From Delphi to the Gospel:
Plutarch and the Spiritual Transformation of the Ancient World
Why did Plutarch—so central to the religious and philosophical world of his time—not mention Christianity directly, and what does this omission reveal about the relationship between early Christianity and classical religion?
By Ed Reither, Beezone
Author’s Note
The thesis proposed in this inquiry is knowingly unconventional. It challenges long-standing traditions of historical scholarship and may appear to some as speculative or even fantastical. I fully acknowledge that the narrative explored here—suggesting that early Christianity arose not in isolation but as a transformation of Hellenistic religious and philosophical traditions—is contrary to the dominant academic and theological accounts that have shaped Western consciousness for centuries.
This investigation is not meant to suggest any fantastic cosmic happenings, nor is it driven by a desire for serious acceptance by institutional minds. Rather, it is grounded in a sincere and well-researched effort to understand a pivotal moment in human history: the transition from myth to theology, from poetic vision to institutional dogma, from mythic truth to human drama and rationalized doctrine.
In an age when the boundaries between ancient belief and scientific knowledge continue to generate global conflict, I believe that honest historical inquiry is not only relevant—it is necessary.
— Ed Reither, Beezone
I
This essay examines the continuity between ancient Mediterranean religious-philosophical traditions and the emergence of Christianity, with particular attention to the spiritual and institutional role of Delphi during the first and second centuries CE.
Portrait of a philosopher alongside a hermaic stele dedicated to Plutarch at the Delphi Archaeological Museum. Plutarch (/ˈpluːtɑːrk/; Ancient Greek: Πλούταρχος, Ploútarchos, Koinē Greek: [ˈplúːtarkʰos]; c. AD 40 – 120s) was a Greek Middle Platonist philosopher,[1] historian, biographer, essayist, and priest at the Temple of Apollo in Delphi.
At the center of this inquiry is Plutarch, a priest of Apollo at Delphi, philosopher, and historian whose silence on Christianity—despite his location and cultural proximity to its rise—raises important questions. Rather than interpreting this gulf as a sociological one, the essay explores how Plutarch’s writings—and others—were later reinterpreted by early Christian thinkers, Roman leaders, and Byzantine scribes who conformed ancient myth to the emerging theological structure of Christianity and the newly developing structure of nation states.
Delphi itself, long considered a navel of the ancient world, becomes here a metaphorical womb of transformation. The famed “E” at the Delphic temple—whose meaning Plutarch speculated upon—evokes a symbolic resonance with El, a root name for divinity across Semitic traditions, and with mythic figures such as Eleutherios (Apollo as “the Liberator”), Eileithyia (goddess of birth and emergence), and the sacred city of Eleutherna, associated with initiation and ancestral wisdom. These names and places converge linguistically and symbolically on the themes of emergence, freedom, revelation, and rebirth—precisely the qualities Christianity later claimed in its own revelatory narrative.
The transformation of Christianity into an imperial religion under Constantine and Theodosius in the fourth century CE marked the culmination of this arc. The cults of Delphi may have fallen silent, but their intellectual and spiritual legacy endured—often unacknowledged—within Christian doctrine and practice. Thus, the thesis here is that early Christianity did not rise in a vacuum but emerged through a transfigurative appropriation of Hellenic religious, philosophical, and mythic structures. As the great god Pan “died,” a new divine presence arose—not by destroying what came before, but by absorbing and reinterpreting it within new stories, legends, and myths.
II
Christianity emerged in the full light of Mediterranean religious and philosophical traditions. From the sanctuaries of Delphi to the schools of Plato and the visionary mystics of mystery cults, the world into which Christianity was born was saturated with enlightened, mythic, symbolic, and institutional power. Delphi, the famed center of Apollo’s prophecy, stands out in particular—not merely for its geographic centrality, but for its ritual authority, linguistic mystery (as in the enigmatic letter “E”), and its deep involvement in spiritual transition. These same forces would later be re-encoded, transformed, and embedded in the theological narratives of Christianity.
Plutarch (c. 46–120 CE) was not an obscure figure in a remote locale; rather, he was a major intellectual and religious presence in the Roman world. A priest of Apollo at Delphi, and later appointed epimeletes (overseer) of the Amphictyonic Council during Hadrian’s reign, Plutarch was deeply embedded in both the religious traditions of Hellenism and the political structures that mediated those traditions.
As Frank Marrero notes in The View from Delphi, “Plutarch, in addition to his famed role as biographical travelogue, retired at Delphi as a priest of Apollo, a Prophetes. Indeed, he became head (epimeletes) of the Amphictyonic council during the reign of Hadrian.” This adds considerable weight to our inquiry, showing that Plutarch stood at the very intersection of religious authority and philosophical inquiry in the early second century.
The religious world Plutarch inhabited was steeped in mythic languages and powerful mystical transformation. While he does not speak in any instance of Christianity, his writings were deeply engaged with themes central to both Hellenic and later adapted Christian thought—moral purification, the soul’s ascent, and liberation from earthly entanglements.
“But the god is, we must declare; and is with reference to no time, but with reference to the eternal, the immovable, timeless, and indeclinable; that which there is nothing before nor after, nor more, nor past, nor older nor younger, but He being One with the one ‘Now,’ hath filled up the ‘Ever;’ and that which really is, alone is with reference to Him… Thus… we ought… to address Him… ‘Thou art One!’ … For the Deity is not several… But that which is must necessarily be One, just as One must be that which is; for difference… springs out of that which is not…”
—Plutarch, On the “E” at Delphi, Section XX
These ideas echoed powerfully in the Eleusinian Mysteries, whose initiatory structure was all about liberation—a freedom (eleutheria) and liberation from death and ignorance. In these rites, the deity Eleutherios—whether as Dionysus or the ruler of the underworld, Hades—functioned as a guide through death into rebirth, transforming the inner journey of the soul into divine union. Although Plutarch never names these mysteries directly in connection with Christianity, his philosophical reflections on the soul’s immortality and the ethical meaning of freedom place him firmly within a sacred tradition that late antique thinkers—Christian and pagan alike—would reinterpret and claim as part of their spiritual revelation.
III
A crucial dimension of this inquiry lies in understanding the monumental shift from oral myth to written scripture—a transition that did not merely preserve tradition but transformed it. In the ancient world, mythological figures such as Moses or Isaiah functioned within fluid, living oral cultures. Their stories were shaped by performance, reinterpreted across generations, and held symbolic weight that transcended literal historicity.
But once these figures were written into books, especially within the emerging Hebrew canon, they assumed the weight and authority of historical reality. The act of inscription—of turning vision, legend, and communal memory into fixed text—solidified their presence not just as sacred archetypes but as actual persons who once walked the earth. This transformation from mythos to logos—oral to textual, poetic to scriptural—carried profound consequences. It enabled later Christian authors not only to cite, reinterpret, and fulfill these ancient figures but to embed them within a new narrative that claimed historical and divine legitimacy through the Word.
IV
The prevailing question then becomes: how could someone so positioned—geographically, temporally, and intellectually—not mention the rapidly growing Jesus movement that would soon alter the cultural and religious trajectory of the Roman world?
Plutarch was born around 46 CE in Chaeronea (central Greece), and he later served as a priest at Delphi, one of the most significant religious centers in the Greek world. Paul the Apostle was actively traveling through Greece during the 40s–60s CE. He preached in Athens and Corinth—well within the orbit of Plutarch’s world. Paul’s Areopagus sermon in Athens (Acts 17) addresses Stoic and Epicurean philosophers and even quotes Greek poets. So it’s plausible that word of a new Jewish sect—especially one drawing Gentiles and talking about resurrection—was circulating among educated Greeks during Plutarch’s youth. But apparently Plutarch’s social status, maybe even his own focus, was devoted to traditional religion and philosophical theology and was not tracking sectarian Jewish movements.
Paul and Plutarch’s overlap in time and geography—Paul preaching in Athens and Corinth (c. 50s CE) while Plutarch is a young man in Boeotia and Delphi—though physically proximate, were culturally distant: Paul addressed diaspora synagogues, artisans, and God-fearers. Plutarch engaged civic-religious elites, philosophical circles, and priestly traditions.
It’s quite likely that Paul’s presence, and that of early Christians, was known only in small circles of Greek households, not yet visible to important men like Plutarch.
Another possible answer is how Plutarch’s writings (and ancient myths) were later received, reinterpreted, and preserved by Christian followers and scribes. Early Christian figures such as Clement of Alexandria and Origen read Plutarch to extract allegorical, philosophical, and ethical insights that could be harmonized with Christian doctrine. This tendency continued with Eusebius, Basil of Caesarea, Gregory of Nyssa, and Gregory of Nazianzus—culminating in a Christianized vision of Plutarch as a quasi-prophetic authority.
One example is how Gregory of Nyssa, a prominent Cappadocian theologian, used language strikingly similar to Plutarch’s in On Isis and Osiris to describe Christ’s mixed nature, demonstrating the influence of Plutarch’s conceptual framework.
Plutarch’s writings were preserved alongside Hermetic, Neoplatonic, and Christian florilegia tidbits, contributing to his image as a moral and philosophical authority relevant to both pagan and Christian traditions. Christianity did not so much reject ancient myth and Hellenic wisdom as reweave it—selectively appropriating the Platonic, Stoic, and Delphic threads that resonated with its theological aims.
This is especially evident in De Defectu Oraculorum, in which the story of the sailor Thamus hearing “The great god Pan is dead” was taken by Christian authors to symbolize the end of paganism and the rise of a new spiritual age.
V
The thesis advanced here—that early Christianity emerged not in isolation, but through a reinterpretation of Hellenic religious and philosophical traditions—highlights a profound continuity between Greco-Roman thought and Christian doctrine. This continuity, often overlooked, continues to shape theological, cultural, and institutional realities to this day.
It is strongly suggested that the foundations of Christian thought rest not solely on the Hebrew scriptures, but also on the sacred myths, philosophical systems, and institutional legacies of the ancient Mediterranean world. Among its most eloquent voices was Plutarch, whose writings offer a vital window into the religious imagination of the age.
Understanding this inheritance is not merely a matter of historical interest. It is essential because many of today’s religious “truths” are rooted in ancient myths—myths that have, over time, been reified into doctrine. To engage meaningfully with our present, these foundations must be reexamined and brought into dialogue with contemporary insight. Only then can we participate consciously in what may yet become a new revelation—not by denying the past, but by understanding it more deeply.
Bibliography
Plutarch, De Defectu Oraculorum, trans. Philemon Holland (1603), The Philosophie, Commonlie Called the Morals
Judith Mossman, commentary on De Defectu Oraculorum, University of Nottingham
Frank Marrero, The View from Delphi
Clement of Alexandria, Stromata
Origen, various writings
Eusebius of Caesarea, Ecclesiastical History
Eduard Norden, Die Geburt des Kindes
Eduard Nielsen, Der dreieinige Gott, vol. I
John Stobaeus, Anthology
Byzantine florilegia and manuscript studies (8th–10th centuries)
Peter Brown, The Rise of Western Christendom
Jaroslav Pelikan, The Christian Tradition
Harold Attridge, The Interpretation of Biblical History in Josephus
David T. Runia, Philo in Early Christian Literature
Robert Lamberton, Plutarch (Yale University Press)
Arkadiy Avdokhin, Plutarch and Early Christian Theologians, Plutarch the “Pagan”, Early Christians, and Methodologies of Studying “Reception”
Appendix: The Pythia and the Global Tradition of Oracular Embodiment
In the heart of Delphi stood the Pythia, Apollo’s oracle. Seated above a chasm in the adyton, she entered trance states and delivered divine pronouncements. Her utterances, though often cryptic, were interpreted by priests and shaped into poetic form.
This practice finds striking parallels in other global traditions. In Tibetan Buddhism, the Nechung Oracle functions similarly as a living vessel for divine utterance. Both the Pythia and the Tibetan kuten:
Are ritually prepared to host the divine
Speak in altered states interpreted by religious authorities
Guide political and spiritual decisions
Operate within complex sacred institutions
The decline of the Delphic oracle did not end the sacred, but signaled a shift—from ecstatic embodiment to textual authority. In that shift, the figure of the oracle faded—not because the divine was lost, but because the acceptable forms of revelation had changed.