Dismantling The Da Vinci
Code
By Sandra Miesel
“The Grail,” Langdon said, “is symbolic of the lost goddess. When Christianity came along, the old pagan religions did not die easily. Legends of chivalric quests for the Holy Grail were in fact stories of forbidden quests to find the lost sacred feminine. Knights who claimed to be “searching for the chalice” were speaking in code as a way to protect themselves from a Church that had subjugated women, banished the Goddess, burned non-believers, and forbidden the pagan reverence for the sacred feminine.” (The Da Vinci Code, pages 238-239)
The Holy Grail is a favorite metaphor for a desirable but difficult-to-attain goal, from the map of the human genome to Lord Stanley’s Cup. While the original Grail—the cup Jesus allegedly used at the Last Supper—normally inhabits the pages of Arthurian romance, Dan Brown’s recent mega–best-seller, The Da Vinci Code, rips it away to the realm of esoteric history.
But his book is more than just the story of a quest for the Grail—he wholly reinterprets the Grail legend. In doing so, Brown inverts the insight that a woman’s body is symbolically a container and makes a container symbolically a woman’s body. And that container has a name every Christian will recognize, for Brown claims that the Holy Grail was actually Mary Magdalene. She was the vessel that held the blood of Jesus Christ in her womb while bearing his children.
Over the centuries, the Grail-keepers have been guarding the true (and continuing) bloodline of Christ and the relics of the Magdalen, not a material vessel. Therefore Brown claims that “the quest for the Holy Grail is the quest to kneel before the bones of Mary Magdalene,” a conclusion that would surely have surprised Sir Galahad and the other Grail knights who thought they were searching for the Chalice of the Last Supper.
The Da Vinci Code opens with the grisly murder of the
Louvre’s curator inside the museum. The crime enmeshes hero Robert Langdon, a
tweedy professor of symbolism from Harvard, and the victim’s granddaughter,
burgundy-haired cryptologist Sophie Nevue. Together with crippled millionaire
historian Leigh Teabing, they flee
But despite the frenetic pacing, at no point is action allowed to interfere with a good lecture. Before the story comes full circle back to the Louvre, readers face a barrage of codes, puzzles, mysteries, and conspiracies.
With his twice-stated principle, “Everybody loves a conspiracy,” Brown is reminiscent of the famous author who crafted her product by studying the features of ten earlier best-sellers. It would be too easy to criticize him for characters thin as plastic wrap, undistinguished prose, and improbable action. But Brown isn’t so much writing badly as writing in a particular way best calculated to attract a female audience. (Women, after all, buy most of the nation’s books.) He has married a thriller plot to a romance-novel technique. Notice how each character is an extreme type…effortlessly brilliant, smarmy, sinister, or psychotic as needed, moving against luxurious but curiously flat backdrops. Avoiding gore and bedroom gymnastics, he shows only one brief kiss and a sexual ritual performed by a married couple. The risqué allusions are fleeting although the text lingers over some bloody Opus Dei mortifications. In short, Brown has fabricated a novel perfect for a ladies’ book club.
Brown’s lack of seriousness shows in the games he plays with his character names—Robert Langdon, “bright fame long don” (distinguished and virile); Sophie Nevue, “wisdom New Eve”; the irascible taurine detective Bezu Fache, “zebu anger.” The servant who leads the police to them is Legaludec, “legal duce.” The murdered curator takes his surname, Saunière, from a real Catholic priest whose occult antics sparked interest in the Grail secret. As an inside joke, Brown even writes in his real-life editor (Faukman is Kaufman).
While his extensive use of fictional formulas may be the secret to Brown’s stardom, his anti-Christian message can’t have hurt him in publishing circles: The Da Vinci Code debuted atop the New York Times best-seller list. By manipulating his audience through the conventions of romance-writing, Brown invites readers to identify with his smart, glamorous characters who’ve seen through the impostures of the clerics who hide the “truth” about Jesus and his wife. Blasphemy is delivered in a soft voice with a knowing chuckle: “[E]very faith in the world is based on fabrication.”
But even Brown has his limits. To dodge charges of outright bigotry, he includes a climactic twist in the story that absolves the Church of assassination. And although he presents Christianity as a false root and branch, he’s willing to tolerate it for its charitable works.
(Of course, Catholic Christianity will become even more tolerable once the new liberal pope elected in Brown’s previous Langdon novel, Angels & Demons, abandons outmoded teachings. “Third-century laws cannot be applied to the modern followers of Christ,” says one of the book’s progressive cardinals.)
Where Is He Getting All of This?
Brown actually cites his principal sources within the text of his novel. One is a specimen of academic feminist scholarship: The Gnostic Gospels by Elaine Pagels. The others are popular esoteric histories: The Templar Revelation: Secret Guardians of the True Identity of Christ by Lynn Picknett and Clive Prince; Holy Blood, Holy Grail by Michael Baigent, Richard Leigh, and Henry Lincoln; The Goddess in the Gospels: Reclaiming the Sacred Feminine and The Woman with the Alabaster Jar: Mary Magdalen and the Holy Grail, both by Margaret Starbird. (Starbird, a self-identified Catholic, has her books published by Matthew Fox’s outfit, Bear & Co.) Another influence, at least at second remove, is The Woman’s Encyclopedia of Myths and Secrets by Barbara G. Walker.
The use of such unreliable sources belies Brown’s pretensions to intellectuality. But the act has apparently fooled at least some of his readers—the New York Daily News book reviewer trumpeted, “His research is impeccable.”
But despite Brown’s scholarly airs, a writer who thinks the Merovingians founded Paris and forgets that the popes once lived in Avignon is hardly a model researcher. And for him to state that the Church burned five million women as witches shows a willful—and malicious—ignorance of the historical record. The latest figures for deaths during the European witch craze are between 30,000 to 50,000 victims. Not all were executed by the Church, not all were women, and not all were burned. Brown’s claim that educated women, priestesses, and midwives were singled out by witch-hunters is not only false, it betrays his goddess-friendly sources.
A Multitude of Errors
So error-laden is The Da Vinci Code that the educated reader actually applauds those rare occasions where Brown stumbles (despite himself) into the truth. A few examples of his “impeccable” research: He claims that the motions of the planet Venus trace a pentacle (the so-called Ishtar pentagram) symbolizing the goddess. But it isn’t a perfect figure and has nothing to do with the length of the Olympiad. The ancient Olympic games were celebrated in honor of Zeus Olympias, not Aphrodite, and occurred every four years.
Brown’s contention that the five linked rings of the modern Olympic Games are a secret tribute to the goddess is also wrong—each set of games was supposed to add a ring to the design but the organizers stopped at five. And his efforts to read goddess propaganda into art, literature, and even Disney cartoons are simply ridiculous.
No datum is too dubious for inclusion, and reality falls quickly by the wayside. For instance, the Opus Dei bishop encourages his albino assassin by telling him that Noah was also an albino (a notion drawn from the non-canonical 1 Enoch 106:2). Yet albinism somehow fails to interfere with the man’s eyesight as it physiologically would.
But a far more important example is Brown’s treatment of Gothic architecture as a style full of goddess-worshipping symbols and coded messages to confound the uninitiated. Building on Barbara Walker’s claim that “like a pagan temple, the Gothic cathedral represented the body of the Goddess,” The Templar Revelation asserts: “Sexual symbolism is found in the great Gothic cathedrals which were masterminded by the Knights Templar...both of which represent intimate female anatomy: the arch, which draws the worshipper into the body of Mother Church, evokes the vulva.” In The Da Vinci Code, these sentiments are transformed into a character’s description of “a cathedral’s long hollow nave as a secret tribute to a woman’s womb...complete with receding labial ridges and a nice little cinquefoil clitoris above the doorway.”
These remarks cannot be brushed aside as opinions of the villain; Langdon, the book’s hero, refers to his own lectures about goddess-symbolism at Chartres.
These bizarre interpretations betray no acquaintance with the actual development or construction of Gothic architecture, and correcting the countless errors becomes a tiresome exercise: The Templars had nothing to do with the cathedrals of their time, which were commissioned by bishops and their canons throughout Europe. They were unlettered men with no arcane knowledge of “sacred geometry” passed down from the pyramid builders. They did not wield tools themselves on their own projects, nor did they found masons’ guilds to build for others. Not all their churches were round, nor was roundness a defiant insult to the Church. Rather than being a tribute to the divine feminine, their round churches honored the Church of the Holy Sepulchre.
Actually looking at Gothic churches and their predecessors deflates the idea of female symbolism. Large medieval churches typically had three front doors on the west plus triple entrances to their transepts on the north and south. (What part of a woman’s anatomy does a transept represent? Or the kink in Chartres’s main aisle?) Romanesque churches—including ones that predate the founding of the Templars—have similar bands of decoration arching over their entrances. Both Gothic and Romanesque churches have the long, rectangular nave inherited from Late Antique basilicas, ultimately derived from Roman public buildings. Neither Brown nor his sources consider what symbolism medieval churchmen such as Suger of St.-Denis or William Durandus read in church design. It certainly wasn’t goddess-worship.
False Claims
If the above seems like a pile driver applied to a gnat, the blows are necessary to demonstrate the utter falseness of Brown’s material. His willful distortions of documented history are more than matched by his outlandish claims about controversial subjects. But to a postmodernist, one construct of reality is as good as any other.
Brown’s approach seems to consist of grabbing large chunks of his stated sources and tossing them together in a salad of a story. From Holy Blood, Holy Grail, Brown lifts the concept of the Grail as a metaphor for a sacred lineage by arbitrarily breaking a medieval French term, Sangraal (Holy Grail), into sang (blood) and raal (royal). This holy blood, according to Brown, descended from Jesus and his wife, Mary Magdalene, to the Merovingian dynasty in Dark Ages France, surviving its fall to persist in several modern French families, including that of Pierre Plantard, a leader of the mysterious Priory of Sion. The Priory—an actual organization officially registered with the French government in 1956—makes extraordinary claims of antiquity as the “real” power behind the Knights Templar. It most likely originated after World War II and was first brought to public notice in 1962. With the exception of filmmaker Jean Cocteau, its illustrious list of Grand Masters—which include Leonardo da Vinci, Issac Newton, and Victor Hugo—is not credible, although it’s presented as true by Brown.
Brown doesn’t accept a political motivation for the Priory’s activities. Instead he picks up The Templar Revelation’s view of the organization as a cult of secret goddess-worshippers who have preserved ancient Gnostic wisdom and records of Christ’s true mission, which would completely overturn Christianity if released. Significantly, Brown omits the rest of the book’s thesis that makes Christ and Mary Magdalene unmarried sex partners performing the erotic mysteries of Isis. Perhaps even a gullible mass-market audience has its limits.
From both Holy Blood, Holy Grail and The Templar Revelation, Brown takes a negative view of the Bible and a grossly distorted image of Jesus. He’s neither the Messiah nor a humble carpenter but a wealthy, trained religious teacher bent on regaining the throne of David. His credentials are amplified by his relationship with the rich Magdalen who carries the royal blood of Benjamin: “Almost everything our fathers taught us about Christ is false,” laments one of Brown’s characters.
Yet it’s Brown’s Christology that’s false—and blindingly so. He requires the present New Testament to be a post-Constantinian fabrication that displaced true accounts now represented only by surviving Gnostic texts. He claims that Christ wasn’t considered divine until the Council of Nicea voted him so in 325 at the behest of the emperor. Then Constantine—a lifelong sun worshipper—ordered all older scriptural texts destroyed, which is why no complete set of Gospels predates the fourth century. Christians somehow failed to notice the sudden and drastic change in their doctrine.
But by Brown’s specious reasoning, the Old Testament can’t be authentic either because complete Hebrew Scriptures are no more than a thousand years old. And yet the texts were transmitted so accurately that they do match well with the Dead Sea Scrolls from a thousand years earlier. Analysis of textual families, comparison with fragments and quotations, plus historical correlations securely date the orthodox Gospels to the first century and indicate that they’re earlier than the Gnostic forgeries. (The Epistles of St. Paul are, of course, even earlier than the Gospels.)
Primitive Church documents and the testimony of the ante-Nicean Fathers confirm that Christians have always believed Jesus to be Lord, God, and Savior—even when that faith meant death. The earliest partial canon of Scripture dates from the late second century and already rejected Gnostic writings. For Brown, it isn’t enough to credit Constantine with the divinization of Jesus. The emperor’s old adherence to the cult of the Invincible Sun also meant repackaging sun worship as the new faith. Brown drags out old (and long-discredited) charges by virulent anti-Catholics like Alexander Hislop who accused the Church of perpetuating Babylonian mysteries, as well as 19th-century rationalists who regarded Christ as just another dying savior-god.
Unsurprisingly, Brown misses no opportunity to criticize Christianity and its pitiable adherents. (The church in question is always the Catholic Church, though his villain does sneer once at Anglicans—for their grimness, of all things.) He routinely and anachronistically refers to the Church as “the Vatican,” even when popes weren’t in residence there. He systematically portrays it throughout history as deceitful, power-crazed, crafty, and murderous: “The Church may no longer employ crusades to slaughter, but their influence is no less persuasive. No less insidious.”
Goddess Worship and the Magdalen
Worst of all, in Brown’s eyes, is the fact that the pleasure-hating, sex-hating, woman-hating Church suppressed goddess worship and eliminated the divine feminine. He claims that goddess worship universally dominated pre-Christian paganism with the hieros gamos (sacred marriage) as its central rite. His enthusiasm for fertility rites is enthusiasm for sexuality, not procreation. What else would one expect of a Cathar sympathizer?
Astonishingly, Brown claims that Jews in Solomon’s Temple adored Yahweh and his feminine counterpart, the Shekinah, via the services of sacred prostitutes—possibly a twisted version of the Temple’s corruption after Solomon (1 Kings 14:24 and 2 Kings 23:4-15). Moreover, he says that the tetragrammaton YHWH derives from “Jehovah, an androgynous physical union between the masculine Jah and the pre-Hebraic name for Eve, Havah.”
But as any first-year Scripture student could tell you, Jehovah is actually a 16th-century rendering of Yahweh using the vowels of Adonai (“Lord”). In fact, goddesses did not dominate the pre-Christian world—not in the religions of Rome, her barbarian subjects, Egypt, or even Semitic lands where the hieros gamos was an ancient practice. Nor did the Hellenized cult of Isis appear to have included sex in its secret rites.
Contrary to yet another of Brown’s claims, Tarot cards do not teach goddess doctrine. They were invented for innocent gaming purposes in the 15th century and didn’t acquire occult associations until the late 18th. Playing-card suites carry no Grail symbolism. The notion of diamonds symbolizing pentacles is a deliberate misrepresentation by British occultist A. E. Waite. And the number five—so crucial to Brown’s puzzles—has some connections with the protective goddess but myriad others besides, including human life, the five senses, and the Five Wounds of Christ.
Brown’s treatment of Mary Magdalene is sheer delusion. In The Da Vinci Code, she’s no penitent whore but Christ’s royal consort and the intended head of His Church, supplanted by Peter and defamed by churchmen. She fled west with her offspring to Provence, where medieval Cathars would keep the original teachings of Jesus alive. The Priory of Sion still guards her relics and records, excavated by the Templars from the subterranean Holy of Holies. It also protects her descendants—including Brown’s heroine.
Although many people still picture the Magdalen as a sinful woman who anointed Jesus and equate her with Mary of Bethany, that conflation is actually the later work of Pope St. Gregory the Great. The East has always kept them separate and said that the Magdalen, “apostle to the apostles,” died in Ephesus. The legend of her voyage to Provence is no earlier than the ninth century, and her relics weren’t reported there until the 13th. Catholic critics, including the Bollandists, have been debunking the legend and distinguishing the three ladies since the 17th century.
Brown uses two Gnostic documents, the Gospel of Philip and the Gospel of Mary, to prove that the Magdalen was Christ’s “companion,” meaning sexual partner. The apostles were jealous that Jesus used to “kiss her on the mouth” and favored her over them. He cites exactly the same passages quoted in Holy Blood, Holy Grail and The Templar Revelation and even picks up the latter’s reference to The Last Temptation of Christ. What these books neglect to mention is the infamous final verse of the Gospel of Thomas. When Peter sneers that “women are not worthy of Life,” Jesus responds, “I myself shall lead her in order to make her male.... For every woman who will make herself male will enter the Kingdom of Heaven.”
That’s certainly an odd way to “honor” one’s spouse or exalt the status of women.
The Knights Templar
Brown likewise misrepresents the history of the Knights Templar. The oldest of the military-religious orders, the Knights were founded in 1118 to protect pilgrims in the Holy Land. Their rule, attributed to St. Bernard of Clairvaux, was approved in 1128 and generous donors granted them numerous properties in Europe for support. Rendered redundant after the last Crusader stronghold fell in 1291, the Templars’ pride and wealth—they were also bankers—earned them keen hostility.
Brown maliciously ascribes the suppression of the Templars to “Machiavellian” Pope Clement V, whom they were blackmailing with the Grail secret. His “ingeniously planned sting operation” had his soldiers suddenly arrest all Templars. Charged with Satanism, sodomy, and blasphemy, they were tortured into confessing and burned as heretics, their ashes “tossed unceremoniously into the Tiber.”
But in reality, the initiative for crushing the Templars came from King Philip the Fair of France, whose royal officials did the arresting in 1307. About 120 Templars were burned by local Inquisitorial courts in France for not confessing or retracting a confession, as happened with Grand Master Jacques de Molay. Few Templars suffered death elsewhere although their order was abolished in 1312. Clement, a weak, sickly Frenchman manipulated by his king, burned no one in Rome inasmuch as he was the first pope to reign from Avignon (so much for the ashes in the Tiber).
Moreover, the mysterious stone idol that the Templars were accused of worshiping is associated with fertility in only one of more than a hundred confessions. Sodomy was the scandalous—and possibly true—charge against the order, not ritual fornication. The Templars have been darlings of occultism since their myth as masters of secret wisdom and fabulous treasure began to coalesce in the late 18th century. Freemasons and even Nazis have hailed them as brothers. Now it’s the turn of neo-Gnostics.
Twisting da Vinci
Brown’s revisionist interpretations of da Vinci are as distorted as the rest of his information. He claims to have first run across these views “while I was studying art history in Seville,” but they correspond point for point to material in The Templar Revelation. A writer who sees a pointed finger as a throat-cutting gesture, who says the Madonna of the Rocks was painted for nuns instead of a lay confraternity of men, who claims that da Vinci received “hundreds of lucrative Vatican commissions” (actually, it was just one…and it was never executed) is simply unreliable.
Brown’s analysis of da Vinci’s work is just as ridiculous. He presents the Mona Lisa as an androgynous self-portrait when it’s widely known to portray a real woman, Madonna Lisa, wife of Francesco di Bartolomeo del Giocondo. The name is certainly not—as Brown claims—a mocking anagram of two Egyptian fertility deities Amon and L’Isa (Italian for Isis). How did he miss the theory, propounded by the authors of The Templar Revelation, that the Shroud of Turin is a photographed self-portrait of da Vinci?
Much of Brown’s argument centers around da Vinci’s Last Supper, a painting the author considers a coded message that reveals the truth about Jesus and the Grail. Brown points to the lack of a central chalice on the table as proof that the Grail isn’t a material vessel. But da Vinci’s painting specifically dramatizes the moment when Jesus warns, “One of you will betray me” (John 13:21). There is no Institution Narrative in St. John’s Gospel. The Eucharist is not shown there. And the person sitting next to Jesus is not Mary Magdalene (as Brown claims) but St. John, portrayed as the usual effeminate da Vinci youth, comparable to his St. John the Baptist. Jesus is in the exact center of the painting, with two pyramidal groups of three apostles on each side. Although da Vinci was a spiritually troubled homosexual, Brown’s contention that he coded his paintings with anti-Christian messages simply can’t be sustained.
Brown’s Mess
In the end, Dan Brown has penned a poorly written, atrociously researched mess. So, why bother with such a close reading of a worthless novel? The answer is simple: The Da Vinci Code takes esoterica mainstream. It may well do for Gnosticism what The Mists of Avalon did for paganism—gain it popular acceptance. After all, how many lay readers will see the blazing inaccuracies put forward as buried truths?
What’s more, in making phony claims of scholarship, Brown’s book infects readers with a virulent hostility toward Catholicism. Dozens of occult history books, conveniently cross-linked by Amazon.com, are following in its wake. And booksellers’ shelves now bulge with falsehoods few would be buying without The Da Vinci Code connection. While Brown’s assault on the Catholic Church may be a backhanded compliment, it’s one we would have happily done without.
Sandra
Miesel is a veteran Catholic journalist.
The Da Vinci Code Phenomenon
In April 2003, Doubleday published The Da Vinci Code, the fourth novel of Dan Brown. A combination of murder mystery, thriller, conspiracy tale, romance novel, religious expose, and historical revisionism, the novel had instant success. Glowing reviews from leading newspapers and magazines, combined with the buzz from Brown’s previous novel, Angels & Demons, helped The Da Vinci Code debut at #1 on the New York Times bestseller list. As of mid-October, 2003, The Da Vinci Code has been on the New York Times bestseller list for over twenty-eight weeks, and has been in the top two or three spots for most of that time. There are now nearly three million copies of the book in print and it is being translated into thirty languages.
Described by New York Times as a "riddle-filled, code-breaking, exhilaratingly brainy thriller," The Da Vinci Code garnered effusive, even ebullient, praise from numerous reviewers. The Library Journal raved, "This masterpiece should be mandatory reading"; the Chicago Tribune marveled that the book contained "several doctorates’ worth of fascinating history and learned speculation"; Salon magazine described the novel as "an ingenious mixture of paranoid thriller, art history lesson, chase story, religious symbology lecture and anti-clerical screed." Numerous critics noted how "smart," "intelligent," and well-researched the novel appeared to be ("His research is impeccable" stated New York Daily News), a point that surely pleased the author, who insisted in interviews and on his website that his thriller is thoroughly researched and factual in all respects. In addition, the novel features an opening page titled "Fact," which states: "All descriptions of artwork, architecture, documents, and secret rituals in this novel are accurate."
Readers who have enthusiastically embraced the book point to historical, artistic, religious, and theological details within it as central reasons for their fascination with the best-seller. A reader on amazon.com states that The Da Vinci Code is "one of the best books I have ever read–makes you see the world a little differently after reading it!" Another gushes, "You will be amazed at the revelations that come forth in this book." Another elaborates:
"The Da Vinci Code has to be one of the most remarkable books I've read. It is a wonderful–and very effective–mix of history, mystery, action, puzzles and suspense. The pace is so powerful, the book just wouldn't let go! The story line is almost to brilliant to conceive, the sheer genius and fascinating craftsmanship that Dan Brown uses in his book are breath-taking. The idea behind the story may seem controversial, but once you think about it, it really does become quite real and even natural."
Another reader provides a more muted and relativistically-minded assessment:
"The historical events and people explored in the book are real. But no one knows the Truth...nor will we ever, probably. I think that some things are meant to be a mystery. With all the world's diverse religions and each individual's belief in what is Divine–the Truth would have to destroy the beliefs, hopes and lives of many of the world's population. So, perhaps, in the divine scheme of things, there are many more Truths than one. Don't take the book too seriously."
Despite
the skepticism of some readers, The Da Vinci Code proved to be so popular,
so quickly, that within weeks of being published, Columbia Pictures bought the
film rights to the book (and to Angels & Demons as well). Noted
director Ron Howard is reportedly on board and
Dan Brown’s Agenda and the Purpose of The Da Vinci Code
Over the summer, the Envoy office began to receive a number of e-mails and inquiries about The Da Vinci Code. They all expressed concern that the book contains a number of overt attacks on the Catholic Church, plus dubious assertions about topics including Mary Magdalene, the Council of Nicaea, the New Testament canon, church architecture, and the murder of witches during medieval times. Reading the novel confirmed that the concerns of Catholics and other Christians were warranted; Brown’s thriller is less than thrilling when it comes to providing an accurate and fair portrayal of the Catholic Church, Christian theology, and Church history.
In her glowing New York
Times review of the novel, Janet Maslin writes: "As in his Angels
and Demons, this author is drawn to the place where empirical evidence and
religious faith collide. And he creates a bracing exploration of this realm,
one that is by no means sacrilegious, though it sharply challenges
The major theme of Brown’s novel is the pressing need to recover the "sacred feminine" and a revitalized worship of a goddess or goddesses. Brown states, in responding on his website to the question about his novel being "empowering to women," that,
"Two thousand years ago, we lived in a world of Gods and Goddesses. Today, we live in a world solely of Gods. Women in most cultures have been stripped of their spiritual power. The novel touches on questions of how and why this shift occurred…and on what lessons we might learn from it regarding our future."
In an interview with CNN (July 17, 2003), Brown emphasized this point more than once, stating, "In the early days . . . we lived in a world of gods and goddesses. . . . Every Mars had an Athena. The god of war had the goddess of beauty; in the Egyptian tradition, Osiris and Isis. ... And now we live in a world solely of gods. The female counterpart has been erased." He continues: "It’s interesting to note that the word ‘god’ conjures power and awe, while the word ‘goddess’ sounds imaginary." Then, revealing his understanding of how his novel might affect "traditional" Christians, he remarks, "There are some people in the church for whom this book is a little bit shocking. But the reaction from the vast majority of clergy and Christian scholars has been positive." He adds: "Nuns, in particular, are exceptionally excited about the strong feminist message of the book."
It should be noted that
when Brown, in interviews or in his novel, refers to "the Church," or
Christianity, he means the Catholic Church. The Da Vinci Code betrays
little awareness that there are non-Catholic Christians such as the Eastern
Orthodox and Protestants; there is one brief, negative mention of the Church of
England (see page 346). Otherwise, all references are to the Catholic Church,
often referred to as "the
"I am, although perhaps not in the most traditional sense of the word. If you ask three people what it means to be Christian, you will get three different answers. Some feel being baptized is sufficient. Others feel you must accept the Bible as immutable historical fact. Still others require a belief that all those who do not accept Christ as their personal savior are doomed to hell. Faith is a continuum, and we each fall on that line where we may. By attempting to rigidly classify ethereal concepts like faith, we end up debating semantics to the point where we entirely miss the obvious–that is, that we are all trying to decipher life's big mysteries, and we're each following our own paths of enlightenment. I consider myself a student of many religions. The more I learn, the more questions I have. For me, the spiritual quest will be a life-long work in progress."
This is echoed in a remark made by The Da Vinci Code’s main character, Harvard "symbologist" Robert Langdon, "Every faith is based on fabrication. That is the definition of faith–acceptance of that which we imagine to be true, that which we cannot prove. Every religion describes God through metaphor, allegory, and exaggeration, from the early Egyptians through modern Sunday school. Metaphors are a way to help our mind process the unprocessible. The problems arise when we begin to believe literally in our own metaphors. … Those who truly understand their faiths understand the stories are metaphorical" (p. 341-2).
Ironically, The Da Vinci Code hinges upon Langdon having a profound–and apparently non-metaphorical–faith experience at the novel’s conclusion, an experience bound up in the "sacred feminine" and Mary Magdalene. Also interesting is how Brown continually questions any sort of authority, especially that of the Catholic Church, but has such confidence in his personal research into a large number of complex areas of study–even areas where his lack of knowledge is obvious to the discerning reader. This is ironic in light of Brown’s overt relativism and his suspicious view of history; in true deconstructionist style, he openly questions whether we can even know the truth about the past:
"Since the beginning of recorded time, history has been written by the "winners" (those societies and belief systems that conquered and survived). Despite an obvious bias in this accounting method, we still measure the ‘historical accuracy’ of a given concept by examining how well it concurs with our existing historical record. Many historians now believe (as do I) that in gauging the historical accuracy of a given concept, we should first ask ourselves a far deeper question: How historically accurate is history itself?" (Dan Brown's personal website)
Brown undoubtedly hopes The Da Vinci Code will be more than just a best-seller; he apparently wants it to radically change perceptions of history, religion, and Western civilization. Asked if the novel might be considered controversial, Brown again asserts his desire to promote the "sacred feminine" and to challenge the commonly accepted understandings of Western culture and Christianity:
"As I mentioned earlier, the secret I reveal is one that has been whispered for centuries. It is not my own. Admittedly, this may be the first time the secret has been unveiled within the format of a popular thriller, but the information is anything but new. My sincere hope is that The Da Vinci Code, in addition to entertaining people, will serve as an open door for readers to begin their own explorations." (Dan Brown's personal website)
As noted, this agenda has not been lost on readers, and many of them revel in the subversive agenda that Brown undertakes in his thriller. One mesmerized reader summarizes this fascination quite well:
"With his impeccable research, Mr. Brown introduces us to aspects and interpretations of Western history and Christianity that I, for one, had never known existed . . . or even thought about. I found myself, unwillingly, leaving the novel, and time and time again, going online to research Brown's research–only to find a new world of historic possibilities opening up for me." (amazon.com review).
As we will see, the "possibilities" opened up to readers are both dubious and dangerous, and are rooted in ideas that are not only contrary to Catholic doctrine, but also contrary to historical evidence, sound scholarship, and common sense.
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What’s the Matter With the Code?
The immense success of The Da Vinci Code and its strong language about the Catholic Church has resulted in substantial controversy over many of the "facts" within its pages. Not only is the novel influencing the views of non-Catholic readers, it is raising difficult questions in the minds of many Catholics, some of whom are being asked about Brown’s interpretation of Church history and theology. One Catholic reader wrote to Envoy, saying:
"I own a Catholic bookstore. We are getting bombarded daily by people who are buying into the garbage in this book. You cannot believe how many people have been exposed to this book. . . . We even had an elderly aunt talking about Opus Dei tonight and yelling at us that the book is true or it couldn't be printed."
Another reader, a convert from Lutheranism, openly admitted the doubts that The Da Vinci Code has raised in his mind:
"Honestly, [reading the book] shook my whole faith. I realize that the book is fiction, but much of what he wrote about seemed like it was based on historical facts aside from the characters. Since I am not a Christian scholar I don't even know where to begin to refute these claims. As the Catholic Church holds much of the evidence that would refute the drivel in The Da Vinci Code, I was wondering if you could point me in the right direction to a scholarly non-Christian book that might help me make better sense of the whole historical chain of events. If Christianity is nothing more than a big accommodation, it becomes relegated to a lifestyle choice and not a religion, which I do not want to believe."
We’ve heard many similar stories in recent months and expect to hear more, which is the main reason this critique has been written. Just as the Left Behind books have been used to promote a Fundamentalist understanding of Scripture and the end times, The Da Vinci Code has proven to be an effective tool for attacking Catholic doctrine and undermining faith in the divinity of Jesus Christ, the authenticity of Scripture, and the authority of the Church.
"I queried several in the audience why they were there, and what their reaction was to the book and the evenings' discussion. One woman told of her teenage son who was reluctant to go through the sacrament of Confirmation, yet after reading the book found a more believable, understandable, even human Jesus. That actually inspired him to continue the path. Another person said that such material added to the mystery, and in doing so served to strengthen her faith. For one it called into question the credibility of the teaching of the Church, yet felt that faith needs to be challenged to be pursued. Others voiced the idea that this book reinforced a disenchantment with the Church."
This group, and others like it, obviously emphasize opinion and "feelings" over careful and objective study. Such an ambivalent approach to the claims of the novel are summarized well in Rotert’s remark: "Fortunately the evenings participants did not come expecting Yes/No answers." The same remark could be made about catechesis in many parishes today, again highlighting the need for a more rigorous approach to popular works such as The Da Vinci Code, especially when many people are garnering their views of Church history and beliefs from those sources.
Fiction, especially best-selling pulp fiction such as The Da Vinci Code, has become a major means of "educating" the masses about many, varied topics, but especially those issues that are controversial and can be easily sensationalized. The belief that Jesus was married to Mary Magdalene, had children, and was not divine in any way has existed for several decades in American pop culture. Yet many, if not most, readers of Brown’s novel seem unaware of this–even though the novel provides the titles of several books written in the last two or three decades proposing such beliefs, most notably Holy Blood, Holy Grail (Dell, 1982) by Michael Baigent, Richard Leigh, and Henry Lincoln.
Put succinctly, here are the major problems with The Da Vinci Code:
- It attacks the Catholic Church and her beliefs about
Jesus Christ, the Bible, and Church authority.
- It claims to be completely accurate and based in fact,
but it is not.
- It rewrites and misrepresents Church and secular
history.
- It promotes a radical feminist, neo-gnostic agenda.
- It propagates a relativistic, indifferent attitude
towards truth and religion.
In order to critique the novel thoroughly, we will have to go to the heart of Brown’s worldview and his beliefs about Christianity. There we will find an obsession with the Gnostic, feminist notion of the "sacred feminine," an idea that is not so much pro-woman, as it claims to be, but anti-human and anti-Christian. We will also find that Brown’s understanding of early Church history is based on sources and books that are antagonistic to the Catholic Church and filled with dubious, even disingenuous, statements about the Church, Scripture, and Gnostic writings.
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The "Magdalene" and the Sacred Feminine
Most of The Da Vinci Code’s story takes place in a period of about one day, beginning with the murder of the curator of the Louvre. Robert Langdon, a Harvard symbologist (a word created by Brown to describe an expert in religious and esoteric symbolism), is asked by the French police to help interpret a strange cipher left on the body of the deceased. Langdon is joined in his investigation by an attractive young cryptologist, Sophie Neveu. Soon they are suspects in the case and are fleeing from authorities. In the course of trying to escape and solve the murder, they ally themselves with wealthy historian and Holy Grail fanatic Leigh Teabing, an acquaintance of Langdon’s.
Chased by authorities and
an albino "monk" who is a member of Opus Dei, this small band of
iconoclasts and Grail enthusiasts travel from
The main character of The Da Vinci Code is Mary Magdalene–the Mary Magdalene of neo-Gnostic, feminist mythology. According to the novel, the "Magdalene" was the apostle of Jesus and is the Holy Grail. As Sandra Miesel points out in Crisis magazine, Brown’s "book is more than just the story of a quest for the Grail–he wholly reinterprets the Grail legend. In doing so, Brown inverts the insight that a woman’s body is symbolically a container and makes a container symbolically a woman’s body. And that container has a name every Christian will recognize, for Brown claims that the Holy Grail was actually Mary Magdalene. She was the vessel that held the blood of Jesus Christ in her womb while bearing his children." ("Dismantling The Da Vinci Code," Crisis, September 2003).
In a central section of The Da Vinci Code, Langdon and Teabing educate Sophie about this premise. After explaining that the chalice of the Holy Grail is not a cup, but a symbol of "a woman’s womb" that "communicates femininity, womanhood, and fertility," Langdon states:
"The Grail is literally the ancient symbol for womanhood, and the Holy Grail represents the sacred feminine and the goddess, which of course has now been lost, virtually eliminated by the Church. The power of the female and her ability to produce life was once very sacred, but it posed a threat to the rise of the predominantly male Church, and so the sacred feminine was demonized and called unclean. It was man, not God, who created the concept of ‘original sin,’ whereby Eve tasted of the apple and caused the downfall of the human race. Woman, once the sacred giver of life, was now the enemy" (p. 238).
He goes on to claim that "the Church," almost from the beginning, "had subjugated women, banished the Goddess, burned nonbelievers, and forbidden the pagan reverence for the sacred feminine" (p. 239). And then, a few pages later, Teabing states that "the marriage of Jesus and Mary Magdalene is part of the historical record" (p. 245). At that point Teabing produces one of his sources, Elaine Pagels controversial book, The Gnostic Gospels (1979). He then quotes from The Gospel of Philip, which describes Christ kissing Mary Magdalene "on the mouth," offending and upsetting the disciples.
A bit later Teabing arrives at what is, it seems evident, Brown’s main point: "Jesus was the original feminist. He intended for the future of His Church to be in the hands of Mary Magdalene" (p. 248). Teabing proclaims that this, along with Jesus’ supposed marriage to Mary Magdalene, is "the greatest cover-up in human history" (p. 249). He summarizes all of these sentiments by saying, "The quest for the Holy Grail is literally the quest to kneel before the bones of Mary Magdalene. A journey to pray at the feet of the outcast one, the lost sacred feminine" (p. 257). As those who have read the novel know, that describes exactly how The Da Vinci Code ends.
None of these claims are original with Brown, as he admits in the novel and on his website ("…but the information is anything but new"). Brown’s depiction of Mary Magdalene as the embodiment of the "sacred feminine" has been a common theme of recent neo-Gnostic, feminist works seeking to rewrite early Church history based upon Gnostic writings such as the Gospel of Thomas, the Gospel of Philip, the Gospel of Mary, and a handful of others. In addition to Pagel’s work and Holy Blood, Holy Grail, there are other esoteric histories making similar statements: The Templar Revelation: Secret Guardians of the True Identity of Christ by Lynn Picknett and Clive Prince; Goddess in the Gospels: Reclaiming the Sacred Feminine and The Woman with the Alabaster Jar: Mary Magdalen and the Holy Grail, the latter two both by Margaret Starbird, a former Catholic who has been long associated with Matthew Fox. There are websites devoted to promoting these ideas about Mary Magdalene. All of this activity is part of a rapidly growing interest in Gnosticism and "alternative" forms of Christianity that are making overt appearances in popular media, including novels, television, and movies. An example of the latter was the 1999 anti-Catholic dud, Stigmata, which depicted the Catholic Church as furiously attempting to cover up subversive "truths" located in Gnostics works such as the Gospel of Thomas. A much more successful effort was the hugely popular Matrix, which melded neo-Gnostic ideas with themes from Buddhism and other Eastern religions.
The Rebirth of Gnosticism
The claims made through the fictional narrative of The Da Vinci Code cannot be understood without some knowledge of Brown’s reliance on a neo-Gnostic understanding of Jesus, the early Church, and Christianity.
Gnosticism was the greatest challenge to the fledgling Christian faith of the second and third centuries. Yet, despite its influence, it is a difficult movement to define precisely because of its esoteric, decentralized, and eclectic nature. In general, Gnosticism is dualistic, focused on secret spiritual knowledge (gnosis), antagonistic towards or uninterested in time and history, and distrustful–even hateful–towards the physical realm and the human body. Gnosticism seeks to escape the limits of time and space, to transcend the physical and historical realm, and attempts to obtain salvation through secretive, individualistic means (see James A. Herrick, The Making of the New Spirituality: The Eclipse of the Western Religious Tradition [Intervarsity, 2003], 179-203).
In his seminal study, The Gnostic Religion: The Message of the Alien God and the Beginnings of Christianity, Hans Jonas explains that the "radical dualism" of Gnosticism exists on many levels: "God and the world, spirit and matter, soul and body, light and darkness, good and evil, light and death" (The Gnostic Religion [Beacon Hill: Boston, 1958, 1963], p. 31). Ancient Gnostics believed that the true God is not only beyond the world and the material realm, He had nothing to do with the creation of material matter: "The world is the work of lowly powers which though they may mediately be descended from Him do know the true God and obstruct the knowledge of Him in the cosmos over which they rule" (p. 42). Put simply, the material realm is evil and man must escape it. This can only be accomplished through gnosis, or secret knowledge, of the true God.
This gnosis is rooted in the belief that humanity is not meant for this evil, material world. Dr. Bart D. Ehrman, author of Lost Christianities: The Battles for Scripture and the Faith We Never Knew (Oxford, 2003), writes that according to this view, "we are trapped here, imprisoned. And when we learn who we are and how we can escape, we can then return to our heavenly home." He notes how this concept resonates with modern readers, "many of whom also feel alienated from this world, for whom this world does not make sense, readers who realize, in some very deep and significant way, that they really don’t belong here" (p. 114). It is also the case that the individualistic, relativistic, and syncretistic character of Gnosticism is also appealing to modern men and women who are distrustful of the Church, believe Christianity to be anti-woman, and who have a generally negative view of any structure of authority.
Elaine Pagels explains that some of the early Gnostics claimed "that humanity created God–and so, from its own inner potential, discovered for itself the revelation of truth" (The Gnostic Gospels, 122). Rather than being outside of–and separate from–humanity, God is a creation of mankind. Salvation is not about overcoming sin through and by God’s assistance, but is the overcoming of ignorance through self-knowledge (p. 123-4). Ignorance insures destruction, while self-knowledge provides liberation and escape from suffering. This means that the Jesus was not the God-man who came to save mankind from sin, as orthodox Christians believe, but is a "teacher, revealer, and spiritual master" who is human only. In Gnostic teaching, Jesus is not greater than the student, but he will help the student to transcend him in knowledge and "Christ consciousness."
Another key concept embraced by many Gnostic groups was that of an androgynous God, a deity who is a perfect balance of feminine and masculine. Pagels writes, "Some [Gnostic groups] insisted that the divine is to be considered masculofeminine–the ‘great male-female power.’ Others claimed that the terms were meant only as metaphors, since, in reality, the divine is neither male nor female. A third group suggested that one can describe the primal Source in either masculine or feminine terms, depending on which aspect one intends to stress." She adds: "Proponents of these diverse views agreed that the divine is to be understood in terms of a harmonious, dynamic relationship of opposites–a concept that may be akin to the Eastern view of yin and yang, but remains alien to orthodox Judaism and Christianity" (The Gnostic Gospels, 51).
The Gnostic deity is both god and goddess, and the Gnostics despised the Christians for "suppressing" the feminine nature of the godhead. In The Da Vinci Code, Langdon lectures Sophie about this, telling her that "the Priory [of Sion] believes that Constantine and his male successors successfully converted the world from matriarchal paganism to patriarchal Christianity by waging a campaign of propaganda that demonized the sacred feminine, obliterating the goddess from modern religion forever" (p. 124). This suppression resulted, Brown’s novel tells readers, in a warped and unbalanced humanity, overly masculine and lacking in feminine balance:
"The days of the goddess were over. The pendulum had swung. Mother Earth had become a man’s world, and the gods of destruction and war were taking their toll. The male ego had spent two millennia running unchecked by its female counterpart. The Priory of Sion believed that it was this obliteration of the sacred feminine in modern life that had caused what the Hopi Native Americans called koyanisquatsi–‘life out of balance’–an unstable situation marked by testosterone-fueled wars, a plethora of misogynistic societies, and a growing disrespect for Mother Earth" (pp. 125-6).
Many Gnostics not only believed the true God (beyond the god of this world, the
demi-god falsely believed to be God by Jews and Christians) was androgynous,
but that humanity was also meant to be androgynous, or
"masculo-feminine." Some Gnostics interpreted Genesis 1:27 as saying
God created "male-female," not "male and female." This idea
of an androgynous, "whole" humanity makes an appearance in The Da
Vinci Code. In talking to Sophie about the Mona Lisa, Langdon states,
"Whatever Da Vinci was up to . . . his Mona Lisa was neither male nor
female. It carries a subtle message of androgyny. It is a fusing of both"
(p. 120). This is wishful thinking on the part of Langdon (and Brown), since
the majority of art historians agree the portrait has nothing
to do with androgyny, but is simply a masterful painting of an Italian lady,
(most likely Mona Lisa Gherardini, the wife of merchant Francesco di
Bartolommeo di Zanobi del Giocondo). However, the idea that Mona Lisa depicts
an androgynous person does fit with the Gnostic beliefs that those who were
enlightened by gnosis needed to be in pairs–male and female–forming a perfect
whole, or "syzygy." Thus, Jesus would require a female counterpart
who would make him complete; in Gnostic writings that woman, of course, was
Jesus’ "consort," Mary Magdalen.
The interconnection between these ancient Gnostic notions and feminist attacks on Church teaching, especially upon the male-priesthood, should be apparent. If the male and female genders are not unique in vital, but equal, ways–as the Catholic Church teaches–but are the results of an incomplete anthropology, then there is no reason to keep women from the priesthood or episcopal authority. If there is no essential difference or distinction between men and women, then the Church’s refusal to ordain women is simply a matter of misogyny, not of theological, doctrinal truth. This connection is readily apparent in works of religious feminists intent on getting women ordained as Catholic priests (or priestesses).
Finally, one difficulty in defining Gnosticism, whether ancient or modern, is its syncretistic nature. As Jonas states, "the gnostic systems compounded everything–oriental mythologies, astrological doctrines, Iranian theology, elements of Jewish tradition, whether Biblical, rabbinical, or occult, Christian salvation-eschatology, Platonic terms and concepts" (The Gnostic Religion, 25). Today there are numerous esoteric groups and movements that utilize Gnostic concepts and writings: wiccans, New Agers, occultists, radical feminists, neo-pagans, and a host of others. This is certainly the case with The Da Vinci Code, which makes reference to a number of esoteric and occultic groups and movements, but is especially enamored with a radical feminist interpretation of Church history.
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The Neo-Gnostic Myth of the Feminist Early Church
The beliefs about the early Church, Gnosticism, and Mary Magdalen that are set forth in Brown’s novel date back to the nineteenth century and the advent of modern feminism. Philip Jenkins points out, in Hidden Gospels: How the Search For Jesus Lost Its Way (Oxford, 2001), that "late nineteenth-century activists saw Jesus and his first followers as protofeminists, whose radical ideas were swamped by a patriarchal orthodoxy." In addition to feminists, this "idea that the Gnostics retained the core truths of a lost Christianity was commonplace among occult and esoteric writers, many of whom shared the contemporary excitement over women’s suffrage and other progressive causes" (p. 125). These writers looked to heretical, Gnostic forms of early Christianity for material to bolster their belief that Jesus was really a radical feminist, the Church was initially founded as an egalitarian and non-dogmatic body, and women were among the first apostles–or were, as in the case of Mary Magdalene, the primary apostles.
One of the first Gnostic texts used effectively by feminists was Pistis Sophia ("The Books of the Savior"), which was published in English in 1896. In it, Mary Magdalene is depicted as the foremost apostle of Jesus, while the male disciples are frustrated by the lack of attention they received from Jesus. But it was the discovery of numerous Gnostic texts in 1945 at Nag Hammadi, Egypt, that provided even more ammunition for those looking to undermine Church authority and change the structures and theology of the Catholic Church. Elaine Pagels, whose popularizing work in this area has been immense, writes, "The Nag Hammadi sources, discovered at a time of contemporary social crises concerning sexual roles, challenge us to reinterpret history–and to re-evaluate the present situation" (The Gnostic Gospels, p. 69).
As Pagels’ comment indicates, the timing of the Nag Hammadi discovery was fortuitous for those wishing to reinterpret Jesus in their own image and destroy traditional, orthodox understandings of Christianity. "The hidden gospels have been used to provide scriptural warrant for sweeping new interpretations of Jesus," Jenkins notes, "for interpreting theological statements in a purely symbolic and psychological sense, and for challenging dogmatic or legal rules on the basis of the believer’s subjective moral sense. Generally, the hidden gospels offer wonderful news for liberals, feminists, and radicals within the churches, who challenge what they view as outdated institutions and prejudices" (p. 16).
This perfectly describes the intent of The Da Vinci Code, which uses a fictional vehicle to promote the same agenda that a number of feminist and post-modern scholars have been working on since the 1960s. Those fans of Brown’s novel who think the author has somehow stumbled upon new and never seen information might be surprised to know how commonplace his views are within the realm of Gnostic and feminist studies. Jenkins’ depiction of the literature produced within that world could just as well describe The Da Vinci Code:
"Over the last century, the literature on hidden gospels, genuine and fraudulent, has been pervaded by conspiratorial speculations which suggest that some powerful body (usually the Roman Catholic Church) is cynically plotting either to conceal the true gospel, or to plant bogus documents to deceive the faithful. Such ideas run through the many novels and fictional presentations on this them: in the Hollywood film Stigmata, the Vatican is shown desperately trying to suppress a "Jesus Gospel," which is unmistakably modeled on the Gospel of Thomas" (p. 18).
It would take an entire book to address thoroughly all of these intertwining topics and answer each of the questions they raise (Jenkins’ book is a good place to start; others are listed at the end of this article). But here, in abbreviated form, are some important points about these issues, all of them central to The Da Vinci Code.
The feminist idea that the early Church was an egalitarian body lead by both female and male bishops and priests is based on flimsy premises and lacks historical evidence. This has even been admitted, in part, by Pagels, who stated in the 1998 PBS program From Jesus to Christ, "I don’t see a picture of a golden age of egalitarianism back there. I see a new, unformed, diverse, and threatened movement which allowed a lot more fluidity for women in certain roles for a while, in some places and not in others" (quoted in Jenkins, p. 132). Feminist scholars speculating about the first few decades of the early Church usually treat the New Testament documents with suspicion, claiming that they are the work of those men who finally gained control over the Church through the suppression of women. Using a "hermeneutics of suspicion," these scholars must ignore early evidence that the Church was founded by Christ and its leadership on earth given to twelve men (Matt. 10:1ff; 19:28; Lk. 22:25-30; Jn. 20:20-24) led by Peter (Matt. 16:15-19), and must instead insist upon using texts that were written anywhere from fifty to three hundred years after the New Testament documents.
In addition, there is the misleading notion that the Gnostic writings are consistently pro-woman, while the New Testament writings–and thereby the authors of those books–are anti-woman. This idea also arises in The Da Vinci Code. After quoting from the Gospel of Mary Magdalene, where Peter complains about Mary’s closeness to Christ, Sir Leigh Teabing states: "I daresay Peter was something of a sexist." (p. 248). He then remarks that "Jesus was the original feminist. He intended for the future of His Church to be in the hands of Mary Magdalene" (p. 248).
But Brown never bothers to have his characters quote from the final verse of the Gospel of Thomas, the most famous of the Gnostic texts. That verse states: "Simon Peter said to them: ‘Let Mary leave us, for women are not worthy of life.’ Jesus said, "I myself shall lead her in order to make her male, so that she too may become a living spirit resembling you males. For every woman who will make herself male will enter the kingdom of heaven" (v. 114). This passage and others like it do not fit well with the feminist view of the Gnostics, just as the Church’s positive treatment of women throughout history does not compare well with the negative picture often depicted by feminist groups.
One such group is the "Catholic" organization FutureChurch, which states in an online article that "the Montanist and Valentinian Churches, which had both male and female leaders, were eventually suppressed. Scholars say that the Montanist and Valentinian communities were orthodox. They were suppressed not because their teachings were heretical, but because women as well as men engaged in leadership." In fact, almost all scholars, including many feminists writers, acknowledge that the Montanists and Valentinians were outside the Church and considered heretical for numerous reasons, including attacks on the deity of Christ (Valentinians), the authority of the Church (both groups), an obsession with prophetic utterances (Montanists), and dualist views (Valentinians). Even Elaine Pagels states that "Valentinian gnosticism" was "the most influential and sophisticated form of gnostic teaching, and by far the most threatening to the church" (The Gnostic Gospels, p. 31). Unfortunately, such misguided attempts to use ancient, heretical movements for modern, heretical ends are becoming increasingly common.
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The Dating Game
The dating of the New Testament writings and the Gnostic writings is essential to appreciating the serious errors found in The Da Vinci Code and in the works of neo-Gnostic enthusiasts. If Gnostic works such as the Gospel of Mary and the Gospel of Thomas were written at the same time as the canonical Gospels, the Pauline corpus, and the other New Testament books (which are dated from 50 to 100 AD, even by many "liberal" scholars), then the early Church resembles the picture painted by feminist scholars–one in which various groups existed equally, at least for a while, within a democratic, theologically fluid era. According to this premise, the hierarchical and male-dominated Church came much later, in the second and third centuries, and Jesus was not deified as the God-man until the time of Constantine. This is essentially the scenario depicted in The Da Vinci Code (see p. 230ff).
However, if the Gnostic books weren’t written until several decades, or even
centuries, after the New Testament books, a different picture emerges. In it,
the Gnostic writings are reactionary, the result of the intense struggle of
heretical sects against the established teachings of the Church and the
apostles. These struggles erupted in the second century, especially noticeable
around 135 to 165 A.D., and continued for quite some time. The nature of this
struggle can be seen in the writings of orthodox apologists such as Irenaeus,
who wrote his great polemic refuting Gnosticism (especially the Valentinians), Against
Heresies, around 180 A.D.
Put another way, Gnosticism began to infiltrate the Church in full force in the mid-second century, many decades removed from the life of Christ, the apostles, and the formation of the Church–a distance in time similar to modern-day scholars looking back at the lives of Abraham Lincoln, or even George Washington. Gnosticism would have been a movement arising outside of Christianity, even though some overlapping of language and concepts may have existed, due in part to a shared culture and the Gnostic interest in the Old Testament. Some Gnostic proponents claim that a full-fledged Gnosticism is evident within the Church in the person of Simon Magus (Acts 8:9-13), but this view is speculative at best. Hans Jonas writes that Simon was "not a dissident Christian, and if the Church Fathers cast him in the role of the arch-heretic, they implicitly admitted that Gnosticism was not an inner-Christian phenomenon." (The Gnostic Religion, p. 103).
An important characteristic of Gnostic writings is how much they vary in character from the canonical writings: they are non-historical, or even anti-historical, in style and content and they contain little narrative or sense of chronology. The Nag Hammadi documents, as highly touted as they are, have offered few, if any, new or illuminating details about the life of Christ or events in the early Church. This is due in part to the documents being written generations after the fact as well as the anti-historical bias of Gnosticism, which scorns the belief that the true God would care about the material, historical realm. In concluding his examination of the veracity of the Gospel of Mary and other Gnostic texts, Jenkins writes, "These uncanonical texts were written at a time when the episcopal hierarchy was already well established, when the early house churches were a distant memory, and when the canonical gospels were already widely known as the principle authorities for the life of Jesus. Mary and its like come from a time when the church had already fixed its gospel canon at four. Despite claims that Mary was excluded or omitted from that canon, presumably because of its subversive feminism, the work was much too late a candidate even to be considered" (p. 141).
Jenkins’ conclusions are supported by the majority of biblical scholars. For example, Dr. Bart Ehrman of the University of North Carolina, in his book Lost Christianities: The Battles for Scriptures and the Faiths We Never Knew (Oxford, 2003), dates none of the Gnostic gospels before the "early 2nd century." Many are dated in the third, fourth, and fifth century (pages xi-xv). The introductions to the Gnostic works contained in The Nag Hammadi Library (Harper, 1979, 1988), edited by James M. Robinson, acknowledge the same dates, even though they argue that the Gnostic writings should be considered just as authoritative as the Four Gospels. Even Holy Blood, Holy Grail, which takes extreme liberties in its "scholarship" (Teabing remarks, in The Da Vinci Code, that "the authors [of Holy Blood, Holy Grail] made some dubious leaps of faith in their analysis" [p. 254]–an amusing understatement), states, "Modern scholars have established that some if not most of the texts in the [Nag Hammadi] scrolls date from no later than A.D. 150" (p. 380).
All of this flies in the face of Teabing’s assertion in The Da Vinci Code that "more than eighty gospels were considered for the New Testament, and yet only a relatively few were chosen for inclusion–Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John among them." (p. 231). Far from there being "eighty gospels" considered for the canon at the time of Constantine in the early 300s, there were only five or six still being considered in the mid-second century. By the late second century the early Church recognized the gospels of Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John as the four inspired by the Holy Spirit and meant for the canon of the New Testament. As Jenkins shows, "the process of determining the canon was well under way long before Constantine became emperor, and before the church had the slightest prospect of political power. The crucial phase occurred in the mid-second century . . ." (p. 85).
In fact, there was already a growing consensus about the entire New Testament canon by the middle of the second-century, even though it would not be defined on an official (though not universal) level until the late-300s and early-400s in a series of local synods. Justin Martyr, writing around 150 A.D. and explaining the liturgy of the Christians to his non-Christian readers, speaks of the apostles and "the memoirs composed by them, which are called Gospels, have thus delivered unto us what was enjoined upon them" ("The First Apology," 66). Tertullian, writing around the same time, defends the four Gospels, the Acts of the Apostles, thirteen Pauline epistles, the epistle to the Hebrews, and 1 John and The Apocalypse against the Gnostic ideas of Marcion ("Five Books Against Marcion," 4.2, 4.5). A couple of decades later Irenaeus specifically refers to the four Gospels and their authors and implies that they are granted a unique status within the Church:
Matthew also issued a written Gospel among the Hebrews in their own dialect, while Peter and Paul were preaching at Rome, and laying the foundations of the Church. After their departure, Mark, the disciple and interpreter of Peter, did also hand down to us in writing what had been preached by Peter. Luke also, the companion of Paul, recorded in a book the Gospel preached by him. Afterwards, John, the disciple of the Lord, who also had leaned upon His breast, did himself publish a Gospel during his residence at Ephesus in Asia. (Against Heresies, 3.1.1)
A bit further on, Irenaeus writes, "It is not possible that the Gospels can be either more or fewer in number than they are" (3.11.8) and again prominently mentions Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John, further proof that that the number of gospels recognized as authoritative within the Church was set at four at least 150 years prior to Constantine and the Council of Nicaea.
[Part Two of this special Planet Envoy critique of The Da Vinci Code will take on the topics of Mary Magdalene, Constantine, the Council of Nicaea, and author Dan Brown’s views of Jesus Christ.]