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.

Jesus Vs. Christ: Did the Historical Jesus Even Matter?

When reviewing Paul’s overall mythology, one begins to question whether the historical Jesus even mattered, and particularly when comparing the Christ of Paul’s theology with the Jesus of the Gospel narratives. This debate touches on the very foundation of Christianity, raising concerns about whether its movement is rooted in a real historical figure or a theological construct that evolved independently of any specific individual.

Paul’s Christ Without a Historical Jesus

Paul’s letters, the earliest Christian writings, present a Jesus who is overwhelmingly mythological and theological; a cosmic Christ, whose death and resurrection define Christian theory. Unlike the Gospel narratives, Paul rarely references the life and teachings of Jesus. Instead, his Christ is the sacrificial atonement, a divine mediator between God and humanity. The implications are significant: if Paul’s Jesus was primarily theological and not based on an earthly figure, does Christianity even need a historical Jesus?

In 1 Corinthians 15:3-5, Paul states:

"For I delivered to you as of first importance what I also received: that Christ died for our sins in accordance with the Scriptures, that he was buried, that he was raised on the third day in accordance with the Scriptures, and that he appeared to Cephas, then to the Twelve."

This passage, one of the few instances where Paul presents an early Christian creed, does not focus on Jesus’ earthly life or teachings but on his death and resurrection. This emphasis suggests that for Paul, the significance of the Jesus character lay not in his historical actions, but in his theological function. Paul’s Jesus is universal, transcendent, and salvific—not a rabbi or social revolutionary, but a divine intermediary.

The Gospel Jesus: A Narrative Counterbalance?

In contrast, the Gospels somewhat anchor Jesus firmly in Jewish tradition. They depict him as a prophet, a teacher of ethics, and a proclaimer of the philosophy of the Kingdom of God. The Jesus of Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John interacts with his disciples, debates with religious authorities, and preaches about justice and the inward work of God the Father. His teachings, particularly in the Sermon on the Mount, emphasize morality and social ethics in ways that Paul does not.

Given that the Gospels were written after Paul’s letters, were they attempting to correct his vision of the Jesus character? Some within the field argue that the Gospel writers sought to ground the theological Christ in history, providing a biographical framework that Paul had ignored. Others suggest that Paul’s vision was the original, and the Gospel narratives were a later mythologization, an effort to make a cosmic savior more relatable to a broader audience.

Paul’s Theology: A Jewish Evolution or a Radical Departure?

Pamela Eisenbaum, in Paul Was Not a Christian, argues that Paul remained fundamentally Jewish and was not “converting” to a new religion, but rather reinterpreting Jewish messianic expectations in light of his revelations. Paul’s Jesus was not a moral teacher but, according to Paul’s perception, a fulfillment of divine prophecy, a necessary sacrifice for the redemption of humanity.

This perspective further complicates the issue of the historical Jesus. If Paul’s vision was the earliest and most influential, then the Gospel Jesus might be a theological innovation rather than a corrective. That is, Jesus the rabbi and ethical teacher may have been a later narrative construct to appeal to Jewish and Greco-Roman audiences.

Christianity Without a Historical Jesus?

If Paul’s Jesus was primarily a theological concept, can Christianity function without a historical Jesus? Some in the field argue that it already does. Christian faith, as articulated by Paul, depends not on the deeds or words of an earthly Jesus but on belief in his death and resurrection. Paul himself claims that his Gospel was received “through revelation” rather than human tradition, suggesting that historical veracity was secondary to theological truth.

Yet, the absence of a historical Jesus would create existential challenges for Christianity. Without a tangible figure to ground its beliefs, Christianity risks being seen as a philosophical or mythical system rather than a historical faith. The tension between Paul’s cosmic Christ and the Gospel’s Jewish teacher reflects an ongoing struggle within Christian thought: is faith rooted in theological necessity or historical reality?

The Question

The question of whether the historical Jesus even mattered ultimately hinges on what one considers essential to Christian theory. If Christianity is about faith in a figure of salvation, then Paul’s theological Jesus is sufficient. If Christianity seeks historical legitimacy, then the imagined narrative of the Gospel Jesus becomes indispensable for a mythological historical framework (I realize that a “mythological historical framework might sound odd, but Greek epic writers, this was literary culture, namely, to make epic appear historical). The divergence between Paul’s letters and the Gospel narratives suggests that early Christianity was simply a lively and evolving belief system—one that continues to have a losing battle with the balance between history and theology.

 References:

Bedard, S. J., J. (n.d.). Paul And The Historical Jesus: A Case Study in First Corinthians. In McMaster Journal of Theology and Ministry (Vol. 7, pp. 9–22).

Matthew, D. & Pamela Eisenbaum. (2009). PAUL WAS NOT a CHRISTIAN: the original message of a misunderstood apostle. In HarperCollins.

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

Did Adam’s Sin Bring Death? Rethinking Paul’s Theology vs. the Hebrew Bible

The Bible presents a deep and complex dialogue about sin, consequences, and spiritual death. Romans 6:23 states, "For the wages of sin is death..." while Genesis 2:17 declares, "But of the tree of the knowledge of good and evil, thou shalt not eat of it: for in the day that thou eatest thereof thou shalt surely die." A glaring philosophical issue emerges when we compare these verses: Adam and Eve did not physically die upon eating the fruit, challenging the straightforward notion that “sin” results in immediate physical death or “eternal death.” Instead, their "death" appears to be a death of understanding, aligning with Isaiah 44:18, "...he hath shut their eyes, that they cannot see; and their hearts, that they cannot understand." The “opening of their eyes” was in fact the “closing of their eyes.”

The Nature of Death in Eden

If Adam and Eve’s death was not a physical cessation of life, then what kind of death did they suffer? The text suggests an intellectual and spiritual demise—a blindness of mind and heart. Their eyes were opened (Genesis 3:7), but rather than gaining enlightenment, they perceived their own nakedness (figurative) and felt shame (philosophical). This aligns with Isaiah 44:18, which describes a condition where people are rendered incapable of understanding due to their spiritual impairment.

This interpretation raises a significant challenge to Paul’s assertion in Romans 6:23. If the wages of sin were strictly death, and especially the death of some aspect of self in some weird extraterrestrial “afterlife,” as Paul asserts, then the immediate consequence in Eden should have been death to all aspects of the pair in Eden, which “death” the text does not mention because that is not the mindset behind it. Yet, Adam lived for 930 years (Genesis 5:5). The logical dissonance between Paul’s assertion and the Bible’s narrative suggests that Paul was propagating a prospective theological theory that diverges from the Bible’s original philosophy and account.

Paul’s Theological Deviation from the Hebrew Bible

Ezekiel 18:20 states, "The soul that sinneth, it shall die. The son shall not bear the iniquity of the father..." This passage directly refutes the concept of inherited sin and collective guilt. If Adam and Eve's transgression resulted in spiritual blindness rather than immediate death, then Paul's doctrine of sin leading to universal death appears to be a theological extrapolation rather than a point stating or continuing the Bible’s philosophy.

Paul’s framing of sin and death seems to pivot towards a transactional model of atonement rather than the Hebrew Bible’s focus on personal accountability. Ezekiel makes it clear that one person’s sin does not transfer to another, yet Paul argues for a universal condemnation through Adam’s sin (Romans 5:12). This universal condemnation is nowhere found within the text from Genesis to Malachi. This raises the question: Was Paul redefining biblical justice to fit his theological framework?

The Implications of Paul’s Perspective

Paul’s teaching in Romans shapes much of Christian theory, particularly regarding its perspective on salvation and the necessity of its Christ’s sacrifice. However, if the Bible itself does not establish death as an automatic consequence of sin (whether immediately occurring in the here and now or occurring later beyond the here and now) in the way Paul presents it, then his argument may be built on a theological innovation rather than biblical continuity.

If sin led to intellectual death (and it only did) in Eden rather than physical death, Paul’s statement in Romans 6:23 must be understood either metaphorically or theoretically rather than actually or literally. This perspective fundamentally alters the way the Bible philosophically defines atonement and devotional justice. If the fate of Adam and Eve was a loss of spiritual clarity rather than biological termination (and it was), then Paul’s doctrine of inherited sin and universal condemnation, because it is contrary to the Bible’s narrative and philosophical scope, requires re-examination.

A Divergence

The juxtaposition of Genesis 2:17, Isaiah 44:18, and Ezekiel 18 with Paul’s Romans 6:23 highlights a significant philosophical divergence. While Genesis and Ezekiel emphasize personal responsibility and the consequences of error as a loss of understanding, Paul constructs a universalized doctrine of sin and death that deviates from the Hebrew Bible’s narrative. This raises serious questions: Was Paul reshaping theology to fit a new religious framework? And if so, what are the implications for contemporary Christian thought?

A logical inquiry into Paul’s belief shows that his theology presents a deviation from the biblical text rather than a direct continuation of its teachings. The philosophical issue, then, is whether modern Christian theology should align with Paul’s doctrine, or return to the original biblical perspective on sin and its consequences.