Nag Hammadi Library — Codex I, Text 5

The Tripartite Tractate is the longest text in Codex I of the Nag Hammadi Library and one of the most systematic Valentinian theological treatises to survive. It presents a comprehensive cosmology in three parts: the nature of the transcendent Father and the Pleroma, the fall of the Logos and the creation of the material world, and the salvation and restoration of humanity through Christ.

This edition reproduces the translation available through the Gnostic Society Library (gnosis.org), based on the critical editions of the Nag Hammadi texts.

To speak of all that is supreme, we must begin with the Father, the Root of the Totality, for it is from Him that we have received the grace to speak about Him at all.

Before anything else existed, He alone was. He is “one” in the truest sense—He is the first and only One. Yet He is not solitary in the way we think of a lone individual, because if He is “Father,” then “Son” must follow. Just as a root inevitably implies a tree, branches, and fruit, in the same way, God is rightly called “Father.” He is beyond comparison and beyond change. He alone is unbegotten and has no other “father” or “creator.” One who has a father or creator cannot, in the full sense, be the ultimate God or Father, because he himself would come from someone else. Only the true Father—God without beginning or end—begot and formed all things.

Because He is unbegotten, He is also immortal. Neither time nor circumstance can cause Him to change or bring about an end He never intended. He exists by His own will, unchanging and unconquerable; no other being can halt or reshape His identity, His greatness, or His very existence. He is truly unalterable and permanently clothed in His own immutability.

He is called “without beginning” and “without end” precisely because He was never begotten and shall never cease. Equally, His greatness is beyond searching out, His wisdom impossible to fathom, His power past all comprehension, and His goodness so deep we cannot measure it.

He alone—the good, unbegotten Father, perfect in every way—stands overflowing with all His offspring, with every virtue and every possible good. He is free from any trace of malice, so that every being may recognize that all they possess is a gift from Him. He shares generously and never tires of giving, for His storehouse is inexhaustible, and He rests joyfully even as He bestows blessings.

He is so vast and unique that no one was beside Him “in the beginning.” There is no place He inhabits, no place He has emerged from, and no place He must go. He uses no model or blueprint for His work, He faces no obstacle in bringing forth His creation, and He depends on no preexisting material. There is no substance within Him that He must shape, and He shares His design with no co-worker. To suggest otherwise is to speak in ignorance. Rather, we acknowledge Him as the good, flawless, perfect One, Himself containing the All.

None of the loftiest titles or most honored names—no matter how glorious—can fully capture Him, though we offer them to praise and honor Him as best we can. Yet in His own being and nature, the mind cannot conceive Him, speech cannot express Him, eyes cannot see Him, and no body can seize Him. His greatness is inscrutable, His depth beyond our measure, His will without boundaries, and His height infinite.

Because He transcends all limits, He is incomprehensible and thus unknowable to any mind, unseen by any created thing, unutterable by any mortal word, untouchable by any hand. He alone knows Himself precisely—His own form, greatness, and magnitude. Only He can conceive Himself, see Himself, name Himself, and grasp Himself. He is simultaneously His own mind, His own vision, His own voice, and His own form. He is whatever He thinks, beholds, speaks, and understands, remaining inconceivable, ineffable, ungraspable, and unchanging. Yet His inner life is sustaining, delightful, truthful, and restful, for He surpasses all wisdom, rises above all intellect, all glory, all beauty, all sweetness, all greatness, all depth, and all height.

Should this unknowable One, so immeasurably great, wish to be known, He is able to grant such knowledge through His Power, which is His will. Yet for now, in His greatness, He remains silent—He is the One through whom the Totalities arise into lasting being.

He begets Himself as Ineffable, since He alone is self-begotten. He conceives Himself and knows Himself exactly as He is. He brings forth, for His own praise and admiration, for His honor and His glory, an outflow from the boundlessness of His greatness, the inscrutability of His wisdom, the immeasurability of His power, and the unfathomable sweetness of His nature. He projects Himself as generation, filled with marvelous, wondrous glory. He honors and loves. He has a Son who abides in Him. This Son is hidden by silence—ineffable within the Ineffable, invisible within the Invisible, inconceivable within the Inconceivable. He dwells in the Father eternally.

In this way, the unbegotten Father knows Himself in a manner that befits Him. He brought forth the Son by an act of thought—the very knowledge of Himself—which forever reflects His nature. This thought is the Father’s unspoken wisdom and grace, if we speak of it as best we can.

Just as the Father exists in the truest sense, with none before Him—there being no other unbegotten one apart from Him—so also does the Son exist in the truest sense. None came before Him, and no other Son follows after Him. That is why He is called “firstborn,” for no one precedes Him, and “only Son,” for no one comes after Him. Furthermore, within Him dwells a fruit beyond comprehension, owing to His surpassing greatness. Yet He wished it to be known, in the richness of His generosity, and so He revealed His ineffable power, mingling it with the vast abundance of His goodness.

Although the Son has been present from the beginning, so too has the Church existed from the beginning. There is no conflict between calling the Son an “only Son” and acknowledging the Church, though the mystery is deep. Just as the Father is one, revealing Himself as Father uniquely to the Son, so too does the Son stand as His own brother, unbegotten and without origin. He marvels at Himself along with the Father, and offers Him (and thus Himself) glory and honor and love. He is the one whom He conceives to be the Son, consistent with the timeless truth of having “no beginning” and “no end.” Thus all is set and remains firm. Boundless and unmeasurable, His offspring remain undivided—what comes forth from the Son and the Father can be likened to many “kisses,” springing from the infinite exchange of a pure, insatiable love. There might be countless such kisses, yet they all remain one in essence.

This multitude is called the Church, which, from before the ages, has been known as “the aeons of the aeons.” It is made of holy, imperishable spirits, upon which the Son rests, for that is His very essence—just as the Father rests upon the Son.

The Church endures in the very properties and dispositions where the Father and the Son dwell, as already described. It therefore subsists in the births of innumerable aeons—these aeons themselves continually bring forth more offspring through the dispositions and properties in which the Church stands. They unite among themselves, with one another, and with those who proceed from them, all converging upon the Son, for He is their very reason for being. The mind cannot fully conceive the Son, for He alone completes that realm, nor can any speech contain Him, for He is beyond all naming and imagining. Only He can speak His own name, and only He can conceive Himself, for He is not rooted in any place as other beings are.

Those who dwell in that realm defy description, their number and measure as immeasurable as the joy and delight of the unbegotten, nameless One. Their fullness arises from the Father’s abundance, so that His generosity gives rise to the birth of the aeons.

They have dwelled eternally in the Father’s thought, for He is, to them, both thought and place. Once He had established their generations, the One who governs all chose to disclose what was lacking among them, and He brought forth those who belong to Him. Yet just as a spring never diminishes no matter how much water flows from it, so the Father remains undiminished. While the aeons were in the Father’s secret depths, the Father understood them, though they could not comprehend Him, nor even themselves; they existed in the Father but not yet as distinct beings—like seeds still hidden, or children in the womb. He begot them within Himself as a living Word; those He would bring into full existence had not yet emerged from Him. He, their Father, conceived them not merely to exist for Him alone but so that they might also come to know themselves. He sowed this thought like a seed, granting them a first form, and naming Himself “Father,” so they would know that everything has origin in Him. They did not yet perceive that this exaltation lay in that name.

Like an infant yet in the womb, they already had what they needed, even if they had not directly beheld the One who sowed them. Thus their principal quest was to search for Him, realizing He surely exists, and ever longing to know more of what truly is. The perfect Father, being good, did not keep them forever in potential. He enabled them to emerge into being and also granted them the grace to know what exists. The form that is gifted to them allows them to recognize that the Father—who has eternally known Himself—indeed exists, just as children, once born, enter the light and see those who gave them life.

The Father brought forth all things—like a small child, a drop from a spring, a blossom on a vine—needing growth and nourishing until they reach a flawless state. For a time, He kept these first emanations hidden from those who came from Him. This was not done out of envy, but lest they receive perfection from the outset and exalt themselves as though they achieved it apart from Him. Just as He wished them to come forth into being, He also, in His own timing, wished them to enter that perfect state through His boundless kindness.

He raised up a radiant guide for those emanations that proceeded from Him—the One who bears their name. This is the Son: full, complete, flawless, mingled with all that came from the Father. All things receive Him in the measure and form each one can bear. He Himself is greater than all, existing by His own right. Yet wherever He abides, in whatever aspect or size or form, those present can know and speak of Him according to what they perceive. They wear Him as a garment, and He, in turn, clothes them, for so far as they are able, they comprehend Him. Still, in His own being, He remains immeasurable. Through this, the Father is honored by each one, even in His ineffable and hidden nature, while they hold Him in reverent awe. This lofty splendor arises as they speak of Him and behold Him, moved by the vast delight of His goodness. Just as the silent marveling of the aeons produces eternal generations—offspring in thought—so the spoken dispositions of the Word are spiritual outpourings. Both, being wonders and expressions, belong to the Word and serve as seeds and thoughts of His offspring, living roots forever. They seem to come forth from themselves, yet truly they are mindful and spiritual progeny, glorifying the Father.

Voice, spirit, mind, and word are not required here as they are in lower spheres, since those who originate from Him produce whatever they desire effortlessly. He in whom they live, of whom they speak, in whom they move, whom they praise—He has sons in the same way that they themselves come from the unbegotten. They assist one another in fruitfulness, exactly as their source does.

So exalted is the Father above the Totalities—unknown and beyond understanding—that if He had suddenly revealed all His might to these highest aeons, they would have been undone. Hence, He concealed His infinite power, remaining too great for any mind or utterance. Yet He stretched Himself forth, giving foundation, space, and a dwelling place for creation. Thus He is named “the One through whom All exists,” for, as Father of the All, His work pours into their thoughts so that they may search for Him. Their abundance lies in realizing that He is, and in pondering what He is. He has given Himself for their joy and nourishment, radiantly laboring alongside them in knowledge, sharing with them His own self. He is the One called “Son,” and they see that He alone cloaks them. He is both “Son” and “Father,” beyond all naming and thinking. He is the One who was from the beginning.

No one can fully conceive of or imagine Him, nor can anyone approach the supreme One who truly preexists. All the spoken names offered to Him are symbols of honor, each according to the speaker’s capacity. But the One who came forth from Him—when He stretched out in begetting, so that the Totalities might know—bears all true names. In Him alone they are wholly fulfilled, and He is the first, the “Man of the Father.” He is:

• The form of the formless

• The body of the bodiless

• The face of the invisible

• The word of the unspeakable

• The mind of the inconceivable

• The spring flowing from Him

• The root of all who are planted

• The God of all who exist

• The light for those He illumines

• The love for those He loves

• The care for those under His care

• The wisdom for those He makes wise - The power for those to whom He grants power

• The assembly of those He gathers to Himself - The revelation of what is sought

• The eye of those who see

• The breath of those who breathe

• The life of those who live

• The unity of all mixed with the Fullness All these dwell within the One, who utterly enfolds them. By no single name is He fully called. He is both the One and the Totalities at once, undivided in essence. He never morphs from one name into another or becomes something different. He remains wholly Himself, eternally, and is the sum of all these attributes together. He has brought the Father to the Totalities, and indeed He is the Totalities. For He knows Himself, and He is each property, each power, while surpassing them all. He sees Himself within Himself, complete, possessing a Son and a true form. Therefore, His powers and properties are beyond counting or describing, for it is by their eternal generation that He brings them forth. They are countless and undivided, emanations of His words and commands and all that He contains. He knows them, for they reside in the One Name, each proclaiming their being within it. He brings them forth to show they exist each in its own way yet still one in unity. He does not immediately reveal their vastness to them all, nor does He show them how perfectly they resemble Him.

5. Aeonic Life All those brought forth from Him—the endless Aeons of Aeons—are outflows and offspring of His creative nature. In that same creative nature, they return glory to the Father, their source. This is as previously stated: He establishes the Aeons as roots, springs, and fathers. He is the One they praise, recognizing that their knowledge and wisdom originate in Him. It is from His knowledge and wisdom that the Totalities emerged. Had each Aeon tried to offer Him praise separately, it would have been but a partial tribute, for “The Father is the Totalities.” Instead, united in heart and power, they blended together in a single chorus of praise. Though they number many, they honored Him as one, for the Aeons came forth for the sake of the One who is the All. This offering of praise was like a first-fruit of the immortal realm—eternal in its nature—emerging from living Aeons made perfect and complete through the One who is flawless. That oneness in worship declares them to be what He is, just as the Father Himself, faultless and ever-living, both receives and hears their praise, making His own nature visible in them.

Their second measure of honor arose when the Father reciprocated their devotion, letting them recognize the grace that allowed them to bear fruit together in His name. Thus, just as they came forth in His splendor, they manifested their own perfection in the act of giving Him glory.

They became, in turn, fathers of a third form of praise, according to the freedom and power granted them. Each offered worship in the unique manner of that Aeon’s inner will. Thus, the first and the second expressions of praise stand complete and perfect, reflecting the perfect and complete Father and all those who proceed from Him. The third level of praise—honoring the desires of each Aeon and each of its properties—springs from the Father’s abiding strength, which persists in flawless thought. In this way, the Father holds all in love and sovereignty, receiving their homage as they rejoice in Him.

They are “minds of minds” and “words of words,” elders upon elders, forever ascending in layers of glory. Each one rests in its own high place, receiving honor through the praise it offers. All who worship the Father beget continually, sustaining one another, for their emanations have no limit, nor any measurement. The Father harbors no envy toward those emanations that might achieve likeness to Himself, for it pleases Him to bring all things forth, revealing Himself. In whomever He wills, He kindles the Father’s likeness. In whomever He wills, He bestows the name “God.” He makes them the very Totalities He Himself encompasses. Such majestic names—honored even among the angels and archons of the cosmos—dwell in this realm. Yet the angels of the cosmos do not resemble these eternal beings in any true way.

All Aeons remain drawn by love and longing for complete discovery of the Father, joining in perfect unity of purpose. Although the Father discloses Himself unceasingly, He also chooses to stay beyond full apprehension, inspiring them to keep seeking, while He keeps hidden that primordial essence none can penetrate.

He implanted in them the impulses that guide them along the way—faith in and prayer to the One they cannot see, unwavering hope in the One beyond their imagining, and a fruitful love that looks toward what is still unseen. He also granted them an understanding of the eternal Mind, and blessed them with abundant freedom and riches. In His wisdom, they are drawn to glorify the Father in spirit and to seek the Father’s honor in all things.

By the Father’s own will, He is known to the Aeons through the Spirit breathing within them, awakening in them a yearning for the Unknown One—like detecting a wondrous fragrance and being moved to find its source. His sweetness bestows upon the Aeons an indescribable delight, inviting them to unite with Him and to strengthen one another in the Spirit He planted among them. Though they remain weighed down by the mystery of what lies beyond them, they are ever renewed in an unfathomable way. They cannot be torn away from the One in whom they are anchored, and they will not grow silent regarding the Father’s glory—He who alone can truly speak. Even so, they take their shape from Him who is beyond all speaking. He reveals Himself though He is indescribable, and they hold Him in contemplative silence. Through His Spirit, the Aeons know that He is unnamable and beyond comprehension, yet He gives them the means to think and speak of Him in the measure He chooses.

Every Aeon is like a name—an attribute and power—of the Father. He holds countless names, harmoniously blended. Because the Father is a unity, we can speak of Him as a single name; at the same time, His properties are innumerable.

The Totalities’ emanation from the One who is, did not unfold by any separating or casting off. Rather, it is as if the Father stretches forth, sharing Himself with those He loves, so that those who come from Him might become one with Him.

As in our own world, where the single span of time is divided into portions—years, seasons, months, days, hours, and moments—so too the Aeon of Truth, though a single reality, contains both unity and multiplicity. Each Aeon or name partakes of that total grandeur according to its capacity, like a spring producing streams and rivers and channels, or like a root spreading beneath the earth to nourish its trees and fruit, or like a single human body with larger and smaller members joined indivisibly together.
6. The Imperfect Begetting by the Logos By the gracious freedom of will and the wisdom granted them, the Aeons brought forth a third kind of fruit. Yet, they refused to offer praise through mere agreement alone (though that agreement had been intended as a shared hymn for each realm of the Fullness). They also did not wish to offer honor through the entire Totality or through any being more exalted than themselves, other than one whose own station is supreme. In this way, they looked for someone who would accept the praise they wished to give, gather it into himself on behalf of the One above him, and then beget himself anew—thereby renewing also the one who ascended to him and requested union, each entreating the other. Because no Aeon would speak openly of the Father’s boundlessness, the Aeons fell silent concerning His incomprehensible nature and spoke only of the One seeking to know Him.

Then one Aeon—the Logos, sprung from the Oneness—attempted what lay beyond mortal reach: to grasp the Father’s mystery and give praise especially to His ineffability. This Logos was not begotten by any shared decree of the Totalities, nor by the One who first brought them forth (the Father), but emerged from the freedom and wisdom granted to all. He was made capable of deep inquiry, holding within himself a wise nature so he might probe the ineffable depths. Because of that freedom, he acted as he chose, unhindered.

Desiring a perfect offspring, he proceeded beyond what was permitted, for he had neither the Father’s explicit command nor the Totalities’ consent. He was the last Aeon produced through mutual assistance and was small in scope. Out of great love, and before working in unity with the other Aeons, he hastened toward the realm of perfect glory. Yet this did not happen against the Father’s will, since the Logos himself was begotten under the Father’s design. The Father and the Fullness withdrew from him, however, to maintain the limit the Father had established—a reminder that one does not seize the unknowable by force, but only receives what the Father wills. Furthermore, their withdrawal allowed a new order to emerge.

Thus, the Logos, complete in himself and longing to praise the Father, labored for His glory. But those he attempted to bring to fullness were shaped in mere shadows and images, for the Logos could not withstand fully the brilliance of the Light. Gazing into the depths, he fell into doubt, and this division stirred turmoil within him. He felt confusion, forgetfulness, and ignorance both of himself and of his origin. He had raised himself too high, hoping to comprehend the Unbounded Father, and so his failure gave birth to weakness and uncertainty. He could not attain that infinite glory, for it was not granted him.

The self-begotten Aeon belonging rightly to the Pleroma now pulled away from the Logos. That Aeon returned to its proper home, abandoning the one caught in deficiency and those emanations born of his mistaken intent—mere illusions, not truly his children. When he tried to manifest himself as a perfect being, he appeared vulnerable, taking on the aspect of a lacking nature. Yet what was still whole and flawless within him ascended with the Aeon who drew him upward, leaving behind the deficiency below. The union of those two in the Pleroma bore new fruit, while those who dwelt in deficiency were thrown into greater upheaval.

So it was that lesser shapes sprang from the Logos’s presumptuous thought—mere reflections, imitations, dim likenesses without reason or light. Coming from vanity, they arose from nothing and shall return to nothing. These illusions overshadowed themselves with grand names (which were but shadows of the higher realms), displaying a borrowed beauty like a mirror that only echoes the true image.

Believing themselves self-existent, with no origin predating them, they rebelled and acted arrogantly, never bowing to the One who called them into being. Each sought power and strove to dominate the others, and their discordant glory served to shape an evolving design. Because they mirrored loftier realities, they were seized by lust for power according to the greatness of the names they mimicked—each one imagining itself grander than the rest.

Yet their thoughts, too, were not barren. Just as they themselves were echoes of higher forms, whatever they conceived took shape as children—warriors, aggressors, betrayers—disobedient beings fixated on power. All manner of rebellious natures sprang from them, countless and unruly.

Because the Logos brought new beings into being, he found himself growing troubled and confused. Where he expected perfection, he saw deficiency; where he hoped for unity, he witnessed division; where he longed for calm, he discovered unrest. As his own wholeness and eminence receded, he felt powerless—unable to stop his creations from embracing disorder, yet equally incapable of destroying their disharmony.

Those emerging beings, unaware of their true nature, had no knowledge of the Fullness (Pleroma) from which they had come, nor of the One who was their true Source. Cut off from the stabilizing power of the Pleroma, the Logos no longer brought forth the brilliant emanations that honored the Father. Instead, he produced frail, distorted offspring, wounded by the very doubts and turmoil haunting him. Instead of giving rise to a harmonious creation, he birthed strange and incomplete entities that lacked the fullness of genuine life.

Finally, the Logos rendered judgment upon the tumultuous children of his confusion—a judgment that condemned them. They turned against him, and in their wrath they were driven toward a change of heart, or metanoia, freeing them from illusion and rebellion. This transformation also shifted the Logos himself, redirecting his thoughts toward what is truly good. In that moment, he recalled the truth that eternally exists and offered prayer for the one who had turned once more toward the good.

First, his prayer and recollection were directed toward the One in the Pleroma—forgotten in his earlier turmoil—then toward his siblings, each in turn, and finally toward them all together. Above and before them all, he remembered the Father. The echo of their shared prayer aided him and the Totalities in returning to the Pleroma. They remembered him because he now remembered them, their distant call guiding him home.

Every prayer and remembrance the Logos offered flowed outward in many powers, measured by the boundary already set. None of his renewed thoughts were wasted. These newly formed powers were inherently good, more elevated than the merely imitative ones that had emerged before. The first generation arose from pride and conceit, shadows of a distorted first thought.

Comparing the first and the newer offspring:

• The first were like those lost in forgetfulness, weighed down by troubled sleep, haunted by dark dreams.
• The second were like children of light awaiting dawn, having glimpsed a hopeful vision of day in the Logos.

Their appearance brought an end to the chaotic emanations once spawned by the Logos’s earlier confusion. The previous generation no longer held weight or honor. Though these newer children could not match the eternal Aeons in their lofty stature, they stood above the remnants of ignorance solely through the Logos’s renewed yearning for the One on high. Unlike the first generation, they did not arise from emptiness but from the Logos’s sincere return to goodness.

When he prayed and turned his heart toward the good, the Logos sowed within them a longing to seek and revere the glorious Father who exists before all else. He placed in them a dawning awareness that Something greater preceded them, even if they did not fully understand. This common devotion and love drew them into unity and harmony, so that they recognized their shared origin and found their strength in oneness.

Because they honored their Source, they shone more brightly than the first, deceptive offspring, who proudly boasted of existing without any origin. Imagining themselves self-created, those earlier beings reproduced through conflict, with each one craving dominance. Striving for rule and power, they fell into entangled fights, leaving them hollow with ambition and jealousy, never opening themselves to a higher understanding.

In contrast, the powers formed by the Logos’s renewed intention aligned themselves with the eternal realm above. Their unity clashed with the turmoil of the initial false generation, prompting that generation’s wrath to focus solely upon them. From these battles—fueled by envy, hostility, and ignorance—countless futile forces emerged, mingling in confusion. Yet, since their birth was caused by the Logos, he did not close his heart to them; he simply waited, hopeful that help from above would reach him, guiding all toward the good once again.
8. The Emanation of the Savior The Logos, in its movement, was sustained by the hope and expectation of the One who is exalted. Seeing that the shadowy beings set themselves against him without humility, he withdrew from them completely. He found contentment in those who came into being according to his higher thought. Out of compassion for the one in deficiency, the Logos brought this one forth invisibly among those who had been shaped by that same higher thought—he remained with them until a life-giving light, begotten of brotherly love in the preexistent Fullness (Pleroma), shone upon him from above.

What had caused the stumble among the Father’s Aeons—though the Father himself did not suffer—was taken on gently and without malice by the Aeons, as if it were their own. In doing so, they learned through the one who alone provided them the power to remove any flaws. The entire arrangement was set in motion by the One who reached from on high, along with all perfection issuing from Him. He became an advocate for the one in need, appealing to the Aeons who had come into being in a manner consistent with the reality that exists. When he petitioned them, they gladly agreed—united in intention—to help their struggling brother. They earnestly asked the Father for assistance from above, that his glory might shine forth, for the deficient one could never be perfected otherwise. Only if the Father’s Fullness revealed itself and granted its presence could it heal what was lacking.

Out of the harmony of their joyful willingness, they produced a “fruit,” a glorious unity belonging to all of them. This fruit reflected the Father’s own likeness, for the Aeons had prayed and given glory to Him, seeking aid for their brother. The Father joined in their wish, so they brought forth this fruit willingly and gladly. Through it, they showed they were of one mind with Him—this beloved Son in whom the Totalities delight. He came as a garment for them to “put on,” bestowing perfection on the deficient one and confirming the already-perfect. Properly called the “Savior,” “Redeemer,” “Well-Pleasing One,” “Beloved,” “the One who receives prayers,” “the Christ,” and “the Light for the appointed,” he bears the very names that signify what he is for them. Yet, above all else, as stated before, he is “the Son,” for he reveals the Father’s knowledge, which the Father longed to share.

Not only did the Aeons bring forth a visible likeness of the Father—whom they had praised before—but they also produced their own likeness. Like an army assembled before a king, they appeared in many forms, fitting for those shaped by thought in strong fellowship and harmonious union. Their variety allowed the one who needed help to recognize the many who came to assist him, and to see as well the One who provided that help.

The result of their agreement with him, mentioned above, obeyed the power of the Totalities. The Father placed the Totalities into him—past, present, and future—displaying them all within him. Though entrusted to him, they were not “given away” but rather made visible according to the authority and purpose first granted. Thus, he began his revelation.

He who contains the Father and in whom dwell the Totalities was created before the one who remained blind. By the shining of perfect light, he guided the one who sought true sight. First, he brought that soul to unutterable joy, making it perfect for himself. To each, he granted exactly what was suitable. This was the intention of that first joy. Then, secretly, he implanted a word destined to become true knowledge, giving the power to cast out whatever rebelled. In this way, he showed himself to the deficient one. To the things that sprang from that deficiency, he appeared in a form surpassing all else. They contended with one another, but suddenly he was revealed to them like a flash of lightning, breaking through their tangled hostility without warning or advance knowledge. Terrified by the brilliance that struck them, they collapsed; they could not endure such a light. His appearance confronted both groups—those shaped by higher thought (nicknamed “the little ones”) and those of mere likeness.

The “little ones,” having some faint idea of a greater One who preceded them, had already sown in themselves a sense of awe for his future revelation. Therefore, when he appeared, they welcomed him, paid him homage, and bore witness to the light that had proven itself mightier than their adversaries. By contrast, the shadowy, prideful beings, having never acknowledged anything higher, were seized by fear. They plummeted into the pit of ignorance—labeled “Outer Darkness,” “Chaos,” “Hades,” or “the Abyss.” He set them beneath the order of the thoughtful beings, a place suiting them, where they would rule the unspeakable darkness that was rightfully theirs. Yet even these were assigned a use for the ordering that was to unfold.

There is a vast difference between how the Savior revealed himself to the one in deficiency and to those who emerged from that same deficiency. To the needy one, he appeared inwardly, sharing in his struggles, lifting him up little by little into rest, nurturing growth until fully granting him the joy of a direct vision. But to those outside—hostile and trapped in disorder—he flashed forth swiftly, then immediately withdrew, granting them no chance to see him plainly.
9. The Pleroma of the Logos When the once-fragmented Logos was finally illuminated, his Pleroma—his state of fullness—began. He broke free from those early powers that had disturbed him, stripping off the proud thoughts that had clung to him. He received communion with those who offered him rest, especially once those who had defied him before now yielded and humbled themselves. He felt great joy at the loving help of his siblings who visited him, giving thanks for escaping the rebels who had turned against him, and honoring the might of those who supported him so faithfully.

He brought forth visible reflections of the living, holy patterns—beautiful in the realm of goodness—resembling what truly exists, although not fully equal in truth. This was because their creation arose not from complete harmony with him and the One who appeared to him, but still they were shaped through wisdom and knowledge as he united himself with the Logos in full. Therefore, the offspring were indeed great, mirroring what is truly magnificent.

In awe of the splendor of those who had appeared, the Logos offered thanks for their visitation. Through those who gave him aid, he acted for the sake of stabilizing the beings that came from him, seeking to impart blessings. He prayed fervently that all who proceeded from him might be arranged and established, each finding a secure place. Those he produced with clear intent now traverse every region beneath, each being assigned its proper dwelling according to its true nature. For the misbegotten, this order becomes their undoing, but for the offspring of thoughtful design, it is a saving gift—an unfolding of the seeds that sprang forth not by themselves.

The one who appeared among them bore the Father’s image and a spirit of deep harmony. Like a garment woven of every grace, like nourishing food for the children of the Logos, he shone forth through the prayers, glory, and honor offered by the Logos himself. Gazing upon these helpers, the Logos longed to bring each one to perfect wholeness through the forms he had called into being.

The Logos then increased their mutual support and the hope of a promised goodness, filling them with joy, rest, and pure delight. He generated those he first remembered—though they had once been absent from him—granting them completion. A minor duplication in the text (dittography) points to his profound vision: while the Logos stands in union with the one who revealed himself, he lives in faith and hope in the perfect Father, as do all the Totalities. He appears alongside them before fully joining with them, so that his creations are not overwhelmed by sudden, blazing light they cannot bear.

This renewed resolve of the Logos—returning to stability and authority over what he had produced—earned the names “Aeon” and “Place” of all he had fashioned in careful order. It is also called the “Gathering of Salvation,” for in it, he healed his own scattered thoughts, returning to oneness. Moreover, it is called the “Storehouse,” marking the peaceful rest he gained for himself. It is named “Bride,” reflecting the joy between him and the power that came to unite with him, bearing new fruit. It is “Kingdom” as well, signifying the secure reign he exercises now over those who once opposed him. Finally, it is called the “Joy of the Lord,” for it clothes him in gladness. In his presence dwells light, repaying his goodness and offering the freedom of true insight.

The Aeon just described exists above the two battling orders. It does not join forces with any earthly dominion, nor does it suffer the weaknesses and confusions of material likenesses and restless thoughts.

In this Aeon—into which the Logos entered with perfect joy—there is a form resembling matter, yet it also reflects the nature of its Revealer. It is an image of what resides in the Pleroma, born from the inexhaustible joy of the One who rejoices eternally. The face of the Revealer shines forth in earnestness, fidelity, and the promise of answered prayer. It takes on the title of “Son,” sharing his essence, his might, and his form, the one in whom the Logos found affection and delight, the one to whom the Logos prayed with profound love. This Aeon is light, longing to be confirmed, open to receiving wisdom, and watchful in its vision—gifts drawn from those on high. It holds wisdom in opposing the lower turmoil, carries the power of speaking forth truth, and finds perfection in these gifts.

They took shape alongside the Logos, reflecting the Pleroma’s design. Each one has a “father” in the living powers above, mirroring their forms of true masculinity, free of the infirmities associated with a fallen, scattered state. This new gathering is called “the Church,” for it models the harmony shared by those from the heavenly assembly.

Born in the image of the Light, it is itself complete—though lesser than that ultimate Light—yet it remains indivisible, a shining countenance of unbroken radiance. Those originating in the likeness of each Aeon dwell in the Logos, yet they do not all share equal power; each retains a particular strength. They blend in equality, yet each holds its unique identity. Because they arose prematurely, before the Logos received the Father fully, their beginnings were marred by passion—passion being a kind of sickness stemming from disunity. Their union with the Logos’s Totality and his will proved essential to the unfolding of all things. They must travel through lower realms, each in turn, because these places cannot bear so swift an arrival all at once. And this journey is necessary, for by them all will be completed.

In short, the Logos beholds everything—what already existed, what now is, and what is yet to come—for he has been entrusted with shaping all that exists. Some things already dwell in suitable forms, while other seeds rest within him, cherished by his promise of things yet to be. In time, he reveals and nurtures these seeds, displaying them to fulfill their destiny. For a while, the seed of that promise is safely kept, awaiting those chosen to fulfill a mission when the Savior and his companions appear—those who stand foremost in wisdom and the glory of the Father.
10. The Organization

It was proper, given the prayer he offered and the change of heart that followed, for some to suffer loss, others to benefit, and still others to be set apart. By the authority of the one who appeared—him from whom he received dominion over all things—the Logos arranged for the punishment of those who disobeyed, separating himself from them. He remains below and at a distance from what is exalted, until he finishes arranging all external things, placing each where it rightly belongs.

At first, when he adorned the entire creation, the Logos stationed himself as foundation, cause, and ruler of everything brought into existence, much like the Father, who was the cause of this initial establishment after Himself. The Logos then shaped the preexisting images he had originally produced in thanksgiving and praise. Next, he beautified the place of those he had brought forth in honor, a place spoken of as “Paradise,” “Delight,” “Festival of Abundant Provision,” and “Joy”—which already existed, and which reflects all the goodness found in the Pleroma. Then he adorned the kingdom like a city overflowing with mutual love and generous abundance, filled with holy spirits and strong powers set there by the Logos to rule. After that, he arranged the dwelling of the Church in this realm—mirroring the assembly in the higher Aeons that glorifies the Father—followed by the place of faith and obedience, born from hope, which the Logos had received once the light appeared. Then, too, he established the domain of proper disposition—prayer and supplication—accompanied by forgiveness and a promise about the one who would be revealed.

All these spiritual realms exist in spiritual strength. They are distinct from the “thought-beings” because the power operating in them stands as an image that separates the Pleroma from the Logos. Meanwhile, another power, which foretells what is yet to come, directs these “thought-beings” back toward what existed before them, preventing them from mingling with what the Logos has produced by contemplating the things within himself.

The “thought-beings” dwelling outside remain humble, preserving a resemblance to what lies in the Pleroma, especially through the sharing of names that impart beauty. Their transformation remains humble before these “thought-beings,” as does the law of judgment— condemnation and wrath. Equally humble is the power that keeps lower entities at a distance, thwarting them from spreading among the “thought-beings” and their renewed mindset. This restraining force consists of fear, bewilderment, forgetfulness, amazement, and ignorance—things shaped by images and fantasies. Even these lesser entities bear exalted names, though those produced in pride, lust for power, disobedience, and deceit have no true knowledge.

He gave a name to each entity, reflecting two broad categories. Those connected to thought and reflection are termed “Right Ones,” “Psychic,” “Fiery,” and “the Middle.” Those linked to arrogant thought and mere likeness are called “Left,” “Material,” “Dark,” and “the Last.” Once the Logos had assigned each entity—whether image, reflection, or likeness—to its appointed realm, he guarded the Aeon of the “images” from all opposition. This Aeon is a place of delight. Yet for the “thought-beings,” he revealed the mind he had cast off, intending to draw them into a tangible bond for the sake of ordering their realm and dwelling, and also to incite in them an urge toward what is inferior, so they would not remain complacent in their glorious setting and risk dissolving. Rather, by seeing their own frailty, they would yearn for healing and continually seek the One capable of lifting them from what diminishes them.

He also placed over the “likeness-beings” the word of beauty, so they might be fashioned appropriately, and subjected them to the law of judgment. In addition, he set over them certain powers born from the root of ambition, designating these as their rulers. Through the appeal of beauty, the warning of law, or the controlling force of ambition, he intended to protect order against those bent on mischief, pleasing the Logos, for they play a role in this arrangement.

The Logos knew how the two types—both driven by the lust for power—conspired among themselves. He graciously granted each group’s desires, giving them the right place and rank: some would command a certain space or task, while they themselves deferred to any higher place above them. Thus, among angels and archangels emerged roles of command and submission. Each archon, along with those belonging to his lineage, was assigned a domain and responsibility, from one horizon of heaven to the other, down to the earth’s foundations, and below it as well. There are kings, rulers, and authorities—some tasked to inflict penalties, others to administer justice, still others to grant rest and healing, to teach, or to guard.

Over all these archons, the Logos appointed one Archon who has no superior—lord of them all—an image the Logos drew in thought as a representation of the Father of the Totalities. Hence, this Archon bears every name that signifies an image of the Father, adorned with each exalted attribute and dignity. Consequently, he is called “father,” “god,” “demiurge,” “king,” “judge,” “place,” and “dwelling,” and also “law.” The Logos employs him like a hand to shape and beautify what lies below, and like a mouth to speak out prophecies of what is to come. Whatever he utters, he does, and upon seeing that all is splendid, he rejoices, as if these words and deeds were born solely of his own mind—unaware that it is the Spirit within him that guides him toward what the Spirit wills.

His creative acts produce reflections of the spiritual realms mentioned earlier—mirroring them. Not only does he labor, but, as the “father” of his own creation, he also procreates through himself, through the seeds, and through the chosen Spirit that will descend by way of him to the lower domains. Though he speaks spiritual words himself, invisibly he does so through the Spirit calling out within him, generating realities beyond what he grasps in his own essence.

Thinking of himself as “god,” “father,” and all such honorary titles, he mistakenly believes these qualities belong only to his own being. He provides rest for those who submit, and punishments for those who resist. He offers a paradise and a kingdom and every good thing reflecting the higher Aeon—though all are lesser images, shaped by his limited thinking, like shadows or garments, because he does not perceive the true nature of how things exist above.

He appoints workers and servants to aid in whatever he accomplishes or declares. In each realm in which he operates, he leaves the imprint of his presence through his fine name, working and speaking out according to his designs.

In his domain, he sets up symbols of the appearing Light and its spiritual fullness, though they arise from his own essence. They are thus honored in every realm, owing to the image of the one who appointed them. These are the paradises, the kingdoms, the restful places, the promised blessings, and the throngs of servants carrying out his will. Although they hold lordship within their own spheres, they all remain beneath this lord who placed them.

When he properly accepts guidance concerning these “lights”—the true source and framework—he positions them over the beauty of what lies below. Moved by the hidden Spirit, he desires to manage these domains through his servant, using him like a hand, a mouth, or his own face. That servant brings order, warnings, and fear, so that those wandering in ignorance may reject the constraints forced upon them, for they remain bound by the archons that hold them fast.

The total arrangement of matter is threefold. The potent forces, which the spiritual Logos produced from fantasy and pride, he established in the highest spiritual rank. Those generated from ambition he placed in the middle sphere, as powers of arrogance, dominating and commanding the lower structure. Those arising from envy, jealousy, and similar dispositions he set in the lowliest rank, covering the extremes. They preside over all that exists, guiding natural propagation. Their destructive illnesses and overzealous desire to breed make them “something” only in their own realm, to which they must eventually return. Over them, he set duly appointed rulers to guide every action in matter, ensuring the unbroken continuation of each new life. This ongoing propagation is their glory.

Matter, shaped by its own flow, becomes the means through which the invisible realm—acting by the powers—manifests itself among created things. Those powers continuously bring forth and also set aside what they have produced.

Positioned between the higher (right-hand) and lower (left-hand) realities, thought itself is the creative force. All that the first powers intend to bring forth—like a shadow cast by a body—serves as a seedbed for visible creations: images, reflections, and likenesses. These come into being for those who need guidance, training, and formation, so that what is small grows gradually, in a manner like gazing into a mirror. For this reason, the human being was created last, after all things had been prepared and placed in order for humanity’s sake.

Humanity’s formation took shape in a way parallel to everything else. The spiritual Logos guided the human from behind a veil, perfecting the process through the Demiurge and his legion of angels, who participated in the act of shaping while the Demiurge consulted with his own powers. Earthly humanity is much like a shadow, cut off from the Totalities above. In this fashion, humankind was shaped through the shared work of both the higher powers on the right and the lower powers on the left, each conferring a trace of its own nature.

That which the ailing Logos generated—when he himself still suffered frailty—did not mirror his truest self. He produced it out of forgetfulness, ignorance, and weakness. The Logos did, however, bestow humanity’s first form through the Demiurge, though unknowingly, so the Demiurge might learn of a greater One and realize his own dependence. This is what prophets call the “Living Spirit,” the “Breath of the exalted Aeons,” the “Invisible.” This living soul gave life to the power that had been dead—dead in the sense of ignorance—thereby awakening it.

It is worth explaining that the soul in the first human being ultimately derives from the spiritual Logos, even though the creator (the Demiurge) believes it is his alone, as though he breathed it forth himself. The Demiurge also imparted souls drawn from his own substance, for he, too, possesses a power to beget, being fashioned in the image of the Father. Meanwhile, the left-hand powers also formed people of their own, reflecting their likeness of “being.” Though the spiritual essence is fundamentally one, its weakness becomes apparent in its many forms. The psychic (soul-based) nature, however, holds a dual aspect: it knows and professes faith in the Exalted One, resisting evil desires through the inclination of the mind. The material essence, by contrast, travels many varied paths—revealing its frailties in countless conflicting urges.

The first human was thus a blended creation and formation, a composite of the powers on the right and on the left, infused with a spiritual Word. He was split in his focus, for he drew life from both substances—higher and lower. Accordingly, it is said that “a garden was planted” for him, containing three types of trees to match the threefold realm. This garden offered him delight, yet the nobler, chosen essence within him was greater still and did not harm them.

In retaliation, the powers issued stern commands—threatening him with the peril of death. They permitted him to taste only the fruit of evil things, denying him the fruits of the double-natured tree, and forbidding still more strictly the tree of life. In so doing, they aimed to prevent humanity from attaining honor, or from being misled by the evil force called “the serpent,” the most cunning among destructive powers. This serpent, working through humanity’s thoughts and appetites, led the first human to break the command—causing him to “die”—and expelled him from the joys of that place.

This banishment took him away from the delights of mere appearances and images. Yet it was also an act of providence, ensuring that, for only a short time, humanity would be deprived, then ultimately receive the eternal blessings prepared for them—a place of unfailing rest. From the beginning, the Spirit ordained humanity should taste profound hardship, namely death (the utter ignorance of the Totality), and from that would arise every related evil. Only after bearing these burdens—hunger, worry, and countless trials—could humanity come at last to the greatest gift: life everlasting, the firm knowledge of the All, and the reception of every good thing.

Through the first human’s transgression, death gained rule for a season, taking every life in order to establish its fleeting dominion, granted it to fulfill the design of the Father’s will, as touched upon earlier.

When the two orders—those on the right and those on the left—join through the mediating thought placed between them, they share a common framework, mirroring each other’s actions. Should the malevolent order begin some evil deed in its foolishness, the “wise” order takes on the guise of a violent power and likewise enacts evil, as though emulating its counterpart. At other times, the foolish order attempts good in imitation of the concealed good order. Thus, in matters that are established and in those that come into being, one finds variance so significant that the uneducated cannot discern the true cause. Consequently, different perspectives arise:

• Some maintain that everything owes its existence to providence, noting the consistent motions in creation.

• Others see it as wholly alien, pointing to the world’s disorder, the lawlessness of powers, and their evils.

• Some believe in destiny—that whatever exists does so according to fixed fate.

• Others credit a principle inherent in nature.

• Others again imagine a self-originating force.

• And the majority, observing only physical elements, are unaware of anything beyond.

Even the sages among the Greeks and other nations moved no further than imagined powers shaped by their own ambitions and empty notions. Those who followed them—drawn by mutual strife and rebellious tendencies—spoke in confident, presumptive ways about what they deemed “wisdom,” though deceived by shallow semblances, mistaking error for truth. It was not only in minor terminology that they erred; it was as if the powers themselves obstructed them, feigning to be the entire reality.

Hence, debates flourished, the offspring of proud antagonism rooted in a being akin to an “archon,” one who preceded and stood above them. Nothing conformed in peace—neither philosophical principles nor methods of healing, neither rhetoric nor music nor logic. All devolved into contention and conflicting viewpoints. In this confusion, inexpressible forces continued to dominate the thinkers’ minds, offering them only jumbled insights.

Regarding the Hebrew lineage: in their writings, put forth by material-minded individuals conversant with Greek conventions, one still finds that “right-side” powers inspired them. These powers nudged them to seek and possibly find truth, though their expression remained muddled by the mixed influences within them. In time, certain ones attained the order free from mixture—a stable unity resembling, in turn, the Father’s own reflection. Though not invisible by nature, a veil of wisdom enshrouds it, preserving the hidden essence of the truly unseen One. Many angels, too, fail to behold it.

Other members of the Hebrew line—righteous ones and prophets—spoke neither out of fantasy nor from symbols or cryptic interpretations, but each by the power at work within him, proclaiming what he saw and heard. Their words interlock in unison, guided by the One more exalted than themselves. Indeed, there was One designated among them for their need—a being begotten alongside them by the spiritual Logos, in hope and expectation, like a seed of salvation. He is a luminous Word, sprung from their thoughts and offspring and emanations.

Because the righteous and the prophets upheld the testimony of that exalted One—handed down by their ancestors who yearned for hope and answered prayer—this testimony seeded prayer and earnest search in many hearts. Drawn toward the supreme One, people joined to speak as one. A single power moved them to utterance. Their visions and words remained consistent, unaffected by diverse voices, for the same Spirit shaped both sight and speech.

Yet those who later received these words, reinterpreted them and established a multitude of sects among the Jews. Some proclaim one God who spoke in ancient writings; others insist on many gods. Some conceive of God as a simple, single intellect, while others argue that His activity spans both good and evil. Some claim He alone created everything; others attribute creation to angels. Such varied interpretations stem from the varied forms and wealth of scriptural expression, producing numerous teachers of the Law.

However, the prophets did not speak from their own minds. Each conveyed what the Savior declared—His message was central, especially regarding His coming. Sometimes prophets spoke of it as a future event; sometimes it was as if the Savior spoke directly through them, promising mercy to those who had not known Him. They did not unify around a single origin for His birth, for each prophet believed He would appear from that realm which the prophet had beheld. None truly knew whence He would come or by whom He would be begotten—only that He alone was worthy to be proclaimed: the One who would be begotten, would suffer, yet eternally had existed beyond suffering. No thought of theirs encompassed His eternal nature as the unbegotten One from the Logos, who then came in flesh.

From what they perceived, they reasoned that this flesh was formed of all these powers—yet chiefly of the spiritual Logos, the origin of everything made. That same Logos gave Him His human substance, conceived at the revealing of the light, in accordance with the promise, sprouting from its seminal state. He who eternally exists was never simply a seed of existing things, for He entered last of all. Yet the one designated by the Father to manifest salvation, fulfilling the promise, possessed every means to open the way of life. Through these means, He descended. He has but one Father, truly His Father—unseen, unknown, beyond mortal grasp, alone God in will and form—who, by His own gift, can be seen, known, and comprehended.

He is our Savior, who came with willing compassion and became as they were. On their account he took on the involuntary suffering that they experienced in flesh and soul. From eternity they were bound to flesh and soul – perishable things – and through these mortal bonds they died. To those who came into being, the invisible One taught invisibly about himself.

Not only did he take on the death of those whom he sought to rescue, but he also accepted the smallness into which they had fallen when they were born in both body and soul. In allowing himself to be conceived and born as an infant in both body and soul, he shared in their lowliness.

Of everyone who participated in flesh and soul, including those who fell and received the light, he came forth supreme – for he was conceived without sin or defilement. Born into life, he remained in life, while earlier souls moved in passion and unsettled thoughts. He drew to himself the one who descended from those we described earlier.

He emerged from the splendid vision and steadfast intention of the Logos, who returned to himself once his movement was completed. In the same way, those who accompanied him took on body and soul, receiving stability, certainty, and judgment over the realms below, for they, too, chose to come forth.

When they focused on the Savior, they arrived. They came once he became aware of them; they also appeared in a higher emanation of flesh than those produced by defect. By sharing in the Savior’s body, through revelation and union with him, they found their bodily emanation perfected. These were of one spiritual substance, though shaped differently. Some were born from passion and division—needing healing—while others arose from prayer, so that they might heal the fallen. These latter include the apostles, evangelists, and disciples of the Savior, and the teachers who still required guidance.

Yet one might ask: why did they also share in the same sufferings as those who emerged from passion, if indeed their bodies came into existence through the divine plan, like the Savior, who remained above these passions?

The Savior was the image of the One, who contains the All in bodily form. Thus, he maintained the pattern of indivisibility, which grants him the power to remain untouched by passion. They, however, reflect each facet that has come to light, adopting a certain division. From this pattern they took on form to be planted in the world below, thereby participating in the evils found in the places they reached. Indeed, the divine will subjected all creation to sin so that, by that same will, mercy would be poured upon the entire creation, allowing them to be saved. A single being alone gives life; all others need salvation. For this reason, they gradually received the grace and honor announced by Jesus—the very blessings he was destined to proclaim. A seed of the promise of Jesus Christ was planted in them, a promise that we serve through his revelation and our union with him.

This promise contained the knowledge and the calling to return to their true selves as they were from the start, carrying within them a spark—sometimes called a “drop”—that would draw them back. This return is called “redemption,” the release from captivity and the embrace of freedom. In the lower regions, ignorance holds captives enthralled; but true freedom is the knowledge of the timeless Truth—good without beginning or end—which saves souls, delivering them from the slavery in which they suffered.

Those who were formed within a lowly, vain thought—leading them to evil through the lust for power—have now received the freedom bestowed by abundant grace, looking kindly upon the children. Even so, it brought disturbance to the passions and a final undoing of those elements the Logos had first cast aside. When the Logos separated himself from them, he ordained their ultimate ruin, yet kept them until the completion of the grand design—since even they served a purpose in what was decreed.

Humanity came into being in three essential forms—spiritual, psychic, and material—mirroring the threefold inclination within the Logos, from which the material, psychic, and spiritual arose. Each type is recognized by the fruit it bears. Their distinctions remained hidden until the Savior arrived, casting light on the holy ones and revealing each to be what it was:

• The Spiritual Race: Like light from light, spirit from spirit. When their head was revealed, they hastened at once to him, forming a single body with their head. Instantly, they gained knowledge through this revelation.
• The Psychic Race: Like a radiance from fire. They hesitated to accept the one who appeared, holding back even more in their faith. Nevertheless, they were instructed by his voice, which proved sufficient because they did not stray far from the promised hope. Through it, they received a kind of pledge for what was yet to come.
• The Material Race: Entirely foreign to him and cloaked in darkness. It recoils from the light’s brilliance, for that radiance would be its undoing. Divided and without unity, it loathes the Lord’s revelation.

The spiritual race is destined for complete salvation in every aspect. The material race meets utter destruction in every respect, as those who oppose him. The psychic race stands between these two, shaped at birth with potential for both good and ill. In the midst of it all, they depart swiftly to seek their complete deliverance among the good.

Those the Logos first begot—when he remembered what is exalted and prayed for salvation—are saved at once. Because of his saving thought, they too will be saved fully, whether they be angels or mortals. In confessing that a higher power exists beyond them, in praying and searching for that One, they belong to a good disposition. Their calling is to announce the coming of the Savior and his unveiling. When he came to fulfill his task among them, they discovered who they truly are.

On the other hand, those who sprang from the lust for power—who were formed from the aggression of those opposing him—remain a mixed kind. They will abruptly meet their end. Yet there are those in that group entrusted with authority for certain spans of time; if they humble themselves, give glory to the Lord of glory, and abandon wrath, they receive a reward for their humility, remaining forever. But any who puff themselves up with ambition, clinging to fleeting glory and ignoring that their delegated power was temporary, refuse to acknowledge the Son of God as Lord and Savior. They remain caught in wrath and the likeness of evil, inviting judgment for their ignorance, suffering alongside others who have likewise turned away. Their guilt grows greater if they have acted unjustly against the Lord, such as those powers on the left who conspired in his death, imagining they could rule everything if they slew the one hailed as King of all.

Such beings sought immediate prestige, though it was only an empty wish. The path to eternal rest lies in humility, where salvation belongs to those of the right side. Once they confess the Lord and align themselves with the will cherished by the Church—sharing in her struggles and pains, recognizing what truly benefits her—they will share in her hope. Thus it is said of certain men and angels from the left-hand orders: not only did they deny the Lord and devise evil against him, but they also directed hatred and envy at the Church itself. For this, condemnation awaits all who stir up trials for the Church.

The chosen share both body and essence with the Savior, joined to him like a bridal chamber, one in heart and spirit. Indeed, Christ came first and foremost for her sake. Those who are merely called, by contrast, stand in the place of friends rejoicing at the bridal union, gladdened by the bridegroom and the bride. They abide in the realm of images, where the Logos has not yet entered fully into the Pleroma. Delighting and hoping in this, the Church’s human members separate spirit, soul, and body within the person who believes he is whole, though within him dwells the human who holds the Totality.

Though such a one can escape condemnation by looking to what each place can offer, they yet possess the “members” spoken of before. Once the proclamation of redemption is heard, the person of fullness receives knowledge at once, swiftly returning to that state of unity—to the place from which he came with joyful haste. Yet his “members” require a training ground in the adorned realms, like seeing themselves in a mirror, until all the Church’s members are gathered in one place. Then, restored as a complete body, they enter the Pleroma. So they share beforehand in the Father’s harmony, until all reveal themselves in perfect reflection of his nature.

The final restoration comes when the entire creation discloses what it truly is: the Son, who embodies redemption—our pathway back to the unsearchable Father, a return to the beginning. The Totality then reveals itself within that One—ineffable, inconceivable, invisible—so that it may receive redemption. It is not merely liberation from the left-hand rulers, nor simply freedom from the power on the right, to which we once believed we were bound—always at risk of returning to them. Rather, redemption is also the ascent through the Pleroma’s many stages, approaching those who have named themselves in accordance with the might of each Aeon. It is an entering into the realm of silence, where there is no need for voice or thought or additional illumination, for all is Light itself, and no further light is necessary.

Not only mortals but also angels require redemption, along with the image and the rest of the Pleromas of the Aeons, even the majestic powers of illumination. To be clear, even the Son—Redeemer of the Totality—needed redemption in the sense that he became human and gave himself to every need we mortals have as his Church. When he himself first received redemption from the Word that descended upon him, everyone else who had taken hold of him likewise received redemption through him. Whoever welcomed him, welcomed all that was in him.

Among those in earthly flesh, redemption began with his firstborn, his beloved: the incarnate Son. Angels in heaven yearned to unite with him on earth. Thus he is called “the Redemption of the angels of the Father,” giving comfort to those who toiled under the burden of seeking his knowledge, for grace was granted to him first of all.

The Father knew him in advance, for he existed in the Father’s thought before anything was created, along with those to whom the Father would later reveal him. The Father permitted a period of ignorance, that his Pleroma might be honored when people recognized his hidden greatness. As knowledge of him spreads, it testifies that he is without envy and abounding in sweetness. While in one sense he caused ignorance—inasmuch as he remained unknown—he is also the One who begets true knowledge.

In his hidden, unfathomable wisdom, he reserved the full revelation until the end, allowing all the Aeons to tire themselves in their search for the unknowable Father, whom none could grasp by their own power or intellect. Then, of his own will, he offered himself, granting them knowledge of his immeasurable glory and cause. The Father, resting in the stillness of his counsel, reveals himself eternally to those deemed worthy, so that they discover him through their experience of ignorance and its sorrows.

Those he determined from the beginning to receive knowledge and its blessings were meant, in his wisdom, to undergo evil first, learning from it for a time, so that the good they later inherit might be enjoyed forever. They endure transformation and a steadfast rejection of evil’s cause. This displays the nobility of those who are exalted, proving that any soul remaining ignorant of the Father does so by its own choice. One of the Father’s powers, granted to guide them into perfect understanding, is known as “the Knowledge of All That May Be Conceived,” “the Treasure,” “the Increase of Knowledge,” and “the Revelation of Previously Known Realities,” leading them into harmony and back to the One who preceded all. In this way, their end mirrors their beginning.

Regarding the supreme baptism into which the Totalities descend and within which they reside: there is no other baptism except this alone, the redemption into Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. One confesses in faith these names—one name of the gospel—trusting they truly exist. Thus those who believe in their reality gain salvation. Through invisible union, in unwavering faith, they witness to the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. In that confident hope, they enter again into them, made perfect in oneness, acknowledging the Father who is God. He, in turn, grants them oneness with himself, known in truth.

We call this baptism “the garment” for those who will never cast it off, for they who have received redemption wear it always. It is “the confirmation of truth that cannot fall,” anchoring those who have attained renewal, just as they cling to it. It is termed “silence,” for it imparts calm and stillness; it is the “bridal chamber,” for it unites souls indivisibly with the One they have truly recognized. It is called “the light without setting or flame,” for it does not give light as a lamp does—rather, those who put it on become light, just as it once embraced them. It is also “eternal life,” which is immortality, and something fully genuine, inseparable and unshakable, gracious and undisturbed for all who, having a beginning, are joined to the One beyond beginning. What else to call it but “God,” though countless names have been used, each falling short. For just as he transcends all speech, all voices, and every mind, likewise this baptism transcends them all. With those who are even as he is, it manifests beyond words or thoughts, recognized only by those who truly know, through him who revealed himself to them—he to whom they give glory.

Even though much more could be spoken regarding the chosen ones, we must return again to those of the calling—those referred to as “the right”—lest we neglect them. We have already touched on them before, at some length, explaining in part how some emerged from the Logos through the verdict passed upon the wicked, or from the wrath that struggled against them, or from their turning away from darkness and toward those on high. Others came forth through the prayer and remembrance of those who existed before, or through hope and faith that by worthy deeds they would inherit salvation. Their birth comes from a vision issuing from the One who truly exists. Even before the Logos turned his quiet attention to them in willingness, the Exalted One supported the Logos’s thought, knowing their reliance on the very One who is their source. They did not glorify themselves for being saved, as though there had been nothing before them. Instead, they admitted they had a beginning and longed to know the One who preceded them. Especially, they revered the light that shone like lightning, confessing it as their salvation.

It is not only those proceeding directly from the Logos who fulfill good works who will share in rest through the abundance of grace; likewise, those produced by the longing for power—provided they abandon their fleeting ambitions—receive a fitting reward for their righteous deeds. If they earnestly wish to discard the vanity of temporary glory, keep the commandments of the Lord of Glory, and exchange momentary honors for the eternal Kingdom, grace is extended to them.

It is fitting to weave together what has already been mentioned, showing the various movements of grace and how they come into effect for all on the right side, whether pure or mixed. Concerning rest—the unveiling of the form they believed in—we must speak in suitable detail. By professing the Kingdom of Christ, they have escaped the many shifting images and inequality. Ultimately, the end will be one, just as the beginning was one—where distinctions such as male or female, slave or free, circumcised or uncircumcised, angel or human, no longer exist. Christ will be everything for everyone. One who was absent at first will be found to exist; a slave will stand beside a free person, for they all see clearly through their nature, no longer needing mere words. Even those higher in rank—entrusted to guide what came into being—will be drawn into that same Kingdom, receiving confirmation and salvation along with angels and mortals.

They believe without wavering that the one who appeared in flesh is indeed the Son of the unknown God, never before revealed, never beheld. For his sake, they forsook the gods they once worshiped, in the heavens and on earth. Even as a child, before he drew them up to himself, they recognized in him the seeds of divine teaching. While he lay in the tomb in death, the angels knew he lived, sustained by a life greater than death. At first, they still longed for the wonders and services once given them in the temple, hoping all these would continue as a pledge of testimony—something they might receive in drawing near to him.

What they did not accept, they cast aside on account of one not sent from above. Yet they offered to Christ—whom they now recognized as dwelling in that realm from which they themselves came—a place among those gods and lords once served, worshiped, and honored by borrowed names. Now these names rightfully belong to the One who bears them in truth. Once he ascended, they discovered he is truly their Lord, subject to no other. They surrendered their kingdoms, relinquished their seats of rule and their crowns, seeing him revealed for the purpose already described: their own salvation, the restoration to a worthy thought, and the abiding good shared with those who stand as companions and angels. For a time, they continued their duties for the sake of the chosen ones, bearing all manner of persecution and hardship set upon the holy ones in every place.

Those who served the evil one, even though evil must ultimately be undone, still rest under a mysterious overshadowing. Yet through a deeper fellowship—a goodness shining above all realms—the Church will one day recall them as dear friends and loyal servants once she has been redeemed by the One who rewards every soul. In that day, the grace found within the bridal chamber and present in her dwelling will abide in the spirit of giving. Christ himself is with her, along with the Father’s expectation on behalf of all. She will provide them angels as guides and companions, and thus they will dwell in pleasant thoughts, offering up their service to the bride. In turn, the bride will reward them for whatever the Aeons perceive in them. They proceed from him, just as Christ served the Father’s will, exalting the Church in her full glory and bestowing that glory upon her. Likewise, she will do the same for them, granting humankind eternal habitations, free from the pull of corruption. The power of the Pleroma lifts them up in the generosity and sweetness of the preexistent Aeon. Such is the nature of every soul he enlightened, shining upon them with the radiance he revealed. As he is, so also is his lordship, though any changes are only in those who have turned toward him.

People of the flesh (the “hylics”) remain until the end for their destruction, refusing to surrender the names that could return them to what they once were not. If once they were nothing, then nothingness is their inheritance. For a time, their presence among others served a purpose, though they were never truly part of the fullness. If there is more to say concerning the dominion they exercised in preparation, it lies beyond our present scope. (Some speak of elders proclaiming greatness, but their meaning remains unclear.)

When the angels gather, and the sound of a trumpet rings out, they will declare a universal amnesty from the glorious East—within the bridal chamber, which is the love of God the Father—according to the immense power of his goodness, revealing himself in all greatness. He appears to fulfill praises, dominion, and glory, through the Lord, our Savior, our Redeemer, for all who belong to the One filled with Love, through his Holy Spirit, now and through all generations, forever and ever. Amen.

Colophon

This text is reproduced from translations made available through the Gnostic Society Library (gnosis.org), based on the critical editions of the Coptic Gnostic Library published by E. J. Brill (Leiden). The Nag Hammadi codices were discovered in Upper Egypt in 1945.

Compiled and formatted for the Good Work Library by the New Tianmu Anglican Church, 2026.

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