From Vision to Victory: How Gods Become Kings of Empires

In October 312 AD, Constantine stood before the Milvian Bridge and gazed into the noonday sun. He claimed to see a fiery cross superimposed upon it, bearing the words, “In hoc signo vinces” —“By this sign, conquer.” That night, he was said to have received a dream instructing him to mark his soldiers’ shields with the Chi-Rho, the emblem of Christ, and march on Rome (Odahl, 2010). He did so, transforming a minority faith’s symbol into an imperial standard and securing victory. Later coinage even depicted an angel placing a crown on his head as he clutched that same standard, proclaiming divine legitimacy for his rule.

This moment marked more than a military triumph; it signaled a radical reimagining of sovereignty. Jesus, once supposedly thought of as a Galilean preacher who refused earthly crowns, but more recently classed as a demigod within the Greco-Roman religious world, had now entered the command structure of the Roman army, and not just metaphorically, but structurally. In doing so, Constantine followed a pattern deeply embedded in the ancient world: the transformation of supposedly divine figures into cosmic sovereigns whose will shaped the laws of empire.

This phenomenon finds a striking parallel in the earlier reign of Ptolemy I Soter, ruler of Hellenistic Egypt. Ptolemy sought to unify Greek and Egyptian populations under a single imperial cult, introducing Serapis (a syncretic deity merging Greek and Egyptian traditions) as the divine patron of the Ptolemaic state (Pfeiffer, 2008). Serapis was not merely a god of healing or the underworld; he became the celestial counterpart to the ruling royal pair, Isis being his mythological consort. By aligning the king with this newly crafted divine figure, Ptolemy ensured that the monarchy could be worshipped as a living embodiment of cosmic order—a model later echoed by Constantine.

Like Constantine, Ptolemy understood that the fusion of religion and statecraft was not simply a matter of political convenience; it was a philosophical necessity. Just as Constantine saw in Christianity a unifying force capable of binding together a fractured empire, Ptolemy saw in Serapis a symbolic bridge between cultures. Both leaders recognized that gods must become kings, and kings must become gods, if they were to hold together the vast, diverse populations under their rule.

The establishment of the ruler cult under Ptolemy I was not just an extension of Pharaonic tradition, where the office of the king was divine, but the individual was not. Rather, it was a deliberate Hellenistic innovation that deified the living monarch, aligning him with the pantheon itself.

Similarly, Constantine positioned himself not just as a Christian emperor, but as a new kind of ruler, one who mediated between the divine and the temporal. His alliance with Licinius in 313 AD produced what we now call the Edict of Milan, granting legal recognition to Christian worship across the empire. Yet Constantine’s deeper strategy was theological as much as political. By convening the Council of Nicaea in 325 AD, he sought to forge a creedal unity that would serve both as spiritual doctrine and civic glue. Heresy was no longer just doctrinal error – it became a form of sedition against the cosmic order.

Just as Ptolemy I elevated Serapis above local deities to create a universal divine figure for a multicultural empire, Constantine elevated the Jesus character above all other gods. He did not “invent” orthodoxy, but he nationalized it. Through basilicas built at imperial expense, judicial privileges granted to bishops, and tax exemptions codified into law, Constantine wove the Church into the very fabric of imperial governance. The crucified Lord, once a symbol of suffering and humility, was now enthroned on the emperor’s seal, flanked by angels.

Yet both emperors understood that such transformations required careful calibration. Ptolemy’s integration of Egyptian gods like Isis and Anubis into the broader framework of Serapis-worship allowed him to maintain cultural legitimacy without erasing indigenous belief systems (Pfeiffer, 2008). Likewise, Constantine refrained from immediate theocratic dominance. Though urged by some Christian advisors to outlaw animal sacrifice outright, he instead chose selective pressure; closing temples linked to immorality, stripping others of wealth, but allowing pagan shrines to remain so long as public order was preserved (Errington, 1988). He honored his title of Pontifex Maximus, chief priest of traditional Roman religion, while posing as “God’s” chosen friend, a balancing act between majority pagan constituencies and an ascendant Christian (pagan Hellenistic Jews) elite.

The result was a new ontology of power. For Constantine, as for Ptolemy, victory and order no longer came from the capricious gods of old, but from a singular divine source whose will was interpreted through imperial decree. Just as Ptolemaic propaganda portrayed the monarch as a “god-king” embodying both Greek ideals and Egyptian symbolism, Constantine recast himself as the earthly executor of the Jesus character’s cosmic kingship.

This transformation was irreversible. Even later emperors who flirted with reviving paganism found the machinery of the state already speaking the language of the Nicene Creed. As Pfeiffer notes, once a divine figure is enshrined within the imperial apparatus, it becomes nearly impossible to disentangle theology from politics. The god has become king, not only in heaven, but on earth.

Thus, Constantine did not merely adopt a religion, he crowned its Jesus (or its Serapis) as king of an empire. And in doing so, he fulfilled ancient imperial logic: the fusion of professed divine sovereignty and worldly dominion, a vision as old as Ptolemy’s Serapis and as enduring as the pagan cross on the imperial banner.

References

Errington, R. M. (1988). "Constantine as Pontifex Maximus." Greece & Rome , 35(2), 165–180.

Humphries, M. (forthcoming). Constantine and the Conversion of Europe . Oxford University Press.

Odahl, C. M. (2010). Constantine and the Christian Empire . Routledge.

Pfeiffer, S. (2008). The God Serapis, His Cult and the Beginnings of Ruler Worship in Ptolemaic Egypt . Unpublished manuscript.

From Mystical Messiah to Imperial Creed: How the Jesus Movement Became Roman Orthodoxy

Before orthodoxy, there was plurality. As Rebecca Lyman explains, early Christian communities developed in urban networks, often shaped by Jewish scripture and Greek philosophical reflection. These communities offered varied theological models: some viewed Jesus as the incarnate Logos (John 1:1), others as an adopted son of God, and still others, such as the Monarchians, saw Father, Son, and Spirit as mere titles of the one God acting in history.

This diversity was not a defect but a generative force. Drawing from the Hebrew Bible and Greco-Roman philosophical cosmologies, early Christians articulated rich soteriologies (salvation doctrines) that emphasized divine mediation and unity in creative tension. I, in my book A Fallen Record, add some weight to this interpretation, exposing how the original teachings of Jesus were aimed at personal spiritual regeneration rather than external conformity to legal religious codes. I highlight that love, as originally taught from the Bible, means “to edify,” and that “edification is mental” and rooted in comparative spiritual reflection; not institutionalized mandates (Jackson, 2018, p. vi).

This meshes with a broader theme: that the early Jesus movement was most likely a deeply internal, philosophical journey toward enlightenment, not simply a religious subscription. It wasn’t until the third century that bishops began to gather in synods to assert doctrinal boundaries; initially local, but increasingly prescriptive.

Constantine’s Calculus: Christianity as Imperial Glue

Enter Constantine. In the fourth century, Christianity moved from being one among many pagan religious currents to the favored cult of the Roman Empire. Johannes Wienand notes in Contested Monarchy that Constantine’s rule hinged on creating ideological unity across an empire fractured by war and religious pluralism. Christianity, especially in its emerging Trinitarian formulation, offered a compelling, even if deceiving, symbolic order.

By convening the Council of Nicaea in 325 CE, Constantine wielded theology as statecraft. No longer was doctrine merely a matter for spiritual discernment; it became a matter of imperial cohesion. The Nicene Creed served both to define Christian belief and to establish political unity, asserting that the Jesus character was “of one substance” (homoousios) with the Father. This was no small theological tweak, as it was a metaphysical claim enforced by imperial decree.

And as Potter (2006) makes clear, the transformation of Roman governance under emperors like Diocletian and Constantine was tightly interwoven with these theological shifts. Religious unity was essential to administrative stability.

Creeds and Councils: Institutionalizing the Ineffable

The Council of Nicaea was only the beginning. As Lyman observes, the subsequent councils and theological treatises forged a new ontology of divine unity: a Trinitarian Deity, eternally co-equal and co-eternal in three persons. These developments were not inevitable outgrowths of scripture, but carefully negotiated outcomes shaped by politics, persuasion, and ecclesiastical muscle.

I, in A Fallen Record, echo this concern, pointing to how Christian elders and clergy strayed from the Bible’s intended “mental” path of edification and instead reintroduced “legal religious ordinances”—structures the Jesus character is written to have abolished. This institutionalization was a return to the very bondage that Jesus sought to liberate people from (Jackson, 2018, pp. viii–xi).

From Cross to Cathedral: The Architecture of Empire

As Leif Vaage’s Religious Rivalries in the Early Roman Empire shows, Christianity’s rise involved not just belief but strategic adaptation to Roman modes of power. Where the image of the Jesus character once preaching in fields and synagogues existed, now his image stood colossal in basilicas. The church became Rome’s spiritual senate. The bishop of Rome (later the Pope) took on roles of adjudication and administration once reserved for imperial magistrates.

Potter (2006) provides a valuable lens for understanding this shift. The transformation of cities, social hierarchies, and even domestic life under Rome’s rule embedded Christian institutions into every facet of public and private life.

Cathedrals became the architecture of belief, and belief itself became architecture: rigid, hierarchical, and imperially endorsed.

A Mindful Reflection

The story of how the Greek cosmic Logos became the Christ of cathedrals is not merely a tale of theological evolution; it is a narrative of institutional capture. The mystical, esoteric teachings of the Jesus character were transmuted into imperial doctrine. Unity came at the cost of diversity. Orthodoxy became a crown falsely beautiful, heavy, and exclusionary. It reminds me of Isaiah 28:1, “Woe to the crown of pride, to the drunkards of Ephraim, whose glorious beauty is a fading flower...”

I’m hoping this blog post raises the same concern that I highlight in A Fallen Record, that for the sake of our devotional conversation’s character, we capture a faith born of personal conscience “written not with ink, but with the Spirit of the living God” (2 Corinthians 3:3). This means moving beyond tradition-bound creeds to rediscover the contemplative and philosophical fact found at the core of the scriptures from Genesis to Malachi.

We also can’t forget, as Potter (2006) does remind us, that every empire, even Rome, was just a philosophical project, an attempt to order the cosmos by ordering society. If this is true, then to re-engage the mind at the core of the scriptures is not a retreat from history, it is a reclaiming of philosophy for our inward society.

References

Jackson, L. J. (2018). A Fallen Record: The Christian Transgression. Fideli Publishing, Inc.

Lyman, R. (2024). The Theology of the Council of Nicaea. St Andrews Encyclopaedia of Theology.

Potter, D. S. (Ed.). (2006). A Companion to the Roman Empire. Blackwell Publishing.

Vaage, L. E. (Ed.). (2006). Religious Rivalries in the Early Roman Empire and the Rise of Christianity. Wilfrid Laurier University Press.

Wienand, J. (Ed.). (2015). Contested Monarchy: Integrating the Roman Empire in the Fourth Century AD. Oxford University Press.

1800-Year-Old Megiddo Mosaic Redefines the Jesus Character

The Mosaic That Challenges Christian History

An 1800-year-old mosaic unearthed in Israel’s Jezreel Valley has most definitely surprised the world of archaeology, history, and theology. Known as the Megiddo Mosaic, this artifact predates the Council of Nicea by nearly a century and proclaims “Jesus Christ” as “God.”

This find isn’t just an archaeological marvel; it forces a reevaluation of early Christian beliefs. If pagans, Samaritans, Jews, and Romans already venerated “Jesus” as “divine” in 230 AD, what does this mean for the commonly held narrative that his “divinity” was formalized at Nicea? Constantine, in 325 AD, may have needed a new and useful religion to unite his empire; he may have founded the religion called “Christianity” while also confirming the divinity of “Jesus”; but if that divinity, according to this newly discovered mosaic (230 AD), had already been established before Constantine’s “stamp of approval,” then the actual pagan origins and myth surrounding Jesus needs to be re-evaluated.

What Is the Megiddo Mosaic?

The Megiddo Mosaic is an intricately crafted artifact discovered beneath an ancient prison in Israel. It features geometric patterns, early Christian symbols like two fish, and Greek inscriptions. Most notably, one reads:

"The god-loving Akeptous has offered the table to God Jesus Christ as a memorial."​ (Espinal, 2024).

This inscription, dating to 230 AD, is the earliest physical evidence of “Jesus” being called "God." Alongside it are dedications to Roman contributors, such as an army officer, highlighting the mosaic’s diverse cultural roots.

Excavation leader Dr. Yotam Tepper, talking about this peculiar site in Israel, noted, “There was an early Christian community here way before Christianity became the official religion” (Sudilovsky, 2022). “Finds from the site area – including remains from a Roman period Jewish village having both Jewish and Samaritan residents, a Roman army legion camp and a Roman-Byzantine city – indicate the presence of diverse cultural, religious and ethnic population groups, he said” (Sudilovsky, 2022).

Why the Megiddo Mosaic Matters

1. Pre-Nicean Worship of Jesus as God: The mosaic predates the Council of Nicea (325 AD), where “Jesus' divinity” was codified into the Nicene Creed. This challenges the notion that institutional Christianity "invented" Jesus' godhood. Instead, it shows that early Christian communities—comprising Jews, Samaritans, and pagans—already revered the Jesus character as “divine.”

2. Involvement of Pagans and Women

• The dedication from Akeptous highlights the significant role of women in early Christianity.

• Contributions from Roman pagans suggest Jesus’ appeal transcended Jewish sectarianism, resonating with broader Roman, Samaritan, and pagan audiences.

3. Archaeological and Theological Significance: Museum of the Bible CEO Carlos Campo called it “the most significant archaeological find since the Dead Sea Scrolls.” As physical evidence, the mosaic bridges the gap between faith traditions and historical fact​ (Espinal, 2024).

The Council of Nicea: Settling the Question of Divinity

Fast forward to 325 AD, where the Council of Nicea gathered to address controversies about Jesus’ nature. The debates were fueled by Arianism, which argued that “Jesus” was a created being and subordinate to “God the Father.” If sticking to the Bible’s mythological system, where Israel’s “God” has no biological children but only creates his host, Arianism is actually the correct position to have, as “Jesus,” just like Michael and Gabriel, and all of the “host of heaven,” would have to also be a created figure. The Nicene Creed countered this by declaring Jesus homoousios—of the same substance as the Father ​(1st counsil)​ (Abogado, 2017).

While Nicea formalized the doctrine of Jesus’ divinity, the Megiddo Mosaic demonstrates that this belief was already established in grassroots Christian communities. The council’s outcomes, then, might reflect a unification of earlier, widespread theological ideas, rather than their invention.

Revisiting Christianity’s Narrative

The Megiddo Mosaic forces Christianity to reflect on its origins. If diverse groups long before the Council of Nicea venerated “Jesus” as “God,” the focus shifts from institutional dogma to the grassroots understanding of early believers, placing the Christian religion into a nuanced pagan religious category. This discovery challenges modern Christians to consider:

• The Role of Early Christian Diversity: Early Christian communities were a blend of Jews, Romans, and pagans. Their theology developed organically, shaped by cultural and historical contexts.

• The Universality of Jesus’ Message: The mosaic reveals Roman pagans were among those venerating Jesus as divine nearly a century before Nicea. The mosaic’s Roman contributors therefore suggest that “Jesus” resonated beyond Jewish boundaries. Christianity's appeal as a universal faith started far earlier than previously believed, and the movement may not have been called “Christianity.”

• The Importance of Women in Early Christianity: Figures like Akeptous demonstrate that women were active participants and benefactors in shaping the early church.

A Rediscovered Beginning

The Megiddo Mosaic is more than an ancient relic—it is a call to revisit Christianity’s foundational narrative. It is a tangible link to early Christian worship practices, predating Christianity’s rise as the Roman Empire’s official religion, revealing an early church that was diverse, inclusive, and far ahead of its time in proclaiming the Jesus character as “divine.”

As this mosaic reminds us, history is not merely written by councils and creeds. This discovery suggests that belief in “Jesus’ divinity” was widespread and predates institutional decrees, pointing to a sure evolution of theology. The more we learn about the Christian religion, the more we are able to understand the spreading of a new and usable pagan deity within not simply the Roman Empire, but within Israel, where this mosaic was found.

Abogado, J. N. (2017). The Anti-Arian Theology of the Council of Nicea of 325. Angelicum, 94(2), 255-286.

Espinal, N. (2024). Israeli prison discovery reveals 1,800-year-old mosaic declaring Jesus as God. Daily Express US. https://www.the-express.com/news/us-news/155160/israeli-prison-1800-year-old-mosaic-Jesus-as-God

Sudilovsky, B. J. (2022). Early Christian mosaic to be 'released' from jail, Megiddo Prison move. The Jerusalem Post | JPost.com. https://www.jpost.com/archaeology/article-702887