The Gospel of Philip is a Jewish-Christian treatise traditionally attributed to Philip, one of the twelve apostles. Unlike most gospels, Philip presents a systematic theology that explains Christian tradition in the context of the Jewish Law. The account is skillful and eloquent, employing rich metaphors to reveal the meanings behind topics like baptism, communion, and the resurrection. The text presents an Adoptionist Christology, one in which Jesus receives his divinity during his baptism by John.
Historically, scholars have argued Philip is a haphazard collection of sayings and short paragraphs on a variety of theological subjects, a fragmentary and syncretic work comprised of numerous early Christian writings. However, recent scholarship by Zinner has demonstrated the overall coherency and intentional structure of this work. This implies a much earlier dating for Philip than is sometimes proposed. Like John, the author likely wrote in the wake of the Bar Kokhba revolt to an embattled Hebrew audience. The Gospel of Philip provides a rare window into the lost Jewish-Christian traditions of antiquity.
Based on its physical layout on the codex page, it appears that the full title, The Gospel according to Philip, was not originally present. However, the name “Philip” seems to have been present originally, given that it is centered in the line below the final line of the main Philip text. The words “The Gospel according to” () were apparently added by a later scribe who created the full title under the impact of the title of the preceding text in the codex, namely, The Gospel according to Thomas. The title “The Gospel according to Thomas” is written beginning in the line beneath the final line of the main text, even though there is space enough to write the beginning of the title on the concluding line of the main body of the text. In the case of the Philip text, a later scribe filled in “The Gospel” () on the same line that contains the conclusion to the main text. The scribe then added “according to” () on the line beneath, just before the name “Philip.” In any case, the text’s genre is not that of a gospel, but of a mystagogic-theological treatise.
That “Philip” was originally given as the author is indicated first by the fact that he is the only apostle in the text who has a saying attributed to him by name. Second, as Bultmann documented, the Gospel of John rejects the Gospel of Matthew’s belief in the virginal conception of Jesus, holding Joseph to be Jesus’ biological father. Intriguingly, Philip plays a noticeable role in John, announcing to Nathanael, which has the same basic meaning as the name “Matthew” in Hebrew, that Jesus is “the son of Joseph” (John 1:45). Philip’s only saying in Philip identifies Jesus as the “the seed” of Joseph. Elsewhere in Philip, the virginal conception of Jesus is rejected (Philip 3:1-6, Philip 3:7-8, Philip 10:7-8). Later in John, Philip in imbricated in a discussion about the relationship between the Father and the Son (John 14:8-9), a prominent doctrinal theme present throughout Philip.
The structure of Philip is disputed. On one end of the spectrum is the view that it consists of disparate traditions, some of which are only loosely connected to each other, while others are totally unrelated to what precedes or follows in the text. The opposite view is that Philip is a carefully structured text that develops a core group of theological ideas by repeating them in various sequences and with varying nuances throughout the text.
Schenke divided the Philip text into 127 sayings or sections. This was an artificial structure influenced by the modern scholarly division of Thomas into 114 sayings, a highly artificial move, as Callahan has shown. It seems to have been done intentionally in order to parallel the 114 chapters of the Qurʾān. Schenke’s numbering system for Philip has been largely abandoned by recent scholarship. Equally artificial are Meyer’s brief unnumbered 111 subtitles. Both Schenke’s and Meyer’s divisions are unhelpful insofar as they artificially divide larger coherent literary units into small separate sections. Most readers, by contrast, will be able to recognize that Meyer’s first three separate sections, “Converts,” “Inheriting the Living and the Dead,” and “Jews, Gentiles, Christians” all form a natural paragraph tied together by common themes. Similarly, Meyer’s “Abraham’s Circumcision (82,26-29)” really belongs to the previous paragraph, which Meyer separately titles “Pure Marriage (81,34-82,26).” The latter ends with a discussion of the bridal chamber, which for Philip is the end result of baptism. Now, traditional Christian doctrine holds that baptism is a spiritual form of circumcision. Further, circumcision implies a knife that cuts off the foreskin of the phallus. This forms a natural segue to the next Meyer section, “Hidden Parts (82,30-83,18),” which is about an axe cutting off the root of a tree. All three sections, however, belong together as an integral unit. In fact the preceding and following sections (Meyer’s “Creating and Procreating” and “The Root of Evil”) also belong to this same single integral unit.
A sign indicative of an intentional macrostructure is that Philip begins with a mention of the Hebrews. The approximate center of the text is a discussion of the Jerusalem temple with its center, i.e., the Holy of Holies (Philip 9:1-12). The text also concludes with a discussion of the Holy of Holies. Moreover, the opening passage’s theme of making/producing anticipates the theme of reproduction in the bridal chamber of the Holy of Holies in the middle and ending sections.
Independently of Bos van Os, I concluded that Philip consists of about a dozen long units. When I later learned of van Os’ work, I was pleased to discover that several of my own units agreed with his. In the end I decided to fully adopt van Os’ unit divisions, although I have not retained his unit titles, given that my understanding of Philip’s theology as a whole starkly diverges from that of van Os’ Valentinian interpretation. I have also adopted van Os’ division of Philip into three macrostructural sections, though again I have chosen my own titles for these, all as given below:
In conclusion, I would echo Einar Thomassen, who states of Philip that “it expresses a reasonably coherent system of thought, which can have represented the shared beliefs of a community and is hardly adequately described as an unmethodical collection of disparate quotations.”
There is little agreement about Philip’s geographic provenance. Opinions range between Syria (formerly a majority view), Alexandria, and elsewhere in some indeterminate western region. It is possible, indeed, likely, that the author of Philip was originally from Syro-Palestine, but had subsequently relocated to somewhere in the west. This would explain the co-presence of eastern and western traditions in Philip.
Philip knows Syriacisms, such as “the Son of the Son of Man,” attested in the Jerusalem, London, and Petersburg Syriac lectionaries as and . Further, Philip 4:14-15 sounds like a previously existing traditional saying: “Despise not the lamb, because without it no one can see the door. No one can approach the king naked.” This would make better sense if viewed as originally Syriac, in which can mean both “lamb” and “servant.” The original meaning was to despise not the servant of the king, because the servant controls access to the royal palace door, denying access to those not properly dressed. When Philip incorporated this Syriac tradition, he decided to choose the alternative meaning “lamb,” in order to create a connection with the Passover-Last Supper. That these two sentences are immediately preceded by a mention of “angels” also stands out, given the play possible between “angel” and “king” in Aramaic/Syriac (, ), which would work just as well in Hebrew.
Philip 6:1-4 states that “God is a dyer,” referring to God’s baptizing activity. The play between dyeing and baptizing can be explained by Greek baptein, which means to dye, color, baptize, and although baptizein, to baptize, does not also mean to dye, baptizein is an intensive of baptein, which does. This linguistic Greek background is most likely, however, to be situated in Syria, because God as dyer/baptizer is a trope that resembles God as a painter-baptizer in the Syriac homilies of Narsai (Schenke, 301-302), and others from an earlier period. An important passage in Narsai’s homily “On the Mysteries of the Church and on Baptism” reads: “He (viz., God) turned and painted us with the colour of the Spirit, which may not be effaced. Cunningly, He mixed the colours for the renewal of our race, with oil and water and the invincible power of the Spirit.”
This trail of evidence in this case leading to Syria is strengthened by another piece of data, namely, Qurʾān 2:138, which refers to “the dye () of God,” where Arabic is cognate with Syriac maṣbuʿita, “baptism,” although most similar, as Sean Anthony remarks, to the cognate Syriac (‘dye’) or (‘dyeing’).” Here the Qurʾān uses “dye” as a metaphor for baptism. Given the Qurʾān’s extensive engagement with Syriac-speaking Christians, it is natural to see in Q 2:138 an allusion to Syriac tradition. Sean Anthony writes of this case:
Lastly, special attention should be given to the nature of the word used for colour in this Syriac homily — i.e. . Narsai here plays with the double meaning of , which can mean both medicine and colour-paint; the double entendre here is purposeful, emphasizing the transformative and healing aspects of baptism in the removal of the stain of human sin. Curiously, as Lundhaug notes, this same double entendre occurs in the above passage from Philip, playing instead on the double meaning of the Coptic word pahre, which, like the Syriac , can mean medicine/remedy as well as colour dye.
It should be clarified that Lundhaug does not mention here the Syriac , only the Coptic pahre, which Lundhaug groundlessly sees as further evidence for Philip’s composition in Coptic. The fact is that Greek pharmakon can also mean both medicine and a dye, color.
In conclusion, the evidence suggests the author of Philip started out in the east and moved west.
Most scholars date Philip from the mid second century to the early third century. Lundhaug represents a minority view when he rejects the communis opinio of a Greek Vorlage, arguing instead for composition in Coptic no earlier than the fourth century. Lundhaug’s thesis of a late dating for Philip must be rejected. While our Coptic Philip may likely contain fourth century scribal modifications, these would not be authorial, but editorial elements.
Given the many similarities between Philip and the traditions of “the elders,” i.e., the disciples of the twelve apostles, which Irenaeus cites in his Against the Heresies and Proof of the Apostolic Preaching (170s CE), and given Philip’s more primitive character compared to Irenaeus’ writings, a date for Philip of ca. 150, plus or minus a few years, is a plausible scenario. A later redaction in the decades that followed would not be unlikely.
If Philip wrote in the wake of the Bar Kokhba Revolt (135/136 CE), this could help explain the emphasis on Hebrew identity as well as the Jerusalem temple and its destruction. Although Bar Kokhba did not manage to rebuild the temple, the fact that he was accompanied by an “Eleazar the priest” indicates that he would have planned on doing so. Philip’s use of the labels “Jews”/“Hebrews” and “Christians,” as well as his recognition of the limits and sometimes misleading nature of religious-theological labels, fits a period after, not before, Bar Kokhba, but not too long thereafter.
Philip’s understanding of the Spirit as a feminine entity would be at home in Syria during the second century, but not too long thereafter, given that in Syriac the feminine word for “spirit” soon became masculine in grammatical gender under the influence of increased interaction with Greek-speaking Christians. One could counter that the Gospel of the Hebrews, which some scholars believe was composed in Egypt (of which Robert Miller rightly quips that “this is only an educated guess”), refers to the holy Spirit as Jesus’ mother. However, as the work of Petri Luomanen has clarified, the Gospel of Hebrews is of Syro-Palestinian provenance.
From its first publication, most scholars have believed Philip to be a Valentinian text. However, there is disagreement about to what extent it may be Valentinian, or whether it is eastern or western Valentinian. Although Lundhaug’s claim that Philip is an Orthodox Christian text is untenable, he has refreshingly rejected the thesis of Philip as a Valentinian text. Scholars have read into Philip Valentinian tropes, and in order to do this, they have had to resort to what amounts to a fanciful allegorical approach. For example, Thomassen thinks Jesus’ father Joseph is the demiurge, while van Os goes further and asserts that Jesus’ mother Mary is the holy Spirit.
Philip’s rejection of the belief in the virginal conception of Jesus, a rejection Schenke and Franzmann accepted, renders Lundhaug’s theory of Philip as an Orthodox Christian text impossible. Philip is neither Orthodox nor Valentinian. Nevertheless, there are a couple of similarities between Philip and known Valentinian tropes that cannot be ignored. Above all is the Valentinian “Achamoth” and Philip’s “Echamoth-Echmoth.” Despite the similarity, however, there are a number of differences. First, there is the difference in spelling between “Achamoth” and “Echamoth” (the latter suggestive of Syriac interference). Second, Valentinian sources do not have a second term “Achmoth” that would correspond to “Echmoth.” Third, neither Philip’s terminology nor explanation of “Echamoth-Echmoth” agrees with eastern or western Valentinian Sophia models.
I refer to “Valentinian” rather than to Valentinus himself, given that the Valentinian systems created by his various students bear little to no resemblance to the teachings of Valentinus as represented by the historical fragments attributable to him, as Markschies has documented at length. After Markschies’ work, an additional Valentinus fragment has been identified by Nathan Porter.
On the basis of three parallels in Ps.-Basil ep. 366, or De Continentia (De Cont. hereafter) in the Nag Hammadi Gospel of Truth, Litwa has argued that this makes it plausible to identify Valentinus as the author of the Gospel of Truth. However, on closer examination of the three parallels to the Gospel of Truth identified in Porter, 275-276, the case for Valentinus authoring the Gospel of Truth falls apart. First, De Cont. 6’s remark about Jesus’ incorruptible food digestion lacks the spiritual genius of the passage in Truth 3:6-9, which is about spiritual food of the faithful in general, not of Jesus’ digestive system. Second, De Cont. 7’s trope of sending up thoughts again lacks the spiritual genius of the parallel in Truth 16:1-4. Third, De Cont. 8’s formula that “each word is a thought” does not agree as much with Truth 5-6 as appears at first sight. Truth 5:23 states that “each letter is a complete truth.” This claimed Gospel of Truth parallel, in the form of the statement “each letter is a complete thought,” in fact represents a hypothetical and unnecessary emendation of the Philip text. For the sake of argumentation, I will grant that there remains a degree of similarity between “each word is a thought” and “each letter is a complete truth.”
One recognizes immediately that the Gospel of Truth in all three of these cases clearly represents a far superior insight and expression than is found in the De Cont. parallels. De Cont. is a relatively brief text, which calls for an explanation of the three Gospel of Truth parallels. Viewing the evidence as a whole leads to the conclusion that Valentinus did not write the Gospel of Truth. Instead, Valentinus read this text and was influenced by it. Valentinus’ treatment of the three Gospel of Truth passages is intellectually and spiritually secondary and derivative. Given that Valentinus flourished in the 140s, we must date the Gospel of Truth before then, probably to the late 130s. Similarly, although being less developed doctrinally, the Gospel According to Philip is superior in thought and diction to all of the disciples of Valentinus, both eastern and western. On these bases, it is likely that Philip predates the activities of Valentinus’ disciples, and that Philip could have been a source for some later Valentinian tropes.
Rather than viewing Philip as an Orthodox or as a Valentinian text, evidence points instead to a background that is “Jewish Christian,” although I would not simply categorize it as “a Jewish-Christian gospel.” I recommend Elliot Wolfson’s following assessment:
[Guy]Stroumsa cited as evidence for the Jewish-Christian milieu the somewhat enigmatic statement that appears in the beginning of the text, “When we were Hebrews we were orphans and had only our mother, but when we became Christians we had both father and mother.” ... [T]he supposition that the most plausible background to explain such a remark, as well as several other passages preserved in Gospel of Philip, is a Jewish-Christian community with knowledge of Hebrew and Syriac seems to me sound.
I would add that “a Jewish-Christian community with knowledge of Hebrew and Syriac” does not necessitate what van Os aptly calls a “full command” of Hebrew or Aramaic-Syriac. Philip was composed in Greek, and it is not entirely clear if the “we” of the statement “when we were Hebrews” refers to the author alone or to him and his audience, although the latter is the more natural option. In any case, the audience’s first language is Greek, which does not, however, exclude a degree of knowledge of Hebrew religious terms obtained from early religious instruction.
“Jewish-Christian” ideas in Philip include, among others, the following (all discussed in the commentary footnotes):
The type of Jewish ideas Philip transmits appealed to early Valentinian teachers. This could explain the Valentinian-sounding lines in Philip. I would therefore describe Philip as pre-Valentinian, not as proto-Valentinian.
Matthew Twigg’s suggestion that Philip is a pre-Nicene text from Alexandria is attractive, and it is not incompatible with the text’s possible integration of traditions that may have originated in Syria. Until the Kitos War (115-118 CE), Alexandria was home to a large Jewish population, including the philosopher-theologian Philo (active in the late 1st cent. BCE into the 40s CE), and it was there that his literary corpus was transmitted. However, while Alexandria as Philip’s provenance is a possibility, we should take into account the author’s origin in Syria, followed by his subsequent migration somewhere westward.
To conclude, the Gospel According to Philip was most likely composed ca. 150 in Greek by an originally Syrian Greek speaker-reader with at least some knowledge of Syriac, Aramaic, and Hebrew. His knowledge of “Jewish-Christian” traditions was extensive.
Other Gospels proudly presents as part of our Nag Hammadi Initiative. The Coptic text was translated by Samuel Zinner and edited by Mark Mattison and Rachel Bousfield via our financial support.
How to cite:
Zinner, Samuel. . Translated by Samuel Zinner, edited by Mark Mattison and Rachel Bousfield. Other Gospels. (accessed ).
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The rendering of the above gospel was made possible by Willis Barnstone, who has graciously provided exclusive permission to present it here. All rights including the right of electronic reproduction are reserved by the author. Chapter and verse numbers have been added to aid reference.
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