The relationship between Christianity and the various Greco-Roman cults now known as the “mystery religions” is not entirely clear, owing to the complexity of the mystery religions themselves as well as the paucity of information about Christianity in its earliest days. As such, there’s more than a little controversy about this relationship.
At various points over the past century and a half, some have seen Christianity as a mystery religion; one that branched from Judaism in a manner similar to how other mystery religions emerged from existing, older, religious traditions. Although there are some points in common, which will be discussed here, it’s not certain that’s how Christianity started.
There were a number of mystery religions in the Greco-Roman world before the turn of the 1st century CE. The oldest cult that can be labeled as a mystery religion is the Eleusinian Mysteries, which became something of an institution in the environs of Athens by the 6th century BCE. However, that cult, and nearly all the others, had much older origins in the many different localized (and often tribal) fertility-cults found throughout the ancient world.
Nearly all of the mystery religions of the classical Greco-Roman world descended from religious and fertility traditions in southeastern Europe, the Aegean Sea, Anatolia, and the Near East. Over time these cults grew, their practices and beliefs solidified, and they also expanded to other parts of the Roman Empire. For this reason, one sees (for example) citizens in the city of Rome worshipping Cybele, a Phrygian mother-goddess (although they called her Mater Magna).
By their nature, fertility cults dealt with the cycle of life: Of being born, living, and dying, to be succeeded by offspring, in an endless repeating process. In prehistoric times their goal appears to have been to foster fertility among the group of worshippers and their livestock and promote growth of crops. They performed rites intended to do just that. As such, they fit in with other propitiatory practices of the pagan religious traditions in which they were found. In fact, they fit in so well, that in most cases it’s impossible to separate them from the rest of the religious milieux.
The ancient world had multiple layers of religious traditions, which in many cases existed and operated independently of one another. At the highest level of society, there were civic religions; those were devoted to the state or ruling nation. Roman Imperial cults (i.e. when the Emperors themselves were worshipped as gods) are an example of this. These were worshipped in order to promote societal prosperity and the welfare of the state in general.
At the next highest level were regional deities, those special to a particular area. In the Near East, especially in Sumer, Akkad, Babylon, Assyria, and Egypt, for example, it was common for a city or community to be dedicated to a particular deity. Port cities often revered sea gods. These were worshipped in order to promote the city or region. Note: In some circumstances, the regional religion and the civic religion might be one and the same (as in the case of a small city-state).
At yet another level were familial and/or tribal deities. Occasionally these were special, revered ancestors; other times a widely-known deity might be a family’s or tribe’s totem. They were worshipped in order to maintain the familial line, provide good luck, etc.
At still another level were natural deities. These were related to forces of nature, worshipped to provide optimal weather for crops, to stave off pestilence, famine, drought, ensure the health of a herd, and even the success of a military expedition, etc.
Lastly, some individuals had special devotions all their own, sometimes passed on to later generations (from father to son, or mother to daughter, for instance).
Any given person might participate in all of these varied levels, depending on the situation, time of year, etc. Also, some of the deities and even some rites were shared at various levels. For instance, the goddess Inanna was the special patron of Uruk in Sumer, its protector and promoter. She served as the object of worship for its civic religion. But, she was also a nature goddess, of fertility (among other things). As such, she was worshipped everywhere that Sumerian people lived.
In theory that meant Inanna might be worshipped in cities that were at war with her own Uruk. Contradictions and conflicts of this sort might have been noted from time to time, but they were generally not considered problematic. It’s simply how things were.
The mystery religions emerged over time, amid this many-layered milieux. They settled into it easily, and occasionally existed, in the lives of their followers, at more than one of these layers. For instance, some families’ members all joined a mystery religion, and the followers of that religion also regarded it as a personal, individual practice.
Over the centuries of their existence, likely owing to their tribal leanings, these fertility cults became somewhat secretive; some acquired layered rites, which occurred in steps, in which more senior followers initiated junior members into each step. At each step, the information required to induct the believer into the next level was conveyed over time, until a particular rite took place which brought the person up to that level.
Some of them acquired several levels, while others remained simple, with only two levels of initiation.
The secrecy was needed, it’s often speculated, because at least at first, these cults acted as markers of a sort. Only certain people were allowed in; often, members of a particular tribe, or residents of a particular region. Keeping things secret meant it was only for the “in group,” and outsiders couldn’t be part of it.
Religion in the ancient world had been primarily of a propitiatory nature: That is, worshippers made sacrifices, performed rites, and followed purity codes to pacify deities or coax them to provide favors. To a degree, the “mysteries” played up to that, promising to allow followers to prosper and live well — just as many other kinds of worshippers hoped the gods would grace them with any number of benefits. But over time, the mystery religions veered more deeply into soteriological territory: That is, they concerned themselves with salvation, often presuming their teachings granted followers the keys to a paradisaical afterlife.
That’s not to say the traditional, classical world’s religious approach had only been propitiartory. Some religious thought concerned not only the physical world and humanity’s welfare in it, within the moment, but the afterlife, and what became of those who’d passed on. In Egypt, the afterlife was central to the civic religion. For example, elaborate efforts were undertaken to ensure the Pharaohs, and later their families and ministers, would enjoy pleasant lives in the afterlife.
Most of the other religions of the Mediterranean and the Near East had a concept of an afterlife — but one that, overall, could be thought of as dull. In Mesopotamia, starting with the Sumerians, it was believed that souls of the deceased descended to “the House of Dust and Darkness,” to eke out an eternity in (yes!) darkness, having nothing but (yes!) dust to eat. It was not a pleasant-sounding scenario.
In the Hellenic world, something similar was embraced; the majority of the dead ended up in a dim underworld ruled by the dour god Hades. But the fates of a small number of souls were different. The most wicked, or those who’d offended the gods, were condemned to torturous eternities in a horrid pocket of Hades’ realm known as Tartarus. Conversely, a few of the most virtuous souls were brought to the Elysian Fields, a pleasant Earth-level region, often described as being on an island at the western edge of the world.
The Hebrews’ afterlife grew out of that of the Near East. As such, the dead were supposed to have ended up in a largely-murky underworld called Sheol. Starting in the Second Temple period, beliefs about the afterlife in Judaism became more complex and nuanced.
Through the last millennium BCE, most other religious traditions also began developing more complicated afterlife beliefs. It was during this period of change that the mystery religions emerged. Nearly all of them promised to provide followers with the secrets to unlock a more pleasant afterlife for themselves. Many promised union with the Ineffable Divine in the Pleroma, in one manner or another.
Christianity, being the product of a reported itinerant Jewish preacher who died and was also presumed to have risen, was all about soteriology within the framework of Judaism. It purported to allow its followers to enter heaven (or in the Greek of their earliest texts, ουρανος or ouranos) to be with God who dwelt there.
The notion of this God-of-gods living in the firmament was ancient even by that time. The Near Eastern deities were almost universally said to live far above the earth. Sacrifices in the form of burnt offerings, with their smoke rising into the sky, were said to have been food for them.
Some of the mystery religions had teachings that related directly to this. Their levels of initiation each taught how their souls could get through one of the layers of the firmament, or the nested spheres of the cosmos, in order to reach the outermost layer which was most paradisaical.
While it also promised to get the believer to God’s side, high in the firmament, Christianity took a different tactic. It taught that all of the work needed in order to get there, had already been done by Jesus the Christ. In view of “literalist” Christians, all one needed to do was believe in this, show that belief in their lives, and one would be granted than boon. There were no secrets or keys or sequential initiations or anything of the sort. This was all very public … right there in writing, for anyone to read (or have read to them). It was as simple as that … as “literalists” saw it.
Secrecy was not part of this faith’s doctrines. There were no illusions to pierce, no myths to interpret. It was what it was, and it was God’s will; no more and no less. There were also no barriers: It was open to everyone. In fact, “literalist” Christians came to believe that all of humanity was ultimately required to believe in their faith. To reject it was to defy their deity, and that was something many of them couldn’t and wouldn’t tolerate.
This stood in stark contrast to the mystery religions which were open only to particular sorts of people and their teachings were kept secret, even from lower or newer members of the cult. The mysteries also didn’t appear to care if anyone they’d invited to join, refused to do so. As they saw it (for the most part) it was that person’s loss.
Note that the Gnostic Christian sects operated in a manner very similar to the mystery religions, with the assumption that only certain people could join and the specific beliefs of the sect were secret. In fact, their metaphysics took this one step further. Not only did they promise salvation at the end of one’s life and a pleasant eternity in the afterlife, they promised “oneness” with the Ineffable Divine. And they taught that was an entirely subjective, individual experience (i.e. gnōsis). It literally could not be shared directly with others, even if one wished to do so.
Granted, some of the Gnostic sects did put some of their beliefs in writing, as can be seen for example in the texts found at Nag Hammadi. But the experience of the divine that was Gnostics’ goal, wasn’t something that could be put in writing. They could write all around it, and ostensibly provide some, most, or even all of the tools one needed in order to subsequently achieve gnōsis. But there was no way to put gnōsis itself in writing. It’s not something that could be put in writing; it could only be experienced.
As noted, there was at one point a common presumption that Christianity was, originally, a Judaic mystery-religion. That almost certainly is not the case, even if it may have been inspired by some of the things that other mystery religions taught and did.
The extent of that inspiration — if there had been any — is open to interpretation. It’s true that Christianity centered on soteriology, as most of the mystery-religions did, but Judaism overall had been moving in that direction for centuries already. What’s more, “literalist” Christianity, welcoming as it did anyone at all who wished to join, stood in contrast to the mystery religions. Initially Christianity was a Jewish phenomenon, since it had started as the product of an itinerant Jewish preacher teaching other Jews, but within a decade and a half, it had opened up to everyone, Jewish or not.
On these points alone, it’s difficult to view Christianity, even in its earliest years, as a mystery religion. What happened with it is very likely the opposite: It emerged from apocalyptic Judaism, then as it progressed, some of its adherents saw potential overlap with mystery religions. They then made it one, i.e. in the form of its Gnostic sects.
Still, given the overlap, and the fact that the mystery religions aren’t themselves well understood — complicated by the fact that we may not even know about all of the mystery religions that existed — this is a topic that will remain under discussion, with some merit on either side.
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