Are You On The Wrong Spiritual Path?

What if you uncovered a secret so life-changing it forced you to rethink who you are? Picture it shifting the energy that drives you, like a storm clearing to reveal a new sky. What if you realized the path you thought was yours wasn’t meant for you at all? How would you respond? Would you hold tight to what’s familiar, or step boldly into the unknown?

The Bible holds truths that sometimes require effort to uncover—verses to study, translate, and reflect on deeply. But other truths sit right in front of us, missed not because they’re hidden, but because we’re not paying attention. In those cases, the “secret” isn’t a secret at all; it’s our own failure to see what’s clear.

Take two verses that reveal something profound about how people chase knowledge, especially in religious circles. Ecclesiastes 3:10-11 says: “I have seen the travail, which God hath given to the sons of men to be exercised in it. He hath made every thing beautiful in his time: also he hath set the world in their heart, so that no man can find out the work that God maketh from the beginning to the end.” The writer of Ecclesiastes dove into the ways of the world (religious world), lived like those (priests) around him, and wrote about it. He saw that many people (priests) are given a heavy task by God: a restless drive to understand life, but only within the limits of what’s earthly, never grasping the full scope of the living God’s work.

Who are these “sons of men”? The phrase isn’t about literal sons. Hebrews 5:1 explains: “For every high priest taken from among men is ordained for men in things pertaining to God.” This points to a spiritual lineage, not a family tree. In Titus 1:4, Paul calls Titus “mine own son after the common faith,” and in 1 Timothy 1:2, he refers to Timothy as “my own son in the faith.” Here, “son” means someone shaped by another’s teachings, like a mentor passing down beliefs. Proverbs 29:21 adds: “He that delicately bringeth up his servant from a child shall have him become his son at the length.” The “sons of men” are priests or ministers trained by human institutions; think seminaries or universities; carrying ideas rooted in human thought, not in the Bible’s actual fact.

The writer of Ecclesiastes lived among them, adopted their ways, and recorded his findings in the book. He discovered they carry a kind of curse, as Ecclesiastes 1:13 puts it: “I gave my heart to seek and search out by wisdom concerning all things that are done under heaven: this sore travail hath God given to the sons of men to be exercised therewith.” Their curse is a fixation on understanding only what fits within their religious or intellectual world, unable to see beyond it. Their minds stay trapped, chasing answers that never reach the bigger picture. This, according to the Bible, is their gift.

Why does the Bible call this out? It’s not just criticism; it’s a response. These “sons of men” turn away from the Bible’s true message, choosing instead to lean on and lead by human-made doctrines. They claim to speak from Scripture while twisting its meaning. This matters because their path isn’t ours to follow. After living their way, the writer of Ecclesiastes saw it was empty and concluded in Ecclesiastes 3:18: “I said in mine heart concerning the estate of the sons of men, that God might manifest them, and that they might see that they themselves are beasts.” Like animals driven by instinct, they stay stuck in their narrow ways, missing the wider truth.

We too can get caught up in their world, spending our time and energy on their ideas, repeating their patterns, letting their mindset shape our own. But real freedom comes from stepping away, rising above their limits. This isn’t about judgment; it’s about opportunity. By seeing what the Bible reveals, we can leave behind the “sons of men” and pursue an experience that’s more meaningful, one that connects us to the beauty within the scriptures,

So, what will you do with this truth now that you see it?

From Serapis to Christ: How Syncretism Shaped Imperial Religion

History teaches us that religious identity is never static. It is a fluid negotiation of power, culture, and community. In the ancient world, few examples better illustrate this than the State-sanctioned creation and adaptation of gods like Serapis and Jesus the Christ. These figures did not emerge in cultural vacuums. Rather, they were carefully crafted through syncretism—an intricate blending of belief systems—to unify fractured empires and legitimize rulers.

Serapis: The Politics of Invention

When Ptolemy I Soter, a Macedonian general of Alexander the Great, assumed power in Egypt around 305 BC, he faced a unique dilemma: how to govern an empire split between native Egyptians and Hellenistic (Greek) settlers. His solution was Serapis, a deity forged not from faith, but from political necessity. Serapis was a hybrid god, combining elements of the Egyptian Osiris and Apis with Greek gods such as Zeus, Hades, and Asclepius. He had the appearance of a Greek ruler but bore the attributes of Egyptian underworld gods, complete with a grain basket (modius) atop his head symbolizing abundance and fertility (Murphy, 2021).

Ptolemy introduced Serapis not just to unite religious traditions, but to also reframe the State itself. As Dawson (2014) notes, the cult of Serapis allowed Greeks in Alexandria to claim a spiritual stake in their new home while pacifying Egyptians by linking Serapis with their revered Osiris-Apis tradition. Temples like the Serapeum in Memphis bore dual architecture and symbolism, housing statues of both Greek philosophers and Egyptian sphinxes – visual testaments to a calculated fusion of cultures.

Yet, Serapis was not readily accepted by all. Despite state sponsorship, his cult struggled to win widespread Egyptian devotion. Egyptians often saw him as a “counterfeit” version of their own gods, while Greeks viewed him as a legitimizing tool of Ptolemaic rule (Murphy, 2021). His success lay not in winning hearts, but in stabilizing a divided polity.

Constantine: The Syncretist Emperor

Fast forward to the 4th century AD. Constantine the Great stood atop a similarly divided empire, this time between pagans and a growing Christian (pagan Hellenistic Jew) population. Like Ptolemy before him, Constantine saw in religion a powerful tool for imperial unity. But where Ptolemy invented a god, Constantine rebranded a religion.

Though Constantine is often hailed as Christianity’s champion, his policy was less about theology and more about control. Constantine maintained tolerance toward traditional pagan practices while promoting the Christian religion as the new ideological glue of the empire. His edicts did not immediately ban pagan sacrifices, as some scholars have claimed, but instead reflected a careful balancing act between religious communities (Errington, 1988).

To ease the transition, Constantine employed a similar syncretic strategy. Christian holidays were aligned with pagan festivals; most famously, Christmas with Saturnalia. Temples once dedicated to pagan deities were rededicated to Christian saints. Even the Jesus character’s image gradually took on the visual likeness of Roman gods like Sol Invictus, reinforcing familiarity through resemblance.

Syncretism as Statecraft

Both Ptolemy and Constantine used religious syncretism to perform a crucial function: to unite disparate populations under a single cultural umbrella without resorting to outright repression. Their approach was pragmatic, not pious.

For Ptolemy, Serapis offered a symbolic common ground between colonizers and the colonized. For Constantine, the Christian religion provided a unified moral code and institutional framework adaptable to Roman governance. In both cases, religion was not imposed from below by prophets or mystics, but shaped from above by rulers wielding “divine authority” as an extension of political will.

This strategy resonates with modern attempts at multicultural governance. From India’s policy of religious pluralism to the inclusion of interfaith prayers in U.S. civic ceremonies, states continue to use symbolic fusion to forge unity out of diversity. I suppose it is on us to be on the look out for another Constantine or Ptolemy I, and their new Jesus Serapis.

Learn From History

Religious syncretism in antiquity wasn’t merely theological, it was a form of imperial strategy. Serapis and Jesus, though born of different eras, embody the same impulse: to craft religious meaning in the service of social cohesion. One would then think, for example, that the Jesus character would shriek at such a masterful sociopolitical opportunity to rule an empire, seeing as how in John 6:15, when he “perceived that they would come and take him by force, to make him a king, he departed again into a mountain himself alone.” Why, once Constantine takes office, does Jesus change his mind? Whether through the merging of Isis and Demeter or the transformation of Saturnalia into Christmas, empires have always sought to anchor their authority in what is to be thought of as “sacred.”

I believe that we, as we move through our present world, can learn from this history. The blending of “faiths” is not just a practice of the past, it’s a living process, and one that continues to define how we share space, stories, and ultimately, what we revere as supposedly “divine.”

References

Dawson, D. (2014). A Cult of Fusion. Vulcan Historical Review, 18.

Errington, R. M. (1988). Constantine and the Pagans. Greek, Roman and Byzantine Studies, 29(3), 309–314.

Murphy, L. (2021). Beware Greeks Bearing Gods: Serapis as a Cross-Cultural Deity. Amphora, 2, 29–44.

Paul’s Cosmic Christ vs. the Gospel Jesus: How Early Christianity Reconciled Two Different Versions of Jesus

The tension between Paul’s cosmic Christ and the Jesus character of the Gospels is evident. Paul presents a Christ who is a divine intermediary and a universal redeemer, while the Gospels offer a Jewish teacher deeply engaged in ethics, law, and community. This divergence raises some questions: How did early Christianity bridge this theological gap? Did early church councils and later theological traditions attempt to reconcile these differing portrayals, or did they prioritize Paul’s vision over the Gospel narratives?

By examining early Christological debates, the influence of Hellenistic thought, and modern theological trends, we can explore how Christianity negotiated the relationship between these two representations of Jesus.

The Role of Early Church Councils in Shaping Christology

One of the primary mechanisms for reconciling Paul’s cosmic Christ with the Gospel Jesus was the early church councils, particularly those of Nicaea (325 CE) and Chalcedon (451 CE). These councils sought to define the nature of the Christ character amid theological disputes that had emerged within the Christian community. Tillich’s (1972) A History of Christian Thought explores how such councils did not simply adopt Paul’s theology outright, but worked to integrate his Christological vision with the traditions preserved in the Gospel narratives. The Nicene Creed, for example, emphasized the Christ character’s divine nature and preexistence, reflecting Pauline themes, while also affirming the narrative of his incarnation and literary role as the Son of God, bridging the gap between the cosmic Christ and the Gospel Jesus.

The Synthesis of Pauline and Gospel Christology in Later Traditions

The works of Augustine provide another lens through which Christianity synthesized these two portraits of Jesus. As Lupi (2002) discusses in Saint Augustine's Doctrine on Grace, Augustine heavily drew upon Paul’s theological framework, particularly in his doctrines of grace, original sin, and redemption. However, Augustine did not reject the Gospel Jesus; instead, he integrated the ethical teachings of the Jesus character within his broader soteriological framework, arguing that the ministry of the Gospel Jesus was essential but secondary to his redemptive function. This synthesis found expression in post-Nicene traditions, where Jesus' humanity was affirmed but always within the greater context of Pauline salvation theology.

Hellenistic Philosophy: Bridging Theology and History

The philosophical traditions of Hellenism played a critical role in shaping early Christian theory and reconciling Paul’s cosmic Christ with the Gospel Jesus. In Taylor’s (2003) Paul and the Historical Jesus Quest, Hellenistic philosophical thought, particularly Platonism and Stoicism, provided the conceptual framework for articulating the Jesus character’s dual nature as both divine and human. Paul’s writings, which emphasize Christ as the divine Logos and a cosmic mediator, align with Platonic notions of an abstract, transcendent reality underlying the material world. The Gospel narratives, by contrast, present a more tangible, human Jesus, which resonated with the Aristotelian and Stoic traditions that emphasized practical ethics and virtue.

One of the key ways that Hellenistic thought influenced early Christian theology was through the doctrine of the Logos, which had its roots in Stoic and Middle Platonic traditions. Philo of Alexandria, a Jewish-Hellenistic philosopher, had already conceptualized the Logos as a divine intermediary between God the Father and the world, a notion that early Christian thinkers adapted to describe their Christ. The Gospel of John explicitly refers to Jesus as the Logos (Word) (John 1:1), reflecting an attempt to synthesize Jewish theological concepts with Greek philosophical ideas.

Tillich (1972) further explains how early Christian theologians, such as Clement of Alexandria and Origen, built upon these philosophical traditions to construct a Christology that harmonized the Pauline cosmic Christ with the Jesus character. Clement saw the Jesus character as the ultimate teacher of divine wisdom, merging the rational structure of Greek philosophy with Christian revelation. Origen, in turn, developed a theological system in which the Jesus character’s incarnation was seen as a bridge between the material and the divine, enabling human souls to ascend toward God’s ultimate truth.

Moreover, Augustine, whose theological works were deeply influenced by Neoplatonism, provided another avenue for integrating Hellenistic thought with Christian doctrine. As Lupi (2002) discusses, Augustine adopted the Platonic idea that the physical world is a mere shadow of a higher, spiritual reality. He interpreted the Jesus character as the ultimate source of divine illumination, whose role was not just to teach ethical truths but to provide a metaphysical path to salvation. This philosophical interpretation allowed for a seamless transition between the Gospel’s depiction of Jesus as a teacher and Paul’s portrayal of Christ as a cosmic redeemer.

We, in 2025, have no idea how Hellenistic philosophy offered early Christian theologians a way to reconcile Paul’s emphasis on the Jesus character’s divine nature with the Gospel’s portrayal of Jesus as a seemingly historical figure. By framing Jesus as the Logos, the divine wisdom made flesh, Christianity was able to present a Christology that was both philosophically sophisticated and theologically cohesive. This synthesis helped Christian theory appeal to both Jewish (Hellenistic Jews) and Greco-Roman (pagan) audiences, ensuring its doctrinal survival and expansion in the ancient world.

Pauline or Gospel Jesus?

Even today we can see the strange and persistent tension between Paul’s Christ and the Gospel Jesus. Some Christian traditions, particularly within Protestantism, emphasize justification by faith and the Christ character’s atoning sacrifice, echoing Pauline theology. Others, especially in contemporary liberal theology, focus on the ethical teachings of the Jesus character, aligning more closely with the Gospel narratives. As Tillich (1972) notes, modern Christianity continues to struggle with this dual identity, reflecting an ongoing negotiation between theological necessity and a forced historical tradition.

The Concern

Early Christianity did not so much resolve the tension between Paul and the Gospels as it absorbed both into a complex theological framework. The church councils prioritized Paul’s vision but integrated the Gospel narratives; theological traditions like those of Augustine synthesized both perspectives; and Hellenistic philosophy provided the intellectual scaffolding to bridge the theological and historical Jesus. What we see today of Christianity remains shaped by this synthesis, with different traditions leaning toward either the cosmic Christ of Paul or the ethical Jesus of the Gospels. The question of whether Christianity is primarily about faith in the divine Christ or the teachings of the Gospel Jesus is a question of concern because, with the Bible (in Psalm 51:10) defining its goal according to the saying, “Create in me a clean heart, O God; and renew a right spirit within me,” with Christian theory ultimately transitioning away from this goal in unrealistic terms for the growth and wellbeing of the psychological and inward dimensions of our being, we need to sincerely think about where we are spending our energy.

References:

Lupi, J. (2002). Saint Augustine's doctrine on grace (1).

Taylor, N. (2003). Paul and the historical Jesus quest. Neotestamentica, 37(1), 105-126.

Tillich, P. (1972). A history of Christian thought, from its Judaic and Hellenistic origins to existentialism. Simon and Schuster.