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.

Why Paul’s Christ and the Gospel Jesus Cannot Be Reconciled

The New Testament presents readers with two strikingly distinct portrayals of the Jesus character. On the one hand, the Paul character offers us a cosmic Christ—an eternal, preexistent divine figure, the agent of creation and redemption for all humanity. On the other hand, the Gospels; particularly the Synoptics; paint a picture of a Jewish prophet, a moral Rabbi embedded in the matrix of first-century Judaism, who heals, teaches, and proclaims the imminent “kingdom of God.” These representations are not just different perspectives; they are radically divergent theological constructs.

The question at the heart of Christian theory thus arises: Can Paul’s cosmic Christ and the Jesus character of the Gospels be reconciled? Should we actually look at the New Testament text, the answer appears to be a resolute no.

Paul’s Cosmic Christ: Beyond History and Flesh

Paul’s letters, particularly Colossians 1:13–20, present his Christ as the agent of creation and the sustainer of all things. In this view, his Christ is not merely a moral teacher, but the very Logos, the rational, divine principle that orders the Greek universe. Paul’s Christ is "before all things" and in him "all things hold together" (Col. 1:17). This Cosmic Christ is not merely divine in function but in essence: he is the full embodiment of Deity, through whom the reconciliation of all things, both heavenly and earthly, is achieved by blood on his cross​.

Ebenezer Fai (2022) highlights that Paul’s emphasis in Colossians emerges not from biographical reflection on a historical man named “Jesus,” but from a theological need to combat Gnostic heresies and affirm cosmic supremacy​. Paul’s Jesus is a being whose existence precedes the incarnation, whose work of salvation is only metaphysical, and whose authority is cosmic, universal, and eternal.

The Gospel Jesus: The Scripted Rabbi

In contrast, the Gospels; especially the Synoptics; do not concern themselves with cosmic metaphysics. They present a man situated in a specific cultural and religious context. The Jesus character is of or from Nazareth, a Galilean Jew, engaging with Pharisees, healing lepers, and preaching the ethical imperatives of love, forgiveness, and justice.

Whereas Paul emphasizes the Jesus character’s crucifixion and resurrection as a metaphysical event, the Gospels center on Jesus’ life: his teachings, parables, compassion, and confrontation with religious authorities. This version of Jesus observes Jewish law (albeit sometimes critically), engages with the marginalized, and rarely speaks of himself in cosmic or divine terms. His favorite self-designation, "Son of Man," evokes prophetic imagery of him as a supporter of a remote mythological figure rather than ontological divinity.

The Jesus of the Gospels is particular, for he is bound to the socio-political and religious fabric of Second Temple Judaism. Paul’s Christ, on the other hand, is universal, being a cosmic archetype more reminiscent of a Hellenistic deity than Hebrew prophet.

Philosophical Disparity: Logos vs. Narrative

Philosophically, these two Christ characters appeal to different metaphysical traditions. Paul's Christ emerges from a Platonic schema, aligning with the Logos doctrine who is, in Greek and Hellenistic Judaism’s literature, a preexistent Word mediating between the transcendent God and material creation. This idea would later crystallize in Johannine theology and be formalized in Neoplatonic Christianity, as seen in the works of Augustine and Origen.

In contrast, the Gospel Jesus reflects more of an Aristotelian and ethical tradition, in that he is concerned with praxis, not metaphysics. His parables are moral, his miracles restorative, his teachings embedded in community life which, to the audience, forces a link between notable figures like Elijah and Elisha. His “kingdom” is both near and ethical, not cosmic and absolute.

Gnosticism and the Veiled Christ

Murphy (2011) adds a fascinating layer to this tension, revealing that Paul’s theology fits neatly into the framework of a mystery religion, where his Christ is a symbolic figure guiding initiates into spiritual transformation, not a biographical teacher from Galilee​. Paul’s Christ speaks to inner divinity and mystical rebirth: “We died with Christ... and now our life is hidden with Christ in God” (Colossians 3:3). The supposed Jesus of history is deliberately obscured, even discarded, in favor of a higher, esoteric truth​.

This idea is not foreign to early Christianity. The Gnostic gospels present the Jesus character not as a crucified savior but a revealer of hidden knowledge (gnosis). Gnostic communities viewed the Christ character as an immaterial guide to enlightenment rather than a sacrificial lamb​. This really aligns with Paul’s mystical language and esoteric symbolism.

The Church's Solution: Synthetic Christology

The early Church, recognizing this rift, sought to synthesize the two through creeds and councils. The Council of Nicaea (325 CE) and Chalcedon (451 CE) declared Christ to be fully God and fully man, attempting to harmonize Paul's Logos Christ with the Gospel's version of the Jesus character. But such reconciliation was dogmatic, not organic.

As Murphy (2011) argues, these decisions were less about theological integrity and more about institutional control. The Gospel Jesus, with his ethical teachings and radical inclusivity, was threatening to a budding ecclesiastical hierarchy. The cosmic Christ, distant and abstract, was more malleable and less politically dangerous​.

A Disunion That Challenges Christianity

Theologically, Paul’s Christ and the Gospel Jesus are not just different interpretations of the same figure; they are different figures. One is an eternal metaphysical being; the other is a figure scripted to appear as a human prophet. One is rooted in Hellenistic mysticism; the other in Jewish ethics. One speaks of justification through faith; the other of righteousness through love and mercy.

Thus, the union is impossible, and not for lack of trying, but because the two are fundamentally irreconcilable. Christianity has survived by layering these incompatible Christ characters into one synthetic narrative. Yet this synthesis (if we would just look at the New Testament text) strains under the weight of its contradictions, as evidenced by modern theological fractures between evangelical, mystical, liberal, and historical-critical Christianities.

To ask whether Christianity is about belief in Paul’s cosmic Christ or following the Gospel Jesus is not merely a theological question, but something actually challenging the rationale of the individual asking the question. As we move further into the 21st century, perhaps it's time to stop forcing a reconciliation and start telling the truth: Christianity was always a tale of two Jesuses.

 Resources:

Fai, E., Merrill C. Tenney, Mark Allan Powel, Carson, D. A., Dunnett, W. M., McCain, D., Gundry, R., Keener, C. S., Hendricksen, W., Falwell, J., Brown, R. E., Akintola, S. O., & Guthrie, D. (2022). The Cosmic Christ: An Exegesis of Colossians 1:13-20 and its implications for the Twenty-First Century Church. In The American Journal of Biblical Theology (Vol. 23, Issue 33).

Loubser, J. A. (1993). Orality and Pauline ‘Christology’: Some Hermeneutical Implications. Scriptura: Journal for Biblical, Theological and Contextual Hermeneutics, 47, 25-51. 

Murphy, D. (2011). Jesus Potter Harry Christ. Holyblasphemy press