This movement (also called, rarely, Valentinism) was among the largest and most influential of the Gnostic Christian sects. Like several Gnostic sects that started in the early or mid-2nd century, its founder, Valentinus, was a native of Alexandria. But also like the founders of a number of Christian movements, he didn’t make his mark until he’d relocated to Rome.
As with so many other early Christian “heretics,” a large amount of what we know of Valentinus and his movement comes from after his own time and from those who opposed him. But, they did quote some of his writings, and as luck would have it, we have a full document that is largely thought to have been written by him.
Like another page I’ve written for this site, this article is much longer than most of the others. Apologies in advance.
Not much is known about Valentinus’s early life. He was reportedly born in Lower Egypt around the turn of the 2nd century and received a Hellenic education in Alexandria. It’s presumed he may have met, or even learned from, his somewhat-older Alexandrian contemporary Basilides. He appears to have been a teacher, first in and around Alexandria, but moved to Rome in the 130s.
In Rome he ended up creating his own mystical version of Christianity, which fell under the general rubric of Gnosticism. He’s reported to have done this after having been turned down for ordination as a bishop (perhaps as the Bishop of Rome, aka the Pope).
Whether or not this affront was the cause of Valentinus’s departure from more “orthodox” Christianity is an open question. This tale isn’t dissimilar from what was reported of yet another roughly-contemporary Christian leader who’d moved to Rome around the same time, Marcion of Sinope. In Marcion’s case it was the Roman church’s return of a large endowment he’d given them, that pushed Marcion into establishing his own “heretical” Church.
Given the complexity of Valentinus’s teachings, this scenario — that in a fit of pique, he suddenly started preaching an outrageous version of Christianity — doesn’t appear likely. It also doesn’t fit with his origins in Alexandria, which had been home to other teachers of forms of Christianity similarly influenced by Hellenic philosophy. What’s much more probable is that he’d already developed at least some of his movement’s ideas well before he arrived in Rome. He also further developed them once he’d arrived and was building his highly-regarded reputation.
Still, whatever reasons he may have had for establishing his own system of theology and spirituality, Valentinus claimed to have learned his teachings from a companion of the apostle Paul aka Saul of Tarsus named Theudas. It’s worth nothing that Paul died in the mid-60s CE, decades before Valentinus’s birth, so it’s difficult to reconcile a claim of this nature, unless Theudas had met Paul and learned from him at a very young age, and much later, possibly as an old man, he had taught Valentinus.
Valentinus was active in and around Rome into the 160s, and reportedly was popular and well-received. At about that point, he appears to have been succeeded as leader of his movement by some of his followers (he had quite a few, as even the “heresy hunters” who condemned him admitted). It’s possible he died about that time, or he may have relocated elsewhere — possibly to Cyprus, or perhaps he returned to Lower Egypt.
Curiously, within his own known lifetime, Valentinus was never condemned as a “heretic,” nor were his own followers harassed. Condemnations only came after his time, starting in the late 2nd century with Irenaeus. As far as can be seen, his movement boomed within his lifetime and through several succeeding generations. Also, it grew in spite of having been condemned by Irenaeus, Tertullian, Hippolytus of Rome, and other early “heresy hunters.” Their screeds don’t seem to have put much of a dent in Valentinianism — not at first, anyway.
Like nearly all forms of Christian Gnosticism, Valentinus’s sect featured a mythology drawn from Hellenic tradition but including Christ as a redeemer in addition. At its apex is God, the ultimate being, who dwelt in (or generated) the Pleroma (from the Greek ϖληρωμα meaning “fullness” or more metaphorically, “completion”). This being was totally alone for many ages but at some point began spinning off emanations. In order that these emanations could have existence of their own, this vast cosmic deity separated himself from them. (More on that later.)
Since the unitary God (sometimes called Bythos, βυθος or “depth” among other names) had both male and female aspects, these emanations, called Aeons (a term coming ultimately from Greek αιων which originally meant “century”), emerged in male and female pairs.
The female member of the last of these dyads of Aeons to emerge, named Sofia (Greek σοφια, of course, means “wisdom”), was overwhelmed by the splendor she perceived, of the previous generations of Aeons as well as the Ineffable Divine from which she’d originally emanated. She attempted to do what he had done, to spin off emanations or creations of her own; but what she created was indescribable and purposeless material. It, and she, were rejected and forced to leave Pleroma.
This was the fall of Sofia, the crucial event in cosmic history from which everything else came. It was a catastrophe of vast, cosmic proportions.
At this time the physical world was created, outside Pleroma, using that material spawned by Sofia. It would fall under the control of yet another Aeon that had been generated by her fall, the Craftsman (δημιουργος, dēmiourgos or the Demiurge). Sofia would be trapped within the physical realm, and she’d become known as Sofia Achamoth (the epithet comes from Hebrew חכמה or chokmah, also meaning “wisdom”). Even so, ironically, an aspect of Sofia emerged from the physical realm, returned to the Pleroma and was accorded again with the Divine and the other Aeons.
It’s difficult, on the face of it, to understand why an entity called “wisdom” did something that’s widely viewed as catastrophically foolish. I’d have thought better names for such an Aeon would have been Moria (μωρια) or Anoia (ανοια), both of which mean “foolishness” or “folly.” However, this particular notion —that the fall of Sofia or “wisdom” brings the physical realm into existence — is part of many Gnostic and near-Gnostic systems. It was an old notion even by the time Valentinus picked it up (likely during his education in Alexandria), though.
In fact, some form of “the fall of Sofia” was featured in a number of different forms of Christian Gnosticism as well as some older Hellenic formulations, including a few of the “mystery relgiions.” Despite its widespread and ancient acceptance, it doesn’t appear to have occurred to any of this trope’s proponents how much of a semantic contradiction it is.
Valentinian mythology has much more to say about what happened after the fall of Sofia and as a result of what she’d done. Depending on which version of it one pays attention to, it can be complicated and involve additional emanations of yet more Aeons from among the Aeons who were already in existence by that time: particularly the initial dyad of Aeons, Mind (νους or nous) and Truth (αληθεια or aletheia).
This particular dyad, notably, is sometimes referred to in Valentinian thought, together, as “the Son” with Bythos or the Divine being “the Father.” Mind and Truth are viewed in many ways as conduits to the Divine.
All of it, however, can rapidly become mind-numbing, so I will spare you most of the details. Suffice it to say that humanity was also created, by the Craftsman, in the image of the Aeon Anthropos (ανθρωπος, “human” or “humanity”) whose feminine twin is Ekklesia (εκκλησια, “assembly” or “church”). Among the components which make up each human being is a seed of spirit. It is this seed which, given proper knowledge (or gnōsis), can limit the deficiencies inherent in humanity and allow reintegration with the Divine.
It is another of the Aeons, the Savior or the Christ, spawned by Mind and Truth (aka “the Son”) whose task is to assist in that reintegration. He first does so among the original Aeons, including the aspect of Sofia which rose back up into the Pleroma, and he is her companion. The Savior descended into the physical realm to provide the required gnōsis to Sofia Achamoth and humanity. He joined with Sofia Achamoth, and is her companion as well.
All of these events were consequences of the separation from the Divine that resulted from the initial spinning off of emanations or Aeons. As noted, without being separated from the Divine these Aeons wouldn’t have any independent existence on their own. This separation was treated, in Valentinianism, virtually as an entity in its own right, called Horos (a name, possibly taken from the Egyptian deity Horus) or Stauros (Greek σταυρος, meaning “cross”).
It is this separation that, ultimately, must be transcended in order for reunification, for all things, with the Divine to be achieved. The association between this separation and the cross probably goes back to Plato, who’d stated that the soul of the world had been manifest as the Greek letter chi, or Χ (a reflection of celestial observations).
Note, it’s partly due to this “separation” principle that not all human beings are equally capable of comprehending the gnosis that’s required to achieve reunification with the Divine. Although the Valentinian sect asserted that there were three grades of humans (Hylics, Psychics, and Pneumatics).
The lowliest of these, Hylics, were too integrated into the physical realm to achieve any degree of gnōsis; ultimately they’d end up destroyed along with the rest of the physical realm. Psychics existed in a kind of middle ground and would end up with the Craftsman (with his, and their, ultimate fate being more or less unknown). Pneumatics would be released from the influence of their physical nature and rise, along with Sofia and the Savior, into the Pleroma.
Under Valentinianism, it’s not enough merely for all human beings to be reconciled with the Divine. The ultimate goal is universal reintegration (the destruction of Hylics and unknown fate of Psychics notwithstanding). This can only take place in the context of unions. For Valentinians the most important of these is the union of Sofia and the Savior. This is reflected in one of the Valentinians’ sacraments, Nymphon (νγμφων or “bridal chamber”).
There’s no evidence the Valentinians ever bothered forming an institution or organization of their own (as had, for instance, the Marcionites). They appear to have belonged to Christian congregations of other kinds, but had some teachings and rites of their own in addition to what was done and taught in the more conventional churches. Presumably they met informally on their own and conducted their own rites and services, in some cases without their knowledge.
While Valentinians had some sacred scripture of their own, they’re known also to have accepted other Christian texts, including some within the New Testament canon. They had something of a layered interpretation of them, however. Those texts were an exoteric introduction to the more esoteric teachings they held, in addition to what “literalist” or “orthodox” Christians held. Ironically, Valentinians’ reading of certain passages is even more literal than those of “literalist” Christians. For instance, they reportedly relied often on this passage from the gospel according to Luke:
[Jesus] said, “The knowledge of the secrets of the kingdom of God has been given to you, but to others I speak in parables, so that, though seeing, they may not see; though hearing, they may not understand.” (Lk 8:10)
What makes this claim bizarre is that the very next verse begins with, “This is the meaning of the parable.” In other words, the proper interpretation of one of the “parables” — and one of those “secrets of the kingdom of God” — is laid out in explicit terms, immediately following one of them. Far from proving that the worshipper needs an additional interpretation of the parables within the gospels, what’s in Luke (as well as others) provides that added interpretation, and in plain language, at that.
Unlike many other Gnostic sects, Valentinians didn’t categorically reject Judaic scripture (i.e. the Old Testament). They accepted some Old Testament works in a manner similar to how they accepted some New Testament works: As allegorical, or references to other notions, or the grounds for additional interpretive layers.
Various quotations of Valentinians’ writings are provided by other Christian “heresy hunters.” In addition, the cache of documents discovered at Nag Hammadi, Egypt in 1945 includes The Gospel of Truth which is widely believed to be a Valentinian book (although this isn’t 100% certain). It may even have originally been penned by Valentinus himself. But even if this work isn’t Valentinus’s own, it does appear to align strongly with what’s been reported about his movement.
At any rate, this book is a 4th century Coptic translation of a Greek original. Named for its first three words, it’s not a “gospel” as would be widely understood (i.e. a narrative about Jesus). It is, instead, a commentary or general homily. It discusses, in depth, the relation between “the Father” (aka Bythos) and “the Son” (aka the Nous/Aletheia dyad) among many other matters. Perhaps strangely, it explicitly equates these two entities: “The name of the Father is the Son.”
In this work, the Savior or the Christ is identified with the Aeon named Logos (λογος, meaning “word” and/or “reason, logic”), whose feminine twin is Zoe (ζωη, meaning “life”).
By the way, if you’ve had enough of keeping track of which Aeon is paired with which other Aeon — and also wonder why some of these Aeonic twins are prominent in these mythological narratives whereas some of them are little more than names included in lists or charts — well, you may understand why I’ve tried to spare you, Dear Reader, as much of this as I could.
As noted already, Valentinians didn’t separate themselves from the rest of Christendom — at least, not for the first couple centuries of their existence. They tended to belong to conventional congregations. They mingled with other kinds of Christians under ordinary circumstances. Although some of the other Christians likely weren’t aware of their doctrines, not all of them made a secret of their membership in Valentinus’s cadre.
This may be what brought them to the attention of “heresy hunters” like Irenaeus, Tertullian, Epiphanius, etc. Although they didn’t simply blurt out all of their added layers of interpretation of Christian scripture, dogma and doctrine (each of them had to be gradually schooled in those several layers), they didn’t exactly keep themselves apart from other Christians.
Although they did host meetings for themselves, they also didn’t necessarily bar entry to outsiders. As Tertullian himself admitted, “Peace also they huddle up anyhow with all comers” (De praescriptione haereticorum 41) — although it must be admitted he assigned to them an insidious motive for that (i.e. the Carthaginian considered it their way of undermining the Church as a whole). But, with that said, other sources say the same about them.
Given that Valentinians considered Jesus of Nazareth to have been the human in which the Savior (aka the Logos) indwelled, they counted as adoptionists with regard to the Christological controversies that emerged in the late 3rd century and became pronounced in the 4th with the rise of Arianism (among other adoptionist sects). For this reason, late commentators sometimes conflate Valentinians and Valentinianism with other forms of adoptionism like Arianism. They are, however, not actually connected — aside from this one theological thread.
Because it overlapped with the rest of the Church for its first two centuries or so, it’s difficult to know the extent of Valentinianism’s reach. It also endured for centuries even after that; it was sufficiently extensive within his own lifetime and career to give Epiphanius fits over it. Valentinians were also said to have ordained women, although the concept of Valentinian clergy is difficult to comprehend, given that they tended to be spiritually egalitarian. Aside from being adoptionist, they differed from other Christians in viewing creation as existing under two different deities: The Ineffable Divine, aka Bythos among other names; and the Craftsman, aka the Demiurge.
Finally, their view that only certain humans were capable of the gnōsis needed for salvation, made them elitists that other kinds of Christians detested. Although the Valentinians themselves didn’t completely hide themselves from the rest, those others could tell they were being left out of something; and that rankled.
The sect founded by Valentinus lasted long enough, and spread widely enough, that some variation developed within it — both over time and over distance. Scholars have suggested it’s possibile that there were two distinct factions within the movement, one eastern and the other western (with the western faction existing mostly only in Italy). This is partly based on a mention, by Clement of Alexandria around the close of the 2nd century, that the sect had an “eastern teaching”; one presumes this differed from a “western teaching.” What we can say, though, is that writings left behind by later Valentinians suggest the sect’s teachings did morph a bit as the generations rolled by.
Once Christianity became tolerated by the Roman Empire, followed by literalist “orthodox” Christianity gaining the upper hand within Christendom, Valentinianism — like all other forms of Gnosticism and nearly all other kinds of “heresy” as well — went into decline. By this point, too, their policy of openness had ended and they conducted their affairs in much greater secrecy.
We see references to Valentinianism as late as the 7th century. They were explicitly condemned (along with a number of other “heretical” movements) in the proceedings of the Quinsext Council in 689 CE, so they must have had a large enough presence, even at that time, to merit such a mention.
After this, very little more is said about Valentinianism. Presumably the movement died out by 800 CE or so, but that’s merely a supposition.
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