The Wondrous Exchange: Irenaeus and Eastern Valentinians on the Soteriology of Interchange

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M. DAVID LITWA

The soteriology of interchange or the mutual participation of the Savior and the saved is a theme that first appears in Paul and is later developed by both Irenaeus and key texts of Eastern Valentinianism (the Treatise on Resurrection, the Tripartite Tractate, and the Interpretation of Knowledge). A comparison between these texts and the works of Irenaeus shows that both present the incarnation of the Savior as the first step in a “wondrous exchange” between Christ and Christians. Irenaeus and Eastern Valentinians differ, however, on the nature of the exchange, its purpose, and its results. Such differences put into relief deeper parallels between Irenaean and Valentinian soteriology, indicating both a shared theological culture as well as a common Christian heritage.

INTRODUCTION

In a recent article, Irenaeus Steenberg argues for “a matrix of theological expression that involves a more intimate degree of similarity between Irenaeus and his [Valentinian] foes.” Once one “strips away the points of cosmological, anthropological and soteriological variance” between the two, one finds “a clear testimony to that broader theological expression of the second century.”¹ To substantiate this thesis, Steenberg compares the Gospel of Truth (often attributed to Valentinus) and the works of

I would like to thank Dr. Judith Kovacs for her comments on an earlier draft of this essay.

1. Steenberg, “The Gospel of Truth and the Truth of the Gospel,” SP 50 (2011): 89–104 (90).

Journal of Early Christian Studies 22:3, 311–341 © 2014 Johns Hopkins University Press

Irenaeus.² Stripping away the differences, as he says, Steenberg isolates intriguing similarities between Irenaean and Valentinian thought, including a view of error as “the wanton fruit of deception and ignorance,” a “maturational understanding of the human condition and its salvation,” and a “concept of perfection as eschatological reality.”³ Building on Steenberg’s work, this article explores the shared and pervasive theme of interchange in Valentinian and Irenaean soteriology, with keen attention to both similarities and differences.

THE ROOTS OF INTERCHANGE

Interchange in Christian theology is a term that conveys the idea aptly summed up by Irenaeus: “He [Christ] was made that which we are so as to complete us to be that which he is” (γεγον?τι το?το ?περ ?σμ?ν, ?να ?μ?ς ε?ναι καταρτ?σ? ?κε?νο ?περ ?στ?ν α?τ?ς) (Haer. 5, pref.).⁴ The theology of interchange thus envisions a scenario in which the Savior and the saved mutually participate in one another to realize the economy of salvation. Interchange involves some sort of exchange (hence the use of the “exchange formula” or Tauschformel), an exchange that can be viewed as holistic (an exchange of natures) or partial (an exchange of properties).

The roots of interchange lie in the thought of the Apostle Paul. He wrote to the Corinthians that “though he [Christ] was rich, yet for your sakes he became poor, so that by his poverty you might become rich” (2 Cor 8.9). The exchange is clear on both sides: Christ takes poverty for riches so that humans can receive riches instead of poverty. Earlier in the letter, Paul stated the soteriology of interchange in another formula like expression: “He who knew no sin [Christ], he [God] made (?πο?ησεν) sin for us, so that we could become (γεν?μεθα) the justice of God in him” (5.21). The language of participation here is rhetorically poignant and possibly ontological.⁵ Christ becomes something fundamentally other than God namely sin so that humans can become what Christ is: God’s justice (cf. 1 Cor 1.30).

2. Steenberg sees “profound similarities of thematic and specific theological expression” in Gos. Truth and Haer. 3–5 as well as Epid. He believes that they share an “overarching economic vision of sin and redemption” and even speak with “the same voice” (“Truth of the Gospel,” 101–2).

3. See his chart of similarities on “Truth of the Gospel,” 93–99. The quotations come from his list of eight basic similarities (100).

4. I translate the texts from Haer. from the edition of Adelin Rousseau and Louis Doutreleau, eds. Irénée de Lyon: Contre les hérésies, SC 263–64, 293, 210–11, 100.1– 2, 152–53 (Paris: Éditions du Cerf, 1965–82). Here SC 153:14.

5. Compare the formulation of Plato, Resp. 472b6–c2.

Sin is exchanged for justice and justice for sin. A similar pattern appears in Paul’s letter to the Galatians: “Christ redeemed us from the curse of the law by becoming a curse for us . . . so that the blessing of Abraham might come about for the nations in Christ Jesus” (Gal 3.13–14). Although this statement appears less ontological, it is no less striking: Christ becomes a curse.⁶ Blessing is exchanged for curse and curse for blessing. A few verses later the apostle declares: “God sent forth his son, born of a woman, born under the law, in order to redeem those who were under the law, so that we might receive the adoption” (4.4–5). God’s son becomes human (i.e., by being born) so that humans receive a new status as God’s children. Here we should not assume that sonship by adoption is any less genuine (from Paul’s perspective) than natural sonship. Both the natural son (Jesus) and the adopted children appear to attain an equal status: they are “coheirs” (συγκληρον?μοι) with Christ (Rom 8.17), who together will inherit with him “all things” (8.32).⁷ Christ born as a human is a true exchange, since the likeness of human beings (?μο?ωμα ?νθρ?πων) is also the “form of a slave” (Phil 2.7). In short, Christ exchanges sonship for slavery so that human slaves (Gal 4.1–3, 7) can become God’s children and heirs.⁸

INTERCHANGE IN VALENTINIAN THOUGHT

Paul’s idea of interchange was developed in distinctive and creative ways by a group of early Christians known as “Valentinians.” In his magisterial study, The Spiritual Seed: The Church of the ‘Valentinians,’ Einar Thomassen maintains the distinction between two groups of Valentinians based on their theories of the body of Christ (cf. Hipp., Haer. 6.35.5–7). In the “Western” group, the Savior comes in a psychic and spiritual body not

6. Cf. the statement in Ap. Jas. (NHC I,2): “For your sakes I have placed myself under the curse, that you may be saved” (13.23–25).

7. On the nature and context of Pauline adoption, see James M. Scott, Adoption as Sons of God: An Exegetical Investigation into the Background of ΥΙΟΘΕΣΙΑ in the Pauline Corpus, Wissenschaftliche Untersuchungen zum Neuen Testament 2/48 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1992); Michael Peppard, The Son of God in the Roman World (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2011), esp. 50–85.

8. The main commentator on interchange in Paul is Morna Hooker (From Adam to Christ: Essays on Paul [Cambridge, UK: Cambridge University Press, 1990]), from whom I derive the term “interchange.” Hooker asserts that Paul’s theology of inter-

change flows from his Adam Christology (19). Although enticing, her view is not entirely convincing. Paul’s discussion of Adam and Christ is localized to two main passages (Rom 5.12–21; 1 Cor 15.22, 45–49), where instead of seeing an exchange between the two figures, the Apostle tends to contrast them. When Paul does use the language of interchange, it is not in the context of his Adam Christology.

a fleshly one making the incarnation more “a revelation of symbolic truths” than “a salvific act effective in itself.”⁹ “Eastern Valentinianism,” however, affirms the Savior’s “incarnation in a material body,” and attributes “decisive soteriological importance to these facts.” It also claims “that the Saviour brought with him a spiritual body” and conceives of “salvation as being effected through a mechanism of mutual participation and exchange.”¹⁰ It is this second (Eastern) group that I will be concerned with in this essay. The Eastern branch of Valentinian thought is textually represented, according to Thomassen, by the Treatise on Resurrection, Excerpts from Theodotus 1–42, the Tripartite Tractate, the Gospel of Truth, the Gospel of Philip, and the Interpretation of Knowledge. Of these, the Treatise on Resurrection (NHC I,4), the Tripartite Tractate (NHC I,5), and the Interpretation of Knowledge (NHC XI,1) speak explicitly of interchange, and illumine the theme in the fragments of Valentinus himself.

The Treatise on Resurrection

In the Treatise on Resurrection (Treat. Res.) a programmatic statement of Christology constitutes a pillar of the author’s soteriological thought and presents a striking instance of interchange:

‘The son of God (pvhre . . . µpnoute), Rheginos, was a son of humanity (neuvhre Nrwme pe). He embraced them (neFemaHte arau) both, possessing humanity (tmNtrwme) as well as divinity (tmNtnoute), so that, on the one hand, he might vanquish death (eFnajro µmen apmou) through his being son of God (abal HitµptrÏvwpe Nvhre Nnoute), and on the other hand, the restoration to the Pleroma (tapokatastasis . . . aHoun applhrwma) might take place through the son of humanity (HitootÏ de

µpvhre µprwme). (44.21–33)¹¹

The Savior as son of humanity and son of God sums up a two-nature Christology that includes both humanity and divinity.¹² Having a divine nature

9. Thomassen, The Spiritual Seed: The Church of the ‘Valentinians’ (Leiden: Brill, 2006), 2.

10. Spiritual Seed, 2. Joel Kalvesmaki rightly questions patristic evidence for the division between Eastern and Western Valentinianism (“Italian versus Eastern Valentinianism?” VC 62 [2008]: 79–89). Importantly, Thomassen reconstructs the two theories of Christ’s body from Valentinian texts themselves. These divergent views remain whether or not we choose to characterize them as “Eastern” or “Western.”

11. The Coptic texts of Treat. Res. and Tri. Trac. below are taken from the critical edition edited by Harold W. Attridge, Nag Hammadi Codex I (The Jung Codex): Introductions, Texts, Translations, Indices, Nag Hammadi Studies 22 (Leiden: Brill, 1985). Translations of Coptic texts are my own, unless otherwise noted.

12. The two-nature Christology resembles contemporary theological developments. Cf. Odes Sol. 36.3; Ign., Eph. 20.2; Tert., Prax. 27.10–11; Clem. Alex., Paed. 1.5.15,2; Hermas, Sim. 5.6.4b–8; 9.1.7; Mand. 10.1.4–5; 11.5.10, 14.

allows the Savior to conquer and “swallow” death. That is, his invisible divine nature overwhelms his visible, fleshly nature (45.14–23) “and this takes place through his resurrection.”¹³ But if the Savior had not also become human assuming real flesh (44.14–15) his victory over death would have been for himself alone. As son of humanity, he allows other humans to be transferred to the Pleroma.

In the Treatise on Resurrection, however, Christ does not come to

redeem the flesh or transform it into celestial, immortal reality. The Savior transforms himself not into a pneumatic body (1 Cor 15.45), but into “an imperishable aeon” (aFvÏt[F] aHoun auaiwn Natteko) (Treat. Res. 45.17–18).¹⁴ In this state he is able to draw up the spiritual core of the redeemed, a core which has kinship with the aeonic world. This process constitutes the “spiritual resurrection” that swallows up the “animate” and “fleshly” resurrections (45.30–46.2) like light swallowing darkness

(49.2–4). The resurrected Christ soars back to the Pleroma as an aeon, and resurrected human spirits follow him like beams drawn up by the sun (45.31–39). This is the way that the author interprets Pauline statements of realized eschatology, two of which he paraphrases:

we arose with him

and we went to heaven with him (45.26–28; cf. Col 2.12–13; Eph 1.20–21; 2.5–6)

Since the Savior assumed their physical existence, the saved ascend to his spiritual existence, and rise to the place where he goes: the aeonic world.¹⁵

Tripartite Tractate

Another important Valentinian text exemplifying the reality of interchange is the Tripartite Tractate (Tri. Trac.). Here we read:

That which our Savior became out of willing compassion is that which they [human beings] had become. For it was for their sake that he was manifest in unwilled suffering. They had become flesh and soul. This is what forever restrains them, for they perish in corruption. But those who also existed

as an invisible human ([π]rwme [nn]atneu araF), in invisibility he [the Savior] taught [them] about himself. For not only did he assume the death of those he intended to save, but also their smallness into which they had descended (for they were born in body and soul). He assumed these in turn by the fact that he let himself be conceived and born as an infant (oulilou) in body and soul. He entered into all the other conditions in which they

13. Thomassen, Spiritual Seed, 84.

14. Ed. Attridge, 150.

15. See further Thomassen, Spiritual Seed, 50–51.

participated along with those who fell (even though they had received light). Nevertheless, he was more exalted than they because he had let himself be conceived in sinlessness and in undefilement and in incontamination. He was born into physical life (pbios) and lived in physical life (pbios). (Tri.

Trac. 114.31–115.18)¹⁶

The first line in this paragraph resembles the exchange formula in Irenaeus (Haer. 5, pref.):

The Word of God, Jesus Christ our Lord, who out of his immense love was made that which we are (γεγον?τι το?το ?περ ?σμ?ν) . . .

That which our Savior became out of willing compassion is that which they [human beings] had become (etepetauvwpe µmaF pe). (Tri. Trac. 114.31–32)¹⁷

In the Tripartite Tractate humans are preexistent spiritual beings who became flesh and soul, and thus corruptible. The incorporeal Savior assumed the corruption of flesh and soul so as, to apply the Irenaean line, “to complete us to be that which he is” spiritually formed and divine. For the author of Tri. Trac., humans truly are made what the Savior is. They re-attain their ancient state without the corruptible impediments of soul and body.

While he was in the body, the Savior taught the spirituals in an invisible way. The spirituals are oddly spoken of as those who exist collectively “as an invisible human” a human that probably refers to the “human within” (often representing nous or the spiritual element).¹⁸ Although the Savior could speak to the spirituals as spirit to spiritual people, he still assumed flesh and soul. These elements are represented as the “smallness” of the spirituals. The Savior recapitulates this smallness to the extent of being born as the smallest sort of human an “infant” (oulilou) (115.10). The Savior was born without sin and defilement into real physical life (pbios) in order to redeem the spirituals from the corruption of physical

life (Tri. Trac. 115.18). Having a body and soul are not viewed as natural

conditions for the spirituals. Rather, their physical and animate condition is the result of a primeval fall caused by the “passion and aberrant

16. Ed. Attridge, 298–300.

17. Ed. Attridge, 298.

18. Cf. Tri. Trac. 122.33–123.11. See further Interp. Know. 6.33–37; Gos. Phil. (NHC II,3) 82.30–83; 9.25–30; Iren., Haer. 1.5.6; 5.19.2; 2.19.2; 1.21.4–5; 1.13.2; Hipp., Haer. 6.34.5, 7; and in general Theo K. Heckel, Der Innere Mensch: Die paulinische Verarbeitung eines platonischen Motivs, Wissenschaftliche Untersuchungen zum neuen Testament 2/53 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1993).

thought” of the Logos (Tri. Trac. 75.17–77.11). Salvation consists in being unshackled from soul and body and returning to the Pleroma. The Savior could only unchain the spirituals by taking on the chains himself hence the logic of exchange.¹⁹

Later in the Tripartite Tractate, we read: “The election shares [spiritual] body and essence with the Savior (TmNtswtπ Nde ouvbhr Nswma de auw ouvbhr Nousia te mNpswthr), since it is like a bridal chamber because of its unity and its agreement with him. For, before every place, the Christ came for her sake” (122.13–14).²⁰ When the Savior appears with the body and soul of the elect (i.e., the spirituals), they run to him as “light from light” and “spirit from spirit” (118.28–32; cf. Exc. Thdot. 42.3). They then become his spiritual body, while he remains the head (118.32–35; cf. Interp. Know. 13.33–36). The Savior becomes their physical body so that they can become his spiritual body (cf. Exc. Thdot. 58.1–2).²¹

The radicality of the exchange in Tri. Tract. is indicated by the fact that

the Redeemer himself must be redeemed:

But even the Son himself, who has the position of redeemer of the totality, he too needed salvation, since he existed as a human being. He gave his very self to all those who are in need, [namely] we in the flesh who are the church. He himself, then, when he had received salvation initially from the Logos who came down upon him, all those who remained left over received salvation through him, [that is] those who received him. For they who received the one who had received, received in turn what was in him. (Tri. Trac. 124.32–125.11)²²

The “Son” in this passage is the Savior who bears the name “Son” (87.1, 14). The Savior of the Totality needs redemption because of the radicality of his incarnation.²³ He became body and soul, and now he too must be redeemed from these corruptible elements. The Son cannot merely snap his fingers and make his physical body and soul disappear. His identification with them is too deep. His redemption from these elements was obtained at his baptism when the Logos descended upon him in the form of a dove (cf. Exc. Thdot. 22.6–7; Hipp., Haer. 6.35.6). Since the spirituals had already received him (i.e., his spiritual element or body), the redemption

19. Cf. Thomassen, Spiritual Seed, 49.

20. Ed. Attridge, 312.

21. Harold W. Attridge and Elaine H. Pagels, “NHC I,5: The Tripartite Tractate,” in Nag Hammadi Codex I (The Jung Codex): Notes, ed. Harold W. Attridge (Leiden: Brill, 1985), 458. Cf. Thomassen, Spiritual Seed, 58.

22. Ed. Attridge, 316.

23. Attridge and Pagels, “NHC I,5: The Tripartite Tractate,” 469.

effected by the Logos was able to be transferred to them as well. It is the Logos who guarantees the salvation of the Savior’s spirit so that he and the spirituals who are “one spirit” with him (cf. 1 Cor 6.17) can eventually ascend to the aeonic world.

Interpretation of Knowledge

The interchange pattern is also found in the Valentinian homily called The Interpretation of Knowledge (Interp. Know.).²⁴ Here, as in Tri. Tract., the Savior affirms the preexistence of his hearers. He exhorts the soul to receive or appropriate (ji) the shape (pischma) that existed in the presence of the Father (10.23). The shape is the soul’s “status and height” (plogos auw pjise) that she knew before she “wandered astray to become flesh of condemnation” (sarx Ntekatadikh) (10.24–27).²⁵ The Redeemer then draws a hortatory parallel:

In the same way I made myself very small (aeisbak apeHouo), in order that by humbling myself I might bring you back to that great height (pinaŒ Njise), the place from which you had fallen when you were brought down into this pit. So if you believe in me, I am the one who will bring you up above, by means of this shape (pischma) that you see. I am the one who will carry you on my shoulders. (10.27–34)²⁶

The diminution of the Savior is symbolic of his incarnation (cf. “He appeared in flesh,” Interp. Know. 12.18). The image is used to express the logic of interchange: from smallness to great (naŒ) height. The height (jise, 10.29) is the height (jise, 10.25) that the saved had before their incarnation. Christ sentences himself to flesh to deliver his “little brothers” (14.29) from flesh. He takes on the “shape” (pischma, 10.33) of flesh to return them to the shape (pischma, 10.23) or form that they had above in the presence of the Father (cf. Phil 2.6: ?ν μορφ? θεο? ?π?ρχων [i.e., Christ]).

Later in the homily, we read of the Savior:

24. Translations of the Coptic text of Interp. Know. are made from the critical edition edited by Charles W. Hedrick, Nag Hammadi Codices XI, XII, XIII, Nag Hammadi Studies 28 (Leiden: Brill, 1990).

25. Ed. Hedrick, 52. Elaine H. Pagels and John D. Turner note that to save the church from the “flesh of condemnation” (sarx Ntekatadikh) (10.26–27), the Son wears the “garment of condemnation” (vthn Ntekatadikh) (11.27–28) (“NHC XI,I: The Interpretation of Knowledge, Notes to Text and Translation,” in Hedrick, 80).

26. Ed. Hedrick, 52. Modified translation from Thomassen in The Nag Hammadi Scriptures: The International Edition, ed. Marvin Meyer (New York: Harper Collins, 2007), 657.

[He] emptied [himself, and he] emptied [. . .], taking scorn [in] exchange for the Name. [For] our [sakes he] endured the scorn. He appeared in flesh, and [. . .] [pro]vision. He did [not] need glory [that] is [not his own]. He possesses his [own glory] with the [. . .], which is that of being the Son. [He] came, moreover, so that we might be made glorious [through] his humiliation, [as he] dwelled in these humble [places]. Indeed, through [him] who was scorned we receive the [remission] of sins. From him [who] was scorned and redeemed we receive grace. (12.14–29)²⁷

The self-emptying of this passage recalls Phil 2.6–7 where the preexistent Christ undergoes kenosis (cf. Exc. Thdot. 35.1). The scorn or shame (naŒNŒ) that he took upon himself is probably the shame of crucifixion (cf. σταυρ?ν α?σχ?νης, Heb 12.2). Before he is crucified, he relinquishes the Name that he probably received in baptism (cf. Exc. Thdot. 22.6, 26.1). Relinquishing the Name, which embodies life itself, allows Christ to die. The Savior has his own glory. But he relinquishes this glory to glorify his siblings (Rom 8.29). Their glorification is at least partially conceived of as the forgiveness of sins and the reception of grace familiar from Pauline thought (Col 1.14; Eph 1.6–7).²⁸

Immediately following this passage we again find the theme of the saved Savior:

Who [is it], then, who saved the one who was scorned? It is the emanation of the Name. For just as flesh needs to have a name, so [this] flesh is an aeon that Sophia brought forth. [He] received the Greatness that came down, that the aeon might enter the one who was scorned, so that we might shed the disgraceful skin, and be born once more in the flesh and blood . . . (12.29–38)²⁹

What saves the Savior is the Name (or Greatness) that came upon him at baptism (parallel to the Logos in Tri. Tract.). The Name, although called “flesh,” is in fact an aeonic entity. It is the reception of this aeon that allows the Savior and the saved with him to “shed the disgraceful skin”

27. Ed. Hedrick, 56. Modified translation from Thomassen in The Nag Hammadi Scriptures, 658.

28. On the forgiveness of sins, cf. On Bap. A (NHC XI,2b) 41.10–23. See also

Pagels, “A Valentinian Interpretation of Baptism and the Eucharist and Its Critique of ‘Orthodox’ Sacramental Theology and Practice,” HTR 65 (1972): 153–69 (esp. 153–54).

29. Ed. Hedrick, 56. Modified translation from Thomassen in The Nag Hammadi Scriptures, 658. For a possible Eucharistic connection, note the fragmentary On Euch. B (NHC XI,2e) 44.31–35. Pagels and Turner note that in Gos. Phil. 56.24–57.8, Christ’s flesh is the Logos, and his blood is the Holy Spirit (“The Interpretation of Knowledge, Notes,” 83).

and take on the aeonic “flesh and blood” of the Savior.³⁰ Their ultimate destiny, in short, is to become aeonic themselves and reenter the Pleroma.

The Fragments of Valentinus

The presence of interchange in Eastern Valentinian texts illumines the theme in Valentinus himself. Fragment 3 of his work indicates that Jesus, having endured everything (π?ντα ?πομε?νας), “effected divinity” (θε?τητα ?ησο?ς ε?ργ?ζετο).³¹ The fragment goes on to affirm that since Jesus possessed no corruption, he did not digest and evacuate foodstuff. Unlike most interpreters, Thomassen does not interpret this statement (“Jesus effected divinity”) in terms of Jesus’ own life, but of his soteriological effect on others.³² The divinity that Jesus produced was not his own, but what he generated for others. By assuming humanity and enduring all its limitations “Jesus performs a work that conquers and destroys the corruption of material existence, liberating the spirit and reintegrating it into its divine origins. Because Jesus takes their human corruptibility upon himself, the spirituals are also given a share in the divinity he represents.”³³

For Valentinus, the radicality of interchange means that the redeemed can even become agents of redemption. This paradoxical situation appears to be assumed in another fragment of Valentinus, worth quoting in full:

From the beginning (?π’ ?ρχ?ς) you are immortal (?θ?νατο? ?στε) and children of eternal life (τ?κνα ζω?ς ?στε α?ων?ας). Now you were wanting to apportion (μερ?σασθαι) death (τ?ν θ?νατον) among yourselves so that

you could exhaust and expend it (δαπαν?σητε α?τ?ν κα? ?ναλ?σητε), so that death would die in you and through you. For when you undo the world

30. See further Pagels and Turner, “The Interpretation of Knowledge, Notes,” 82; Uwe-Karsten Plisch, ed. Die Auslegung der Erkenntnis (Nag-Hammadi-Codex XI,1) (Berlin: Akademie Verlag, 1996), 119–22. On the importance of the sacraments for appropriating salvation, see Thomassen, Spiritual Seed, 395–97, 401–2; Jorunn Jacobsen Buckley, “A Cult-Mystery in The Gospel of Philip,” JBL 99 (1980): 569–81; Nicola Denzey Lewis, “Apolytrosis as Ritual and Sacrament: Determining a Ritual Context for Death in Second-Century Marcosian Valentinianism,” JECS 17:4 (2009): 525–61.

31. Enumeration of the fragments was established by Walther Völker, Quellen zur Geschichte der christlichen Gnosis (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1932). In Bentley Layton’s The Gnostic Scriptures (New York: Doubleday, 1987), frag. 3 is labeled “fragment E.” The fragment derives from Clem. Alex., Strom. 3.7.59.3.

32. Thomassen, Spiritual Seed, 459–60. Cf. Christoph Markschies, Valentinus Gnosticus? Untersuchungen zur valentinianischen Gnosis mit einem Kommentar zu den Fragmenten Valentins, Wissenschaftliche Untersuchungen zum neuen Testament 65 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1992), 91–98; Ismo Dunderberg, Beyond Gnosticism: Myth, Lifestyle, and Society in the School of Valentinus (New York: Columbia University Press, 2008), 22.

33. Thomassen, Spiritual Seed, 459–60.

(τ?ν μ?ν κ?σμον λ?ητε), you will not be undone (?με?ς δ? μ? καταλυ?σθε). You are lords of the creation (κυριε?ετε τ?ς κτ?σεως), and of all its corruption (κα? τ?ς φθορ?ς ?π?σης).³⁴

If the audience of this declaration is thought to be the instrument of death’s death, the work of Christ is now their work (cf. 1 Cor 15.54–57; Heb 2.14–15). If this is the case, as Christoph Markschies notes, Christ and the believer have undergone an exchange.³⁵

34. Völker frag. 4 (= Layton frag. F) from Clem. Alex., Strom. 4.13.89.1–3. Author’s translation.

35. Markschies has a more pejorative way of putting it: the work of Christians is “confused” or “mixed up with” (verwechselt) the work of Christ (which is a “Gnostic concept”) (Valentinus Gnosticus? 136). Markschies views the statement about apportioning and expending death as the battle against sin begun in baptism. In this reading, any interchange between Christ and the elect is ruled out; the work of Christ is prior and primary (Valentinus Gnosticus? 146). Jens Holzhausen sees in frag. 4 a polemic against martyrdom (“Gnosis und Martyrium: Zu Valentins viertem Fragment,” ZNW 85 [1994]: 116–31). Christians who do not recognize their divine (immortal) core vainly become martyrs to obtain immortality in a kind of economic exchange. Dunderberg points out, however, that “the terminological affinities between Valentinus’s fragment 4 and the early Christian texts praising martyrdom” are not close (Beyond Gnosticism, 136–37). According to Paul Schüngel (“Gnostische kontra neutestamentliche Soteriologie: Zu Valentins viertem Fragment,” VC 50 [1996]: 257–65), the fragment is a polemic against the “theology of the cross” (Theologie des Kreuzes) as it was embodied in the Eucharist (265). Valentinus’s declaration that his hearers kill death does not assume interchange with Christ. Rather, says Schüngel, it is a radical abridgement of Paul’s idea that Christ destroys death, granting life to the believer (262). For Schüngel, it is “senseless” (sinnlos) to believe that that the elect can divide, expend, and in the end kill death (261). Against both Holzhausen and Schüngel, Dunderberg observes that the line “For (γ?ρ) when you undo the world . . . you are lords over creation and all its corruption” is a recapitulation of the statement “you were wanting to apportion death . . . so that death would die in you and through you.” Thus the desire to destroy death, like the undoing of the world, is to be interpreted positively. Consequently, Valentinus “did not condemn the attempts of his addressees to ‘use up’ death” (Beyond Gnosticism, 37). This is exactly their role as “children of eternal life”! Dunderberg’s own interpretation of fragment 4 leans on an Adamic background (Beyond Gnosticism, 35–45). In Genesis 3, death “is allocated to Adam and Eve as a threat and then, after the fall, as a punishment (Gen 2.17, 3.19).” Valentinus applies the situation of Adam and Eve to that of his audience. “Instead of speaking about what Adam and Eve did, he speaks of what his addressees do: you wanted death to be bestowed upon you” (Beyond Gnosticism, 37). Yet even if we grant (as we should) allusions to Gen 1–3, Dunderberg’s Adamic framework falls short, since if Valentinus was applying the (fallen) situation of Adam to his audience, he could only tell them: “You were immortal” (before the fall or before you sinned) not “You are immortal”! Valentinus is not speaking of the failed potential of his hearers (their fall and death like Adam), he is talking about their real potential as immortal beings. Pace Dunderberg (Beyond Gnosticism, 36), I believe that Valentinus’s comments were directed specifically to the spirituals, and

Again it is Thomassen who gives the best sense of how the interchange of Savior and saved took place in this passage. He views the “children of eternal life” as “the spiritual seed of Sophia, brought forth in a vision of the Pleroma as manifested by the Saviour and his angels.” The children thus came into existence before the beginning of the cosmos (?π’ ?ρχ?ς), and are destined to live forever as the children of Sophia and images of eternal pleromatic beings.³⁶ The pleromatic beings are the male angels who serve as the true selves of incarnated human souls. Together these angels form the spiritual body of the Savior. When Valentinus thus speaks of the redeemed, he refers to their true selves who, joined with Christ, divide and destroy death. The true selves of the redeemed in fact already make up the spiritual body of the Savior. Thus, rhetorically at least, the saved can take on the role of the Savior and be spoken of as agents of their own redemption.³⁷

In line with Thomassen’s interpretation, I would like to refine how exactly the saved can be said to divide and to destroy death. The preexistent spirituals or “children of eternal life” divide up death by being incarnated into individual (or divided) physical bodies. Just as Jesus in frag. 3, the children reverse the process of bodily corruption through their continence (and in general by living free from passion).³⁸ In this way they portion out corruption (as it exists in individual physical bodies), expending it by living spiritually (i.e., without passion), “swallowing” it (to borrow an image from Treat. Res.) from within. Consequently, like Christ, the children “effect divinity” which is to say, they produce incorruption out of corruption for themselves. In the words of the fragment, they “rule all corruption (τ?ς φθορ?ς ?π?σης)” a statement parallel to the last line in frag. 3, “he [i.e., Jesus] possessed no corruption (τ? φθε?ρεσθαι α?τ?ς ο?κ ε?χεν).” In short, through an interchange made possible by their spiritual that Clement’s comment on the passage (with reference to τ? δι?φορον γ?νος, Strom.

4.13.89.4) helps make this point clear.

36. The word α?ων?ας, as Thomassen notes, may even allude to aeons (Spiritual Seed, 461). The Tri. Tract. informs us that the Church “existed from the beginning” (57.34–35). Cf. Clement’s declaration: “But we are before the foundation of the world, we because we had to come about in him were born beforehand in God. We are the rational creations of God’s Reason, through whom we exist from the beginning, for ‘in the beginning was Reason (John 1.1)’” (Prot. 1.6.4, author’s translation).

37. Thomassen further speculates on the baptismal and angelological background of frag. 4, but admits that his observations are tentative and “not evident” in the fragment itself (Spiritual Seed, 462–63).

38. On Valentinian ethics as a battle against the passions, see esp. Dunderberg,

Beyond Gnosticism, esp. 95–118.

union with Christ, the spirituals are able to perform the saving work of Christ himself.³⁹

INTERCHANGE IN IRENAEUS⁴⁰

In his Against Heresies (Haer.), Irenaeus (d. ca. 202 c.e. ) reserves many harsh words for his (Western, or Ptolemean) Valentinian opponents who do not accept the coming of the Savior in flesh. For the purposes of this study we can bypass these polemics since the bishop and Eastern Valentinians agree on an all-important point: the Savior’s fleshly advent. How they interpret the effects of the incarnation, however, significantly differs. Irenaeus claims that in order for God to redeem humanity from sin and death, it was necessary (oportebat) for him to become (fieri) what humanity is (quod erat ille) “so that sin should be destroyed by a human, and humanity go forth from death” (Haer. 3.18.7). It is interesting that in this phrasing, which recalls 2 Cor 5.21, Irenaeus teaches that Christ does

39. A similar interpretation of frag. 4 is offered by J. Woodrow McCree (“Valentinus and the Theology of Grace,” Union Seminary Quarterly Review 55 [2001]: 127–59). But McCree claims that the “unique role of Christ as both high priest and sacrifice . . . has been obliterated by a theology in which all the members of the church descend to annul death by devouring it” (153). His interpretation recalls that of W. Foerster, who argued that the spiritual person does the work of Christ and thus Christ is no longer the redeemer: “Bei Valentin aber befreien sich die Pneumatiker selbst, offenbar wie der ‘Heiland’ sich befreit, dieser ist dann der erste Erlöste, nicht der Erlöser” (Von Valentin zu Herakleon: Untersuchungen über die Quellen und die Entwicklung der valentinisanischen Gnosis [Giessen: Alfred Töpelmann, 1928], 94, emphasis original). Interchange with Christ, however, does not demand a replacement of Christ as redeemer. The spirituals are redeemed with him, and as his body also serve as the instrument of redemption.

40. The topic of interchange in Irenaeus, though frequently noted, is not often studied independently. Exceptions include Friedrich Normann, Teilhabe ein Schlüsselwort der Vätertheologie (Münster: Aschendorff, 1978), 90–107; and Eric Osborne, Irenaeus of Lyon (Cambridge, UK: Cambridge University Press, 2001), 257–62. More often discussed is “recapitulation” (?νακεφαλα?ωσις), a term adopted from ancient rhetoric, but already adapted to soteriology in Eph 1.10 denoting Christ’s redemptive reiteration of human nature and the paradigmatic moments of Adamic (and by extension, human) history. On this theme see most recently Bernard Sesboüé, Tout récapituler dans le Christ: Christologie et sotériologie d’Irénée de Lyon (Paris: Desclée, 2000), 125–63; Anders-Christian Jacobsen, “The Importance of Genesis 1–3 in the Theology of Irenaeus,” Zeitschrift für antikes Christentum 8 (2005): 299–316; Thomas Holsinger-Friesen, Irenaeus and Genesis: A Study of Competition in Early Christian Hermeneutics (Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns, 2009), 1–33. Recapitulation manifests the thoroughness of the exchange between Christ and redeemed humanity. Point by point, Christ repeats and sums up what it means to be human, making possible the deification of human beings.

not become sin, but human softening the stark language of interchange, but maintaining its structure. He believes that true humanity is flesh, and therefore for his work to be true, God must become flesh. In consequence, the bishop declares that those who

dishonor the enfleshment (σ?ρκωσιν) of the pure birth of the Logos of God deprive humanity of the ascent to God . . . For to this end the Logos of God became human (?νθρωπος), and the son of God (? ?ι?ς το? θεο?) became a son of humanity (υ??ς ?νθρ?που), that humanity (? ?νθρωπος), having been mixed together (commixtus) with the Logos⁴¹ and having received adoption, might become a son of God. For we could not in any other way receive incorruption and immortality unless we had been united (aduniti fuissemus) to incorruption and immortality. But how could we be united (adunari)

to incorruption and immortality unless beforehand incorruption and immortality had been made what we also are, so that what was corruptible might be swallowed by incorruption and what was mortal by immortality, so that we could receive the adoption of sons? (Haer. 3.19.1)⁴²

This paragraph is a good summary of what in a previous generation was called the “physical theory of redemption.”⁴³ According to this theory, redemption consists of the divinization (or immortalization) of the flesh. The only way for immortalization to occur is for a mediating divinity in this case, the Logos to become flesh and change the properties of flesh from the inside out. Before the incarnation, flesh and incorruption could not combine. When the Logos became sarx, this unfathomable amalgamation occurred. The Logos transferred his divine properties immortality and incorruption to human flesh.

From this point of view, one can think of the incarnation as a kind of genetic modification. Through the mixing of flesh and Logos in Jesus, a property was added to humanity that had been missing: immortality. Like a strand of DNA, as it were, incorruption was sewn into the human genome. Unlike modern gene therapies, however, the incorporation of

41. The Greek fragment transmitted by Theodoret reads χωρ?σας: “having contained the Logos” (SC 211:374). On the preference for the Latin, see Rousseau’s note in SC 210:343.

42. SC 211:373–75.

43. In the past, this theory tempted scholars to accept the erroneous idea that ethics and faith were unimportant for Irenaeus or not essential to salvation. Important correctives to this idea are offered by Emil Brunner, The Mediator: A Study of the Central Doctrine of the Christian Faith (Philadelphia, PA: Westminster, 1947), 249– 64; Gustaf Wingren, Man and the Incarnation: A Study in the Biblical Theology of Irenaeus, trans. Ross Mackenzie (Philadelphia, PA: Muhlenberg Press, 1959), 79–90; 122–32; Trevor Hart, “Irenaeus, Recapitulation and Physical Redemption,” in Christ in Our Place: The Humanity of God in Christ for the Reconciliation of the World, eds. Trevor Hart and Daniel Thimell (Milton Keynes: Paternoster, 1989), 152–81.

incorruption did not repair a single damaged gene sequence but reversed the process of entropy throughout the entire genome.

The laboratory of the incarnation was the Virgin’s womb. There divinity was interwoven with humanity, producing a new birth: a fully complete and perfect human being. To describe the Logos mixing with flesh, Irenaeus uses the concrete, eucharistic image of heavenly wine mixing with earthly water (5.1.3).⁴⁴ As if a divinely productive liquid, Spirit became the means of Jesus’ conception (Epid. 51). It is the Spirit who germinates the flesh of Christ, to use another Irenaean image, since Jesus’ flesh is the flower on the virginal branch of Jesse “budded forth” from the Spirit (Epid. 59). In short, the incarnated Christ displays a new kind of birth or way of coming to be (novam . . . generationem) “that as by the former birth (per priorem generationem) we inherited death, so by this new birth (per generationem hanc) we might inherit life” (Haer. 5.1.3).⁴⁵

The transfer of immortality worked for one human being (Jesus)

indeed, the model human in whose image other human bodies had been made (Epid. 32; Haer. 5.16.2).⁴⁶ Now the divinized flesh “grown in the lab” of the virginal matrix can be grown in other human beings.⁴⁷ Like Christ, humans can cultivate their own deified flesh by gradually mixing with a third divine entity the Spirit (since the Spirit gives life). In short, the deification of one human being makes possible the deification of humanity; the immortalization of one human’s flesh makes possible the immortalization of all flesh.⁴⁸ Faith, the sacraments and obedience are all necessary conditions to complete this transformation,⁴⁹ but at the base of renewed human life is God’s work of interchange: if the Logos had not exchanged his non-embodied existence for a bodily one, the transfer of his deathlessness to human flesh could not have occurred.⁵⁰

43. Haer. 5.1.3 is directed specifically against the Ebionites. For wine as divinity and water as humanity, see Rousseau, SC 152:208–9.

45. SC 153:26.

46. Denis Minns, Irenaeus: An Introduction (London: T&T Clark, 2010), 59.

47. For the incarnation in Irenaeus, see esp. Ysabel de Andia, Homo Vivens: Incorruptibilité et divinisation de l’homme selon Irénée de Lyon (Paris: Études Augustiniennes, 1986), 186–89; Minns, Irenaeus: An Introduction, 86–91; Anthony Briggman, Irenaeus of Lyons and the Theology of the Holy Spirit (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2012), 74–75, 182–93.

48. De Andia, Homo Vivens, 149–201.

49. For the sacraments as transmitters of divine life, see esp. de Andia, Homo Vivens, 205–55. On faith and obedience, note Osborn, Irenaeus 232–37, 258.

50. The incarnation is the central moment of interchange, but the incarnation is played out in the whole life of Christ, which has redemptive significance (de Andia, Homo Vivens, 186–200).

Irenaeus expands on the new birth of believers in Haer. 4.33.4:

How can humanity (?νθρωπος) cross over to God (χωρ?σει ε?ς θε?ν), if God does not do so for humanity? And how can humans abandon the birth of death (mortis generationem), if they are not regenerated into a new birth (novam generationem) wondrously and unexpectedly by God, given as the sign of salvation from the Virgin, by faith? Or how are they to receive the adoption from God while remaining in this birth (in hac genesi) which is human in this world? . . . And because of this at the end, the son of God made human displays the likeness [of God], taking up the ancient formation [the flesh] into himself.⁵¹

Irenaeus speaks of immortalization with the language of adoption (υ?οθεσ?α). Commenting on Luke 1.32 (“He [Christ] will be called son of the Most High”), the bishop of Lyon says that through the Law and Prophets, Christ promised to “become the son of humanity (filius hominis), in order that humanity (homo) in turn might become a son of God (filius dei)” (Haer. 3.10.2).⁵² The Pauline overtones of this passage ring clear. The Logos assumes human nature so that humans can attain a divine (i.e., immortal) status. As Psalm 82.6 (LXX 81.6) shows, redeemed “sons of God” can along with the Father and the Son be referred to as “gods” (Haer. 3.6.1; 4.1.1; 4.38.4).⁵³

Commenting specifically on Gal 4.4–5 (“God sent his son, born of woman . . . so that we might receive the adoption”), Irenaeus states: “The son of God was made the son of humanity, that through him we might receive adoption, since humanity [or a human, homine] bears and contains and embraces the son of God” (Haer. 3.16.3).⁵⁴ In context, homine likely refers to saved humanity (the “we” who receive adoption) rather than the human Jesus mixed with the Logos.⁵⁵ Nevertheless, in this compressed formulation we rightly understand an interchange scenario in which the

divine Christ embraces humanity so that human beings can through him assume his sonship, which includes the divine qualities of incorruptibility and eternal life.⁵⁶

The Logos who arrived in human likeness allowed humans to receive

51. SC 100.2:811–12.

52. SC 211:116.

53. See further Carl Mosser, “The Earliest Patristic Interpretations of Psalm 82, Jewish Antecedents, and the Origin of Christian Deification,” JTS 56 (2005): 30–74.

54. SC 211:298.

55. Rousseau, SC 210:316. Cf. Albert Houssiau, La Christologie de saint Irénée

(Louvain: Universitaires de Louvain, 1955), 201–2.

55. According to de Andia, the “filial adoption is nothing other than divinization” (Homo Vivens, 176), which means “participation in incorruptibility” (177).

again his likeness in which they were originally made. “He was the Logos of God who dwelled in humanity (in homine), and was made the son of humanity (filius hominis) in order that he might accustom humankind (hominem) to fully receive God (percipere deum), and accustom God to dwell in humanity (habitare in homine)” (3.20.2).⁵⁷ The full reception of God spoken of here is most likely the indwelling of the Spirit who enlivens and renews human nature. The Spirit for Irenaeus as for Paul is the reality of God that dwells in humanity, gradually recreating it from within.⁵⁸ The likeness of God restored is the divine status summed up in the qualities of immortality and incorruptibility. By receiving these qualities, humans are made what (the human and divine) Christ is (?περ ?στ?ν α?τ?ς, Haer. 5, pref.). Nevertheless, as Steenberg notes, the image of God is also “the principle ontological reality of human existence.”⁵⁹ Just as Christ does not lose his divine status when he becomes human, humans do not lose their human nature when they become assimilated to God. Humanity and divinity are not fused but tempered. Since Christ is himself the perfect image of God, humans who reflect Christ assume “the human-divine life

of the eternal Son-made-man.”⁶⁰

In book 5 of Against Heresies, Irenaeus declares: “For we did not beforehand give a present to him [God], nor did he desire something from us as though in need. Rather, we are in need of communion with him. For this reason he kindly poured out himself (effudit semetipsum) so as to col lect us into the bosom of the Father (ut nos colligeret in sinum patris)” (5.2.1).⁶¹ In this interchange scenario, the Savior is diffused and the saved ingathered. The notion of Christ being poured out may echo a line from the famous “hymn” in Philippians 2.7 (?αυτ?ν ?κ?νωσεν/semet ipsum exinanivit [Vulg.]), and certainly recalls images of Christ’s blood poured out symbolically in the Eucharist (Mark 14.24, par.) and literally on the cross (John 19.34). The language of being gathered into the Father’s bosom is bold, since in John’s gospel only the unique son is said to be in the bosom of the Father (1.18, ε?ς τ?ν κ?λπον το? πατρ?ς/in sinu patris [Vulg.]). Irenaeus extends this privilege to the redeemed.

Perhaps the most beautiful expression of Irenaean exchange comes in

57. SC 211:392.

58. See further Briggman, Theology of the Holy Spirit, 86–89, 166–73; Osborn,

Irenaeus, 225–27.

58. Steenberg, Of God and Man: Theology as Anthropology from Irenaeus to Athanasius (London: T&T Clark, 2009), 33, emphasis his.

59. Steenberg, Of God and Man, 34. See further 34–38.

61. SC 153:30.

the final paragraph of Against Heresies book 5 where the bishop sums up his view of the whole program of salvation. Through the wisdom of God, he says, the human formation (plasma) is conformed and made “coembodied” (concorporatum) with the Son, “so that his [God’s] offspring the firstborn Logos might descend (descendat) to what is made (that is, to the formation), and be laid hold of (capiatur) by it and that in turn what is made might lay hold of (capiat) the Logos and ascend (ascendat) to him, surpassing angels, becoming according to the image and likeness of God” (5.36.3).⁶²

The order of the verbs descendat . . . capiatur . . . capiat . . . ascendat indicates a chiastic pattern of interchange. The Logos who is the creator is also the principle of salvation. He allows himself to be seized, acquired even contained (capiatur) by the formation (the human body), so that the creature can seize, acquire and contain (all possible senses of capio) the divine Logos.⁶³ This act results in a postmortem ascent to the celestial world, and a return to divine similitude. In the eschaton, believers are not just “equal to the angels” (?σ?γγελοι) as in Luke 22.36, but better. In a surprising act of interchange, they are made sons of God and gods themselves.

COMPARISON

What can we learn about ancient Christian theological culture by comparing Irenaean and Eastern Valentinian forms of interchange? There is, I believe, a fundamental similarity in both models: a firm acceptance of the incarnation results in a radical transformation for human beings. In two Valentinian texts (Tri. Tract. and Interp. Know.), Christ accepts human smallness, and even becomes an infant (oulilou) (115.10). For Irenaeus, likewise, the perfect son of God “passed through the state of infancy (συνενηπ?ασεν) . . . in order that humanity could receive him” (Haer. 4.38.2).⁶⁴ For Irenaeus, the depth of Christ’s incarnation is expressed in his crucifixion (Haer. 2.20.3). One could argue the same for Eastern Valentinians based on Interp. Know. 5.30–35: “He was crucified and died not [his] own [death, for] he did not deserve to die, [but for the sake of] the Church of mortals. He [was] nailed, so that [they] might hold on to him in the Church.”⁶⁵ Christ came, we learn, to forgive sins, bestow grace, and to

62. SC 153:464–66.

63. On the creature “seizing” the Logos, see Houssiau, Christologie, 199–203. 64. SC 100.2:950.

65. Interp. Know. 5.30–35 (ed. Hedrick, 42; trans. Thomassen, The Nag Hammadi Scriptures, 655).

glorify human beings (Interp. Know 12.22–29). All these soteriological benefits are mentioned by Irenaeus (Haer. 3.20.2; 4.27.2; 4.37.7; 5.2.1; 5.17.3), and all are made possible by the incarnation.

The Nature of the Exchange

Such similarities of detail should not, however, occlude important differences between Irenaean and Eastern Valentinian forms of interchange. Perhaps the most obvious concerns the nature of the exchange itself. In the Valentinian texts we examined, the Savior and the saved appear to exchange natures. The Savior who sums up the aeons becomes flesh so that humans can shed their flesh and become spiritual and aeonic. For Irenaeus, however, the exchange on the human side seems less symmetrical. Although it is easy to see how the Logos becomes fully human taking on the fullness of the fleshly condition of human beings it is by no means certain that humans assume the full divine, spiritual nature of the Logos. The Logos assumes the fullness of human nature, but humans do not assume the fullness of his divine nature. Put another way, the exchange in Irenaeus is limited to qualities. As Norman Russell observes: “The ‘exchange’ [for Irenaeus] signifies precisely that: an exchange of properties, not the establishment of an identity of essence. He who was Son of God by nature became a man in order to make us sons by adoption (AH 3.19.1). Our sonship by adoption, which is effected by baptism, endows us with one supreme property in particular: the Son’s immortality and incorruption.”⁶⁶

The distinction between nature and properties, however, raises the question of how many properties one must exchange before one exchanges one’s nature. In the ancient world, the nature of a god was typically defined by two qualities: immortality and power.⁶⁷ If a human possessed these properties, he or she could share in the nature (and name) of θε?ς. Irenaeus attributes both divine power (Haer. 5.3.2–3; 4.38.3) and immor-

tality (3.19.1; 4.38.3) to human beings and calls them θεο? (Haer. 3.6.1;

65. Russell, The Doctrine of Deification in the Greek Patristic Tradition (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2004), 108. Cf. Eric Osborn, The Beginning of Christian Philosophy (Cambridge, UK: Cambridge University Press, 1981), 115; Maurice Wiles, The Making of Christian Doctrine (Cambridge, UK: Cambridge University Press, 1967), 107–8.

66. Albert Henrichs, “What is a Greek God?” in The Gods of Ancient Greece: Identities and Transformations, eds. Jan N. Bremmer and Andrew Erskine (Edinburgh: Edinburgh University Press, 2010), 19–39; M. David Litwa, We Are Being Transformed: Deification in Paul’s Soteriology, Beihefte zum Zeitschrift für neutestamentliche Wissenschaft 187 (Berlin: Walter de Gruyter, 2012), 37–57; D. S. Levene, “Defining the Divine in Rome,” TAPA 142 (2012): 41–82.

4.1.1; 4.38.4). Nevertheless, his deeply philosophical view of God adds additional incommunicable properties to the Godhead, especially eternality or uncreatedness. Failure to share this property in particular excludes human beings from the fullness of Godhead.⁶⁸

It follows, then, that Irenaean exchange does not permit a shared nature of the Son and the adopted sons. To be sure, Denis Minns is right to emphasize the radical nature of Irenaean adoption. Υ?οθεσ?α is not a secondary sonship; it means “establishment as a [true] son.”⁶⁹ Nevertheless, even though Irenaeus agrees with Paul that adopted children gain some of the same rights and privileges as the natural son, his understanding of adoption does not entail that the saved come anywhere near to attaining the full divine status of Christ. “In the filial adoption,” Ysabel de Andia remarks, “there is no consubstantiality of nature, as between the Father and the Son, but participation in the divine nature and in all its qualities in particular in that which sums up, for Irenaeus, what is proper to God and not to humanity: incorruptibility.”⁷⁰

Although limited to properties, Irenaean exchange nevertheless remains realistic. The Logos took on flesh “to make us what he is (?περ ?στ?ν α?τ?ς)” (Haer 5, pref.). What he “is” although it does not express the fullness of the divine nature is still to be understood in an actual and concrete (not merely metaphorical) sense. Human beings share God’s reality by sharing his immortality. The division between God and humanity (or creator and creature) is by no means overcome, but human immortality makes union with God a real possibility.⁷¹

Above I suggested that Irenaean exchange seems more asymmetrical than its Eastern Valentinian counterpart. But if we demand strict logic, one could question whether exchange for Irenaeus’s counterparts (East-

65. Cf. Litwa, We Are Being Transformed, 262–65. De Andia expounds five communicable divine attributes in Irenaeus (power, life, eternity, light, and glory), although God’s eternity and light have both communicable and incommunicable aspects (Homo Vivens, 29–31). Incommunicability is rooted in the Platonic distinction between Being and becoming. God is true Being; humans can only grow and become. “Only God is; everything else is in a state of coming to be or passing away. Creatures cannot be divine, but, if it is their nature to become, then it is possible for them to become incrementally and infinitely more and more like God, and that is what the divine economy is about” (Denis Minns, “Truth and Tradition: Irenaeus,” in The Cambridge History of Christianity, vol. 1: Origins to Constantine, eds. Margaret M. Mitchell and Frances

M. Young [Cambridge, UK: Cambridge University Press, 2006], 261–73, at 271).

65. Minns, Irenaeus: An Introduction, 128–29.

66. De Andia, Homo Vivens, 157–58.

67. On the close union between humans and God in Irenaeus, see the reflections of Wingren, Man and the Incarnation, 201–13.

ern Valentinians) ever actually occurs. Eric Osborn, for instance, doubts whether presupposing an initial consubstantiality between Savior and saved allows for a true exchange.⁷² Osborn’s observation raises an important question: Is there a true exchange if the saved merely become what they already are? In the Treatise on Resurrection, for instance, the redeemed are already “the All” (pthrÏ) (47.26–27), and only receive again (Nkesap) what they were at first (peei etvrπ Nvoop) (49.35–36).⁷³ Christ assumes flesh, but the redeemed do not seem to obtain anything except the ability to mount back to the Pleroma.⁷⁴ In fact, they lose something a loss viewed as gain (47.19–20) namely their mortal flesh.⁷⁵ In sum, Christ takes on flesh (destroying it from within) so that the elect can lose it. In Eastern Valentinianism in general, as Thomassen puts it, the Savior “brings them what they already are and have, their spiritual nature.”⁷⁶ But if the saved already have a spiritual nature, then what is or needs to be exchanged?

The answer depends on how one views the redemption of the spiritual seed. In a recent article, Thomassen discusses three ways that Valentinians conceived of salvation: (1) as the manifestation of the spiritual nature, (2) as the maturation or pedagogical formation of the spiritual nature, and

(3) as the renovation of the spiritual nature from deficient to complete (with imagery of rebirth).⁷⁷ In terms of strict logic, only options (2) and

(3) involve a transformation, and only option (3), it would seem, involves an exchange of natures (deficient for complete).

65. Osborn, Beginning of Christian Philosophy, 115

66. For the preexistence of believers parallel to that of Christ, note Malcolm Lee Peel, The Epistle to Rheginos: A Valentinian Letter on the Resurrection: Introduction, Translation, Analysis and Exposition (London: SCM, 1969), 111–12.

67. Cf. Horatio E. Lona, Über die Auferstehung des Fleisches: Studien zur frühchristlichen Eschatologie, Beihefte zum Zeitschrift für neutestamentliche Wissenschaft 66 (Berlin: Walter de Gruyter, 1993), 228–29.

68. On the absence (?πουσ?α) of the flesh as gain, see Layton, “Vision and Revision: A Gnostic View of Resurrection” in Colloque international sur les textes de Nag Hammadi, ed. B. Barc (Québec: Presses de l’Université Laval, 1981), 190–217 (191–94). Layton rightly understands this passage as a diatribe with objections from an imaginary opponent. The author does not envision any spiritual transformation or preservation of the flesh. For other views, see Peel, “NHC I,4: The Treatise on the Resurrection,” in Nag Hammadi Codex I: Notes, 185; Lona, Auferstehung des Fleisches, 226–31.

69. Thomassen, Spiritual Seed, 52.

70. Thomassen, “Valentinian Ideas About Salvation as Transformation” in Metamorphoses: Resurrection, Body and Transformative Practices in Early Christianity, eds. Turid Karlsen Seim and Jorunn Økland (Berlin: Walter de Gruyter, 2009), 169–86 (174–75).

How should one understand the deficiency of the spiritual seed? In Excerpts from Theodotus 79, the spiritual seed is depicted as the offspring of a female (Sophia), who has already experienced the deficiency of passion. In this understanding (which accords with most versions of Valentinian cosmogony), the spiritual seed does not derive from the Pleroma (or “Fullness”) itself (Tri. Trac. 95.4–6), but from the youngest of the aeons (called “Logos” in Tri. Trac.), who produced it when she (or he) was shut outside of the Pleroma (Iren., Haer. 1.4.5; Exc. Thdot. 53.3). The production of the seed is initiated by the vision of the Savior’s angels (called the “brothers” of the Logos in Tri. Trac. 90.24). The Savior’s angels collectively represent (along with the Savior himself) the fullness of the aeonic world (Tri. Trac. 94.36–95.1). Together, then, the spiritual seed is only the image of the aeonic world, not aeonic in itself (Tri. Trac. 93.25–26). The seed is the “female” (i.e., deficient) counterpart to the “male” (i.e., complete) angelic alter-ego. The spiritual seed (now incarnated and divided out into the bodies of the elect) immediately clings to the complete, “male” spiritual nature of the Savior when he comes (Tri. Trac. 118.28–35). By adhering to the Savior, however, the “female” seed receives in addition the complete spiritual nature of the Savior, called “that which is in him” (Tri. Trac. 125.11). The reception of this new spiritual condition ensures the reality of exchange.

Thomassen rightly stresses, however, that there remains a dialectic between salvation as the manifestation of one’s true nature and its transformation.⁷⁸ Both perspectives on salvation need to be maintained simultaneously, regardless of their internal tensions. Logically, it is true that to the degree the elect are simply manifested as what they truly are, the reality of exchange becomes questionable. Nevertheless, Valentinian soteriological thinking does not follow a pattern of strict logic, but mixes imagery (such as rebirth, formation, the manifestation of one’s inner core) in what might

be called a more poetic mode of reflection. Arguably what is exchanged in all three conceptualizations (manifestation, maturation, transformation) is unity and stable identity for diversity and incoherence.⁷⁹

The Purpose of Exchange

If the nature of the exchange differs in Valentinian and Irenaean thought, what about its purpose? It is evident that the final destiny of Valentinian Christians is very different from that portrayed in Irenaeus’s eschatology. In Against Heresies 5.9–14, Irenaeus “wrestles” (to use his image)

65. Thomassen, “Valentinian Ideas About Salvation as Transformation,” 181.

66. Cf. Exc. Thdot. 36.

to establish the idea that the “flesh and blood” that does not inherit the kingdom (1 Cor 15.50) is to be understood metonymically (“flesh and blood” means fleshly people who in turn do fleshly things).⁸⁰ Throughout, Irenaeus passionately defends God’s ability to raise flesh (naturally he is the creator), but does not seem to grasp the underlying theological question posed by the Valentinians: is it even appropriate or consistent with God’s spiritual and incorporeal nature to make eternal flesh, if his object (as Irenaeus seems to believe) is to make humans as much as possible more like him?⁸¹ The question, in other words, is not “Can flesh live forever?” but “Is sarkic existence the best mode of life for those who will live eternally?” This inquiry immediately leads to Irenaean and Valentinian philosophical assumptions about what makes a human human. If flesh is necessary to human existence (as Irenaeus believes), then the flesh must be raised and glorified. If it is not, then the flesh with all its limitations (whether glorified or not) can (and should) be transcended.

For Irenaeus, Christ came in the flesh to immortalize it. For Eastern Valentinians, Christ was enfleshed to redeem people from the flesh so that they can fully experience the richness of immortality without spatiotemporal limitations.⁸² From this point of view, Valentinian interchange again appears to be a more radical form of exchange: the Savior exchanges his incorporeal existence for a fleshly existence to ensure that the redeemed exchange their fleshly existence for an incorporeal one. For Irenaeus, by contrast, although the incorporeal Logos becomes flesh (Haer. 5.14.2), humans in the eschaton never lose their corporeal condition. Although there is a transformation, there is no exchange on the human side. The symmetry is broken.

Yet the symmetry is broken only if we view exchange as necessarily involving gain and loss (i.e., exchange in the narrow sense of “trade”). In fact, Irenaeus understands exchange primarily in the sense of addition,

65. See further Holsinger-Friesen, Irenaeus and Genesis, 165–91; Outi Lehtipuu, “‘Flesh and Blood Cannot Inherit the Kingdom of God’: The Transformation of the Flesh in the Early Christian Debates Concerning Resurrection,” in Metamorphoses, 147–68.

66. For Irenaeus, the nature of God is spirit, and spirit, as Briggman defines it, is “immaterial divine stuff” (Theology of the Holy Spirit, 41). Interestingly, Irenaeus indicates that a human ascent to heaven (such as we see in 2 Cor 12.2–4) can occur “without a body” (sine corpore) (Haer. 2.30.7).

67. Note Paul’s possible genitive of separation in Rom 8.23: ?πολ?τρωσιν το? σ?ματος as “redemption from the body.” For the limitations of the flesh in Irenaeus, note Markus Wasserfuhr, In Geduld Reifen: Ein interdisziplinärer Beitrag zur Bestimmung der Aktualität der Anthropologie des Irenäus von Lyon (Münster: Lit Verlag, 2005), 285–91.

not subtraction. The Savior does not assume flesh to the detriment of his divine nature. Likewise, humans who receive divine qualities do not for that reason lose their humanity. They assume a divine quality (immortality), and can for that reason be called “gods” (e.g., Haer. 3.6.1). Nevertheless, they remain eternally embodied.

One rightly asks, however: what really is the difference between having an immortal, incorruptible body advancing beyond angels (Haer. 5.36.3), mixed with divine Spirit (4.18.5; 4.31.2; 5.1.3), even assuming the “quality of Spirit” (qualitatem . . . spiritus, 5.9.3) and living as an incorporeal spirit? For Irenaeus being embodied no matter how spiritually that embodiment is conceived is the sign of being created (for only God is spirit in an unqualified sense), and createdness (to Irenaeus) is essential to human nature. The bishop of Lyon will not accept the idea that humanity (or an aspect of it) is preexistent and uncreated. For Eastern Valentinians, the spiritual seed in human beings is ultimately generated from the high God, after a series of successive births inside the Pleroma, and then by a birth from Sophia outside the Pleroma. The origin of human nature, in other words, is part of the Valentinian theogony a story told before the creation of this world. For Irenaeus, by contrast, the

whole human even the highest part was created (by God’s will [Haer.

2.1.5] and τ?χνη [5.3.2]), not generated from his substance.⁸³ His theory of creatio ex nihilo excludes the notion of a preexistent divine spark, the “true human” within.

The Results of Exchange

Some scholars might argue that for Valentinians (often fused with “Gnostics” in general) to strip off the flesh and to enter the Pleroma is to forgo humanity.⁸⁴ Nonetheless, this reading assumes the necessary identity of fleshly existence and humanness a view that Irenaeus himself labored hard to establish⁸⁵ and which accords well with the sensibilities of our own

65. Interestingly, in Haer. 4.20.1, God takes (accipiens) from himself the substance (substantiam) of the creatures. This statement does not imply that the substance of God and creatures is the same. Read in context, Irenaeus means that God creates matter from himself (i.e., by his own power out of nothing), and then creates the human being. God uses no preexistent matter to form the human being, nor is there a preexistent divine spark.

66. Bart Benats, for instance, recently contrasts the Valentinian “annihilation of human reality” (annullamento della realtà umana) with Irenaean realization of human fullness (Il ritmo trinitario della verità: La theologia di Ireneo di Lione [Roma: Città Nuova, 2006], 469).

67. Wasserfuhr, In Geduld Reifen, 258–59.

age (we embrace embodied life!). Nevertheless, this assumption already allows modern predilections and (what is now) orthodox Christian doctrine to control our scholarly discourse. By making it, scholars compromise their ability to read Valentinians with imaginative sympathy. To be fair, we need to take into account what, for a Valentinian, humanity is. Flesh is not part of humanity, but a source of corruption and shame (Gos. Phil. 56.20–34).⁸⁶ The core of humanity is the spiritual seed, which can be called the invisible human within (Tri. Tract. 114.38–115.1). This seed was made in the image of the aeonic world (summed up by the Savior’s angels). The aeonic world expresses the reality of true humanness.⁸⁷ To become aeonic, therefore, is to become truly human. In Eastern Valentinian texts, consequently, the exchange of the physical body for a bodiless, divine existence is not a simple exchange of a human for a divine nature. For Valentinians, humans become divine and thus truly human. For both Irenaeus and the Valentinians, in fact, human nature is not lost in the exchange, but enhanced. The way it is enhanced involves transcending the current conditions of human life, but not humanity as such.⁸⁸

To emphasize the difference between Irenaeus and his theological oppo-

nents, some scholars highlight the consubstantiality between the Savior and the saved in Valentinian (or “Gnostic”) thought a view, they affirm, Irenaeus opposed.⁸⁹ It is nonetheless true that for Irenaeus a certain kind

65. Eschatological freedom from the flesh does not necessarily mean that the body is wholly devalued. See further Michael Williams, Rethinking “Gnosticism”: An Argument for Dismantling a Dubious Category (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1996), 117–38.

66. In the language of one Valentinian sect: “This is the great and hidden mystery, that the power above all and containing all is called ‘Human’ (Anthropos)” (Haer. 1.12.4). Cf. Adam made in the name of the preexistent Anthropos (Völker frag. 1 = Layton frag C), and the spirituals who “existed as an invisible human” (Tri. Trac. 114.38–115.1). For the “God-Human,” see further Hans Martin Schenke, Der Gott “Mensch” in der Gnosis (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1962).

67. The goal of Irenaean soteriology as the realization of full humanness has been recently emphasized by John Behr, Asceticism and Anthropology in Irenaeus and Clement (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2000), 86, 116.

68. Hans Jonas spoke of the human spirit in Gnosticism as “a portion of the divine substance” (The Gnostic Religion: The Message of the Alien God and the Beginnings of Christianity [Boston, MA: Beacon Press, 1958], 44). The consubstantiality of Savior and saved has since become something of a stereotype for “Gnostic” thought, heavily used as a foil by which to contrast the patristic doctrine of the difference between God and humanity (de Andia, Homo Vivens, 157–58; cf. 169; Russell, Doctrine of Deification, 107–8; Julie Canlis, “Being Made Human: The Significance of Creation for Irenaeus’ Doctrine of Participation,” Scottish Journal of Theology 58 [2005]: 434–54 [439]).

of consubstantiality between the Savior and the saved is absolutely essential for salvation. This consubstantiality does not consist of a divine element (or seed), but the molded element (or flesh).⁹⁰ The Savior assumes the substance of flesh (substantia carnis, Haer. 5.10.2; cf. 5.6.1) to make the exchange of immortality and thus divinity possible.

Even if the Savior and the saved do not share a divine substance in Irenaeus, they do share divine Spirit. It is interesting in this regard to note that the Spirit “blending” with the flesh of Christ (Epid. 41) corresponds to and indeed makes possible the “mixing and blending” of the Spirit with God’s handiwork, human beings (Epid. 97; cf. Haer. 3.16.6). J. A. Robinson observed long ago that for Irenaeus human restoration “takes place after the pattern of the Incarnation the intermingling of human flesh with the Spirit of God.”⁹¹ More recently, Anthony Briggman observes that “Irenaeus envisions a similar process for both [incarnation and restoration] because both the incarnation of the Word and the reception of the Spirit by believers involve the bringing together of the same constituent ‘elements’: the union of the divine with the human.”⁹² The union of humanity and divinity in Irenaeus⁹³ (made possible, as always, through the work of Christ and by the Spirit) is a notion that far from separating Irenaean and Valentinian thought indicates a common Christian concern.⁹⁴ Some might object that the mode of divine-human union in Irenaean thought is in sharp contrast with Eastern Valentinian soteriology. Irenaeus proposes a participation in God’s qualities (immortality, incorruption, etc.), whereas Valentinians assume the possession of a divine component built into human nature (the “spiritual seed”). It would be wrong, however, to deny that Valentinians had a notion of participation.⁹⁵ There is a divine element in the saved (though unfulfilled), and this divine element recognizes its identity with the (complete) divinity of the Savior. The divine element of human beings then becomes part of the Savior’s divine body. If partici-

65. A point rightly noted by de Andia, Homo Vivens, 150–53.

66. J. A. Robinson, ed. and trans., St. Irenaeus: The Demonstration of the Apostolic Preaching (London: SPCK, 1920), 64–65.

67. Briggman, “Spirit-Christology in Irenaeus: A Closer Look,” VC 66 (2012):

1–19 (12). According to Briggman, Irenaeus clearly asserts “that the redemption of human beings involves the commixture and union of the soul and body of the believer with the Holy Spirit” (12). In parallel fashion, “the incarnation of the Word was the union of spirit and humanity” (15–16).

93. See, e.g., Haer. 4.20.4; 4.32.2; 5.1.1; 5.6.1.

94. Briggman thoroughly discusses passages featuring the commingling of Spirit and human flesh (esp. Haer. 4.20.4; 4.32.2; 5.6.1; Epid. 97) (“Spirit-Christology in Irenaeus,” 1–12).

95. Pace de Andia, Homo Vivens, 169.

pation means (quite literally) “to take part” in a person or reality (such as the body of the Savior), then evidently Valentinians preserved a robust notion of participation. The saved become part of the spiritual flesh (or body) of the Savior, and eventually participate in his purer spiritual reality.⁹⁶ In Eastern Valentinian thought, the spiritual seed is integrated into the self of believers and is in fact their true self. Although Irenaeus is less determinate on the relation between the redeemed and the indwelling Spirit, he does at one point suggest that the divine Spirit becomes part of the “constitution” of the saved. The perfect or redeemed human, he says, is “constituted” (constat) by three things: flesh, soul, and Spirit (5.9.1; cf. 1 Thess 5.23).⁹⁷ The Spirit is the Spirit of God who indwells the believer (Epid. 5, 42). Believers are said to “bear the Spirit of God” (Epid. 7), and to hold him within as a firm possession (κατασχε?ν) (Haer. 4.38.1). It is the “mixture” (commixtio) and “union” (unitio) of body, soul, and Spirit that makes up the “complete human” (perfectum hominem) (Haer. 5.6.1). Although some might argue that spiritus in Haer. 5.6.1 designates the human spirit, in this passage quite significantly Irenaeus does not differentiate between the human spirit and the divine Spirit. The context indicates that the Spirit who partially constitutes the perfect human self is the divine Spirit who “saves and forms” the flesh.⁹⁸ “Thus at the end of time,” says the bishop, “the Logos of the Father and the Spirit of God, unified (adunitus) with the old substance of the formation of Adam makes humanity (hominem) alive and complete (perfectum), able to lay hold of [or contain] (capientem) the perfect Father” (Haer. 5.1.3).⁹⁹ For both

94. According to Origen, “Everyone who shares in anything is undoubtedly of one substance and one nature with him who shares in the same thing (sine dubio unius substantiae est uniusque naturae)” (Princ. 4.9). C. M. Proudfoot notes that biblical (Pauline) participation must be understood as taking part in Christ’s body (“Imitation or Realistic Participation: A Study of Paul’s Concept of ‘Suffering with Christ,’” Interpretation 17 [1963)]: 140–60). For participation and interchange, see Robert Tannehill, “Participation in Christ” in The Shape of the Gospel: New Testament Essays (Eugene, OR: Cascade Books, 2007), 223–37.

95. On Irenaeus’s anthropology, see Wingren, Man and the Incarnation, 153–59; Henri de Lubac “Anthropologie tripartite” in Théologie dans l’histoire I. La lumière du Christ (Paris: Desclée, 1990), 128–34; Adelin Rousseau “Anthropologie bipartite ou tripartite?” Appendix I in Irénée de Lyon: Démonstration de la prédication apostolique (Paris: Cerf, 1995), 357–64.

96. According to Osborn, “One cannot divide the divine spirit which shapes and saves man from the spirit which is a constituent of man” (Irenaeus, 225).

97. SC 153:26. Briggman rightly notes that this passage properly refers to the incarnation. Yet he quickly adds that “the perfection achieved by the humanity united to the Word in the Incarnation and anointed by the Spirit is both the basis for and the

Irenaeus and Eastern Valentinians, then, divine Spirit is woven into (saved) human nature. The difference would then consist of when one comes to possess this divine reality whether embryonically at the origin of one’s pre-incarnate existence (as in Valentinian thought) or as the first fruits of the Spirit when one is baptized (as in Irenaeus).¹⁰⁰

It is true, to be sure, that Valentinians held a more robust view of the saved identifying with the nature of the Savior and vice versa. Irenaeus would not have agreed that the Savior needs to be saved from his flesh or that when they become spiritually one with the Savior the salvandi can become agents of redemption themselves. Nevertheless, I see this difference as one of degree, not of kind. Irenaeus boldly proclaims the commixtio (4.20.4) and adunatio (5.1.1) of humans with Christ. Valentinians went further by presenting a substantial union with the Savior, both in the present and eschatologically. Their idea of union allowed on occasion for an identification between the Savior and the saved. This sense of identification is rooted in Pauline statements about Christians truly (or in philosophical terms, ontologically) being the body of Christ (1 Cor 12.27; cf.

goal of the perfection of the believer” (Theology of the Holy Spirit, 177). “The perfect human being,” he says, “is able to receive the perfect Father” (178).

94. Rousseau rightly insists that for Irenaeus the element of the Spirit is not part of the natural human (who consists solely of body and soul), but is a gift of grace (“Anthropologie bipartite ou tripartite?” 361–62). Even so, the Spirit is also gradually integrated into the self of the redeemed human (SC 152:233; cf. SC 293:339–40). Antonio Orbe puts it strongly: “spiritus Dei = pars (divina) hominis. The antithesis between spiritus Dei and spiritus hominis disappears (desaparece).” He goes on to propose the “identity” (identidad) of the spirit of God and the spirit of the redeemed human, and criticizes Rousseau for attempting to distinguish the divine and human spirit editorially (by capitalizing the former) (Teología de San Ireneo I: Commentario al Libro V del “Adversus haereses” [Madrid: Biblioteca de Autores Cristianos, 1985], 274, emphasis his). Cf. David Robert Ruppe, “God, Spirit, and Human Being: The Reconfiguration of PNEUMA’s Semantic Field in the Exchange Between Irenaeus of Lyons and the Valentinian Gnosis” (Ph.D. diss., Columbia University, 1988), 117. Sesboüé denies that the Spirit is “assimilated purely and simply to a third element of the human.” He nevertheless admits, “There is in the human some part which comes from God and not from himself and which nevertheless constitutes him in so far as he is a spiritual human being” (Tout récapituler, 91). Later Sesboüé distinguishes two aspects of the presence of the Spirit in the human being: the “transcendent Spirit” and the spirit (small “s”) that becomes a “part” of the human being (98 n.42). Behr argues that the Spirit is not “a part of a man, but is itself given to man in such a manner that it can be legitimately described as his Spirit” (Asceticism and Anthropology, 100). Earlier on the same page, however, he admits that “The soul and the Spirit together are a part of man” almost quoting Haer. 5.6.1 (anima autem et spiritus pars hominis esse possunt). Cf. Benats, Il ritmo, 469; Briggman, Theology of the Holy Spirit 175, 181.

6.15), “the same image” as Christ (2 Cor 3.18), and “one spirit” with him (1 Cor 6.17).¹⁰¹ Due to his theology of creatio ex nihilo, Irenaeus would presumably not wish to support an identification of God and humanity (however qualified). The distinction between the Savior and the saved which boils down to a final ontological difference between God and creation remains eternally fixed.¹⁰²

The idea of a union of the nature of the saved with the nature of the Savior seems to have disturbed Irenaeus. Something of the logic of this disturbance is manifest in his polemic against the followers of Carpocrates. Irenaeus tells us that for this group of early Christians, the human soul is like that of Jesus, and receives like Jesus a “power to perform the same things that he performed.” “Wherefore some of them advanced to such a pitch of pride,” the bishop protests, “that they claim to be like Jesus; others even claim that they are more powerful than Jesus!” The claim has some basis in John 14.12, where Jesus himself affirms, “Very truly, I tell you, the one who believes in me will also do the works that I do and, in fact, will do greater works than these.” In Carpocratian logic, we might surmise, these “greater works” correspond to greater power than the master. Significantly, however, Irenaeus later tones down his report of the Carpocratian claim, making them say only that “they are in no way inferior to Jesus.” Then he relates the metaphysical logic of their position, which resembles Valentinian soteriology: “their souls . . . descend from the same sphere” (Haer. 1.25.2).¹⁰³ We are meant to assume, apparently, that the nature of the Savior and of the saved is fundamentally similar. Why this position must necessarily result in pride is, however, not immediately clear.¹⁰⁴ A shared essence between the Savior and the saved could

94. Litwa, We Are Being Transformed, 166–69, 216–23. The union of essence that the saved have with their Savior is based on their union of body with him (Tri. Trac. 122.12–15). See further Judith L. Kovacs, “Clement of Alexandria and Valentinian Exegesis in the Excerpts from Theodotus,” SP 41 (2006): 187–200.

95. On the ontological difference between God and humanity in Irenaeus, see Barbara Aland, “Fides und Subiectio: Zur Anthropologie des Irenäus,” in Kerygma and Logos: Beiträge zu den geistesgeschichtlichen Beziehungen zwischen Antike und Christentum, ed. Adolf Martin Ritter (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1979), 9–28; Rowan Greer, “The Dog and the Mushrooms: Irenaeus’s View of the Valentinians Assessed,” in The Rediscovery of Gnosticism, ed. Bentley Layton, 2 vols. (Leiden: Brill, 1980), 1:146–76; Joseph Caillot, “La grâce de l’union selon saint Irénée,” in Penser la foi: recherché en théologie aujourd’hui: mélanges offerts à Joseph Moingt (Paris: Cerf, 1993), 391–412, esp. 391–98.

103. SC 264:334.

104. For Irenaeus opposed to Valentinian pride, see, e.g., Haer. 3.20.1; 5.2.3.

equally be based on God’s grace.¹⁰⁵ Evidently, Irenaeus understands the parity between Savior and saved to threaten his doctrine of creation from nothing, a doctrine that (ironically) ensures the eternal inequality of the image of God (or Logos) and those made in that image (human beings).¹⁰⁶ One should not conclude, however, that Eastern Valentinians envisioned

a “true” union between God and humans whereas Irenaeus did not. Both were arguing in the context of a (Middle Platonic) philosophical culture that strongly emphasized the ontological separation of (the highest) God and the world. Both were nevertheless deeply affected by the Christian gospel, and consequently preached a robust vision of human-divine unity. The union that they imagined was different indeed: a union of substance versus a union of qualities. But neither sort of union could be described

104. Simon Pétrement, A Separate God: The Christian Origins of Gnosticism, trans. Carol Harrison (San Francisco, CA: Harper & Row, 1990), 189–210; McCree, “Valentinus and the Theology of Grace,” 133–35; Kovacs, “The Language of Grace: Valentinian Reflection on New Testament Imagery,” in Radical Christian Voices and Practice: Essays in Honour of Christopher Rowland, eds. Zoë Bennett and David B. Gowler (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2012), 69–85. That nature is not entirely opposed to grace in Irenaeus is indicated by his understanding of the soul, made immortal by God’s will (Haer. 2.34.4). For Irenaeus, the entities soul (anima) and spirit (spiritus) continue indefinitely as immortal realities (perseverant immortalia) (Haer. 5.4.1). Soul has life from its own nature (a sua natura adest vivere) (Haer. 5.4.1), and exists as an immortal substance (immortali substantia . . . existente) (Haer. 5.7.1). The soul is not subject to death (nec enim anima mortalis) (Haer. 5.13.3; cf.

5.7.1 with Rousseau’s note, SC 152:236–37). Nevertheless, human beings cannot claim life from their own nature (non enim ex nobis neque ex nostra natura vita est), because the soul depends on God for its life (Haer. 2.34.3). Thus Henri Lassiat referred to the soul’s immortality as “relative immortality” (Promotion de l’homme en Jésus-Christ d’après Irénée de Lyon témoin de la Tradition des Apôtres [Paris: Mame, 1974], 169–70, 174). Rousseau, in contrast, vigorously argued for the soul’s natural immortality (“L’Éternité des peines de l’enfer et l’immortalité naturelle de l’âme selon saint Irénée,” Nouvelle Revue Théologique 99 [1977]: 834–64 [esp. 845–56]; SC 293:348–49 [“notes justificatives” on Haer. 2.34.3–4]). As a corrective to Rousseau’s view, Behr points out that “If Irenaeus upholds the ‘natural immortality’ of the soul, this is a point which must be carefully distinguished from the question of the life and immortality which belong to God alone and which are participated in by the whole human being, body and soul” (Asceticism and Anthropology, 95). Behr states that Irenaeus never describes the continuance of the soul’s existence after death as “immortality” (95). Still, the souls of the redeemed exist eternally after death and might be called (if paradoxically) “naturally” immortal by grace. See further Osborne, Irenaeus, 222–23; Steenberg, Of God and Man, 39–41.

104. On creatio ex nihilo in Irenaeus, see Gerhard May, Creatio ex nihilo: The

Doctrine of ‘Creation out of Nothing’ in Early Christian Thought, trans. A. S. Worrall (London: T&T Clark, 2004), 164–78; Steenberg, Irenaeus on Creation: The Cosmic Christ and the Saga of Redemption, Supplements to Vigiliae Christianae 91 (Leiden: Brill, 2008).

as indistinct (a theory reminiscent of Meister Eckhart). For both Eastern Valentinians and Irenaeus, the high God remains different from the redeemed. Only the Son comprehends and can reveal the essence of the Father a truth taught by both Valentinians (Tri. Trac. 54.35–57.23; cf. Haer. 1.2.1), and Irenaeus (Haer. 4.6.6) with clear biblical support (Matt 11.27; Luke 10.22). For both camps, this situation will not change even in the eschaton. Admittedly, in one Valentinian eschatological scenario, the spiritual seed enter the Fullness and become “intellectual aeons” (α??νες νοερο?) (§64; cf. πνε?ματα νοερ? in Iren., Haer. 1.7.1). But even noetic existence although indeed an exceedingly high spiritual state is not the same as being identical in nature to the Valentinian high God, who far exceeds noetic reality.

CONCLUSION

Steenberg helpfully and frankly acknowledges the fact that some patristic scholars still “recapitulate” ancient heresiological discourse (which Irenaeus helped to create) by siding with the bishop against his intellectual foes: “Certainly . . . Irenaeus felt himself a kind of ‘anti-Valentinus’; and so, by-and-large, do scholars.”¹⁰⁷ The discovery of key Valentinian texts at Nag Hammadi gives us the opportunity not to turn the tables, but to level the playing field. On the plane of history, Irenaeus and his opponents stand on level ground. Exegetically, moreover, they both have their feet firmly planted on a biblical foundation. Both independently interpreted part of a common Pauline heritage in this case, the soteriology of interchange and developed some distinct, but parallel conclusions in line with the presuppositions and trajectories of their own theological and philosophical assumptions. By paying attention to both similarities and differences with regard to their soteriologies of interchange, we gain a glimpse of the theological culture shared by both Eastern Valentinians and Irenaeus in the second and early third centuries c.e. It is a culture, I suggest, that manifests not a sharp dividing line between truth and error (as Irenaeus believed), but the more subtle contours of a common Christian concern: the profound if limited union of humanity and deity through the person and work of God made flesh.

M. David Litwa is Lecturer in Classics at the University of Virginia

Steenberg, “Truth of the Gospel,” 89.

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