"An extremely obscure work... I had always thought that the Phenomenology of Spirit by Hegel was the most difficult piece of writing, but this last document from the Jung Codex is even more puzzling...."
--Gilles Quispel
The Text
The Tripartite Tractate is the fifth tractate in the first codex (the so-called Jung Codex) of the Nag Hammadi library, discovered by local Arabs in Upper Egypt near the town of Nag Hammadi in 1945. In total, some 52 tractates in 12 books were buried there, the majority being Gnostic in varying degrees, but also including a few Hermetic discourses, and a fragment of Plato's Republic. The Tripartite Tractate is one of a number of Coptic texts in the collection which can be identified as Valentinian in large measure (Valentinus was a prominent Alexandrian Gnostic teacher, active later in his career in Rome ca.140 C.E.), although the scholarly need to define Valentinianism and delimit a viable trajectory for this movement is fraught with difficulties (the paucity of sociological evidence, the slanted reports of heresiologists, and the interpretational difficulties with the limited number of direct texts available, to name a few). The work is actually untitled, although the division by artistic borders into three sections resulted in the first editor titling it the Tractatus Tripartitus. The tractate is the longest in the Nag Hammadi library (88 pages), is very well preserved, and was entirely unknown before it came to light in this century. It is written in the Subachmimic dialect of Coptic (Coptic being essentially the Egyptian language written in Greek characters) with some Sahidic influences. Its creation can tentatively be set near the end of the third century up to the mid-fourth century C.E. when most of the Nag Hammadi library itself was put together and subsequently buried.
Judged stylistically, the work is almost certainly the work of one author. The numerous parallels with the system of Basileides, and to a lesser extent with other Egyptian Gnostic sects and Hermetic thought, indicates that this work was part of the Alexandrian milieu of Greek-educated poets, mystics, and theosophers, many of whom, like Valentinus, were native Egyptians. The analogy of a poetic genre (perhaps less of an analogy than we are inclined to think) might explain the marked lack of cohesion exhibited by the Nag Hammadi corpus as a whole. According to what we know about various Gnostic sects, none of the works contained therein can be considered exemplars for any particular school, although we can ascertain strong tendencies in some. This certainly holds true to some extent for the Tripartite Tractate, easily among the most dense, difficult, often florid, and beguiling poetic/philosophical metaphysic in the entire collection, yet it powerfully displays key features of the Valentinian myth. The work is not easily approached analytically and is comparable in style and theme with the later mystical writings of Jakob Böhme, or Meister Eckhardt. It is an "inspirational" work, yet it can be approached philosophically to some extent; this I have attempted by way of specific footnotes included with this translation.
Overall the work describes the entire theogonic devolution of the Godhead into its own depths, the creation of evil, the mission of the Son/Logos, and an extended elucidation upon determinism and free-will as exemplified by the aeons, most particularly in the last aeon to be begotten--Sophia. Part I deals with the determinism of the Father and the free-will of the hypostatized aeons; Part II describes the creation of humanity, evil, and the fall of Anthropos; Part III deals with the variety of theologies, the tripartition of humanity, the actions of the Saviour and ascent of the saved into Unity. As with all Valentinian Gnostic systems that have come down to us, the concern is with theodicy--the justification of God in the face of de facto radical evil. More essentially the reciprocity between Creator and created finds its flash point in Gnosis (i.e. "Knowledge"). Whether the created are hypostatic aeons or human beings, the entire ontological equation of being is affected by the movement of each independent entity towards salvation or perdition. Throughout all of this the Son-Sophia acts as the divine emissary and catalyst in his-her descent into the lower realms.
In order to more fully appreciate this text a brief excursus into the historical backdrop is necessary. Following the death of Christ, Christian teachings radiated out to various "mystery cult" centres (besides Alexandria, Antioch and Edessa figure prominently), this development occurring from ca. 30-130 C.E. By the time this 100-year period had passed some of these schools--whether originally pagan Gnostic or not--had made the "Christ myth" a part of their teachings. The great Gnostic teachers of Alexandria, Valentinus and Basileides, both claimed direct apostolic links with Paul via his own disciples in this regard; that said however, as my thesis set out to prove (The Egyptian Foundations of Gnostic Thought, University of Toronto, 1994), Alexandrine Gnosis was pre-eminently concerned with maintaining and revivifying the ancient Egyptian cosmological architectonics of antiquity. As such, those Gnostic speculations which included Jesus in their mise en scène accorded him a role usually en par, often upstaged, by Sophia. The Tripartite Tractate is no exception in this regard, wherein we have the interesting and unique spectacle of the two personages fused into one, with Sophia somewhat masked in the presentation as the text presumably was intended for dissemination amongst those with more orthodox Christian sensibilities. So, too, the entire Gnostic aeonial gestalt within this text is somewhat masked in order to present Gnostic Aeons rather as qualities of the Godhead in addition to their obvious theogonic functions.
In the teachings of most Gnostic schools (and in the Gospel of John with which this text displays some interesting similarities) the emphasis is not upon the historic Jesus but rather the figure of the transmundane Son or Logos as the critical personage in the cosmic drama of good and evil--this "sequence of inner-divine events" as Hans Jonas put it. The emphasis upon knowing where the Son is from, his mission on earth, and where he ascended to following his incarnation or appearance mirrors all individual existential concerns for the Gnostics: Christ becomes the archetype for the redemption of Anthropos as activated in each personal experience of gnosis. Well and good so far for a Christian reading of the text: this translation, however, dilates this surface reading and details the underlying truth (which would have been obvious to any Valentinian at the time) that Christ is in actual fact Sophia in disguise, possibly her consort, and that her salvific mission amongst the aeons is a stage directly inherited from ancient Egyptian Memphite and Hermopolitan mythology, for such is the essence of Valentinian thought, itself quintessentially Alexandrian.
By "Alexandrian" I mean to infer a broad range of influences used with poetic license (I use this expression to avoid the negative connotations of "syncretism") by the writers of a milieu born of seething centuries-long philosophical and theosophical ferment, centred about the libraries in Alexandria within the bilingual social strata of the Graeco Egyptian. Certainly pre-Socratic, Platonic, neo-Platonic, Jewish (including Essene), Hermetic (and thereby Egyptian), and possibly Zoroastrian concepts appear in the Tripartite Tractate (along with possible Babylonian and Orphic influences) through the mesh of Greek literary and philosophical conventions. Irrespective of these influences, however, the ambience of Alexandrian Gnosis (and I am including the Hermetica here) remains essentially Egyptian.
A recently published translation of the Tripartite Tractate by Harold W. Attridge and Elaine Pagels makes the case for a genuine accommodation with orthodoxy on the part of this author who is further situated in the western Valentinian School. I would go further and say that the text was quite possibly written in the original by Valentinus himself, and that we are dealing with a relatively faithful redaction of the original work. A basic premise here is that the conceptions in the text are Alexandrian-Gnostic in nature although probably directed towards an audience including Christians. If the work was originally by Valentinus, then a Greek translation of it was likely carried by him to Rome. It is exactly the sort of work one would expect a renowned Gnostic teacher from Alexandria to present to the patriarchs in Rome, by way of seeking possible rapprochement, or an end-run around their own positions. If this is the case the Tripartite Tractate was ultimately a failure as it "accommodates" orthodoxy rather poorly and is loaded with allusions which would have guaranteed its destruction by the end of the fourth century in any case.
The mission of Valentinus in Rome (ca. 140) was likely an "Alexandrian initiative," his attempt to become bishop of Rome (he nearly did according to Tertullian) an effort to head off and alter what was viewed by Gnostics as a false church (a "waterless canal") fomenting a regressive theology that posed a direct threat to the middle group of Mankind--those whom the Valentinians called the psychics. In terms of rhetorical intent given the political realities of the time, wherein Rome and Alexandria were squaring off across a divide that separates orthodoxy from heterodoxy, the work might be seen to be operating as a sort of textual Trojan horse. Strong similarities exist between The Gospel of Truth (another Valentinian document dated earlier) and the Tripartite Tractate: both are rhetorically crafted so as not to offend orthodox sensibilities on major points, while subtly proselytizing the Gnostic path to salvation, containing within themselves all of the Gnostic world-view (and beyond) for those "who have ears to hear."
The "Gnostic" and "orthodox" experience of the Christian message was radically different even during the time of Valentinus, both in its formulations, and more essentially in its social applications. Certainly the Valentinians, from southern Gaul to the Euphrates, had some sort of egalitarian church, select number of rituals (baptisms primarily), and loose-knit community centred about various gifted leaders. By the time this tractate was redacted however, they were undoubtedly feeling the effects of a life and death war being waged upon them by the Church of Rome. The sociological and theological differences were in fact profound in many critical regards, and the opening broadside by Irenaeus of Lyon upon the Valentinians (ca. 180-192) drew its aim upon precisely these differences, setting the pattern for the anti-Gnostic polemics which followed. The early days of Christian pluralistic tolerance (some Valentinians, after all, were self-proclaimed Christians) were over by the third and fourth centuries. The wholesale censoring of "heretical" books (their mere possession made a criminal offence) was just around the corner when this tractate was probably buried, quite possibly even current, and this had no doubt been anticipated by those in Egypt with libraries (and it is therefore almost a certainty that there are other buried works out there awaiting the light as it were). The "Gnostic temperament", with its anti-ecclesial, anti-sacramental, cosmic-critical focus upon the experience of Gnosis without let or hindrance from any external earthly authority was surely not impressed with a religion intent upon exercising temporal power (by the third and fourth centuries), nor by its subsequent efforts to totally eradicate the autochthonous faiths of Egypt. It simply does not follow to suggest that the freethinking "liberalism" of Gnostic Alexandria would naturally fall sway to the exclusionary canon and fundamentally proscriptive dogmas of orthodox elements then on the ascendant in the Roman world. Much has been made of the orthodox antipathy for the Gnostics--there was surely a surfeit in return with respect to the Gnostic assessment of the Orthodox Church.
The kernel and pith of the Gnostic phenomenon came out of Egypt, manifesting at their core the emanationist theologies of antiquity. Plotinus, himself from Egypt, wrestled with the same conundrums in his philosophical works as did Valentinus and Basileides. The social milieu we speak of here is the bilingual Egypto-Greek literati, and it must be remembered that teachers like Valentinus and Basileides appeared against a backdrop of revolt and insurrection against Roman rule, seen to be the demonic executor of the Demiurge in worldly affairs. It is therefore not possible to conceive of the Gnostics of Alexandria looking upon a new Christian orthodoxy in Rome, one to be ever more firmly wedded to the power of the Roman State, with any affinity or fondness. Behind the theological clash there lies the sociological, that of Egypt occupied by a foreign power, one actively disposed to repress its way of life, even the functioning of its priesthoods. Without attempting to reconstruct the social and political realities of the time, it is far too easy for scholars to deal with an array of textual fragments as if they exist in a vacuum, devoid of socio/political--more essentially rhetorical--purposes. A desire to recontextualize this tractate with these purposes in mind is the primary purpose behind this present translation.
The curtain of censure which was to later descend, beginning with Diocletian's edict against the Manichaeans on the 31st of March, 297, reached its culmination a century later with the decree of Theodosius and the burning of the libraries in Alexandria. The burial of documents surely represents a last desperate expedient on the part of late paganism and Gnostic schools to preserve their works (or else it was simply the efforts of those stalwart antiquarians of any stripe who objected to the destruction of books as a matter of principle), yet prior to this there is likely to have been an exploration of rhetorical alternatives of which the Tripartite Tractate may be an example. Our historical thesis is that Egyptian religiosity was the catalyst for developing Alexandrian Gnosis, extending the substance of "Egyptian wisdom" into the architectonics of Greek systematic thought, and drawing in a wide array of disparate religious elements, including the evolving "Christ-myth." While the fires of this pagan wisdom were eventually to be put out by the influx of orthodox Christian dogmas, the embers continued to glow for some time in the labyrinthine permutations of Gnostic thought and beyond (arguably arising from its deep centuries-long ground fire in this century). Gnostic thought in Alexandria, under such inspired teachers as Valentinus and Basileides, engaged upon a dialectic with orthodoxy, one that was ultimately doomed to fail in the face of effective heresiological opposition. The Tripartite Tractate can be seen to be a product of this last phase of interaction before the all-out persecutions began. Ultimately, the alien quality of Egyptian thought could be toned down by the Alexandrian Gnostics, quite possibly for political or rhetorical reasons, but it could not be hidden entirely.
In this text we are witness to an ancient tradition that has been profoundly revolutionized by the Greek influences it had embraced. Many in our essentially Christian mythos will no doubt experience this sense of alienness in Gnostic writings (if not in the work then perhaps in themselves). There is a mythological/philosophical rift here; beyond the pale that orthodoxy then drew about its symbolic world, there existed the dualisms of Zoroaster, Mani, the Essenes, of Plato and the Middle Platonists, the relativism of Greek Sophist and Skeptical thought, as well as the pervasive archetypes of Egyptian myth. There was much to be excluded, and perhaps the greatest challenge lay in the eradication of "Egyptian Wisdom." The Roman heresiologist Hippolytus wrote the Refutatio (The Refutation of All Heresies) in the late second or early third centuries. Having described the system of Basileides of Alexandria at length (and taking every opportunity to malign and ridicule), Hippolytus saves his most potent slander for the last sentence: "These are the myths that Basileides tells from his schooling in Egyptian wisdom, and having learnt such wisdom from them he bears this sort of fruit."(Ch.7.27) Clearly the battle-lines between Rome and Alexandria had been drawn at an early date.
It is important to realize, however, that this convenient model of "monists and dualists" has its acute limitations, especially in the case of Alexandria where the pagan-Gnostic core of Hermeticism and Christian Gnosticism fused both world-views on different levels. The dualistic level was the lower of the two, the level of episteme (philosophy and science); whereas the higher level was that of gnosis (direct knowledge of the Divine) wherein the oneness of God was realized, albeit through the mystery of his "depths." It was precisely because the higher level of Gnosis was esoteric that the dualistic aspects of Gnostic thought loomed large in orthodox minds. By the third and fourth centuries Orthodox Church councils were allowing for very little middle ground between their exclusivistic dogmas and all that was viewed as heretical or pagan. Given the surfeit of pagan/Egyptian detail to be found in the Tripartite Tractate and the limitations of the Christian gloss, this makes the possibility of orthodox, or even "proto-orthodox" authorship, extremely remote. As is the case with the even larger tractate of the Pistis Sophia, the Tripartite Tractate has been scanted by so-called "Gnostic Studies" (actually, as it stands, rather a subset of Christian Origins Studies: it is, finally, not a useful candidate for the advancement of theories about so-called Christian Gnosticism but can more properly be seen as pagan Gnostic thought, centred in Alexandria, appropriating the Christ myth for its own ends.
The Tripartite Tractate operates on a number of different levels, the deepest being ineluctably Gnostic, and one either feels the need to `sanitize' this presence or one does not--this writer does not (and I would note in passing, and certainly without rancour, that most "Gnostic scholars" are in fact New Testament scholars pursuing Gnostic studies "on the side" to some large extent--much of what has been written about the Gnostics has been predictably skewed and even the most sympathetic disposition here reflects a narrower focus). In a sense both works are written in code. Our most important rhetorical concern here lies in ascertaining the subtlety of an exoteric appeal commensurate with the transmission of a deeper esoteric substratum: does the text in fact demonstrate the superior literary skills required to convey explicit and hidden levels that complement one another? I have taken this question to the text and I find that there is abundant proof for this hypothesis. With this translation of the Tripartite Tractate I am presuming to at least partially bring the more hidden recesses of this Gnostic terrain to light.
Of the two rhetorical models set out here, the less attractive is that these texts were written in this manner as a purely defensive measure (as opposed to a skilful attempt at proselytization), this being done to deflect the censoriousness of those Church officials whose onerous task it was to scan such texts as they managed to get hold of, seeking for clear heretical references (female figures in the Godhead for instance, or any suggestion of prurience) which would then consign the work to the flames--or if the work was more fortunate, to some rather severe editorializing. It was this very descending age of darkness, as it finally reached the furthest outposts of civilization at that time, which drove some unknown person(s) to bury the work in a large earthen jar in the sands of southern Egypt, thus preserving it for posterity. After lying hidden for some 1600 years, the Tripartite Tractate is being read again: we must extend our appreciation to those unknown guardians of Gnosis and ensure we are among those "who have eyes to see."
The Translation
Reference is made to extant translations of this text by Harold W. Attridge and Elaine H. Pagels. My own interpretation of the text differs widely from their own, and my aim here has been to bring the larger philosophical--Valentinian/Egyptian--sense of the work to bear upon the translation of critical passages. I detail hidden--or half-hidden as the case may be--references and allusions to the teachings of Valentinus in addition to what is explicit, in particular similarities with that which has come down to us from his disciple Ptolemaeus through that "grand" work of Irenaeus of Lyon, Against All Heresies.
Words in square brackets indicate reconstructions from lacunae based upon fragmentary evidence in the text; all words presented by myself with no basis (other than the larger sense of the passage) are footnoted. [...] indicates a lacuna that is not possible to reconstruct. Words in round brackets are added in the interests of grammatical continuity and are usually pronouns or conjunctives.
The basis I use in translating this text:
1) The work is excerpted from an earlier Valentinian Vorlage as evidenced by the citation particles ( ) which commence each new paragraph. I have offset these paragraphs in verse form to indicate this, and also to enhance the prose-poetry style of the text in general (I have also used my own sense of poetic appreciation in structuring the text in verse form at various junctures). The parenthetical numbering of these excerpts is done purely for reference purposes and does not indicate an effort to structure the text on my part. In drawing from another more explicit text, the author has demonstrated a certain artistry in coming up with a finished work that is cohesive, clearly following a larger design.
2) A major focus of the work is upon the aeons, their free will, and their function as independent hypostases of the Father. I would maintain that this is the only extant Valentinian work to explore the actual significance of the names given to various aeons. These names are not at all gratuitous (as many scholars seem to assume--remarkably little has been done in this regard), and their functions, if not exactly clearly defined in this tractate, are at least adumbrated. Whereas Attridge and Pagels consistently avoid this possibility and translate the Greek terms as nouns, treating the aeons as "attributes" of the Father (they are that of course, but far more), I have capitalized the references while giving the actual Greek name of the aeon in parentheses. Where the actual Greek name of the aeon is given in the text this procedure has been reversed in order to emphasize the fact that we are dealing with Valentinian aeons. Of the 33 Valentinian aeons in the Ptolemaic system for example, no less than 30 are alluded to here and there are some 245 aeonial allusions in the entire text. Many of these allusions are rather faint, the majority are quite strong, and some are completely explicit. It should be stressed however that to any Valentinian of the time, all these would have been obvious. For the orthodox mind these would have been extremely difficult to ascertain and modern translators have in effect "taken the bait" in this regard, rendering up a text less inoffensive to their own sensibilities. It is critical to realize that it is not an either/or proposition with respect to aeonial hypostasis/semantic attribute of the Father. The double entendre was intended by Gnostic writers, and the aeons are seen as archetypes exerting their influence into our own realm. The aeons themselves are the cosmic personalities of emanationism, handed down directly from the Egyptian Memphite and Heliopolitan cosmologies.
3) It is my contention that the work was excerpted and masked to some large extent, and was probably directed towards the Hellenised and non-Hellenised Egyptian orthodox audience--the latter version is what has come down to us in native Coptic. The literary density of the text, and the fact that the "hylic" human segment are clearly seen to be soteriologically doomed, indicates that it was aimed at the semi-orthodox intelligentsia, or elite--these are in fact the very people who probably buried the entire Nag Hammadi library. Yet even with its "protective colouration" the Tripartite Tractate exhibits far more philosophical and theosophical affinities with the system of Basileides, various Hermetic discourses, and other Egyptian "pagan" sources.
4) I have, of course, resisted the urge to go beyond a "mere" literal translation of a text from one language to another, to "render" a text inspired by my own appreciation of the Gnostic spirit. On the other hand, I have approached the text with the awareness that the words arose out of a symbolic world entirely different from our own. Central to the entire Valentinian cosmology is the figure of Sophia. I reject entirely the notion that this writer, so consistent in numerous other regards with respect to Valentinian thought, would be a major revisionist here. The figure of Sophia is masked, assuredly, but not so completely as to suggest at all her rejection. I render her presence behind the Logos in brackets; e.g. "He (she) said…" Even more compelling is the presence of almost all the other Valentinian aeons throughout the work. It seems to me that Attridge and Pagels' case must rise or fall on this point: why would a revisionist not entirely remove her presence, especially when it was repellent to orthodox sensibilities? As the text makes clear, "Wisdom"--Sophia in the given Greek loan-word--appears at many critical junctures and this is more than coincidence surely, especially since the Coptic word for wisdom is used on occasion: why not consistently use MNTCABE, rather than Sophia to avoid all reference to the Gnostic goddess? Why use the word in such provocative contexts? Why refer to the "Sophia-nature" of the Logos for instance? The answer to these questions is that Sophia, like Portia in her courtroom appearance in The Merchants of Venice, assumes a male persona to play her part upon this stage.
Montreal, April 2002
