Welcome to the next instalment of my series looking at the ancient mythological gods and how they compare to the life, death and resurrection of Jesus. Mithras is yet another popular ancient god that people like to compare with Jesus and make wild claims about, proposing that they are the same deities with different names. But is this even remotely true?
This article has ended up being a bit longer than anticipated as it’s one of the few ancient religions that was contemporary to the birth of Christianity which was seen as somewhat of a rival belief system, so there’s a lot of interesting things to cover!
Mithras has his roots in ancient Persia, where he was known as Mithra, a god associated with the sun and light. The Romans adopted and adapted Mithras into their own religious pantheon, creating the secretive cult of Mithras, which was particularly popular among Roman soldiers, who admired his association with bravery, strength, and the sun. The idea of the blood sacrifice of the bull feeding the earth also played a role in the minds of the soldiers shedding their own blood on the battlefields.
The earliest literary references we have to Mithraism are between AD 80–100 from Latin poet Statius, and also from Plutarch, a Greek philosopher and priest. Ulansey’s hypothesis (The Origins of the Mithraic Mysteries: Cosmology and Salvation in the Ancient World.) suggests that Mithraism was introduced around 60 BC by captured pirates from Asia Minor, where it was associated with the Perseus myth. This idea highlights the idea that Mithraism was a fusion of numerous diverse beliefs and symbols.
The birth of Mithras is quite intriguing; he was born from a rock or stone, fully formed and wearing a Phrygian cap, often holding a torch or a dagger. This miraculous birth is known as the “petra genetrix” or the “rock-born.” Jesus’ birth is celebrated by Christians as a divine miracle, with the virgin Mary giving birth to him in a humble stable in Bethlehem after being overshadowed by the Spirit of God (Luke 1:34-35), but still being born in the flesh like everyone else from a woman. Nothing like how Mithras supposedly came about.
Mithras is best known for the tauroctony, where he slays a bull to release life-giving forces that ensure the Earth’s fertility. The name comes from the Greek word tauroktonos (ταυροκτόνος) meaning “bull killing”. This act represents Mithras’ divine intervention in the natural world as the blood from the bull was believed to release life-giving forces, ensuring the Earth’s fertility and the continuation of life. Jesus, in contrast, is known for his teachings of love, compassion, and forgiveness. His miracles, such as healing the sick, command over nature and turning water into wine, demonstrate his divine power and connection to God as Lord and creator of the world.
Another key difference is the fact that women were excluded from the Mithraic cult, which lies in stark contrast to Christianity which, in many ways, elevated the status of women. Jesus openly had women disciples and included them in his ministry and witness, as well as financial and other support (Luke 8:1–3) which went against the grain of society at the time (and later, even hosting churches in their homes!).
For example, the scholarly view of Mary sitting at Jesus’ feet acknowledges that it was unusual for a woman to take on the role of a disciple in this way, as religious education and discipleship were often reserved only for men. However, this scene in Luke 10:38–42 is significant because it highlights Jesus’ inclusive attitude towards women in his ministry. Similarly, in John 4:4–42 where Jesus speaks with the woman at the well, Jesus demonstrates his willingness to cross social and cultural boundaries. Jesus, as Jewish man, engaging in a conversation with an unrelated Samaritan woman in public broke several cultural and religious barriers. And lastly, the women who were first to witness the resurrection report the account is important because the testimony of women wasn’t considered as reliable as that of a man. This actually lends to the authenticity of the Gospel accounts because if the Gospel writers were fabricating the story, they would have been more likely to choose male witnesses (possibly the more prominent disciples like Peter, James or John) to make the account more credible. The fact that women are the primary witnesses indicates more that the writers were faithfully reporting the events as they occurred.
The fact that women (and other outcasts of society) were so included can be seen in critical ancient witnesses to Christianity, one well-known example coming from Celsus, a 2nd-century Greek philosopher and critic of the faith. He wrote that Christianity “attracted ignorant and foolish people, including women and children” (Contra Celsus, 3.44).
Now, this is where things start to get a bit intriguing. The cult of Mithras was what you might call a secret society, complete with its own set of initiation rituals and beliefs that were only shared with members. The kind of thing to give the Da Vinci Code a run for its money! Unfortunately, due to the secretive nature of the cult, many aspects of the Mithraic mysteries remain unknown to this day, though we do have some insights we can glean from the early church fathers who interacted with these cultists.
Justin Martyr was an early Christian apologist who wrote about the similarities between Christianity and pagan religions, including the cult of Mithras, around AD 155. In his First Apology, Justin Martyr addresses the parallels he sees between Mithras and Christianity, particularly in terms of the rituals practised by Mithraists. Although he does not provide an extensive account of Mithraism, he does make a few references that highlight similarities to Christianity. Here is the relevant quote from Justin Martyr’s “First Apology” (Chapter 66) so you can see it for yourself:
For the apostles, in the memoirs composed by them, which are called Gospels, have thus delivered unto us what was enjoined upon them; that Jesus took bread, and when He had given thanks, said, “This do ye in remembrance of Me, this is My body;” and that, after the same manner, having taken the cup and given thanks, He said, “This is My blood;” and gave it to them alone. Which the wicked devils have imitated in the mysteries of Mithras, commanding the same thing to be done. For, that bread and a cup of water are placed with certain incantations in the mystic rites of one who is being initiated, you either know or can learn.
In this passage, Justin Martyr claims that the Mithras cult imitated the Christian Eucharist (the ritual involving bread and wine representing the body and blood of Jesus Christ) by using bread and a cup of water in their initiation rites. It’s debated whether the cult did get inspiration from Christian practice, or if Justin is vilifying the similar practices as a way to defend and promote Christianity. Though there is some evidence to suggest much of the Mithraic practices we do know about come from post-New Testament times. Nonetheless, these quotes provide insight into how early Christians viewed the Mithras cult and its perceived similarities with Christianity.
It is entirely possible the Mithras cult did incorporate similar Christian practices, as they were seen as a rival religion, especially as the earliest literary references we have to Mithraism are between AD 80–100 from Latin poet Statius, and Plutarch, a Greek philosopher, decades after Christianity’s practices were established.
The cult of Mithras was a secret society, with initiation rituals and beliefs only shared among its members. This exclusivity and mystery made it appealing to some, but it also limited its reach. Christianity, on the other hand, was more accessible, with Jesus preaching to the masses and welcoming people from all walks of life. Even though rituals like the Eucharist were closed to the non-baptised, this general openness played a significant role in the rapid spread of Christianity throughout the Roman Empire and beyond.
The Mithraic cult had seven grades of initiation, each associated with a planetary deity. Devotees would ascend these grades in pursuit of passing through the minor planetary deities and reaching the point of the fixed stars. The rising of the initiate through these stages prefigured the ascent of the soul after death. In contrast, spiritual growth in Christianity is achieved through developing a personal relationship with Jesus, following his teachings, being filled with the Holy Spirit, and participating in sacraments like baptism and communion (Eucharist).
While both belief systems value spiritual growth, their approaches differ, especially in that with Christianity all the work for salvation is achieved by and through Jesus, we don’t work or do things to attain that salvation.
We also know what the seven grades of initiation into Mithraism were called, thanks to Jerome listing them out in chapter two of his letter To Laeta:
Those I mean by which the worshippers [of Mithras] were initiated as Raven, Bridegroom, Soldier, Lion, Perseus, Sun, Crab, and Father?
It’s not unusual for religions to have special rites and rituals, but since we know very little about Mithraism, it’s really impossible to make any proper claims that it is similar to Christianity in any meaningful way.
While there are no explicit accounts of Mithras’ death and/or resurrection, the theme of cyclical renewal or regeneration may have been associated with him, especially considering his connection to the sun (many Mithraic depictions show a banquet with the god Sol, the Sun).
Jesus’ crucifixion, death, and resurrection are central to the Christian faith, as Paul says in 1 Corinthians 15:14, “if Christ has not been raised, then our proclamation is in vain and your faith is in vain”. Jesus was crucified by the Romans, and after his death, he was buried in a tomb. Three days later, he was resurrected, conquering death and sin, and ultimately providing salvation to humanity and reconciliation to God. This is something the Mithraic cult doesn’t touch on or really have any comparable beliefs or doctrines that we know of, so any claims to the contrary are factually incorrect.
The cult of Mithras spread throughout the Roman Empire, especially in the western provinces, and left behind numerous temples and artefacts. However, as Christianity gained prominence in the late Roman Empire, the cult of Mithras faced some stiff competition and began to decline and Christianity eventually overtook the cult.
The two religions have a few things in common on the surface — both involve initiation rituals, a focus on salvation, and a central deity figure. But that could be said of many religions, and none of the core beliefs of Christianity or Jesus are the same as Mithras.
Christianity was more accessible to the masses and eventually overtook the secretive Mithraic cult. Mithras gradually faded from memory, leaving behind a mysterious legacy that continues to captivate scholars and history enthusiasts alike to this day, whereas Churches can be found in nearly every town and city across this country (the UK), and in many other parts of the world, because the truth of Jesus has only grown stronger and spread globally over the last 2000 years.
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Luke J. Wilson | 25th August 2026 | William Lane Craig
If you’ve been on Christian social media this week, you’ve probably seen it: William Lane Craig — one of the most respected Protestant apologists of our time— flatly denying a core line of the Nicene Creed. In his own words, he does not believe or confess that the Son is eternally begotten from the Father in his divine nature. Human nature, yes. But divine? Nope. For a lot of readers, that’s a jarring sentence. Isn’t “eternally begotten of the Father” literally in the Creed we recite? How can someone who has spent decades defending the resurrection and the existence of God turn around and reject something so central? I want to walk through what’s actually going on here, because it’s more interesting — and older — than a single viral clip suggests. What Craig is actually rejecting The doctrine in question is called eternal generation: the idea that the Son is eternally derived from the Father, “begotten, not made,” sharing the Father’s nature without there ever being a time he didn’t exist. It’s not saying the Son had a beginning; it’s saying the Son’s very being is eternally from the Father, the way light is eternally from the sun. Craig has argued for years, most fully in his paper Is God the Son Begotten in His Divine Nature? (2019), that this idea owes more to Greek philosophical categories borrowed by the second-century Apologists than to anything the biblical writers themselves teach. He calls it a vestige of “Logos Christology” and prefers a model where Father, Son, and Spirit are simply co-equal and co-eternal, without one eternally generating another. William Lane Craig disavows the Nicene Creed Why I think this gets the history backwards Here’s where I’d push back, and where I think this whole debate needs a bit more historical texture than a viral post can give it. Long before Nicaea formalised its language, the earliest post-apostolic Christians were already working with something like what’s called the Monarchy of the Father (or Monarchical Trinitarianism) — a framework that takes the Father’s monarchia (his unique, self-existent source of divinity, or autotheos) seriously as the fountainhead from which the Son is begotten and the Spirit proceeds. This is worth distinguishing carefully from Monarchianism, the second/third-century heresy that collapsed the persons of the Trinity into one another to protect God’s oneness — the Monarchy of the Father is the orthodox opposite of that, affirming three distinct, co-eternal persons while still honouring the Father as their singular source. On this reading, the Son and Spirit aren’t lesser, but they do find the very source of their divinity in the Father — not as effects of a philosophical system layered onto scripture, but as a way of taking John’s own language (the Word who was with God and was God, yet distinct from “the Father”) with full seriousness. That’s the thing I think gets lost when eternal generation gets dismissed as a “leftover.” Logos Christology isn’t an embarrassing accretion — it’s arguably what John 1 is doing from verse one. The Church didn’t import that idea to explain the text; the text seems to be why the Church needed the idea. None of this makes Craig any less serious a thinker, and it’s worth saying plainly: this isn’t the first time he’s stepped outside Nicene orthodoxy — he’s made similar moves on Christ’s two wills (dyothelitism) in the past. But it is, I think, a real departure, not just a “minor unorthodoxy.” Why it matters beyond the argument It would be easy to turn this into another “gotcha” moment — ‘look, even the great apologist gets it wrong!’ I don’t think that’s the right response. Craig has done more than most to defend the reasonableness of the Christian faith to a sceptical world, and disagreeing with him on this doesn’t erase that. But it is a good reminder that ev...
Guest Author | 31st July 2026 | Prayer
Guest Post By Fiach OBroin-Molloy My own roots lie in the Catholic tradition, but my workbench has brought me into contact with Christians whose devotional lives differ from mine. I make Catholic rosaries, Anglican prayer beads and other forms of devotional beads by hand. That work has not taught me that distinctions between traditions do not matter. It has taught me that, beneath those distinctions, many of us know the same difficulty: we want to pray, but our attention is restless. I have travelled, lived and worked in a number of countries, from parts of Africa to countries further east. Again and again, I encountered beads or knotted cords held, counted or carried in prayer. The words, beliefs and purposes were not the same, and I would not flatten them into one vague spirituality. What stayed with me was the recurring human instinct to give devotion rhythm and weight—to let the body help the mind and heart remain present. For a Christian, however, that instinct is gathered into a particular faith—the faith confessed in the creeds. Our prayer is addressed to the God made known as Father, Son and Holy Spirit. It is shaped by Scripture and centred on Jesus Christ, the Word made flesh, crucified and risen. Prayer beads do not broaden that confession into something less definite. At their best, they help us stay with it. A faith that takes flesh seriously Christian prayer is never only an activity of the mind. We speak and sing. We stand, kneel and bow. We fold our hands, make the sign of the cross, and receive bread and wine. The Christian faith does not ask us to escape being embodied creatures. At its centre is the astonishing declaration that the Word became flesh and dwelt among us (John 1:14). Material things are not God, but they can serve our attention to God. That is the modest place in which I understand prayer beads. They do not create faith, improve the words of Scripture or make prayer more sincere. They simply give the hands something quiet to do while the heart and mind try to remain present. As a maker, I think about weight, texture, spacing and movement. A bead should pass naturally beneath the thumb. The cord or chain should be strong enough to be returned to repeatedly. A good set of prayer beads should not continually demand admiration for itself. Its purpose is to become quiet in the hand. Over time, beads polish, wood darkens and metal takes on the small marks of use. I rarely know the prayers that have been said with something I have made, but sometimes its wear tells me that it has been held often. That is a different kind of beauty from newness: not decoration, but evidence of return. What the hands bring to Scripture Lectio Divina invites us to read Scripture slowly and receptively. Luke J. Wilson has written much more fully about its four movements—reading, meditation, prayer and contemplation—and I would not try to redefine that teaching here. What interests me as a maker is the point at which a reader’s hand might support that attention. Most of us have become highly practised at moving quickly through words. We skim messages, headlines and pages, often looking for the next piece of information before we have received the one in front of us. Sacred reading asks something different. It asks us to stay. A bead introduces a small resistance to speed. It marks a pause and gives us somewhere to return when the mind has already hurried ahead. The Anglican prayer beads I make contain a cross, an invitatory bead, four cruciform beads and four groups of seven, often called weeks. I know that structure first through the work of my hands, not because I would presume to tell Anglicans how they ought to pray. What strikes me about it is its spaciousness: there are landmarks, passages and repeated opportunities to return to the cross. One possible practice would be to choose a short passage from the Gospels. At the cross, the reader might remember that Christ is the centre of the reading. ...
Luke J. Wilson | 29th July 2026 | Faith & Reason
��Pilate asked him, ‘What is truth?’ (John 18:38) What is “truth”? A question famously asked by Pilate to Jesus during his trial. Ironically, Pilate was speaking to the embodiment of Truth itself. John 14:6Jesus said to him, ‘I am the way, and the truth, and the life.’ Here’s a little ‘riddle’ to think about while you read this; see if you agree or not: “all truth is fact, but not all facts are truth”. I’ll explain it at the end if you’re confused. Jesus is the ultimate Truth, but in a world and society that is becoming increasingly more relative, how do we test the truth and know what’s real or not? Especially with the sudden rise of AI video and photos getting more and more realistic, that old adage “the camera never lies” is completely false now. This makes sifting and filtering facts from fiction on social media all the more difficult. Memes and images are shared stating claims bluntly and authoritatively as truth, which people just assume are accurate and then share it hundreds of thousands of times. Truth has been replaced by opinion masquerading as truth. “Your truth”, “my truth”, “their truth”. But we can’t just blindly accept everything we see and are told. We must use our brains, check the sources and use our reasoning. God gave us intellect and reasoning to be used. In Isaiah 1:18, God invites us to come and reason together with him. We don’t follow a blind faith, we’re never asked to believe “just because”. The Old Testament is full of times when the historical examples of God’s actions are used as an anchor and reason for faith, and the same is true in the New Testament where we have the Gospels as eyewitness accounts, rooted in history. Paul writes to say that 500 people saw the risen Christ and that many are still alive so you can go and verify it for yourself and that he is passing on what he received from trusted people. The resurrection itself is grounded in it being a real event that if shown otherwise would make our faith “futile” and that we would be people to be most pitied. 1 Corinthians 15:17“If Christ has not been raised, your faith is futile and you are still in your sins.” So with this in mind about our faith being grounded, all the more we should aim to do the same in other aspects of our lives. “Do your own research” is a common mantra online, but that in itself isn’t just Googling something and taking the first result that pops up. Especially now as most search engines give an AI overview first, which is just a compilation of the top results, not anything verified or fact-checked. And top results don’t always mean best results, or even accurate results. It typically just means the best keyworded and SEO-optimised result, which could be anything. To properly research, you must know which are trusted sources, reputable websites as well as looking up people who are experts and authorities in their fields. Now this doesn’t always mean they are right but at least you’ll be better informed to make up your own mind and make decisions based on well-researched information, rather than the first blog you find online, or the most viewed YouTube video with someone yelling “facts” at you. Doing your own research means doing the leg-work in tracing down sources and footnotes and citations to see who said what and where it originated to ensure its faithful and trustworthy, and used in context. The answer and example of the riddle The “Black Swan Problem” Strictly speaking, it highlights the difference between observed facts and absolute truth: The “Fact” (at the time): For thousands of years, every recorded, verified observation of a swan in Europe was white. As far as European zoologists were concerned, “all swans are white” was a well-documented, empirically backed fact. The Truth: Millions of black swans were happily swimming around in Western Australia. The truth was always that black swan...
Luke J. Wilson | 27th July 2026 | Archaeology
In early July 2026, Egypt’s Ministry of Tourism and Antiquities announced something pretty amazing: an entire Byzantine-era city, buried beneath the sands of the Dakhla Oasis, had been uncovered almost intact! Streets, homes, bread ovens, a fortress, and at its heart, a fourth-century basilica church. That might not seem very exciting on first glance. But this find deserves a closer look, because it puts flesh on something we usually only encounter in the abstract: what it actually looked like when Christianity took root, house by house, in an ordinary town far from the centres of imperial power. What Was Found The excavation, carried out by an Egyptian mission under the Supreme Council of Antiquities at the Ain El-Sabil site in the New Valley Governorate, roughly 185 miles west of Luxor, has been underway for several seasons. According to Hisham El Leithy, secretary-general of the Supreme Council of Antiquities, the settlement was laid out on a deliberate grid — north-south thoroughfares crossed by east-west streets, forming open squares and public spaces. This wasn’t a huddle of huts; it was a planned town. At the centre of that plan stood a basilica church dating to the mid-fourth century AD, overlooking one of the main streets. Around it, archaeologists found the remains of two watchtowers, a heavily fortified structure with thick defensive walls, and houses with spacious reception halls and vaulted roofs — complete with bread ovens, kitchens, and grinding stones for processing grain. Everyday life, preserved almost exactly as it was left. Two houses stand out that have been identified. One belonged to a man named Tisous,* identified as a church deacon, dating to the second half of the fourth century. The other belonged to a man named Tabibos. Over a thousand years later and we know the name of who owned a house and a home-church; I always find it fascinating! Archaeologists believe Tabibos’s house, which dates to the early fourth century, functioned as a house church before the basilica was ever built. A collection of coins bearing Byzantine emperors, Christian symbols and Latin inscriptions was uncovered during the excavation. (Egyptian Ministry of Tourism and Antiquities via Facebook; Dea Picture Library/De Agostini via Getty Images) There’s also a documentary find that’s easy to skim past but genuinely significant: nearly 200 ostraca — broken pieces of pottery and limestone used as everyday writing material — inscribed in Coptic and Greek. Diaa Zahran, head of the Islamic, Coptic and Jewish Antiquities Sector, described them as recording sales transactions, correspondence, and other mundane details of daily life. Things we rarely get a glimpse into as the mundane rarely makes history. Alongside these, the mission recovered a substantial haul of bronze coins bearing Byzantine emperors and Christian symbols, plus gold coins from the reign of Constantius II (337–361 AD) — coinage that anchors the site’s prosperity firmly within the fourth century. Before the Basilica: The House Church at Ain El-Sabil What makes Tabibos’s house the most theologically interesting part of this discovery is timing. If it predates the basilica and dates to the early fourth century, it sits right at — or just before — the pivot point of Roman-Egyptian Christian history: the years surrounding Constantine’s Edict of Milan in 313 AD, when Christianity moved from a persecuted minority faith to a tolerated, and increasingly favoured, one. A time of transition between a house church and a purpose-built basilica when the threat of persecution no longer loomed over the Church. We know from Paul’s letters that the earliest churches met in homes — Romans 16:5 greets “the church in [Prisca and Aquila’s] house,” and similar greetings appear in 1 Corinthians 16:19 and Colossians 4:15. If we were to imagine how a letter from Paul to this house church might...
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Long before costumes, candy, and carved pumpkins, the night we now call Halloween was kept holy as the Eve of All Saints — a time to remember those who lit the darkness with faith.