3. The Rise of the Early Christian Theology of Arithmetic: The Valentinians

The New Testament shows that the earliest Christians were attuned to the number symbolism of their day. Christ itemized his followers symbolically, choosing 12 disciples and 70 apostles. The Book of Revelation is adorned with numerous sevens and twelves, and a single, infamous 666. That impulse continued after the apostolic period. In the so-called Epistle of Barnabas, an early second-century text, the 318 servants of Abraham (Genesis 14.14) are said to foreshadow Christ: the Greek numeral 318, τιηʹ, stands for the Cross (from the shape of the τ) and the first two letters of Jesus’ name (ιη). [1] The Shepherd of Hermas, of roughly the same period, is riddled with number symbolism, its meaning obscure.

Although this interest in number symbolism was widespread, it was neither systematized nor exaggerated. Early Christian writings from the first century, like contemporary Jewish writings, are adorned with but not built upon number symbolism. In the late second century that changed. There emerged new Christian movements that embraced elaborate, mathematically structured theological edifices. They gravitated to numbers that appeared in the Bible, interpreting even the most innocuous ones in light of their theological metaphysics. This new emphasis on number sprouted in a variety of systems, each more complex than the last.

In the next three chapters I describe some of the most striking and best preserved of these early Christian theologies of arithmetic. I discuss the upper echelons of their theological edifices, emphasizing the arithmetical patterns that came into play. I also note the arithmological strategies deployed for inter-preting the Bible. I describe not only the teachings but the rationale behind them, a rationale that was rooted in classical number symbolism and Pythagorean metaphysics. Although proponents of these systems were part of church life, they were fascinated intellectually and spiritually more with classical number symbolism and Pythagorean-cum-Platonist metaphysics. In their theology they tried to synthesize and challenge religious and secular traditions, to chart new intellectual and spiritual territory, not just in the churches but in late antique culture.

In this chapter I recount the systems of the Valentinians, who were the earliest and most significant part of this movement. Our sources for Valen-tinianism are of two types: sympathetic and hostile. The hostile sources are, of course, the orthodox heresiologists: early ecclesiastical writers, such as Irenaeus and Hippolytus, whose concern for doctrinal purity determines what and how they quote from the Valentinians. Of sympathetic sources, only a handful of literary fragments attributed to specific Valentinians of uncertain date—Valentinus, Ptolemy, and Heracleon—have been preserved, all culled from hostile sources. All other texts written by Valentinians come from the famous Nag Hammadi collection of texts, and they are notoriously difficult to date, attribute, or even classify.

It is right to be wary of hostile sources. But Valentinianism cannot be reconstructed primarily from the sympathetic ones. Any attempt to determine which Nag Hammadi texts are Valentinian must begin with a typology, and the only typological landmarks we have come from the Fathers. To the same degree that the Fathers have misunderstood the main features of Valentinianism, we too have probably mischaracterized what is Valentinian in the Nag Hammadi library. So to avoid utter despair, we must begin with Irenaeus and the heresio-logists for our understanding of Valentinianism and for our classification of the Nag Hammadi material. [2] But we do so critically. We need not—indeed should not—accept at face value the heresiologists’ reports, which are marked by inconsistencies and rhetorical exaggeration. As we shall see, however, this is not a critical point for this study, since both hostile and sympathetic sources yield a consistent picture of the Valentinian theology of arithmetic.

From the late 130s through the 150s there lived in Rome a certain Valentinus, who was said to have come from Egypt. [3] Through his writing and preaching he attracted a following of Roman Christians, a coterie whose members were soon called Valentinians. [4] What survives of his literary corpus suggests that his teachings, and those of the early Valentinians, were speculative and theoretical. Although Valentinus had little to do with the directions his later followers took, he cultivated in his circle an esteem for philosophically shaped theology. [5]

The Gospel of Truth, a homily dating to the mid-second century, and quite possibly written by Valentinus, exemplifies this original Valentinian impulse. [6] It explores the upper levels of the divinity, explains how error entered the world, and relates how the world found salvation. The central theme of the Gospel of Truth is a knowledge-based path to restoring people to the incomprehensible, inconceivable Father. To analyze the entire text would take us too far afield. [7] But the metaphysics of the Gospel of Truth anticipates the themes that would blossom into the later arithmetical systems. The three primary characters are the Father, the Son/Word, and a special class of beings called ‘aeons,’ collectively called the Pleroma (πλήρωμα). [8] The aeons search after the Father and, failing to find and know him, fall into the error of ignorance and experience a fog of anguish. We ourselves are those aeons, and are still within the Father, whose desire to be known prompts him to send the Savior to open up to the totality of aeons the knowledge of the Father that is already latent within their hearts. Salvation is portrayed as a purifying transformation of multiplicity into unity, matter into fire, darkness into light, and death into life (Nag Hammadi [NH] 1.3:25.3–19). In this drama there thrive other entities or aspects such as the Holy Spirit, Truth, depth, and spaces. Their roles and relationships are rather amorphous, but overall they support this mission of salvation.

In the cosmology of the Gospel of Truth, arithmetic is a subtle and subdued element. The most important arithmetical motif is the transformation of multiplicity into unity, a dominant, guiding principle for the text’s one explicit and colorful use of exegetical number symbolism, that of the number one hundred. In discussing the role of the Savior, the text invokes the metaphor of the good shepherd and the parable of the finding of the lost, hundredth sheep. According to the Gospel of Truth, the Savior rejoices when he finds it, since ninety-nine is a number “held by” the left hand (NH 1.3:31.35–32.16, Matthew 18.12–14, Luke 15.4–7, Gospel of Thomas 107). With the addition of the hundredth, the number passes to the right hand. The lost sheep, then, represents the restoration of a lost unity. The Father is the right hand, which draws in, and therefore perfects, the totality of aeons, represented by the ninety-nine on the left.

The Gospel of Truth plays upon a widespread practice, that of the finger calculus. In antiquity, numbers up to ten thousand could be counted on the hands. One through ninety-nine were handled completely on the left (thereby freeing the right hand in the majority of small transactions to do other tasks, such as pay out coins), and the hundreds and thousands were reckoned on the right. So once one reached ninety-nine, which employed all the fingers of the left hand, the next number, one hundred, required one to drop the left hand and use merely the pinkie of the right. Furthermore, to move from left to right was to move from the inauspicious hand to the auspicious. So the Gospel of Truth interprets the parable by invoking a combination of symbols—numbers and body parts—to illustrate vividly how multiplicity can and should return to unitary simplicity. [9]

The rather unadorned pleromatology of the Gospel of Truth, and its basic motif of the restoration of unity from multiplicity, developed as Valentinus gave way to the Valentinians. His notion of the Pleroma soon burgeoned into an elaborate, mathematically designed system. According to Tertullian (fl. early third c.), a disciple of Valentinus named Ptolemy was responsible for this innovation. [10] He may well be right. In the Letter to Flora, Ptolemy’s only extant writing, number symbolism is a recurrent organizing principle. [11] In his cosmology there are three divine agents: the devil, the perfect god, and standing between them an intermediate god who created the universe. Ptolemy claims that the five books of the Mosaic Law, the main subject of the letter, have three separate authors: the intermediate god, Moses, and the elders. [12] This threefold division of the Law mirrors the threefold arrangement of perfect god, intermediate god, and devil. [13] The part of the Law that is authored by the intermediate god is itself tripartitioned into pure, mixed, and symbolic. [14] The Ten Commandments are the most perfect of these three sections, its perfection made evident by the number ten. [15]

Ptolemy, then, shows a fondness for tripartite schemes and the number ten. But the Letter to Flora, which concentrates on lower, earthly matters and the origins of the Law, mentions nothing about aeons, powers, or Pleromas—the upper realm of the world. He says that he has reserved that lesson for a future discussion, on how contrary natures, namely the devil and the intermediate god, could come from a single principle. [16] So we do not know how, if at all, his penchant for number symbolism affected his metaphysics, which may have been monistic. But other Valentinian systems close in time to Ptolemy developed new, highly arithmetical theories about the uppermost Pleroma. The earliest, simplest systems reported by Irenaeus cannot be dated, and their development is difficult to trace. But they give a sense of how other followers of Valentinus were inclined to theologize according to mathematical models.

One of the simplest of the early Valentinian protologies comes from someone Irenaeus describes as a ‘renowned’ (ἐπιφανής) teacher, a description a later heresiologist converts into a proper name, Epiphanes (Against Heresies 1.11.3). [17] To Epiphanes—to adopt his posthumous name for convenience—the primal aeon, Foresource (Προαρχή), exists before all entities and thoughts. This aeon is ineffable and unnamed. Ironically, Epiphanes names it: Monotes (Μονότης, meaning ‘unity’). With Foresource/Monotes exists a second aeon, Power (Δύναμις), which Epiphanes names Henotes (Ἑνότης, also meaning ‘unity’). The two, being one, produce in turn Monad (Μονάς), also called Source of All (Ἀρχὴ τῶν πάντων), an unbegotten, invisible aeon. Another consubstantial power coexists with Monad, which Epiphanes names One (Ἕν). These four aeons then project all the remaining aeons.

Thus Epiphanes sets at the center of his protology a Tetrad, whose aeons correspond closely in name, function, and structure. Monotes and Henotes are a single thing (ἓν οὖσαι), and they “advance without emitting” (προήκαντο, μὴ προέμεναι) Monad, the third aeon. The paradoxical language is intended to combine in a single image the unity and the multiplicity of the highest aeons. The primal Tetrad is both an individual entity and a quartet of unities—a complex unity. The unities relate to each other in a hierarchy and sequence modeled upon their numeric character. Each aeon’s name is some variation on the word ‘one.’ The names follow a pattern, with the root μον- forming the names of the first and third entities, and ἕν- those of the second and fourth. And when identified individually, the odd aeons are called “sources” and the even “powers” (but as a collection they are called “powers” indiscriminately). The Tetrad can be arranged in a square:

[fig]

Epiphanes’ square protology resembles other popular neo-Pythagorean foursomes, for example the four disciplines of the quadrivium, the four elements (fire, air, water, and earth), and the first four numbers. But Epiphanes is not merely indulging in Pythagorean pop culture. With this he also enters a little-known mathematical and philosophical debate of his time, over the differentiation and definition of terms. In the writings of pre-Hellenistic philosophers such as Plato, the noun μονάς ‘unity’ is not sharply distinguished from the abstraction τὸ ἕν ‘the One’, an adjectival noun. But some time in the Hellenistic period, when new metaphysical levels were being postulated by neo-Pythagoreans, philosophers began to distinguish the two terms to refer to two different levels of reality. By the second century, many of the neo-Pythagoreans were championing the notion that the monad exists on a plane higher than the One, against the opposite tendency to prioritize the One (see Excursus A). Epiphanes adopts the neo-Pythagorean position, by putting Monotes and Monad prior to Henotes and One. And he doubles the pattern, by suggesting that as the Monad is to the One, so the concept of unity (Monotes and Henotes) is to its instantiation (Monad and Hen). This second distinction replicates the common differentiation between numbers and numerable things (see Excursus A), but places it on the highest metaphysical level. Epiphanes was aiming in his system for philosophical coherence. Perhaps behind Irenaeus’ brief report we see a theologian trying to contribute to the philosophy of his day.

The most common early Valentinian systems are those in which the Pleroma is said to consist of an octet of aeons. Irenaeus discusses many of these systems. A prime example comes from a group who, Irenaeus quips, thought themselves “more prudent” than the Ptolemaeans (Against Heresies 1.12.3). According to Irenaeus, these “more prudent” Valentinians taught that from Forefather (Προπάτωρ) and his Thought (Ἔννοια) emanate all at once six other aeons, thus producing the Ogdoad. The emanation follows a certain sequence (see Figure 1). When the Forefather decided to emit something, it was called Father (Πατήρ, the third aeon). And because it was true, it was also named Truth (Ἀλήθεια, the fourth). Then, when the Forefather wanted to show himself, Human (Ἄνθρωπος, the fifth aeon) was generated; and those whom the Forefather preconceived were named Church (Ἐκκλησία, the sixth). Human then spoke the Word (Λόγος, seventh), and Life (Ζωή, eighth) followed on the heels of Word. This completes the upper Ogdoad.

In this system the existence of an original Dyad—Forefather and Thought—is assumed. The Dyad emits the aeons both outside time (all at once) and in a sequence, one that begins with certain activities of the Forefather and terminates in the fruits of otherness. This Valentinian system explains multiplicity as a function of properties, actions, and naming. New entities emerge whenever Forefather or one of the other aeons acts or exhibits a special property. Those acts become objects, and the reification permits the object to be named. Hence Truth comes about only when it can be named as a property of Father.

Names are important in this Ogdoad, just as they are in Epiphanes’ Tetrad. They are patterned to reinforce the numerical structure of the aeonic realm. They indicate hierarchy and function. For example, the sequence Forefather → Father → Human → Word follows a descending chain of being, proceeding from that which precedes intelligence and begetting down to that which is the product of intelligence and begetting. The overtones of the names’ meanings (especially on the left side of Figure 1) mark how one level relates to the others. The names also mark gender within each dyad, with masculine terms for the aeons in the odd-numbered positions and feminine for the even-numbered ones. Gendered aeons are essential to many Valentinian protologies. In this Ogdoad, each new dyad is generated by a male aeon above it, seemingly without the participation of its female counterpart. So all action and initiative is the responsibility of the male alone, a treatment of gender and procreation that stresses a monadic chain of generation, to complement and offset its dyadic structure.

In other Valentinian Ogdoads the same entities are given different (or multiple) names. They are based on various conceptual schemes, with different lines and sequences of generation. These Ogdoads can be thought of as emerging as a whole, or as one Tetrad begetting another, or as four pairs of dyads emerging seriatim in conjugal harmony. The model was flexible enough to allow various descriptions of the descent. But every Ogdoadic system pictures the result as four tiers of paired entities. [18]

Another simple protology comes from “those more knowledgeable around Ptolemy,” in Irenaeus’ sardonic words (Against Heresies 1.12.1). [19] This system is the only one that explicitly fulfills a promise Irenaeus makes in his preface, that he will address, as far as he is able, the notions propagated by the followers of Ptolemy (Against Heresies 1.pref.2). It gives a sense of the intellectual trajectory Ptolemy pursued, even if it can be credited only to his followers.

The Ptolemaeans start with a single power, Depth (Βύθος), and claim he has two “dispositions” who are also his consorts: Thought and Will (Θέλησις; see Figure 2). [20] Thought has priority over Will (indeed, Will is said to be Thought’s power), but she depends on Will so as to project other powers. The Ptolemaeans explain this relationship by noting that Depth, when he issued them, thought before he willed, therefore Thought has priority over Will. Thought mixes with Will, and out of their conjugal union (συζυγίαν) comes the projection of Only Begotten (Μονογενής, also called Mind, Νοῦς) and Truth. They proceed in this order because, in typical Valentinian fashion, the former (Μονογενής) is male and the latter (Ἀλήθεια) female, as signified by the grammatical gender of their names. Truth is the visible manifestation of Thought, and Only Begotten of Will.

Behind this bewildering account lies a simple pattern, a variation on the standard Valentinian Tetrad. Depth was a common name for the first aeon (the Forefather), and the third aeon was often also called Only Begotten or Mind (not just Father). The Ptolemaeans have added to the Valentinian Tetrad the aeon Will. They have subtly footnoted this modification by calling Will “added later” (ἐπιγενητός), a term that identifies her adventitious role. In contrast, her “sister,” Thought, is called “uncreated” (ἀγένητος), a description more befitting the second aeon of the other Valentinian systems.

In their metaphysical edifice the Ptolemaeans use gender to change very subtly the organization, and therefore the geometry, of the divine realm. For example, Will is introduced, in part, to confuse the gender balance and conjugal harmony found in the traditional Valentinian Tetrad. She becomes Depth’s second consort. [21] What would seem to lay the foundation for a polygamous, even incestuous, beginning of the aeons mutates even further when the two daughters of Depth enter into conjugal union with each other, to generate Only Begotten and Truth. The older “daughter” Thought, not Depth himself, plays the traditional male part in the seemingly lesbian relationship. And Will herself changes gender. As the consort of Depth, and then of Thought, she is named with a feminine abstract noun, Θέλησις. But this changes in the middle of the story to the neuter cognate Θέλημα (a terminological change also noticed by the ancient Latin translator). Once the male aeon Only Begotten is projected, we learn that Will, not her more masculine sister, is his archetype. Thus, Will starts off female—a subservient one at that—and then transforms into a conduit for maleness. The two female aeons, the “dispositions” of Depth, conjugally unite to generate the first male-female pair, and their relationship develops into a gendered chiasm.

The Ptolemaeans’ gender alterations to the Pleroma disturb the equilibrium of the traditional Valentinian theology of arithmetic. None of the powers is given a numerically derived name, and they are not explicitly grouped into Dyads or Tetrads. Their interrelations no longer follow the arithmetical rhythm of pairs found in standard Valentinian Ogdoads. The total number of entities is five, not the expected four. The chiastic generation of the powers adds crisscrossing elements to the traditional horizontal and vertical movements. This complex geometry justifies the special term given to Thought and Will, ‘dispositions,’ which implies spatial order as well as personal behavior.

This system shows that various Valentinian groups experimented with and challenged other models. Perhaps these variations were offered in a spirit of competition, perhaps of collaboration. No matter the motives, stable arithmetical patterns in Valentinian theology were not a given.

The form of Valentinianism most familiar today espoused thirty aeons, the Triacontad. In this system, which seems to have been widespread and popular even then, the classical Ogdoad is expanded to include a Decad and a Dodecad. Six versions of this Valentinian protology are attested, including one from the Nag Hammadi texts. [22] Irenaeus devotes nearly a third of the opening of his first book of Against Heresies (1.1–9) to publicizing and ridiculing this brand of Valentinianism, thereby providing us our most complete account of the Triacontad. In this section I follow his account, but draw from others as needed.

Many scholars refer to this group as ‘Ptolemaean,’ based on Irenaeus’ promise in the preface to discuss the teaching of the followers of Ptolemy. Some scholars also refer to this as the ‘grand’ or ‘main’ system, based on its length and prominence in Irenaeus’ argument. But these labels slightly overinterpret the text. In the preface, Irenaeus promises to discuss two groups: the followers of Valentinus and those of Ptolemy, the latter merely “insofar as I am able.” Thus the system discussed in chapters 1 through 9 could refer to either group, and Irenaeus (uncharacteristically for book 1) never says which. [23] So it would be hasty to say it is Ptolemaean. And nowhere does he imply that it is the archetype of Valentinianism. True, it is the one Irenaeus discusses at the greatest length, but as we shall see, he considers Marcus to be the apex of Valentinian doctrinal development. The Valentinian Triacontad, for Irenaeus, is a fine specimen of a story that kept bifurcating and changing. [24] Its prominence in Against Heresies is explained partly by the original plan of Book 1, at least in its first draft: to broadcast and refute Valentinian doctrines that were not widely known. [25] Irenaeus also gives it prominence because it was extensively described in the handful of Valentinian writings he had secured so that his claims could be corroborated. Thus to call this the ‘grand system’ reflects our own impressions and the accidents of survival, and so I refer to it here as Irenaeus’ ‘extended’ or ‘first’ system, or merely as the Triacontad.

The complexity of the ideas and Irenaeus’ terseness make this extended system very difficult to understand, even after two or three very slow readings. So here I summarize and streamline the narrative, focusing on the very strong mathematical character of the Triacontad (captured visually in Figure 3).

In this first system the preexistent, transcendent aeon, called Forefather—also called Foresource and Depth—coexists with his consort, Thought—also called Grace and Silence. Depth impregnates Silence, and she brings forth Mind—also called Only Begotten, Father, and Source of All. At the same time Mind is generated, so too is his consort, Truth. Thus, according to Irenaeus, Depth, Silence, Mind, and Truth are the first, original Pythagorean τετρακτύς, what they call “the root of all” (Against Heresies 1.1.1). From this first Tetrad emerges a second: Mind begets Word and his consort Life; Word and Life beget Human and Church. Thus is formed the Ogdoad, “root and foundation of all things.”

Word and Life, after begetting Human and Church, project another five pairs of aeons, called the Decad, given the names Profound and Copulation (Βύθιος, Μῖξις), Ageless and Union (Ἀγήρατος, Ἕνωσις), Self-engendered and Pleasure (Ἀυτοφυής, Ἡδονή), Immovable and Intercourse (Ἀκίνητος, Σύγκρασις), and Only Begotten and Bliss (Μονογενής, Μακαρία; Against Heresies 1.1.2). Human and Church project six pairs of aeons, the Dodecad: Advocate and Faith (Παράκλητος, Πίστις), Paternal and Hope (Πατρικός, Ἐλπίς), Maternal and Love (Μητρικός, Ἀγάπη), Ever-Mindful and Understanding (Ἀείνους, Σύνεσις), Churchly and Blessedness (Ἐκκλησιαστικός, Μακαριότης), and Desired and Wisdom (Θελητός, Σοφία). Thus all the emanations combined—the Pleroma—constitute the Tria-contad, thirty aeons arranged in three groups: Ogdoad, Decad, and Dodecad (Against Heresies 1.1.3; A Valentinian Exposition NH 11.2:22–31; see Figure 3).

Sometimes the Triacontad led to yet more aeons. In a variation of this extended system, the Ogdoad, Decad, and Dodecad are synthesized to get 360 (8 × 10 × 12), “the Pleroma of the year,” which is then linked to the year of the Lord (Isaiah 61.2). [26] What role these 360 aeons played is unclear. [27]

Like the Valentinian systems discussed above, the aeons’ names are thoughtfully planned to augment the mathematical patterns. The name of the first element—the male partner—of every syzygy in the Decad and Dodecad is an adjective of masculine (or common) gender. Female aeons, which make up the even-numbered ranks, are named with feminine abstract nouns. [28] Further, the names of the masculine aeons in the Decad are characteristics of the Forefather; the female aeons’ names are terms for sexual intercourse. In the Dodecad, the masculine aeons’ names describe the functions of the aeons of the Ogdoad (especially Mind); the female aeons’ names describe virtues in a partially recognizable sequence (Faith, Hope, Love: 1 Corinthians 13.13).

The arithmetical patterns of the Pleroma are contained by a geometrical border named Limit (Ὅρος), a power that the Forefather projects through Only Begotten (Against Heresies 1.2.2, 4). The Forefather has created Limit in his own image: it has no consort, and it has no given gender. Limit is also assigned five other names: Cross (Σταυρός), Redeemer (Λυτρωτής), Fruitbearer (Καρπιστής), Limiter (Ὁροθέτης), and Transferrer (Μεταγωγεύς). The entity is conceived of as a hexagon that delimits and supports the internal Pleroma (Against Heresies 1.2.4, 1.3.1). Limit is perceived not only as sixfold but as twofold, principally through its two complementary powers, one stabilizing and one divisive. Insofar as Limit stabilizes, it is the Cross; in its dividing activity it acts as Limit proper (Against Heresies 1.3.5). [29]

If this unfurling of the Pleroma is act 1 of the Valentinian drama, act 2 is the fall of Wisdom. The first aeon, the Forefather, is unseen and unfathomable, known only to Only Begotten, the third aeon. But Wisdom, the last of the thirty aeons, experiences a desire (in the absence of her male consort, ironically named Desired), a desire that spurs her to seek after and contemplate the Forefather. In her journey into the vastness and inscrutability of the Father, Wisdom is nearly annihilated by the Father’s sweetness, and she falls from the company of the Pleroma. She finds herself unable to return (Against Heresies 1.2.1–3).

Wisdom strives to be restored to the Pleroma, to be reunited with her original consort. As she repents, she leaves behind certain personal aspects that become entities and characters. She is said to abandon “her former Resolution (Ἐνθύμησις), along with the passion that came with that astonishing wonder.” [30] In her vain effort to apprehend the Forefather, Wisdom begets a “shapeless essence” (οὐσία ἄμορφος), the kind of nature a woman would beget, were she begetting on her own. [31] Recognizing what has happened, Wisdom experiences first pain, then fear, and finally distress, which leads her to supplicate the Forefather. She is restored, but her Resolution and Passion remain outside Limit (Against Heresies 1.2.2–4).

To prevent this tragedy from befalling any other aeon, Only Begotten projects another syzygy through the foresight of the Father: Christ and the Holy Spirit, who fasten and support the Pleroma by teaching the aeons about their syzygies, about the incomprehensibility of the Father, and about thanksgiving and true rest (Against Heresies 1.2.5–6). [32] With the restoration of harmony, all the aeons in the Pleroma collectively project an emanation in honor of Depth. This saving emanation has several names: Jesus (Ἰησοῦς), Savior (Σωτήρ), Word (Λόγος), Christ (Χριστός), and All (Πάντα). Later he is called Comforter (Παράκλητος; Against Heresies 1.4.5).

The Valentinian story enters act 3, a discussion of how the Savior enters the fallen world, to make a path of salvation, not just for Wisdom, but for the world she begat. Details of this part of the story are too complex and off-topic for a full summary. But it is worth noting some of the arithmetical patterns, because the world outside the Pleroma is also mathematically arranged.

Just as there are three tiers of beings in the Pleroma (the Ogdoad, Decad, and Dodecad), so the extra-Pleromatic world has three tiers, sparked by the Savior’s encounter with Wisdom’s Resolution. Through her passion comes matter; through her repentance, the soulish realm; through her pregnancy, the spiritual (Against Heresies 1.5.1; see Figure 4). She takes the lessons—μαθήματα, the mathematics, if you will—imparted to her by the Savior, and shapes out of the soulish material an entity called God the Father, also called Mother-Father (Μητροπάτωρ), Fatherless (Ἀπάτωρ), and Demiurge (Δημιουργός). This Demiurge creates soulish things on the right and material things on the left, becoming father to the former, and to the latter, king. [33]

So the hierarchy proceeds from the Pleroma downward, to the spiritual realm of Wisdom’s Resolution, to the Demiurge, and finally to the material world. The four tiers of reality are structured numerically, and the entities are given mathematical names. Because the Demiurge creates the seven heavens, he is called the Hebdomad; and Akhamoth (i.e. Wisdom) is called the Ogdoad, thus “preserving the number of the original, first Ogdoad of the Pleroma” (Against Heresies 1.5.2–4). [34] As the Ogdoad, she is also the Intermediate Region (μεσότης), bridging the material universe and the Pleroma (Against Heresies 1.5.3–4).

The material world is itself tripartitioned, a point repeatedly noted through-out the Valentinian texts. [35] Through the three emotional extremes Resolution experienced while outside the Pleroma—astonishment/perplexity, grief, and fear—come the three elements of the world (not four, as would be expected). From astonishment/perplexity comes earth; from fear, water; from grief, air. The fourth material element, fire, is said to be latent in all three elements, just as ignorance is latent in all three emotions (Against Heresies 1.5.4). [36]

Because of the structure of Wisdom’s world, the human is also tripartite, a creature composed of body, soul, and spirit, the three elements derived from earth, the Demiurge, and Akhamoth respectively (Against Heresies 1.5.5–6). Reflecting this tripartite structure, human beings, too, are at different levels. Spiritual people—Irenaeus says the Valentinians claimed this category for themselves—are initiated into the mysteries of Akhamoth (Against Heresies 1.6.1). Soulish people are the ordinary rank and file in the Church; they lack perfect knowledge and must rely upon good works and bare faith. Earthly people—those outside the Church—have no prospect of salvation. These three moral grades of humanity correspond to Seth, Abel, and Cain respectively (Against Heresies 1.6.2, 1.7.5). [37]

According to Irenaeus, in this same system there are those who teach that the Savior descended upon Jesus Christ in the form of a dove, and thereby formed in him a Tetrad, reflecting the first, primal Tetrad in the Pleroma. The Tetrad in Jesus is made up of four aspects: the soulish (provided by Akhamoth), the spiritual (provided by the Demiurge), the dispensation (prepared by an ineffable art), and the Savior (courtesy of the dove who descended on him). [38] Thus Jesus consists of four disjointed natures: spirit, soul, body, and a higher aeonic nature—a sort of superhuman. [39] These natures work independently, so that each Gospel account of Jesus’ life was to be interpreted in light of one of his four natures (Against Heresies 1.7.2).

This extended Valentinian system may appear outlandish to most readers today, especially since it seems to have little to do with the Bible. But the Valentinians invested considerable energy in establishing the connection. Their exegesis ranges over Old and New Testaments, mining them for numerical references to justify or explain the composition of the Pleroma. [40] The Valentinians show interest not only in direct references—explicitly mentioned numbers—but in more oblique ones, where a sequence or list of terms can be unpacked and numbered to explain the Pleroma. The aeons of the Pleroma, they suggest, were “not spoken of openly because not everyone could comprehend knowledge of them. But they were mentioned mysteriously by the Savior through parables to those so able to understand” (Against Heresies 1.3.1). [41] They claim that references to the Pleroma occur throughout the Scriptures and in the Church’s liturgical practice. Thus, any instance of ‘aeon’ in the New Testament or in the Eucharist celebration was to be read as cryptically alluding to the Pleroma of aeons (Against Heresies 1.3.1). Paul supposedly taught about the syzygies of aeons in Ephesians 5.32, where, speaking about “the syzygy of life,” he says, “This mystery is great, and I am speaking about Christ and the Church.” And when Paul uses marriage as a metaphor, he is referring mysteriously to the doctrine of syzygies in the Pleroma (Against Heresies 1.8.4).

The prologue of the Gospel of John mentions the upper Ogdoad, according to the Valentinians. They argue that John, intending to discuss the generation of all that exists, at verses 1 and 2 distinguishes God from the Beginning and from the Word (Against Heresies 1.8.5). That is, “In the Beginning was the Word and the Word was with God and the Word was God” mentions the first three male aeons, the term ‘Beginning’ (ἀρχή) here being shorthand for the Source of All (Ἀρχὴ τῶν πάντων), one of Mind’s alternate names. The same verses show how one is the projection of the other and how they follow a specific sequence. Verse 4—“in him was Life”—introduces Life, the consort of Word. A phrase in the same verse, “the life was the light of men,” alludes through ‘men’ to Human and Church, insofar as ‘men’ (ἀνθρώπων), being plural, must refer to someone other than the singular figure Human. Thus, the entire second Tetrad—Word and Life, Human and Church—is referred to. The first Tetrad is discussed in verse fourteen—“we beheld his glory, glory as of the Only Begotten from the Father, full of Grace and Truth”—where Father, Grace, Only Begotten, and Truth are all mentioned. So John “has clearly indicated” the structure of the two Tetrads in the prologue of his gospel. The lower ogdoad, that of Akhamoth, is represented in the Bible too, most especially in the prophetess Anna, who lived for seven years with her husband, then alone afterward (Luke 2.36–38; Against Heresies 1.8.4). Likewise, the Tetrads and the Ogdoad are indicated in Genesis 1.1, where Moses refers to them with the terms ‘God,’ ‘beginning,’ ‘heaven,’ and ‘earth’ (Against Heresies 1.18.1). The second Tetrad, the offspring of the first, Moses refers to soon after with the terms ‘abyss,’ ‘darkness,’ ‘water,’ and ‘spirit.’ And in honor of the Tetrad, the sun was made on the fourth day, the tabernacle was made of four things, and the stones on the high priest’s robe were arranged in four rows (Genesis 1.14–19; Exodus 26.1, 28.17). According to some Valentinians, man was fashioned on the eighth day (not the sixth, as other Valentinians held, in agreement with Genesis), because of the Ogdoad (Against Heresies 1.18.2). The Ogdoad is clearly declared also by Noah’s ark, which carried eight people, by David’s rank as the eighth brother, and by circumcision on the eighth day (Genesis 7.7; 1 Peter 3.20; 1 Samuel 16.10–11; Genesis 17.12; Against Heresies 1.18.3).

The Decad is also mentioned in Scripture, namely in the iota, the letter used for the numeral 10: at Matthew 5.18, Jesus promises that not one iota will fall away from the law before all is fulfilled (Against Heresies 1.3.2). The iota as a theological symbol for ten is common throughout early Christianity, as will become evident in later chapters. [42] Here Jesus’ very name, Ἰησοῦς, encodes this symbol, denoting the Decad and Ogdoad together in the first two letters, ιη, the Greek numeral for 18 and the standard early Christian nomen sacrum. [43] The Decad is proclaimed also in Genesis 1.3–11, in the creation account, where one finds the ten terms ‘light,’ ‘day,’ ‘night,’ ‘firmament,’ ‘evening,’ ‘morning,’ ‘dry,’ ‘sea,’ ‘plant,’ and ‘wood,’ in that order (Against Heresies 1.18.1). [44] Throughout Genesis the Decad is alluded to in numerous passages: the ten nations whose territory God promised to the Hebrews, Sarah’s giving her slave to Abraham after ten years, Abraham’s servant giving ten golden bracelets to Rebecca, Rebecca’s delay for ten days, and the ten sons of Jacob who go to Egypt to buy grain (Against Heresies 1.18.3). Elsewhere in the Old Testament, Jeroboam assumes the rule over the ten tribes, the Tabernacle has ten courtyards, and the gates measure ten cubits, all symbols of the Decad. And after the Lord’s Resurrection, he reveals himself to the ten disciples (Thomas in absentia) who were hidden, just as the Decad is unseen. [45]

The Dodecad is revealed in Scripture, too: the Lord was twelve years old when he spoke with the teachers of the Law, and he chose twelve apostles (Against Heresies 1.3.2, 1.18.4). [46] The mishaps of Wisdom, the twelfth aeon, are alluded to in the apostasy of Judas, in Christ’s passion’s occurring in the twelfth month of the year of his preaching ministry, and in the woman who had a flow of blood for twelve years (Against Heresies 1.3.3). A further example is the twelve-year-old daughter of the head of the synagogue whom the Lord raised from the dead, recalling the salvation of Akhamoth (Against Heresies 1.8.2). Just as Moses names the members of the Decad in the creation account, so he does with the Dodecad by referring to ‘sun,’ ‘moon,’ ‘stars,’ ‘seasons,’ ‘years,’ ‘whales,’ ‘fish,’ ‘serpents,’ ‘birds,’ ‘quadrupeds,’ ‘beasts,’ and ‘man’—twelve terms in all (Against Heresies 1.18.1). [47] The twelve sons of Jacob and the twelve tribes also signal the Dodecad (Against Heresies 1.18.4). So too the twelve stones on the breastplate and the twelve bells. [48] Moses and Joshua built altars made of twelve stones, twelve men carried the ark of the covenant across the Jordan, and Elisha placed twelve stones around the bull when he contended with the priests of Baal. [49]

The entire Pleroma of thirty aeons is demonstrated by the Savior’s not having visibly done anything for thirty years, a vivid symbol of the hidden mystery of the aeons (Against Heresies 1.1.3, 1.3.1). The Triacontad is especially evident in the parable of the vineyard, where workers come at the first, third, sixth, ninth, and eleventh hours—1 + 3 + 6 + 9 + 11 is, of course, 30. So too there are the thirty cubits of height in Noah’s ark, the thirty elect men among whom Samuel put Saul first, thirty days David hid in the field, thirty who entered the cave with David, and thirty cubits to the height of the holy tabernacle (Against Heresies 1.18.4). [50]

For the tripartition of humanity the Valentinians point to the parable of the woman (identified with Wisdom) and the three measures of grain (Against Heresies 1.8.3). Paul too, they say, discusses all three classes of human beings. [51]

Throughout their exegesis, Valentinians say the Scriptures “reveal” (μη-νύειν), “make clear” (δηλοῦν), or “point out” (ἐπιδείκνυσθαι) the arithmetic of the Pleroma. Such language might tempt us to think that the Valentinians regarded the Bible as the foundation of their system. But this is to read into the sources a quasi-Protestantism. To the Valentinians, the Scriptures have hidden meaning that can be unlocked to reveal the numerical structures of the Pleroma. The Bible shows these things “clearly”—the Valentinians frequently use σαφῶς in their exegesis—not because the structures of the cosmos and Pleroma are clear and apparent for all to see, but for the opposite reason. Allusions to or teachings about them in Scripture are hidden and need to be made manifest. That manifestation can be made only to those capable of understanding, namely, to initiates in their inner circle (see e.g. Against Heresies 1.pref.2, 1.21.1). To the Valentinians, any knowledge of the aeons of the Pleroma is hidden from everyone in the lower realms—particularly from the Demiurge and his acts of creation (e.g. Against Heresies 1.20). Thus the Valentinians claim not that the Scriptures are the source or the basis of their doctrines, but that the doctrines and the knowledge of them explain and unlock the Scriptures.

In their protology and their Bible interpretation, the Valentinians developed a number symbolism that was neither haphazard nor capricious. It drew from the mathematics, philosophy, and mythology of their culture, and it was deployed to shape that same cultural terrain. On one level it resembles lowbrow, pop mysticism, but a closer examination shows that the Valentinians used subtle terms and concepts to signal to the cultural elite that they wanted to engage with them in science and philosophy.

For example, in late antiquity there were two principal definitions of number, each quite different. Moderatus of Gades tersely preserves both definitions: “Number is, to speak in a type, [1] a collection of monads, or [2] a progression of multitude starting from a monad and an ascent diminishing in a monad.” [52] In the first, collection-of-monads definition, numbers are classes of individual units—for example, a constellation of stars, a pile of pebbles, or some other inert collection. Under this concept a unit is not number proper, but is rather the measure of the set. This is broadly speaking the view Aristotle holds when he says that number is the multitude measured by the unit. Thus, properly speaking, the unit—one—is not a number. [53] This exclusion of one from the set of numerals was widespread in antiquity, even on a popular level. [54] The definition of number as a collection resonated with everyday use, and it was perpetuated in Hellenistic and Byzantine education, thanks in part to Euclid’s Elements. [55]

By contrast, Moderatus’ second, progression-and-ascent definition of num-ber is highly suggestive of movement, transition, change, and cycles. It invokes metaphors of procreation and generation. Number has a start and an end, both termini identical: a single, lofty unit. Plato embraces this definition when he explains how the one and the indefinite dyad generate the numbers. [56] And as we saw in the previous chapter, this notion develops among neo-Pythagoreans to make the unit responsible for the generation of all numbers, indeed of all the universe. The Valentinians, following these Pythagoreans, embrace the second of these definitions to explain the emergence of plurality. The verbs they use, such as ‘project’ (προβεβλῆσθαι) and ‘bring to fruition’ (καρποφορεῖσθαι), [57] imply that within the Monad or Dyad there latently reside the aeons it will project, that the ‘fruit’ (implied by the second verb) was seminally once part of the ‘root.’ So the Valentinian systems, where entities spawn other entities, and the universe expands and grows outward before it is redeemed and drawn inward and upward, are rooted not only in images of gender and reproduction but in the Platonic definition of number. They are accounts of originate number, and of how reality springs from it. Valentinianism is, in part, a metaphorical expansion of Moderatus’ second definition, furnishing it with a vivid mythology; part rationale, part explanation.

Ancient readers acquainted with arithmetic would have recognized the philosophical tenor of Valentinianism through its mathematical patterns. The various levels of the Triacontad are structured along the canonical proportions. For Greek mathematicians such as Euclid and Nicomachus of Gerasa, there were three major proportions or ratios. The first, the arithmetic ratio, defined a number c to be greater than b by the same amount that b was greater than a, for example, the sequences 3–2–1 or 10–7–4. According to the geometric ratio, c was greater than b by the same proportion as b was than a, for example, 4–2–1 or 12–6–3. And in the third ratio, the harmonic, c is greater than a by the same proportion that c minus b is greater than b minus a, for example, 6–4–3 or 15–12–10. [58] The Triacontad mirrors these mathematical principles. The most fundamental series, Ogdoad—Decad—Dodecad, is an arithmetic progression. The emanation of aeons within the Ogdoad, (1)–1–2–4, follows the geometric progression. And the six-sided Limit forms with the Ogdoad and Dodecad a harmonic progression.

The various Valentinian systems also draw deeply from classical number symbolism and lore, some of which can be traced to the early Pythagoreans. Their assignment of odd-numbered aeons to males and even-numbered to females depends upon very ancient symbolic associations of gender with odd and even. [59] The Valentinian habit of giving their aeons names that are symbolically linked to their mathematical function resembles the ancient practice, attested in Philolaus, Xenocrates, and others, of assigning to the numbers one through ten various gods and goddesses, based partly on the criterion of gendered number. [60] In one of the simpler Valentinian systems, the Ogdoad is composed of two Tetrads that unfold from left to right, like diptychs. This Ogdoad is associated with the Pythagorean table of opposites, a list of ten fundamental opposites, made famous by Aristotle, that follow the same left-to-right pattern. [61]

The Valentinians embraced Pythagorean symbolism, both old and new. Irenaeus, when discussing the Valentinian fondness for the number four, calls their first Tetrad “the first and original Pythagorean τετρακτύς, which they also call ‘the root of all.’ ” [62] The redundant term ‘Pythagorean τετρακτύς’ (see Excursus B) could be interpreted equally well as both Irenaeus’ sarcasm and the Valentinians’ preferred term. Irenaeus holds that theology should not be beholden to any philosophy other than the rule of faith given to the Church, and he presumes that his audience shares that intuition. On the other hand, the Valentinian term ‘root of all,’ one of their favorite epithets for the Tetrad, invokes the τετρακτύς, described in one of the oldest and most famous Pythagorean texts, the Golden Poem, as “possessing roots of everlasting nature.” [63] So the Valentinians made the τετρακτύς, like so many other Pythagorean symbols, their own. What to Irenaeus was an embarrassment, an insult, was unapologetically embraced by his opponents. [64]

Number symbolism could also be used to augment their myth of salvation. This is especially evident in Irenaeus’ extended system. There the number four is applied to the upper realm, but only infrequently to the lower one, and always as a symbol of intervention and salvation. In the one counterexample, the Savior-like figure called the Lord is said to take on a fourfold character, in imitation of the Tetrad. But this makes him an oddity in a world where the nature of humans is threefold. In this adaptation of the Platonic tradition, which taught that the soul was tripartite, the trifold human nature is a microcosm of the fallen universe. [65] And that fallen realm is everywhere divided in threes. Three kinds of offspring emerge from Wisdom’s Resolution-Akhamoth, and they result in spiritual, soulish, and material substance. This tripartition leads to humanity’s falling into three classes: the elect, the Church, and those without hope of salvation. The boundaries between these three classes of people were well defined liturgically, through baptism and a special sacrament the Valentinians called redemption (Against Heresies 1.21.2). [66] The three human categories correspond to Seth (spiritual and receptive of the seed of salvation), Abel (soulish and not receptive of that seed), and Cain (earthly, material, and wicked; Against Heresies 1.5.1, 1.6.1, 1.7.5). Even the material world, which in the ancient world was normally divided into four elements, is tripartitioned, with fire intermixed with water, air, and earth (Against Heresies 1.5.4). [67] The three elements are the direct result of the three passions of the Mother Akhamoth: fear, pain, and perplexity. Threes belong to the Fall. [68]

But other Valentinians, not so highly principled in using number symbolism to mark the two halves of the universe, appealed wherever possible to the order of the material world to corroborate their notions of the Pleroma, even if it brought the lower and upper realms together. According to Against Heresies 1.18.1, some Valentinians said that the Tetrad, Ogdoad, Decad, and Dodecad are enshrined in the human body: the four senses (touch is omitted), the eight receptacles of those senses, the ten fingers, and the twelve innards. [69] Others argued that the four elements—fire, water, earth, and air—are all projected, and so are an image of the first Tetrad. Along with a derivative, second Tetrad—the energies of these elements: heat and cold, dry and wet—the four natural elements encode the Ogdoad (Against Heresies 1.17.1). To these same Valentinians the Decad is indicated by seven circular bodies, an eighth heaven encircling them, and the sun and moon. [70] The zodiac indicates the Dodecad. [71] And since the highest heaven is “yoked against” the orbit of the totalities, it goes from one portion of a sign to the next every thirty years. [72] The motion of the heavens is an icon of Limit, which encloses the Triacontad. Other Valentinian parallels to the natural world are numerous: the moon’s circuit is thirty days; that of the sun, twelve months; the day is divided into twelve hours; each twelfth part of a full day is further divided into thirty parts; and the earth is divided into twelve zones.

The Valentinians’ appeal to the natural world and Scripture as repositories of the symbols of the Pleroma resembles similar comparisons by Philo and Plutarch, who identify in texts and the material world patterns that reciprocate their favored number symbols. But the Valentinians moved well beyond this occasional use, and pioneered a single, extended cosmology, a symbolic center of the universe that could bring mathematics, science, and Pythagorean lore within its orbit.

Valentinian theology pushed the boundaries not only of Pythagorean number symbolism but of middle Platonist and Pythagorean metaphysics. Valentinians took up the two major philosophical positions—both traditional Platonist dualism and the newly emergent Pythagorean monism. They took sides, or attempted new syntheses and explanations. Although they were not philosophers, the Valen-tinians interacted with the philosophical models of their day, and they advanced perspectives that proved to be influential, if only in method.

The story picks up with Hippolytus, an orthodox writer who flourished in Rome in the early third century. [73] His Refutation of All Heresies, a ten-book exposé of pagan error and Christian heresy, depends considerably upon Irenaeus’ Against Heresies, but it includes systems nowhere else attested. In the case of Valentinianism, Hippolytus reports a significantly different variation of Irenaeus’ extended system. [74] Hippolytus claims there was a major disagreement between dualist and monist camps, between Valentinians who taught that the Monad has a consort and those who denied it. But he presents details of only the monists, who emphasized the solitary uniqueness of the first aeon, with no primal, conjugal Dyad (Refutation of All Heresies 6.29.3).

In Hippolytus’ Valentinian system, the Pleroma has but one source, a Monad in every respect. It has no consort, and remains completely independent of all other entities (Refutation of All Heresies 6.29.5). This being, called the Father, did not love solitude, and he decided to beget and bring out from within himself the loveliest, most complete thing he could. The Monad begat a Dyad, and this Dyad, Mind and Truth, became the mother and source of all other aeons that are enumerated inside the Pleroma. In imitation of the Father, Mind projects Word and Life (Refutation of All Heresies 6.29.6–7). [75] Word and Life, in turn, project Human and Church. Thus the first group of aeons consists of the monadic Father, standing over three pairs of emanations, or powers. The protology of one followed by six, in sum a hebdomad rather than an ogdoad, is a recurrent structure in other groups mentioned only in the Refutation of All Heresies. [76]

The rest of the Pleroma resembles that of the traditional Triacontad, but the Pythagorean rationale is made more explicit. Mind and Truth, seeing their offspring productive, present to the Father a perfect number of aeons: ten. [77] According to Hippolytus’ Valentinians, the Father had to be glorified by a perfect number since he, the unbegotten Monad, is himself the most perfect. Thus, just as the Monad in its utmost perfection is the foremost of numbers in the Decad, so the Decad is the foremost of things that come into being in multitude (Refutation of All Heresies 6.29.8). [78] Word and Life, seeing Mind and Truth glorify the Father, attempt to glorify their own parents. Because they lack the same level of paternal protection, Word and Life beget twelve aeons, a slightly less perfect number (Refutation of All Heresies 6.30.1–2). [79] Thus there are in total twenty-eight aeons, not counting the Father, who transcends them (Refutation of All Heresies 6.30.3).

Hippolytus’ version of the myth of Wisdom’s fall is similar in many respects to that of Irenaeus’ first system. She is the twelfth (or twenty-eighth) aeon, and she tries to imitate his monadic, syzygy-less state, and does so without properly understanding the difference between the Father’s transcendent nature and her own, inferior nature (Refutation of All Heresies 6.30.6–7). Wisdom’s fall prompts the Father to order Mind and Truth to project Christ and the Holy Spirit, to stabilize the Pleroma and to bring about the full number of aeons, thirty (Refutation of All Heresies 6.31.1–3). Just as in Irenaeus’ extended system, the exiled aeon Wisdom is called Ogdoad, and the Demiurge, Hebdomad. [80] But in Hippolytus’ system there is no upper Ogdoad, so the significance of her epithet is lost, an indication that it postdates Irenaeus’ extended system.

Thus Hippolytus’ Valentinians exhibit two critical differences from Irenae-us’ extended Valentinian system: First, the Monad has no consort: the Dyad emerges separately from and subordinate to the Monad. Second, Wisdom’s fall occurs not because she desires to know the Monad, but because she tries to replicate his solitude. She tries, essentially, to become a Monad. Both these differences are central to Hippolytus’ contention that there were two kinds of Valentinians: monists and dualists.

But this contention was a gross simplification, and being a careful reader of Irenaeus, Hippolytus should have known so. At Against Heresies 1.11.5, after discussing an anonymous Valentinian system, Irenaeus outlines three types of monadic or dyadic Valentinianism, revolving around the original state of the first aeon, Depth: (1) Depth is without consort since he is neither male nor female, nor even altogether subject to existence; (2) Depth is androgynous, encompassing in himself the nature of a hermaphrodite; (3) Depth has Silence as a bedfellow (συνευνέτις), and the two constitute the first syzygy. The three positions are incompatible, and fall along a spectrum ranging from monadic to dyadic. The first position, which claims for the Monad utter solitude, resembles Hippolytus’ system. Irenaeus’ extended Valentinian system, which emphasizes the paratactic relationship between Depth and Silence, falls in the third, dyadic position. The second position is a middle ground, envisioning Depth as bi-sexual, its own consort. It promotes a vision of the Monad as being intrinsically dyadic. To these Irenaeus adds a fourth position when he moves on to the Ptolemaeans (discussed above), who taught that Depth has two consorts. Overall, Irenaeus is sensitive to the Valentinians’ wide variety of protological models, which he takes as evidence of their incoherence and inconsistency.

Hippolytus, however, simplifies the varieties. He reduces the options to two, Irenaeus’ first and third positions. To the group that champions asexual monism Hippolytus assigns an origin in Pythagoreanism. He claims that the dyadic group, which he otherwise ignores, was an offshoot, trying to answer a problem faced by the first group, of how generation can come from only a Father (Refutation of All Heresies 6.29.3, repeated at 6.38.5). His oversimplification is intentional. By omitting Irenaeus’ second, middle position; by discounting the third, dyadic group; and by excluding the fourth, Ptolemaic position, Hippolytus molds Valentinianism to serve his overall thesis, that each heretic stole his error from an earlier philosopher. He sets out to make the Valentinians followers of Pythagoras, so he isolates the monadic strain. [81] One might think that Hippolytus should have emphasized the dyadic school of Valentinians, given the early Pythagoreans’ preference for polarities. [82] But the mistake Eudorus had made, that Pythagoras and the earliest Pythagoreans were monistic and that dualism had been introduced later, was pervasive. By Hippolytus’ time the older, dualist form had been forgotten.

Unfortunately, many modern presentations of Valentinianism, despite occasional dissent, follow Hippolytus’ oversimplification, dividing the school and its texts into only two camps, monadic versus dyadic. [83] To be sensitive to the complexity of the positions is essential for understanding how the Valentinian treatises intended to interact with the philosophy of their day. Take the Tripartite Tractate, written probably in the late third century, but based on earlier material. [84] This metaphysical treatise describes the origins of the universe, presented from the top down, and unfolds its story in three stages: the origin of the Father, Son, and aeonic realm; the creation of the material world; and its redemption. The system begins with a preexistent, single Father, unbegotten, uncrea-ted, unchangeable, and immovable. He has neither consort nor coworker, and he creates or begets without any primordial forms, separate material, or internal substance—those who hold to such views are ignorant (a swipe against Platonists and other Valentinians; NH 1.5:53.21–39). With him is the firstborn, only begotten Son, existent from the beginning. The Church—called the “aeon of the aeons”—comes forth from the Father and the Son like kisses, and from there come the aeons, who reside within the Father like a seed or fetus. The Pleroma of aeons undergoes a process of individualization through glorification, and they settle into three levels of glory in the Pleroma (NH 1.5:69). Although the Pleroma is tripartitioned, there is no suggestion of any further organization into Dyads, Tetrads, and so forth. There are, in fact, neither gendered pairs nor genders. Gendered differentiation is the consequence of the fall of the errant aeon, femininity being a sickness and a deviation from the norms of masculinity (NH 1.5:78.11–13, 94.17–18).

So the Pleroma is rather simple, consisting merely of Father, Son, and Church, the last two eternal and latent within the Father. This may suggest that this form of Valentinianism is quite primitive, like that found in the Gospel of Truth. But arithmetic and numerical unity are essential to the description of relationship between the monadic figure (the Father) and the rest of the Pleroma. In the preface, the Father is at first said to be “like a number” (ⲈϤⲞⲘ̅ⲠⲢⲎⲦⲈⲚ̅ⲚⲞⲨⲎⲠⲈ; NH 1.5:51.9–10), but is then immediately said to be unlike a “one” or “solitary individual” (ⲈϤⲞ̆ Ⲙ̅ⲠⲢⲎⲦⲈⲚ̅ⲞⲨⲈⲈⲒⲞⲨⲀⲈⲈⲦϤ̅ ⲈⲚ’; NH 1.5:51.11–12). [85] The apparent contradiction is resolved in the role of the Son, whose eternal presence with the Father makes it impossible to speak of the Father only as one. Nevertheless, the Father is singular. The Father’s unity is always shared with the Son, who preexists eternally with the Father (NH 1.5:51.12–15, 16, 24; 57.33–59.1). The Son is to the Father “the form of the formless, the body of the bodiless, the face of the invisible, the word of [the] unutterable, the mind of the inconceivable” (NH 1.5:66.13–16; trans. Attridge and Mueller). The Son projects from the Father, “the one who stretches himself out,” the term “stretching” being a common philosophical term to describe the monad’s departing from itself to become a dyad (NH 1.5:56.2–3, 16–17; 65.4–5; 66.6–7). [86]

The Tripartite Tractate is monadic, but it does not exhibit the pure monism found in Hippolytus’ system, which emphasizes the absolute solitude and monarchy of the Monad. Although in the Tripartite Tractate the Father also has no consort, he is perpetually filled with his offspring, both the Son and the aeons that compose the Church, earning him the epithet ‘the Entireties’ (πληρώματα). The Father is an incomprehensible plenitude of goodness. The Son and the Church exist from eternity in the thoughts of the Father, which are externalized, like sprouting seeds. The process is not one from nonexistence to existence, as would be expected in a purely monadic system, but of interior latency to external individualization. The Tripartite Tractate avoids metaphors of gender, marriage, and procreation, and restricts itself to an eternal hierarchical Father–Son relationship. It thus offers an unusual type of monism, one that makes plurality an essential, eternal condition of the Monad, something similar to Irenaeus’ second of three positions regarding Depth.

Sometimes a monistic universe could have pronounced elements not just of pluralism but of dualism. An example is the system of the Barbelo-Gnostics, a group related to the Valentinians (Against Heresies 1.29.1–4). [87] According to Irenaeus and Theodoret, they held that the uppermost aeon, the unnameable Father, dwelt within the second one, the virginal spirit called Barbelo. [88] But neither apologist further explains the relationship between the two uppermost aeons. Their testimony on its own would imply a dyadic system. But the Apocryphon of John, a Barbelo-Gnostic text that survives independent of the apologists, with its very similar account of the aeonic realm, shows that the system begins with the absolute solitary monarchy of the Monad, frequently called the invisible Spirit. Two pages are devoted to describing its transcendent properties (NH 2.1:2.26–4.26). All things exist in him, and he in nothing else. He is radiant, perfect light, and in that light appears a reflection that becomes the first power, Barbelo. She is his first thought and becomes the womb for all other aeons. But she emerges at a specific stage in the solitary life of the Monad, the invisible Spirit. Although called Father and given the pronoun “he,” the invisible Spirit is not otherwise described in terms of gender. He is called virginal, not because he abstains from conjugal relations (Barbelo conceives by him at NH 2.1:6.12–13), but most likely because he transcends gender, just as he transcends all his other predicates. By contrast, Barbelo is androgynous, is called “Mother-Father” and “Thrice-Male,” despite her feminine persona and pronoun. So even though Barbelo and the invisible Spirit form a kind of pair, the conjugal aspect is downplayed. One is ungendered and the other bi-sexual. At its core the system is monadic, but because the myth is intended to explain the emergence of multiplicity, it retains a strong dyadic flavor, evident especially in the reports by Irenaeus and Theodoret.

The converse construction was also possible, as some Valentinian systems that were primarily dyadic had a monadic dimension. In his summary of the system of pseudo-Valentinus (Against Heresies 1.11.1), Irenaeus presents what seems to be an obviously dyadic version of the Triacontad. Yet that same system introduces two Limits, one encompassing the Pleroma, the other separating the ineffable one, Depth, from his consort and all other aeons. That is, by distinguishing the ungenerated aeon from all other, generated aeons, the first limit preserves a monadic quality in the Pleroma. Another Nag Hammadi text, A Valentinian Exposition, also offers a form of dyadic Valentinianism with monadic elements. Previous commentators and editors have treated the text as being primarily monadic, but there are no good reasons to do so (see Excursus C). In fact, A Valentinian Exposition describes a Pleroma that is nearly identical to the Triacontad of Irenaeus’ extended system. The Father has a companion, Silence, and they form a dyad. Yet the Father exists monadically, a special solitude he enjoys within his dyadic condition. He dwells in the Monad, Dyad, and Tetrad, and this Tetrad generates the next Tetrad to produce the Ogdoad, although it is not explicitly named so in the extant text (NH 11.2:25.19–20). The third and fourth syzygies—Word and Life, and Human and Church—generate the Decad and Dodecad, respectively (NH 11.2:30.16–19), thereby generating the Triacontad.

Other Valentinian systems reported by Irenaeus are discussed so tersely that it is difficult to classify them in one of his four positions. [89] Tertullian accuses the Valentinians of vacillating between monism and dualism. He snipes at them for introducing a second person to an entity they want to be solitary, both “in him and with him.” [90] But this much is clear: the Valentinians offered a variety of mythological models to account for the origins of the universe. One might be tempted to say that the dichotomy has been false all along. But of all the systems I have described, some embrace a sophisticated complexity, whereas others cling to one ideal or the other, avoiding language that would seem tainted by the other side. That efforts to achieve philosophical purity were not always successful should not seduce us into thinking there was no such idealism.

Of the two ideals, monism, a gift of the neo-Pythagoreans, exercised a powerful (but not irresistible) attraction on the Valentinians. The latter, like the former, as Einar Thomassen has noted, employ technical terms of “extension” and “spreading out” to describe theories of how the Monad emerges into multiplicity. [91] For both groups this indefinite expansion is typical of a dyadic entity. The Monad, on the other hand, is characterized by limit and definition. [92] The parallels between the two groups concerning the uppermost unity and multiplicity extend also to the lower world. Sophia in Irenaeus’ extended Valentinian system commits an act of audacity that results in separation, otherness, alienation, and the engendering of the corporeal world, a drama that coincides with both of Moderatus’ systems. [93] That audacity occurs well after the emergence of the Dyad, just as it does in Moderatus’ system. Thus the activities described in classical Valentinianism, rooted in the definition of number as progression, resonate with those of the neo-Pythagoreans. The monadic–dyadic tensions in Valentinianism echo the ambiguities and paradoxes seen in the contrast between the neo-Pythagorean systems discussed by Eudorus and Moderatus and the broader Platonist legacy. If there is any discernible departure from the neo-Pythagoreans, it is in the regular concern that plurality still needed to be explained and somehow linked to the prime mover. Valentinian theology crisscrosses to and from the one and the many.

Like Philo and Plutarch, the Valentinians used numbers to interpret texts and the world so as to illustrate religious truth. But whereas the first two were intent on illuminating tradition-based cults that were familiar to the public, the Valentinians were intent on explicating a private revelation within the Christian tradition—itself on the periphery of second-century Greco-Roman society. The Valentinians drew from competing metaphysical accounts offered by the neo-Pythagoreans and the Platonists, infused into these systems new arithmetical patterns and insights, and put their multiple levels of reality into story form. Christian concepts and entities played an important part, too, but the Valentinians chose to include them as parts of a larger mathematical universe. In one sense, Hippolytus was correct: intellectually, they were at heart Pythagoreans. But that Pythagoreanism was a literary tissue, not a community, an intellectual skin that the Valentinians stretched and altered as much as they depended upon it. With Marcus, as we shall see, that skin only grew.