I do not skirt the

prominent language of gnosis in these texts. Its presence allows us to consider a

particular ideological current in early Christianity, which, at times, stands in tension with

others. When gnosis reflects a prominent interest for any given text or community, it

seems appropriate to characterize such traditions as “Gnostic” or “Gnostic Christian.”50

Using the term in this broad way allows me to highlight the commonalities between the

two Nag Hammadi texts and Clement of Alexandria. At the same time, it also

distinguishes these traditions from other early Christian literature that is silent on the

matter or, in some cases, hostile to “gnosis.” My use of “Gnostic” does not imply a

specific religious system or distinct, isolated community, nor does it imply that all

traditions that emphasize gnosis stem from the same community. Rather, it simply

characterizes a significant interest, often associated with redemption, of the author and

presumably his intended audience.

With this understanding of “Gnostic” in mind, it is worth considering how these

diverse Christian groups understood themselves in relation to other Christians. In

addition, how did the associated terminology—gnostic, gnosis—intersect with debates

about proper Christian identity? The role played by competing concepts of gnosis in

intra-Christian debate is suggested by writers like Clement of Alexandria and Irenaeus;

the former designates his ideal Christian as gnostikos, while the latter is eager to expose

false conceptions of gnosis.

49
In this regard, neither Nag Hammadi text reflects Sethian tradition.
50
Brakke also sees no reason to give up the adjective “Gnostic” in discussions of related early Christian
literature, The Gnostics: Myth, Ritual, and Diversity in Early Christianity, 27.

24
 As we ponder such questions, it is also worth considering the related social

situations of the early Christians. Admittedly, literary discourse offers us only indirect,

often colored, glimpses of such scenarios. Still, such efforts are worthwhile and

necessary, even if the results are somewhat speculative.51 Brakke, for example,

encourages consideration of “some social reality.”52 To determine how boundaries

ultimately emerge, as we know they did, Brakke asserts, “Our goal should be to see

neither how a single Christianity expressed itself in diverse ways, nor how one group of

Christians emerged as the winner in a struggle, but how multiple Christian identities and

communities were continually created and transformed.”53 I also find Brakke’s

understanding of religious “subcultures” to be a productive way of envisioning closely

related religious groups that lack clear boundaries.54

With a consideration of “subcultures” apparent in Strom., Apoc. Pet., and Testim.

Truth, my project thus ventures to discern, with caution, some aspects of the actual social

tensions, with particular attention to the role the prospect of martyrdom played in such

situations. I consider evidence for the relationships among different Christian groups as

experienced by the authors of each text. I show how, rather than reflecting the existence

of group boundaries, these texts are engaged in the negotiation and production of such

51
Though he questions the category, Williams, for instance, still envisions a series of “new religious
movements underlying the range of sources that scholars have conventionally included in the category,
‘Gnosticism,’” “Was There a Gnostic Religion? Strategies for a Clearer Analysis,” 77.
52
Brakke notes this particular effort is subject to neglect when one avoids reifying the category. He reasons
that the eventual emergence of actual boundaries suggests that some distinctions apparent in the discourse
are based in reality, The Gnostics: Myth, Ritual, and Diversity in Early Christianity, 15.
53
Ibid.
54
He writes, “we must not imagine religious communities as firmly bounded and integrated systems,”
noting that “people combine myths, rituals, and social institutions to create unique religious subcultures.”
This perspective on group differences limits the definition of groups based primarily on doctrine, Ibid., 27.
In what follows, I use the social identity concept of “subgroups,” but understand it in a comparable way.

25
boundaries. Social identity theory offers useful concepts for framing this phenomenon, in

which debates over the significance of martyrdom sparked intra-group conflict, which, in

turn, contributed to the evolution of out-groups, or “others,” ultimately characterized as

“heretics.”

Early Christian Discourse via a Social Identity Lens

As the previous discussion reveals, delineating a range of early Christian groups

is a tricky process, especially when such groups appear closely intertwined. To assist in

this aspect of my project, I draw on social identity theory. The theory centers on the

notion of the self, or individual, as dynamic, encompassing a range of identities. The

multiple identities are socially constructed as well as enacted and reflect an individual’s

group affiliations. Different situations, including shifts from private to public contexts,

require individuals to prioritize identities and related group allegiances accordingly. The

prioritized identity then guides the individual’s social behavior. Social identity theory’s

focus on the intersection of group behavior and identity helps ground my theorizing about

the competing Christian groups depicted in Strom., Apoc. Pet., and Testim. Truth. This

sort of informed speculation is necessary in attempts to situate early Christian identity

beyond the discourse.55 My use of social identity concepts thus serves to enhance and

extend the conclusions I draw based on close readings of the texts themselves.

Understanding early Christianity as a broad, diverse community with related social

identities, I examine how early voices that challenge the value of martyrdom contribute to

55
That said, I do recognize this distinction between the discourse in the literature, significant in its own
way, and the necessarily less-concrete reconstruction of intra-group relations in early Christianity.

26
the (re)construction of the parameters and expectations of Christian identity. Social

identity theory’s consideration of choice among identities and related behaviors is

especially applicable to understanding divergent evaluations of martyrdom. After all, a

martyr’s death, in the second and third centuries, is social, dependent, to a large extent,

on choice, and significant for Christian identity. Moreover, the consequences are

certainly dire and final, rendering one’s decision before the authorities as particularly

grave. This very real prospect of death heightens the relative value of martyrdom as an

expression of identity. Accepting or declining martyrdom or its celebration thus makes a

social statement about an individual Christian’s identity within his or her social, or, in

this case, religious, community.

Let us then consider social identity theory further, particularly the aspects that are

relevant to my examination of early Christian responses to suffering and persecution. An

appropriate starting point is the now-classic definition of social identity offered by the

theory’s founder, Henri Tajfel: social identity is “the individual’s knowledge that he/she

belongs to certain social groups together with some emotional and value significance to

him/her of the group membership.”56 As noted above, the premise of multiple identities,

or group affiliations, is central to the theory. But, as this definition highlights, one’s

relative attachment to each identity in terms of its perceived value is also critical,

especially in situations, like martyrdom, that demand some sort of significant sacrifice on

behalf of the group.57

56
Henri Tajfel, “Experiments in a Vacuum,” in The Context of Social Psychology: A Critical Assessment
(London: Academic Press, 1972).
57
Regarding the situational expression of social identity, José. M. Marques, Vincent Y. Yzerbyt, and
Jacques-Philippe Leyens explain, “individuals’ social identities have a multitude of facets and that these
facets may gain different weights in different situations,” “The ‘Black Sheep Effect’: Extremity of

27
 In what follows, I outline three related processes that are central to the

construction and enactment of social identity and reflect on their applicability to my

project: (i) individual identification with a group; (ii) construction and maintenance of

group identity; and (iii) the evolution of subgroups into distinct out-groups in the course

of conflict. To envision how these processes might have played out in early Christianity, I

view Christianity as a broad social group that encompasses a range of subgroups, each

with particular versions of social identity. Often, these social identities overlap with that

of the broad group, but in certain situations, they might diverge. Given the range of early

forms of Christianity as well as substantial evidence of intra-group negotiation in early

Christian literature, this essential social group scenario seems appropriate.

Social Identification as Self-Categorization

For social identity theorists, the process by which individuals identify with groups

is known as self-categorization. Self-categorization theory originated as a complement to

social identity theory, as a means of explaining the parallels between interpersonal and

intergroup behavior and corresponding personal and social identities.58 Technically

speaking, Turner characterizes this process as the “cognitive redefinition of the self –

from unique attributes and individual differences to shared social category memberships

Judgments Towards Ingroup Members as a Function of Group Identification,” European Journal of Social
Psychology 18 (1988): 12.
58
John C. Turner describes the relationship of these theories as “allied and largely complementary,” “Some
Current Issues in Research on Social Identity and Self-Categorization Theories,” in Social Identity:
Context, Commitment, Content, ed. Naomi Ellemers, Russell Spears, and Bertjan Doosje (Oxford:
Blackwell, 1999), 7.

28
and associated stereotypes.”59 It thus assumes that individual (or personal) and social

identities are not always synonymous. In fact, “social identity is sometimes able to

function to the relative exclusion of personal identity.”60

The process of self-categorization relies on various factors, including an

individual’s motives, values, expectations, and social context, all of which can impact the

type and level of identity. An identity’s “level” refers to its relative position, or strength,

among tiers of social identities to which an individual subscribes in any particular

situation. Reflecting the dynamic process of social identification, the tiers are not static,

but often in flux. Different contexts make certain social identities more salient than

others. The level of a particular social identity also “determines the degree to which self-

perception is personalized or depersonalized, the degree to which behaviour expresses

individual differences or collective similarities.”61 In applying social identity to the early

Christian community, I envision the prospect of martyrdom as a situation that demands a

particularly strong social identity, one that prioritizes the social self over the personal self

and, moreover, values suffering and this particular kind of death. One can recognize these

processes of self-categorization and depersonalization in many narratives of early

Christian martyrdom; in these situations, social identity is clearly salient.

59
John C. Turner, “Social Identification and Psychological Group Formation,” in The Social Dimension:
European Developments in Social Psychology, ed. Henri Tajfel, vol. 2 (Cambridge: Cambridge University
Press, 1984), 528.
60
Ibid., 527.
61
Originally, the various “selves” were imagined along a continuum, with one end reflecting the ‘personal’
self and the other the group-oriented, or ‘social’ self. More recently, this continuum concept has been recast
as “levels.” Turner, “Some Current Issues in Research on Social Identity and Self-Categorization
Theories,” 11.

29
Constructing Group Social Identity

Identification with a particular group generally means taking on the behavior and

values of that group. At the same time, the process of depersonalization and the resultant

collective behavior of members produce and maintain the concept of a shared social self,

or group identity.62 This reflects a reciprocal and dynamic process that promotes

similarity among group members. Turner highlights the effect on individual differences:

“in depersonalizing the self, salient social identity also depersonalizes self-interest,

transforming differing personal self-interests into a collective we-group interest and

creating a cooperative orientation within the group”63

The benefits of affiliation with the group, which can come at the cost of self-

interests, depend on common behavior among group members. Marilynn B. Brewer

highlights how assurance of trust and security “motivate adherence to ingroup norms of

appearance and behavior.” This process allows an individual to be “recognized as a

legitimate ingroup member.” How one projects her social identity is thus significant,

especially in situations in which group affiliation matters. Brewer explains, “Symbols and

behaviors that differentiate the ingroup from local outgroups become particularly

important here, to reduce the risk that ingroup benefits will be inadvertently extended to

outgroup members.”64 Martyrdom, or, more broadly defiance in the face of persecution,

62
For an overview of this process, see Ibid., 14.-15; he stresses that group formation is not merely the result
or effect of interpersonal relations; “it actively determines and qualitatively changes people’s attitudes and
behaviors towards each other,” 15.
63
Ibid., 16.
64
Marilynn B. Brewer, “Ingroup Identification and Intergroup Conflict: When Does Ingroup Love Become
Outgroup Hate?,” in Social Identity, Intergroup Conflict and Conflict Reduction, ed. Richard D. Ashmore,
Lee Jussim, and David Wilder, Rutgers Series on Self and Social Identity (Oxford: Oxford University
Press, 2001), 29.

30
could be understood as an expected behavior that defines Christians in the Roman

context.65 When certain Christians failed to value this sort of behavior, their legitimacy as

group members was called into question, a process we see reflected in heresiological

literature. Moreover, as I reveal in the current project, certain Christians, and presumably

their associated subgroups, promote alternative behaviors as central to Christian social

identity.

A shared social identity also prompts the production of “stereotypes” associated

with the group. Stereotypes reflect “social categorical judgements, perceptions of people

in terms of their group membership.”66 Like social identity in general, stereotypes can be

fluid and vary accordingly to context; moreover, they are generally not negative, but

rather meant to be valid reflections of a social group. In the early Christian tradition, the

identification of a Christian as one who suffers can be understood as a significant

stereotype fostered by the Christians themselves, in part through martyrological

discourse.67

From Subgroup to Out-group: Redefining Group Boundaries

At the same time, the establishment of stereotypes that accurately reflect social

identity can be a tricky process. Turner explains, “Disagreement, argument and conflict

between individuals and groups over the correctness of specific stereotypes is part of the

social, political, historical processes through which society moves (or tries to move)

65
Other regular rituals in early Christianity, including baptism and communal prayer, could similarly be
understood as reflecting the symbols and behaviors Brewer mentions.
66
Turner, “Some Current Issues in Research on Social Identity and Self-Categorization Theories,” 26.
67
As I note above, the suffering stereotype also makes its way into pagan understandings of Christianity; in
fact, it often appears as the only remarkable aspect of the Christian faith from the pagan perspective.

31
towards stereotypes which are valid from the perspective of the whole community.”68 I

understand the texts that I examine in this study as engaging in this sort of debate

regarding appropriate facets of Christian social identity. Specifically, the traditions I

examine question the validity of the Christian as sufferer stereotype, in which martyrdom

represents a supreme goal.

Differences of opinion among group members are not the only factors that foster

group division. External pressures—arising outside a social group, typically leading to

inter-group conflict—can also contribute to the splintering of groups, as the work of

Marilynn B. Brewer reveals. Her contribution to social identity theory is rooted in her

study of national and ethnic social identities, which often foster “intense emotional

commitment and self-sacrifice on the part of individuals,” especially in situations of

inter-group conflict. Brewer explains,

they all involve some form of separatist action—attempts to establish or preserve

distinctive group identities against unwanted political or cultural merger within a

larger collective entity. People die for the sake of group distinctions, and social

psychologists have little to say by way of explanation for such “irrationality” at

the individual level.69

A strength of commitment comparable to the national and ethnic identities described by

Brewer can be detected in the early Christian discourse on martyrdom, which presents

similar high-stakes consequences. Christianity’s position vis-à-vis the Roman Empire

reflects a distinctive identity, promoted, to some extent, by Christians and recognized by

68
Turner, “Some Current Issues in Research on Social Identity and Self-Categorization Theories,” 27.
69
Marilynn B. Brewer, “The Social Self: On Being the Same and Different at the Same Time,” Personality
and Social Psychology Bulletin 17 (1991): 475.

32
pagans, especially in circumstances that involve persecution. Studies of social identity

suggest that the more distinctive a group is, the more critical group identity and

boundaries are. As a social group, early Christianity’s distinctive nature minimized the

self-interest of group members and made self-sacrifice more likely.70

Given the heightened significance of group behavior in situations of intra-group

conflict, it comes as no surprise that divergent views and behavior within the group,

which do not align with the group’s social identity, are less acceptable. In his study of

social groups in Second Temple Judaism, Raimo Hakola, drawing on social identity

theory, explains, “Many disagreements may be tolerated in the context of intragroup

discussion, while similar disagreements may become a bone of contention in the context

of intergroup conflict.”71 Applied to early Christianity, a situation involving pressure by

the Romans (whether official or popular) could, and apparently did, expose latent

conflicts within the Christian group over the contours of Christian identity.

The tendency for the social self to trump the personal or subgroup self depends on

the relative level of that social identity for an individual in a particular circumstance.

Reminding us that individuals have multiple identities with varying degrees of allegiance,

Brewer explains the complexity of group identities:

70
Brewer also states that this “mobilization of ingroup identity and loyalty” is more typical of minority
groups, “The Social Self: On Being the Same and Different at the Same Time.” 479. This also fits the
situation of Christians in the Roman world. Employing rational choice theory to early Christian martyrdom,
Rodney Stark similarly highlights the significance of group distinctiveness for individual sacrifice, The
Rise of Christianity: A Sociologist Reconsiders History (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1996), chap.
8.
71
“Social Identities and Group Phenomena in Second Temple Judaism,” in Explaining Christian Origins
and Early Judaism: Contributions from Cognitive and Social Science, ed. Petri Luomanen, Ilkka
Pyysiäinen, and Risto Uro, Biblical Interpretation Series (Leiden: Brill, 2007), 272.

33
 With this profusion of social identities some individuals will be fellow ingroup

members on one category distinction but outgroupers on another. Such cross-

cutting ingroup-outgroup distinctions reduce the intensity of the individual’s

dependence on any particular ingroup for meeting psychological needs for

inclusion, thereby reducing the potential for polarizing loyalties along any single

cleavage or group distinction and perhaps increasing tolerance for outgroups in

general.72

This aspect of Brewer’s theory of optimal distinctiveness can be applied to early

Christian group affiliation. In the chapters that follow, I propose that the Christian

identities I examine operate in this “cross-cutting” mode. I highlight their promotion of

individual progress toward the divine, which minimizes the reliance on external

demonstrations of social identity and the perceived benefits associated with membership

in the broader Christian social group, especially those achieved through group-oriented

practices. When expected sacrifices are minimal, identification with the larger Christian

group works and, in some cases, offers benefits. However, when greater demands are

required of group members, specifically suffering or martyrdom, individual-oriented

Christians appear less inclined to enact the normative Christian social identity. In short,

group interest at the expense of individual identity appears to have had its limits for

certain Christians.

This sort of emergence of significant disagreement within a social group can

create uncertainty regarding the validity of the group, or an individual’s choice of

membership. The common resolution for this sort of situation is the re-categorization of

72
Brewer, “Ingroup Identification and Intergroup Conflict: When Does Ingroup Love Become Outgroup
Hate?,” 35.

34
others as different.73 In Chapter 5, I briefly return to social identity theory to discuss

group processes that reflect the shift from in-group to out-group affiliation; these offer a

framework for understanding production of group boundaries in the discourse of

orthodoxy and heresy.

Lessons from Social Identity Theory

From the perspective of social identity theory, the situation described by

Tertullian might be viewed as reflecting a moment of competing identities, in which

certain Christians prioritize one identity over another. Acknowledging that early

Christians maintained multiple social identities, I focus on the prominence of one sort

within the traditions I examine. In the writings of Clement of Alexandria as well as

Testim. Truth and Apoc. Pet., we encounter a social identity that demands a focused, self-

reflective approach to Christianity and a corresponding lifestyle. This identity tends to

limit, rather than prescribe, behavior and is primarily enacted individually. In this regard,

it reflects an individual’s personal identity (or self); it is not exclusively personal, though,

as the production of literature with language of related group affiliation and interaction

reflects a social identity (a distinctive subgroup). The presence of this particular identity

alongside a broader Christian allegiance reflects the historical period in which precise

group boundaries are lacking, both within the Christian group and between the group and

the Roman world. In fact, the literature examined in this project, combined with the

heresiological reports, participates in the discourse constructing these boundaries.

Moreover, the presence and possible intensification of Roman persecution operates as a

73
Turner, “Some Current Issues in Research on Social Identity and Self-Categorization Theories,” 16.

35
significant external pressure that diminishes the fluidity, or intra-group tolerance, and

thus diversity, of the Christian group identification.

For my project, social identity theory functions as an explanatory framework; its

concepts assist in the tentative reconstruction of social relations behind the text. In the

core chapters that follow, my use of it is rather limited. I prioritize my reading of the

primary textual materials and related methods of historical and literary criticism.74 In

each chapter, I explore the group interactions apparent in each text. Synthesizing this data

in the conclusion, I return to lessons from social identity theory for further support of my

reconstruction of the evolution of group boundaries in early Christianity and martyrdom’s

significant role in this process.

Each of the following chapters focuses on a particular early Christian text or set of

texts, in the case of Clement of Alexandria. As I examine this material, I offer claims

specific to the particular perspectives on suffering and martyrdom reflected in each

chapter, while also reflecting on how they help substantiate the social identity situations I

have outlined in the latter part of this introduction. Moreover, I highlight how, in each

case, Christological perspectives contribute to moderate or negative assessments of

suffering and martyrdom, which further shape Christian social identity. The final chapter

extends my discussion of the similar Christian social identities projected in these texts by

considering the nature and position of these groups within the early Christian community

and its emerging orthodoxy.

74
Thus, even if a reader remains unconvinced of the relevance of this theory for my project, she can assess
my central claims, which are ultimately not dependent on concepts of social identity.

36
 Chapter 2
The Gnostic Witness:
Superior Martyrdom in Clement of Alexandria’s Stromateis

In the second book of his Strom., Clement of Alexandria offers a glimpse of

persecution in his city near the turn of the third century. Regarding his Christian

community, he vividly illustrates, “But every day, we have observed before our eyes

abundant sources of martyrs who are roasted, impaled, decapitated” (Strom. II.125.2).1

Persecution of Christians in Alexandria comes as no surprise at the turn of the third

century, particularly when one considers the heightened violence under Septimius

Severus.2 Against this background of imperial persecution, Clement thus crafted his

views.3 Uncovering more precise details about his actual activity in Alexandria as well as

1
Annewies van den Hoek notes that it is unclear which persecution Clement is alluding to, but suggests that
it may refer to events preceding 202-203, “Clement of Alexandria on Martyrdom,” Studia Patristica 26
(1993): 326.

My translations rely primarily on the Greek edition of Clement’s writings, Clement of Alexandria, Opera,
ed. Otto Stählin, Die grieschischen christlichen Schriftsteller 12, 15, 17, 39 (Leipzig: Hinrichs, 1905); with
additional consultation of the Greek-French editions, Clement of Alexandria, Les Stromates VII, ed. Alain
le Boulluec, Sources Chrétiennes 428 (Paris: Cerf, 1997); Clement of Alexandria, Les Stromates IV, ed.
Annewies van den Hoek, trans. Claude Mondesert, Sources Chrétiennes 463 (Paris: Cerf, 2001); and
William Wilson, tran., The Ante-Nicene Fathers, vol. II: Fathers of the Second Century (Grand Rapids, MI:
Eerdmans, 1994).
2
Eusebius’ Ecclesiastical History VI.1 reports that Severus stirred up persecutions everywhere, resulting in
“splendid martyrdoms,” especially at Alexandria. For additional material related to the persecution, see W.
H. C. Frend, “Open Questions Concerning the Christians and the Roman Empire in the Age of the Severi,”
Journal of Theological Studies n.s. 25 (1974): 333–351.
3
The extent to which Clement was personally in danger is difficult to determine, given the lack of evidence.
Regarding Clement’s activity in and departure from Alexandria, little information is certain; Eusebius’
Hist. eccl. represents our primary source V.11 describes Clement’s potential association with the early
Christian teacher, Pantaenus. VI.6 notes that Clement directed instruction at Alexandria between Pantaenus
the chronology of his writings, however, is problematic. Eusebius provides evidence that

suggests Clement left Alexandria during the early third century.4 Various scholars have

attempted to relate the imperial persecutions of 202/203 both to Clement’s eventual

departure from Alexandria and to his evaluation of martyrdom.5 Limited historical

evidence beyond Eusebius, however, makes any solid determination difficult.6 Given this

general assessment, it makes sense to look beyond the precise timing of Clement’s

writings and travels for clues to understanding his peculiar perspective.

This chapter attempts to do so through a consideration of Clement’s remarks on

martyrdom in light of his emphasis on individual progression toward salvation and his

and Origen and suggests that he wrote the Strom. during the reign of Severus (193-211 C.E.). In VI.13-14,
Eusebius describes the writings of Clement.
4
Hist. eccl. VI.11.6 and VI.14.9 present the letters of Bishop Alexander of Jerusalem, which reveal that
Clement spent some time with him, presumably after his departure from Alexandria.
5
Regarding Clement’s apparent flight from Alexandria during the Severan persecution, Arthur J. Droge and
James D. Tabor suggest that his departure is significant in accounting for his “arbitrary” discussion of
martyrdom, A Noble Death: Suicide and Martyrdom Among Christians and Jews in Antiquity (San
Francisco: Harper, 1992), 143–44. A. M. Ritter similarly reasons, “When in 202/203 the Roman
government seemed to have changed its religious policy and the attacks were suddenly concentrated on the
Christian missionary work, Clement felt compelled to flee; being a successful teacher he was, no doubt, a
very well-known personality,” “Clement of Alexandria and the Problem of Christian Norms,” Studia
Patristica 18 (1989): 421–22. Van den Hoek considers the restrictions placed after Septimius Severus
visited Alexandria and reasons that “the resulting violence may have been the reason why Clement left the
city, probably going to Jerusalem,” “Clement of Alexandria on Martyrdom,” 327. In an earlier article
though, she highlights the uncertainty related to Clement’s departure and considers various possible
scenarios, “How Alexandrian Was Clement of Alexandria? Reflections on Clement and His Alexandrian
Background,” Heythrop Journal 31 (1990): 184.

Whether such imperial policy relates to Clement’s own position on and consequent evaluation of
martyrdom depends on the dating of the Strom., which is highly questionable. For a discussion of dating
Clement’s writings, see Elizabeth Clark, Clement’s Use of Aristotle: The Aristotelian Contribution to
Clement of Alexandria’s Refutation of Gnosticism, Texts and Studies in Religion (New York: Edwin
Mellen, 1977), 91–94. In any case, rather than necessarily consider Clement’s views on martyrdom as a
reaction to his departure, it seems just as reasonable to assume that, as Bowersock states, Clement,
permitting flight, “acted on his principle,” Martyrdom and Rome, 54.
6
This situation leads Eric Osborn to conclude, “The life of Clement poses problems of its own, insteading
of illuminating the literary problems. …we must be content to claim that in the Stromateis we have ideas
and language of a Christian teacher of Alexandria somewhere around the year 200,” in “Clement of
Alexandria: A Review of Research, 1958-1982,” Second Century 3 (1983): 221.

38
understanding of Christ. His views on martyrdom are related primarily in the fourth book

of his Strom.7 When approaching Clement’s discussion, his particular position within

broader Christian debates deserves attention. Clement’s assessment of martyrdom

emerges in conversation with others; in the context of intra-Christian debate, he confronts

both those who seek martyrdom and others who dismiss its value. As he begins Book IV

with a review of the purpose of his work, Clement alerts his reader that “many refutations

of the heterodox await us…” (Strom. IV.2.3). Other Christian writers, including Basilides

and Heracleon, require Clement’s attention in this matter, while overeager Christians also

earn his concern. Clement responds to both groups by promoting a moderate view of

physical martyrdom—one that affirms its validity under certain conditions, but fails to

promote it as an ideal achievement.8 More significantly, Clement promotes an alternative

type of Christian martyr, the gnostic, whose disciplined life, rather than death, bears

witness to Christ. The initial part of this chapter thus establishes Clement’s perspective

on martyrdom, primarily as presented in Strom. IV. The negotiations regarding

martyrdom exhibited in the Strom.—particularly vis-à-vis other Christians—support my

7
Clement’s comments on martyrdom have received relatively limited attention in recent scholarship. The
more extensive treatments typically examine Clement’s thought in comparison with contemporary views on
martyrdom, whether Gnostic or orthodox, and simply note its distinctive character. Annewies van den
Hoek, for instance, primarily considers how Clement’s opinion on the matter was shaped to a large extent
by his Gnostic opponents. She suggests that the Gnostic devaluation of a martyr’s death compelled Clement
to maintain a loyalty to the church and its marytrs, in spite of his lukewarm evaluation of physical
martyrdom. She concludes with a brief summary of Clement’s novel position, but she does not discuss fully
how Clement’s treatment of martyrdom corresponds with other aspects of his thought, “Clement of
Alexandria on Martyrdom.” G. W. Bowersock indicates that Clement is one among few early Christians
who admonished overly enthusiastic martyrs. Besides noting Clement’s particular position, Bowersock’s
analysis concentrates on terminological issues associated with the concept of martyrdom. Consequently, his
points on Clement, though on target, in my view, are not thorough, Martyrdom and Rome.
8
Van den Hoek concurs, noting “The tone of his discussion is moderately supportive of the idea of
martyrdom but not at all exhortative,” “Clement of Alexandria on Martyrdom,” 340. Daniel Boyarin
similarly considers Clement as an exception to orthodox Christian views of martyrdom, describing
Clement’s view as “ambivalent in the extreme to say the least,” Dying for God: Martyrdom and the Making
of Christianity and Judaism, Figurae: Reading Medieval Culture (Stanford, CA: Stanford University Press,
1999), 62.

39
stance that views of the practice contributed significantly to emerging intra-Christian

divisions and related identities.

At the time same, Clement’s position is not exclusively a response to other so-

called “heretical” Christians, with whom he occasionally agrees. More than this, his

relatively lukewarm treatment of martyrdom by death, combined with his promotion of a

superior form of martyrdom in life, aligns with his own concept of Christian community,

one that delineates tiers of Christians, with corresponding expressions of group identity;

that is multiple subgroups within a broader Christian group. Accepting of both groups,

Clement prioritizes behavior associated with the advanced group, those seeking gnosis

beyond faith. Specifically, his emphasis on progression in life combined with an

interested in individual initiative serves as a basis for Christian identity. Clement’s

particular Christology also seems to inform his perspective on martyrdom. His

understanding of Christ’s unique nature minimizes efforts at imitation, while his view of

Christ’s function stresses his message over his death.

Multiple Martyrdoms

Throughout Book IV of his Strom. Clement promotes a moderate view of

martyrdom death—one that affirms its validity under certain conditions, but does not

promote it as an ideal achievement. More significantly, Clement advances an alternative

type of Christian martyrdom, gnostic martyrdom, in which one’s disciplined life, rather

than death, bears witness to Christ.

40
Discouraging Overeager Christians

As noted, Clement’s disapproval of various Christian groups motivates much of

Book IV of Strom. Divergent views on martyrdom serve as one source of contention.

Clement begins his treatment of martyrdom by discouraging overzealous Christians, who

seek martyrdom. Interpreting Jesus’ advice in Matt 10:23, which states, “When they

persecute you in one town, flee to the next,” Clement claims, “He does not advise…flight

to avoid death, as if dreading it, but wishes us neither to be causes nor contributors of any

evil to any one, either to ourselves or to the persecutor and murderer” (Strom. IV.76.1-

2).9 Clement thus legitimizes escape from persecution when possible, arguing that Christ

desires Christians to avoid actively courting such evil.10 Clement goes so far as to accuse

one who deliberately presents himself to the authorities as being guilty of his own death.

He writes, “If the one who kills a man of God sins against God, the one also who brings

himself toward the judgment seat is liable for his own death.” Even one who deliberately

fails to avoid persecution is named “an accomplice in the wickedness of the persecutor”

by Clement (Strom. IV.77.1). If one also employs provocation or provides an occasion

for persecution, he is entirely guilty. Clement thus dismisses the idea of courting death at

the hands of persecutors.

Similarly, against Christians who despise their flesh as created (and consequently

evil) and therefore seek martyrdom, Clement offers a positive evaluation of the body.11 In

9
As an interesting contrast, Tertullian also considers Jesus’ advice in Matt 10:23, yet claims that it was
meant exclusively for the apostles, who otherwise would not have been able to spread the gospel, Fug. 5.1.
10
This argument reflects Clement’s interest in the care of the self; a fuller discussion of this concept in
Clement’s writings appears below.
11
Clement’s understanding of the body will also be discussed further below, in relation to his soteriology
and his concept of the Christian gnostic.

41
agreement with certain “heretics,”12 Clement notes the trouble with ‘so-called’ Christians

who approach death too hastily:

We, too, censure those who have rushed death; for there are some, not our

own, but sharing only the name, who are hastening to give themselves up,

through hatred toward the creator, the wretches are dying—these, we say,

carry themselves off without witnessing (a0martu/rwj), even though they

are punished publicly. (Strom. IV. 17.1-3)

Clement thus considers such individuals as false Christians and suggests that, ultimately,

they suffer a “vain death” (qana&tw| kenw~)| . In addition, Clement hints that the intention

behind the choice to suffer affects the attribution of the title martyr. In spite of suffering

publicly, Clement denies them the designation and questions their Christian identity,

asserting, “But since these falsely-named [Christians] resent the body, let them learn that

the harmonious nature of the body contributes to the understanding which leads to natural

goodness” (Strom. IV.17.4).13 Clement’s refutation of eagerness for martyrdom highlights

two significant aspects of his thought, which I explore further below. First, Clement

emphasizes the value of the body, diminishing the desire for its elimination.14 Second,

12
Though Clement is not specific at this point, the surrounding context of the passage suggests that he has
certain Gnostic Christians in mind. He notes, for instance, that this group discourages physical martyrdom,
considering true martyrdom to be the knowledge of God, Strom. IV.16.3.
13
He also later notes, in reference to Matt 5:25, “The adversary is not the body, as some suggest, but the
devil, and those assimilated to him,” Strom. IV.95.2.
14
In the midst of Strom. IV, the controversy over appropriate martyrdom allows Clement to contemplate the
relationship between body and soul. Citing the Stoics with admiration, Clement maintains that the body and
health are neutral attributes, indifferent to the virtue of the soul, Strom. IV.19.1. At the same time,
following Plato, he advises that care of the body is necessary for the sake of the soul. Clement refers
explicitly to the third book of Plato’s Republic, Strom. IV.18.1. In fact, he remarks, “health and an
abundance of necessities keep the soul free and unhindered,” Strom. IV.21. Hence, moderation and
maintenance of the body is therefore encouraged, as “it is by the path of life and health that we learn
gnosis,” Strom. IV.18.1. Chapter 26 of Strom. IV is devoted to the perfect human treatment of body and

42
Clement reiterates his own understanding of Christian identity, which does not demand

martyrdom, by denying the attribution, “Christian,” to those who rush martyrdom.

“When Called…”—Acceptable Martyrdom

In spite of discouraging an overabundant eagerness for martyrdom, Clement does

admit the necessity of martyrdom under certain conditions, and, it seems, ideally for

advanced Christians. He permits, “As is reasonable, the gnostic, when called, obeys

easily, and gives up his body,” having previously “stripped [it] of the passions of the

flesh…” (Strom. IV.13.1).15 Here, we see, first, that in contrast to the active suffering

encouraged by false Christians, the gnostic Christian accepts death passively. Second,

Clement advocates preparation for martyrdom, which aligns with this general

encouragement of “training for death.”

Clement consistently suggests that the manner in which the Christian approaches

death is significant. Gnostic preparation, which primarily involves subduing the passions,

produces courage, rather than fear, and makes the acceptance of death easy. Clement

material things. As I further demonstrate below, Clement’s understanding of the body and soul, in the
context of his gnostic program, makes his irritation with overly enthusiastic martyrs more comprehensible.

Clement’s thought often exhibits a synthesis of various philosophical views, as this essentially
simultaneous reference to Plato and the Stoics reveals. Regarding Clement’s conception of the soul,
Salvatore R. C. Lilla offers evidence that indicates that Clement perceived of the soul in essentially
Platonic terms, consisting of a rational and an irrational part (Paed. III.1.2; Strom. III.68.5; V.80.9). At the
same time though, Clement also recalls the Stoic division of the soul into ten parts (cf. Strom. VI.134.2;
II.50.3), Clement of Alexandria: A Study in Christian Platonism and Gnosticism, Oxford Theological
Monographs (London: Oxford University Press, 1971), 81 n. 2.
15
Droge and Tabor relate this involuntary type of martyrdom to the Socratic tradition, which requires a
divine sign prior to acceptance of death. They suggest that Clement uses the concept of sign to moderate
the fanaticism of martyrs, A Noble Death: Suicide and Martyrdom Among Christians and Jews in Antiquity,
142–43. This assessment is questionable, however, since the notion of a sign would be inconsistent with
Clement’s belief that suffering was not ordained by God (a view we encounter below). Rather, it seems that
Clement advises martyrdom only when no other appropriate alternative is available. “When called,” in this
instance, may thus refer to the passive acceptance of martyrdom.

43
writes, “With good courage, then, he goes to the Lord, his friend, for whom he readily

gave his body” (Strom. IV.14.2).16 Appropriate training, in the form of “life-long study”

of the separation of the soul from the body, encourages the gnostic readiness for death

(Strom. IV.12.5). Clement thus prioritizes individual intention and preparation over the

public act of suffering.

Relatedly, Clement’s evaluation in Book IV also considers the potential

objection—why does God allow Christian suffering (Strom. IV.78.1)? He notes that

Christians are persecuted not as criminals, but merely due to their name; in other words,

they have done nothing to earn their suffering. Moreover, highlighting the positive

experience of death, Clement inquires,

What injustice is done to us, as far as we are concerned, in being released

in death to the Lord, and accordingly undergoing a change of life, as if

submitting to an alternative life? …We should thank those who have

furnished the occasion for a speedy departure,…if it is for love that we

bear witness (marturoi=men). (Strom. IV.80.1)

In addition to reiterating the appropriate motive of love, Clement presents death in a very

casual manner. Death represents an event, not to be feared, but embraced by the

Christian. With such an understanding of death, one may wonder why Clement is not a

more enthusiastic proponent of martyrdom. Below, I consider this question in greater

detail and reveal that, despite the easy acceptance of death, which exclusively allows the

16
In this passage, “readily” appears to signify not an active desire for death, but rather a non-resistant
acceptance of one’s situation.

44
gnostic to achieve the perfected state by releasing the soul from the body, Clement

nevertheless continues to affirm the significance of life.

In doing so, Clement begins to craft an alternative conception of martyrdom. He

consistently promotes love (a)ga&ph) as the appropriate motivation for and reflection of

the act. In Clement’s thought, love both contributes to and mirrors the progression toward

gnosis.17 He claims, “We call martyrdom perfection, not because a person comes to the

end of his life as others, but because he has exhibited the perfect work of love” (Strom.

IV.14.3).18 Therefore, as with the preparation, the motive, rather than the act itself,

contributes to its worth.

Relatedly, Clement also acknowledges the benefits of martyrdom. A martyr bears

witness to himself, the persecutor, and the Lord. The act not only demonstrates the

sincerity of the martyr, but also promotes a steadfastness of faith among fellow Christians

and encourages unbelievers towards faith.19 Still, for Clement, witnessing via death is not

the exclusive or necessarily most celebrated form of Christian martyrdom.

17
Strom. II.53.3; IV.53.1; VII.57.4. John Behr explains, “Clement maintains both the gnosis cultimates in
love and that love is perfected by gnosis. This ambivalence…reinforces the fact that, for Clement, love and
gnosis can never be separated, and ultimately are one and the same,” Asceticism and Anthropology in
Irenaeus and Clement, Oxford Early Christian Studies (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2000), 199. In
addition, Clement associates love of God with entering into God, Quis div. 27.5.
18
Furthermore, regarding the response to such an act, Clement asserts, “You will wonder at his love,”
Strom. IV.13.3. Clement also compares his conception of the martyr’s death to Greek ideas regarding death
on the battlefield; he notes that Christians die without lusts or desires, even for life, Strom. IV.14.4.
19
Clement also asserts that Christians should accept martyrdom not because they desire personal glory, but
rather out of love for God, Strom. IV.14. W. E. G. Floyd claims, “Clement cheerfully maintains (perhaps
because he was already at a safe distance) that good is ultimately brought out of every evil, martyrdom
included;” hence, martyrdom must have some positive value, Clement of Alexandria’s Treatment of the
Problem of Evil, Oxford Theological Monographs (London: Oxford University Press, 1971), 96.

45
 Ultimately, Clement makes a significant distinction between “simple” and gnostic

martyrdom. In an unusual interpretation of Matt 19:29, which calls for Christians to leave

behind family and possessions, Clement asserts that Jesus’s instructions refer not to

simple martyrdom, by way of death, but to gnostic martyrdom. The latter is indicated by

one “who has conducted himself according to the rule of the Gospel, through love to the

Lord” (Strom. IV.15.4).20 The consequence, as Matt 19:29 shows, is salvation. Therefore,

the redemptive path of gnosis, indicative of a certain lifestyle for Clement, offers an

alternative meaning to the term martyr that challenges any required association with a

suffering death.21

“Heretical” Alternatives—Adaptation & Answers

Clement’s conception of martyrdom receives further definition as he encounters

additional opposition in Book IV. Alongside his attempt to stifle the enthusiasm of

voluntary martyrs, Clement responds to criticism of martyrdom by other Christians.

Clement often agrees with those Christians he casts as “heretics,” maintaining his

distance only minimally. In one instance though, Clement admonishes those who refuse

martyrdom. He claims,

20
Matt 19:29, NRSV, “And everyone who has left houses or brothers or sisters or father or mother or
children or fields, for my name’s sake, will receive a hundredfold, and will inherit eternal life.” Clement
continues with a figurative interpretation of the meanings of mother, father, etc.
21
Bowersock persuasively argues that Clement, rather than crafting a new meaning for the term martyr
within Christian tradition, simply utilizes the term with its traditional meaning, as a witness. He relates,
“Clement’s analysis of martyrdom returned prudently to the original sense of the word…he draws [a
parallel] between martyria and homologia.” Bowersock continues, “He is trying to turn the very word back
into its original sense of ‘bearing witness’,” Martyrdom and Rome, 67; 69.

46
 Now some of the heretics who have misunderstood the Lord, have at once

an impious and cowardly love of life; claiming true martyrdom to be the

knowledge of God (which we also admit), and that one who confesses by

death is a self-murderer and a suicide; and treating other similar sophisms

of cowardice. (Strom. IV.16.3)

Clement thus appears to share their essential conception of true martyrdom as gnosis,

further demonstrating his perception of martyrdom as more than death at the hands of

persecutors. Nevertheless, he rejects their idea that Christians who bravely confess with

death are necessarily suicidal and redefines his their position as cowardly.

More typical of Strom. IV are carefully crafted dialogues between Clement and

other Christian thinkers. An examination of Clement’s interaction with such figures

further illuminates his own view. One particular teacher whom Clement attempts to

refute is Basilides, who, according to Clement, spawned a heresy in the early second

century (Strom. VII.106.4). In Book IV, he focuses on Basilides’ apparent misconception

of martyrdom. Clement includes an excerpt from the twenty-third book of Basilides’

Exegetica, in which the latter apparently claims that martyrdom is a punishment for sin.

According to Basilides, Christian martyrs only appear to be guilty at the hands of the

Romans; in fact though, they are guilty of transgressions that have little to do with

Roman order and are thus consequently brought to such an end by God. To claim

otherwise, according to Basilides, is inconsistent with the providence of God (Strom.

IV.81.1-83.1). Clement attacks Basilides’ proposition on two points. His initial response

logically questions how martyrdom can be viewed as punishment when the decision to

confess one’s faith ultimately depends on the presumably guilty party. In other words,

47
Basilides’ reasoning fails, according to Clement, if an accused Christian (the sinner) may

escape martyrdom (the punishment) by simply denying his faith. Clement argues that if

one denies Christianity and consequently escapes punishment, then the providence posed

by Basilides must be dismissed (Strom. IV.83.2). Moreover, if Basilides is correct,

Clement presumes “then also faith and teaching, on account of which martyrdom comes,

are cooperators in punishment” (Strom. IV.85.2). In other words, those who exhibit faith

are punished, while those who deny it (i.e. sinners) escape. With regard to divine justice,

such reasoning, according to Clement, is absurd. Furthermore, recalling Jesus’ apparent

suffering, Clement proclaims, “how impious,” as Basilides has essentially designated

Christ a sinner (Strom. IV.85.1).

What Clement ultimately claims about Christ’s suffering in his effort to protect

the providence of God is also significant. In his rejection of Basilides’ thought, Clement

asserts, “For neither did the Lord suffer by the will of the Father, nor are those who are

persecuted persecuted by the will of God” (Strom. IV.86.2). Clement is left with two

problematic options: persecution reflects the will of God and is therefore good, or those

who afflict persecution are without guilt. Both are unsatisfactory, but Clement opts for a

version of the first. Since he ultimately concludes though that nothing takes place without

the will of God, Clement is left to state that things may occur without his prevention. He

reasons, “It is not necessary therefore to think that he actively produces afflictions…; but

we must be persuaded that he does not hinder those that produce them” (Strom. IV.87.1).

This compromise in Clement’s discussion with Basilides is quite significant. God plays a

passive, rather than active, role in the suffering inflicted upon Christians. According to

such reasoning, one could assume that any predetermined divine plan did not include the

48
death of Christ. Rather, suffering and martyrdom occur simply because God does not

prevent them. This deduction, according to Clement, “alone saves both the providence

and the goodness of God” (Strom. IV.86.3). This unusual interpretation makes sense

when one turns to Clement’s understanding of the crucifixion. His presumption regarding

God’s failure to prevent, rather than cause, the crucifixion corresponds with his limited

assessment of the expiatory significance of the event, which I consider below.

As his discussion of martyrdom continues in Strom. IV, Clement also offers a

critical evaluation of Heracleon’s stance on the matter. He notes that Heracleon is known

as “the most admirable of the Valentinian school” (Strom. IV.71.1). As in his discussion

with Basilides, Clement reveals certain similarities with Heracleon’s thought.

Specifically, both Clement and Heracleon support the primacy of witnessing Christ

throughout the course of one’s life, rather than exclusively before the authorities. In fact,

Clement himself remarks that, with regard to this basic idea, Heracleon “seems to agree

perfectly with us” (Strom. IV.73.1). Clement and Heracleon differ, however, on the

remaining merits of witnessing solely through a martyr’s death.

Clement relates Heracleon’s interpretation of a series of verses that exhibit

Christ’s counseling on martyrdom, beginning with Luke 12:8 and Matt 10:32, and

culminating with Luke 12:11-12. With regard to these verses, Clement notes

Heracleon’s distinction between superior confession in Christ (e0n e0moi\, Luke

12:8) and simple acknowledgement of Christ (me, Matthew 10:32). Like Clement,

Heracleon considers the disposition with which one approaches death as critical.

Regarding confession, Clement agrees with Heracleon’s designation of two

forms—“a confession by faith and conduct, and one by voice” (that is, before the

49
Roman authorities).22 Thus, one may bear witness without confessing before

authorities. For Heracleon though, witness through confession alone (by voice) is

judged insufficient (Strom. IV.71.1-2). According to Clement, one that confesses

by voice (that is, before the Roman authorities), regardless of his prior behavior,

still exhibits the sincerity of his faith (Heracleon denies such a confession as

superficial) (Strom. IV.73.1). Such a confession is consequently sufficient. In fact,

Clement discusses the possibility for a sudden repentance at the end of one’s life

by confessing Christ under torture, regardless of any prior lack of Christian

behavior.23 Of those who do no good works during life, Clement remarks, “Their

witness, then, seems to be the cleansing of sins with glory” (Strom. IV.74.3).24

Clement thus permits and honors martyrdom by death when the conditions are

appropriate or unavoidable; nevertheless, he also advocates a living testimony.

One is therefore led to question—which type of martyrdom, through confession

via life or death, does Clement deem superior?

Superior Martyrdom—Clement’s Gnostic Ideal

Clement advocates a more suitable means of bearing witness to Christ than the

martyr’s death, an alternative that involves a sincere lifestyle, reflects his gnostic ideal,

22
Bowersock characterizes Clement’s understanding of these options as essentially “two aspects of the
same thing, confession and bearing witness.” He explains, “homologia is the element that distinguishes
those who are tormented or go to their death in making their confession and bearing witness,” Ibid., 71.
23
Clement writes, “…if some have not by conduct and in their life ‘confessed Christ before men,’ they are
manifested to have believed with the heart; by confessing Him with the mouth at the tribunals, and not
denying Him when tortured to the death… For there is, so to speak, at the close of life a sudden repentance
in action, and a true confession toward Christ, in the testimony of the voice,” Strom. IV.73.1-3.
24
Cf. Strom. IV.104.1.

50
and subordinates the manner of death. He reasons,

If the confession to God is martyrdom, every soul which has lived purely

with recognition of God, which has obeyed the commandments, is a

martyr both by life and word, in whatever way it is released from the

body—pouring forth faith as blood throughout its whole life until its

departure. (Strom. IV.15.3)25

Clement significantly broadens the concept of martyrdom to include a lifestyle focused

on God. The focus on an individual’s life-long practice and expression of Christian

identity also limits the significance of a public death with communal implications. After

advocating the efficacy of a confession exclusive to death in opposition to Heracleon,

Clement nevertheless claims, “Those who witness in life by deed, and at the law court by

word, whether entertaining hope or suspecting flight, are better than those who confess

salvation by their mouth alone. But if one ascends also to love, he is a blessed and true

martyr.” (Strom. IV.75.3). This statement indicates the primacy of love in Clement’s

gnostic ideal. In addition, the comparison reflects tiers of martyrs, prioritizing those who

witness in life. Continuing his response to Heracleon, Clement also highlights the

selective nature of physical martyrdom, claiming that it is not universally anticipated or

necessary.26 This understanding of a martyr corresponds well with Clement’s conception

of the gnostic path, a progressive journey toward salvation.

25
Van den Hoek notes that Clement acknowledges that some ranks exist, “The ones who have lived in a
gnostic manner and died in addition should have priority over the ones who only did the last; he admits that
there has to be some differentiation,” “Clement of Alexandria on Martyrdom,” 331.

51
 A preference for this alternative martyrdom is revealed throughout Book IV, often

expressed through biblical interpretation. For instance, Clement utilizes biblical

references, particularly from Isaiah, to compare those who witness according to their

voice or their heart. Rather than love only with lips, Clement claims, “those who

complete the commandments of the Savior, by every action testify (marturou~si), doing

what He wishes, and accordingly naming the Lord; and testifying (marturou~ntej) by

deed to Him in whom they believe” (Strom. IV.43.4). Clement thus reiterates the

opportunity for martyrdom in leading an active life, devoted to Christ. Moreover, he

explains, “The same work, therefore, receives a distinction, whether it happens out of fear

or accomplished by love, and is produced by faith or by knowledge” (Strom. IV.113.6-

114.1). Clement’s priority is further reflected in Chapter 22 of Strom. IV, in which the

true gnostic does good, not for fear of punishment or hope of reward, but for sake of good

itself. In this regard, Clement’s thoughts reflect his redemptive scheme, which considers

various levels of believers yet maintains the superiority of those who ultimately achieve

gnosis.

Gnosis and Christian Community

Aligned with his revised concept of martyrdom, Clement’s promotion of gnosis

requires further consideration.27 Clement’s essential scheme of salvation relies on both

faith and knowledge. Arguing that knowledge ultimately stems from an initial faith,

26
Bowersock appropriately notes Clement’s desire to “establish that martyrdom in the true sense does not
necessarily involve death at all. It is rather an expression of one’s commitment to the Christian God,
Martyrdom and Rome, 67.
27
While it permeates the entire Strom., Clement’s discussion of the gnostic is the focus of Book VII.

52
Clement both confronts his Gnostic adversaries, who devalue faith, and also seeks to

make gnosis acceptable to the simple believer. Faith is thus essential, and sufficient for

attaining salvation. While he maintains the sufficiency of simple faith in acquiring

salvation, Clement also consistently advocates a gnosis as the superior attribute.28 He

submits, “It is the will of God [that we should attain] the knowledge of God, which is the

sharing of immortality” (Strom. IV.27.2). He thus refers to his ideal Christian as a

gnostic. Distinguishing the levels of belief, he explains, “to know is more than to believe,

as to be dignified with the highest honor after being saved is a greater thing than being

saved” (VI.109.2). This tiered path of salvation underscores various facets of Clement’s

work. His series of writings reflect multiple modes of Christian practice, addressed

accordingly to different levels, or groups, of Christians.29 The redemptive activity of

Christ is similarly distinguished; he first persuades, then trains, and ultimately teaches,

each a step on the path of Christian progress (Paed. I.1.1-3).

According to Clement, the primary means for preparing oneself for the reception

of gnosis is acquiring control over the passions. Passions, for Clement, are “movements

of the soul contrary to nature in disobedience to reason” and represented by “an excessive

appetite exceeding the measures of reason, or appetite unbridled and disobedient to

reason” (Strom. II.59.6). Clement argues that the soul of the gnostic must be “without the

28
Regarding various levels of belief, Clement distinguishes the salvation of the common believer from the
more perfect gnostic salvation. In Strom. VI.109.2, he relates “now to know is more than to believe, as to
be dignified with the highest honor after being saved is a greater thing than being saved.” Clement also
suggests that if gnosis were distinguishable from eternal salvation, then the proper gnostic would choose
the former.
29
The Protr., for instance, is obviously directed to a non-Christian audience. The elements of the Paed.
suggest an audience of intermediate believers, as the instruction primarily consists of practical applications
for living, intended as training. The Strom. is intentionally written in a manner accessible primarily to the
more advanced Christians. See, for instance, Eric Osborn, “Teaching and Writing in the First Chapter of the
Stromateis of Clement of Alexandria,” Journal of Theological Studies 10 (1959): 335–343.

53
nonsense of the body and all the passions…and stripped of the desires of the flesh”

(Strom. V.67.4). A corresponding lifestyle is therefore encouraged, through which the

Christian strives to ultimately achieve a state of passionlessness, or apatheia. This stage

allows for assimilation to and consequent full contemplation of God, the pinnacle of

knowledge, or gnosis.30 An integral aspect of the quest, for Clement, is its progressive

nature. Relatedly, Clement considers salvation to be a cooperative enterprise and

continually highlights the element of human responsibility.

The impression one gets from Clement is that such practices are essentially

independent, taking shape in relative isolation from the broader Christian community;

they, at the least, do not appear to reflect any formalized, ecclesiastical practice.

Clement’s emphasis on the “self” minimizes the significance of communal expressions of

Christian identity, particularly for the advanced Christian. This view also corresponds

with Clement's assertion that, for the gnostic Christian, care of the self comes first, while

neighbors, including fellow Christians, come second (VII.16.1).31 In Clement's writings,

we thus find that certain occasions of Christian practice appear to unify both faithful and

gnostic Christians; that is, their related behaviors overlap—subgroups unite and

cooperate in common expressions of Christian identity. On other occasions though, the

elevated, individual-oriented behaviors of the gnostic approach appear to trump broader

expressions of Christian identity. The prospect of death at the hands of persecutors may

well have marked one such occasion.

30
Lilla, Clement of Alexandria: A Study in Christian Platonism and Gnosticism, 60.
31
This does not imply that Clement perceives his ideal Christian as retreating in isolation. Rather, as noted
above, Clement regularly advocates the proper expression of love (a0gaph/) as critical. Christians can
model Christ, and thus cooperate in salvation, by assisting others, including teaching or praying for other
Christians (VI.77.5; VII.41.6; 52.3).

54
 Clement offers some insight into his understanding of the appropriate contexts for

Christian progress as he illustrates the universal provision of the Christ’s providence.

Specifically, he highlights the progressive modes of instruction in three corresponding

venues. Clement writes, “This is the teacher, who trains the gnostic by mysteries, the

believer by expectations of good, and the hard of heart by remedial education... From

him, providence proceeds in private, in public, and everywhere” (Strom. VII.6.1).

Cautious of overstating the significance of this passage, I find his association of gnosis

with the private, or individual, sphere provocative, particularly as it can inform our

understanding of Christian community, and further make sense of his rather ambivalent

approach to martyrdom by death—given its prominently public expression—and his

preference for “gnostic martyrdom.” Specifically, Clement’s prioritization of the self-

sufficient, progressive gnostic lifestyle appears to contribute significantly to his relative

lack of enthusiasm for martyrdom by death.

To further support this view, let us briefly consider Clement’s treatment of prayer,

a central early Christian practice, in Strom. VII. His discussion contributes to a model of

group relations that prioritizes individual, relatively private expressions of Christian

identity over group-oriented ones. Though he initially presents prayer as communal, the

majority of his discussion celebrates the individual practice of prayer, situated beyond the

ecclesiastical sphere.32

32
In general, Clement’s attention to church structure, including official leaders, is scarce. Denise Kimber
Buell notes his “almost total silence on ecclesial organization,” Making Christians: Clement of Alexandria
and the Rhetoric of Legitimacy (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1999), 12. Bogdan G. Bucur further
shows Clement’s brief references to church offices essentially undermine their significance, “The Other
Clement of Alexandria: Cosmic Hierarchy and Interiorized Apocalypticism,” Vigiliae Christianae 60
(2006): 265.

55
 Clement’s discussion of ideal Christian prayer is guided, in part, by his desire to

reveal its superiority to prior pagan and Jewish cultic practices. He thus characterizes

prayer as reflective of a new cultic context, in which traditional sacrifice is no longer

necessary (Strom. VI.31.7). In a brief reflection on the communal aspect of Christian

prayer, Clement casts the congregation devoted to prayer as the appropriate sacrificial

altar. He stresses the unity of this reformed offering, noting that such prayer reflects one

common voice and mind (Strom. VII.31.8).33

The remainder of Clement’s characterization of prayer, however, stresses the

individual aspects of the endeavor. Clement attributes a sacrificial quality to prayer;

ideally, it stems from a pure mind, one that has cleansed “the irrational part of the soul”

(Strom. VII.32.7). This, in Clement’s view, is the offering acceptable to God. Clement

continues to distinguish the gnostic approach to prayer, which he elevates as the superior

practice. He stresses that honoring God via prayer is not restricted to “a specific place, or

selected temple, or certain festivals, or appointed days. Rather, during his whole life, the

gnostic, in every place, even if he is alone...honors God” (Strom. VII.35.3). Moreover,

characterizations of prayer as a life-long, personal “festival” (Strom.VII.35.6; 49,3; cf.

35.1) interiorize the celebration of an often public, communal affair. Clement further

indicates that the superior form of prayer, as practiced silently by the gnostic (Strom.

VII.39.6; 43.3-4), takes place in a manner that is not “visible to the multitude” (Strom.

VII.49.6).

Though it is certainly driven, in part, by his interest in showing the superiority of

Christianity to prior cultic forms of worship, Clement’s portrait of prayer in Strom. VII

also reflects his prioritization of individual progress toward God, especially for the
33
He further associates this singular expression with the logos in VII.32.4.

56
advanced Christian. This stance essentially mitigates communal, public modes of prayer

as necessary expressions of Christian identity. Still, in the case of prayer, one can

envision Clement’s ideal Christian reasonably participating in multiple modes of prayer,

both communal and personal, even if more significance is ascribed to the latter.

Following both paths of martyrdom—in life and by death—is, of course, a trickier and

more demanding prospect.

Christ as Divine Instructor

In his Protr., Clement encourages his audience toward Christianity primarily by

advocating the supremacy of his faith over the traditional religions and philosophies of

antiquity. At one point, Clement interjects with a description of Christ’s role as Logos,

“And the Word himself already speaks to you clearly, putting to shame your disbelief;

yes, I say, the Word of God, having become human, in order that you might learn from a

human how it is even possible for a human to become a god” (Protr. I.8.4). This excerpt

reveals elements essential to the present task —the didactic function of Christ in

Clement’s salvific vision, the potential for assimilation via imitation, and the appropriate

response of the believer.

As noted in Chapter 1, Pagels, in her article on orthodox and Gnostic responses to

persecution, reveals that conceptions of martyrdom often relate to understandings of

Christ.34 Let us then explore Clement’s Christology, including references to his

34
For particularly persuasive proto-orthodox examples, see Pagel’s discussions of Ignatius, Justin Martyr,
Irenaeus and Tertullian, whose anti-heretical defenses of a suffering Christ and martyrdom coincide,

57
redemptive purpose and nature, while making clear the implicit connections between his

view of martyrdom and the incarnation. In contrast to the prior focus on Book IV of the

Strom., here, I utilize a wide range of Clement’s extant writings, from which a relatively

consistent Christological portrait emerges. The incarnate Christ serves a crucial role in

Clement’s system of salvation. In contrast to many of Clement’s ‘proto-orthodox’

contemporaries, though, Christ functions as a savior through his teaching, rather than his

suffering.35 I argue that Clement’s emphasis on Christ’s teaching over Christ’s passion in

his redemptive plan essentially minimizes the importance of a suffering martyrdom.

Moreover, if early Christians typically perceived martyrdom as an imitation of Christ’s

sacrifice, then Clement’s interpretation of the passion diminishes the relevance of such a

motive. Accordingly, Clement advocates witnessing Christ, not necessarily via a

suffering death, but through an appropriate life intent on the progression toward

salvation.

The Function of Christ & the Incarnation

Clement’s Paed. perhaps best reveals his understanding of Christ’s purpose. For

Clement, Christ’s gift of salvation occurs via his role as an instructor. The first book

“Gnostic and Orthodox Views of Christ’s Passion: Paradigms for the Christian’s Response to Persecution,”
266–270. 266-270.
35
Scholars generally agree on this aspect of Clement’s characterization of Christ. Henry Chadwick
confirms, “The incarnation is the central moment in the unfolding plan of God for the education and
restoration of the frail, erring humanity, lost in sin that results from neglect, weakness and ignorance,” in
History and Thought of the Early Church (London: Variorum Reprints, 1982), 178. Lilla considers
Clement’s emphasis on Platonic ideal of the contemplative life and the esoteric nature of Christ’s teachings,
Clement of Alexandria: A Study in Christian Platonism and Gnosticism, 173; he elaborates, “The idea of
Christ as a redeemer of the whole of mankind by means of his sacrifice is replaced, in Clement’s
philosophical system, by the esoteric idea of gnosis,” 159. See also John Ferguson, “The Achievement of
Clement of Alexandria,” Religious Studies 12 (1976): 71.

58
explains Christ’s didactic function in detail. The Incarnate Logos is depicted as a healer

and advisor, who uniquely offers humans the opportunity to realize their ignorance, cure

their passions, and gain gnosis (Paed. I.2.6). The latter, as noted above, marks the

ultimate goal for Clement. Describing Christ’s activity, Clement explains,

His main concern is to consider the way and the means by which the

[lives] of humans might be made more conformable to salvation. … He

seeks to prepare us to the condition of a wayfarer, that is, to make us well

equipped and unimpeded by provisions, that we might be self-sufficient of

life and practice a moderate frugality in our journey toward the good life

of eternity, teaching each one of us to be his own guide. (Paed. I.12.98.3-

4)

This depiction reveals much about Clement’s understanding of Christ’s redemptive role.

He operates as a trainer who provides Christians the means with which they can progress

toward salvation. In addition, while emphasizing that Christ’s message is universally

available, Clement stresses the requirement of human choice and the progressive nature

of salvation, consistent with the gnostic path.

Related to Christ’s role, Paed. itself reflects this developmental aspect of

Clement’s soteriology. His writings, in general, appear to relate to various stages of

belief, which have implications for his understanding of the Christian community.

Clement relates that persuasion comes first, followed by training, and ultimately teaching.

Clement stresses the progressive development of the Christian. The stages of learning

also imply different roles for Christ. In the second stage, for instance, Christ the trainer (o(

59
paidagwgo&j) operates as a sort of practical physician, who, having already persuaded

one to belief, can now offer a means to begin curbing his passions (Paed. 1.1.1.4). Once

the passions are curbed, the Christian meets Christ the teacher (o( didaskaliko&j), who

“explains and reveals through instruction,” and thus provides knowledge (Paed. 1.1.2.1).

Such a complex understanding of Christ’s roles also indicates that Clement perceives

salvation as an incremental process. Clement summarizes, “Therefore, the all-loving

Word, ready to perfect us in a way that leads progressively to salvation, makes effective

use of an order corresponding to our development; from the beginning, he persuades

(protre/pon), then he trains (paidagwgw~n), and after all this he teaches

(e0kdida&skwn)” (Paed. 1.1.3.3). In addition to his attention to Christ’s fundamentally

instructive role, Clement’s emphasis on the progressive function of the Logos message

significantly diminishes the impact of the concept of Christ’s death as a momentary

sacrifice.

The Nature of Christ in Clement’s Thought

While he is reasonably clear regarding the didactic function of Christ’s

incarnation, Clement is somewhat ambiguous when it comes to the nature of Christ. More

than a few scholars note his proximity to a docetic position, primarily based on his

peculiar interpretation of Christ’s nature:36

36
Ferguson suggests that Clement is “continually flirting with docetism because he is uneasy about letting
Jesus into the actualities of the human condition,” “The Achievement of Clement of Alexandria,” 77. Eric
Osborn agrees, “[Clement] sounds like a dualist in his account of body and soul and a docetist in his
Christology. In fact he is neither, and gives evidence that he rejects such views; but the tendencies are
there,” “Clement of Alexandria: A Review of Research, 1958-1982,” 228. See also James E. Davison,
“Structural Similarities and Dissimilarities in the Thought of Clement of Alexandria and the Valentinians,”
Second Century 3 (1983): 211.

60
 But in the case of the Savior, it would be ridiculous [to assume] that the

body, as a body, demanded the necessary services in order for its

continuance. For he ate, not for the sake of the body, which was

maintained by a holy power, but in order that it might not enter into the

minds of his followers to think differently of him, just as certainly some

afterwards supposed that he only seemed to be made manifest. But he was

entirely without passion (a)paqh/j), not receptive to any movement of

feeling—either pleasure or pain. (Strom. VI.71.2)

In denying Christ typical bodily needs, Clement does minimize Christ’s human

experience.37 Nevertheless, he also acknowledges and rejects the perception of those

who assume Christ appeared as a phantom. Elsewhere, as we see below, Clement

maintains Christ’s existence in the flesh.38 Clement’s hesitation in suggesting that Christ

shares in the limitations of the body is significant, particularly as one considers modes of

imitation, including martyrdom.

37
In Strom. III.59.3, Clement cites a letter of Valentinus with apparent approval: “Jesus endured all things
and was continent; it was his endeavor to earn a divine nature; he ate and drank in a manner peculiar to
himself, and the food did not pass out of his body. Such was the power of his continence that food was not
corrupted within him; for he himself was not subject to the process of corruption.” Clement continues by
praising a “high value on continence (e)gkra&teian) which arises from love to the Lord,” III.59.4. Everett
Proctor asserts that Clement borrows this notion, regarding the special nature of Christ’s body from
Valentinus, Christian Controversy in Alexandria: Clement’s Polemic Against the Basilideans and
Valentinians, American University Studies, 7. Theology and Religion 172 (New York: Peter Lang, 1995),
69.
38
Examples of this view are discussed in the following section. Strom. V.16.5, citing John 1:14, “…then he
also generated himself, ‘when the Word had become flesh,’ that he might be seen”; also, “…the Son is said
to be…the revealer of the Father’s character to the five senses by clothing himself with flesh” (Strom.
V.33.6).

61
Impassibility & Imitation

An evaluation of Christ’s human characteristics, particularly his capacity to

experience passions, including suffering, allows us to consider whether one might imitate

him. Was Christ susceptible to these movements of the soul, according to Clement? If

not, how might the experience of an early Christian reflect Christ’s? At the start of Strom.

VII, Clement describes Christ’s salvific role. In doing so, he comments on the nature of

Christ. He relates that the “Savior,” because of “his exceeding love of human flesh, not

despising its susceptibility, but clothing himself [with it], came for the common salvation

of humans” (Strom. VII.8.1). In addition, he describes Christ as one “who for our sake

assumed flesh capable of suffering…” (Strom. VII.6.5). Clement thus suggests that

Christ’s experience in the flesh included exposure to passions.

Christ’s actual experience of suffering, though, remains unclear, as Clement

affirms his impassible situation. For instance, Clement characterizes him as “…the Lord,

who without beginning was impassible…” (Strom. VII.7.2). He likewise considers Christ

the image of God, the impassible man (a!nqrwpoj a)paqh&j) (Strom. V.94.5). One is

consequently left to wonder whether Clement considered the incarnation of Christ to be

both genuine and complete (i.e. does he fully experience the human condition?).39

Clement’s discussion fails to provide a solid resolution; still, his Christological remarks

39
Joseph McLelland echoes this sentiment in God the Anonymous: A Study in Alexandrian Philosophical
Theology, Patristic Monograph Series 4 (Cambridge, MA: The Philadelphia Patristic Foundation, Ltd.,
1976), 67. Regarding Clement’s view of the incarnation, Rowan Williams also observes that the “concern
with the saving effect of God’s sharing human limitation is not to the fore. The aspect of limitedness in the
earthly life of Christ is clearly ascribed to educational necessity, condescension to the limitations of the
created and flesh-bound understanding,” in The Wound of Knowledge: Christian Spirituality from the New
Testament to St. John of the Cross (London: Darton, Longman, & Todd, 1979), 34.

62
regularly distance Christ from the human experience, including passions.40 Clement

relates that Christ is exclusively free from human passion. He is “without passion of

soul” (a)paqh_j th_n yuxh&n). In addition, Clement submits that truly Christ “himself is

entirely free from human passions; that is why He alone is a judge. Yet we must attempt,

to the best of our ability, to sin as little as possible” (Paed. I.2.4.2). Clement’s

comparison of the situation of Christ and Christians suggests that the former maintains an

exclusive position that the latter cannot attain. Marked by an unattainable ideal of

impassibility, Clement’s Christology limits the possibility for imitation.

Interestingly, Clement does depict Christ as emotional on occasion, though it is

almost always characterized as condescension to human needs inspired by love. Clement

relates that “…the Lord savingly accommodated Himself to the weakness of humans”

(Strom. II.72.4). Love is the primary motive for the incarnation, “the supreme proof he

has given of His love for humans, in that he has become human on our account” (Paed.

I.8.62.1).41 Besides love though, Christ is also apparently susceptible to anger, as

Clement notes that he chastises Christians (Paed. I.8.64.3). Clement explains that such

harsh rebuke operates in a positive medicinal manner, “relaxing the hardness of passions

and purging the impurities of life, the lusts” and therefore reflects Christ’s care (Paed.

I.8.65.1).42 Encouraging the appropriate response, Clement further illuminates the

relationship between Christ’s emotion, message, and salvation: “Our thankfulness for the

40
For a comparable impression of the role of Christ in Clement’s thought, see J. Wytzes, “Paideia and
Pronoia in the Works of Clemens Alexandrinus,” Vigiliae Christianae 14 (1955): 156–57. In relation to the
role of the Incarnation, he notes, “For if God and the Logos educate from the beginning and their main
treatment of man consists in education, then the appearance of Christ in the flesh has no more that unique
meaning,” 157.
41
See also Paed. I.8.62.2.
42
See also Paed. I.8.74.

63
testimony (marturi/aj) is great, especially since the motive of his wrath—if it is proper

to call his warnings wrath—is really love for humanity. It is God falling into passion

(pa&qh) on behalf of humanity, for whom the word of God also became human” (Paed.

I.8.74). Clement thus considers Christ’s experience of passion, not as a moment of

suffering sacrifice, but as participation in the human realm with a corresponding

testimony inspired by love. While it helps explain the incarnation for Clement, the

accommodation involved with Christ’s experience in the flesh, does not, however, extend

to his actual physical suffering, most dramatically represented by his crucifixion.

Moreover, as noted above, in relation to Basilides, Christ’s suffering was not part of the

divine scheme, according to Clement, and thus not integral to the purpose of the

incarnation.

A Return to Christ’s Redemptive Function

Clement’s Christ serves Christians not as a sacrifice, but rather as a conveyor of a

message of salvation, ultimately gnosis.43 Clement is thus left to interpret Christ’s death

as a signal, awakening humans to their ignorance.44 He, in fact, directly relates the cross

to the provision of knowledge—“It was not without the cross that he came to our

43
Relatedly, Clement notes that God does not desire sacrifice. Against those who sacrifice to Gods, Clement
argues that God does not share the needs or desires of created beings, including hunger, the apparent basis
for sacrifice, Strom. VII.30.1. The author of Testim. Truth presents a similar point (32,19-21); see Chapter 4
for a fuller discussion.
44
For instance, Clement relates that the “blood and the milk of the Lord are a symbol of his sufferings and
of his teachings” (Paed. I.6.49.4).

64
knowledge” (Strom. V.72.3).45 In terms of his soteriology, the crucifixion, for Clement,

thus marks not a moment of sacrifice, but a step in a progressive effort toward gnosis.

In fact, references to Christ’s death in Clement’s writings are minimal, surprising

given the breadth of his writings. The scarce references alone suggest that the crucifixion

was not a prominent feature of Clement’s Christianity. On the rare occasions when he

does cite the event, the reader might infer a redemptive understanding. In each instance,

though, Clement associates the crucifixion with the progressive gnostic lifestyle, afforded

through Christ’s teaching. Many of the references occur in Clement’s sermon, Quis dives

salvetur (Quis div.) In the midst of the sermon, Clement claims that Christ accepted death

as a payment in exchange for prior sin and disbelief. At the same time though, he

highlights the pedagogical role of Jesus, and maintains that immortality, or salvation, is

achieved progressively. Speaking on Christ’s behalf, Clement asserts,

I am your rearer, giving myself as bread, of which he who has tasted

experiences death no more, and supplying day by day the drink of

immortality. I am a teacher of supercelestial lessons. On your behalf, I

contended with death, and paid in full your death, which you owe for your

former sins and your unbelief towards God. (Quis div. 23.4)

45
See also Paed. I.8.65-66. Lilla notes a parallel between Clement’s depiction of the wood of the cross and
a passage in the Gospel of Truth, Clement of Alexandria: A Study in Christian Platonism and Gnosticism,
162. The Gospel of Truth similarly reads, “He was nailed to a tree (and) he became a fruit of the knowledge
of the Father,” 18.24-25, in James M. Robinson, ed., The Nag Hammadi Library, 3rd ed. (San Francisco:
HarperCollins, 1990).

65
The conception of Christ as a payment appears secondary to Clement’s emphasis

on his didactic role, which, as revealed above, progressively provides Christians

with the means of attaining salvation.46

Similarly, Clement asserts that as Jesus is “giving himself up as a ransom he

leaves behind a new testament [diaqh&khn]: ‘my love I give to you’” (Quis div. 37.4).47

The diaqh&kh, which may be considered as a sort of deposit left behind for common

wellbeing, is, in this case, love.48 Clement thus again highlights Christ’s legacy in the

form of a beneficial message, rather than his death. The instruction left by Christ

mediates salvation. Clement explicitly reasons, “The word is therefore called Savior,

because he has left humans remedies of reason in the search for understanding and

salvation” (Paed. I.12.100.1). Once again, the redemptive effect of the incarnation is

depicted as progressive.49

46
In the context of a hypothetical lawsuit, Clement similarly writes on behalf of Christ to a Christian, “I
regenerated you, who were born badly by the world [destined] for death. Having released you, I offered a
cure and redemption,” Quis div. 23.2. Clement mentions nothing of Christ’s death in this passage, but
simply describes his role.
47
Clement continues by noting that the Christ expects in return the sacrifice of love of each other, Quis div.
37.5.
48
This translation is derived from Liddell & Scott’s Greek-English Lexicon, 9th ed with supplement
(Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1996): 394-395. Clement uses the term in a variety of other contexts, though it
often refers to relationships between God and his people in the Hebrew Bible. It is worth noting that the
term ransom (lu&tron) is never used elsewhere by Clement in relation to Christ.
49
An additional example from the Paed. reiterates Clement’s understanding. He compares the aftermath of
Christ’s death with a fragrance, which he claims may “be used as a symbol of the Lord’s teachings and of
his sufferings,” Paed. II.8.61.3. Clement continues the imagery, “The perfume left its odor after it, and
suggests the sweet-smelling accomplishments that reach everyone. The suffering of the Lord, indeed, has
filled us with its fragrance…,” Paed. II.8.63.3. While the reference to Christ’s death in this passage is clear,
the choice of fragrance in Clement’s comparison reiterates his attention to Christ’s legacy.

66
 Rather than directly offering redemption, the crucifixion of Jesus, according to

Clement, serves to alert the Christian to his or her potential.50 Highlighting the

collaborative consequence of the incarnation, Clement explains that Christ, “taking on the

flesh, came to reveal to humans what is possible through obedience to the

commandments” (Strom. VII.8.6). Thus, even if Christ’s death served as some sort of

initiative for redemption, the consequent attention of the Christian to Christ’s instruction

furnishes salvation.51 The incarnate Christ thus delivers the provisions, to which a

Christian must choose to respond.

An appropriate response involves assimilating oneself to Christ. Clement

describes various modes of assimilation, often dependent on the level of the believer. One

might mirror Christ simply through appropriate behavior. In addition, one might assist

others as Christ does. One duty of Clement’s gnostic, for instance, is to cooperate in

salvation by teaching or praying for other Christians.52 Clement explains, “so the gnostic,

believing that the benefit of his neighbors is his own salvation, may suitably be called a

living image (a!galma e1myuxon) of the Lord, not because of the specific nature of

physical form, but because of the symbol of power and the similarity of preaching”

(Strom. VII.52.3).53 Appropriate imitation of Christ then is not physical, but symbolic.54

50
Denise K. Buell remarks that Clement portrays “a Christian’s origin as birth through Christ’s passion and
Christian development as the ingestion of Christ’s teachings,” Making Christians: Clement of Alexandria
and the Rhetoric of Legitimacy, 181.
51
As John Behr explains, “For Clement, man is saved by his co-operation, not with the grace or power of
God, but with the paideia of the commandments enjoined by God, which are always within his own
capacity,” Asceticism and Anthropology in Irenaeus and Clement, 168.
52
Strom. VI.77.5; VII.41.6.
53
Additional evidence at beginning of Book VII, ministerial role of gnostic, VII.3.1-6.

67
Clement’s conception of the Church, as described in Book VII, thus involves the

cooperative effort of various levels of believers and maintains the didactic duty of the

gnostic, parallel to Christ’s. Clement also relates the gnostic’s duties to his opportunity

for salvation. He writes, “For so in the case of the gnostic, who has blamelessly and

honestly fulfilled all that relates to him, in the direction of instruction and training and

beneficence, and what is satisfactory to God, the whole cooperates for the most perfect

salvation (th_n teleiota&thn swthri/an)” (Strom. VII.48.6).

Through a consideration of Clement’s Christology, we encounter his emphasis on

Christ’s teaching, particularly in terms of its redemptive function. Consequently, Christ’s

death serves a secondary role in Clement’s soteriological scheme, calling Christians to be

attentive to his message. Interpreting Christ’s death in this manner preserves the element

of human responsibility in salvation, central to Clement’s gnostic system. Clement

advises Christians, “We should also adapt ourselves to our educator, conform our deeds

to the Word, and then we will truly live” (Paed. I.12.100.3). Hence, appropriate decisions

in living, rather than sacrifices, determine one’s standing before Christ.55 Clement’s

optimism regarding human potential naturally minimizes the redeeming effect of Christ’s

death. While the soteriological function of mercy is preserved for Clement, human

54
Judith L. Kovacs offers a useful description of this aspect of Clement’s gnostic. She observes, “Although
the Gnostic described in book 7 of the Stromateis is an idealized figure, who has achieved the highest state
of perfection possible in this life and who already lives in close communion with God, he is by no means
isolated from his fellow human beings,” “Divine Pedagogy and the Gnostic Teacher According to Clement
of Alexandria,” Journal of Early Christian Studies 9 (2001): 17.
55
In explication of the Beatitudes, Matthew 6:32-33 and Luke 12:30-31 (Strom. IV.34), Clement asks,
“Does he not then openly exhort us to follow the gnostic life, and enjoin us to seek the truth in word and
deed? Therefore Christ, who trains the soul, reckons one rich, not by his gifts, but by his choice,” Strom.
IV.35.1.

68
response is regarded as equally significant. Imitation of Christ signifies the appropriate

response.

An ideal imitation, however, does not require suffering. If many early Christians

perceived martyrdom as an imitation of Christ’s sacrifice, then Clement’s interpretation

of the passion, as well as the nature of Christ, diminishes the relevance of such a motive.

Pagels states the essential issue well:

Only if Christ suffered and died in the same way that we do ourselves can

our suffering and death imitate his. But if—as the Valentinians and others

suggest—Christ’s experience essentially differs from ours, in that the

divine Savior could not suffer, then our experience cannot be equivalent to

his.56

In my assessment, Clement belongs among the “others” indicated by Pagels. His thought

suggests that the martyr’s experience cannot truly reflect Christ’s. More specifically, the

uniqueness of Christ’s impassible nature in Clement’s thought minimizes the opportunity

for imitation via a suffering death. Below, I further argue that the peculiarities of the

human situation inhibit divine assimilation. Moreover, Clement’s gnostic scheme

revolves around a progressive mode of redemption, indebted not to Christ’s sufferings,

but to his teachings. As revealed in the first part of this chapter, the effort of the martyr,

according to Clement, focuses on procuring salvation through an individual’s appropriate

life, rather than a suffering death. As in the quest for gnosis, this process of martyrdom is

essentially individual and independent. Ultimately, our exploration of Clement’s view of

56
“Gnostic and Orthodox Views of Christ’s Passion: Paradigms for the Christian’s Response to Persection,”
266.

69
Christ coincides well with both his limited enthusiasm for a martyr’s death and his

promotion of an alternative, living martyr.

Care of the Christian Self: Clement’s Gnostic Life

In considering Clement of Alexandria’s stance on martyrdom, an examination of

his deliberations regarding death in general seems appropriate. A brief inquiry into this

matter yields interesting results, relevant to the present study. Clement positively

characterizes death as the ultimate release—“the dissolution of the chains which bind the

soul to the body” (Strom. IV.12.5.).57 The results of this liberation of the soul, and

consequent immortality, include unencumbered apprehension of God and divine

assimilation—the ultimate achievements of Clement’s gnostic. Regarding this shift,

which death exclusively allows, Clement further explains that souls, “although obscured

by passions, when set free from their bodies, are able to perceive more clearly, since they

are no longer eclipsed by flesh” (Strom. VI.46.3). Such a seemingly negative evaluation

of the body leads one to wonder why Clement is not a more adamant advocate of the

practice of martyrdom.

As the discussions above reveal, however, Clement disputes both enthusiasm for

martyrdom and, relatedly, a suffering death as the appropriate imitation of Christ. The

current section explores this apparent paradox within Clement’s thought. By evaluating

aspects of his program for the Christian gnostic (particularly the related ideal of

57
Similarly, “By natural necessity in the divine plan death follows birth, and the coming together of soul
and body is followed by their dissolution,” Strom. III.64.2.

70
apatheia), alongside his reflections on the relationship between body and soul, I will

demonstrate that, while the paradox ultimately remains, Clement offers a suitable

alternative that highlights the potential for considerable progress toward salvation in the

present life. Along the way, other relevant aspects of Clement’s thought are explored,

including his association with Stoicism, his frustration with adversaries, and his emphasis

on human responsibility.58 Returning to the matter of mortality, Clement’s association of

death with the gnostic ideal requires attention. By taking a closer look at attention to the

“self” in Clement’s gnostic program, we can further understand how his tiers of

martyrdom—via death or gnosis—relate not only to whether or not one will die

(significant as that may be), but also to how Christian identity is best enacted. Clement’s

gnostic perspective contributes significantly to both his devaluation of self-seeking

martyrs and his relative lack of enthusiasm for the practice in general.

Body and Soul—Distinct, yet Harmonious

As mentioned above, Clement’s assessment of death leaves one with the

impression that he considers the body a hindrance. His evaluation of the body is, in fact,

somewhat ambiguous. In terms of achieving salvation, the body both impedes and assists

the progress of Clement’s gnostic. While it is essentially inferior to the soul and

58
Clement’s philosophical tendencies, including my focus in this section, Stoicism, have been the subject of
much discussion. Lilla’s introduction provides a review of various scholarly positions regarding Clement’s
philosophical influences. He notes the “overwhelming majority” of scholars view Clement as “eclectic”—
“It was very easy, starting from the simultaneous presence of Platonic, Stoic, and Aristotelian elements as
well as of so many quotations from classical authors throughout Clement’s writings, to speak of
‘eclecticism.’” Clement himself suggest this characterization: “And philosophy—I do not mean the Stoic,
nor the Platonic, nor the Epicurean, nor the Aristotelian, but whatever has been said well by each of these
sects, which teach righteousness with a pious understanding—this eclectic whole I call philosophy,” Strom.
I.37.6. Lilla, however, argues that Clement should be considered among his contemporary philosophical
context. He thus evaluates Clement in light of Middle Platonism, Philo, and Gnosticism, all which present a
cultural synthesis of earlier philosophical perspectives, including Platonism, Aristotelianism, and Stoicism,
Clement of Alexandria: A Study in Christian Platonism and Gnosticism, 2; 3–7.

71
contributes to the presence of passions, the body, as the supreme aspect of God’s

creation, nevertheless retains value (Strom. IV.164.3).59 Clement considers its

relationship with the soul as well, and ultimately, advocates the positive utility of the

body.

In response to opponents who spurn the body and, more broadly, creation,

Clement initially exhibits indifference with regard to the inherent value of the body and

soul. He submits, “But neither is the soul good by nature, nor is the body bad by nature”

(Strom. IV.164.3).60 Rather, the choices one makes contribute to the soul’s rise or demise.

Continuing his criticism of the opposition, Clement illustrates the care with which God

created all aspects of the human, including body and soul. Highlighting the potential of

the human form, Clement explains (against those who denigrate the body) that, “the

construction of the human was formed erect for the contemplation of heaven, and that the

organization of the senses contributes to knowledge; and that the members and parts are

arranged for good, not for pleasure” (Strom. IV.163.1).61 The body, therefore, is

deliberately crafted in a manner conducive to the progress of Clement’s gnostic.

Clement frequently elaborates on the potentially beneficial relationship between

the body and the soul. Rather than opposing one another, the two human elements

59
Passions, though aspects of the soul, also relate to the body. Bodily needs may affect the rise of passions.
Clement notes, “desire is not a bodily thing, though it occurs on account of the body” Strom. III.34.2.
Clement also associates passions with the flesh in Paed I.6.43.1.
60
Regarding this aspect of Clement’s thought, Ferguson discusses Clement’s characterization of evil as a
habit or activity, arising from human choice, rather than a substance, associated negatively with the
material world (IV.93.3), “The Achievement of Clement of Alexandria,” 73.
61
This frustration compares well with Clement’s reaction to deliberate martyrs in Book IV, whom he
admonishes for despising the body. In that instance, he also offers that the body contributes to
understanding, Strom. IV.4.17.

72
function best in a harmonious relationship (Strom. IV.164.5).62 Regarding this alliance,

Clement relates, “But the business of a Christian soul is the work of reason, in

accordance with a refined judgment and a yearning for truth, achieved by means of its

consort and accomplice, the body” (Paed. I.13.102.3). The body thus enhances, rather

than impedes, the soul’s progress. Integral to achieving gnosis, this concordant

relationship requires that the Christian be attentive to the needs of both body and soul.

Referencing Plato, he expresses, “care for the body is performed for the sake of the soul”

(Strom. IV.22.1).63 Clement’s concern for the proper maintenance of the body is further

apparent in Book II of Paed., which he devotes to practical advice for exercising control

over the body. Though incredibly detailed, the discipline proposed by Clement is not

extreme, but intentionally moderate.

Clement consistently depicts temperance as the appropriate manner of dealing

with the desires of the present world.64 Pleasures themselves are not inherently bad, but

appropriate choice concerning pleasures is key (Strom. IV.22.2-3). Ideally, the gnostic

should “encounter only the passions that exist for the preservation of the body, such as

hunger, thirst, and the like” (Strom. VI.71.1).65 Rather than depriving the body, Clement

62
Clement also maintains the potential independence of the soul from the body. In one instance, he uses
dreams to illustrate this point, Paed II.9.
63
In addition, the twelfth chapter of Book VII focuses on the necessary care of both body and soul.
64
Clement’s exposition of the virtues of marriage in Strom. III represents well his concept of moderate and
appropriate use of pleasure. David G. Hunter provides a useful analysis of Clement’s stance on the issue of
marriage, “The Language of Desire: Clement of Alexandria’s Transformation of Ascetic Discourse,”
Semeia 57 (1992): 95–111. Also, see Clark, Elizabeth, “Foucault, The Fathers, and Sex,” Journal of the
American Academy of Religion 56 (1988): 619–641.
65
Such needs reflect the nature of the body, which, as explained above, is not inherently corrupt.
Deprivation therefore is unreasonable; Strom. VII.64.2.

73
explicitly encourages a comfortable, though not excessive, lifestyle, as “health and

abundance of necessaries keep the soul free and unhindered” (Strom. IV.21.1).

Furthermore, Clement considers the concerns of the body temporary: “[One] eats, and

drinks, and marries, not as one’s main purpose, but as necessary” (Strom. VII.70.6).66

Care of the body, though worthwhile, reflects a transient stage in Clement’s soteriological

scheme. The body, as material, is essentially temporary. Against the Valentinian

perspective, Clement relates, “But we say that things of the world are not our own, not as

if they were unnatural, not as if they did no belong to God, the Lord of the all, but

because we do not reside among them forever” (Strom. IV.94.3). The distinction between

material and spiritual receives further consideration below, with particular regard to

Clement’s understanding of death.

The human body, rather than an exclusively negative encumbrance, actually

serves an essential, though intermediate, purpose. For Clement, care of the body allows

for the development of the soul, ultimately critical for salvation. Nevertheless, as the soul

of the Christian gnostic advances, the body, I will show, ultimately halts its progress.67

Henry Chadwick summarizes the irony of Clement’s treatment of the body: “He can

declare that the body is an obstacle to the soul’s clarity of vision, and that death snaps the

chain binding the soul to the body; but he refuses to concede that the body is in any sense

66
For Clement, marriage, celebrated in Strom. III, is the appropriate outlet for sexual desires, which arise
from the body.
67
Regarding this issue, Henry Chadwick relates that being created involves one in “the finitude and
transitoriness of existence outside of God, and the body is an obstacle to the soul’s clarity of vision,”
History and Thought of the Early Church, 178.

74
evil.”68 This latter aspect of Clement’s thinking corresponds well with his attitude toward

martyrdom.

While certainly inspired by a variety of intellectual trends, Clement’s musings on

the relationship between body and soul exhibit a particular affinity to the Stoic tradition.

In fact, as he explains the essential neutrality of the body and health in relation to the

soul, Clement explicitly cites the Stoics, making their influence apparent (Strom.

IV.19.1).69 Epictetus, the Roman slave turned Stoic philosopher, provides a striking

parallel to Clement’s thought regarding the human condition.70 This correspondence

deserves particular attention since, as we shall see, Epictetus’ treatment of the body lends

to his evaluation of both life and death (especially deliberate death) in a manner quite

comparable to Clement’s.

Like Clement, Epictetus’ reasoning on the matter of the body begins with his

perception of its nature. He recalls the conception of humanity as a unique combination

of body and reason. Epictetus’ treatment of the latter, which stresses the potential utility

of reason in progressing “toward that which is divine and blessed,” resembles Clement’s

68
Henry Chadwick, Early Christian Thought and the Classical Tradition: Studies in Justin, Clement, and
Origen (New York: Oxford University Press, 1966), 48.
69
Numerous scholars acknowledge Clement’s reliance on the Stoic tradition on this issue, as well as many
others. In addition to Lilla (noted above), Behr, for instance, illustrates, “The specific manner of life that
Clement has in mind is living in obedience to the divine Logos, which, for Clement, is identical to living
according to reason and to nature. Clement explicitly points to the similarity of his position to the Stoic
doctrine of living according to nature, in which he claims that the term ‘nature’ has been impiously
substituted for the term ‘God’,” Asceticism and Anthropology in Irenaeus and Clement, 138; cf. Strom.
II.101.1.
70
My choice to compare Clement with Epictetus rests on a range of parallels between the two. Certainly,
Clement’s ideas also parallel those of other Stoic philosophers, including Marcus Aurelius. In his
Meditations, he similarly regards death as natural; it should not therefore be scorned or feared. Rather, one
should accept it easily, simply following nature, IX.3, X.36; cf. X.2.

75
evaluation of the soul (Disc. I.3.3.).71 With regard to the body, Epictetus recognizes its

inferiority, yet maintains the necessity of its care, directly asserting, “I do not neglect my

body” (Disc. I.2.37). Epictetus, as Clement does after him, also confronts those who

erroneously spend their energy despising the body (Disc. I.3.5-6). The body, according to

Epictetus, is provided for man by God for a limited period of time and thus requires the

appropriate sustenance. Advocating care of the body, Epictetus explicitly associates the

maintenance of life with devotion to God: “But it is necessary for me to serve God. For

that reason I remain, and am content to wash this wretched body, and to feed and protect

it” (Frag. 23).72 While perhaps not as eloquent in depicting the body as God’s handiwork,

Epictetus nevertheless relates an understanding of the body that is quite similar to

Clement’s—ambiguous, yet essentially positive. In addition to a concern for the care of

the body, Clement shares with Epictetus an affirmative evaluation of an active life.

Clement’s Road to Apatheia

As suggested above, Clement scheme of salvation demands an active, rather than

passive, Christian lifestyle. Clement’s gnostic, primarily characterized in Strom. VII,

epitomizes the ideal.73 As the previous discussion reveals, the progressive development

71
Just prior to this, Epictetus notes that humans share reason with the gods and the body with animals and
may thus be inclined toward either relationship. A successful progression toward the divine is achieved,
according to Epictetus, only by few.
72
Michel Foucault characterizes Epictetus’ thought as “the highest philosophical development” of notion of
the care of the self. He observes, “The care of the self, for Epictetus, is a privilege-duty, a gift-obligation
that ensures our freedom while forcing us to take ourselves as the object of all our diligence,” Michel
Foucault, The Care of the Self, trans. Robert Hurley, History of Sexuality, Vol. III (New York: Vintage
Books, 1986), 47. Clement similarly highlights the value of choices regarding the body.
73
Strom. VII.44.3-6 briefly summarizes the situation of Clement’s gnostic.

76
of the soul is critical in achieving gnosis. While the body itself is essentially neutral and

can contribute to the advancement of the soul, other aspects of the human condition pose

a threat to the soul’s progress, particularly passions. While Clement relies on

philosophical tradition to classify the passions, he also equates them with sin. He writes,

All that is contrary to right reason is a sin. The philosophers, for example,

claim that the most typical passions are defined in the following way:

desire (e)piqumi/an) is a yearning that kind is disobedient to reason; fear

(fo&bon) is an aversion that is disobedient to reason; pleasure (h(donh_n) is

an swelling of the soul that is disobedient to reason; and grief (lu&phn) is a

contraction of the soul that is disobedient to reason. If the production of

sin is a consequence of disobedience to reason, then how is it not

necessary that obedience to reason, which we call faith, is the procurement

of the proper goodness? (Paed. I.13.101.1)

In addition to reiterating the concept of passions as unreasonable movements of the soul,

this passage also highlights the consequent appropriate management of the passions—

obedience to reason. Clement offers, “Now the sacrifice which is acceptable to God is an

unabashed separation from the body and its passions. This is the true service of God”

(Strom. V.67.1-2).74

Clement thus advances the Stoic concept of apatheia as the ultimate achievement,

to be actively sought by all Christians. This reflects the highest ethical ideal for the

74
Clement continues by celebrating Socrates’ study of death as an appropriate disciplinary practice; the
reference is to Plato’s Phaedo 67d; cf. Strom. IV.12.5; see also Behr, Asceticism and Anthropology in
Irenaeus and Clement, 192.

77
Stoics; it did not signify the elimination of all emotions but only of the diseased ones, the

pathe. Those who attain apatheia are guided by right reason, experience the good

emotions and are therefore free from anything that is contrary to nature.75 An integral

aspect of the quest for apatheia, for Clement, is the freedom of choice.76 Clement thus

places emphasis on the consequent human responsibility. The centrality of human choice

in Clement’s scheme surfaces in his discussion regarding humanity’s essential relation to

God. Against other Christians who maintain the presence of a divine aspect in humans,

Clement argues, “But God has no natural relation to us, as the founders of the heresies

maintain…unless we dare to say that we are a part of Him, and of the same essence as

God” (Strom. II.74.1).77 While created in the image of God, humans do not intrinsically

possess a divine likeness, according to Clement. God has endowed humans with free

choice, which provides them with the capacity to achieve likeness.78 Rather than marked

by an essential affinity, Clement characterizes the relationship between disciplined

Christians and God as adoptive (Strom. II.75.2). Highlighting Clement’s soteriological

interest, Denise Buell explains, “[He] rejects the notion that humans are related to God by

75
David E. Aune, “Mastery of the Passions: Philo, 4 Maccabees and Earliest Christianity,” in Hellenization
Revisited: Shaping a Christian Response Within the Greco-Roman World, ed. Wendy E. Helleman (New
York: University Press of America, 1994), 126.
76
L. G. Patterson notes that Clement considers “development and self-determination as central to human
existence,” “The Divine Became Human: Irenaean Themes in Clement of Alexandria,” Studia Patristica 31
(1997): 507–08.
77
Clement continues, with reference to God’s grace, “But God being by nature rich in pity, in consequence
of his own goodness, cares for us, though neither portions of himself, not by nature his children,” Strom.
II.74.4.
78
Floyd notes Clement’s interpretation of the human as sharing both an “image” and “likeness” with God.
Image represents an intellectual affinity, or reason, while likeness is a virtue that is acquired, Clement of
Alexandria’s Treatment of the Problem of Evil, 92. Patterson also reflects on the notion of ‘likeness’ in
Clement’s writings and notes its reliance on human motivation: “It consists not in substantial identity but in
freely chosen assimilation and communion with the divine,” “The Divine Became Human: Irenaean
Themes in Clement of Alexandria,” 505–06.

78
essence to argue that salvation is not premised on such a relation but upon human self-

discipline and divine favor.”79 Hence, Clement explicitly rejects what he perceives as

determinism of other Christians, in favor of a salvific program that advocates activity

guided by appropriate choice, rather than passivity.80

Clement’s adaptation of the Stoic ideal of apatheia makes his focus on active

discipline apparent.81 As previously mentioned, in the Christian quest for gnosis, a

significant requirement involves the control of one’s passions. Christ serves as both the

model for and teacher of apatheia. Passions inhibit contemplation and thus require

moderation, if not eradication.82 Clement utilizes the notion of metriopatheia to designate

successful moderation of the passions.83 Mere control, however, is not the highest ideal

and Clement claims apatheia to be the ultimate goal. He explains:

79
Buell, Making Christians: Clement of Alexandria and the Rhetoric of Legitimacy, 91. Floyd also
explicates Clement’s position regarding free choice and assimilation to God, Clement of Alexandria’s
Treatment of the Problem of Evil, 94.
80
Chapter 13 of Strom. IV marks one particular instance of a refutation of the Valentinian concept of the
elect.
81
Peter Brown offers a worthwhile description of the Stoic concept of apatheia, which stresses the virtue of
an active life. Rather than demanding repression of feelings, apatheia represents the “state of final serenity
of purpose,“ or full awareness, The Body and Society: Men, Women, and Sexual Renunciation in Early
Christianity (New York: Columbia University Press, 1988), 128–31. Foucault also highlights the active
aspect of the Stoic lifestyle, The Care of the Self, History of Sexuality, Vol. III, 42.
82
Clement notes that the “the middle state is good in all things…,” Paed. II.1.16.4. In evaluating the issue
of passions of Clement’s thought, Brown appropriately notes that, while the passions initially originate in
the body, they ultimately endanger the progress of the mind, and thus demanded attention, The Body and
Society: Men, Women, and Sexual Renunciation in Early Christianity, 129. Foucault also offers a brief
description of the concept of pathos, The Care of the Self, History of Sexuality, Vol. III, 54.
83
The first stage for Clement is metriopatheia, Strom. VI.74.1; VI.105.1; VI.109.3. Interestingly, Clement
relates metriopatheia to fear produced by the Old Testament; see Lilla, 99. More specifically, the Mosaic
law functions, according to Clement, as the basis for self-restraint, Strom. II.18, while dietary laws assist in
moderating the passions of pleasure and desire, Strom. II.105.1; 106.2; Aune notes that the Jewish law
operates in Clement’s thought as a preparation for the gospel (comparable to the role of philosophy),
“Mastery of the Passions: Philo, 4 Maccabees and Earliest Christianity,” 143–44. Lilla also offers, “The
sharp distinction between two class of men, which corresponds to the distinction between pistis and gnosis,

79
 We must therefore remove the gnostic and perfect one from all passions of

the soul. For, on the one hand, knowledge creates discipline, and, on the

other, discipline is habit or disposition; and such a state as this produces

apatheia, not moderation of the passions. For the complete elimination of

desire bears as its fruit apatheia (Strom. VI.74.1).84

Discipline and consequent eradication of the passions thus mark the higher goal,

apatheia. Achieving apatheia allows for contemplation and the acquisition of gnosis

(Strom. VII.44.6.).85 Highlighting God’s gift of human responsibility in the salvific

enterprise, Clement encourages Christians to prepare their souls through discipline for the

reception of knowledge (Strom. VII.71.1). He also consistently expresses the cooperative

nature of this process (Strom. VII.48.7). Comparing God to a physician, Clement submits

that he imparts “eternal salvation to those who cooperate for the attainment of knowledge

and good deeds” (Strom. VII.48.4). As a voluntary participant, the virtuous Christian is

considered especially praiseworthy (Strom. VII.19.3). Clement relates, “Nor shall he who

is saved be saved unwillingly…but he will above all voluntarily and deliberately speed to

salvation” (Strom. VII.42.4). While Clement’s discussion emphatically supports the

primacy of human activity in God’s soteriological plan, the potential for progress,

achieved through an active life, is ultimately restricted.

appears clearly also in the twofold ethical stage metriopa&qeia / a)pa&qeia,” Clement of Alexandria: A
Study in Christian Platonism and Gnosticism, 103.
84
See also Strom. VII.64.4.
85
Clement defines the culmination of such contemplation: “The greatest thing is, then, the knowledge of
God (h( gnw~sij tou~ qeou)” Strom. VII.47.3.

80
The Limits of Human Apatheia

Just as his potential for mimicking Christ’s death is limited, so also, ultimately, is

the Christian’s quest for apatheia. In spite of Clement’s enthusiasm regarding the

potential of free choice, the progressive achievement of the gnostic is eventually stunted

by the realities of the present, bodily life. Comprehensive knowledge and full

contemplation await the Christian in the afterlife. Clement relates, “When the soul, after

stepping back, is by itself and in communion with the forms, like the ‘chief’ of the

Theaetetus, at that time becomes an angel with Christ, experiencing contemplation”

(Strom. IV.155.4).86 Referring to the appropriate imitation of Christ, Clement expresses,

“For the one who is assimilated to the Savior also saves; infallibly upholding the

commandments as far as the human nature allows of the image” (Strom. VI.77.5). While

advocating human responsibility, Clement also recognizes the inherent limitations of the

human condition. Even the perfected gnostic, according to Clement, can only “converse

with God” according to his limited ability (Strom. VII.13.2). Furthermore, as in his

Christological discussions, Clement stresses the unique nature of the divine, which, in

turn, restricts human assimilation. He submits that apatheia exclusively and naturally

belongs to God (Strom. VII.13.3).

More significant than the divine nature, however, is the role of the body in

hindering absolute contemplation. Clement congratulates the gnostic for his “mastery of

worldly desires even while still in the flesh” (Strom. VII.74.9). Nevertheless, in spite of

acquiring knowledge, this gnostic is “humbled since he is involved in the necessities of

86
In addition, “When [our soul] is pure and set free from all evil the mind is somehow capable of receiving
the power of God and the divine image is set up in it,” Strom. III.42.6.

81
life; not yet deemed worthy of the active participation in what he knows. So he makes use

of this share of life as if it belonged to another, so far, that is, as it is necessary” (Strom.

VII.75.1). Clement thus recognizes the restrictions associated with the transient nature of

bodily existence. The progression of Clement’s gnostic ultimately continues in the

afterlife, when he is released from the body through death; assimilation to and full

contemplation of God marks the fullest perfection.87 This brings one back to the question

of death. Considering his recognition of the limitations, as well as his stress on the active

role of the Christian, one questions why Clement is not a more enthusiastic proponent of

martyrdom.

Maintenance of Life over Death

While Clement’s portrayal of martyrdom in Strom. IV reveals his stance regarding

deliberate death, further consideration of this aspect of Clement’s thought proves

worthwhile, particularly as it relates to his gnostic program for salvation. In this regard, a

brief return to Epictetus illuminates the philosophical context in which Clement crafted

his views. In addition to a common understanding of the relationship between body and

87
With regard to the limitations of Clement’s gnostic, Lilla relates, “In Clement’s conception of gnosis it is
possible to distinguish two different stages. Gnosis can already be attained by man to some extent during
his stay on earth; but it reaches its climax after the death of the body, when the soul of the gnwstiko&j is
allowed to fly back to its original place where, after becoming a god, it can enjoy, in a complete and
perpetual rest, the contemplation of the highest divinity,” Clement of Alexandria: A Study in Christian
Platonism and Gnosticism, 142. G. W. Butterworth also notes Clement’s distinctive “stress upon the
earthly preparation for immortality as being itself the first stage in the process of deification.” Furthermore,
with respect to gradual ascent and the afterlife, he suggests that Clement resembles the traditions of Greek
philosophy, especially Stoicism, rather than the New Testament, in “The Deification of Man in Clement of
Alexandria,” Journal of Theological Studies 17 (1916): 162–64. Olivier Prunet similarly considers
Clement’s ideal of perfection, marginal to the New Testament, as a reflection of Stoic and Philonic
tradition; La morale de Clément d’Alexandrie et le Nouveau Testament, Études d’Histoire et de Philosophie
Religieuses 61 (Paris: Presses Universitaires de France, 1966). Osborn though maintains Clement’s
continuity with the scriptures, though he notes some significant shifts in his ethical thinking, in “Clement of
Alexandria: A Review of Research, 1958-1982,” 236.

82
soul, Clement’s adaptation of the Stoic ideal of apatheia, and the moral program

involved, has already been noted. His correspondence with Stoic evaluations of

enthusiasm for death requires examination.

Borrowing the military imagery of Socrates in Plato’s Apology, Epictetus

characterizes an individual’s life as a station appointed by God, not to be abandoned

prematurely (Disc. I.9.24). Maintaining the post as a proper general would render one a

“true relative of the gods” (Disc. I.9.25-26). Nevertheless, like Clement, Epictetus faces

situations in which death might be appropriate.88 Epictetus also confronts enthusiasts of

self-inflicted death. Advocating the necessary use of reason in contemplating death, as

well as the required reception of a sign from God, he advises:

Await God. When he shall give the sign and release you from this service,

then you depart to him; but for the present endure to dwell in this place, in

which he has stationed you. This time of your residence is brief indeed,

and easily adapted by those who are well-disposed…stay, rather than

depart irrationally. (Disc. I.9.16-17).

Emphasizing the practice of reason, Epictetus maintains that a divine signal is necessary.

Unbearable circumstances that inhibit the virtuous life of the Stoic may serve as a sign of

88
Unlike Clement, Epictetus is of course not confronted with the persecution that creates martyrs. Epictetus
rather deals with issue of voluntary death in the Roman period and experiences the practical problem of too
much enthusiasm over self-killing. He reflects a later strain of Stoicism, with which Clement was likely
familiar. Scholars agree that Epictetus is essentially consistent with earlier Stoic tradition, particularly on
the issue of voluntary death (in contrast to Seneca, for instance); John M. Rist, Stoic Philosophy
(Cambridge: University Press, 1969), 250f. Droge and Tabor, A Noble Death: Suicide and Martyrdom
Among Christians and Jews in Antiquity, 37. Regarding death, Droge further notes that Epictetus “insists
again and again on its indifferent status.” In contrast to Seneca, “the exaggerated fascination with suicide as
the free act par excellence” is missing in Epictetus, “Mori Lucrum: Paul and Ancient Theories of Suicide,”
Novum Testamentum 20 (1988): 272.

83
God’s will and make self-afflicted death acceptable (Disc. III.24.101; IV.10-27-28).

Epictetus nevertheless prefers the maintenance of life. He reminds his audience, “If an

arrangement in accordance with nature is provided, then I will seek no other place than

that in which I am” (Disc. III.24.102).89 Epictetus does not therefore exalt death, but

considers self-inflicted death as the most drastic mode of escaping a situation in which

the Stoic lifestyle cannot be properly maintained.90 Droge submits, “According to

Epictetus, an individual ought not to give up on life irrationally or for frivolous causes.

The reason for this is that the deity does not desire it.”91 Considered only when no other

option is present, deliberate death furthermore is only truly valid when God arranges a

signal; hence, the act is not exclusively self-motivated.92

With the possible exception of the signal requirement, Clement’s treatment of

voluntary death mirrors the Stoic position well. Though the fulfillment of his potential

awaits the afterlife, the gnostic must not consider taking his own life. Appropriate

discipline makes such a move unnecessary. Regarding the gnostic, Clement explains, “he

lives, having put to death desires, and no longer makes use of the body, but only permits

it the use of necessities, so that he may not furnish a cause for its dissolution” (Strom.

VI.75.3). Salvation essentially relates to the gnostic’s spiritual, rather than physical,

condition.

89
This appears to be a paraphrase of Plato’s Apol. 28d-29a.
90
The Stoic Musonius Rufus offers a comparable view: “One who by living is of use to many has not the
right to choose to die, unless by dying he may be of use to more,” Frag. 29, trans. Cora E. Lutz, Musonius
Rufus: “The Roman Socrates”, Yale Classical Studies 10 (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1947).
91
Droge, “Mori Lucrum: Paul and Ancient Theories of Suicide,” 273.
92
Marcus Aurelius presents a comparable understanding of voluntary death. In Meditations III.1, he notes
that suicide is possible when full comprehension is not longer possible; Meditations V.29 similarly
considers the appropriate time to depart, or end one’s life; see also Meditations VIII.47, IX.2.

84
 In addition to his treatment in Book IV, Clement also considers misguided

enthusiasts of death in Strom. VII. Like Epictetus, Clement finds fault in their lack of

reason. He notes that some “without reason rush to many things, and act like brave men,

so as sometimes to succeed carelessly in accomplishing the same tests…But it is not from

the same cause as the gnostic, or with the same object” (Strom. VII.59.2-4). Moreover,

Clement argues that actions of any man ultimately correspond to his knowledge, or lack

thereof. Apparently brave behavior lacks value, unless backed by appropriate reasoning

(Strom. VII.59.5). Like Epictetus, Clement emphasizes that the manner in which one

approaches death is more significant than the event itself.

As he continues his discussion of those eager for death in Book VII, Clement

differentiates true from false martyrs:

But he who is truly brave, with the peril arising from the bad feeling of the

multitude before his eyes, courageously awaits whatever comes. In this

way he is distinguished from others who are called martyrs, since some

furnish occasions for themselves, and rush into the heart of dangers.

(Strom. VII.66.4)93

Clement thus maintains his opposition to those who actively seek out their own deaths,

while commending the passivity of the righteous, though undetermined, martyr. He

continues, “while they in accordance with right reason, protect themselves; then, on God

really calling them, readily hand themselves over” (Strom. VII.66.4). This passage serves

as an interesting, perhaps inconsistent, parallel to Clement’s depiction of appropriate

93
In addition to mirroring Epictetus, Clement’s view also parallels that which Marcus Aurelius expressed in
opposition to Christians, Meditations XI.3.

85
martyrdom in Book IV, in which the requirement of a call is missing. As explained

above, the notion of a call in Book IV, would conflict with Clement’s understanding of

God’s providence and weaken his argument against Basilides. Its presence in Book VII

perhaps reflects Clement’s dependence on Stoic thought, as represented by Epictetus.

In social identity terms, let us consider then how we might frame Clement’s

depiction of intra-group relations along with his emphasis on individual progress, with

specific reference to the prospect of martyrdom. His tiers of Christians could be

understood as multiple subgroups under one broad Christian identity; but divergent

allegiances among these subgroups – stemming from various points of progress – could

and likely did surface; the prospect of martyrdom appears to present one such occasion. It

is not difficult to envision martyrdom by death, in Clement's scheme, as a practice most

appropriate for the faithful, but not demanded of the Gnostic. This perspective could also

help us explain Clement's own retreat from Alexandria; certainly, he appears to follow

his own advice in avoiding martyrdom, but his departure could also suggest his view of

the limited utility of witnessing by death, preferring the continuation of progressive

development in life.94

94
Clement’s departure is suggested by Eusebius’ Hist. eccl. VI.11.6; 14.4. Scholars often reasonably
speculate that Clement departed due to the persecution of Septimius Severus. Still, the precise motivations
for his departure are difficult to establish; see Van den Hoek, “How Alexandrian Was Clement of
Alexandria? Reflections on Clement and His Alexandrian Background,” 184. The timing of the departure
in relation to the composition of Strom. is also unclear. This problematizes the perspective offered by Moss
that Clement crafted his distinction of voluntary and proper martyrdoms as a consequence (i.e. justification)
of his departure. Attributing the origins of this differentiation to Clement and the author of Mart. Pol.,
Moss claims, “the condemnation of voluntary martyrdom as a distinct phenomenon serves to explain initial
flight from persecution,” Ancient Christian Martyrdom: Diverse Practices, Theologies, and Traditions,
154.

86
 Social identity theory further leads us to anticipate that when expected sacrifices

associated with group identity are minimal, gnostic identification with the broader

Christian group works, and, in some cases, offers benefits. As suggested above,

communal prayer might reflect such a situation. However, when greater demands are

required of group members, specifically suffering or, in this case, a martyr’s death,

individual-oriented Christians, like Clement's gnostic (and perhaps Clement himself),

appear less inclined to perform their Christian social identity for the benefit of the

community.

87
 Chapter 3
Peter as Witness in the Coptic Apocalypse of Peter (NHC VII, 3)

Like the writings of Clement of Alexandria, the Coptic Apocalypse of Peter

(Apoc. Pet.) offers valuable insight on early Christian debates over the value of

suffering.1 Specifically, Apoc. Pet. depicts a situation of persecution within the early

Christian community. Notes of oppression are, of course, typical of early Jewish and

Christian apocalypses. What is striking in the case of Apoc. Pet. is the identity of the

oppressor—fellow Christians, rather than Roman authorities, are the source of concern.

The polemic associated with this apparent intra-Christian conflict as well as the

text’s Christological focus, which emphasizes a non-suffering Savior, make Apoc. Pet. an

ideal choice for the current project. Furthermore, the text reflects communal layers—a

range of overlapping and competing Christian identities. My analysis of Apoc. Pet. thus

1
This Coptic Apocalypse of Peter discovered at Nag Hammadi is distinct from the other known early
Christian apocalypse attributed to Peter, preserved in its original Greek.

For this chapter, I primarily follow the critical edition of Henriette Havelaar, The Coptic Apocalypse of
Peter (Nag Hammadi-Codex VII,3), Berlin-Brandenburgische Akademie der Wissenschaften; Texte und
Untersuchungen (Berlin: Akademie Verlag, 1999). Additional critical editions consulted include: the
Coptic text and English translation of James Allen Brashler, “Apocalypse of Peter. Text, Translation and
Notes,” in Nag Hammadi Codex VII, ed. Birger A. Pearson, Nag Hammadi and Manichean Studies
(NHMS) (Leiden: Brill, 1996), 218–247.; Henriette Havelaar, “Die Apokalypse des Petrus,” in Nag
Hammadi Deutsch. 2. Band: NHC V,2-XIII,1, BG 1 und 4, ed. Hans-Martin Schenke, Hans-Gebhard
Bethge, and Ursula Ulrike Kaiser, vol. 2, Die grieschischen christlichen Schriftsteller, neue folge Band 12
(Berlin: Walter de Gruyter, 2003), 591–600. In addition to Brashler and Havelaar’s English translations,
see Meyer, Marvin, ed., “The Revelation of Peter,” in The Nag Hammadi Scriptures: The International
Edition (New York: HarperOne, 2007).
tracks clues of intra-group conflict, emerging group boundaries, and expressions of social

identity, particularly as these processes relate to persecution and potential suffering.

Although discourse regarding suffering permeates Apoc. Pet., the issue of

martyrdom— central to the present study—is not explicitly addressed.2 Many scholars

thus exhibit limited interest in Apoc. Pet.’s references to persecution, and few connect

them with martyrdom. For example, in his significant treatment of Apoc. Pet., Koschorke

does not mention martyrdom as a possible factor in the author’s polemical criticism of

other Christians.3

Others more explicitly discount the language of persecution in Apoc. Pet. as

metaphorical, an innate feature of apocalyptic literature, but with little to no basis in

reality. For instance, Clemens Scholten, in his treatment of martyrdom in Gnostic

literature, rejects the idea that the language of persecution in Apoc. Pet. refers to an actual

situation of suffering and/or martyrdom. Rather than take these references4 literally,

Scholten claims that the use of “categories of physical suffering” derive from both the

surrounding subject matter—the crucifixion narrative—and traditional eschatology.5

2
As Moss reminds us, though, one can locate the concept of martyrdom in texts, even if they lack “martyr”
language, Ancient Christian Martyrdom: Diverse Practices, Theologies, and Traditions, 3; for instance,
Moss notes the alternative confession language, 4.
3
Koschorke does address martyrdom in Gnostic traditions in general in an excursus of his chapter on Test.
Truth, Die Polemik der Gnostiker gegen das kirchliche Christentum: Unter besonderer Berücksichtigung
der Nag-Hammadi-Traktate “Apokalypse des Petrus” (NHC VII,3) und “Testimonium Veritatis” (NHC
IX,3), 134–137.
4
Examples include: threats of stoning, 72,4-9; 73,25-74,6; ruin, 80,2; oppression, 79,11f; and Peter’s fear of
enemies, 84,6-10, Martyrium und Sophiamythos im Gnostizismus nach den Texten von Nag Hammadi,
Jahrbuch für Antike und Christentum (Münster; Westfalen: Aschendorff, 1987), 80.
5
Ibid., 80–90. There are certainly connections between the Passion narrative and the heresiological section
of Apoc. Pet., as we will see below. But the presence of a crucifixion scene in a text does not always lead to
the employment of suffering language throughout; in this regard, Scholten’s position is not so persuasive.

89
Certainly, as I highlight below, Apoc. Pet. draws on existing Gospel traditions. Still, it

seems more reasonable that the choice of such traditions, as well as the adoption of the

apocalyptic genre, reflects, rather than incidentally imports, the author’s apparent

concerns. Scholten also suggests that the primacy of theological disputes in the text

overshadows all other concerns.6 Intra-Christian debates do form the core of the text, but

one cannot always distinguish the theological from the social; in any case, the possibility

that perspectives on actual suffering are part of that debate remains open. As my project

shows, intra-Christian debates in the late second- and early third-centuries often center on

relative evaluations of suffering, including martyrdom. Scholten thus too easily dismisses

the references to persecution and suffering as inconsequential, especially as he admits

that physical suffering is discussed “so vividly and intensely” in Apoc. Pet.7

In a similar assessment, Werner minimizes the significance of persecution

references. He initially recognizes that complaints in Apoc. Pet. about judicial

proceedings, executioners, and captivity make “one think of martyrdom.”8 He reasons,

however, that one should expect more explicit references to Roman legal proceedings,

specifically the Decian or Valerian persecutions.9 He is certainly correct to note the

relative lack of Roman blame in the text.10 However, this argument from silence does not

6
Ibid., 87; 89.
7
Ibid., 89.
8
Andreas Werner, “The Coptic Gnostic Apocalypse of Peter,” in New Testament Apocrypha, ed. Edgar
Hennecke and Wilhelm Schneemelcher, trans. Robert McL. Wilson, vol. II: Writings Related to the
Apostles, Apocalypses, and Related Subjects (Louisville: Westminster/John Knox, 1992), 703–704.
9
Moreover, Werner proposes that one could offer alternative interpretations for the relevant sections of
Apoc. Pet.
10
Admittedly, the evidence for physical persecution of the author’s Christian community, particularly by
the Romans, is not definitive.

90
preclude a concern with persecution in Apoc. Pet. Rather, the particular apocalyptic

perspective of Apoc. Pet. suggests an alternative explanation for the absence of Roman

references. Fellow Christians, not imperial authorities, appear to reflect the more

immediate source of persecution, with the prospect of martyrdom. In this case, we should

not necessarily expect explicit references to Roman judicial scenarios.11

Unlike Scholten and Werner, a few interpreters of Apoc. Pet. do recognize the

threats of suffering as implicit indications of martyrdom. Pagels, for instance, reads the

evidence of Apoc. Pet. literally. In her view, the author takes issue with early Christian

coercion toward martyrdom, revealed by the references to “harsh fate” and “‘the

executioner,’ under the illusion that by ‘holding fast to the name of a dead man,’

confessing the crucified one, ‘they will become pure.’”12 The eagerness for suffering and

“propoganda for martyrdom” are the issues for the author, according to Pagels.13

Havelaar also sees clues of persecution and possible martyrdom, given the author’s

resistance to those who celebrate suffering.14 I revisit and extend these insights below,

showing that martyrdom appears as one aspect of his early Christian opposition that the

author of Apoc. Pet. finds troubling.

11
That is not to say that the Romans are not involved, but they appear to be perceived as the less direct
threat in the case of Apoc. Pet.
12
Referring to 79,11-21“Gnostic and Orthodox Views of Christ’s Passion: Paradigms for the Christian’s
Response to Persecution,” 274.
13
As her reading of Apoc. Pet. continues, however, Pagels also submits that, “while the Apocalypse of Peter
rejects the orthodox view of martyrdom, it does not reject martyrdom per se.” She roots this claim in a
reading of 78,32-79,2, which I revisit below; ultimately, I find it difficult to envision the author as
supportive of any sort of physical martyrdom. Ibid., 274.
14
Havelaar, The Coptic Apocalypse of Peter (Nag Hammadi-Codex VII,3), in reference to Apoc. Pet. 78,32-
34, 98. In his translation, Meyer similarly understands this passage as a reference to martyrdom, indicated
by his section heading to 78,31-79,31, which references “martyrs,” “The Revelation of Peter,” 495.

91
 In what follows, I first demonstrate how Apoc. Pet.’s apocalyptic perspective

lends to the identification of its audience as persecuted Christians; physical suffering,

however, is not celebrated as part of their plight. Second, in critiquing certain Christians,

the author highlights a range of misguided behaviors, which, I assert, includes physical

martyrdom; those who encourage it are particular targets. Third, such behaviors appear

rooted, in part, in an improper understanding of the nature of Christ; an extensive vision

of the crucifixion narrative emphasizes that the Savior did not experience a suffering

death, which mitigates the value of a martyr’s death. To conclude the chapter, I show

how Peter, as a critical witness to this vision, is characterized as a different sort of martyr.

With no reference to his “future” death as a martyr, the text revolves around Peter’s role

as the recipient of the Savior’s significant message. Additional elements of Apoc. Pet.

appear to critique physical martyrdom and, more precisely, those who encourage and

celebrate it.15 Thus, although the author crafts a persecuted identity, physical suffering is

not a valued aspect of this identity.

Informed by social identity theory, I consider these elements of Apoc. Pet.—

persecuted identity, Peter’s distinctive role as a model martyr, as well as the negative

view of suffering—alongside clues regarding inter- and intra-group processes and related

social identification. I am particularly attentive to increasing definition of boundaries

(and related emerging identities) as well as the role of authority. Like the other traditions

examined in this study, Apoc. Pet. fosters an identity that centers on individual progress

and limits, rather than prescribed, group-related activity. More precisely, the author’s

15
At the very least, physical suffering is not lauded, as the depiction of the crucifixion makes clear; below,
I make the argument that martyrdom is quite likely among the misguided behaviors criticized by the author.

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expressed suspicion about those who control the behavior of others reflects limited

attachment to the collective social identity, Christian. Divergent ideas about group

control and the value of physical suffering, rather than exclusively theological

differences, prompt a shift in social identity and the related emergence of inter-group

boundaries.

Manuscript, Date & Provenance

Prior to a consideration of these elements of Apoc. Pet., a few introductory

remarks on the text, with specific reference to its possible date and provenance, are in

order. In addition, a brief outline of the content of the apocalypse sets the stage for the

remainder of the chapter.

Apoc. Pet. is preserved exclusively within Nag Hammadi Codex VII.16 Among

the manuscripts from Nag Hammadi, Apoc. Pet. is one of the best preserved. The text

appears to be a Coptic translation of an earlier Greek version.17 In spite of the stellar

16
For additional details on Codex VII, see Hans-Martin Schenke, “Zur Faksimile-Ausgabe der Nag-
Hammadi-Schriften. Die Schriften des Codex VII,” Zeitschrift für Ägyptische Sprache und Altertumskunde
102 (1975): 123–138.
17
As with the other Nag Hammadi texts, the presence of a Greek original is easily detectable in the Coptic
translation. For instance, the title is preserved in Greek at the beginning (70,13) and end (84,14). In
addition, certain Greek words are only partially translated into Coptic, while other Greek particles and
conjunctions persist in the Coptic translation, A. Werner, “Die Apokalypse des Petrus, die dritte Schrift von
Nag Hammadi Codex VII. Eingeleitet und Übersetzt vom Berliner Arbeitskreis für koptisch-gnostische
Schriften,” Theologische Literaturzeitung 99 (1974): 703.

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preservation, the unusual state of the Coptic in certain sections of the text can lead to

difficulties in translation and interpretation.18

Determining a precise date for the composition of Apoc. Pet. is not possible. The

broad parameters for dating are typically marked by an internal allusion to a certain

“Hermas,” for the early end, and the physical data of the Nag Hammadi codex, as

reflective of the latest possible date. If one takes the Hermas mentioned in Apoc. Pet.

78,18 as a reference to the Shepherd of Hermas, then a terminus post quem of ca. 150 CE

seems appropriate.19 Receipts in the binding of Codex VII mark the terminus ante quem

as 348 CE.20 Within this span of approximately 200 years, internal evidence makes a late

second- or early third-century date most probable. Specifically, the text’s references to

established church offices and suggestions of heightened hostility between Christians

appear to reflect the state of the Church near the turn of the third century.21

Solid clues regarding a place of origin for Apoc. Pet. are more elusive. Havelaar

assigns provenance to Syria, given the text’s focus on Peter and relatively heavy reliance

on Matthew’s gospel. She cautiously admits, though, such an assignment is not

18
Havelaar offers a quite thorough and current discussion of the manuscript, orthography, and the Sahidic
form of the Coptic in Chapter 1 of her critical edition, The Coptic Apocalypse of Peter (Nag Hammadi-
Codex VII,3), 19–29.
19
On the question of whether one can assume this Hermas is that associated with Shepherd of Hermas, see
footnote 67.
20
Havelaar, The Coptic Apocalypse of Peter (Nag Hammadi-Codex VII,3), 15.
21
Of course, neither of these elements can be definitively tied to the late second or early third centuries.
Still, this general scholarly consensus regarding the dating seems most reasonable. Michael Desjardins, for
instance, locates Apoc. Pet. within the context of early third century orthodoxy and heresy debates and the
emerging consolidation of the church, “Apocalypse of Peter. Introduction,” in Nag Hammadi Codex VII,
ed. Birger A. Pearson, Nag Hammadi and Manichean Studies (Leiden: Brill, 1996), 214. Werner also
advocates a late second- to early third-century date, “The Coptic Gnostic Apocalypse of Peter,” 702. And
Havelaar recognizes that “though the intra-Christian hostility is not unique to this period, its character
resembles heresiology of the broad second- to third-century period,” The Coptic Apocalypse of Peter (Nag
Hammadi-Codex VII,3), 16.

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definitive.22 Further, the use of Matthew does not make a strong criterion for locating a

text given the gospel’s wide popularity in early Christianity.23 Pearson suggests an

Egyptian provenance, rooted in his argument regarding Apoc. Pet.’s use of 2 Peter.

Specifically, Pearson understands the shift from “waterless springs” (phgai\ a0nu/droi, 2

Pet 2:17) to “waterless canals” (nioor n-atmoou, Apoc. Pet. 79,31) as indicative of an

Egyptian environment.24 Though provocative, this particular evidence is not entirely

telling, since the adaptation could have occurred at any point in the transmission process;

our lack of other textual witnesses makes editorial changes difficult to detect. Though a

precise provenance is difficult to pinpoint, we do know that the text, given its translation

from Greek to Coptic and its inclusion in the Nag Hammadi material, circulated, and was

thus valued, in Egypt in the third to fourth centuries.

Elements of Apocalypse of Peter

A brief consideration of the essential content and structure of Apoc. Pet. will offer

some context for the analysis that follows. Apoc. Pet. exhibits a fairly clear structure, best

22
Havelaar, The Coptic Apocalypse of Peter (Nag Hammadi-Codex VII,3), 15. Werner similarly notes that
Peter’s role as well as Jewish-Christian connections could support a Syrian or Palestinian origin; though he
also recognizes that the text offers “no clear information” regarding provenance, “The Coptic Gnostic
Apocalypse of Peter,” 702.
23
In his discussion of Apoc. Pet., Scholten makes a similar point, Martyrium und Sophiamythos im
Gnostizismus nach den Texten von Nag Hammadi.
24
Birger A. Pearson, “The Apocalypse of Peter and Canonical 2 Peter,” in Gnosticism and the Early
Christian World: Essays in Honor of James M. Robinson, ed. James E. Goehring and et al, Forum Fascicles
2 (Sonoma, CA: Polebridge Press, 1990), 67–75. Pearson’s case for provenance has been criticized by
Havelaar, among others.

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outlined in five parts.25 Following the title (70,13), (i) an introductory section (70,14-

72,4) sets the scene by introducing the Savior as the instructor and Peter as the recipient

of the revelation. The initial lines depict the Savior sitting in the Temple (70,14-15),

evoking his pedagogical role. He conveys some initial lessons to Peter, calling those who

belong to the Father (70,21-22) to listen to his message (70,28). Peter’s own distinctive

position as the Savior’s chosen one, who will serve as the beginning (arxh) for others

called to knowledge (sooun) (71,15-21).

(ii) Following the introduction, the first of two visionary sequences begins (72,4-

73,10), initiated by Peter’s vision of priests, among others, rushing toward him and the

Savior with stones (72-5-9). A correction by the Savior follows (72,9-21) as well as an

additional vision of “new light” (72,23). As with the vision, his initial understanding of

his experience is flawed, prompting the Savior to offer further instruction.

This leads into the third (iii), most substantial portion of Apoc. Pet. (73,10-81,3).

Unlike its surrounding sections, this central revelation lacks the visions and related

dialogue. It is best characterized as a description of the emergence of error (pla/nh;

73,26) within Christianity. Apocalyptic elements still appear throughout this central
25
Numerous scholars have offered structural outlines of the text, based on a variety of interests. Here, I
follow Havelaar (126-127), Desjardins, and Brashler in understanding in the text in five parts (their specific
line divisions vary slightly). Koschorke offers a threefold outline, though his central section, is essentially
subdivided into three parts, Die Polemik der Gnostiker gegen das kirchliche Christentum: Unter
besonderer Berücksichtigung der Nag-Hammadi-Traktate “Apokalypse des Petrus” (NHC VII,3) und
“Testimonium Veritatis” (NHC IX,3), 11–17.; his approach is echoed by Martin Krause, “Die literarischen
Gattungen der Apokalypsen von Nag Hammadi,” in Apocalypticism in the Mediterranean World and the
Near East: Proceedings of the International Colloquium of Apocalypticism, Uppsala, August 12-17, 1979,
ed. David Hellholm (Tübingen: Mohr, 1983), 628. Terence V. Smith isolates four visions, reflected in four
instances of the introductory formula, “I saw,” (72,5; 72,23; 81,4; 82,4-5). In part, Smith’s position is
compatible with the others, which essentially consider the initial two as part of the first visionary sequence
and the latter two as part of the second, Petrine Controversies in Early Christianity, Wissenschaftliche
untersuchungen zum Neuen Testament. 2. Reihe (Tübingen: J. C. B. Mohr, 1985), 127. Also, David
Hellholm offers a detailed outline of the text’s structure, “The ‘Revelation-Schema’ and Its Adaptation in
the Coptic Gnostic Apocalypse of Peter,” Svensk Exegetisk Arsbok 63 (1998): 233–248.

96
section, including prophecy ex eventu and eschatological predictions (as examples, “the

hour has not yet come,” 75,29, and “until my return (parousi/a)” 78,6). Moreover, the

themes of oppression and persecution are most prominent in this central section, though

they are also apparent in the surrounding sections (ii) and (iv) as well.

At the conclusion of the central, polemical section, Apoc. Pet. returns to (iv)

visions of Peter and explications by the Savior; in this second visionary sequence (81,3-

83,15), Apoc. Pet. builds on traditional material to offer a distinctive portrait of the

Passion.26 Peter witnesses the arrest of the Savior, as well as the crucifixion. In his vision

of the latter, he encounters a laughing figure, “the living Jesus,” (81,17-18) standing

above the cross (81,10-11; 15-16). The Savior explains to Peter that the one suffering

crucifixion is merely a substitute (81,20-21). Further explication of the nature of the

Savior follows. In short, this section serves to correct those who advocate a suffering

Savior. Apoc. Pet. makes it clear that the real Savior is only a bystander to the suffering,

while those who persecute are “blind” (83,3) and imperceptive (83,2), like the erroneous

Christians countered in the central section.

Apoc. Pet. concludes (v) (83,15-84,14) with encouragement for Peter. The Savior

instructs him to present his visions to “those of another race (a0llogenh/j) who are not of

this age (ai0w/n)” (83,17-18). This concluding section also highlights the capacity for

“honor” (taeio) in the immortal ones, and lack of it in those who are mortal (83,19-26).

The Savior’s final lines remind Peter to “be courageous and not fear anything” (84,7-8).

Apoc. Pet. ends with Peter coming “to his senses,” reflecting its revelatory character.

26
By “traditional” here, I refer to Gospel material that appears relatively established in second-century
Christianity, ultimately becoming canonical.

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 Apocalypse of Peter as Apocalypse

Unlike many of the other Nag Hammadi texts that include the ascription,

‘apocalypse,’ Apoc. Pet. does appear to fit its title.27 In many ways, it more closely

resembles the classic early Jewish and Christian apocalypses than other Nag Hammadi

writings that share the designation. Most prominently, its inclusion of significant visions

distinguishes it from other Nag Hammadi apocalypses, which primarily involve

revelatory dialogues, including 1 Apoc. Jas. (NHC V,3), 2 Apoc. Jas. (NHC V,4), and

Apoc. Adam (NHC V,5).28

27
For a discussion of Apoc. Pet. as apocalypse, see Chapter II of James Allen Brashler, The Coptic
Apocalypse of Peter: A Genre Analysis and Interpretation (Claremont, CA: University Microforms
International, 1977), 70–120.; Desjardins, “Apocalypse of Peter. Introduction,” 208–209.; and Chapter 4 of
Havelaar’s Havelaar, The Coptic Apocalypse of Peter (Nag Hammadi-Codex VII,3), 111–130. In the
landmark Semeia volume focused on apocalypticism, Francis T. Fallon, in his examination of “Gnostic”
apocalypses aligns Apoc. Pet. with Collins’ seminal definition, “The Gnostic Apocalypses,” Semeia 14
(1979): 123–158. Desjardins follows, describing how Apoc. Pet. fits ten of the thirteen characteristics
outlined in Collins’ paradigm and noting that it lacks (i) theogony, cosmogony, and anthropology; (ii)
eschatological crisis; and (iii) an extended paranaetical section, 208-209. I agree that the latter is lacking,
but references to the other two elements are apparent in Apoc. Pet., even if not fully developed. Havelaar
also details the parallels with Collins’ “master paradigm,” The Coptic Apocalypse of Peter (Nag Hammadi-
Codex VII,3), 124–125. In addition, an earlier work by Krause views Apoc. Pet., with some hesitation, as
apocalypse, given features outlined by Vielhauer, “Die literarischen Gattungen der Apokalypsen von Nag
Hammadi,” 627–628.
28
This point is recognized by Fallon, “The Gnostic Apocalypses,” as well as Klaus Koch, who sees Apoc.
Pet. as exceptional among Nag Hammadi apocalypses, Apokalyptik, Wege der Forschung 365 (Darmstadt:
Wissenschaftliche Buchgesellschaft, 1982), 8. Havelaar builds on the work on Fallon by highlighting the
“inclusion of elaborate vision accounts (72,4-28 and 81,3-83,15)” as the feature that most resembles other
apocalypses, in The Coptic Apocalypse of Peter (Nag Hammadi-Codex VII,3), 121. For another
comparative approach to the apocalyptic nature of Apoc. Pet., particularly in relation to other “Gnostic”
apocalypses, see G. M. Shellrude, “Nag Hammadi Apocalypses: A Study of the Relationship of Selected
Texts to the Traditional Apocalypses,” 1986; from a study of sixteen apocalypses, Shellrude concludes that
only Apoc. Pet. and Apoc. Paul include traditional apocalyptic elements.

The distinctive nature of Nag Hammadi apocalypses leads Pheme Perkins to consider them as a distinct
genre, “revelation dialogue,” The Gnostic Dialogue: The Early Church and the Crisis of Gnosticism,
Theological Inquiries (New York: Paulist Press, 1980). She includes Apoc. Pet., given the periodic
interruptions of discourse, but also recognizes its “unusual combination of visions and exegesis,” 62. As
Havelaar notes, Perkins seems to downplay the visionary aspects of Apoc. Pet., while overemphasizing the
prominence of the dialogue. She also observes that elements central to Perkins’ “revelation dialogue” are

98
 Moreover, the references to a troubled community in Apoc. Pet. make the

apocalyptic perspective a logical mode of expression, a point recognized by many.29

Desjardins, for example, reflects, “The author, perhaps frustrated by events which left

him and his group powerless, chose the apocalyptic genre to present his message.”30

Hellholm also suggests that the authority associated with an apocalypse would have

“strengthened and comforted” the author’s community, suggesting the need for such

reinforcement.31 And Havelaar recognizes “persecution” as the “eschatological crisis” of

Apoc. Pet.32 Discussions of genre thus generally acknowledge that Apoc. Pet. reflects a

community in crisis, as most apocalypses do.

To build upon this broad, established recognition of the text’s apocalyptic

elements, let us focus on their position and function within the text’s central polemical

section.33 Specifically, I illuminate what a “community in crisis” means within the

context of Apoc. Pet. I argue that the presence of apocalyptic language and ideology

contributes to the identification of the author’s community as persecuted. Moreover, the

unusual representation of other Christians as the source of the persecution offers insight

into the group dynamics and emergence of boundaries within the author’s community. At

lacking in Apoc. Pet., including descriptions of God and the myth of creation, The Coptic Apocalypse of
Peter (Nag Hammadi-Codex VII,3), 118-119; 121.
29
Werner also acknowledges connection between genre and the text’s purpose, “The Coptic Gnostic
Apocalypse of Peter,” 703.
30
Desjardins, “Apocalypse of Peter. Introduction,” 210.
31
David Hellholm, “The Mighty Minority of Gnostic Christians,” in Mighty Minorities? Minorities in Early
Christianity - Positions and Strategies, ed. David Hellholm, Halvor Moxnes, and Turid Karlsen Seim
(Oslo; Boston: Scandinavian University Press, 1995), 66.
32
Havelaar, The Coptic Apocalypse of Peter (Nag Hammadi-Codex VII,3), 125. She locates this in Apoc.
Pet. 73,14-79,31, the bulk of the central section.
33
In this, I am less concerned with the specific genre designation.

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the same time, aspects of the author’s presentation of the apocalyptic scenario also reveal

that the Christians in conflict do not reflect fully distinct groups.

To start, an apocalyptic perspective frames the central polemical section. This

framework is initiated with a distinction of two ages, the current one marked by

ignorance, while the one to come will be distinguished by gnosis. In the present age, the

Savior warns Peter that he will experience hatred by “the children of this aeon” (73,18),

who should not be privy to the mysterious things revealed to Peter. The Savior explains,

“You (sg.) will be taunted in these ages, since they do not know you. But you will be

glorified in the age of knowledge” (73,18-23). The position of this statement at the start

of the central, polemical section sets the intra-Christian conflict in an apocalyptic context,

in which persecution is par for the course. The expectation of reward in the subsequent

age encourages Peter and his cohort of “little ones” to persevere in their current situation.

At the same time, there is no indication that death is the anticipated or celebrated

outcome of the persecution. The focus on future judgment also reflects the apocalyptic

interpretive framework of the communal dispute.

References to judgment that will distinguish the “immortal” from “mortal”

Christians further frame the section and reflect the mingling of Christians in the interim

period, presumably experience by the audience. The author conveys, in a move typical of

heresiological work, that the community was initially united in belief: “For many will

accept our teaching in the beginning. But they will turn away again according to the will

of the father of their error, because they have done what he wanted. And in his judgment

he will disclose those who are the servants of the word” (73,23-32). This notice of

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defection suggests that, even if diversity was present early on in the community, there

was nevertheless a certain sense of unity.

Moreover, a subsequent reference to an approaching “hour” (75,28-29), in which

the immortal souls shall be distinguished from mortal ones, marks another obvious

indication of the central section’s eschatological focus. After instructing Peter on the

distinction between the souls, the Savior nevertheless recognizes their similar

appearance: “The immortal souls do not resemble those, Peter, but as long as the hour has

not yet come it will look like the mortal one. But it will not reveal its nature, that it alone

is immortal, contemplating immortality, having faith and desiring to renounce these

mortal ones” (75,26-76,4). This passage again presents a lack of distinction among

Christians; one can conclude that the groups interact, a situation further illuminated in the

subsequent section.34 From these passages, and what follows, we can also observe that

the author envisions apocalyptic divisions occurring temporally, rather than spatially;

one’s position will only be definitely clarified in the future. Certain behaviors might

reveal the quality of one’s soul, but, in general, the author suggests a current

resemblance, or outward expression of identity, among all Christians.

The anticipated judgment also involves the future return of the Savior, further

evidence of the text’s apocalyptic perspective. In the midst of his critique of the “mortal”

ones, the Savior informs Peter that at his return (parousia) (78,6) the “immortal souls”

(78,4) will finally be freed of the “harsh fate” (78,2) that accompanies their association

34
Havelaar similarly remarks, “This could point to a situation in which Gnostic and orthodox Christians
were part of one community,” The Coptic Apocalypse of Peter (Nag Hammadi-Codex VII,3), 92.

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with the “mortal souls.”35 The Savior details, “They are doing business with my word –

and they shall establish a harsh fate, from which the race of the immortal souls will flee

in vain, until my parousia (parousia), for they shall live among them...” (77,33-78,7).

Here again, the author, via the authority of the Savior, acknowledges that the current

association between the “mortal” and “immortal” souls, a shared community (“live

among them”), creates unfortunate circumstances for the latter.36 In addition, the situation

is set on the apocalyptic timeline; it will cease with the future coming of the Savior. This

further highlights the temporal perspective, with implications for future communal

division.

The continuation of the passage also confirms blurred boundaries in the

community. The Savior offers “forgiveness of their transgressions (paraptwma) into

which they fell through the adversaries (antikimenos)” (78,8-11). The implication here

is that some of the “immortal souls” were misled and thus behaved in ways that require

the Savior’s forgiveness. It also suggests that parameters distinguishing the groups are

not yet established; the possibility exists that those ultimately on the author’s side will be

misled.

Near the conclusion of the central section, the author of Apoc. Pet. offers further

details regarding the two ages (80,23-30). The period of oppression is limited and will be

followed by a shift in power. The Savior explains,

35
The close association is again reflected in 78,6-7: “they shall live among them”.
36
What these circumstances entail will be discussed more fully below.

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 For a determined period of time in proportion to their error, they will rule over the

little ones. But after the completion of the error, the ageless one of immortal

intellect will be renewed, and the little ones will rule over those who are their

rulers. He will pull out the root of their error, and he will put it to shame, so that it

will be exposed for all the liberties that it has claimed. And such persons will

remain unchanged, Peter. (80,8-23)

In this passage, the Savior extends his earlier message regarding the coming judgment.

The error of those Christians who currently rule will be exposed. And those subject to

their rule will ultimately reign as part of the “race of the never-aging intellect.” The issue

with contested authority is also previewed. In the mean time, the designation, “little

ones,” further establishes the persecuted status of the author’s specific community.37

As these examples illustrate, apocalyptic sentiment is prominent in the central

section of Apoc. Pet. These apocalyptic references help depict the author’s community as

one forced to suffer the reign of less-enlightened, fellow Christians. Moreover, in these

examples, the attention to a future time in which the distinction between “true” and

“false” Christians will be made apparent is indicative of a situation in which various

stripes of Christians interact with one another (hence, their similar appearance). The

apocalyptic perspective thus informs our understanding of intra-Christian group relations

reflected in Apoc. Pet.

Further evidence of this multi-faceted Christian collective is apparent throughout

Apoc. Pet. Though the writing reflects a situation of increased tension within the

37
See Hellholm, “The Mighty Minority of Gnostic Christians.”

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community, evidence of interaction is nevertheless apparent. In what follows, let us take

a closer look at the division—or, more specifically, the rise and proliferation of “error”—

outlined in the central section, in order to gage processes of group identity, including

evidence of interaction as well as rifts. An examination of this material allows us to better

understand the debated role of suffering and martyrdom in the author’s community.

Group Identities in Apocalypse of Peter

Among the fellow Christians that the author of Apoc. Pet. criticizes are those who

“hold fast to the name of a dead man, while thinking that they will become pure (tb-bo)”

(74,13-14). The author goes on to claim that they will in fact become “defiled” (twlm-)

(74,16) and “will be ruled (r- arxei) heretically (oumn-t6eresis)” (74,21-22).

Divergent views on Christ are at least one element that fosters division among Christians.

In this case, the dead one almost certainly refers to the crucified figure, whom the author

of Apoc. Pet. emphasizes is not the Savior. This particular passage also implicates leaders

in the division of the community. As part of the heretical rule, these misguided Christians

will “lapse into a name of the error and into an evil intriguer with a multifarious doctrine”

(74,16-20). The key elements reflected in this passage— erroneous understandings of

Christ, succumbing to error, and faulty leadership—recur throughout the central section

of Apoc. Pet. and likely reflect emerging shifts in group identities and boundaries.

Given the vitriolic criticism of other Christians as well as the apocalyptic genre of

the text, scholars typically acknowledge communal conflict behind Apoc. Pet. Many offer

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relatively general diagnoses of the situation that imply that the author’s community has

already separated itself from other Christians. For instance, Werner characterizes the

community behind Apoc. Pet. as a “closed gnostic group of a conventicle type, which

considers indispensable a sharp delimitation over against various other movements of

Christian life and faith.”38 This characterization implies established, firm group

boundaries. As my discussion of the apocalyptic material in light of group dynamics

reveals though, evidence of intra-group interaction is apparent.

Scholars who tred beyond a general assessment of the communal conflict tend to

consider how many adversarial groups are described and/or seek a precise identification

for the opponents. The question of whether the author of Apoc. Pet. polemicizes against

one or more opponents has been addressed in a variety of ways. On the surface, the

language of the central section (i.e., the use of “some,” 74,22; “many others,” 77,22;

“others” 78,31; 79,22) suggests that the author describes multiple opposing groups,

counted as seven. This leads Werner and Brashler, among others, to assume that several

groups create problems for the Apoc. Pet. community. Werner claims, “The formulation

and the argument of Apoc. Pet. favour the view that we should assume several points of

conflict and several opponents.”39 On the other hand, for others, including Desjardins and

Koschorke, the enumeration of opponents functions rhetorically to reflect different issues

38
Werner, “The Coptic Gnostic Apocalypse of Peter,” 704.
39
Ibid., 703. Brashler assumes that the outline of multiple opponents reflects the historical presence of six
groups of opponents, in The Coptic Apocalypse of Peter: A Genre Analysis and Interpretation, 223–235.
Also see James Brashler and Roger A. Bullard, “Apocalypse of Peter,” in The Nag Hammadi Library in
English, ed. James M. Robinson, Revised (San Francisco: HarperSanFrancisco, 1988), 372. Furthermore, F.
Wisse, “Peter, Apocalypse of” Anchor Bible Dictionary, Vol. 5, 269.

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associated with a singular opposition.40 Havelaar offers an appropriate solution to this

tension by proposing that the seven groups indeed reflect diverse interests, yet they fall

into “one organisational unity,” a proto-orthodox Christian community.41

Alongside attempts to quantify the antagonistic groups in Apoc. Pet., scholars

have also engaged in efforts to precisely identify them.42 Challenges to this endeavour

include a general lack of clear, specific identifying features as well as the presence of

stock ways of castigating opponents in Apoc. Pet.43 Exceptions include references to

“bishops” and “deacons,” who claim that they receive authority from God (79,25-27).

These references encourage Koschorke to argue that early orthodox leadership,

specifically the clergy, are the exclusive targets of the polemic.44 Desjardins, who hints

about more precise identities, similarly settles on orthodox leadership as the primary

target.45 A number of features of Apoc. Pet., however, make it difficult to assume leaders

40
Die Polemik der Gnostiker gegen das kirchliche Christentum: Unter besonderer Berücksichtigung der
Nag-Hammadi-Traktate “Apokalypse des Petrus” (NHC VII,3) und “Testimonium Veritatis” (NHC IX,3),
80–85. Desjardins, “Apocalypse of Peter. Introduction,” 212. U. Schoenborn, advocating another
perspective, finds no real opposition in Apoc. Pet., given the use of polemical clichés and vague group
descriptions, Diverbium Salutis. Literarische Struktur und theologische Intention des gnostischen Dialogs
am Beispiel der koptischen “Apokalypse des Petrus”, Studien zur Umwelt des Neuen Testaments
(Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1995), 416. From this perspective though, it is difficult to imagine
the purpose of the central portion of the text.
41
Havelaar, The Coptic Apocalypse of Peter (Nag Hammadi-Codex VII,3), 91; 199; 201-203.
42
For example, Michel Tardieu identifies Pauline Christians as the opponents, “Hérésiographie de
l’Apocalypse de Pierre,” in Histoire et conscience historique dans les civilisations du Proche-Orient
ancien, ed. Albert de Pury, Les cahiers du Centre d’étude du Proche-Orient ancien (Louvain: Peeters,
1989), 33–39. It is unclear though what that would mean in the late second or early third centuries.
Moreover, such identifications are quite tentative, given the lack of specific evidence in Apoc. Pet.
43
See Desjardins, “Apocalypse of Peter. Introduction,” 212.
44
Koschorke, Die Polemik der Gnostiker gegen das kirchliche Christentum: Unter besonderer
Berücksichtigung der Nag-Hammadi-Traktate “Apokalypse des Petrus” (NHC VII,3) und “Testimonium
Veritatis” (NHC IX,3), 82.
45
“Apocalypse of Peter. Introduction.”

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as the exclusive opponents. First, the characterization of the persecuted as “little ones,”

misled by “many,” does not align well with Koschorke’s view. It is difficult to imagine

the clergy as representing the majority, numerically, of the Christian community. Second,

an exclusive focus on leaders in the community requires creative interpretation of

apparent references to other groups. For example, Koschorke reads an apparent reference

to Simon Magus and Helena (74,27-34) as an implicit criticism of Paul and thus an

indirect reflection of ecclesiastical hierarchy.46 Such a roundabout reading is unnecessary.

Rather than subscribe to Koschorke’s view, it thus seems best to acknowledge leaders as

part of the problem, but also allow for a broader spectrum of opposition, including

perhaps other Gnostic Christian subgroups alongside element of the proto-orthodox

community.47 Attempts to identify the opposition precisely often assume strict

differentiation among groups; the overlap among groups revealed elsewhere in Apoc. Pet.

suggests that this approach might be misguided.

In spite of the efforts to classify the opponents, there have been few attempts to

offer substantial explanations of the nature of this intra-Christian dispute. In one of the

more thorough, recent discussions of group dynamics in Apoc. Pet., Havelaar attributes

the break in the community to “explicitly deviating beliefs,” specifically divergent

understandings of the Passion.48 She explains, “In the course of time a conflict

46
Moreover, Smith notes that the range of uses of Paul by the end of the second century make any precise
target of anti-Pauline attitude difficult, Petrine Controversies in Early Christianity, 136.
47
For Werner, the opposition includes other Gnostic Christian groups, based on the apparent references to
Simon Magus and Helena in 74,27-34; in n. 6, Werner also notes that this point favors a late second- to
early third-century date, “The Coptic Gnostic Apocalypse of Peter,” 703. Hans-Martin Schenke also
discusses anti-Simonian sentiment, “Bemerkungen zur Apokalypse des Petrus,” in Essays on the Nag
Hammadi Texts. In Honour of Pahor Labib, ed. Martin Krause, Nag Hammadi Studies (NHS) (Leiden:
Brill, 1975), 281–83.
48
Havelaar, The Coptic Apocalypse of Peter (Nag Hammadi-Codex VII,3), 201; 203.

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concerning doctrine must have arisen, as a result of which the Petrine Christians were

forced to leave the parent group.”49 I agree that distinct interpretations of the crucifixion

seem to relate, and possibly contribute, to the schism. But there appear to be other factors

involved as well, which I consider below, including the prospect of persecution.

Divergent views about what it means to be a Christian, particularly in terms of practical

matters—how one should behave and who holds authority—seem to have contributed

significantly to the intra-Christian rift. Moreover, the doctrinal differences might have

been extended as a product of the split, rather than its cause.50 Havelaar also concludes

that Apoc. Pet. “seems to reflect the search for a new group identity,” but she does little

to define that identity beyond doctrine.51

In what follows, I thus refine and extend these prior considerations of group

schism and identity. Specifically, I ask, are there clues to the extent of the split? Also,

what contributed to it, and how might social identity theory help make sense of this

evidence? And, finally, what does the new social identity crafted in the text involve?

What I discover are clues of a community recently divided and in the process of

establishing intra-group boundaries, suggested by hints of determinism. The persistence

of communal proximity is suggested the appearance of a shared tradition and current

overlapping boundaries, as we have seen. In addition to divergent Christologies, a

49
Ibid., 204.
50
One might deduce this based on Apoc. Pet.’s reliance on ‘canonical’ Passion narratives; though they
appear in Apoc. Pet. as substantially altered, these ‘proto-orthodox’ traditions also seem to have been
valued by author and his community at some point. I am not suggesting that differences in belief were not
apparent early on; rather, such distinctions within the group likely became more heightened and more
significant over time.
51
Havelaar, The Coptic Apocalypse of Peter (Nag Hammadi-Codex VII,3), 204.

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situation of Roman persecution, which involved the prospect of martyrdom and relative

values attached to suffering, helped prompt the division. Divergent ideas about authority

in the community also likely contributed. And, finally, the Christian social identity

crafted by the author reflects the experience of persecution in the context of a communal

rift, but without the expectation of suffering or death. A related discussion of Apoc. Pet.’s

depiction of Christ and Peter further illuminates the author’s construction of a Christian

identity that anticipates persecution, but rejects the significance of suffering.

Locating Communal Discord

For many scholars, like Werner, dualistic language and hints of determinism

suggest defined boundaries between the community of Apoc. Pet. and other Christians.52

These elements can be better understood as part of an effort to delineate boundaries; still,

in Apoc. Pet. the apocalyptic outlook, as we have seen, suggests that clear definition of

groups will only be apparent at the final judgment. This perspective is supported by a

series of references to current communal mingling and fluid boundaries that seem to

reflect the current social situation. The combination of determinism and fluidity can be

understood as indicative of the tension between an ideal and reality. The former—

52
James A. Brashler also reflects this perspective, asserting that the author understands his community as
“consubstantial” with the redeemer. This guides an ecclesiology “that has a very definite and highly
developed understanding of how a spiritual community is to be organized,” The Coptic Apocalypse of
Peter: A Genre Analysis and Interpretation, 197. He goes on to assert that the writer “conceived of himself
and his group as immortal souls who were opposed by those whose false teachings and oppressive behavior
established their identity as mortal souls condemned to destruction. This anthropological dualism underlies
his uncompromising division of the Christian church of his day into a faithful Gnostic remnant, on the one
hand, and a variety of apostate groups on the other,” 206. In my view, Brashler overstates the clarity and
rigidity of group boundaries. Moreover, it is difficult to locate a distinct, developed ecclesiology in Apoc.
Pet.

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fostered by a dualistic perspective—helps the author and presumably his community cope

with the current situation. Indications in Apoc. Pet. of an initial unified Christian

community, primarily the presence of shared traditions, also support this perspective. The

language associated with distinct groups thus represents a future ideal, rather than a

present social reality. In the mean time, not all Christians are definitively aligned with

one group or another in practice; this is one issue the author faces. Apoc. Pet. thus reveals

emerging division within a Christian community.

Apoc. Pet. suggests some similarities among Christians, both those favored and

those criticized by the author. The common ground between these Christian subgroups is

most apparent in the shared use of scriptural traditions. Apoc. Pet. draws on a range of

early Christian texts that would ultimately become canonical.53 The Gospel of Matthew is

especially prominent; the author draws on its Passion narrative and its depiction of Peter,

among other elements.54 The author of Apoc. Pet. presents these traditions in a positive

53
Dubois offers a relatively thorough overview of potential New Testament references in Apoc. Pet.,
“L’Apocalypse de Pierre (NHC VII,3) et le Nouveau Testament,” in Écritures et traditions dans la
littérature copte, ed. Jaques-E. Ménard, Cahiers de la Bibliothèque Copte (Louvain: Peeters, 1983), 117–
125. He recognizes that it is difficult to speak precisely of “citations,” even in the cases of 2 Pet, with
which it shares a number of similarities (particularly involving polemic against opponents), 119. Dubois
also discusses five apparent logia of the Savior, 121-124, and concludes that they are not likely “genuine
quotations,” but reflect use of a text in a new context, in this case, a polemical one, 124-25. He ultimately
concludes, “The use of the New Testament by the Apoc. Pet. serves the entire project of the text: to present
a clear vision of the fundamental distinction between crucified Jesus, the substitute, and the true Savior,
incapable of undergoing the suffering of the cross,” 125; For additional details, see Havelaar, The Coptic
Apocalypse of Peter (Nag Hammadi-Codex VII,3), chap. 5; she details 33 apparent references to the New
Testament, drawing on the work of previous scholars.
54
In his introduction to the text, Desjardins highlights four features of Apoc. Pet. that appear to draw on
Matthew’s Gospel: (i) 71,15-21 likely reflects the designation of Peter as the church’s leader and rock
(Matt 16:17-19); (ii) the language used to depict the opponents in Apoc. Pet. parallels that used of the
scribes and Pharisees in Matthew; (iii) the designation “little ones” (Apoc. Pet. 78,22; 79,19; 80,11) can
also be found in Matt 10:42 and 18:6;10;14; and (iv) a few passages could be direct quotations from
Matthew (Apoc. Pet. 83,27-29 from Matt 25:29; Apoc. Pet. 75,7-9 from Matt 7:18), “Apocalypse of Peter.
Introduction,” 210–211. Terence V. Smith also highlights the heavy reliance on Matthew, including the
author’s use of Matthean imagery and vocabulary to describe the group conflict, Petrine Controversies in
Early Christianity, 131–135. Others have also recognized the reliance on Matthew, including, Scholten,
Martyrium und Sophiamythos im Gnostizismus nach den Texten von Nag Hammadi, 88.

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light. Rather than denigrate Matthew’s Passion narrative as flawed, for instance, he

maintains the authority of the tradition, but lends his own interpretation to counter

existing (in his view) erroneous interpretations. This stance suggests that his intended

audience would not only have been familiar with a version of Matthew’s Gospel, but

would also have valued it.55

The commonalities between 2 Pet and Apoc. Pet. might also illuminate intra-

Christian relations. Most prominently, the reference to “waterless canals” (79,30-31)

parallels “waterless springs” (2 Pet 2:17); both phrases reference the authors’ opponents.

Brashler, Smith, and Pearson also associate references to “false proclamation,” (74,10-

12) “messengers of error,” (77,24-25) and those who “lead astray many others” (80,2-4)

with 2 Pet 2:1-2, which describes “false teachers” among the author’s audience, “who

will secretly bring in their destructive heresies” and mislead many.56 The shared

characterization of other erroneous Christians as “blind ones” also provides a possible

link between Apoc. Pet. (72,10-13; 73,11-14; 76,21-22; 81,28-32) and 2 Pet 1:9.57

Drawing on this series of similar passages, Pearson argues that the author of Apoc. Pet.

used 2 Pet as a source. With the possible exception of the parallel with 2 Pet 2:17 though,

55
Havelaar makes a similar point; she also suggests that the allusions to the Passion narrative are implicit,
further suggesting an intended audience that is quite familiar with the tradition, The Coptic Apocalypse of
Peter (Nag Hammadi-Codex VII,3), 168–169; 163.
56
Brashler, The Coptic Apocalypse of Peter: A Genre Analysis and Interpretation, 55. Smith, Petrine
Controversies in Early Christianity, 138–40. Birger A. Pearson, “The Apocalypse of Peter and Canonical 2
Peter,” in Gnosticism and the Early Christian World: Essays in Honor of James M. Robinson, ed. James E.
Goehring and et al (Sonoma, CA: Polebridge Press, 1990), 67–75. Havelaar observes a similar connection
with Matt 24:11, The Coptic Apocalypse of Peter (Nag Hammadi-Codex VII,3), 146–147.
57
Smith, Petrine Controversies in Early Christianity, 138. Pearson, “The Apocalypse of Peter and
Canonical 2 Peter,” 1990, 70. Havelaar though notes the intermediate text of Matthew, which includes
frequent references to Pharisees as “blind” (Matt 9:36, 15:14; 23:16, 17, 19, 26), The Coptic Apocalypse of
Peter (Nag Hammadi-Codex VII,3), 142–143.

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the evidence does not firmly support this position. As Havelaar notes, accusations

regarding false teaching and blind ones abound in New Testament texts, including

Matthew. Smith’s assessment of the links between 2 Pet and Apoc. Pet. is perhaps more

useful. Rather than posit literary dependency, Smith envisions both texts as products of

controversy regarding Peter’s authority in the second century.58

In addition to shared textual traditions, Apoc. Pet. also reveals clues of group

interaction and mingling—all suggestive of emerging, rather than established boundaries

between social groups. I discuss some indications of this above, in my analysis of

apocalyptic elements in the central polemical section. Here, I examine two additional,

related passages (73,23-28 and 80,2-4) from the central section that challenge the view

that Apoc. Pet. evokes firm group boundaries rooted in a strict determinism.

First, 73,23-28 posits that certain erroneous Christians had strayed from the

author’s community, which originally held the majority position: “For many will take our

word in the beginning but they will turn themselves away again, according to the will of

the father of their error because they have done what he wants to.” Certainly, this sort of

suggestion of original unity and eventual defection is not surprising in intra-group

polemic. Still, regardless of its potential inaccuracy, it acknowledges that group

parameters were subject to change. In addition, there were some originally “in the know,”

who opted for a different path.

Second, a subsequent passage, near the conclusion of the central polemical

section, further illuminates this shifting majority, alluded to at the start of the section:

58
Petrine Controversies in Early Christianity, 138–41. He concludes with the possibility “that the
community behind Apoc. Pet. is the type of Gnostic opposition encountered by the author of 2 Peter,” 141.

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“there are multitudes that will mislead other multitudes of living ones” (80,2-4). We thus

get the sense of at least three early Christian groups in close proximity, experiencing

shifting allegiances. The author’s own group reflects the ideal “living ones,” while other

“multitudes” are depicted as luring some of the “living ones” away, thus reflecting a

lapsed, intermediate group.59 The language also suggests the relative size of the groups.

The author depicts his group as the minority, subject to pressures from the larger

Christian community.60 It seems then that rather than understand the distinctions between

“immortal” and “mortal” souls as indicative of a static reality, an alternative view of the

community is needed. The apocalyptic outlook of Apoc. Pet. suggests that such definitive

distinctions within the community will occur in the future, as part of the eschatological

judgment. In the current state of the community, these differences are less apparent, since

they are, in part, not yet determined. A recognition of this fluidity serves as a useful

preface for an evaluation of the nature of the rifts reflected in Apoc. Pet.

Reasons for the Rift

As noted above, theological differences, including Christology, seem to have

59
Hellholm draws a similar conclusion, highlighting “two divergences.” In his estimation, “the multitude of
living ones are actively being misled by the multitude of orthodox Christians,” “The Mighty Minority of
Gnostic Christians,” 64.
60
The use of “little ones,” discussed below, as a designation for the group(s) associated with the author also
affirms this relative status. This portrait aligns with modern understandings of Gnostic Christian
contingents as typically smaller in scale than their proto-orthodox counterparts. See Hellholm, “The Mighty
Minority of Gnostic Christians.” Of course, there could be exceptions to this pattern; for instance, Walter
Bauer argues that so-called heretical versions of Christianity, specifically Gnostic varieties, appear more
prominent in Egypt during much of the second century. Though provocative, his argument primarily rests
on the absence of alternative evidence, rather than clear support for the strength in numbers, Orthodoxy &
Heresy in Earliest Christianity, ed. Robert A. Kraft and Gerhard Krodel, Second German Edition
(Mifflintown, PA: Sigler Press, 1996), 59–60. Also, these minority groups might exist within the broader
Christian community, as it appears in Apoc. Pet., rather than as an external group. The early Valentinian
community, as I discuss in Chapter 5, also reflects this sort of scenario.

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contributed to the progressive intra-group division. However, it is possible that such

ideological distinctions were tolerated for a time within the group. Two additional,

related issues appear to have fostered increased tension and the related emergence of

group division in Apoc. Pet. First, the author of Apoc. Pet. expresses frustration over the

efforts of other Christians, not only for their claims of exclusivity (79,14-16), but also

their capacity to “mislead” fellow Christians, with potentially dire consequences. Second,

one hazard of their misguidance appears to be the unnecessary suffering of Christians,

including exposure to persecution and physical martyrdom. This situation aligns with

premises of social identity theory that posit that external pressures foster or heighten

intra-group disputes, especially when differences that were previously acceptable become

problematic. A series of passages suggest that martyrdom and its celebration are

problematic for the author of Apoc. Pet. The implicit nature of the references makes it

difficult to identity martyrdom definitively as the key issue; still, the accumulation of

evidence, read in the context of the apocalypse (and intra-Christian critique), in my view,

persuasively points toward physical suffering—as a valued expression of Christian

identity—as problematic. At the same time, Apoc. Pet. sustains a positive expectation of

persecution.

74,4-14

Through further examination of intra-group division, we begin to discover the

emergence of a persecuted identity in Apoc. Pet. Following the initial reference to

defection, the Savior informs Peter of the fate of those who stray. Referring back to

“children of this aeon” (73,18), he explains that “those who mingled with these will

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become their prisoners, since they are without perception” (73,32-74,3).61 Here, we are

reminded that the author of Apoc. Pet. takes issue with at least two intersecting Christian

groups. The initial “those” appears to reflect a group of misguided Christians, perhaps

initially aligned with the author’s community, but now swayed by the “children of this

aeon” (73,18) (i.e. the “these” involved with the misguidance). Though “prisoners” is

likely not meant literally, the implication is that certain Christians are oppressed by

others.62 A lack of awareness allows this situation, which Peter is ultimately tasked to

resolve. This statement suggests that, in the mean time, those lacking perception might be

unfavorably guided by other Christians, presumably those in a relative position of

leadership.63

As the apocalypse continues, we gain further understanding of what happens in

the course of this “imprisonment”:

They deliver the pure and good one to the executioner. And during their reign,

Christ is glorified in a restoration (apokatastasis), but they glorify the men of

the false proclamation, who will come after you. (74,4-12)

This passage suggests, first, that those with power include Christians who advocate a

resurrected Christ. Second, they are responsible for prompting a “pure one” toward death

61
Havelaar writes, “The whole phrase (73,32-74,3) could be read as a reference to the transition of Petrine
Gnostics to the hostile (orthodox Christian) side, formulated in terms that suggest struggle and oppression.
It is difficult to determine if events are described here that have taken place in reality,” The Coptic
Apocalypse of Peter (Nag Hammadi-Codex VII,3), 88.
62
Rather than suffer actual imprisonment and persecution from fellow Christians, it seems more reasonable
to understand such experiences as occurring at the hands of Romans; the issue though is that certain
Christians seems to prompt others toward this fate.
63
To further complicate Koschorke’s designation of ecclesiastical leaders as the exclusive focus of Apoc.
Pet.’s polemic, it is also worth considering the possible presence of leaders in the community who are not
part of the official hierarchy.

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of some sort (literally, “the one who works for death”). Some interpreters understand the

“pure one” as a Christological reference, a possibility explored by Havelaar.64

An alternative is to understand the “pure one” as a general reference to Christians

who are misled under the sway of other Christians. Brashler takes this perspective,

considering this as a reference to hostile Christian interactions, potentially with actual

executions.65 The immediate context of the passage supports the view that this passage

refers to intra-Christian conflict, with encouragement for martyrdom as a point of

contention. Just preceding this passage, as we have seen, is the description of the

defection of certain Christians to the proto-orthodox camp.

What follows this reference to executioners also supports an interpretation

centered on martyrdom. First, if one considers a connection between the potential

execution and the subsequent mention of glorified, this passage could reflect a situation

of suffering martyrdom and early Christian celebration of martyrs. The reference to

“glorified” ones could well indicate martyrs, since among early Christians, they reflect

the group most likely to be celebrated and praised. Second, the passage continues with

the notice, “And they will adhere to the name of a dead man, while thinking that they will

become pure (tb-bo)” (74,13-14).66 Certainly, this statement reflects criticism of a

Christological focus on the crucified one. But, it also suggests a rejection of confession of

this “dead man” and the related hope of purity.

64
Havelaar, The Coptic Apocalypse of Peter (Nag Hammadi-Codex VII,3), 88.
65
Brashler, The Coptic Apocalypse of Peter: A Genre Analysis and Interpretation, 218.
66
Havelaar recognizes the reference to the “dead man” as a clear indication of the orthodox Christian belief
in a crucified Jesus, The Coptic Apocalypse of Peter (Nag Hammadi-Codex VII,3), 89.

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77,33-78,6 / 78,7-15

As the polemic continues, Apoc. Pet. criticizes “messengers of error” (77,24-25)

for, among other things, their belief that good and evil have a common origin (77,30-33).

These “messengers” also represent a significant threat for the author and his community.

The Savior communicates, “They do business in my word. And they will establish a

harsh fate (ei9marme/nh) in which the generation of the immortal souls will run in vain

until my return” (77,33-78,6). The accusation of misuing the Savior’s “word” suggests a

situation of competing Christian identities.67 The allegiance to Christ is further associated

with apparent persecution, which the “immortal souls” will try to avoid. The “harsh fate”

involves a significant threat to the “immortal souls.” It could simply refer to their general

negative experience of suppression. The tenor of the passage combined with a subsequent

reference to “transgressions,” however, suggests that some more substantial action is

meant.

The continuation of the passage also highlights the proximity of diverse early

Christian groups as well as the potential for error among those favored by Apoc. Pet. The

Savior informs Peter, “For they will remain among them. And I have forgiveness of their

transgressions into which they fell because of the adversaries. I accepted their ransom

from the slavery in which they existed and I gave them freedom” (78,7-15). Given the

context, the initial “they” likely refers to the immortal souls mentioned in the preceding

lines. Here, Apoc. Pet. reiterates that even those favored by the Savior are not immune to

67
The beginning of this passage recalls 2 Cor 2:17, in which Paul likewise distinguishes his proper mission
from those who are “peddlers of God’s word,” writing “we speak as persons of sincerity, as persons sent
from God and standing in his presence,” NRSV.

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error or, in this case, misguidance. The nature of the “transgressions” and the “ransom” is

less apparent, making this a tricky passage to comprehend. A subsequent reference to

“Hermas, the first-born of unrighteousness” (78,18-19) leads Havelaar to understand the

transgressions as related to the concept of second penance. According to this

understanding of the passage, the author of Apoc. Pet. takes issue with certain early

Christian leaders’ presumed ability to forgive sins repeatedly. Though this reading

initially seems reasonable, it fails to take into account the harsh fate that is to be avoided

as well as the Savior’s forgiveness and acceptance of ransom.68 In my view, the reference

to their “ransom from the slavery in which they existed” (swte; ai+`i m_piswte) is

provocative. It could simply refer to escape from the body, but combined with the harsh

fate encouraged by others, it could well indicate a martyr’s death, one of the

transgressions prompted by error and misguidance.

78,31-79,2 / 79,8-21

As the author of Apoc. Pet. continues to detail his adversaries, he explains the

error of Christians who celebrate the value of suffering. The Savior explains to Peter their

folly: “But other ones from them again, because they have the suffering (m-pim-ka6), think

that they will fulfill the wisdom of the brotherhood that truly exists” (78,31-79,2). Among

68
This reading also relies on the assumption that mention of Hermas is, in fact, a reference to the Shepherd
of Hermas. As Brashler notes, this is not self-evident, and there is reason to reject this reading; he writes,
“exactly who he is remains unclear. He should not be identified with Hermas of Rome, however. The
author of Apoc. Pet. believes that there will be forgiveness of sins committed by members of the Gnostic
group who are forced to do wrong by their enemies, and therefore he would not polemicise against the
same view advocated by the writer of the Shepherd of Hermas,” The Coptic Apocalypse of Peter: A Genre
Analysis and Interpretation, 232. If one cannot assume the author has the Shepherd of Hermas in view
here, then the importation of second penance as the issue here is less persuasive.

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the passages I examine here, this one most clearly evokes the prospect of martyrdom.

Havelaar and Pagels both associate the “suffering” with physical martyrdom.69

In the same section, presumably with the same opponents in mind, Apoc. Pet.

continues, “The kindred race of the sisterhood will appear as an imitation. These are the

ones who oppress their brothers, saying to them, ‘Through this our God has mercy, since

salvation comes to us through this.’ They do not know the punishment of those who are

delighted by what has been done to the little ones whom they sought out and imprisoned”

(79,8-21). This passage reports that some within the community encourage others to take

on a particular deed that reflects a mode of suppression and reportedly earns one

salvation. Havelaar suggests that “the verb used to denote this suppression, lw`6-, may

even point to a situation of persecution,” but she does not explicitly connect the statement

regarding salvation (79,14-16) to martyrdom. Rather, she views it as a more general

statement of orthodox salvation.70 I see no convincing reason to be reticent in equating

79,11-21 with the early promotion of martyrdom, given the prior reference to suffering

and the emphasis on a deed. In his brief notes on the text, Brashler states that this passage

reflects “the author’s rejection of the oppressors’ motivation that they are promoting the

salvation of the Gnostics by forcing orthodox doctrine upon them.”71 Rather than doctrine

though, the passage makes an issue of some practice. When one considers what sort of

“deed” would fit here—that causes others to rejoice, reputed to earn mercy and salvation,

and is associated with imprisonment—martyrdom stands as a reasonable option.

69
Havelaar, The Coptic Apocalypse of Peter (Nag Hammadi-Codex VII,3), 98; “Gnostic and Orthodox
Views of Christ’s Passion: Paradigms for the Christian’s Response to Persecution,” 274.
70
Havelaar, The Coptic Apocalypse of Peter (Nag Hammadi-Codex VII,3), 98.
71
Brashler, “Apocalypse of Peter. Text, Translation and Notes,” 237.

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79,32-80,7

At the conclusion of the Savior’s overview of the rise of division, Peter expresses

his concern over the situation, symptomatic of his persistent lack of understanding. He

confesses to the Savior, “I am afraid because of the things you have told me—that indeed

little ones are, in our view, in accordance with the image. Indeed, there are multitudes

that will mislead other multitudes of living ones, and they will be destroyed among them.

And when they speak your name, they will be believed” (79,32-80,7). Peter’s statement

confirms that “living” Christians are being led astray by other Christians, with a

destructive outcome. In addition, the final line in this passage suggests martyrdom as one

possible threat. To “speak” the Savior’s “name” as a means of encouraging belief (80,6-

7) suggests a situation in which confession is central and public.

Collectively, this series of references to persecution—often in association with

group identity and conflict—suggests that promotion of a martyr’s death was a key

source of concern for the author of Apoc. Pet.

Christian Identity in Apoc. Pet.

In outlining divisions in the early Christian community, the author of Apoc. Pet.

reveals particular self-designations for his own group: “little ones” and “immortal ones.”

The former implies the marginalized, minority status of the group in their current

situation, while the latter reflects the dualistic perspective, which I suggest contributes to

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(rather than necessarily reflects) group boundaries. The notion of “brotherhood” is

similarly evoked as a group definition in Apoc. Pet. In this section, I consider what sort of

social identity, including related behavioral expectations, is captured by these group

designations in Apoc. Pet.

The distinctive appellation, the “little ones,” appears three times in Apoc. Pet.,

exclusively within the central, polemical section; it thus depicts the group’s status vis-à-

vis other Christians. All three instances cast the group as a threatened minority. The

initial instance occurs in the author’s criticism of an “imitation” group associated with

Hermas that exists “in order that the real light shall not be believed by the little ones (n-

nikouei)” (78,22). In this instance, a rival belief apparently threatened to overshadow

the “real light,” or truth, intended for the little ones. The presence of such a threat also

assumes the proximity among subgroups of Christians. The second reference to the “little

ones” is discussed just above, among potential references to martyrdom: “They do not

know the punishment with those who rejoice with those who have done this deed to the

little ones (n-nikouei)” (79,19). The third instance of the designation, “little ones,”

reminds the audience that their oppression, “rule over the little ones (nikouei),” will

come to an end following a fixed time (80,11). This apocalyptic sense of “little ones”

recalls the use of the phrase in the Gospel of Matthew, widely understood as a key source

for Apoc. Pet.72

72
Hellholm finds that the terms “majority” and “minority” as designations for Christians do not appear
elsewhere in the New Testament; they are, however, common in second and third-century Gnostic writings,
where “they are used precisely as self-designations of Gnostic Christians on the one hand and as their
designation of antagonistic Christians on the other,” “The Mighty Minority of Gnostic Christians,” 41; for
instance, Gos. Thom., sayings 46 and 50, while “many” (6a6) characterizes those who are understood as
their opponents in sayings 74 and 75, Hellholm, “The Mighty Minority of Gnostic Christians,” 42-43.

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 As the passages examined thus far reveal, “immortal souls” and “little ones”

designate the author’s community. Less apparent, however, are the parameters of the

group. Who makes up the “little ones?” Brashler and Werner consider “little ones” as a

Gnostic self-designation.73 As Hellholm shows though, there were likely layers within

this collective group. He views “little ones” as representative of two types of immortal

souls: first, those who were initially aware, but have been deceived (77,10; 76,27-77,22),

and, second, those who are aware, but are still in danger of being deceived by other

Christians (“the majority in the Great Church,” in Hellholm’s view).74 We can thus

discern at least three interacting groups associated with Apoc. Pet., with apparent fluidity

among them.

Peter’s Christological Visions

As Apoc. Pet. progresses, we further discover how divergent Christologies foster

division in the community. Central to the Christology of Apoc. Pet. is an extended

crucifixion scene, which offers a corrective to traditional Gospel portraits. In the

apocalypse, Peter experiences a series of three visions, each explained by the Savior. The

progressive illumination highlights Peter’s distinctive role in the narrative. Through these

elements, the reader discovers a tripartite spiritual Savior who temporarily inhabits a

fleshly body. Departing this latter figure, just prior to the crucifixion, the Savior stands by

Werner interprets this in accordance with the Matthean “little ones” (10:42; 18:6,10,14) who are regarded
as the greatest in the kingdom of heaven, “The Coptic Gnostic Apocalypse of Peter,” 704.
73
Brashler, The Coptic Apocalypse of Peter: A Genre Analysis and Interpretation, 154; Werner, “The
Coptic Gnostic Apocalypse of Peter,” 704.
74
“The Mighty Minority of Gnostic Christians,” 65.

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“laughing,” as the authorities foolishly execute the irrelevant bodily remnant. Apoc.

Pet.’s unique interpretation of the Passion thus illuminates the author’s perspective on

suffering.75 Through the example of the Savior, the author rejects the glorification of

physical suffering; presumably, this stance applies to martyrdom as well, especially if

martyrdom is understood as imitatio Christi. In addition, Peter’s role as an exclusive,

proper crucifixion witness lends to his characterization as a different sort of martyr. As

the Savior did not suffer, neither will Peter. Moreover, he participates in conveying

salvation to others by sharing his vision; in this manner, he serves as a witness.76 This

special role of Peter also has implications for group identities.

Following the Savior’s description of erroneous Christians, Peter abruptly

experiences a vision of the Savior’s arrest and subsequent crucifixion (81,3-83,15):

“When he had said those things, I saw him apparently being seized by them” (81,3-6).

Peter then initiates a dialogue with the Savior to comprehend what he sees. He inquires,

“What am I seeing, O Lord?’ Is it you yourself whom they take? And are you grasping

me? Who is this one above the cross, who is glad and laughing? And is it another one

whose feet and hands they are hammering?” (81,7-14). Peter’s initial observation of the

crucifixion thus reflects the presence of (at least) two distinct figures, the hovering figure

who laughs and the bodily figure hung on the cross. At its core, Apoc. Pet.’s Christology

appears dualistic, distinguishing the material from the spiritual. The latter, though, finds

expression in multiple ways.

75
There is a relative consensus regarding the essential Christology of Apoc. Pet.; in this discussion, my
interest focuses more on what this information suggests about suffering and how it positions Peter.
76
In this case, Peter’s role as a martyr aligns with the traditional, more general sense of the term, “witness.”

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 The Savior explains, “The one you see above the cross, glad and laughing, is the

living Jesus. But he into whose hands and feet they are driving the nails is his fleshly part

(sarkikon) which is the substitute. They put to shame that which is in his likeness. But

look at him and me” (81,15-24). This prompts a misunderstanding by Peter, who looks

(81,25), notes that no one is watching the Savior, and thus suggests escaping the

situation: “Lord, no one is looking at you. Let us flee this place.” (81,26-28). The

Savior’s response suggests that Peter’s proposed flight is absurd, since the persecutors do

not reflect a real threat. He chastises Peter, “I have told you, ‘Leave the blind (ones)

alone!’ And see how they do not know what they are saying. For the son of their glory,

instead of my servant, they have put to shame.” (81,29-82,3). The persecutors are mocked

for the pointless execution of one of their own. This passage also further highlights

Peter’s particular role; he is instructed to be attentive to their lack of knowledge, rather

than any threat of physical persecution. The Savior thus refocuses Peter, and the primary

lesson is to not worry about physical persecution.

The second part of Peter’s vision further illuminates the nature of the Savior.

Peter reports,

And I saw someone about to approach us who looked like him, and like the one

who was laughing above the cross. And he was filled with a holy spirit, and he is

the Savior. And there was a great ineffable light surrounding them and the

multitude of ineffable and invisible angels blessing them. And it was I who saw

him when this one who glorifies was revealed. (82,4-16)

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This passage details additional manifestations of the Savior. The approaching figure

appears distinct from the laughing figure, but resembles the Savior already known to

Peter. A third figure seems to be reflected by the presence of the “great ineffable light,”

as “one who glorifies.” Moreover, this passage also reiterates Peter’s distinctive role; he

stresses that he is the key witness to the revelation.

Peter’s position is further highlighted in the following lines, which also convey

additional details about the nature of the crucified one. The Savior instructs Peter, “Be

strong! Because you are the one to whom these mysteries are given, to know through

revelation that the one whom they crucified is the first-born, and the house of demons,

and the stone vessel in which they dwell, belonging to Elohim, and belonging to the cross

that is under the law” (82,18-26). Here, Apoc. Pet. highlights Peter’s role as recipient of

the key mysteries surrounding the crucifixion, specifically, the actual identity of the one

on the cross. The list of attributes makes it clear that this secondary figure reflects the

material realm, the world associated with the law and the inferior, creator god. Moreover,

it is clear that other Christians have made this critical Christological error; this further

reflects division within the Christian community. The themes of division and persecution,

initially introduced in the central, polemical section, surface again in Apoc. Pet.’s portrait

of the Passion (and are arguably central to it). The encouragement for Peter to remain

strong suggests the tenuousness of his position; with uncertain parameters, Peter reflects

the possibility for even “true” Christians to misunderstand and lapse.

The Savior continues with an explication of the figure standing by at the

crucifixion scene: “But he who stands near him is the living Savior, the one who before

was in the one whom they seized. And he has been released. He stands joyfully looking at

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those who persecuted him. They are divided among themselves. Therefore he laughs at

their inability to see, and he knows that they are born blind” (82,26-83,3). A number of

points in this passage are noteworthy.77 First, the bystander is designated as “the living

Savior,” who inhabited the one who will be crucified. Prior to the punishment though, the

spiritual form departs the distinct body.78

Second, and more significant for my project, this passage reveals perspectives on

persecution and suffering that correspond with the intra-group concerns of the central

section. The persecutors are mocked for their blindness, which presumably limits their

ability to recognize the “true” identity of their prisoner; they err in their understanding of

the situation. The laughing Savior highlights the futility of the persecution of one of their

own. The persecutors are also characterized as internally divided. In Apoc. Pet., the

traditional persecutors associated with the Passion—Jews and Romans—serve as

symbols of the author’s contemporary Christian opponents. Both of these characteristics,

lack of understanding and division, echo the author’s critique of erroneous Christians in

the preceding section of the apocalypse (for instance, they rule schismatically).79

The Savior goes on to detail the distinctions among the figures present in Peter’s

vision of the Passion scene: “Indeed, therefore, the suffering one must remain since the

body is the substitute. But the one that was released was my incorporeal body (paswma

77
A laughing Christ is also present at the crucifixion in the Treat. Seth (VII, 2) 56.19, in which Simon of
Cyrene appears as the physical substitute on the cross. A similar perspective is attributed to Basilides by
Irenaeus, Haer. 1.24.4.
78
Gerard P. Luttikhuizen ascribes this figure an intermediate role between Christ’s intellectual spirit and the
material body, comparable to an “ethereal soul-body” in a trichotomous concept of reality, “The Suffering
Jesus and the Invulnerable Christ in the Gnostic Apocalypse of Peter,” in The Apocalypse of Peter, Studies
in Early Christian Apocrypha 7 (Louvain: Peeters, 2003), 194–195.
79
The recurrence of the lack of awareness and divisiveness reflects how these seemingly distinct sections of
the apocalypse are actually intertwined.

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pe n-atswma). But I am the intellectual spirit (pinoeron m-pn-a) filled with radiant light.

He whom you saw coming to me was our intellectual pleroma, which unites the perfect

light with my pure spirit” (83,4-15). This passage distinguishes the physical body, which

will suffer, from (i) the Savior’s “incorporeal body,” (ii) the “intellectual spirit filled with

radiant light” (the Savior’s self-designation), and (iii) the one Peter witnessed, “the

intellectual pleroma.” The latter three appear to be related manifestations of the spiritual

realm. The body that suffers is, on the other hand, purely physical; characterized as a

“substitute,” its role in the scheme seems to carry little to no value. In addition, it derives

from a distinct, inferior cosmic realm. Combined with the negative associations noted

above, the crucified one who suffers is not a figure to be glorified, as the author’s critique

of other Christians reveals.

No less important than the Christological reflections here is the recipient of the

message. The Savior’s interpretation of events on Peter’s behalf is immediately followed

by a commission for the disciple to share what he has discovered. The Savior instructs

Peter, “These things, therefore, which you saw, you shall present to those of another race,

who are not of this age. For there will be no honor (taeio) in any one who is not

immortal, but only for those who were chosen from an immortal substance who has

shown that he is able to comprehend the one who gives his abundance” (83,15-26).80

Peter’s delivery of the message is a significant task. In addition, though the passage

suggests an elect group bound for honor based on their substantial nature, the emphasis is

80
This passage recalls a preceding passage in Apoc. Pet. that describes the intended recipients of Peter’s
revelation. The Savior encourages Peter, “Now then, listen to the things that are being told to you in a
mystery, and guard them. Do not tell them to the children of this age” (73,14-18).

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on exhibiting one’s awareness.81 Peter receives final encouragement: “You, therefore, be

courageous and do not fear anything. For I will be with you so that none of your enemies

will prevail over you. Peace be to you! Be strong!” (84,6-11).

The depiction of the Passion in Apoc. Pet. reveals that physical suffering,

including the actual crucifixion, is not to be celebrated. It is thus unlikely that the

promotion of early Christian martyrdom as, in part, an imitation of Christ, would carry

any weight for the author of Apoc. Pet. As Desjardins concludes in his discussion of

crucifixion scene, “The author’s main point … is that Jesus’ external, physical form is not

the one worth honoring.”82

Nevertheless, the Passion scene itself makes up a significant part of in the

apocalypse. Rather than highlight suffering, though, it reveals the nature of the Savior

and signals Peter’s key role as the witness of this knowledge. This is apparent in the

details the author chooses to highlight; the cross itself is secondary to the action of the

scene from Peter’s perspective. It also serves as a corrective to those who misunderstand

the crucifixion and subscribe to a suffering Savior; Peter’s vision of the crucifixion as

well as the Savior’s subsequent explanation of the scene and his nature demonstrate the

futility of physical suffering and mock those who subscribe to it. The concluding

instructions for Peter to share his received knowledge also relates to the Savior’s

function, more specifically, his provision of salvation.

81
See M. A. Williams’ discussion of the emphasis on behavior as an expression of identity, Rethinking
Gnosticism: An Argument for Dismantling a Dubious Category, chap. 9.
82
Desjardins, “Apocalypse of Peter. Introduction,” 206.

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 Peter as “Martyr”

As the pseudonymous author, Peter’s role in Apoc. Pet. extends beyond that of the

typical apocalyptic revealer.83 In the context of intra-Christian conflict, the choice of

Peter as apocalyptic messenger is significant, given his prominent role in proto-orthodox

tradition, the author’s apparent opposition. Specifically, Peter’s authoritative voice

challenges the centrality of suffering for Christian identity and redefines his role as a

proto-martyr or witness. Peter’s progressive enlightenment, via the Savior, over the

course of the apocalypse serves as a model for other Christians to imitate. His periodic

misunderstandings reveal that his acquisition of awareness is not automatic. Through

proper instruction and reflection they can participate in the immortal realm and become

invulnerable to suffering. The encouragement to “be strong” (84,11) relates not to Peter’s

physical side, but to his newfound understanding in the face of “persecution” by fellow

Christians, as he awaits the end of the present age.84

Depicting Peter as the original leader of a unified community, Apoc. Pet. offers

hope that Peter will reclaim his authoritative role with the Savior’s return. In the mean

time, Peter is meant to await the Parousia (78,4-6), while bravely accepting his role in the

midst of intra-Christian conflict (80,31-81,3). Relying on Peter’s authority, the author of

Apoc. Pet. resituates Peter’s Gospel experiences in his present situation of intra-Christian

83
Typical facets of Peter’s role include his authoritative status as a figure close to the Savior and his ability
to view “the future,” given his experience in the historical past.
84
This contrasts Pagels’ view of this final statement as encouragement for Peter to go on to confidently face
his own suffering, “Gnostic and Orthodox Views of Christ’s Passion: Paradigms for the Christian’s
Response to Persecution,” 275. Given the negative assessment of suffering in the text and the lack of
reference to Peter’s pending persecution, this reading does not seem entirely persuasive.

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conflict. One example of this strategy is an apparent allusion to Peter’s threefold denial of

Jesus.85 Apoc. Pet.’s version predicts that the Savior will correct Peter three times in the

course of their night (71,34-72,4).86 Peter’s immediate response further evokes the

Gospel narratives. He expresses his fear of death, noting his vision of priests and others

coming toward them with stones (72,5-9). Though the setting of pending persecution is

maintained, the adaptation of the threefold denial shifts the focus to progressive

instruction and its challenges in Apoc. Pet.

The Savior’s instruction of Peter that follows emphasizes spiritual—or, in this

case, sensory—awareness over bodily experience.87 The Savior directs Peter to cover his

eyes in order to comprehend the “blindness” of his opposition (72,13-17). By shielding

his physical view, Peter ultimately gains clarification. He reports, “Fear in joy came to

me for I saw a new light brighter than the light of day” (72,22-25). A comparable

experience follows, in which the Savior instructs Peter to listen in an elevated way (73,6-

8). The Savior’s instruction thus conveys how Peter can “inwardly transcend visible

reality.” Luttikhuizen appropriately casts this experience as preparation for Peter’s

85
“Jesus said to him, ‘Truly, I say to you, this very night, before the cock crows twice, you will deny me
three times,’” Mark 14:30 (NRSV); Matt 26:34, Luke 22:34, and John 13:38 as parallels.
86
Havelaar doubts the connection with Peter’s traditional Gospel betrayals, primarily based on the lack of
consistent language, The Coptic Apocalypse of Peter (Nag Hammadi-Codex VII,3), 83. In addition to the
common setting, the presence of “three times” alongside the reference to “this night,” though, seem
sufficient to evoke the Gospel scene. We should not expect the scene to have the traditional meaning for the
author of Apoc. Pet., since he often revises the Petrine tradition for his own purposes. Theofried Baumeister
remarks that the unusual allusion to Matt 16:18 likely reflects “a positive evaluation of the denial, in which
Peter distanced himself following a proper Gnostic understanding of the form of the suffering Savior,” “Die
Rolle des Petrus in gnostischen Texten,” in Acts of the Second International Congress of Coptic Studies, ed.
Tito Orlandi and Frederick Wisse (Rome, 1985), 7.
87
Luttikhuizen highlights the way Peter learns through the spiritual, rather than physical, side of his senses,
“The Suffering Jesus and the Invulnerable Christ in the Gnostic Apocalypse of Peter,” 191.

130
subsequent vision of the crucifixion.88 But, it also serves as a broader lesson, instructing

the reader how to approach life as a Christian, which involves attention to one’s spiritual

development.89 Peter’s initial fear and anticipation of death symbolize his ignorance. The

Savior responds with a reminder of the persecutor’s error, rather than with any comment

regarding Peter’s own death.

Peter’s portrait can thus be understood as a challenge to his traditional

characterization as a dying witness, especially in light of the intra-Christian conflict in

Apoc. Pet. By the time of its composition, the tradition of Peter as a key early martyr

appears to have been well-entrenched.90 Given Peter’s martyr legacy and his expressions

of fear in this text, it is all the more noteworthy that his own death is not forecast in Apoc.

Pet. As with the crucifixion narrative, we also find an adaptation of shared tradition in

Apoc. Pet.’s portrait of the disciple. Peter admits fear, yet there are no references to a

death at the hands of the Romans. Rather, his quest centers on perfection, a challenge

posed by the Savior at the start of the apocalypse. He encourages, “Peter, become perfect

(4wpe eken-telios), in keeping with your name, along with me, the one who has

chosen you” (71,15-18).91 In addition to highlighting Peter’s special role, this opening

88
Ibid.
89
On this point, also see Schoenborn, Diverbium Salutis. Literarische Struktur und theologische Intention
des gnostischen Dialogs am Beispiel der koptischen “Apocalypse des Petrus.”
90
In perhaps the earliest reference to the tradition of Peter’s death as a martyr, see 1 Clem. 5; also, the ‘Quo
Vadis’ legacy of Acts Pet. 35f; Origen Comm. Jo. 20.12; and Eusebius’ later reports, Hist. eccl. 3.1.2f;
2.25.5-8.
91
It is somewhat unclear what is meant by “in keeping with your name” here; Havelaar suggests a possible
link between the Greek telios (71,16) and petros, noting that a rock might symbolize strength and
perfection, The Coptic Apocalypse of Peter (Nag Hammadi-Codex VII,3), 81. The emphasis on the Savior’s
choice of Peter also recalls the tradition of Matthew 16:18, in which Jesus casts Peter as the rock on which
the church will be built.

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also sets the Savior as an example for Peter to follow. The perfection involves attaining

proper knowledge, particularly regarding the nature of the crucifixion (71,25-33).92 The

combination of a crucifixion without suffering and the call for Peter imitate Jesus leads

Brashler to consider this statement as a “subtle criticism of the orthodox view that

martyrdom was the teleio/thj of spiritual perfection.”93 One could also understand the

moments of encouragement for Peter to “be strong” (71,22; 82,18; 84,11) and have

courage (80,32-33; 84,7) as adaptations of typical support in the early martyr acts.94 Peter

progresses through the course of the apocalypse and, in the end, appears fully aware. The

indication that Peter “came to his senses” (84,12-13) reflects the awareness he achieves in

the course of the apocalypse. If read as an allusion to Acts 12:11, in which Peter “came to

himself” after a miraculous escape from prison, this final statement further implies

Peter’s ultimate distance from persecution.95

Though less extensive in its description of what the proper Christian is to do than

the other traditions examined in this project, Apoc. Pet. nevertheless presents Peter as a

model for appropriate Christian action. By following a similar path, Christians are privy

to the true meaning of the crucifixion and conduct themselves accordingly; in this sense,

they are witnesses, or martyrs. Based on the assessment of the physical form in the

92
The author might have in mind the description of Peter as a “witness of the sufferings of Christ” in 1 Pet
5:1, Smith, Petrine Controversies in Early Christianity, 131.
93
The Coptic Apocalypse of Peter: A Genre Analysis and Interpretation, 209–210.
94
For example, in Mart. Pol. 9, a heavenly voice encourages the martyr, “Be strong, Polycarp, and be
courageous.”
95
Smith mentions this parallel, though he does not discuss its potential significance in relation to Apoc.
Pet.’s perspective on persecution and possible martyrdom, Petrine Controversies in Early Christianity,
126.

132
crucifixion, it seems reasonable to envision the author’s group as one that prioritizes

spiritual over bodily matters.

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 Chapter 4
Martyrdom without Sacrifice:
The Silent Witness in the Testimony of Truth (NHC IX,3)

In the second chapter of Martyrdom and Memory, Elizabeth A. Castelli argues

that early Christian “rhetoric, interpretation, and theorizing” framed martyrdom in terms

of the Roman system of sacrifice. Regarding the function of Roman sacrifice, Castelli

explains that “at the level of ritual, it helped to maintain networks of relationship and

patterns of order that were simultaneously social, political, and religious. It satisfied the

status quo, sustained through regular ritual reinscription.”1 The ritual of sacrifice thus

reflected and solidified a group’s social identity in the Roman world, including values

and expectations.

Early Christians’ general refusal to participate in this expression of Roman

identity marked them as deviants, susceptible to persecution.2 Nevertheless, as Castelli

shows, many Christians tapped into this already existent system of Roman sacrifice,

including the public arena and inverted the expected social framework.3 Specifically,

Castelli details how, through remembrance of traditions, the ritual of martyrdom became

1
Martyrdom and Memory: Early Christian Culture Making, 50.
2
A point long recognized by historians, which Castelli reiterates, Ibid., 51.
3
Castelli’s argument brings together the dimensions of sacrifice, gender, and the Roman arena, Ibid., 54–
55.
meaningful for Christians.4 As her work reveals, the events and subsequent celebrations

of martyrdom, primarily via circulating literature, reflect a process of ritualization that

became central to early Christian identity. As part of this, Christians regularly depicted

the deaths of their martyrs as parallel to that of Jesus, “appropriat[ing] the language of

sacrifice to describe their experience of persecution at the hands of the Romans.”5

Castelli thus reminds us of the intersection of a suffering Christ and early Christian

conceptions of martyrdom, while also highlighting the ritual processes that accompany

early Christian remembrances of martyrdom and related social identity.

In this chapter, I consider Testim. Truth as one early Christian response to this

ritualization of martyrdom. This text depicts “so-called Christians” who undergo

martyrdom at the hands of persecutors as misguided fools, who mistakenly believe that

“death for the sake of the name” (34,5-6) will offer them salvation (32).6 Exposing the

misguided motives and “emptiness” of a martyr’s death as well as water baptism, the

author challenges the relative value ascribed to such external, often public, group-

oriented expressions of Christian identity. Undoubtedly, the author’s negative assessment

4
Here, I emphasize, like Castelli, that whether Christians designated martyrdoms as a ritual or sacrifice is
less significant than how it functioned for them. She writes, “It seems possible that one might well call an
event or a performance sacrificial even when its participants might not call their actions by this name. The
question seems to be what work that naming does and how it either sheds light or obscures the view,” Ibid.,
59.
5
Ibid., 51. For a complementary study of early Christian martyrdom as sacrificial, see Young, In Procession
Before the World: Martyrdom as Public Liturgy in Early Christianity.
6
The author simply notes that “such matters are not settled in such a way” (34,6-7). In this chapter, I rely
primarily on the Coptic text transcribed by Søren Giverson and Birger A. Pearson, Birger A. Pearson, ed.,
“NHC, IX,3: The Testimony of Truth,” in Nag Hammadi Codices IX and X, Nag Hammadi Studies XV
(Leiden: Brill, 1981), 101–203, with occasional consultation of the accompanying English translation. I
also utilize the Coptic-French critical edition, including commentary of Annie Mahé and Jean-Pierre Mahé,
Le Témoignage Véritable (NH IX, 3) Gnose et Martyre, Bibliothèque Copte de Nag Hammadi 23 (Louvain;
Paris: Peeters, 1996). A current English translation, also by Birger A. Pearson, appears as “The Testimony
of Truth,” in The Nag Hammadi Scriptures: The International Edition, ed. Marvin Meyer (New York:
HarperOne, 2007), 613–628.

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of all things fleshly contributes to this perspective. The social implications of this view,

though, also deserve considerable attention. Through an examination of competing

expressions of Christian identity apparent in Testim. Truth, I show how this text

prioritizes the solitary side of group affiliation, primarily by advocating renunciation and

self-inquiry. These practices mark the “true martyrdom” and “true baptism” promoted by

the author.

Manuscript, Provenance, and Date

Before a fuller examination of Testim. Truth’s outlook on martyrdom, some

introductory remarks on the text are necessary. Testim. Truth survives in a single

manuscript, as part of the collection of writings discovered near Nag Hammadi, Egypt in

1945.7 The third treatise in Codex IX, the manuscript is quite fragmentary, with

approximately 45% of the text lost or damaged.8 Testim. Truth does not fit neatly into a

particular genre, though scholars tend to categorize it as, at least in part, a homily.9

7
For a discussion of the text’s title, perhaps better rendered The True Testimony, see Mahé and Mahé, Le
Témoignage Véritable (NH IX, 3) Gnose et Martyre; the authors also note the parallel phrase in Clement of
Alexandria, 2.
8
The latter half of the text is especially damaged and includes the loss of complete pages; Pearson, “The
Testimony of Truth.”
9
Pearson understands it as a homiletic tract, comprised of two essential parts, “Anti-Heretical Warnings in
Codex IX from Nag Hammadi,” in Gnosticism, Judaism, and Egyptian Christianity, ed. Birger A. Pearson,
Studies in Antiquity and Christianity (Minneapolis: Fortress, 1990), 151; 189. Mahé and Mahé also
consider it as a homily, Le Témoignage Véritable (NH IX, 3) Gnose et Martyre, 5–6. After a full discussion
of the polemical flair of the author (8-9), they still conclude that one cannot prove that Testim. Truth was
actually delivered as a homily, “one can nevertheless affirm that the text has all the stylistic features of a
live speech,” 10. One could also understand the text, or at least parts of it, as reflective of paraenesis; the
author’s interest in correcting behavior suggests this characterization.

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 The author draws on both Christian and Jewish materials, including biblical and

apocryphal traditions, often offering distinctive interpretations.10 The Gospel of John

seems to be the primary gospel used by the author, though allusions to Matthew and Luke

are also present.11 The Pauline letters appear to have further influenced Testim. Truth.12

In addition, the author employs a range of material from the Jewish Scriptures and later

Jewish traditions, most prominently an extensive reading of the Paradise narrative of

Genesis 2-3.13

The diverse content as well as shifts in style prompt some to question the text’s

original unity. Pearson and Koschorke understand it, in part, as a pastiche of material,

though they nevertheless recognize a single author. Pearson proposes that the original

version concluded at 45,6, based on the repetitive nature of the following text (45,6-

74,30) as well as the diversity of material. He suggests that the latter half is directed

toward a more inclusive audience, though it still complements the initial homily.14 Such a

division is unnecessary, however. Mahé and Mahé as well as Gerard P. Luttikhuizen

persuasively show how Testim. Truth can be understood as a single, coherent

10
As examples, Testim. Truth includes references to David and Solomon (70,1-30) as well as the apocryphal
Mart. Ascen. Isa. (40,21-41,1).
11
Christopher M. Tuckett’s article references a series of Synoptic allusions in order. He concludes that there
is no clear reference to Mark; the majority reflect material common to Matthew and Luke (i.e. Q),
“Synoptic Tradition in the Gospel of Truth and the Testimony of Truth,” Journal of Theological Studies 35,
no. 1 (1984): 144–145. On the primary use of John, see Birger A. Pearson, “Gnostic Interpretation of the
Old Testament in the Testimony of Truth (NHC IX, 3),” Harvard Theological Review 73 (1980): 312.
12
Pearson, “Gnostic Interpretation of the Old Testament in the Testimony of Truth (NHC IX, 3),” 312.
13
Pearson discusses the author’s use of the Jewish scriptures, through short quotations, allusions, and
extended interpretations (which Pearson labels midrashim). Ibid., 313–317.
14
Tuckett, tracing synoptic allusions in Testim. Truth, notes that concentration of allusions in the initial part
of the text (29,6-45,6) could support Pearson’s theory, though he also acknowledges that the fragmentary
nature of the latter half of the text prevent a firm conclusion, “Synoptic Tradition in the Gospel of Truth
and the Testimony of Truth,” 144.

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composition.15 Below, I offer some further resolution to the issue of distinct audiences,

showing that this element likely reflects multiple Christian groups associated with the

author, rather than textual disunity.

Regarding Testim. Truth’s provenance and date, there is general consensus. An

Alexandrian origin seems likely. Pearson bases this assessment on Testim. Truth’s

inclusion of Hellenistic-Jewish speculative wisdom as well as Philonic and Platonic

influences.16 In addition, the author’s reference to a series of Valentinian teachers,

including Basilides and Isidore, suggests an Alexandrian provenance (the latter appears to

have been exclusively active in Alexandria).17 A late second- to early third-century date

seems appropriate. This positions Testim. Truth later than the second-century Christian

teachers it references. Its focus on martyrdom also indicates composition during a period

of persecution, making a date prior to the early fourth century more likely. Within this

time frame, a date near the start of the third century seems the most reasonable given the

nature of the intra-Christian debate as well as parallels with the writings of Clement of

15
Mahé and Mahé view 67,8-9 as evidence for the unity of the treatise; it returns to the theme of testimony,
central to the initial part of the treatise; Le Témoignage Véritable (NH IX, 3) Gnose et Martyre, 11–17.
Gerard P. Luttikhuizen, “A Resistant Interpretation of the Paradise Story in the Gnostic Testimony of Truth
(Nag Hamm. Cod. IX.3) 45-50,” in Paradise Interpreted: Representations of Biblical Paradise in Judaism
and Christianity, ed. Gerard P. Luttikhuizen, Themes in Biblical Narrative: Jewish and Christian Traditions
(Leiden: Brill, 1999), 140–152.
16
Pearson, “NHC, IX,3: The Testimony of Truth,” 117; he further reflects that allegorical interpretations
could further support an Alexandrian provenance, “Gnostic Interpretation of the Old Testament in the
Testimony of Truth (NHC IX, 3),” 317.
17
Koschorke, Die Polemik der Gnostiker gegen das kirchliche Christentum: Unter besonderer
Berücksichtigung der Nag-Hammadi-Traktate “Apokalypse des Petrus” (NHC VII,3) und “Testimonium
Veritatis” (NHC IX,3), 109. Of course, references to these Christian teachers do not necessarily indicate
location.

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Alexandria.18 My project, which further highlights the commonalities between Clement’s

writings and Testim. Truth, also adds weight to this date of composition.

Though its original locale and date seem relatively sound, the identity of Testim.

Truth’s author is less apparent. Pearson suggests Julius Cassianus, as described by

Clement of Alexandria in Strom. III.91, 93. Clement notes that Julius left the school of

Valentinus and advocated strict abstinence. Pearson asserts, “Clement’s description of

Cassianus and his teachings fit exceedingly well, down to explicit details, the views of

the author of Testim. Truth.”19 Koschorke asserts that the parallels in Clement are not

strong enough to demonstrate this connection, especially since Clement offers no mention

Julius Cassianus’ view of sacraments or martyrdom; presumably, if he held the views of

Testim. Truth, one would expect Clement to reference them.20 Mahé and Mahé also do

not find the parallels noted by Pearson as “sufficient to establish that the author of

Testimony of Truth is Julius himself or one of his close disciples.” They also offer

convincing arguments against Pearson’s case, specifically by highlighting Julius’

negative assessment of the serpent, which conflicts with Testim. Truth’s positive

reading.21 Frederick Wisse offers another possible identification for the author—Hierakas

of Leontopolis, a contemporary of Pachomius, or one of his close followers. Wisse draws

on Epiphanius’ description of Hierakas as a radical ascetic (Haer. 67), who denied bodily

18
Pearson, “NHC, IX,3: The Testimony of Truth,” 118; Mahé and Mahé note parallels with Clement of
Alexandria’s discussion of martyrdom and thus conclude that it is best to situate Testim. Truth between
180-215.
19
Pearson, “NHC, IX,3: The Testimony of Truth,” 118-120.
20
Koschorke, Die Polemik der Gnostiker gegen das kirchliche Christentum: Unter besonderer
Berücksichtigung der Nag-Hammadi-Traktate “Apokalypse des Petrus” (NHC VII,3) und “Testimonium
Veritatis” (NHC IX,3), 108.
21
Mahé and Mahé, Le Témoignage Véritable (NH IX, 3) Gnose et Martyre, 49.

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resurrection, as support.22 Wisse’s suggestion shifts the date of Testim. Truth to the late

fourth century; though this is possible, the weight of evidence in support of an earlier date

combined with the limited connection to Epiphanius’ report make this identification

difficult to sustain. Given the lack of any specific elements that identify the author or

attributions in other literature, it seems appropriate not to ascribe Testim. Truth to any

known early Christian.

Let us now return to the key focus of this chapter, an examination of the intra-

Christian dynamic expressed in Testim. Truth. This task is especially worthwhile, given

the divergent scholarly understandings of group relations apparent in this text. Among the

few extensive treatments of Testim. Truth, the works of Koschorke and Mahé and Mahé

reflect two very different reconstructions of Testim. Truth’s position vis-à-vis other

Christian groups, including those criticized by the author; these include not only proto-

orthodox Christians, who celebrate martyrdom and baptism, but also other representatives

of so-called Gnostic forms of Christianity, including followers of Basilides and the

Simonians.23

In his significant study of anti-ecclesiastical polemic in Testim. Truth and Apoc.

Pet., Koschorke situates the author of Testim. Truth and his adherents well within what

22
Wisse specifically highlights their common interest in Christ’s role in abolishing marriage, “Gnosticism
and Early Monasticism in Egypt,” in Gnosis: Festschrift für Hans Jonas, ed. Barbara Aland (Göttingen:
Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1978), 439–440. “Gnosticism and Early Monasticism,” 439-440.
23
These names appear among others in a rather fragmentary section that outlines the misguided error of
others (55,1-60,4).

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he considers the ecclesiastical Christian community.24 According to Koschorke, Testim.

Truth’s version of Christianity stands not against (gegen) but above (über) ecclesiastical

Christianity.25 Koschorke asserts that the faith associated with the broader ecclesiastical

community was accepted by Testim. Truth as provisional, though it would ideally be

surpassed by superior gnostic awareness. According to Koschorke, the intra-Christian

conflict reflected in the polemic of Testim. Truth responds only to circumstances in which

ecclesiastical Christians promote their faith and practices as exclusively valid.26

Koschorke also suggests that the orthodox, rather than the Gnostic Christians, ultimately

establish the boundaries.27 At the same time, Koschorke reads the polemic as an

“indicator of the changing relationship of gnostic and orthodox Christianity.”28 I agree

with Koschorke on this latter point, among others, but find it difficult to accept his

implication that Testim. Truth supports proto-orthodox celebrations of martyrdom and

baptism, provided the acknowledgement of their secondary significance. As I show

below, there appears little room for such accommodation in the author’s treatment of

these practices.

24
Koschorke, Die Polemik der Gnostiker gegen das kirchliche Christentum: Unter besonderer
Berücksichtigung der Nag-Hammadi-Traktate “Apokalypse des Petrus” (NHC VII,3) und “Testimonium
Veritatis” (NHC IX,3).
25
Ibid., 204. Koschorke offers the same assessment for Apoc. Pet.
26
Ibid., 9.; I translate Koschorke’s language of “kirchlichen Christentum” as “ecclesiastical Christianity,”
though I also equate it, as he generally does, with proto-orthodox perspectives.
27
Koschorke positions this process of separation as relatively late; he writes that both groups “actually
stood in relatively unhindered association” up through the fourth century, based, in part, on Epiphanius’
education alongside Valentinian Christians, Ibid., 10.
28
Ibid.

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 More recently, Mahé and Mahé offer a significantly different portrait of the

author’s association with proto-orthodox Christianity.29 Specifically, they depict the

community of Testim. Truth as decidedly distinct from the church at large. In response to

Koschorke’s reconstruction of communal relations, they find it inconceivable, given the

strength of the polemic, that the author of Testim. Truth would allow for any association

with the broader Christian community. Rather, they suggest that the harshness of the

attacks requires that the author belongs to a distinct community.30 Mahé and Mahé thus

appropriately limit Testim. Truth’s acceptance of typical proto-orthodox practices. Their

insistence on a separate community, however, makes it difficult to explain why Testim.

Truth’s is addressed, at least in part, to misguided Christians. Moreover, the strong

associations with Valentinian traditions that Mahé and Mahé detect in Testim. Truth

could actually suggest more overlap among divergent Christian communities than their

conclusion allows.31

My effort in this chapter thus focuses on a revised portrait of the complex intra-

group dynamics depicted in Testim. Truth, with particular emphasis on divergent

assessments of martyrdom.32 Specifically, I assert that Testim. Truth reflects debate

29
Mahé and Mahé, Le Témoignage Véritable (NH IX, 3) Gnose et Martyre, 69–72.
30
Ibid., 69.
31
The bulk of their substantial introduction to Testim. Truth examines connections with Valentinian
tradition, Ibid., 26–69. An earlier article by Jean-Pierre Mahé draws similar conclusions, “Le Témoignage
Véritable et quelques écrits Valentiniens de Nag Hammadi,” in Les textes de Nag Hammadi, ed. Louis
Painchaud and A. Pasquier, 1995, 233–242.
32
In this regard, I specifically challenge Koschorke’s suggestion that the author of Testim. Truth was
primarily—and perhaps exclusively—concerned with “vulgar conceptions” of martyrdom, rather than
martyrdom itself, Die Polemik der Gnostiker gegen das kirchliche Christentum: Unter besonderer
Berücksichtigung der Nag-Hammadi-Traktate “Apokalypse des Petrus” (NHC VII,3) und “Testimonium
Veritatis” (NHC IX,3), 131. There is little evidence to suggest that a martyr’s death, even when combined
with proper awareness, would have been valued in any way by the author of Testim. Truth. Moreover,
Koschorke himself references examples from a range of orthodox sources on martyrdom to illustrate the

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among multiple Christian groups that are closely aligned with one another, likely

overlapping.33 Martyrdom, as a key expression of Christian identity, stands at the center

of this debate. At first glance, this understanding of intra-group relations does run against

the grain of the rather harsh polemic prominent in Testim. Truth, as Mahé and Mahé note.

Similarly, Pearson understands the “animus directed against catholic Christians” as

indicative of a “bitter struggle” among communities close to the author.34 In spite of this,

the heightened contrast between proper and inproper Christian behavior reflects intra-

group negotiations about what it means to be a Christian. This interpretation is confirmed

by elements of Testim. Truth that reveal an interest in the progress of the author’s

perceived opponents. In this regard, I assert that Testim. Truth—particularly the

polemical elements—functions less as a denunciation of error and more as a call for

correction regarding proper martyrdom.

My argument in this chapter takes shape in essentially three ways. To begin, I

detail Testim. Truth’s distinction between misguided and proper “true” martyrdom. A

consideration of Testim. Truth’s particular Christology follows. I show how statements

regarding the Savior’s purpose, though limited, support renunciation as the appropriate

form of testimony, or imitation. In addition, Testim. Truth asserts that a key function of

Jesus’ arrival was the termination of baptism, another prominent moment of outward

key concerns of Testim. Truth; in the context of the early Christianity, these sources, including Mart. Pol.,
the letters of Ignatius, and the writings of Tertullian, appear to reflect relatively widespread, rather than
radical, perspectives on martyrdom.
33
My view of the intra-Christian scenario thus appropriately allows for more intra-group conflict than
Koschorke’s position, though also maintains the close associations of differing groups of Christians,
lacking in Mahé and Mahé’s portrait.
34
Pearson, “NHC, IX,3: The Testimony of Truth,” 118.

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confession rejected by the author. Moreover, an apparent lack of interest in his suffering

or death mitigates the value of martyrdom as imitation.

The remainder of the chapter, informed by social identity theory, focuses on

evidence of intra-Christian debate and social interaction, with attention to three

interrelated features of Testim. Truth: the distinction of two generations of Christians; the

promotion of silence as an ideal behavior; and an interest in mending, rather than

extending, intra-communal rifts. In this section, I highlight the rhetorical use of language

of dual, opposing generations: the Generation of Adam and the Generation of the Son of

Man. I also show how Testim. Truth positions behavior, rather than nature, as central to

Christian identity. Furthermore, my attention to silence as a key reflection of renunciation

in Testim. Truth reveals how the author constructs an alternative ritual for the individual

Christian. This interior ritual challenges the efficacy of what the author casts as

meaningless deeds and words, including confession in baptismal and martyr contexts. I

understand this contrast as a reflection of intra-group negotiations about what it means to

be a Christian. Testim. Truth’s recommendations for altering the behavior of other

Christians reveal that this matter is not yet settled.

Misguided Martyrdom

Testim. Truth is clearly not sympathetic to Christians who confess before the

Roman authorities and consequently suffer martyrdom. The author describes the

ignorance and error of martyrs-by-death as follows:

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 They are thinking in their heart, namely the ones without knowledge, that if they

confess (eu4an6omolog?ei), “We are Christians,” with the word only, not

knowing (to where) they are going nor who Christ is, that they will live. Since

they are deceived, they hurry toward the rulers and the authorities and they fall to

these because of the ignorance that exists in them. For, if merely words saved, the

entire world would endure this thing and be saved. (31,22-32,12)

According to Testim. Truth then, ignorance fosters a misguided desire for martyrdom—

“they do not know they will destroy themselves” (32,18-19). The conclusion of this

passage also offers a reversal of the typical proto-orthodox claim that Gnostic Christians

take the easy route by declining martyrdom; Testim. Truth casts the idea that a simple

confession, “mere words,” saves as so easy that it is ridiculous. Moreover, the

characterization of words as empty previews the author’s broader criticism of statements,

particularly confession, as insignificant. He reflects that those who claim to witness via

death are like the disciples, as “blind guides,” confused at the shore of Sea of Galilee

(33,21-24).35 On the futility of their efforts, he remarks, “These are empty martyrs (nai+

ne m_marturo?s et4oueit) who bear witness only to themselves” (33,24-27).

The description of their erroneous logic continues: “When they are ‘perfected’

with passion (paqos), this is the thought they have within them, ‘If we deliver ourselves

over to death for the sake of the name, we will be saved’” (34,1-6). This passage reveals

significant aspects of the author’s perspective on martyrdom. First, he associates the

presence of passion with the misguided behavior. This reflection on the danger of

35
This particular assessment of the disciples follows some reflections on the Son of Man, including his
walking on the water (33,8-9).

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succumbing to one’s passions aligns with the call elsewhere in Testim. Truth to gain

control of them, primarily via renunciation. The prior statement sets the stage for this

reading, as it characterizes these empty martyrs as “sick,” unable to “raise themselves”

(33,28-34,1).36 The use of passion language also can also be understood as a criticism of

proto-orthodox tendencies to understand a martyr’s death in light of Jesus’ suffering

death. Second, the author’s account of the martyr-to-be’s rationale highlights the

prominence of “the name,” by which he presumably means Christian. The author is

aware that this particular behavior—martyrdom by death—is, for some, intimately linked

to Christian social identity; this event is thus questioned as a valid performance of this

identity. Third, at the end of the present passage and in what follows, the author dismisses

the anticipated salvation, specifically, the hope for a physical resurrection. He challenges

such a motivation by simply noting, “These matters are not settled in this way.” (34,6-

7).37

Having rejected testimony by death, Testim. Truth redefines appropriate

martyrdom as an individual enterprise centered on knowledge, relating, “This, therefore,

is the true testimony (tmarturia m_me): When one knows himself (4anprwme souwn3-

ouaa3) and God who is over the truth, he will be saved, and he will be crowned with the

crown unfading” (44,30-45,6). In what follows, I explore additional aspects of this “true

36
Koschorke reasonably understands this sickness as indicative of “diseases of the soul,” often equated with
passions, Die Polemik der Gnostiker gegen das kirchliche Christentum: Unter besonderer
Berücksichtigung der Nag-Hammadi-Traktate “Apokalypse des Petrus” (NHC VII,3) und “Testimonium
Veritatis” (NHC IX,3), 94.
37
The passage that follows (34,26-35,9) illuminates the author’s stance against a belief in physical
resurrection; the primary errors include the belief that the resurrection is to take place in the future, rather
than a present possibility (34,26-35,9); and that the flesh will be saved, rather than destroyed (36,29-37,5).
According to the author, these misconceptions emerge from a misreading of the scriptures (37,7-9).

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testimony,” most prominently, progressive preparation for knowledge via renunciation. In

addition, I illustrate how Testim. Truth’s contrast of misguided martyrdom by death with

“true testimony” coincides with the author’s general characterization of mere deeds and

words as misguided and vain. This distinction reveals a judgment about the relative utility

of certain behaviors. The most public, outward expressions of proto-orthodox faith—

martyrdom and baptism—are also the least effective, in the author’s view. Before turning

to a fuller examination of what “true testimony” entails though, I consider how Testim.

Truth’s depiction of Christ also aligns with its evaluation of martyrdom.

The Son of Man vs. the Jordan

Testim. Truth, at least what remains of it, presents a relatively unique portrait of

Christ, with little attention to either his teachings or his death.38 Most prominent, as well

as perplexing, are multiple, seemingly inconsistent, accounts of the Son of Man’s arrival

on earth.39 Certainly, this emphasis could result from the fragmentary nature of the text.

Nevertheless, as I show in this section, the narratives about Christ’s earthly appearance

illustrate a number of key Christological points that closely align with the text’s

38
One reference to his death remains (33,14); unfortunately, the corruption of the surrounding text prevents
any further understanding on this point. “Salvation” appears in the preceding line, 33,13, but there is little
to help in reconstructing a connection. Certain other references draw on Gospel traditions, though often
offer distinctive interpretations: as examples, the descent to hell (32,24-27), his role as a healer (33,3-8),
walking on the sea (33,8-9). He is also depicted a model of sinlessness, which prompts the comic rulers to
envy him (32,28-33,2).
39
“Son of Man” appears to be the favored name for the savior figure in Testim. Truth. The author also
occasionally employs “Jesus,” (30,25), “Christ” (45,14), “Savior” (45,17), “Logos,” (39,22) and “Holy
Spirit” (39,26), all in a relatively interchangeable way. For additional details, see Pearson, “NHC, IX,3:
The Testimony of Truth,” 110; and Koschorke, Die Polemik der Gnostiker gegen das kirchliche
Christentum: Unter besonderer Berücksichtigung der Nag-Hammadi-Traktate “Apokalypse des Petrus”
(NHC VII,3) und “Testimonium Veritatis” (NHC IX,3), 98.

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prominent message about proper Christian testimony. Specifically, by allegorically

interpreting key elements of traditional Gospel narratives—John the Baptist, the Jordan

River, and Mary—the author highlights their “true” import: each plays a role in rise of

renunciation.

A brief introduction to the divergent accounts of Christ’s arrival in Testim. Truth

will help situate my discussion. Though numerous traditions intersect, including Synoptic

material and later Valentinian interpretation, essentially two routes for Christ’s entry into

the world are apparent. In the first, the Son of Man comes from “imperishability” to the

world (kosmos) via the Jordan River (30,18-25); John the Baptist “witnessed” (a3r- mn-

tre) this “descent of Jesus” (30,24-25), in the form of “power” (dunamis) on the

Jordan.

A separate passage recalls this episode. Following a lacunae of a few lines, we

find a reference to the “word (logos) upon [the Jordan River]” (39,21-23), followed by

remarks that the Son of Man, in the form of the Holy Spirit, came to John the Baptist as a

dove (39,23-28). Complicating matters, these statements immediately precede the first

indication of the second mode of the Son of Man’s arrival. Testim. Truth describes

“Christ...born of a virgin,” who took on flesh (39,29-31).40

The virginal birth receives further attention elsewhere in the text. Recalling the

Gospel of Luke, the author compares the birth of John the Baptist with the birth of

40
45,14-15 repeats the assertion that Christ “passed through a virgin’s womb”; 43,28-29 also refers to the
“virgin who brought forth the light.” In addition to drawing on the tradition of a virginal birth shared by
Matthew and Luke, this view also corresponds with Valentinian thought; see Pearson, “NHC, IX,3: The
Testimony of Truth,” 110. Mahé and Mahé, Le Témoignage Véritable (NH IX, 3) Gnose et Martyre, 31.

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Christ.41 The former was “begotten by the word” via Elizabeth; Christ was also “begotten

by the word,” but, in this case, the remarkable situation of Mary’s virginity distinguishes

his birth (45,6-11).42 This leads the author to inquire, “What is the meaning of this

mystery?” (45,11). He highlights the distinction between an old womb and a virginal one

(45,13-15), but leaves the reader to decipher the mystery.43

As the examples above illustrate, Testim. Truth appears to collapse these

divergent traditions regarding Christ’s arrival without issue, especially on page 39 of the

codex, where they appear side-by-side. Most scholars have similarly smoothed over these

apparent discrepancies, by highlighting how the essential message of each narrative is the

same. Many further assume that various sources contribute to the composite

presentation.44 Such explanations seem generally reasonable to me. What I find more

interesting and relevant for my project though is how these traditions further connect,

both with each other, through the prominent role of John the Baptist, and with certain key

concerns of the text, specifically, the rejection of water baptism and sexual desire. Let us

41
Boudewijn Dehandschutter also treats Testim. Truth’s use of the birth narrative from the Gospel of Luke,
in “Readers of Luke in the Second Century: The Valentinian Gnostics,” in Luke and His Readers:
Festschrift for Adelbert Denaux, ed. Reimund Bieringer, Gilbert van Belle, and Jozef Verheyden,
Bibliotheca Ephemeridum Theologicarum Lovaniensium (Leuven: Leuven University Press Peeters, 2005),
57–59.
42
The passage reads, “Christ was begotten by the word through a virgin, Mary” (45,6-11).
43
Koschorke reads the two wombs as representative of tiers in the Christian community, an interpretation
that makes sense. The “old womb” reflects those who follow prior traditions, while others, represented by
the virginal one, are more advanced.
44
Both Koschorke and Pearson acknowledge that the conflicting reports likely stem from the use of distinct
traditions. For Pearson, the key point in both traditions is that “the heavenly origin is implicit (if not always
explicit),” “NHC, IX,3: The Testimony of Truth,” 110–111. Koschorke reasons that they are essentially
compatible, given Testim. Truth’s primarily interest in the “spiritual” meaning of such traditions; in this
case, they both reveal that Jesus avoided “the sphere of fleshly generation” (30,30), Die Polemik der
Gnostiker gegen das kirchliche Christentum: Unter besonderer Berücksichtigung der Nag-Hammadi-
Traktate “Apokalypse des Petrus” (NHC VII,3) und “Testimonium Veritatis” (NHC IX,3), 93.

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take a closer look at these connections and consider their relevance for Testim. Truth’s

assessment of martyrdom.

Christ’s relationship to John the Baptist, whether expressed directly or indirectly

through references to the Jordan River or his mother, Elizabeth, appears to be a

significant aspect of Testim. Truth’s presentation of Christ. The attention to this

connection is likely rooted, in part, in traditional understandings of John the Baptist as the

final valid representation of the Jewish Law.45 As we see below, the author of Testim.

Truth faults fellow Christians for continual reliance on the Law; given this concern, we

can understand the attention to John the Baptist.

Closely related to John the Baptist, the Jordan River also plays a critical role in

Testim. Truth’s presentation of Christ’s function. Near the start of Testim. Truth, the

author reflects on the Son of Man’s role in the termination of water baptism: “The Son of

Man came from imperishability, a stranger to defilement. He came to the world by the

Jordan River, and immediately the Jordan turned back” (30,18-23).46 John witnessed this

and “realized that the dominion of carnal procreation had come to an end” (30,24-30).

The river serves as a symbol for the end of baptism by water, itself a holdover of the law

and the desire it facilitates. The author explicitly states that the Jordan represents “the

power of the body (soma), that is the senses of pleasures (6hdonh)” (30,30-31,1). He

continues, “The water of the Jordan is the desire (epiqumia) for sexual intercourse”

45
A reading shared by Mahé and Mahé; in this case, the distinction reflects the old and new revelations, and
specifically prepares the reader for Testim. Truth’s interpretation of Gen 3, Le Témoignage Véritable (NH
IX, 3) Gnose et Martyre, 13.
46
As Pearson notes, this appears to be an allusion to Ps 114:3, “Jordan turned back.” Pearson recognizes
other similar uses of this Psalms verse, including one associated with the Naassene Gnostics, which
suggests that Testim. Truth could be using an intermediary apocryphal text, “Gnostic Interpretation of the
Old Testament in the Testimony of Truth (NHC IX, 3),” 314.

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(31,1-3). This passage further characterizes John the Baptist as “the ruler (arxwn) of the

womb” (31,3-5). The prominence of the Jordan River and its interpretation by the author

in Testim. Truth highlights a key aspect of Christ’s role—to encourage others to curb

desire and cease procreation.

The promotion of an ascetic life, initiated by the Jordan, also relates to Testim.

Truth’s references to Mary’s virginity. In the context of Testim. Truth, the indication of

Mary’s virginity relates less to Christ’s nature and more to an ideal to which Christians

can subscribe.47 Following the initial reference to Mary’s virginity, the author ponders,

“Were we ourselves born from a virginal state or conceived by the word? Rather, we

have been born again by the word. So let us strengthen ourselves as virgins” (40,2-7). In

this reflection, the author distinguishes human experience from Christ’s; he was born of a

virgin, but humans are born again. Moreover, he advocates virginity as the appropriate

expression of this status. In the absence of clear modes of imitating Christ in Testim.

Truth, this association of Mary’s virginity with a call for Christian renunciation presents

one option.

The relative lack of references to Christ’s death, especially when compared with

the substantial attention to Christ’s birth, also favors renunciation as an ideal mode of

imitation. A mention of “the cross” is the only apparent indication of the crucifixion

tradition. Its treatment is also rather peculiar, surfacing in a typological interpretation of

the martyrdom of Isaiah (40,21-41,4).48 Reflecting on this story, the author perceives

47
For a similar assessment, see Dehandschutter’s discussion of Testim. Truth’s use of the Lucan birth
narrative, “Readers of Luke in the Second Century: The Valentinian Gnostics,” 58–59.
48
The narrative of Isaiah’s martyrdom is part of fuller apocryphal Mart. Ascen. Isa., recognized as a
Christian composite text; the martyrdom account likely originated in Judaism, rather than Christianity.

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Isaiah as the “type of the body,” (40,30-41,1) and the saw, the instrument of Isaiah’s

martyrdom, as “the word of the Son of Man that separates us from the error of the angels

(41,1-4). In his interpretation, the author further and explicitly connects the “word” with

the “cross,” asserting, “the Son of Man divides us by the word of the cross, dividing the

day from the night, the light from the darkness, and the corruptible from incorruptibility”

(40,23-28).49 The parallel between the cross and the martyrdom of Isaiah could, on the

surface, imply that the author ascribes some meaning to the related deaths. What it

actually highlights though suggests otherwise. The person of Isaiah receives little

attention. Rather, the saw is significant, in the author’s view, for its capacity to divide, or

separate. Similarly, the relevance of the cross relates to the Son of Man’s message, not

his death. What was previously muddled, in the view of the author, is now clearly distinct

with the “word of the Son of Man.” More precisely, Christians should realize the “error

of the angels” and align with “incorruptibility.” The reference to the “error of the angels,”

recalling the procreation by “sons of God” in Genesis 6:1-4, further reminds the reader of

the focus on renunciation.50

Returning to the aspect of Christology most relevant to the present study, we

might then ask, how might a Christian imitate the Son of Man, according to Testim.

Truth? The absence of explicit references to the Son of Man’s death, combined with the

adamant rejection of martyrdom, implies that a suffering death is not among the ideal

49
Mahé and Mahé note that this reading of the cross recalls “typical Valentinian exegesis that equates the
Cross to the aeon boundary,” primarily drawing on Irenaeus (Haer. 1.3.5; 1.2.2). In this interpretive
tradition, the cross has a dual function of consolidation and separation, Mahé and Mahé, Le Témoignage
Véritable (NH IX, 3) Gnose et Martyre, 52–53. “True” martyrdom and baptism thus parallel this separating
function, 55. Pearson also notes that the attribution of a “cutting” power to the logos is common in
Hellenistic-Jewish speculative theology, showing that this is not an exclusively Valentinian reading,
“Gnostic Interpretation of the Old Testament in the Testimony of Truth (NHC IX, 3),” n. 39.
50
Here, as Pearson notes, the author is likely relying on the more fully developed tradition that appears in 1
Enoch, “Gnostic Interpretation of the Old Testament in the Testimony of Truth (NHC IX, 3),” 319.

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modes of imitation. Rather, the prominent features of Testim. Truth’s Christology, at least

as it has been preserved, encourage an imitation via renunciation that corresponds with

the author’s promotion of “true testimony.” Moreover, the prominent roles of John the

Baptist and the Jordan in Testim. Truth’s musings on the Son of Man also signal the end

of water baptism, indicative of the author’s stance against such external, material rituals

as central to Christian social identity. This association helps make sense of Testim.

Truth’s treatment of martyrdom, a practice similarly rooted in a failure to recognize the

lessons from the arrival of the Son of Man.

Christian Practice and Intra-Group Debate in the Testimony of Truth

Let us further examine how this prominent call for renunciation, initiated by the

Savior’s arrival, serves as the proper mark of Christian identity as well as the appropriate

alternative to water baptism and a martyr’s death by considering evidence of intra-

Christian debate in Testim. Truth. In the remainder of the chapter, I examine three facets

of the text that are critical to the Christian social identity it promotes. First, the prominent

distinction between the Generation of the Son of Man and Generation of Adam deserves

attention. My analysis highlights how the behavior associated with each generation is

central in Testim. Truth. For those associated with the Generation of Adam, for instance,

their social identity is exhibited via behavior that is dominated by passion and driven by

misreading of scriptures. Second, I consider the related contrast between ideal silence and

futile words (and related actions), including ritualized confession. The advocacy of

silence is another manifestation of the author’s rejection of physical martyrdom,

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particularly as a valued, external expression of Christian identity. And, third, I show how

the author’s approach to correcting misguided Christians reflects fluid group boundaries

and an interest in minimizing emerging intra-Christian conflict. A brief consideration of

the treatment of Valentinian traditions in Testim. Truth reveals the complexity of

delineating early Christian groups. I also reveal how the author positions variant

Christian behaviors and related social identity as adjustable, rather than determined,

which allows for the possibility of universal, individual progress. A closer look at these

elements in Testim. Truth informs our understanding of the significance of martyrdom—

as a prominent source of division—in intra-Christian debate.

Rival Generations

Let us begin our examination of intra-Christian group dynamics in Testim. Truth

with the relatively obvious references to group identities. Most prominently, the author

contrasts two groups, the “Generation of Adam” and the “Generation of the Son of Man.”

Reflecting divergent expressions of early Christian identity, the latter includes those who,

along with the author, recognize the truth; the former, in contrast, persist in their

erroneous attachment to the Law (50,7-9). Though one could read this explicit contrast as

a reflection of distinct early Christian communities, perhaps bound for different fates, it is

more appropriate to understand how these designations function rhetorically.

Specifically, they help the author distinguish proper from improper Christian behavior.

Christian practice, rather than doctrine, is the central issue. In addition, the multiple

generations reveal an effort to highlight and curb emerging distinctions within a common,

yet diverse, Christian community.

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The Generation of Adam

According to Testim. Truth, the Generation of Adam suffers from a misguided

attachment to the Law, a remnant of Adam. Misinterpretation of scripture contributes to

their flawed behavior.51 Such activity prevents certain Christians from attaining the truth.

Testim. Truth conveys, “Many have sought the truth, but have not been able to find it,

because of the old leaven of the Pharisees and scribes of the Law” (29,9-15). Interpreting

this statement, the author reflects that the “leaven” here represents “desire for the error of

the angels, demons, and stars” (29,15-18).52 Simply put, law leads to defilement, while

“undefilement belongs to the light” (29,26-30,2). The erroneous passion is represented

primarily by procreation, misunderstood as mandated by the law (30,2-11).

Thus, Testim. Truth depicts misinterpretation of scripture, “owing to

doublemindedness” (37,7-9), as the root of such behavior. On many occasions, the author

corrects faulty interpretation. An extensive, and somewhat unusual, treatment of Genesis

2-3 features prominently in Testim. Truth. The author details what is written in “the law”

(43,23), essentially sharing the familiar story (43,24-47,14) with periodic commentary.

Following the expulsion of Adam from paradise (47,10-11), due to his awareness of good

and evil (47,9-10) and potential for immortality (47,13-14), the author of Testim. Truth

bluntly reflects, “What sort of god is this?” (47,14-15). God’s envy of Adam combined

51
Hence, Testim. Truth offers regular reminders to seek and understand mysteries properly, 40,21-41,4;
45,19-22; 70,24-30. This often involves allegorical interpretation; for a range of examples, see Ibid., 317–
319. Koschorke, Die Polemik der Gnostiker gegen das kirchliche Christentum: Unter besonderer
Berücksichtigung der Nag-Hammadi-Traktate “Apokalypse des Petrus” (NHC VII,3) und “Testimonium
Veritatis” (NHC IX,3), 93. Koschorke also highlights the tendency among patristic writers to cite scriptural
exegesis as the origin of the Gnostic “error,” 213-214.
52
In this case, the scribes and Pharisees are understood as under the power of the archons, 29,18-21.

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with his lack of foreknowledge and awareness—needing to ask Adam about his

whereabouts—reveals his inferior status (47,15-23). What most irks the author of Testim.

Truth, it seems, is the failure of others to realize this: “Great is the blindness of those who

read such things, and they don’t know him” (48,2-4). The treatment of Genesis 2-3 thus

marks a prime example of what the author views as the root of error.53

Additional examples from the Hebrew Scriptures follow the interpretation of the

Eden narrative, further revealing deficiencies of the god of the law.54 The series includes

a few references to Moses’ activities with a snake (48,16-49,7). As in the explication of

the serpent in the Garden, the author also understands the snake as representative of

Christ (49,7). He continues, “those who have believed in him have received life. Those

who did not believe will die” (49,8-10).

The consequences resulting from such delusion, according to the Testim. Truth,

include attachment to passions and, relatedly, procreation (67,29-30). Those who are

“ignorant” are ruled by “defiled pleasures.” Their behavior is driven by the claim, “God

created members for our use,” including self-enjoyment (38,27-39,6). The author of

Testim. Truth is appalled by this reasoning since it positions God as an accomplice in

their error (39,7-9).

53
Gerard P. Luttikhuizen effectively associates the author of Testim. Truth’s treatment of the Adam and Eve
episode with its polemical interests. He considers why Gnostic Christians made use of the Old Testament at
all and proposes that the critical interpretation of the Paradise story marks “an organic, integrated part of
the polemic with other Christians—in particular catholic Christians—that permeates through the whole of
the surviving text,” 150. His position explicitly challenges Pearson’s understanding of the Paradise
criticism as an instance of Gnostic midrash, reflective of Jewish frustration, “A Resistant Interpretation of
the Paradise Story in the Gnostic Testimony of Truth (Nag Hamm. Cod. IX.3) 45-50,” in Paradise
Interpreted: Representations of Biblical Paradise in Judaism and Christianity, ed. Gerard P. Luttikhuizen,
Themes in Biblical Narrative: Jewish and Christian Traditions (Leiden: Brill, 1999), 140–152.
54
The examples include references to the “jealous God,” (Exod 20:5) who carries sins across generations
(48,4-7); the thickening of hearts that contributes to misunderstanding (Isa 6:10; 48,8-13). Again, the
author comments on the ridiculousness of such statements, “But these are things he says to those who
believe in him and worship him!” (48,13-15).

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 The practices associated with the Generation of Adam are guided by desires

(epiqumia) (67,9-12); these most clearly challenge the complete renunciation advocated

by the author. Moreover, such behaviors are rooted in a lack of knowledge. For instance,

the author contrasts those able to receive the “word of truth” with one who is “ignorant”;

it is difficult for the latter to “diminish his works of [darkness],” while “those who have

known Imperishability…have been able to struggle against passions” (31,5-15). Behavior

then, rather than doctrinal disputes, distinguishes those of the Generation of Adam from

proper Chrisitans.55 Testim. Truth makes this point explicit, “But those who are

descendants of Adam are revealed by their deeds (pracis) and by their work (ergon)”

(67,9-11). Such actions are rooted in “wicked desire” (67,12-13). This behavior,

presented as indicative of the group’s social identity, fits into Testim. Truth’s consistent

assessment of “mere words and deeds” as essentially meaningless remnants of the Law.

The Generation of the Son of Man

The general denigration of those associated with the Generation of Adam in

Testim. Truth stands in sharp contrast to the idealized portrait of those of the Generation

of the Son of Man (60,5-6). Epitomizing true testimony, the ideal Christian, according to

Testim. Truth, has “great wisdom and prudence and understanding and intelligence and

knowledge and power and truth” (61,2-5). He or she “... cannot be controlled by any

“pleasure” or “desire” (67,1-3). Given the emphasis on the error of procreation among

those affiliated with the Generation of Adam, it is not surprising that an ascetic life,

55
With specific attention to the treatment of Valentinus and his disciples in Testim. Truth, Mahé and Mahé
similarly note that the author criticizes “their moral conduct and ritual practices,” Le Témoignage Véritable
(NH IX, 3) Gnose et Martyre, 25. This contributes to their understanding of Valentinianism as a “starting
point” for Testim. Truth.

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marked by control of such bodily pleasures is the hallmark of the Generation of the Son

of Man. Following the description of the evil procreation associated with those in the

Generation of Adam, the author makes the contrast explicit, “The person who is able to

renounce these things shows that he belongs to the generation of the Son of Man and has

power to accuse them” (68,8-12). Again, behavior reflects the proper Christian identity.

The process begins with inquiry, which leads to knowledge of bondage and the

possibility of release (35,22-24). Regarding this generation, Testim. Truth asserts, “They

came to know themselves, who they are now, and where the place is in which they will

find rest from their ignorance, attaining knowledge (gnosis)” (35,25-36,3). It is these

who “Christ will transfer to heaven, since they have renounced ignorance and advanced

to knowledge” (36,3-7). The acquisition of gnosis thus offers salvation. Moreover,

coming to know the Son of Man is coming to know oneself (36,23-26); “This is the

perfect life, that one know oneself by means of the all” (36,26-28).

The link between a practice of renunciation and gnosis is explicit. The author

claims, “No one knows the God of truth except the person who forsakes all the things of

the world, having renounced the whole place... He has established himself with power

and subdued desire everywhere within himself” (41,4-9; 11-13).56 Moreover, Testim.

Truth establishes renunciation as the proper mode of testimony. The author writes, “It is

fitting that they should become undefiled, so that they might show to everyone that they

are from the generation of the Son of Man, since it is regarding them that the Savior bore

witness.” (67,3-9). Here, the ascetic lifestyle openly exhibits their social identity, as part

56
This practice also involves “self-examination” (41,15).

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of the Generation of the Son of Man.57 Their quest to become undefiled is also presented

as a progressive, individual enterprise.58 In addition, this statement illustrates the Savior’s

role as a witness, whose lead the Christians might follow. Thus, if any imitation is

encouraged, death does not seem to be a part of it.

As these examples reveal, the author presents the qualities of this generation via

an idealized type; this suggests that he envisions Christians progressing toward the ideal,

rather than automatically or naturally manifesting it.59 I establish this perspective further

below, when I discuss Testim. Truth’s support of fluid, rather than established group

boundaries, in spite of the seemingly static language of “generations.”

Revising Ritual

The individual effort of renunciation—indicative of the Generation of the Son of

Man—allows one access to the divine realm. Describing this endeavor, Testim. Truth

states that the ideal Christian has battled passions (42,28) and condemned error to

become “filled with wisdom, counsel, understanding, and insight, and an eternal power”

(43,14-17). Through this effort, he or she has broken “bonds” (43,18). Moreover, the

practice allows the gnostic Christian to begin “to know oneself and speak with one’s

57
On conduct expressing identity (67,6), see also Mahé and Mahé, Le Témoignage Véritable (NH IX, 3)
Gnose et Martyre, 45.
58
Mahé and Mahé seek to identify a process of renunciation in Testim. Truth that aligns with
Valentinianism; it involves a two-stage purification of the psychic element, that involves first, awareness of
the passions, and second, healing, Ibid., 49f. I agree that the progressive nature of this process is significant
for Testim. Truth, especially for understanding the fluidity of the categories of “generation”; I am not
convinced, however, that Valentinian categories are necessarily at the heart of it.
59
This could also help explain their minority, rather than necessarily exclusive, status.

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mind, which is the father of truth” (42,23-26). In addition to conveying a significant

connection between nous and the supreme God, this statement also promotes

contemplative, independent behavior as ideal. The phrase, “speak with [one’s] mind,”

implies a silent activity that aligns with Testim. Truth’s regular promotion of silence as an

aspect of the “true martyrdom.” John D. Turner, drawing on other Nag Hammadi as well

and heresiological texts, characterizes this sort of contemplative repose as one form of

Gnostic ritual.60 Considering the broad range of ritual practices apparent among early

Gnostic Christians, Turner distinguishes individual, self-initiated rituals from broader

communal-oriented ones. With Turner’s framework in mind, I find in Testim. Truth a

community debating the relative value of these distinct approaches to ritual. For the

author, individualized, reflective ritualized practices effectively replace group-oriented

baptism and martyrdom. By considering the promotion of silence in Testim. Truth as an

alternative to open confession, especially via baptism and martyrdom, we can better

understand this preference for interior reflection.

Depicting an appropriate life behavior, Testim. Truth encourages the ideal gnostic

to “keep silent (etre3karw3) within himself until the day when he should become

worthy to be received above. He rejects for himself wordiness and disputations, and

endures the whole place; and he bears up under them, and he endures all of the evil

things” (44,3-13). Toward the conclusion of the text, the author reiterates the value of

60
John D. Turner, “Ritual in Gnosticism,” Society of Biblical Literature Seminar Papers 33 (1994): 136–
181. For additional, relevant discussions of Gnostic rituals, see Koschorke’s “Exkurs VI: Die
Sakramentspolemik der Gnostiker,” which emphasizes the variety of Gnostic approaches to sacramental
practices, Die Polemik der Gnostiker gegen das kirchliche Christentum: Unter besonderer
Berücksichtigung der Nag-Hammadi-Traktate “Apokalypse des Petrus” (NHC VII,3) und “Testimonium
Veritatis” (NHC IX,3), 142–148; and David E. Aune, “The Phenomenon of Early Christian ‘Anti-
Sacramentalism’,” in Studies in New Testament and Early Christian Literature, ed. David E. Aune,
Supplements to Novum Testamentum (Leiden: Brill, 1972), 194–214.

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finding rest in silence, explaining, “And having withdrawn...he became silent

(a3karw3), resisting verbosity and disputations. The (one) who has found the life-giving

word and who has come to know the Father of Truth has come to rest; he has ceased

seeking, having found. And when he found he became silent (a3karw3)” (68,27-69,4).

A consideration of the use of silence in another Nag Hammadi text, Allogenes

(NHC XI,3), can help illuminate Testim. Truth’s promotion of the practice. This treatise

features the title character’s experience of progressive revelation, a process Turner

characterizes as an “ascent ritual.”61 This enterprise is enacted individually, rather than

communally. Allogenes portrays silence as an “activity” that paradoxically strives for

“inactivity.” It assists in self-knowledge, as blessedness “silently abides...by which you

know your proper self” (59,10-13). Furthermore, silence characterizes the supreme One,

whom Allogenes presents as worthy of imitation.62 Allogenes cultivates the “likeness of

the One, who is truly at rest and embraces all these silently and inactively” (59,22-26).

The culmination of the treatise depicts Allogenes as receiving the revelation “in great

silence.” (68,32). Allogenes thus portrays silence not only as an ideal behavior, but also

as a mode of imitation that assist in the reception of knowledge. This concept of silence

seems to inform its comparable promotion in Testim. Truth.

Moreover, the ritualization of silence as an individual, interior endeavor also

helps us better understand Testim. Truth’s presentation of the concept as an alternative to

other Christian rituals, specifically when we consider the centrality of open confession in

baptism and martyrdom. In my view, this silence relates not only to the contemplation

61
The revelation takes shape in the second part of Allogenes, 57,24-69,19. Robinson, The Nag Hammadi
Library.
62
Silence reflects an attribute of the unknown God, 60,13f; 61,21 also references “stillness” alongside
“silence.”

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encouraged for the gnostic Christian, but also to his or her behavior if faced with the

prospect of physical martyrdom. By not confessing publicly and undergoing a perceived

meaningless death, the gnostic Christian maintains the desired silence. A closer

examination of Testim. Truth’s treatment of confession, particularly in the ritualized

contexts of baptism and martyrdom, supports this perspective. Moreover, silence is an

individual, relatively isolated behavior that coincides with, and perhaps promotes, the

option to not undergo or celebrate physical martyrdom. This understanding fits

particularly well with what we know of Roman persecution of Christians—it typically

relied on open, verbal confession of Christian identity.

Water Baptism vs. True Baptism

A closer look at the rejection of baptism in Testim. Truth further illustrates the

diminished view of ritual, particularly confession. The author makes it apparent that, in

his view, the hypocrisy of meaningless statements is not limited to (false) martyrdom. It

also applies to water baptism.

The fullest discussion of baptism in Testim. Truth immediately follows one of the

celebrations of silence. The author writes:

Some enter the faith [by receiving a] baptism, on the ground that they have it as a

hope of salvation, which they call ‘the seal.’ They do not know that the fathers of

the world are manifest in that place, but he himself [knows that] he is sealed. For

the Son of Man did not baptize any of his disciples. But [... if those who] are

baptized were headed for life, the world would become empty. And the fathers of

baptism were defiled. (69,7-21)

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By stating that only some become Christians in this way, the author distinguishes those

who practice water baptism from his own community. The Son of Man’s activity,

drawing on John 4:2, makes the futility of baptism clear; as noted above, his arrival

signaled the end of the practice (cf. 30,18-30). Moreover, given his earlier association

between the water of the Jordan and desire for sexual intercourse (31,1-3), the author’s

assessment of this ritual is not surprising here.

Testim. Truth continues, “But the baptism of truth is something else; it is by

renunciation of the world that it is found. [But those who] say only with the tongue [that

they] are renouncing it [are lying,] and they are coming to [the place] of fear” (69,22-28).

Here, the author positions “baptism of truth” as not simply a statement of renunciation –

as in water baptism – but a lifestyle of renunciation.63 Moreover, it seems that the author

does not find water baptism acceptable even if accompanied with an ascetic lifestyle.64

Rather, the practice, like martyrdom, is indicative of a false sense of hope, driven by

fear.65

63
Pearson shows how the author borrows liturgical baptismal terminology and applies it to his process of
“true baptism,” including renunciation and sealing, “NHC, IX,3: The Testimony of Truth,” 109. See also
Koschorke, Die Polemik der Gnostiker gegen das kirchliche Christentum: Unter besonderer
Berücksichtigung der Nag-Hammadi-Traktate “Apokalypse des Petrus” (NHC VII,3) und “Testimonium
Veritatis” (NHC IX,3), 138.
64
This view challenges Koschorke’s; he writes that the question remains open whether Testim. Truth “really
rejects water baptism as such,” noting that it would reflect a “claim of unprecedented sharpness,” Die
Polemik der Gnostiker gegen das kirchliche Christentum: Unter besonderer Berücksichtigung der Nag-
Hammadi-Traktate “Apokalypse des Petrus” (NHC VII,3) und “Testimonium Veritatis” (NHC IX,3), 141.
Without textual evidence to suggest this sort of accommodation, it seems difficult to imagine that the
author of Testim. Truth would find the practice generally acceptable. At the same time, this position need
not imply that the author’s community would have isolated themselves from the broader church
community, as Mahé and Mahé suggest, Le Témoignage Véritable (NH IX, 3) Gnose et Martyre, 69; rather,
they might well have included and interacted with previously baptized Christians, who might then
recognize the limited value of the practice, as well as catechumens, who, in the long process of preparation
for the ritual, might question its value.
65
The author writes, “Just as those to whom it was given to have been condemned, they shall get something.
They are wicked in their behavior (praxis).” (69,29-32); some worship idols, 70,1, while others have
demons, 70,3.

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 The proto-orthodox are not alone in making this error. Valentinian Christians, it

seems, are also admonished for their particular practice of water baptism.66 According to

the author of Testim. Truth, these Christians do “not know what salvation is, but enter

into [misfortune] and...death, in the [waters].” He writes, “This [is] the baptism [of death

which they observe]” (55,4-9). I see the association of death – suggesting at best futility –

with this practice as indicative of not only the author’s diminishment of its value, but also

his rejection of it.

A Martyr’s Death is Not a Sacrifice

According to Testim. Truth, ascribing value to rituals like baptism and martyrdom

reflects a significant misunderstanding of God.67 This perspective is explicitly conveyed

in the criticism of martyrs: “If the Father were to desire a human sacrifice, he would be

vainglorious” (32,19-21).68 Another passage similarly suggests that those martyrs who

perceive their deaths as sacrifice are mistaken. The author writes, “If they come

to...sacrifice, they die a human death, and they give themselves up” (38,6-8). As these

passages reveal, perceptions of God inform Testim. Truth’s dismissal of martyrdom as a

viable sacrifice. The criticism also suggests that certain other early Christians did attach a

ritual significance to a martyr’s death.69

66
The immediately preceding reference to the Ogdoad (55,1) as well as a subsequent reference to a follower
of Valentinus (56,1-2) suggests that the author has a Valentinian tradition in view here. The related group
mentioned in 56,1-9 is accused of worshipping idols (56,8-9).
67
According to Testim. Truth, idol worship and possession by demons are similar manifestation of error
(69,32f).
68
Similar sentiments appear in Tertullian, Scorp. I.15.6-7.
69
As the discussion of Castelli’s work at the beginning of this chapter similarly suggests.

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 Questions regarding the value of verbal confession also link ritual processes

associated with martyrdom and social identity. Correcting Christians who value open

confession of Christian identity, the author admonishes, “you (pl.) do not understand

Christ spiritually when you say, ‘we believe in Christ’” (50,1-3); this sort of simple

confession is associated with the Generation of Adam (50,3-7f). It is reasonable to

assume that the author has physical martyrdom in mind here, given its echo of the

passage detailed above, in which he offers a similar sentiment about the uselessness of a

simple confession. One of the noted deficiencies of the faulty Christians is that “they

confess, ‘We are Christians,’ with the word only.” (31,24-26). The public proclamation

of Christian identity—which early Christian depictions of martyrdom so often

highlight—carries no value, according to this author.

Returning to the alternative to confession, silence, it is worth noting that this

behavior also appears along alongside references to persecution and martyrdom in a few

other Gnostic Christian traditions. The Second Treatise on the Great Seth (NHC VII,2), a

revelation dialogue, depicts Christ discussing persecution of himself and his followers;

the author references those who believe that “they are advancing the name of Christ” but

are “unknowingly empty” (59,21-29); they should consequently “shut their mouth”

(60,1). Also, via the church historian Eusebius, we learn that Basilides, an early

Alexandrian teacher, promoted a Pythagorean type of silence: “He taught that there was

no harm in eating things offered to idols, or in light-heartedly denying the faith in times

of persecution. Like Pythagoras he enjoined those who came to him to keep silence for

five years” (Hist. eccl. IV.7.3-8).70 The close proximity of calls for silence and responses

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to persecution in both the Testim. Truth and other Gnostic Christian traditions supports

the understanding of silence as a significant expression of Christian identity in Testim.

Truth meant, in part, to challenge open, communal-oriented confessions. Naturally, this

divergent view has implications for intra-group conflict. Rather than an open behavior

that is seen as beneficial to the community, such as a martyr’s confession reflecting

solidarity, silence reflects a solitary, independent behavior that appears to prioritize the

individual over the group.

If we consider the significant association between rituals (in this case, involving

confession) and group identity, we can then better understand why the author of Testim.

Truth takes issue with such practices. There is a general objection to deeds, but more

prominent is a specific distaste for ritualized actions that garner misplaced significance.

As performances of group identity, such deeds, foster group solidarity, on the one hand,

but also contribute to rifts, on the other, when disagreement about the value of such

behavior emerges. This is especially the case when the cost of related behaviors—

particularly martyrdom—is significant.

Intra-Group Fluidity

Just as silence affords a contemplative state, listening “not with the ears of the

body (swma), but with the ears of the mind (6ht)” (29,6-7) allows one to comprehend

70
Irenaeus, in his discussion of the Valentinians, also notes “a long protracted silence” in preparation for
biblical interpretation (Hist. eccl. IV.35.4). In addition, the particular critique of the Testim. Truth parallels
a similar assessment ascribed to Heracleon in Strom. IV.71.1-4, which I address in Chapter 2. In relation to
martyrdom, Heracleon essentially distinguishes between two forms of confession – one by “voice” and one
in “faith and conduct.” Heracleon casts confession by voice as incomplete and thus inferior.

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the message of Testim. Truth. This initial call, to start the treatise, alongside portraits of

dual generations and rejection of certain prominent early Christian practices, might

suggest that the author envisions an exclusive audience, already in tune with his

perspective and distinct from the broader Christian community.71

As I noted above though, competing generations do not necessarily indicate

distinct social groups; rather, they often serve to represent ideals in the construction of

communal identity.72 In my view, the author’s effort to distinguish his “true” views from

those of others likely reflects overlapping group boundaries, a situation in which various

trajectories of Christianity co-exist. As he advocates strict renunciation, a key social

identity marker of his subgroup, the author also appears interested in retaining some

contact with the broader Christian community, including those with whom he disagrees. I

explore this communal fluidity in this section, positioning martyrdom as one critical

practice that disturbs relative intra-group harmony. Specifically, I argue for fluid

boundaries based on, first, the author’s attention to multiple audiences; second, the

combination of influence by and rejection of Valentinian traditions; and, third, Testim.

Truth’s ultimate message that salvation is possible for all.

Multiple Audiences

The author’s interest in others is especially evident in Testim. Truth’s apparent

71
As noted above, Mahé and Mahé set Testim. Truth in a context marked by a tight structure of orthodoxy
as well as orthopraxy, which would not permit the author to compromise his views, Le Témoignage
Véritable (NH IX, 3) Gnose et Martyre, 69–72.
72
Similarly, Koschorke views the dualistic perspective—specifically series of contrasts expressed in Testim.
Truth—as indicative of “a certain scope of reality” that can be discerned through proper interpretation; they
do not reflect a static dualism, Die Polemik der Gnostiker gegen das kirchliche Christentum: Unter
besonderer Berücksichtigung der Nag-Hammadi-Traktate “Apokalypse des Petrus” (NHC VII,3) und
“Testimonium Veritatis” (NHC IX,3), 98.

167
shift in audience—from those Christians who are aware, like the author, to others who are

misguided. The author utilizes the second person plural in both the first and second

halves of the treatise, but the identity of the proposed audience changes dramatically. In

the first half, the author notes, “It is fitting for you (pl.) to receive the word of truth”

(31,7-8), suggesting an audience already in tune with his particular perspective.73 In the

second half of the treatise, the author admonishes a seemingly different audience, “Why,

then, do you (pl.) err and not seek after these mysteries…” (45,19-21). Here, the audience

appears to be the group (“they”) who so frustrated the author in the initial half. Though it

could reflect the composite nature of the text, this shift also implies a lack of strict group

boundaries and suggests that the author affiliates himself, to some extent, with both

audiences, though he is clearly more sympathetic to one than the other.74

This interest in others also surfaces in Testim. Truth’s description of the ideal

Christian. The gnostic should balance his solitary and social interests: “he is patient with

everyone; he makes himself equal to everyone, and he also separates himself from

them...” (44,13-16). Like the author, he is able to assist in the advancement of other

Christians. Testim. Truth further reflects, “And if someone wants something, he brings it

73
In his commentary on the text, Pearson characterizes this as an “an expression of communal solidarity”
and notes seven other instances of the second person plural in the first half of the treatise, Pearson, “NHC,
IX,3: The Testimony of Truth”; for additional discussion of the use of first- and second-person, see
Koschorke, Die Polemik der Gnostiker gegen das kirchliche Christentum: Unter besonderer
Berücksichtigung der Nag-Hammadi-Traktate “Apokalypse des Petrus” (NHC VII,3) und “Testimonium
Veritatis” (NHC IX,3), 92.
74
This discussion of shifting audiences also relates to the question of the text’s genre. As noted above, it has
been understood as a combination of a homily, intended for those aligned with the author, and a polemical
work, geared toward those who need correction. But this understanding implies that the audiences are
relatively discreet, at which point the combination of two genres in a single text seems misguided. If we
understand this text as addressing a broad, yet single community, with mixed allegiances, we might make
better sense of the seemingly disparate genre forms. Viewing Testim. Truth as a work of paraenesis—
encouraging, but also corrective—could prove productive.

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to him, so that he might become perfect and holy” (44,16-19). These passages suggest

that, although it primarily emphasizes individual progress, Testim. Truth also exhibits an

interest in communal relations.

Valentinian Connections

The complex and fluid intra-group dynamics behind the seemingly static portrait

of the Generation of Adam are perhaps best illustrated by Testim. Truth’s apparent

association with Valentinian versions of Christianity. As we have seen, proto-orthodox

Christians are not the exclusive target of the author’s ire; Valentinian Christians, among

others, are denounced for faulty practices. What is especially remarkable about the

inclusion of Valentinian Christians in Testim. Truth’s polemic is the author’s positive

incorporation of Valentinian traditions elsewhere.75 The intra-group relations are thus

complex.

Mahé and Mahé detect strong Valentinian influences in Testim. Truth, which form

the basis for their view of it as a thoroughly Valentinian text, reflecting a third generation

of the movement. Specifically, they understand the Valentinian myth, including its

conception of three categories of humans, as central to the author’s perspective.76 Clear

references to Valentinian mythology are lacking, though. In addition, Mahé and Mahé’s

equation of Testim. Truth’s anthropology with Valentinian ideas lacks precision and

requires some creative interpretation. For example, to characterize Testim. Truth as

75
For the most thorough discussions of Valentinian concept in Testim. Truth, see Mahé, “Le Témoignage
Véritable et quelques écrits Valentiniens de Nag Hammadi,” and Mahé and Mahé, Le Témoignage
Véritable (NH IX, 3) Gnose et Martyre.
76
Mahé, “Le Témoignage Véritable et quelques écrits Valentiniens de Nag Hammadi.”Mahé and Mahé, Le
Témoignage Véritable (NH IX, 3) Gnose et Martyre.

169
Valentinian, Mahé must collapse the three Valentinian classes of humans (pneumatic,

psychic, and hylic) into two – the Generation of the Son of Man and the Generation of

Adam. He reasons that the traditional Valentianian psychic and pneumatic classes can be

considered as one, if one recognizes the progress permitted between the two. Still, there

is no indication that Testim. Truth limits the possibilities for any humans; thus, there is

not a clear hylic contingent. Rather, through adjustments in behavior, all humans can

theoretically achieve awareness. Even Mahé and Mahé acknowledge that “praxis is the

true criterion of the recognition of Christ” (cf. 37,29), and thus admit that “from this point

of view, the attitude of our author is very different from that which Irenaeus presents of

spiritual Valentinians.”77 In short, the case for understanding Testim. Truth as a

thoroughly Valentinian text is not convincing.

It seems more reasonable to acknowledge Valentinian tradition as one among

many influences.78 Koschorke discerns Valentinian concepts in Testim. Truth, but

similarly highlights additional influences from Marcionite, Naasene, and Ophite

traditions.79 Because of this, he resists associating Testim. Truth with any particular

Gnostic “sect,” noting, “on the contrary, the Testim. Truth shows the questionability of

77
Referencing Haer 1.6.4; Le Témoignage Véritable (NH IX, 3) Gnose et Martyre, 41.
78
For instance, Pearson notes that Valentinian influence is strong, particularly in the application of certain
terminology (like oikonomia, 42,7, which he claims likely reflects Valentinian technical usage), the contrast
between carnal and spiritual resurrection, and the distinctive Valentinian teaching on the birth of Christ
(45,15-16). At the same time, Pearson recognizes the criticisms of Valentinian views and resists labeling the
text as “Valentinian,” “NHC, IX,3: The Testimony of Truth,” 116–117.
79
Koschorke, Die Polemik der Gnostiker gegen das kirchliche Christentum: Unter besonderer
Berücksichtigung der Nag-Hammadi-Traktate “Apokalypse des Petrus” (NHC VII,3) und “Testimonium
Veritatis” (NHC IX,3), 107–108.

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the heresiological classification.”80 Koschorke’s conclusion thus foreshadows more

recent assessments of Gnosticism.

In particular, studies of Valentinian Christianity reveal a movement closely

associated with ecclesiastical Christianity.81 This encourages a revised understanding of

Testim. Truth’s association with Valentinianism. Rather than viewing the author as

Valentinian or even one with prior ties to a Valentinian community, as Pearson does, it

would be more appropriate to understand Testim. Truth’s unsettled treatment of

Valentinian ideas as indicative of the fluidity of its early Christian community.82 From

this perspective, understanding Testim. Truth’s polemic as indicative of an existing,

decisive break would be misguided. Understanding group boundaries as more fluid and

less restricted by “sect” designations also allows us to make better sense of Testim.

Truth’s message regarding universal salvation.

Salvation for All

The presentation of two distinct generations in Testim. Truth reflects two essential

paths that Christians could take; obviously, the author advocates one over the other. At

the same time though, Testim. Truth reveals that affiliation with either generation is not

80
Ibid., 108.
81
For example, Peter Lampe, From Paul to Valentinus: Christians at Rome in the First Two Centuries
(Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 2003). See Chapter 5 for a fuller discussion.
82
Pearson understands Testim. Truth as reflective of an ideology that originated within a Valentinian
context, but subsequently split; Nag Hammadi Codices IX and X, Nag Hammadi Studies (Leiden: Brill,
1981).

171
settled, but dependent on behavior as well as choice. 83 The message that salvation is

theoretically achievable for any Christian is apparent in Testim. Truth. The shift in

audiences, as discussed above, suggests this view. Additional evidence related to the

natures of the generations further reflects this possibility. For instance, Testim. Truth

presents humans as born, with the potential to be reborn (40,1). There is no indication of

distinctions in nature among the generations. Rather, reference to the significance of faith

counters a deterministic perspective (49,7-10). Testim. Truth also emphasizes the

significance of progress. Regarding the salvific message, the author writes,

This is what the Son of Man reveals to us: it is proper for you to receive the word

of truth, if one receives it perfectly. But, for one who is in ignorance, it is difficult

for him to diminish the works of darkness that he has done. On the other hand,

those who have come to know imperishability have become capable of

combatting passions. (31,5-15)

This passage suggests the possibility of a transition from ignorance to gnosis. Moreover,

the final statement implies that one gains the capacity to combat passions; the latter is not

an inherent quality. Furthermore, based on the descriptions of the two generations above,

we discovered that, according to Testim. Truth, error is rooted in misguided behavior,

typically rooted in faulty interpretation and spurred by passions. The author’s effort to

correct the basis of these errors reveals an interest in rehabilitating the audience. This

interest, intensified by strong polemic, also suggests that the author does not find the

83
The concept of “generations” in Testim. Truth does not refer to exclusive groups, designated by nature,
but fluid ones. This mode of reading genos aligns the recent work of scholars including Williams and Buell,
who have shown that the language of genos need not imply a static group Williams, Rethinking Gnosticism:
An Argument for Dismantling a Dubious Category; Denise Kimber Buell, Why This New Race? Ethnic
Reasoning in Early Christianity (New York: Columbia University Press, 2005).

172
misguided behavior of other Christians as acceptable, even if inferior. Rather, as this

passage suggests, an intermediate, lower-tier Christian identity is not ultimately

acceptable. One is given the choice to accept the logos of truth to perfection or reject it.

Thus, the prospect of progress for all, driven by choice, rather than nature, is apparent in

Testim. Truth.

Through this chapter, I offer a portrait of Christian social identities in Testim.

Truth, one that represents an alternative to Mahé and Mahé’s Valentinian-driven reading

as well as Koschorke’s view that Testim. Truth accepts tiers of Christians, with different,

acceptable modes of salvation, including martyrdom by death. Correction of martyrdom

can be understood as reflective of processes of social identity construction in early

Christianity—here, we find the construction of an alternative ritual of askesis, individual

and interior; understood as superior to and perhaps in conflict with (on occasion)

community, group-identifying rituals. The increasingly significant celebration of

martyrdom among early Christians could be understood as a key catalyst in the

progressive split that emerges. In spite of language that implies strict differentiation

among various stripes of Christians, Testim. Truth shows that divergent evaluations of

martyrdom, perhaps more so than baptism (given that the stakes are higher), prompt

significant debate.

173
 Chapter 5
Self and Social Identities: Group Relations in Early Christianity

In Chapter 3 of Martyrdom and Memory, Elizabeth A. Castelli extends Michel

Foucault’s study of “self-writing” by examining early Christian “texts that seek to leave a

trace of the askesis (that is, self-discipline and training) of the martyr’s self-formation.”1

Against Foucault’s emphasis on interiority in the self-writing of the period, Castelli

shows that these texts “draw attention to the production of the martyr’s self within the

context of a much more public, collective narrative.”2 In doing so, she appropriately

complicates Foucault’s model of self-writing by highlighting its communal relevance.3

As my project shows, however, other currents in the early Christian conversation

regarding martyrdom support Foucault’s assertion of a turn toward interiority and interest

in the development of the self apart from the collective.4 In this concluding chapter, I

further reflect on how this aspect of the literature contributes to its assessment of

1
Specifically, she examines Ignatius’s Letter to the Romans, Perpetua’s prison diary, and Pionius’s public
speeches, Martyrdom and Memory: Early Christian Culture Making, 69.
2
Ibid., 70. Castelli notes Foucault’s emphasis on established asceticism in the fourth and fifth centuries,
which leads to a neglect of second and third century material, particularly the texts related to martyrdom,
which she asserts are “foundational to Christian askesis,” 71.
3
In line with her study, she highlights the function of such exterior modes of self-writing; the texts
“produce a public self—on shaped by askesis, preserved in language, and displayed for commemoration
and remembrance,” Ibid., 78.
4
Though the texts I examine do not reflect “self-writing” per se, they still mirror many of the associated
ethical concerns.
martyrdom by considering, first, contemporary group structures with comparable ethical

interests, and, second, the related impact on early Christian social identities.

Alongside the diminishment of martyrdom in Strom., Apoc. Pet., and Testim.

Truth, we also encounter a related revision of what it means to “witness” in the Christian

tradition. This process—that both constructs and reflects one’s social identity—relies on

individual progress toward gnosis, which generally involves the practice of self-control.

All three texts offer a related Christology that highlights Christ’s critical didactic role.

Clement’s Strom. and Testim. Truth also advocate apatheia as the ideal goal for the

Christian. The associated practices reflect an interiorized practice of spirituality; the

common interest in spiritual progress, propelled by self-control, brings to mind

contemporary philosophical traditions, particularly Stoicism. This connection, developed

in Chapter 2 with a comparison of Clement of Alexandria and Epictetus, proves

instructive for understanding not only the ethical concerns of these early Christian

groups, but also their social structure.5

As the texts I examine in this project reveal, an interest in the self does not

necessarily preclude one’s ties to a social group.6 Clement and the authors of Apoc. Pet.

and Testim. Truth reveal an interest in the broader Christian community. Pierre Hadot

5
Related to this, Frend, in considering the Gnostic Christians’ distance from persecution, notes that their
adaptation of pagan philosophy would have made them more acceptable to Roman authorities. Though I do
not imagine this affected Roman perceptions, I do find the connection significant for exploring approaches
to death from the Christian side, “The Gnostic Sects and the Roman Empire,” 29.
6
According to social identity theory, the self, or individual, is primarily defined in social terms; this
perspective contrasts cognitive perspectives on the self as stable. Individuality can still be expressed, but,
like group identity, is also “dynamic, variable, and context-dependent,” Turner, “Some Current Issues in
Research on Social Identity and Self-Categorization Theories,” 29–31. See also, Rina S. Onorato and John
C. Turner, “Fluidity in the Self-Concept: The Shift from Personal to Social Identity,” European Journal of
Social Psychology 34 (2004): 257–278.

175
discusses a similar communal orientation among pagan philosophers of the Roman

period. He notes that the contemplative life involved care for others. In addition, certain

common practices, including group readings and discussions of texts, merged the social

and individual aspects of ancient philosophical life.7 The focus of philosophical schools

in the early Christian period included interpretation of established core texts and related

guidelines for living, interests that align well with those of Clement and the authors of

Apoc. Pet. and Testim. Truth. Hadot highlights the connection between these two

essentials in the imperial age: “To learn philosophy, even by reading and commenting

upon texts, meant both to learn a way of life and to practice it.”8

Scholars of early Christianity have already successfully drawn on the model of the

ancient philosophical school to characterize Valentinian communities within the early

Church. Regarding Valentinians in Rome, Brakke writes, “Adopting the character of

philosophical schools, they formed study circles that existed alongside and open to other

Christian groups and traced their lineage through Valentinus to Paul.”9 Given the

comparable interest in gnosis in the Valentinian tradition, it seems reasonable to

understand the communities associated with Clement of Alexandria, Apoc. Pet., and
7
What Is Ancient Philosophy?, ed. Michael Chase (Cambridge, MA: The Belknap Press of Harvard
University Press, 2002), 156; 159–60.
8
Ibid., 153.; see also, 148-153, regarding philosophical groups of the imperial period. In addition, Hadot
emphasizes the connection between philosophical discourse and “concrete practices,” including askesis,
170.
9
Brakke, The Gnostics: Myth, Ritual, and Diversity in Early Christianity, 256. Bentley Layton claims that
gnostikos “primarily denoted a member of a distinct social group of professional school of thought,” which
involved some kind of social history. “Prolegomena to the Study of Ancient Gnosticism,” in The Social
World of the First Christians: Essays in Honor of Wayne A. Meeks, ed. L. Michael White and O. Larry
Yarbrough (Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 1995), 334. Risto Uro characterizes Valentinians, beginning in the
late second century, as a religious “splinter group” or “a loose network of such groups that had partially
separated themselves from the proto-orthodox churches, ” “Gnostic Rituals from a Cognitive Perspective,”
in Explaining Christian Origins and Early Judaism: Contributions from Cognitive and Social Science, ed.
Petri Luomanen, Ilkka Pyysiäinen, and Risto Uro, Biblical Interpretation Series (Leiden: Brill, 2007), 118.

176
Testim. Truth as operating in similar ways, developing their own philosophically-oriented

groups within the broader Christian community. In fact, Clement’s situation in

Alexandria reveals common intra-group circumstances. The complicated investigation of

his possible affiliation with a questionably “official” catechetical school, for instance,

reveals the fluid boundaries of Alexandrian Christianity at the time. Gustave Bardy, for

instance, rejects the notion of an official school prior to Origen; he characterizes Clement

and his teacher Pantaenus as philosophers who taught in small, relatively private circles;

he further notes limited attention to the institutional side of the Christian community in

Clement’s writings.10 As he reviews subsequent scholarly considerations of an official

school in Alexandria, Andrew C. Itter further highlights the tenuous distinctions between

institutional and peripheral expressions of Christianity in Alexandria and Clement’s

seemingly fluid interaction with both.11 A consideration of Clement alongside Nag

Hammadi material thus reveals both ideological and social commonalities. Regarding the

use of gnostikos in Sethian traditions, among others, Williams observes that this concept

would not have been “so different in type from the way in which Clement of Alexandria

speaks of gnostikos as an ideal.”12 My project suggests that the same could be said of

Apoc. Pet. and Testim. Truth.

10
“Aux Origenes de l’école d’Alexandrie,” Recherches De Science Religieuse 27 (1937): 65–90. Disputing
the idea of an organized school during Clement’s time, R. van den Broek concludes, “the whole idea of a
Christian school with a diadoxh/ of teachers handing down a fixed tradition of learning from their pupil
successors is completely false, at least until the second decade of the third century,” in Centres of Learning:
Learning and Location in Pre-Modern Europe and the Near East, eds. Jan W. Drijvers and Alasdair A.
MacDonald, Brill Studies in Intellectual History 61 (Leiden: Brill, 1995), 41.
11
Andrew C. Itter, Esoteric Teaching in the Stromateis of Clement of Alexandria, Supplements to Vigiliae
Christianae 97 (Leiden: Brill, 2009). See also David Dawson, Allegorical Readers and Cultural Revision in
Ancient Alexandria (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1992).
12
Williams, “Was There a Gnostic Religion? Strategies for a Clearer Analysis,” 76.

177
 Refining Gnostic Social Groups

As King observes, tackling the question of the nature of Gnosticism involves

asking, “Who were the gnostics?” The nature of the relevant literature, often driven by

myth with occasional reference to ritual, leaves us with a “paucity of sociological

information.”13 Still, King encourages that for those historically inclined, it should be

possible to determine, to some extent, “discrete social groups.”14 In fact, Apoc. Pet. and

Testim. Truth are especially valuable in this regard given the nature of their content.

Unlike the myth-driven literature that, as King laments, leaves us few impressions of the

communities behind the texts, these two texts, through polemical and interpretive

discourse, offer some indirect insight into the social milieus and related concerns of the

authors. My analysis of intra-group relations in my selected texts thus helps refine our

understanding of Gnostic traditions within early Christian communities.

With the exception of recent reconstructions of Valentinian communities (as

noted above), many attempts at sociological reconstructions of early Gnostic Christian

communities provide limited results and often sustain some of classic characterizations of

the groups that scholars have since challenged.15 Encouraging further sociological study,

13
“The Origins of Gnosticism and the Identity of Christianity,” 107–108.
14
Ibid., 118.
15
For example, Hans G. Kippenberg situates the Gnostics among repressed intellectuals in the eastern
Empire; he argues that their worldview, centered on alienation, reflects their socio-political experiences.
Hans. G. Kippenberg, “Versuch einer soziologische Verortung des antiken Gnostizismus,” Numen 17
(1970): 211–231. Lampe discusses issues with Kippenberg’s case, From Paul to Valentinus: Christians at
Rome in the First Two Centuries, 293. In addition to those discussed here, see P. Pokornyi, “Der soziale
Hintergrund der Gnosis,” in Gnosis und Neues Testament, ed. Karl-Wolfgang Tröger (Berlin: Gütersloher
Verlagshaus Mohn, 1973), 77ff.

178
Henry A. Green identifies two central themes in Gnostic traditions that offer insight into

social realities. The second theme, stratification, considers the elevated social status of

Gnostic Christians; he posits that anthropological distinctions, like those conveyed via

Irenaeus, would be reflected in the social order.16 Green also highlights the relative lack

of institutionalization among Gnostics when compared with proto-orthodox Christianity.

Asserting, “the experience of gnosis is by definition anti-institutional,” he references the

individualism inherent in Gnostic ideology as the root of this trend. Relatedly, individual

interests signal that “sacraments were of little to no importance.”17

Green’s observations are, as intended, provocative starting points for further

study; in fact, my project supports them, in general terms. Still, they require greater

nuance, especially given the diversity within so-called Gnostic traditions. Specifically,

his emphasis on individualism and its resultant anti-institutional stance seems to assume

that interest in self-progress is entirely incompatible with group orientation. In the texts I

examine, we find that this is not the case. Though there is an emphasis on individual

progress, association with a group is nevertheless significant. Moreover, the dynamic

nature of social identity means that group-oriented behavior is situational. In addition,

Green’s assertion that “sacraments were of little to no importance” neglects evidence for

diverse approaches to ritual across Gnostic Christian traditions.18 It would be more

appropriate to allow for variant evaluations of sacraments, within a tradition and across

16
“Suggested Sociological Themes in the Study of Gnosticism,” Vigiliae Christianae 31 (1977): 176–178.
17
According to Green, Gnostics specifically lacked uniform structure and doctrine. Extending Bauer, he
does note that these elements were not present among the orthodox from the start either, Ibid., 170–171.
18
Ibid., 175. For revised approaches to Gnostic ritual that reflects diversity, see Turner, “Ritual in
Gnosticism”; Kurt Rudolph, Gnosis: The Nature & History of Gnosticism, trans. R. M. Wilson (San
Francisco: Harper, 1987), 214–52.

179
contexts. Once tempered in this way, we can understand how different perspectives on

individuality vis-à-vis the group and related evaluations of rituals shaped distinctively

Gnostic social identities.

This perspective coincides with more recent assessments of the sociology of

Gnostic groups that emphasize overlap with the broader ecclesiastical community. For

instance, in his recent assessment of Gnostic traditions, Christoph Markschies notes that

many Gnostic Christians likely took part in typical house church worship.19

Consequently, Gnostic circles would have experienced a ritual life comparable to other

Christians.20 Along with Williams, he also characterizes Gnostic circles as primarily, or

at least originally intellectual. Markschies envisions adherents of gnosis “gathered as a

small circle of ‘knowers’ around the charismatic free teachers, as a small but active

conventicle led by intellectuals.”21 Such a scenario fits the tiered approach to Christian

life that we find in Clement of Alexandria’s writings. Along these lines, Markschies

suggests that Gnostic movements within early Christianity reflect cultural negotiation

with the broader Greco-Roman world, partly motivated by a desire to avoid social

conflict. This perspective might further illuminate why such groups often felt a limited

inclination toward martyrdom.22 At the same time, Lampe reminds us that even if the

19
Gnosis: An Introduction (London New York: T & T Clark, 2003), 114.
20
Ibid., 115.
21
Ibid., 111.
22
Markschies suggests this by noting that Gnostic systems encouraged “privatization” of Christianity, by
which he means an intellectual “interest in avoiding conflicts,” Ibid., 117.

180
educated elite formed the core of Gnostic circles, the followers appear to have reflected a

more diverse cross-section of the early Christian community.23

Regarding the situation at Rome, Lampe also observes relative tolerance within

the Christian community prior to the end of the second century. Based on his assessment

of the relevant evidence, he reports, “hardly any Roman Christian group excluded another

group in the city from the communion of the faithful—apart from a few significant

exceptions.”24 Dawson detects a similar situation for the Alexandrian Christian

community.25 Given the nature of the close association among Christians of various

stripes in the texts I examine, it seems reasonable to posit a comparable, relatively

tolerant situation, at least in the not too distant past. The apparent rumblings of discontent

surfaced alongside a heightened interest in martyrdom. Regarding the sociology of

Gnostic groups, E. Mendelson asserts that doctrine is not always the primary reason for

group fragmentation; he observes, “Certain situations will push groups into fragmenting

themselves for social, economic, or political reasons and not for ideological reasons.”26

23
Based on literary output and interests, as well as heresiological evidence, Lampe concludes that the
generalization of educated circles is “valid for the ‘inventors’ of this Gnosticism, for the outstanding
teachers whose crowd of followers was nevertheless not uniformly ‘intellectual’ but rather stratified,” From
Paul to Valentinus: Christians at Rome in the First Two Centuries, 293–98. Markschies also acknowledges
that Gnostic communities progressively included more “ordinary people,” Gnosis: An Introduction, 117.
24
Lampe, From Paul to Valentinus: Christians at Rome in the First Two Centuries, 385–93.
25
Allegorical Readers and Cultural Revision in Ancient Alexandria.
26
“Some Notes on a Sociological Approach to Gnosticism,” in Le Origini Dello Gnosticismo: Colloquio di
Messina 13-18 Aprile 1966, ed. Ugo Bianchi, Studies in the History of Religions (Supplements to Numen)
(Leiden: Brill, 1967), 670.

181
 Intra-Group Conflict & The Rise of Orthodoxy

In her study of early Christian identity, Judith Lieu concludes that martyrdom

“comes to function as a means for asserting and defining orthodoxy, and so for exercising

control.”27 Lieu primarily considers Christian identity in relation to Jews and Romans.

My examination of divergent approaches within early Christianity further support her

assessment of martyrdom as a critical player in the emergence of orthodoxy. Regarding

martyrdom, Lieu continues, “Central is the act of public affirmation: we might suppose

this implicitly conveys allegiance – to Christ; association – with others who claim the

same allegiance; adherence – to articles of belief and behaviour.”28 The intersection of

various facets of Christian identity in open confession suggests that the stakes are high

for those who fail to perform. Perceived as a threat to Christian identity, the diminished

value of martyrdom contributed significantly to definitions of orthodoxy, in discourse and

ultimately in practice.

Havelaar examines one relevant facet of emerging orthodoxy in her examination

of the Christology of Apoc. Pet. Specifically, she highlights the increasing emphasis on

Christ’s corporeal nature among proto-orthodox writers of the second century, including

Ignatius, Irenaeus, and Tertullian. Havelaar reasons,

This increasing accent on the physical suffering of Jesus and the emphasis on its

meaning for salvation can partly be understood as a natural attitude of Christians

27
Neither Jew Nor Greek? Constructing Early Christianity, 226.
28
Ibid., 228.

182
 who, in a hostile environment, held martyrdom very much in veneration. For

another part it can be interpreted as a reaction against the opposite tendency in

Gnostic circles, a tendency to trivialize the bodily suffering of Jesus, which in fact

was a natural consequence of the Gnostic worldview.29

I agree with Havelaar, for the most part. Rather than understand these two factors as

distinct though, I find it more appropriate to consider them in tandem. The worldview’s

frequent emphasis on a non-suffering Christ appears to have prompted limited fervor for

martyrdom. Not only different views of Christ, but also questions regarding the value of

martyrdom, likely contributed to a more refined orthodox perspective on Christ.

A brief return to social identity theory can help us understand how the mixed

early Christian communities become progressively distinct, triggered by debates over

martyrdom. Specifically, the “black sheep effect” allows us to read the intra-group

hostility, apparent in texts like Testim. Truth and Tertullian’s Scorp., as preceding, rather

than following, any decisive communal split. The black sheep effect finds that group

members react more strongly to in-group members whose behavior deviates from the

groups than to those outside the group.30 In her study of gender constructions in early

Christian martyrdom, L. Stephanie Cobb, also shows how this facet of social identity

29
The Coptic Apocalypse of Peter (Nag Hammadi-Codex VII,3), 187.
30
José M. Marques, Dominic Abrams, and Rui G. Serôdio, “Being Better by Being Right: Subjective Group
Dynamics and Derogation of In-Group Deviants When Generic Norms Are Undermined,” Journal of
Personality and Social Psychology 81 (2001): 436–447; Marques, Yzerbyt, and Leyens, “The ‘Black Sheep
Effect’: Extremity of Judgments Towards Ingroup Members as a Function of Group Identification.”

183
theory is particularly applicable to martyrdom.31 In social contexts where the public

performance of social identity is especially critical, deviant behavior among in-group

members is much more threatening than that associated with out-groups, who might—as

in the case of the Romans, reflect a much more direct threat. One result is heightened

derogation against in-group members, which contributes to shifting group parameters.32

My project suggests that approaches to martyrdom—whether via discourse or in

practice—were critical in the emergence of group boundaries in early Christianity. The

shift from in-group to out-group, ecclesiastically speaking, for such groups certainly

would have been progressive. Given the overlap apparent in the texts I examine, it seems

reasonable to imagine the rifts becoming more concrete during the third century. This

timing also coincides with the rise of martyrdom, alongside increased persecutions, as

significant for proto-orthodox Christian identity.33

31
L. Stephanie Cobb, Dying to Be Men: Gender and Language in Early Christian Martyr Texts, Gender,
Theory, and Religion (New York: Columbia University Press, 2008), 22.
32
Jolanda Jetten et al., “When Differences Matter: Intergroup Distinctiveness and the Evaluation of
Impostors,” European Journal of Social Psychology 35 (2005): 609–620; Brewer, “Ingroup Identification
and Intergroup Conflict: When Does Ingroup Love Become Outgroup Hate?”
33
Luttikhuizen notes, “In the third century, the exclusive claims of the great Church were increasingly
pressed upon minority groups that did not accept orthodox teaching and practice,” “The Suffering Jesus and
the Invulnerable Christ in the Gnostic Apocalypse of Peter,” 88.

184
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