Purified of the evil matters
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ⲛ̅ⲧⲟϥ ⲟⲛ ⲡⲉ ⲡϣⲁϫⲉ ⲉⲛⲧⲁⲥϫⲟⲟϥ ⲛ̅ϭⲓⲧⲡⲓⲥⲧⲓⲥ ⲥⲟⲫⲓⲁ· ϫⲉⲁⲩⲱ ⲁⲩⲥⲱⲧϥ̅ ⲉⲃⲟⲗ ⲙ̅ⲙⲟⲓ̈ ⲛ̅ⲛⲁϩⲩⲗⲏ ⲧⲏⲣⲟⲩ ⲉⲑⲟⲟⲩ· ⲁⲩⲱ ⲁⲓ̈ϫⲓⲥⲉ ⲉⲣⲟⲟⲩ ⲉⲃⲟⲗ ϩⲙ̅ⲡⲉⲕⲟⲩⲟⲉⲓⲛ· ⲁⲩⲱ ⲡϣⲁϫⲉ ⲉⲛⲧⲁⲧⲉⲕϭⲟⲙ ϫⲟⲟϥ ϩⲓⲧⲛ̅ⲥⲟⲗⲟⲙⲱⲛ· ϫⲉⲧⲉⲕⲟⲩⲛⲁⲙ ⲧⲉ ⲛ̅ⲧⲁⲥϫⲓⲥⲉ ⲙ̅ⲙⲟⲓ̈· ⲁⲩⲱ ⲁⲥϥⲓⲡϣⲱⲛⲉ ⲛ̅ⲥⲁⲃⲟⲗ ⲙ̅ⲙⲟⲓ̈ ⲛ̅ⲧⲟϥ ⲡⲉ ⲡϣⲁϫⲉ ⲉⲛⲧⲁⲥϫⲟⲟϥ ⲛ̅ϭⲓⲧⲡⲓⲥⲧⲓⲥ ⲥⲟⲫⲓⲁ· ϫⲉⲁⲩⲱ ⲧⲉⲕⲁⲡⲟϩⲣⲟⲓⲁ ⲛ̅ⲟⲩⲟⲉⲓⲛ· ⲛ̅ⲧⲟⲥ ⲧⲉⲛ̅ⲧⲁⲥϫⲓⲥⲉ ⲙ̅ⲙⲟⲓ̈ ϩⲙ̅ⲡⲉⲕⲟⲩⲟⲓ̈ⲛ· ⲁⲩⲱ ⲁⲥϥⲓ ⲛ̅ⲥⲁ‐ⲃⲟⲗ ⲙ̅ⲙⲟⲓ̈ ⲛ̅ⲛⲉⲡⲣⲟ ⲃⲟⲗⲟⲟⲩⲉ ⲙ̅ⲡⲁⲩⲑⲁⲇⲏⲥ ⲛⲁⲓ̈ ⲉⲛⲉⲩⲑⲗⲓⲃⲉ ⲙ̅ⲙⲟⲓ̈: ⲁⲩⲱ ⲡϣⲁϫⲉ ⲉⲛⲧⲁⲧⲉⲕϭⲟⲙ ϫⲟⲟϥ ϫⲉⲁⲓ̈ϣⲱⲡⲉ ⲉⲓ̈ϭⲙ̅ϭⲟⲙ ϩⲛ̅ⲧⲉⲕⲙⲉ ⲁⲩⲱ ⲉⲓ̈ⲧⲃ̅ⲃⲏⲩ ϩⲛ̅ⲧⲉⲕⲇⲓⲕⲁⲓⲟⲥⲩⲛⲏ·
It is again the word which Pistis Sophia spoke: They purified me of all my matters which are evil, and I raised myself above them in thy light. And the word which thy power spoke through Solomon: It is thy right hand which raised me, and took the sickness away from me — it is the word which Pistis Sophia spoke: It is thy light-stream which raised me in thy light, and took away from me the emanations of the Self-willed, those which were oppressing me. And the word which thy power spoke: I became powerful in thy truth, and purified in thy righteousness —
The coats of skin receive their solution — "they purified me of all my evil matters, and I raised myself above them in thy light" — and then the ode’s right hand is solved a second time, now in its raising office: "it is thy light-stream which raised me in thy light, and took away from me the emanations of the Self-willed, those which were oppressing me." The verse of strength and purity is quoted last, its solution held over.
The coats of skin turn out to be plural in Sophia’s ledger: "my <em>matters</em> which are evil." Where Adam wore one garment of hide, she has been wearing layers of hylē — the accumulated matter of the chaos pressed onto a light-being — and the purification strips them the way the ode’s singer rose out of his one skin. Note who does the purifying: "THEY purified me," an unnamed plural, the rescuing powers working like attendants at a bath. And then her own verb: "I raised MYSELF above them in thy light." The ode says the right hand raised him; Sophia’s solution splits the work — the stream does the lifting in one clause, and she does her own rising in the one before it. Rescue in this book is never quite passive; the saved one climbs the light that is let down to her.
The sickness-verse completes the diagnosis the chapter has been running. What the ode calls sickness, the solution calls "the emanations of the Self-willed, those which were oppressing me" — illness personified, or rather de-personified back into its agents. For this book a disease is not a state but a crowd: pressures with names and masters, removable the way an occupying garrison is removable. The right hand that heals becomes the light-stream that evicts. It is the same exchange the whole chapter has practiced — moods into substances, symptoms into culprits — applied now to the body’s oldest misery.
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