Contemplation

Pick up a used book and sometimes a stranger’s notes fall out of it. A line copied from a sermon, half a recipe, a question underlined twice. You can’t reconstruct their life from the scraps, but you can tell what they cared about. Reading the Gospel of Philip feels a lot like that. It has no story and no clear outline, and it jumps from baptism to donkeys to the price of pearls without warning. It’s also the most quotable book in the Nag Hammadi library, and once you know how to read it, the jumps start to make sense. Here’s a guided walk through its best images. ...

A seventeenth-century mystic named Angelus Silesius compressed this entire post into a couplet. Christ could be born in Bethlehem a thousand times, he wrote, and it would profit you nothing unless he were born in you. That is the whole method, stated with maximum nerve. The gospel events happened, and the allegorical readers never much argued the point. Their claim ran deeper, that the events also describe a sequence that unfolds inside any soul undergoing awakening, so that the familiar scenes, manger, river, desert, mountain, cross, and empty tomb, compose the central panel of the scripture-wide map this site has been walking. The Gospel of Philip says outright that these things are to be understood symbolically, and Meister Eckhart preached the same birth in the soul from inside the medieval church. Here is the sequence, scene by scene. ...

Somewhere in the middle of the second century, a Christian teacher composed a sermon that begins with the word joy. Not judgment, not sin, not the end of the world. “The gospel of truth is joy,” the first line announces, “for people who have received grace from the Father of truth.” The church that won history’s argument burned what it could of texts like this one, and for most of two millennia we knew it only from a complaint. Irenaeus, cataloging heresies around the year 180, grumbled that the Valentinians had produced something called the Gospel of Truth that bore no resemblance to the real gospels. He meant it as an insult. As a book review, it turns out to be accurate, because the text that surfaced in the Egyptian codex later named for Carl Jung resembles nothing else in early Christian literature. It rewards a slow walk. ...